#jesters are downright boring to them

[dollopheadedmerlin]

tell me more about the clown nobility please! what do they do? do they agree with the queen? is their main method of transportation just all piling into one carriage?

AHA!

So, socially, most clowns value looks over anything else. Considering they have the most colorful and varied markings, and the least powerful and varied magic, it makes sense that they would take pride in how they look!

For some people it is obsessive, and they seek to avoid any small blemish, especially if they were gifted with beautiful primary colors and symmetrical markings (the beauty standard in their culture). Markings like "masks", "gloves", "socks", and things that resemble blush and red noses are held in high regard.

Some of this obsession is faced outward, people treating "uglier" clowns as lesser, and there is a sort of prejudice in their society where, if you don't look the part you don't get the job. Higher class nobility will often marry for genetics, as it will give their heir higher social standing. This is an obvious issue in their culture, which some clowns combat.

Some, even naturally beautiful clowns, will seek out body mods and things to obscure their markings, going against the grain as a sort of walking protest. Clowns with asymmetrical markings, unsatisfying color combinations, etc. often have to support each other, or seek life outside the city.

As for transportation, they mostly use horses or go on foot. In battle, they honk blow horns atop their steeds, and in their universe it is a dreaded sound of war. Often battles lead by clowns sound like what a cartoon Circus fiasco sounds like in our world, only with added sounds of shouts and screams and broken glass.

Though they may not have the most magic, they do possess some! Usually subtle things, like being able to affect someone's emotions, creating contagious laughter or other moods. But also, yes, perhaps sometimes a room or space that shouldn't fit quite so many people might scoot it's innards over to accommodate a few more, even if no one realizes any magic has been performed, as they do not know spell work like the others do.

There were previous rulers that were much less focused on the beauty of themselves and their people, but since the current queen reigns, that purity culture was only strengthened, much to the dismay of the more progressive, and more so the ugly.

[stoat-party]

Fallout 4: Where is the Lone Wanderer?*

*a vague conspiracy theory which doesn’t actually answer the question at hand. We all have our own ideas of how the lore should go, and I’m sure yours is very canon-compliant and valid, but this is mine and I have support for it. Looooongpost.

First off: What do we know about the canon Wanderer?

We know they activated Project Purity (or had a companion do it) without the FEV and were inducted into the Brotherhood. We know they’ve met with MacCready (you can’t finish the game if you don’t), and he has dialogue indicating they had further contact. They also took the Brotherhood’s side at Adams Air Force Base.

We don’t know what happened with The Replicated Man, but since the canon Wanderer appears to have good karma, and info from 4 implies Zimmer’s disappearance was more recent than ten years ago, it seems likely they took the boring ending, which secures their membership in the Railroad.

Why aren’t they in Fallout 4?

The Doylist answer is that they’re highly customizable, and so they have no canon appearance, personality, gender, etc. But in-universe? Something happened.

“Accepting outsiders like yourself has proven disastrous in the past.” - Kells

“I've seen other soldiers come and go. Some were brave, some were honest... hell, some were even downright heroic.” - Danse

“Every doctor I've talked to was worthless. [] I don't need them... I need someone like you.” - MacCready

When Duncan first got sick, “someone like you” would have meant the Wanderer. This suggests (to me) that they’re not in the Capital Wasteland anymore. But they’re certainly not in the Commonwealth either.

The weird thing is that the Lone Wanderer is all over this game - they’re the namesake for a male hairstyle, a perk, a DCR song, a motorcycle brand… and the codename of Deacon’s mission to save the Railroad from certain destruction by recruiting the Sole Survivor.

Someday We’ll Find It, the Deacon Connection

Oh yeah, I’m going here. Desdemona’s terminal entries confirm it was always Deacon’s plan to get you onboard and use you to destroy the Institute. There are Railroad lookout posts near 111/Sanctuary and Red Rocket, and of course he followed you in Goodneighbor, Diamond City, and Bunker Hill (at least). His court jester vibe hides it a bit, but he’s manipulating you more than he’s manipulating Desdemona in the intro scene. And do you notice he rarely gives you a firm verbal disapproval unless you’re hurting the Railroad?

What could have caused Deacon’s interest in you, unless he’s made the connection between you and the Lone Wanderer? He’ll vouch for you if you haven’t accomplished anything yet, or even if you’re a Brotherhood member. A Pip-Boyed stranger emerges from a vault in the middle of a crisis, gaining friends, skills, items, and special abilities at a suspicious rate? Probably with the same gender and playstyle as the previous one? Heck, when he first heard the rumors, he probably thought you WERE the Lone Wanderer.

There are other indications the Railroad has been in contact with them — Desdemona mentions the Capital Wasteland as their primary destination for synths, and Deacon references Harkness’s recall code. If you refuse to pick a codename, Desdemona even assigns you “Wanderer.”

So what happened, then?

I think the answer lies with the Brotherhood, specifically in Deacon’s hatred of them. Sure, ideology is enough to hate them for, but Deacon sure seems suspiciously happy if you nuke their base of operations. (Some of) his comments on that:

“The Brotherhood... well, I met them on an op in Capital Wasteland a few years back. But now with Elder Maxson... Let's just say, not a fan.”

“That bastard Maxson really screwed them up. The Brotherhood used to be the good guys. Well, goodish.”

[Who’s Elder Maxson?] “He’s a piece of work, is what he is.”

And on his time in the Capital:

“Did I ever tell you about the time I was in Capital Wasteland? Now there's a tale.”

“Capital Wasteland. Exports: purified water, some decent tech, oh, and an insane suicidal cult that worships radiation. Thanks, guys.”

“I miss Capital Wasteland. You can actually drink the water there.”

And a few lines I’ve decided (with no evidence) directly refer to LW:

“Last partner I had wound up going... well, a little insane. I think it was all my show tune medleys.”

[After Maxson orders you to hunt Danse down] “See? This is what the Brotherhood's really about.”

And my favorite: “I’ve been looking forward to kicking the Brotherhood’s teeth in. I owe them.” This line comes before Glory is killed, so he’s not referring to that. The Brotherhood only recently arrived in force in the Commonwealth. He’s talking about something that happened in the Capital Wasteland.

So Here’s What Might Have Happened:

In early 2286, Deacon moves to the Capitol Wasteland for awhile, probably to get a face change and lay low for a bit. He contacts the Lone Wanderer, who has barely heard from the Railroad in nine years. They begin to work together.

(In context, this journal entry looks like he’s somehow gathering intel to predict when Vault 111 will open, but I can’t think of a way for him to get that information or know why it’s important, so I’m not going to believe it just yet.)

The Wanderer is still a knight, maybe a paladin. Maxson has been elder for 2-3 years and is monitoring the Institute. Meanwhile, the Lone Wanderer and Deacon are setting up infrastructure to receive escaped synths.

And then the Brotherhood finds out about one of the safehouses. With their limited understanding, they believe that the Institute is holed up there and attack. The Wanderer intentionally throws the mission — maybe disobeys orders, maybe downs a vertibird or collapses a subway tunnel, or maybe even attacks their brothers to protect the synths.

And, well-

Either they were killed, or they escaped court martial and execution by a hair’s breadth and fled the Capital, leaving Deacon to believe Maxson had them killed.

There you have it. That’s why they aren’t in Brotherhood dialogue or records. Their accomplishments couldn’t be recognized because they’re a traitor. And that’s why it’s personal for Deacon.

[fzrticv]

OZZIE'S was a lot of things, you don't have to want to get done with any of the workers. There is more than enough to enjoy at the end of the day. It's a luxurious establishment after all. As long as you know what you are getting yourself into. it ain't exactly that had. Fizz saw more than enough couples getting down the table before the show even had become.

As long as the pay and don't distribute the worker or performers. Or kill the mood for all the visitors alike - it mattered little.

Fizz is certain Ozzie had tried to explain this to him before.. or was he talking about himself? Fizz isn't entirely sure, not entirely sure if matters or not. He had no negative view of succubus so not like their mind needed to be changed. " ohhh ~ then must Ozzie's a feast, with all these lustful vibes flying around ~ "while speaking, the jester started moving their arms in a waving motion. Extending them while doing so also before pulling their arms back to their normal length.

" bwha! Bitch, please. " Fizz push the ends of their jester hat as if was hair "they are more than enough, could reveal your freaks for certain" it was teasing but also somewhat true - Fizz didn't exactly set out to be a sex icon it more just happen. If now it just that comes with working in lust or being as close to the embodiment to lust as them. FIzz felt some pride with this fact - until it got annoying if not downright uncomfortable.

" Engouh freaks who wanna know how 'accurate' the bots truly are, had some try to pull my tail when I was on stage too " he had frozen actually as that had happened but they are leaving this fact out. Nowadays they would slap ehm.

"Numbers, weird fucking fan mail. " he doesn't bother to read " - wait keys? You serious? pfff haha ! no, but I don't interact with our patrons much one on one ~ " expect is someone they (or Ozzie) know. Or specify requested. Or they fell bored. "Fracking gifts too only good point on this shit is the nice fire it makes after ~" are they teasing or telling the truth? Who knows.

Verosika had no sympathy for those who came to Ozzie's and ended up getting thrown out. They weren't strict, just abided by common sense. And it wasn't like they were secret about what went on here. Furthermore, the club was the crowning jewel of the Lust ring. It made sense that things were not vanilla and squeaky clean. If people didn't want to get off, be entertained, or enjoy some fun between themselves and others, then this was not the place. Over her time performing at Ozzie's, she had seen more than one 'couple' get thrown out during her performances. Especially whenever she flaunted her legs or did some table work.

She smirked, hearing how Fizz thought they eat. It was amusing, honestly, to hear all the theories surrounding the succubus and incubuses nature. They had certainly come close, far more close than some others. One of the wildest one she had heard was that they took people's blood and bathed in it to keep young. She had no idea where that originated from.

"Mmmm close," Verosika commented, throwing a wink at a passing stagehand who blushed and kept on walking faster. "We bitches feed off sexual energy, think of fucking as getting a full course meal in one go. Feeding off the energy itself takes a bit longer. But it's more of a life force thing, rather than food?" Verosika shrugged, not caring either way. "The details are boring as fuck and irrelevant."

Although, a mischievous smile appeared on her face. "I tend to let people think that they want, it just adds to the allure. We can be any kind of desire they want. Seeing of the strange things that get people off never makes my job boring."

After explaining that little tidbit, she decided to move on.

"You got any fun stories from the crowd? How many losers tried to give you their room keys or numbers? I know that some people are hungry for jester over succubus, however rare that is."

It was a tease and a compliment, she could dish it out as much as she took it too.

[x3rrorx]

This is so predictable when the content drought hits our fandom the bunch of bored whiners crawl out of their shells to bitch about how unavailable our BO fellas are.

How does their need for space make those immature beings think they don't value their fans? I think the most of us were totally spoiled by the online presence of the guys in the past and these people still crave it now. But time passed and things changed completely. Many people may think they don't change but they ain't the same so stop to complain about these unimportant things.

I need to add that the most irritating fact about the "fans" who call N an egomaniac are just the ones who don't give a shit about the rest of the band and it's obvious. There's always a full focus on him. Why so? He doesn't deserve to be their void to scream into every time they feel disappointed with something they aren't able to control.

Ngl, I was happy when guys deleted their socials (although almost all of 'em came back) but anyway, i liked how inapproachable BO themselves became even if for a short period of time. And i was absolutely on cloud nine when they cancelled VIP/meet&greet, - or whatever this one is called, - bc the certain amount of fans were simply unbearable and bought those vips just to have a chance to show it off for their old\new followers here and there. And the doubtful gifts they gave to the guys, let alone questions they asked them while recording them. Every time the short videos from the VIP meetings flooded socials and seriously, it was an absolute torture to watch them. The worst second-hand embarrassment for the fans (not every one, i know, not every one is that cringy) and felt uncomfortable just to watch the guys standing there like 👀🧍🏻👀 while almost every fan was talking to N.

A great big thanks to all of those aspiring concert goers who do it for themselves, who genuinely enjoy shows and share the content online without any bs they want to take off their chests. Unfortunately, there are the unique ones who go after their favourite bands everywhere, buy their merch, constantly support them on social, encourage ppl streaming their records and at the same time, have the audacity to hate on the bands that don't visibly appreciate their effort. Like, who are you doing it for? Noone forces you to do it all. In the end, you do it for yourself. Why so much hate afterwards?

Who are egomaniacs then?

Also, i almost forget: what about a person who had threatened to destroy their merch months before their EU tour but all of a sudden this person appeared at several shows this year? 🎶And no hard feelings, honey, no hate and no drama.🎶 I wouldn't even have know anything if 11 people hadn't brought it up on my tl sev weeks ago.

Now, i see why so many BO fans don't interact with the rest of this fandom and create their own private spaces to have a chance to discuss things without some downright scumbag taking ss of their thoughts and laughing their heads off on another group chat. Fucking carnival jesters.

That was a lot to consume but I agree!

[oh-hush-its-perfect]

Alex Fierro's Introduction Full Breakdown

Okokok so. This is going to go full English-professor mode, where I'm drawing conclusions that are gonna seem a little far-fetched. That's what's fun about media analysis! I can say something is a symbol, and even if I don't have enough faith in RR's competency to know if he meant for it to be a symbol, it's still true! That being said, a lot of these choices I'm sure are intentional, either at a literal or subliminal level. Page numbers are going to be used not to assert a kind of authority or whatever— this is a Tumblr post, not an essay— but to help readers find the pages I'm referencing in case they'd like to do some digging of their own. Also, this is going to be really long. Really sorry to anyone with ADHD; I might make an audiofile of this so you can get the information without having to read the whole thing. With all that, let's get into it!

To kick off, let's talk about Alex being in the form of a cheetah when she first meets Magnus. Of course, there's the obvious impact of him seeing her but only so breifly, as well as introducing the conflict between her and the rest of Hall 19. But that could have easily been accomplished by almost any animal. The choice of a cheetah being implicated implies two qualities of Alex that will be recurrent throughout the two books she's in: 1. She has a tendency to run away, as we'll later learn when she describes how she became homeless, and 2. To Magnus, she's elusive. She can't be caught or held down. The event that shows this so transparently is how Alex refuses to define their relationship at the end of the series, despite it clearly surpassing the normal bounds of friendship.

But the cheetah isn't the animal Alex is in the form of when Magnus first gets a good look at her; she's a weasel. Weasel's bring up all kinds of connotations: ferocity, slickness, a lack of charm. When we want to describe someone as an untrustworthy person, we call them a weasel. RR had Alex take this form to play up her comrades' feeling of distrust towards her. She could be a double-crosser. But paradoxically, the up-front and vicious mannerisms of a weasel also have a transperency. She does not try appealing to her Hallmate's sense of goodwill because she doesn't have anything to gain from it. So even though there is the implication that she might be an antagonist, there's also evidence from her actions and mannerisms that she isn't. The weasel's long and skinny frame also allow for a smooth transition into Alex's actual body, which is convenient.

As Alex transforms into her usual human form, Magnus describes her as "a regular human teen, long and lanky, with a swirl of dyed green hair, black at the roots, like a plug of weeds pulled out of a lawn" (pg. 50). That simile at the end is of particular interest. Let's compare it to another time Magnus describes Alex's hair, in Ship of the Dead: "Her hair had started to grow out, the black roots making her look even more imposing, like a lion with a healthy mane" (pg. 136). By contrasting these two different examples, we can see the development of Magnus and Alex's relationship. The first time he sees her, he thinks of her hair as something nasty— note the word choice "weeds." Later on, though, he becomes more affectionate towards her, more complentary. The immedient negative reaction is less his actual impression, though, and more the reaction he expected to have based on everyone else's reaction to Alex.

Her clothes are equally as interesting; as Magnus describes it, Alex wears "battered rose high-tops, skinny lime green corduroy pants, a pink-and-green argyle sweater-vest over a white tee, and another pink cashmere sweather wrapped around the waist like a kilt" (pg. 50). Aside from the obvious fact that this outfit is a) bizzare, b) fire, and c) Alex's signature colors, which add a layer of style to what can otherwise be a somewhat boring series fashion-wise (excuse me, Blitz), the outfit reveals a crucial facet of Alex's backstory in a kind of subtle way. These are expensive clothes, like the Stella McCartney dress in Alex's room. Note the mention of fabrics (corduroy, cashmere) and patterns (argyle). These indicate wealth and status. Even the high-tops; shoes like that don't come cheap. But I'd like to return to the very first word of the section: "battered." Alex's wardrobe show-cases a proximity to wealth, but also shows that that proximity has been strained and lengthened, maybe for an extended period of time. Alex dresses like a rich person, but she isn't one. Least, not anymore.

The last word of that outfit-introduction is also of interest: "kilt." At the current moment, Magnus thinks that Alex is male. No one has indicated otherwise to him. Everyone has been referring to Alex with he/him pronouns. Samirah called Alex her "brother" (pg. 29). His first thought in seeing what he at first perceives as a guy with a jacket wrapped around the waist is That looks like a kilt. This thought tells us about Magnus: despite being open and accepting, he still has some lingering notions of gender conformity from his years in wider American society.

Magnus also indicates that the outfit "reminded me of a jester's motley, or the coloration of a venomous animal warning the whole world" (pg. 50). This is rather self-explanatory, but it's still worth noting that Magnus sees the outfit as something bizzare, strange, and even perhaps comical. This places Alex at odds with the other people Magnus has met. It also reveals that Magnus has zero fashion sense. But we already knew that.

After finishing up staring at the ensemble, Magnus finally gets around to actually looking Alex in the face. First Magnus says that he "forgot how to breathe" (pg. 50), which, yeah, relatable. This is justifed by saying that Alex has the same face as Loki, but the very same sentence that asserts that that's the case also suggests an alternative reason: Alex has "the same unearthly beauty" as her father. Here we can see the beginnings of Magnus's attraction to Alex, though at this point, he still has a lot of internalized homophobia. Though there's certainly some truth in that Magnus was unnerved by Alex's resemblance to Loki, the idea that Magnus pointed out that Alex was pretty without elaborating on that thought until about a chapter later— after he was informed that Alex was presently a girl— can tell us a lot about how Magnus perceives sex and beauty.

Of course, Alex's eyes are given special attention. She has cool eyes; what can I say? But I'd like to focus in on how Magnus here depicts Alex's heterochromia as "completely unnerving" (pg. 50). Again, let's contrast this with how he describes them after getting to know Alex a little better in Ship of the Dead. In Chapter 3, Magnus describes "[Alex's] dark brown eye and his amber eye like mismatched moons cresting the horizon" (pg. 25). Once again, this shows the development of their relationship— but this time, it's in a much more personal way. Eyes are the windows to the soul; they are culturally important and biologically important in inter-personal connections. In you look into someone's eyes, you're giving them your full attention, and you're implying a kind of closeness. The way that Magnus describes Alex's eyes in the second passage is downright intimate. At this point, he is in love with Alex, and it is clear when contrasting the two descriptions.

As my last point, I'd like to discuss Alex's first words on page: "'Point that rifle somewhere else, or I will wrap it around your neck like a bow tie'" (pg. 51). First of all, Alex saying this with a "perfect white smile" (pg. 51) on his face implies that she is used to being threatened. She is not afraid of being shot; she counters the promise of an attack with a promise of her own. This pleads the question: why is Alex accustomed to violence? What events of her past or qualities of her life have brought her to this point? The threat itself reveals Alex's trauma from being genderfluid in a society with rigid gender norms, as well as her antagonistic relationship with her father. Magnus makes a comment that Alex "might actually know how to tie a bow tie, which was kind scary arcane knowledge" (pg. 51). Like Alex's wardrobe, the idea that she may have experience in high-class fashion also implies her former status as a rich kid.

I could go on. I could break apart Alex saying "'Pleased to meet you all, I guess'" (pg. 51). There is a wealth of information in this short page span that tells us things about Alex Fierro in the present moment, quietly demonstrates things about her past, and characterizes the narrator Magnus Chase. This passage is also effective in hindsight in marking the progress of Magnus and Alex's relationship.

But I'd like to take a step back and look at not the pieces, but the whole picture. Alex Fierro gets a full page of pure description— her outfit, her face— and about a chapter of introduction. This comes after several chapters of build-up. Alex Fierro is an important character you need to keep your eyes on. Alex Fierro is emotionally significant to the main character, Magnus Chase. Alex Fierro is one of the most developed and well-rounded characters that Rick Riordan has ever written— heck, she's one of the best characters in middle-grade books period. The extended emphasis on her and her alone tells us exactly what role she's going to play in this story: she's the star.

[lonelysoul029]

His Hufflepuff Secret ~ Eight

A/N: So here's what I was supposed to post on Sunday before my laptop decided to hate me and delete it. I'm sorry for the wait. I do hope you enjoy it, though :)

<-Previous Chapter

_____

"Are you sure you want to stand next to me in front of everyone?" Y/N asks as they reach the top balcony overlooking the lake. There are three towers set up in the waters, and she and Draco are on the one in the middle.

Draco groans, "For the millionth time, Fawley, I'm sure. People didn't come here to gawk at us, did they? No. They came to watch the Second Task," his hands grip the railing and he leans over to see the water beneath them, "How much would you bet that Potter would mess up and drown."

He gets punched on the arm, "Don't be so mean," Y/N frowns, "That's my friend you're talking about."

"That actually hurt, you know," Draco says, rubbing his arm.

"You're lucky I didn't push you into the water instead," she scans the other towers, "Where in the world is Hermione? Surely, she wouldn't miss out on cheering for Harry, right?"

"I don't know about that," he smirks, "Maybe she realized Potter isn't worth watching on for. She and Weaselbee are probably off snogging instead," This earns him another punch, "Seriously? The same spot?"

"When are you ever going to grow out of this nonsensical rivalry?" Y/N asks annoyed, but really she's thinking that even Draco can sense the tension with Hermione and Ron.

"Well let's see," he puts a finger to his chin and pretends to think, "Today's Friday, so... never?" Draco grins at her.

"Idiot," she can't help but grin back.

"Welcome to the second task," Dumbledore's voice cuts through the cheering of the students, "Last night, something was stolen from each of our champions. A treasure, of sorts. These four treasures, one for each champion, now lie at the bottom of the Black Lake..."

"What, so they took Potter's glasses?" Draco snickers.

"Maybe you should be dating Harry instead of me since you won't shut up about him," Y/N rolls her eyes.

"Me? Date Potter?" his face contorts in disgust, "That's absolutely nauseating."

"Stop being so obsessed with him then," she smirks.

"...They will have one hour to do so, and one hour only. After that, they'll be own their own. No magic will save them. You may begin at the start of the cannon," Dumbledore announces.

The cannon fires, and the four champions dive into the water. Well, three dive into the water and Harry gets pushed in. The crowd erupts once more, but soon, the cheers die down. The ripples created by the divers then disappear, making the dark water look calm and perfectly still. No one knows what is really going on under the water, so they are all silent.

Suddenly, Dumbledore's voice can be heard through the speakers again, "The Beauxbatons champion Miss Delacour has unfortunately been forced to retire. She will take no further part in this task."

Once again, the crowd is silent. "Poor girl," Y/N says sympathetically.

"Yeah," Draco scoffs, "That's why she got eliminated so fast."

"Merlin, Draco what is your problem today?" she turns to him, "You've been quite mean and moody."

She's right. Draco has been moody. It's not his fault, though. The nightmares he's been having are just getting to his head. Why is it always the same man? Where did those babies come from? Why did they suddenly appear? "It's nothing, darling."

Y/N just stares at him for a moment, chews her lip nervously. She might have an idea of what's been bothering Draco, but doesn't want to bring up something that might make him uncomfortable. Hesitantly, she mumbles "It's not the nightmares, is it?"

His eyes widen a little, "How did y--"

"I noticed it a few months ago, when I slept in your room," she cuts him off, "I left to get a glass of water then I came back to you writhing and sweating. I got you to calm down and I thought that was it, but it kept happening. Even on other times we'd sleep together, every time I would leave, I'd come back to you having a nightmare," Y/N gives him a concerned look.

"Oh," Draco blinks at her, "I uh, usually don't have nightmares  when you're sleeping with me," he admits sheepishly.

She takes his hand and rubs it with her thumb, "Do you want to tell me about them while we wait?"

"I guess we can talk about it," he shrugs. Draco tells him about the recurring nightmare of the man floating in a black cloak, and how Y/N always ends up dead. "... the most recent one was last night. It was a bit different from the other ones."

"How so?" Y/N inquires.

Draco laughs a little, "Well, there were twins in the dream. A baby girl and boy. They looked exactly like me."

"Twin babies?" she exclaims, "Your twin babies?" Y/N chuckles.

"Ours, I think," he rubs the back of his neck.

Y/N's jaw drops, "What?!"

"Weird, right?"

"Weird? It's downright absurd!" she almost shouts. The thought of having twins with Draco Malfoy clouds her mind. They literally just started dating yesterday. She can't possibly be thinking about having kids with him. Apparently though, he dreamt, or rather, had a nightmare about it.

"That's not the most absurd part," Draco says, his voice more serious now. She raises her eyebrows at him, "You know how I said you always end up dying right in front of me one way or another?"

"Yes?" Y/N prompts, "Oh no," her face falls, "Please don't tell me the babies died too."

He gives her hand a squeeze, "They did," he almost whispers.

"Christ," is all she can mutter. They stay silent for a while, until Y/N speaks up again, "The nightmares, they must mean something right?"

"After the first few, I thought they meant something, then I kept having them but nothing happened in real life. I just shrugged them off."

"Yeah, you're probably right," she nods, although the thought of her getting killed by a man over and over again in Draco's nightmares doesn't sit right with her. He senses her worry, so he interlaces their fingers then brings her hand up to his lips and kisses it softly. His lips linger for a moment longer, then lets go of her hand to place his on the small of her back, turning them both to face the water.

Just then, Cedric Diggory emerges, Cho Chang with him. The crowd erupts in cheers. "Woohoo! Go Cedric!" Y/N claps along.

Viktor Krum comes up next, and to Y/N's surprise, Hermione is with him. They, too, get to the dock and the people start chanting "Krum, Krum, Krum."

Finally, Ron and a younger blonde Beauxbaton girl surfaces. Draco hums, "That must be who Fleur Delacour should've saved."

"Must be," Y/N agrees, "But where's Harry?"

"Lollygagging with the Merpeople, perhaps?" Draco chuckles. She gives him a glare and he puts his arm around her shoulders, "It's Potter. No matter how incompetent he is, he always ends up fine."

"That's very reassuring. Thanks," she rolls her eyes.

"You're quite welcome," he winks.

Damn it that wink makes me weak, she curses herself for thinking like that.

"Look," Draco points at the water, "He's alive."

Y/N turns her gaze down. Harry shot through the air and landing on the deck where the crowds are.

"Thank god," she runs down to the lowest platform to meet with Harry. Draco stays behind, not really wanting to congratulate his enemy. Y/N She reaches the platform and gives Harry a hug. "I got worried. I didn't think you'd make it."

Harry chuckles, "I didn't think I'd make it either."

She looks around to find Cedric to congratulate him but sees him conversing with Cho. Not wanting to disrupt the two, she decides to just talk to Cedric later in the common room.

~~~~•~~~~

Draco and Y/N walk together, headed to the Great Hall for dinner.

"You should eat with me," Draco suggests.

Y/N looks at him confused, "Why?"

"Why not?"

"People would talk," she deadpans. Is he being serious right now?

"So? People talk any way," he takes her hand in his, "If I want to eat dinner with my girl, I think I should be able to do that."

His girl. I like the sound of that, she thinks. "Alright, fine. I'll sit at the Slytherin table with you. Wouldn't your little side chick get jealous, though?" she smirks at him.

Draco scoffs, "Bold of you to assume you're not a side chick either," he teases.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I better go and eat with the Weasley twins then," she winks.

His face scrunches in disgust, "Out of all the guys you choose to be with on the side, you pick the ginger jesters?"

She mocks him and sticks her tongue out, "What? They're hot."

"I'm way hotter, though," he says in her ear.

Y/N shrugs her shoulders, "No argument here."

When they enter the Great Hall, Draco suddenly takes her hand. He leads them to the Slytherin table and already, students' eyes are on them. Y/N tries to hide the blush on her cheeks. It disappeared completely, however, when she sees Pansy giving her a death glare. Y/N smirks triumphantly at this as she and Draco sit next to each other, across from Pansy and her group.

Pansy slams both hands on the table, "What are you doing here, blood traitor?"

"Parkinson," Draco warns.

"I came here to eat with my boyfriend, Pugface," Y/N makes a face as if to say 'try me.'

"You've a got a lot of nerve showi-"

"Do you ever shut up?" Y/N cuts her off, "Honestly you keep opening your mouth and it's always the same old boring shit that comes out of it. You're like a broken record, all screechy and annoying."

Heads turn to her direction. Blaise is smirking, Millicent Bulstrode's jaw dropped, and a few other Slytherins are listening in, eagerly watching in case a fight erupts.

"Don't you have anything to say besides calling me a 'blood traitor' and a 'pathetic little Hufflepuff'? No? I didn't think so," she continues.

Pansy huffs, "Girls, let's go," she stands to leave. Tracey and Daphne look at each other, hesitant to leave. "Come on then!" she gestures to the door.

Tracey speaks up, "I think we'd like to stay and eat."

"Y-yeah. We're good Pansy. You can storm off without us tonight," Daphne agrees.

"Traitors," Pansy spat before walking away.

The two girls look to Y/N, they all start to laugh and giggle.

"That was awesome," Daphne says.

Tracey nods, "We've never disagreed with Pansy before."

Y/N smiles at them, "Always a first for everything," she turns to Draco, "I really didn't expect that."

"I'm just glad she's gone," he replies with his mouth full, "I thought I was gonna have to suffer through a meal with her face constantly making me want to vomit."

Blaise cuts in, "I think I'll be the one vomiting if you keep chewing with your mouth open like that."

Draco throws a piece of ham at him, causing a mini food fight to occur.

They all enjoy the rest of their dinner, laughing and talking. Draco looks at Y/N as she laughs with his friends. Her smile giving him butterflies. Of course he'll never admit that out loud.

It's so easy, he thinks, She fits right into my world.

_____

Next Chapter->

[redjennies]

Honestly I can get turned off a ship pretty quickly if one of the characters doesn't respect another character's friends or friendships. Like, Beau's attitude toward the Traveller really put a damper on any "oh that's cute maybe" feelings I had about BeauJes. Although I get where Beau's coming from and I'm a multishipper and it didn't turn me off entirely, it was still a :/ moment, and part of why I personally prefer her dynamic with Yasha.

I don't wanna get too into b/j specifically bc I'm honestly sick of b/y vs. b/j. it's a boring topic and I'm over it, but yeah, I know what you're talking about. I love Beau and Jester's friendship so much and honestly there's some really cute b/j fic and art out there, but idk, they've both had some moments that have turned me off of the ship in canon, but that's just me.

idk, I see a lot of ships in the fandom (and across many fandoms) do this shit where friendships are downplayed or sometimes downright demonized in order to make arguments for romantic relationships. like honestly I've started to see some B/Ys lean into this mentality as part of the backlash against the idea "that there's nothing substantial between Beau and Yasha" and rush headfirst into "Yasha/Beau is the only person who cares about Beau/Yasha" territory and I'm just like ew gross. what a horrible opinion. why would you even want that to be true? I think Beau and Yasha have an amazing bond and understand each other in a unique way that makes for a great foundation of a relationship, but I truly cannot relate to thinking their friends don't actually care about them. like 0/10. would not recommend.

anyway, since this topic got away from me. full disclosure: I was actually vaguing about some bad w/j opinions that keep floating through my radar because I swear to God if I see one more post insisting Caleb is the only person who respects Jester when Veth and Yasha are right there I'm going to lose my actual human mind. just say you think Fjord and Beau don't respect Jester (I mean you're wrong and they do), but for the love of Christ, leave Veth and Yasha out of it.

[unicyclehippo]

Could you please do "You're in love with her." from Artagan to Beau? Thank you!!

‘Hey, Jes?’

‘Hi! Beau, Beau! Oh my gosh - show the Traveller the necklace I made for you! Look, look how cool it is!’ Jester squeals, grabbing at the little figurine that hangs around Beau’s neck.

‘That’s very finely made,’ he says, taking the little statue up carefully. His fingers are long and spindly, reminding Beau a little of the hag’s. He might be pretty and lithe and entrancing, but whatever he is, he and the hag are made of the same stuff. ‘Should I be flattered?’ he asks, lips curling into a smile. ‘That you’re wearing my symbol?’

‘Not yet,’ Beau tells him.

‘Ah. What a pity.’

‘Kinda wanted to talk to you about that, though,’ she admits, and tries not to wince at the way Jester squeals.

‘Oh?’ Artagan returns the statue to her hand, drops it down into her palm. ‘Shall we...take a walk?’

Beau crinkles her nose in thought. Her eyes slide across to Jester—Jester who is holding herself very very still in an effort, it looks like, to not influence Beau’s decision. She holds her neck very tight so she doesn’t nod, and she has one hand clasped over her mouth so she doesn’t smile or squeal. But she can’t hide her eyes, which are overflowing with excitement.

‘Yeah. Yeah, let’s take a walk.’

Artagan pulls a face at Jester, waggles his brows in an expression equal parts surprise, excitement, suggestiveness, and amused. He follows Beau into the next room, where the girls have been sleeping in bunks and hammocks on the ship, and the door has just closed behind him when Beau throws four punches in quick succession. Two of four hit—a solid punch to his jaw and another that cracks against the fine line of a long and delicate nose—and it is something of a surprise and something of a reassurance that Beau sees blood drip from his broken nose.

Artagan lifts a hand to his nose. Touches it - winces - and presses his fingers to the welt on his cheek. He stares down at the red on his fingers in fascination—and a growing interest that burns off him hot and sharp.

‘That,’ he says, a gleaming laugh sparkling in his words, gleaming in his eyes that are now trained intently on Beau, ‘was unexpected.’

‘Yeah.’ Beau flexes her fists, cracks her neck. She peers at the man in front of her—and she’s more convinced than ever that he is a man, a powerful strange man, and not a god, as the resonance of her own ki returns to her. ‘Thought it’d be harder to hit you.’

‘I wasn’t expecting it,’ he tells her. ‘I will next time. Any particular reason for it? I do hope I earned it somehow.’

‘The first one was for lying to Jester.’

‘Lying is such a—‘

‘You lied. To her. For years,’ Beau snaps.

Artagan wipes his fingers beneath his nose again. Examines the blood one more time before the red flakes away into so many pretty red flowers that scatter into the boards of the floor.

‘If Jester is upset with me, she can tell me herself,’ he says, and before Beau can start on that—she sees you as a best friend, as a god, she doesn’t ever want to upset you—he moves fast as a viper, grows just as quickly, until his face is twice as large and the owl-like eyes of gleaming emerald are peering so very closely into her own. ‘But you, now that’s a surprise. I didn’t even suspect you wanted to do that! Well, that’s not true, Jester has told me enough that I know punching is what you’re best at, but punching me? That’s bold, that’s daring—and hiding it? Why that’d be downright devious,’ he says, ‘if you’d done it for you. But you didn’t. You did it for her. Don’t try to lie to me,’ he says before Beau can even think about doing it, ‘I can see you now. A petty thief, a petty liar, you’ve never told any good lies in your life, just little ugly ones to hide and hurt. I’ve met a thousand thousand people like you,’ he decides, draws back with a cruel dismissive curl to his lips.

‘And I’ve met enough people like you to know you’re bad news.’

‘There’s no one like me.’

‘You jump from interest to interest, person to person, just to keep yourself from being bored because being bored is one step closer to being cold and alone and dead and you’re terrified of that. So you do whatever it takes to be alive, you’ll use whoever it takes, and when you figure it all out you drop ‘em, discard ‘em,’ Beau says, spitting the words as fast as she can because she needs to get them out, make him understand she’s not gonna let him do that to Jester. And because any second now she thinks he’s gonna straight up kill her, his pretty face turning ever more beautiful as it freezes into icy fury. ‘You don’t get to do that to Jester. Those hits were a warning—you hurt her again, and I’m not stopping at two.’

‘How brave,’ he murmurs. Eyes unblinking. Fixed on Beau. ‘You know,’ he says, bright as sunlight on scales, ‘you’d die before you killed me. That I’d return, even if you managed to hurt me.’

‘And?’

Artagan hesitates. Confusion ripples across that cold mask, before his eyes go wide with understanding. ‘Ah,’ he says. ‘Ah.’

‘What?’ Beau demands. She takes a step back, scanning the room for whatever he might have seen, might have summoned.

As quickly as the ice had formed, it falls away. Artagan claps his hands in delight. ‘Oh that makes so much more sense! I couldn’t figure it out, see, why would you try to hurt me? What had I ever done to you? And then I remembered what funny little creatures you humans are. How very opinionated you can be about things like morals and rules and laws and right and wrong and blah blah blah. And how very easily you can all be swayed when someone you love is in danger.’

Beau stiffens.

Artagan swoops forward, an unpleasantly pleased smile curling thin lips.

‘That’s what this is, isn’t it? You love her. No, wait—you’re in love with her. Isn’t that just darling?’

‘Doesn’t matter if I am.’

‘You are.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Beau snarls. ‘All that matters is you know now—if you fuck with her, if you hurt her again, I’ll make sure you’re laughing weird for centuries before I go.’

//

Jester is waiting for them outside of the room, not close enough to listen in exactly but close. She stands up from the barrel she had been using as a seat and looks expectantly between them.

‘Well? Beau? Well?’

‘I’m afraid she’s not exactly what I’m looking for,’ the Traveller—hood pulled up once more, and only Beau knows it is to hide the faintest sign of a welt across his cheek—says, smooth and sorrowful. ‘But we’ve...come to an understanding. Until next time, Beauregard.’

[puropoly]

favourite videogames?

as you could imagine

but! I’ll take the chance to talk about some of my fave vidya, because man shall not live on pokemon alone

Danganronpa/Trigger Happy Havoc

These are my favourite games aside of pokemon, it’s a trilogy and one I recommend to everyone I can. The story is about a selected group of students with incredible and unique talents. They are called the Super Duper High School Level students (which eventually got translated as “Ultimate Students”, but I’ll always prefer the first translation). These unique students (whose talents include “hall monitor”, “clairvoyance” (that only works 30% of the time), and “weeb”), find themselves trapped inside a school by the evil paws of monokuma (the little bear up there) who proposes a fun game for them: you can live in the school all the time you want, but if you want to get out, you’ll have to kill someone without getting caught. 

I love this game!!!! I’m absolutely and positively passionate about it. Its mechanic during the class trials is incredibly fun, and it includes some dating sim-alike time in the middle if you’re interested in that too. It’s hilarious and exciting, the story is absolutely unpredictable (for me it was, at least), it loves to take your theories about the situation and CRUSH them. If you like playing detective and solving mysteries this is a game for you

(my only critique is that it has some boring and unsavory anime cliche jokes, but it’s not something I can’t tolerate really)

Hylics

I don’t know what this game is about. I played it, I loved it, and I have no idea what the fuck happened. Hylics is an lsd dream made of clay, it’s artistic and downright batshit crazy. Here’s the trailer, for the curious. Basically if you’re sorta into rpg games and like weird and dali-like surrealism along with some silly jokes every now and then (three things I’m always down for) you should rly try it. You can finish it in a single day and it’s only 3 bucks on steam

 Undertale / Deltarune

Undertale is the shit, I don’t have to explain anything. I spent 50 bucks on a deltarune shirt and I would do it again. Toby Fox owns 

NiGHTS into Dreams

More on the line of Hylics surrealism, this is a game that’s super weird and for which I have immense affection. I didn’t play it when it was released (back in 1996) because nobody knew what a sega genesis was back them and I’m pretty sure most people don’t know what that is up until now. But NiD came to my life when I was tiny still, in 2005, and it’s artstyle, story and music influenced and inspired me artistically a whole lot, as well as some incredibly fanartists in deviantArt. Basically, you play as a magical jester of dreams that flies through the oniric life of two kids with life struggles, fight against nightmare creatures, and collect some kind of colorful candy floating in the air. It’s really beautiful, and honestly fun, if you have the proper controller to play it. It does a excellent job in making you feel you’re in a dream.

And that’s all for now, I’ve never been the biggest gamer on earth, I suck at the majority of game genres and almost always stick to pokemon, but I thought these deserved to be mentioned

[angstymarshmallow]

“The Jester” (Part 4 of Fantasy AU, a TRR Fanfic)

[A little note: A half-rushed but fully excited sequel to my fantasy au series. I’m still working out some of the kinks in my story, but I do think its going in the right direction with a couple moving pieces in place. Here’s part 4 - specifically focusing on Maxwell’s Beaumont’s role in this adventure, Let me know what you think, it keeps me motivated knowing people like this sort of unorthodox fic series :’)].

[Summary: Maxwell Beaumont is many things, but the one thing he isn’t is happy with living in the shadows formed from past mistakes from the Beaumont lineage].

[Word Count: 4342]

Tagging: @nerdpossible, @mfackenthal

Part 1: “The Beginning” Part 2: “The Adventurer” Part 3: “The Knight”

Maxwell Beaumont ignored the sounds of his older brother barking incessant orders for him to hurry as he slammed the mop obnoxiously across the floor.

Ever since they had ridden themselves of servants to save their finances, Bertrand’s prattling went from intrusive to nearly downright unbearable.

The nobleman thought their circumstances would have changed after a few weeks of tackling old debts and selling whatever antiques they could to keep themselves afloat and the greedy tax payers at bay, however his hopes of returning House Beaumont to its former unapologetically expensive lifestyle, were severely dashed when his brother begun calling off their monthly soirees.

Instead the Beaumont name continued to tarnish with the decline of their wealth, and their own family lineage’s hidden curse made it nearly impossible for them to completely fit in, despite how hard the elder Beaumont brother tried. Their once heavily decorated halls shrivelled in comparison to the past with and only each other for company; dull memories of a much grander time when they wined and dined begun to fade.

Now they did all the work; beginning with Bertrand’s cooking, Maxwell keeping their home spotless and ended with Bertrand managing the bookkeeping.  

It was, Maxwell decided – most difficult to stay inside such a home that had become so exceedingly boring.

When Bertrand gave him another terse order, Maxwell’s own patience waned. Nearly at its end, he snapped his head up to glare at his brother – the older of the two’s forehead crinkling enough to show the wear and tear of being in charge of House Beaumont, and his nearly angular face tilted at him as though daring the younger one to speak.

Maxwell held his tongue. He bit on the inside of his cheek before giving the usual off-beat smile that often placated any budding tension between each other. “I’ll be done before you know it brother.” He amiably said, forcing a note of cheerfulness inside his tone. Besides, it was what he had always excelled in; his aloofness and guile manner was a force of radiating happiness in almost everyone else’s eyes.

He could live with that truth, even though half the time it felt like a lie.

Nevertheless, he polished the floor until he could see himself clearly. He dusted every hall, nearly tripping once or twice over his own two feet. He wiped every window; paying special attention to the tiny spots of cracks and when he was finally done – he skipped happily along the hall to inform Bertrand of the news.

The house was clean and with no other chores, Maxwell wanted to escape as soon as possible. He hoped The Accords discussed interesting matters that Liam would be willing to share by the time he was ready to leave and visit his friend.

Maxwell was several feet away from his brother’s study when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Familiar feelings of apprehension filled him and made him shudder. It was a regular occurrence when it came to his own gift of sight, but unusual after weeks without anything. Flabbergasted for a moment, he stood still and waited for clarity – images, something to flare into inside his mind but when nothing came, he forced himself forward.

He approached Bertrand’s study with timid steps, until he could decipher the deep baritone of his voice. He froze for a moment and wondered why his brother was speaking so softly – as though he did not wish to be heard.

Maxwell’s body grew tense; shoulders stiffening as the apprehension he felt moments ago returned tenfold and his stomach filled with a sense of anxiety. His intuition was telling him something. It was imploring that something was wrong – and Maxwell rarely ignored his gut.

The study’s entrance door was closed.

Finding it odd at this time of the evening, Maxwell slid is mouth open to speak but thought better of it at the last second. He inched closer instead.

Wanting to know what his brother was saying, he pressed his ear by the door and listened keenly.

Truthfully, Maxwell didn’t know what to expect but whatever it was that Bertrand had decided was too important to mention – he would uncover it. He nodded to himself, resolute in his decision to meddle within his brother’s affairs despite the countless of times he had been discouraged not to.

At first, Maxwell wasn’t able to hear much of anything. And as he slanted his eyes closed, slowed the erratic beat of his heart, he could finally make out enough words to put several together.

“…pushed….too far…”

“….no…..was supposed to…”

“…this plan…wrong…”

Startled, Maxwell leaned closer, bracing his hands on either side of the door. He had no idea what Bertrand was talking about but based on the urgency in his voice, and the little he could understand – it couldn’t have been anything good.

Maxwell hoped if he only pushed just a little father – just a little more, he would be able to hear more – maybe even full sentences to help solve this quiet mystery that was beginning to befuddle him. However, the moment he did, the door creaked on its hinges and he accidentally shoved his shoulder too har, causing it to make another obnoxious creak before flying wide open.  

“Ooof.”

His body followed, tipping him forward until he was only able to let out a strangled gasp until falling flat on his face.  

“Oh heavens!” He dramatically rolled to his side, clutching his stomach and bracing a hand over his forehead; hoping it would diffuse some of the flare of anger in his brother’s eyes when he met his stare.

“Maxwell!”

No such luck.

Bertrand’s voice sounded outraged at the interruption.

Maxwell couldn’t understand why. He was after all – trying to be decisively quiet until the door had given out. If anything Bertrand should be mad at the door for being incapable of doing its only function. “We should really get better doors Bertrand,” He grumbled, as he got to his feet. “I was testing its structural capabilities – and it failed tremendously.”

Bertrand didn’t as much as crack a smile.

Maxwell’s shoulders slumped. He mumbled a stiff apology as his eyes flickered over. The words caught in his throat, and his eyes froze as curiosity quickly replaced the fear of incurring his brother’s wrath.  

Inside Bertand’s hands was a crystal paler than any Maxwell had ever seen. It was bigger too – nearly the size of his hand cupping it. It glowed momentarily and Maxwell blinked hoping it was a trick of light until it went completely dim.

“What sort of rock glows like that?” He pointed for emphasis until his brother quickly the oddly-shaped crystal stone inside his pocket.

“Nothing,” Bertrand snapped; lips forming a scowl. “Nothing to worry yourself with anyway. It is for work.” His stare shifted, “besides – why are you here? I’ve told you a hundred times, I strongly prefer not to be interrupted while I’m inside my study.” His dark eyes glinted with a hard edge as he waited for an explanation.

Not knowing how to respond, Maxwell shrugged for a moment; loosely lifting his shoulders while his mind was still stubbornly stuck on the crystal, now hiding inside his pocket.

“Maxwell.” His brother’s voice was dark and biting; until Maxwell forced himself to tear his gaze away.

“Sorry.” He murmured, “I was just letting you know I was finished that’s all.” No need to be so angry at me. He added more to himself than aloud. He wouldn’t dream of saying that aloud.

“Ah, very good.” Bertrand straightened himself upright and tucked his hands behind his back.

Silence suddenly filled the room, thick tension of two people that barely knew each other anymore. With Bertrand always working tirelessly on the estate and Maxwell wanderings across Cordonia – the two had never been as loyal and as estranged to each other all at once before.

The thought made Maxwell sad, but he didn’t know how to repair what was once between them. Bertrand would always be his brother – but there was no denying that their relationship hadn’t been the same since their accumulative debt finally caught up with them.

Bertrand cleared his throat, bringing Maxwell from his sullen thoughts. “Ah, perhaps we should prepare supper now.” He added a small smile.

Maxwell returned it, his spirits lifting immediately at the sight of his brother smiling. It wasn’t often he did that anymore. “Does that mean I get to help this time?”

The smile faded. A small frown remained in its place. “I suppose it depends on what you mean by help.”

An exasperated sigh left Maxwell’s lips, “the small stuff.” He muttered glumly. “I can peel the potatoes…and clean the plates.”

Bertrand clapped him on the shoulder as they exited the study, “wonderful! I knew I could count on you.”

He laughed and agreed good-naturedly.

They walked the hall along each other, with only their voices filling the silence of a house that had once seen a great deal of people nearly every night. It felt lonely sometimes, but Maxwell knew as long as he had his brother – he would never truly be alone.

-

Supper was ready nearly two hours later – Maxwell’s forgetfulness had caused several delays to their food, but once they were both settled in front of their large wooden table – still elegantly dressed in royal embroideries, they were content to eat in silence.

Warmth and flavour filled Maxwell as his forked picked at the steam vegetables. He hummed in pleased delight that the food had faired as well as it did. “You should really look into running your own meadery,” he said between bites. “This is fantastic.”

“Please don’t speak with your mouth full of food,” Bertrand pointed his fork at him. “But thank you,” a brief smile flitted in place of his scowl. “I am flattered that you think I have grown to such a degree.”

Maxwell nodded emphatically, happy to see his brother pleased by his compliment. “Seriously, you would excel in it.”

“Enough,” He waved a dismissive hand, and the firmness in his one-worded answer made Maxwell realize this was no longer up for discussion. “My hands are tied enough as it is looking after our estate,” he rubbed his temple for a moment as though lost in thought.

“Bertrand,” Maxwell interrupted after some time. “Is that what this crystal is for?” He prompted, “the one you had in the study? Are you selling it for our finances –”

“No.” His answer had been so abrupt and harsh that Maxwell drew upright in his seat, startled.

“Bertrand –”

“I said no Maxwell.” He said crisply, eyes snapping at him. ���Cease this line of questioning because it will get you no further.” He angrily stabbed his fork into the meat on his plate. “It will help us but we do not discuss such matters at the dinner table.”

“It’s not like you wanted to discuss it to be begin with.” Maxwell quipped tartly back at him.

The fork paused, and the look Bertrand gave him, had been enough for Maxwell to sink farther into his seat. “That crystal is never to be mentioned again.”

Maxwell made a face at his food.

“Do you understand, Maxwell?”

He didn’t understand. What was so special about the crystal that it had to be kept a secret? What was it about the blasted thing that he wouldn’t even tell his own brother? “But Bertrand –”

“Do you understand?” He cut in darkly, waiting for his answer.

Maxwell uttered a long-suffering sigh. “…..as you say, brother.”

“Good.” Bertrand released his own sigh of relief before bringing his attention back to his plate, dabbing at the corner of his lips as he gestured with his fork. “Now, what do you think of the chicken?”

-

When they cleared the table, Bertrand rushed to excuse himself from the room, and Maxwell knew by his abrasive demeanour that his brother did not want company inside his study.

He glanced miserably after him as he stalked angrily down the hall. It didn’t take much for him to realize, he was still very upset with him. He couldn’t fathom why – all he wanted was to learn about the strange item inside his back pocket, and his own intuition had been adamant that something was amiss, though everything appeared to be normal.

At least Prince Liam would give him a much warmer greeting than his own brother.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Maxwell fetched his coat; deciding it was high time for him to distract himself from such unpleasantness as this. He would drop by the palace and hope The Accords meeting was interesting enough for Liam to have something to share. He tucked his lucky bracelet through his breast pocket as he searched for his boots.

There was a small hole near the soles of his feet, and as he examined his left boot; his shoulders sagged. It was small enough to remain unnoticeable by most; however now that he knew it was there – he could never un-notice it. His boot was just another reminder of how far they had fallen from grace, their Beaumont legacy growing dimmer and duller with each passing day.

Feeling dejected and lonely, Maxwell pulled them onto his feet and tied their strings before stepping towards the entrance of the estate.

No sooner had he taken another step that he heard an abrupt knock on the door. It was terse, quiet. And he froze, brows furrowed together as he stared blankly at it.

“Bertrand, Bertrand there’s someone at the door!”

“Then answer it Maxwell.” Came the response, bellowing from the open door’s study.

Rolling his eyes, Maxwell clucked his tongue and opened the door with a flourish. He beamed at the familiar figure in front of him – until his eyes met the figure’s tired stare and noticed several bruises running among their tawny arms.

Drake? His smile faltered. And the grim expression on Drake’s face dictated that this was not a social call.

“Sir Drake!” Maxwell said pleasantly enough, as soon as he recovered from the untimely visit. “I was just on my way to the palace, to what do I owe this –” He stopped short as Drake struggled to pass through the entrance; bracing himself against the door’s frame until Maxwell looped his arm around him. “Drake, what’s –”

Drake muttered something under his breath as the shorter man caught and stopped him from stumbling on his feet. He winced as he hurriedly helped him inside and didn’t speak until he was seated by their comfortable furniture, resting his bare forearms near the edge of his seat.

Maxwell tried for patience as a thousand different questions raced inside his mind. Why was he here? Where did all those bruises come from? A feeling of trepidation filled him as he met the knight’s solemn expression with a grimace.

He was having trouble even staying still once he waited for him to speak first. But the most important question that plagued him had to be asked and eventually, he had given up for him to break the silence first. “Are you alright Drake?” He tentatively asked, eyes skimming over him with concern.

Drake’s lips thinned and instead of answering right away, he heaved a sigh. Then, Maxwell watched as the walls Drake had often placed around himself had rebuilt itself; starting with his shoulders lifting and the careful look inside his eyes as he stood on steady legs to beckon to him. “Is Bertrand around as well?”

Maxwell eyed the parchment with the royal seal inside Drake’s hands in mild fascination and horror. The royal seal on anything had never meant anything good, and Maxwell had a feeling whatever the document said wasn’t going to bode well for House Beaumont. “He’s in his study,” he huffed, gesturing with his free hand down the hall. “But I wouldn’t go in there – he’s had very deliberate instructions to not be disturbed once he’s inside his study.”

“I see.” Drake pursed his lips, “but unfortunately for you both, I don’t care.” He said curtly, “and the only thing I feel inclined to care about or even have any sympathy for doesn’t extend towards you or Bertrand.” His voice had grown impatient, on the cusp of irritation. His grip tightened on the piece of parchment inside his hands. “Now, the queen herself had commanded me to deliver this to you both and for the sake of time, I require Bertrand’s immediate attention.”

“I’m sorry, I already told you – he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s in his study.” Maxwell’s own voice rose, uncharacteristically as Drake moved to fall into step with him the moment he stood.

“And I don’t like to be left waiting when I have more important things to do.”

“It is alright Maxwell,” A voice interrupted their bickering seconds before they both turned to find Bertrand leaning against a wall several feet away. His face was a somber mask as he watched Drake. “To what do I owe this pleasure Sir Drake?”

The knight handed him the parchment, wetting his lips as Bertrand’s eyes widened moments before he quickly unloosened its string. “It is probably better if you read the queen’s message for yourself.”

They both watched as a look of horror and pain flashed inside Bertrand’s eyes. “I see.”

If Maxwell hadn’t felt uneasy before – he did now. His stomach felt as though it was twisting with nerves, making it difficult for him to keep his mouth closed. “Bertrand – what does it say?”

“The Queen needs your services at once Maxwell.” He levelled him with a cautious stare as the younger Beaumont brother blinked several times; as if he had heard him wrong.

“My s-services?” He stammered. “But…it’s forbidden.” A lump suddenly formed in his throat and he shook his head at them. “I don’t understand, she has never approved.”

“It isn’t about approval,” Drake’s tone had grown in impatience again. His expression darkened with a sense that Maxwell could describe as only urgency. “It’s about doing whatever is necessary to recuse the prince.”

“Rescue the prince?” Maxwell echoed, grabbing the parchment out of his brother’s hand. “Let me see this!” He read it quickly and blinked several times, before reading it again. Oh no. His stomach dropped. It was worse than he thought.

Prince Liam had been kidnapped – whisked away from the kingdom by a bunch of radical mages. “Oh god, when did this happen?” He stared in horror at Drake and watched the man’s eyes break their careful mask for a moment long enough for him to see how truly devastated he was.

“This morning, during The Accords.” Drake sighed heavily, “we should have been more prepared. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“I’ll say.” Bertrand responded tersely. “You have all failed your utmost duty in protecting the crowned jewel of Cordonia.” He nearly spat, arms folding as he regarded Drake with a look of disdain. “If House Beaumont had been present –”

“I don’t think this is necessarily helping brother.” Maxwell interceded, giving his brother a pat on the back as he watched Drake’s shoulders stiffen. “What can we do?”

“Well as the letter said, they want you to try again. To see if you can find him.”

Maxwell bit the inside of his cheek, weighing his words and the implication Queen Regina left inside the letter. The Beaumont family’s reputation had been tarnished enough with their father’s own magical talents during the war. If Maxwell tapped into those abilities again…he was afraid of what that meant for their family in the future. “I cannot.”

“You have to.” Drake’s lips formed a frown. “Your queen commands you to.”

“He’s right. Despite the position it puts us in, we cannot ignore the Queen’s summons.” Bertrand gave his brother’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sure she’ll pardon any use of it on our behalf if we agree, but surely she must have mentioned the conditions we would work under.”

Drake’s lips quirked into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “She did mention compensations were in order.”

“All we want is to restore our family name.” Maxwell’s chin lifted stubbornly.

“Of course you do.” Drake murmured, lifting a sardonic brow.

From beside him Bertrand stiffened, and Maxwell’s own rare temper flared to life at Drake’s indifference to their circumstances. “You have no idea what it’s like being us. Being stepped on constantly, degraded for something that was outside your control, from birth –”

If Drake’s sudden laugh could be any more brittle and bitter, it would have shattered the windows inside their manor. Maxwell watched in alarm until the knight had shaken his head and sneered at them.

“The irony isn’t lost on me trust me, but it isn’t my place to say how foolish this all is.” Drake grunted, “I’m wasting precious time here instead of searching for the prince myself.”

“The nerve!” Bertrand interceded, pointing a finger at him which as far as Maxwell realized, Drake pointedly ignored. “You could at least address us with the proper respect of people from our stature.”

Drake continued speaking as though the older Beaumont hadn’t spoken. “But we are running out of options quickly and the queen had convinced me that this was the best alternative than me finding him on my own.”

“Well of course it is, you have no idea where to start.” Bertrand harrumphed.

“So, I trust this is enough.” Drake precured another parchment and Maxwell’s eyes widened as he read the queen’s crisp cursive over his brother’s shoulder. “My goodness, that is a lot of coin.”

“And not just coin Maxwell –” Bertand’s eyes sparkled with excitement as they drifted to him. “This a deed to restore our family’s name,”

“But,” Drake interrupted their premature celebrations by grabbing the parchment back and stuffing it inside his trousers. “This is a tentative offer that heavily relies on Maxwell’s help.” His eyes drifted over him, “if he can truly tell the future of course.”

“It isn’t,” Maxwell frowned. “It isn’t that simple –” magic had never been that simple.

“Of course, it is.” Bertrand clapped the back of his brother’s back, as though stopping him from saying anything else. “He will not disappoint, won’t you Maxwell?”

Drake still looked skeptical once Maxwell met his expression. He hesitated before nodding enthusiastically, “right of course.” The awful feeling inside his stomach was back, churning and making it difficult for him to keep a straight face as he cleared his throat. “Do you have something belonging to the prince?” He inquired, “it would make forming a connection easier.”

“Ah, right of course.” Hesitantly, Drake retrieved Prince Liam’s favourite ink, cupping it for a moment before dropping it into Maxwell’s waiting palm.

Nothing happened, not at first.

Despite Maxwell’s brows furrowing in concentration – no image had immediately come to life and as he gripped it tighter, Bertrand’s impatient glare made him want to sink into the floor. “Just a moment –” The longer he fixated on the ink, closing his eyes as his thumbs rubbed tiny circles across the pattern – the less he was able to hear the world around him; until his only awareness was the sound of his own heartbeat, slowing..

Then it happened.

A flash of images sprouted to life and grappled his mind so quickly that Maxwell had to clutch his temple. Pain flared and pulsed as images of the prince, Drake, himself and several others he had never met before blurred and mingled together.

A sharp cry escaped Maxwell’s throat as he tried to make sense of them in the flurry they erupted within his head.

He saw a raven-haired woman with wild curls and bright magic sparking from her fingertips. He saw another woman riding a blue scaled…dragon with her sword raised into an enemy of undead – he saw himself and Drake fighting back to back against hooded figures that felt as threatening as the moment Maxwell learned of his own lineage stripping away their rank in nobility.

And lastly he saw the prince – somewhere far away, past snowy mountain tops bound and gagged with a hooded figure standing in front of him. When he tried to push the pressure he felt inside his mind – he saw the hooded figure lift its cape, and his blood ran cold as their cool dark eyes seemed to bored through, as though they knew he was looking – searching for them. He saw their mouth move before he realized the telltale signs of casting and quickly retreated – hissing and clutching his head with bot hands as red-hot pain flooded his mind.

Ah. They had caught him.

Tremors racked his body as he struggled to stay on his feet.

“Maxwell!” Both Bertrand and Drake yelled, concern stretching their faces into frowns as Maxwell sagged against his brother.

It took several minutes for the pain to pass, and all the while Bertrand kept a comforting hand on his shoulder; mumbling soft words of encouragement while the pain had threatened to pull Maxwell under.

Drake was pacing uneasily across the room until Maxwell was able to sit upright inside the wooden furniture; his arms rubbing across the goosebumps that erupted across his flesh.

“Are you alright?” They both simultaneously asked, eyes flickering in concern.

Maxwell forced a smile, not quite knowing how to answer. Truthfully, the explanation was difficult to mull over – let alone tell someone else. As an oracle, he could see the past, present and the future; but with how quickly the images had assailed his mind – he had no idea what could become true versions of reality – and what wasn’t.

Yet one thing was for certain, he saw Prince Liam in the present – and the mage that had caught him spying on them – was one of the most dangerous people in the mage rebellion they were fighting against. Straightening his shoulders, Maxwell looked solemnly over his brother and the knight, tightening his hands until they were nearly stark white. 

“I think I know how we’ll be able to find Prince Liam.”

-

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

The 10 Scariest Moments of ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK?

New Post has been published on https://nofspodcast.com/10-scariest-moments-afraid-dark/

The 10 Scariest Moments of ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK?

Are You Afraid of the Dark? Is that a question… or a statement? Actually, for those of you who didn’t get nostalgic chills from reading that sentence, it is actually a title.

Are You Afraid of the Dark? was a children’s horror anthology series that originally ran for five seasons (1990-1995) but was then revived for two more seasons (1999-2000). The show focused on a group of teenagers who gathered in the woods every week, taking turns sharing their own tales of horror around the campfire. They called themselves The Midnight Society. If you were a kid in the ’90s, odds are you wanted desperately to be a member of this club. You may have even started your own Midnight Society. I know I did, except our meetings took place during recess instead of in the dead of night. So… The Afternoon Society? Regardless, we tried our best to be as scary as the show was.

And let me tell you, for a children’s program, Are You Afraid of the Dark? didn’t shy away from the scare factor. As soon as you watched the creepy intro featuring that terrifying doll (you know the one), you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into.

Now, we’re going back in time to revisit some of the scariest Are You Afraid of the Dark? episodes ever made. Submitted for the approval of The Midnight Society, I call this story… The Tale of the 10 Scariest Moments of Are You Afraid of the Dark?

  10. THE TALE OF THE DANGEROUS SOUP

Dr. Vink, the show’s reoccurring “nut-bag” of a character, owns a restaurant called The Wild Bore. The Wild Bore has become wildly popular due to Dr. Vink’s delicious house soup. The secret ingredient? Fear. Dr. Vink locks each of his employees in a room where they begin to experience their darkest fears. There is a scene in which one character, who is afraid of sharp objects (and yet works in a kitchen?), is locked in the room, strapped down, and screams her lungs out as a swinging pendulum drops from the ceiling and draws closer and closer to her stomach, Poe style. The child version of me immediately turned the TV off. For years I was convinced that, had I left the TV on, I would have witnessed this girl being sliced in half. SPOILER: She doesn’t. But my imagination filled the blanks with gory details.

Fun fact: The Tale of the Dangerous Soup also stars pre-Scream Neve Campbell.

  9. THE TALE OF THE SECRET ADMIRER

Meggie is getting notes from a secret admirer. How sweet! Just kidding, her secret admirer is actually a dead man stalking her from beyond the grave. There is a scene in which Meggie is home alone. She goes into the bathroom, bends over the sink to wash her face, and comes up to see the reflection of a burned man standing behind her in the mirror. In other words, kids, never wash your face. Ever. And don’t look into mirrors either. Not a good idea.

  8. THE TALE OF MANY FACES

Emma is a teen model who is hired as assistant to a popular theater actress. The catch? The actress is actually a witch who steals the faces of her young employees, turning them into faceless slaves. Ever wonder what you’d look like if your face was supernaturally stolen from your body? Scary. You’d look scary.

  7. THE TALE OF LAUGHING IN THE DARK

Josh is double-dog dared by his friends to go into a funhouse called Laughing in the Dark, which is rumored to be haunted by the ghost of Zeebo, a criminal clown. There is a dummy of Zeebo placed at the end of the funhouse, and Josh must steal its nose to prove that he walked through the whole attraction. While the dummy of Zeebo is quite creepy, nothing beats the moment when the real Zeebo appears. He’s only on screen for a couple seconds, but it’s enough.

Want a balloon, Georgie?

  6. THE TALE OF THE GHASTLY GRINNER

Ethan, an aspiring comic book writer and artist, gets his hands on a comic titled The Ghastly Grinner. It’s about a jester-like villain who turns people into giggling maniacs. Unfortunately for Ethan, the Ghastly Grinner escapes from the pages of the comic and starts turning everyone he knows into laughing freaks, complete with blue slime that oozes from their mouths. While the episode is meant to be more funny than scary, it is also downright terrifying all the way through. The only thing scarier than the Ghastly Grinner himself is what he does to his victims. There’s nowhere to run!

  5. THE TALE OF THE LONELY GHOST

When Amanda is carted away to spend a summer with her aunt and nasty cousin Beth, she finds out the house next door is rumored to be haunted… duh! It is only a matter of time before Beth and her friends (DOUBLE-DOG!) dare Amanda to stay the night in the haunted house. She discovers that the rumors are true when the ghost of a little girl appears in a bedroom mirror. The episode is actually quite bittersweet in the end, but the image of that ghost girl standing in the mirror was a sleep killer for kids everywhere.

  4. THE TALE OF THE DEAD MAN’S FLOAT

When Zeke begins receiving swimming lessons from his new friend Clorice, the two learn that the school swimming pool was built on a graveyard. No way! Now a vengeful spirit haunts the pool. This spirit looks like an undead monster straight out of Creepshow. The scene where the ghost rises out of the pool is considered by many to be the scariest moment of the series.

  3. THE TALE OF MIDNIGHT MADNESS

When a dying movie cinema shows a mysterious Nosferatu-esque film, provided by the one and only Dr. Vink, their theater flourishes again. People come from all over to watch this terrifying movie for themselves. But one night after closing, the vampire escapes from the film and sets his eyes on the theater workers. If you’re like me, you have never forgotten the image of the vampire’s long veiny fingers reaching out of the movie screen.

2. THE TALE OF THE QUICKSILVER

When brothers Aaron and Doug move into their new house, they discover it is haunted by two ghosts; that of an innocent teenage girl and the evil spirit who killed her. There is a scene in which the evil ghost comes out of the bedroom wall and slowly approaches Aaron and Doug, grinning at them while they scream in terror. This is a well-placed jump scare that made me cry out, even rewatching it now as a grown man. It is a legitimately scary moment and I don’t know how the creators of the show got away with it. Which leads me to the #1 scariest episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark?…

  1. THE TALE OF THE NIGHT SHIFT

Expel from your mind that this is a kid’s show. Just forget all about that right now. There is a vampire loose in the hospital that Amanda works at. He is bloodthirsty and terrifying and is feeding off all the night shift workers. There are many true horror film moments in The Tale of the Night Shift, but the scariest moment takes place only a couple minutes in. A teenage volunteer goes to the boiler room to check on a disturbance. He finds a teenage girl who disappears around a corner. “C’mere. I wanna show you something,” she says. But when he comes around the corner, the vampire is there. I watched this episode with my dad once to see how he would react to this “old kid’s show.” He nearly jumped out of his seat. Kid’s show? Please.

  Let us know what your favorite ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK? episode is. We’d love to hear all about your nostalgic childhood trauma. 

[angstymarshmallow]

“The Untimely Meeting” (Part 5 of Fantasy AU, a TRR Fanfic)

[A little note: I don’t know what inspiration had taken over me. But I’m all done chapter five of my fantasy au trr series! I’m pretty happy story-wise with how its developing. I would love to know what people think, thank you so much to people that are invested in this as much as I have become lol :’)].

[Summary: After leaving Cordonia, Maxwell Beaumont and Sir Drake Walker travel northwards, stopping to rest in the small village of Willesden on their journey to  Tyiht Highlands].

Part 1: “The Beginning” Part 2: “The Adventurer” Part 3: “The Knight” Part 4: “The Jester”

Tags: @nerdpossible, @mfackenthal

It was not as easy as Maxwell had thought it would be to find Prince Liam. In fact, it proved to be quite infuriating.

Once they left House Beaumont later that evening at Bertrand’s and the Queen’s insistence, Maxwell quickly begun realizing how far their travels would take them, in hopes of rescuing the Prince. After discussing in length with his brother, Drake and the Queen herself, their little meeting had pointed towards following the direction of the mountains, where Maxwell’s vision was undoubtedly coaxing them towards.

It was indeed a vision and after the heavy scrutinization of maps that depicted neighbouring countries, they were able to discern the mountains far off in the distance, belonged to Tyiht Highlands. Maxwell occasionally caught several glimpses of these mountains but nevertheless, it was going to be a journey. A journey that would take at least a month’s worth of provisions and supplies.

Yet, deep down Maxwell believed the nearly ice-covered mountaintops could take more. Perhaps two months on foot, if the maps the Queen had provided was to be correct. And by horse, Drake believed they had a better chance of cutting their journey’s length into nearly half – only by passing through several small towns, and avoiding as many larger cities as they could, in order to find the quickest yet safest path to rescuing the crowned jewel of the kingdom.

Drake had no doubt they were going to run into trouble, and the knight proclaimed it was far less risky to remain in the most remote places possible.

It was not going to be easy. Maxwell repeated inwardly to himself for a second time as his eyes darted back behind him.

Already the time they spent on horseback with their burlap sacks attached to their shoulders; made the kingdom a near-distant memory. It had been bright when they left, the sun barely touching the skies. “Goodbye Cordonia.” He mumbled into thin air, suddenly feeling homesick and saddened by the abrupt loss.

He tightened the reins on his horse, sighing again. He always wanted adventure – longed for it, but felt unprepared for whatever was ahead of them. He was more than ready to cower at the mere thought of all the possibilities laid out in front of him and without the kingdom’s protection, he was struck with the idea of high-tailing it back.

He shook his head. He couldn’t afford to be a coward – not now. Not when his brother was counting for him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment; he couldn’t let Bertrand down.

Despite his resilience at remaining on their path, Maxwell couldn’t help but linger on the potential dangers out here – out of the safety of the kingdom. His visions would make it exceptionally harder now that they were on their own. With no medicinal properties to contain them, and Drake’s own insistence to utilize them – he knew it would become impossible to ignore them, his gift that had been a comfort as often as it had been a burden in his entire life.  

“Don’t look so glum,” Drake interrupted from beside him. His own eyes had kept ahead as his horse trotted a few feet in front of Maxwell’s. “Were you not the one that had always complained about there never having enough adventure?” He paused, “I should think you would be at least excited for having your wish finally granted.”  

Maxwell sighed, shoulders sagging slightly. “You’re right. I used to say it all the time at court.” He admitted, “but now that it is finally here – I am terrified at the idea. Especially since my brother isn’t here with me.”

“Bertrand is needed at the palace.” Drake said curtly.

“I know that….” He trailed off for momentarily, thinking of all the years he spent with Bertrand in the past – the good and the bad, the downright insufferable. Whether they used to study books together, attend soirees and clean under the same sun, or even the idle dinner conversations – through it all, he realized that he would miss his brother. “There’s…a small part of me that misses him,” he confessed, “even though it hasn’t been long since we left…I feel that there is already something missing.” His lips twisted into a bitter smile, “perhaps I just miss being able to drive him crazy.”

“You’re good at that.” Drake observed, “driving people to the brink of insanity – you often did that enough at court.” He snorted, pulling lightly on the reins of his horse to keep it from straying from the stoney path.

“That isn’t fair.” Maxwell objected thinly, “you barely paid any attention to me. How would you even know?”

“Because the attention I did pay to you, made me realize how annoying you are.” Drake grunted.

“You’re the one to talk,” He retorted with a laugh. “All you did at court was brood all the time and when you weren’t brooding, you were complaining to Liam how no one would ever understand you.” He rolled his eyes, “it isn’t as though you had ever given anyone the proper chance to. All you did was put up walls – while the rest of us kept trying to tear them down.”

Drake was silent for a moment as he keenly listened to the nobleman’s words. He was right – to some degree, he always had walls around him. Around his heart. It was all he knew after the childhood he had – after his parents died and his own sister’s whereabouts were still a mystery.

Letting people in never made sense for Drake anymore; if they would only end up leaving.

“I do not understand how you’re as close as you are to Liam, when you two are completely different.” Maxwell added.

“Heh.” Drake couldn’t help but shake his head ruefully at his words. The irony wasn’t lost on him and truthfully, he didn’t know what Liam saw in him that night when they met over a decade ago. “I suppose it will continue to remain a giant mystery.” He shrugged, “as I cannot imagine our friendship being something easy to understand.”

Maxwell surveyed him from the corner of his eyes, faintly tapping the sides of his horse once to catch up to him. “No, but it does make for quite the story.” He turned and beamed a smile at the knight; hoping that it was a story he would be interesting in sharing.

Drake’s eyes narrowed in disdain. “No.” He responded curtly, keeping his jaw clenched at the less than conspicuous request.

Maxwell’s lips turned into a pout; one that nearly made the corner of Drake’s own lips twitch. “Please Sir Drake, I am sure you met under very interesting circumstances.”

Drake remained stubbornly silent.

“One that is probably a tale for the ages.” Maxwell added, smiling earnestly at him. “A tale that I could tell my grandchildren for years and years to come.”

“Absolutely not.” Drake frowned, “wait – you have grandchildren?” Was he not a little young –

“Oh no!” Maxwell waved a dismissive hand, chuckling at the slight mortification flitting across Drake’s features. “I just meant in the future; I’m sure it would make for a good story.”

It was a good story. A sad but good story; one that Drake had never given much thought when he was younger – when he had been foolish in his youth. Swept by ideas of fairness; it didn’t take long for the world to turn him bitter. Now that he was a man in his own right, the once bitter sweetness of their friendship had become apart of history – easy to push aside, but hard to forget. It became a core part of who he was, he realized. And it stood to reason that it was partly responsible his tendencies to stay out of courtly life as much as possible.

Nevertheless, it was a story he was uncomfortable telling. A story Drake quite frankly –  did not want to tell, not now – and perhaps not ever. Especially to someone he barely knew; a nobleman nonetheless that was heavily scrutinized by the crown due to his own family’s namesake.

Whoever Maxwell Beaumont was, Drake decided he had trouble trusting him. At least he did not think he could, not yet – not when magic ran through his veins, thick like water. “Maxwell,” he made a sound of strangled annoyance under his breath as he gave the man a sideways glance. “I do not like repeating myself, my answer is no and it will never change.”

Maxwell sighed at the note of irritation in the knight’s tone. If this was how tense it would remain between them, he could only imagine how much worse it would become if they couldn’t find some sort of common ground. Something solid to stand on before they could ultimately butt-heads. And as long as they were on their own, with this nearly impossible task ahead of them, they were going to be in trouble if they couldn’t grow to trust each other.

Sitting here on his horse, Maxwell held the belief that the longer they were on this quest to find Prince Liam, the more dangerous it would become. If his visions were to believed – he had a gnawing feeling growing within the pit of his stomach that they would need to rely on each other if they were going to have any chance of survival.

-

Maxwell begged and pleaded for Drake to stop in the next town over. When afternoon finally became evening, and the last glimpse of the sun begun its descent beyond the horizon, Maxwell was finding it difficult to remain calm and not agitated by the constant sound of silence and the horses’ hooves beneath their rocky path.

It had been nearly a day since they left Cordonia and he was tired, aching and barely satisfied from the last time they stopped to have a brief supper.

Maxwell was bored and more than that – he thought the only way to quell his nerves was a good night’s rest from the comfort of a bed and not the frustratingly bulky bedroll he brought with him. An ache was beginning to form; one that travelled the length of his back and stopped near his legs as he tightened the reins on his horse.

He thought if they rode any longer – he would have difficulty setting his feet on the ground the next time they had to walk.

Much to Drake’s reluctance and the nobleman’s constant prattling; Drake had finally agreed as the sun was finally swallowed by darkness.

Willesden sat near the atop a hill.

A small town in every sense of the word – at least compared to Maxwell’s idea of a well-off town.

Willesden was on the outskirts of a bordering city a few miles more north– and due to its infrastructure, and close proximity, the town itself had very little. There was hardly anything worth trading and the only true attraction it held was an inn near the center of the sqaure. Not interesting by any means, it was both a place for people passing to rest their weary bones by the expansive nature of the first and second floor and also, a place to forget about one’s troubles.

The ale in town was decent enough for Maxwell to want seconds, and thirds. By the time he was settled on his fourth drink, Drake’s own lips had curled into a frown until he started drinking himself.

“Lighten up Drake.” Maxwell said breezily, slugging his arm over the taller man’s shoulders.

“This isn’t even good ale.” Drake mumbled, pursing his lips. Yet at Maxwell’s insistence, he chugged the rest of his wooden cup and nearly coughed out his longue as Maxwell laughed. “This is shite, isn’t it?” He sputtered, almost glaring at the bartender whose beefy arms folded at the sound of Drake’s insult. “What happened to good ol’ whiskey?”

“Afraid we don’t have that here, sir.” The way the bartender said sir made Drake inclined to believe it was more of an insult than a form of any reverence.

“I think what my dear friend meant to say here –” Maxwell said quickly, defusing the situation with a disarming smile. “We aren’t used to this type of ale.” He wasn’t convinced entirely that this ale was more ale than piss, but he supposed it was better than nothing. “If you’d be a good gentleman and keep the drinks coming, yes?” He dropped a small pouch of coins in front of counter.

The bartender curled his lips before nodding slowly. He cupped the pouch and drifted off in making another round of drinks.

Drake turned to scowl at Maxwell. “That money wasn’t for ale.” His tone was accusatory.

“Oh, it wasn’t?” Maxwell fluttered his eyelashes innocently. His mouth betrayed him with a smile. “Oh heavens, I had no idea. My mistake.”

His scowl deepened. “You’re giving me less and less reasons to trust you.”

“Relax, Drake. Haven’t you ever wanted to take a break before?” Maxwell paused to hold up a finger before the knight could protest. “I can’t imagine the sort of dull things you do everyday as a knight. At least one night – where you aren’t being all knightly and boring could do wonders for your soul.”

“We have different ideas of fun.” Drake muttered, pursing his lips.

He turned to squint at him, really squint at him. “You really going to turn down a night of drinking?”

Before Drake could answer, another voice interrupted. One that was smooth as though freshly made butter and yet had an edge of huskiness that caused his pulse to jump. “Yeah, you’re really going to turn down a night of drinking?” He watched as Maxwell’s eyes widened before he swerved his own gaze to meet the stare of a woman sitting several paces away.

-

Robyn hadn’t meant to interrupt them.

Truthfully, she was having more than enough fun watching them bicker and banter back and forth for the past several minutes since entering the inn. However, watching them gave her growing awareness. Her life was lonesome. She was the epitome of it - always moving from city to city – always keeping herself nomadic in case the next crowd of angry villagers figured out what she was.

When she interrupted them, it was done a whim. She felt nearly compelled to as though something unforeseen was working against her. And it was only in the favor of the slightly younger man, who sat straighter and had the posture of someone that held importance – his lilting voice had sounded too pretty to belong in Willesden. His hair was dark and smoothed from his face, parted neatly through its rick darkness. His clothes were fashionably tailored too, and she wondered if they knew how much of a target they were – dressing the way they did. Up until when she had interrupted them, his dark eyes held a playful teasing – a display that suggested the nobleman knew how to have a good time.

And Robyn liked having a good time.

The other man had been distracting but for a completely different reason. His jaw was prominently tight, as though he had trouble being comfortable in his own skin. His shoulders broad, and she thought as her eyes caught his muscles once they flexed – he had an incredibly physique and scars running along his taut arms of a man, capable of fighting. It was a pity his dark chestnut hair was sordidly unkempt, an almost ragged length. She thought he would have been far more handsome if he had taken proper care of it. And yet, it was his eyes that captivated her – held her rooted for a moment.

Once they drifted towards her; a deep and earthy colour of brown – the witty remark she had for interrupting them had quickly died. And a spark she had not anticipated – ignited inside her, leaving her completely flabbergasted. She blinked a few times, trying to find her bearings again when the man beside him spoke.

“You!” He pointed at her.

Robyn blinked again and cocked her head, with her curls shifting to obscure some of her face as she did. “Yes me – have we met before?” She frowned lightly, trying to place his face but came up empty. It would not be the first time she had forgotten someone, although if she had spent any real time with the man in front of her – it would have been beneath sheets and not idly speaking.

“Uh no,” the man said quickly.

The other – the one that had distracted her with his rugged appearance, returned a scowl on his face. He didn’t look very happy at her interruption. “We were having a closed conversation.” He said crisply.

Robyn could practically feel the venom inside his voice and laughed.

The few cups of ale she had already consumed to ignore her own troubles were beginning to kick in. She slid off her seat to saunter closer. “Were you?” She drawled. “I wouldn’t exactly call it closed if half the tavern could hear you.” She murmured without missing a beat, placing a hand on the wooden counter. “I imagine a closed conversation,” she drawled the words out and watched in satisfaction as a light blush scalded his cheeks, “does not include half of us listening.”

“You have to excuse my friend here.” The other man interrupted, grinning up at her. “Drake doesn’t know how to have fun – but I on the other hand,” his eyes swept her up and down with an appreciative glimmer inside them. “I can be loads of fun.”

She grinned. She was beginning to like him. Anyone that knew how to have fun was the type of person she enjoyed being around – at least for a little while before slinking back into nothing. “Well met fun, I am extra fun.”

He laughed, chugging down his drink as the bartender delivered two more. “I think I’ll like you! Bar man, uh –” he jerked his chin in her direction. “Another one for my lady friend here!”

Robyn twirled a lock of her hair and batted her eyelashes, delighting in the fact that she could con him so easily into drinks. “I would be your lady all night for ale.”

As two of them giggled, Drake’s lips tugged into a frown. He stopped the woman from completely stepping even more than an inch closer towards Maxwell. Whether or not he wanted to, he knew it was his duty to get them both towards Tyiht Highlands in one piece, and that did not include stopping for more than a night of rest.

Whoever this woman was – distracting or not, he didn’t trust her.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” He kept his voice exceedingly cool, despite feeling aggravated at her insistence to flirt with Maxwell. “I would prefer if –”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport Drake!” Maxwell interrupted, throwing his hand over his shoulder again. The man was barely able to keep steady and Drake had to keep him upright with a free hand to stop him from stumbling out of his seat. “Can’t you see this lady’s looking for a good time?”

Drake regarded both their eager grins with a sigh. He could see the appeal – her cheeks were flushed with excitement, almost rosey across her nearly coffee-coloured skin, and her lips that curved the moment he glanced at them were distracting in every sense of the word. But it wasn’t until his eyes met her teasing stare that he thought there was more going on to this woman than meets the eye. She was a mystery.

And Drake did not like mysteries.

“If it’s a good time she’s looking for,” Drake finally spoke, staying stubbornly between them, “then it is a good thing we are in this tavern. Surely, she could have a good time with anyone else.” He finished brazenly. Without thinking he gestured to her through a flicker of his wrist,t hen immediately cursed at his own mistake – at the heavy implication.

Perhaps he had already consumed too much alcohol – making such a brazen statement that caused his own cheeks to suddenly burn brightly. “What I mean to say is,” he stammered; fumbling to get his words in the right order despite her abruptly shifting closer – too much closer. “You seem like the type of lady to have a good time no matter who the other person is.”

A full set of perfectly white teeth shone at him as she smiled.

Drake found it suddenly difficult to tear himself away as she continued to close the distance between them. Suddenly, he wanted to throw Maxwell at her, and foolishly flee – thinking the abrupt change in the atmosphere between them was a bad sign because his heart was beating at an erratic pace, the more distance she closed between them.

“I don’t know, you two look like loads of fun to me.” She emphasized the last bit, dragging her free hand across his shoulder and finally resting by his jaw. “Why should I look anywhere else, when right here could be exactly what I’m looking for?”

Involuntarily, he shuddered at the touch. It sent the same spark he felt earlier through his veins. Blinking down at her in confusion, he took a cautious step back and nearly slammed into Maxwell.

“Hey!” Maxwell protested, breaking whatever trance Drake had felt himself pulled under.

He forcefully tore himself from her stare. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Another set of drinks had arrived and much to his relief, she shifted her gaze to their drinks before grabbing one and jutting it in their direction. “To new friends?” She chimed, her voice oozing of friendliness.

“To new friends!” Maxwell chimed in before Drake could object, grabbing his own drink to clink noisily against hers.

A bit of ale spilled, splashing across Drake’s face as he grabbed his own drink and covered his face with his other arm.

The two of them collapsed into giggles and the woman clutched onto Drake without thinking for support.

He straightened, shoulders bunching until she met his stare again. Sparkling eyes stared up at him as she smiled again. “What’s your name?” He suddenly asked, the words splitting out before he could stop them.

He watched her cheeks brighten and she tucked a wild curl behind her ear. “I’m your drinking partner for the rest of the night.”

Without waiting for him to respond, she reached over to playfully touch Maxwell’s arm. “And I’m yours too, let’s all have a jolly good time!”

Something inside Drake’s mind was nagging for him to question her further, but the rest of him was swept up in whatever charm had dazzled him tonight; and with ale in hand. He drunk himself into oblivion – laughing along with the odd company he found himself in.

-

The sound of snoring confirmed Robyn’s suspicions that they had both fallen asleep. After the hours blurred into morning, she had accompanied them to their room, gripping both their arms as they took to the old creaky stairs. They were far too drunk to protest and had amiably accepted her company. Although Drake had been a complete gentleman, making a wide berth when she suggested they shared the bed, while Maxwell had complained about having to surrender the bed.

Drake was surprisingly nice as a drunk, often not meeting her gaze and blushing; stumbling more than once while they spoke. She wondered idly why he didn’t spend more time drinking, since it turned the surly man she met hours ago – into someone almost friendly, and fun.

The bed creaked slightly as she rolled to her sides. Taking her time, she lifted herself from the rotting wood and made a quick sweep as another creak filled the room. 

Much to her relief, the two men she had spent the entire night drinking with were still fast asleep.

The younger of the two; the nobleman had charmed her through his childhood stories and the brother he spoke fondly of. And as her eyes drifted over his slumped form – fallen asleep by the wooden chair near the half-cracked window, she almost felt guilty for stealing his coin purse.

Almost.

He seemed good enough a man. He would make a proper woman happy, but she was neither a proper woman nor in the habit of being kind to strangers. She had once, but life had taught her differently. Even the most innocent are capable of bad intentions.

Her eyes shifted to stare at the other man. The man that left her intrigued and with a different impression than she had of his friend. He was quieter when they spoke, until he drunkenly mentioned his standing as a knight of some kingdom she had half-listened to. Now that she had a good look at him, she saw it. His presence held a quiet power, a higher authority of importance. And she spotted the golden hilt of his sword by his hip earlier during the night.

He was undoubtedly important, they both were – which made them easy targets in a place like Willesden.  

Robyn rubbed her temples, impressed with her own willpower for not drinking too much this time. Too many times in the past she had gone too overboard with her doe-eyed flirty act, and had ended being left out in the cold. Being an adventurer was not cheap and it was moments like this where her own skills were put to the test.

Pocketing the pouch, she took from Maxwell’s burlap sack– she felt trepidation settle inside her chest. “They were nice to me,” she mutters to herself, tightening her grip around the pouch. “I shouldn’t be stealing from them.” She felt something when they were all together – laughing and talking, drinking together as friends did.  

But friends did not do what she was about to do it. They could not be friends on the very same principle.

As she slipped the pouch of coins inside her back pocket, she took another glimpse at Maxwell; shoving the guilt that unfurled itself aside. She stashed it away in a box she kept other unpleasant things; beyond the furthest edges of her mind where she could pretend they no longer existed.

Besides, it had been almost too easy to be criminal.

His friend on the other hand, would not be as easy to steal from.

Her eyes drifted to where he sat. His head fell to one side, tucked by his shoulder and his long legs stretched out in front of him. She hesitated as she watched him, feeling just as reluctant to take coin from him.  Unlike his friend, he did not keep his gold pieces in his burlap sack and after finding it empty, she assumed he kept it on him.

Still, the difference was immeasurably. Standing several feet in front of him, with a proper look at his imposing stature, she could see it. Now that he wasn’t wearing a perpetual scowl, at least he was reasonably attractive.

His brow and lips were relaxed, making him appear younger, and she imagined briefly what it would have been like for his earthy brown eyes to suddenly open and glance fondly up at her for more than the split seconds they had earlier, when they had shared ale.

Shaking her head, Robyn inched closer.

She took her time, ensuring every step to close the space in between was measured and careful. She didn’t want any of the floorboards to creak unnecessarily and she did her best to keep her breath steady until she was nearly two feet away from his slumped form; snoring loudly by the front of the door.

She battled with her own sense of guilt again as it pricked her brain – burrowing and causing roots of doubt to grow.

She didn’t know what it was about these people that was suddenly making it hard for her to con them. No. It was because they had been kind to her, and although they were not the first to – they did so without any true suspicions – without demanding more.

They’re only kind to you because they don’t know who you are. What you are capable of. A tiny voice inside her insisting, shoving the guilt away with a firm yank.

Squaring her shoulders, Robyn stepped to close the rest of the distance. Holding her breath, her fingers travelled the length of his trousers and tailored shirt. She was surprised and mildly satisfied when her fingers met muscle underneath the fabric – lean and sharp; confirming that he was indeed a man that kept in shape.

When her fingers cupped the pouches around his lean hips; hooked by a belt – she nearly uttered a cry of relief. Instead, she settled for pumping her hand in the air. 

Yes, she thought triumphantly to herself.

Cautiously, she took her time in hooking her fingers around the hoops they were snagged against, tugging until they fell through.

She was busily working the second loop when she felt him stir. 

Oh no. 

Trying to swallow against the abrupt panic, Robyn ignored the sound of his breathing. Heart suddenly hammering inside her chest, she forced her fingers to remain steady even as they threatened to tremble. If she wasn’t careful, the knight was going to awake and she would have a hard time explaining why she was kneeled in front of him going through his slacks instead of asleep.

The chair creaked with some effort and she froze.

It was too late.

Robyn gave a sudden gasp when he abruptly sat upright, grabbing her wrist despite the desperate attempt she quickly made to get to her feet. Swallowing down her fear, she glanced up hesitantly at him from her half-crouched position.

His eyes were furious. As dark as his irises were, it looked as though they were in no mood for excuses when she shrunk away from him.

“You were going to steal from us.” It was not a matter of question, however a-matter-of-factly stated as the knight stood on his feet.

Robyn could not fathom a lie; at least not a convincing lie anyway – this was pretty damning. Her mind was trying to come up with something – a distraction to get herself out here before the other one awakened. She didn’t like her odds, and once the other was up – it would be a lot harder to fight her way through this.

Magic hummed in her veins and whispered to her.

Maybe if I – no.

As soon as she had the thought, she quickly squelched it. She didn’t like magic without a plan – magic could be unpredictable, dangerous. If she was going to perform any spell, it must guarantee her safety. Besides – one spell gone wrong could fizzle out and weaken her – or even worse, she could destroy the whole top floor of the inn if she wasn’t careful.

“Yes,” She said slowly, finally answering his unspoken question. She held her hands up and ignored the sound of his first pouch falling beneath her feet. “But, can you blame a girl?” She tried to be coy, smiling up at him but it fell flat.

“Yes I can.” He took a threatening step closer while she took a step back. “There was something about you…I couldn’t place it.”

“Maybe it was my looks? My charming personality?” She joked, still looking warily around for any quick exit points as she backed in the opposite direction of the door.

“But now I know what it is.” His brows knitted into a frown, “you’re untrustworthy. Just like everyone else in this inn – you’re just out for yourself.”

“And tell me who isn’t?” She challenged, jutting out her chin. Her eyes caught the window and she couldn’t remember for the life of her how much of jump it was down the patch of grass surrounding the inn. She was formulating a half plan as she took another step and this time, in the direction of the half-cracked window.

Drake couldn’t help but feel a stab of rage building as he watched her. He hadn’t been able to place his finger on it when they met but now he knew why; at least half the reason why.

While apart of him felt oddly disappointed after spending a night of drinking together – the rest of him was struck with the certainty that his gut had been right. And they were foolish enough to agree that she had been harmless.

Looking at her now, he realized his mistake. He caught a glint of a dagger by her hip. Was that always there?

He touched inclined his head to the side, scrutinized her as her eyes swept across the room towards where the half-open window begun swinging back and forth.

She wasn’t going to jump…was she ?

She was still talking, babbling with little sense that Drake could think of before suddenly turning on her heels. She rushed towards the window.

Oh heavens, Drake swore to himself. 

He launched himself across the room, charging head-first the same moment she had broken into a run. They connected, and she let a strangled cry of outrage as his weight slammed into hers and knocked her off balance. They landed with a soft thud as his arms snagged her waist, pulling and burying her under his weight.

She cried out – probably in pain but Drake didn’t care. He ignored all sentiments that he should care as bitter resentment overwhelmed him. And the small stab of concern for her safety, quickly died.

She was now his enemy – an enemy he would not make the mistake of underestimating twice. “You – you” he stammered, “you are no lady.”

Her eyes – a blazing – almost golden brown seemed to glare through him. “And you are no gentlemen.”

An angry growl escaped from his throat. “I wasn’t the one caught stealing from someone else!”

Instead of replying to his indignant words, she gritted her teeth and head-butted him.

Pain sparked but Drake kept his hold firm, as she groaned. “Give us back anything else you stole – you petty thief!”

She bit her lip until it drew blood, lowering her stare until they fell near the waistband of his slacks. He froze however before he had any chance of stopping her; she brought her knee immediately forward – hitting its mark as it connected to his nether region.

The pain he felt before was nothing compared to what he felt now. Pain erupted and eyes pricked with tears. He cursed foully, loosening his grip in order to cup himself with one hand.

He felt her hands shove against him and was unprepared for how strong she was. He staggered back, enough for her to slip from underneath him. When he tried to yank her leg back, she twisted and kicked him – her foot hitting the tip of his jaw.

Swearing, he rolled over, cupped it while she scrambled to her feet.

“Wait!” He couldn’t help but yell, still cupping himself as he limply got to his feet.

She froze near the door, whirling back to stare at him. 

The fury had died inside her eyes. “I’m sorry,” and she really did look sorry; biting her bottom lip and glancing at him through her eyelashes. “I knew you two were being kind…and I took advantaged of that. But you don’t understand.” She tapped her chest, “ - life isn’t fair. There’s winners and losers, and if you really–”

“Watch out!” Drake interrupted, yelling at her loud enough for Maxwell to stir several feet between them.

The front door had swung open and four people barged in, not bothering to keep quiet before they left them cornered. 

His warning had given Robyn enough time to scramble back, until she was nearly beside him with both hands raised up as the four figures assembled to block the door.

“What in seven hells?” Robyn’s eyes widened.

Drake examined their clothes; noticing their cowls had obscured their face was similar to the mages he saw almost two days ago. However, the sight of the brunt looking weapons attached to their hips made him relax slightly. “They’re mercenaries.”

“How do you know?” Robyn whispered to him, still ready to flee at any given notice.

Drake didn’t answer, instead he brought his hand to his hip…and immediately swore when he realized his sword was across the room; nestled safely underneath Maxwell’s seat. Maxwell who was completely unaware, still taken by sleep – somehow through this entire ruckus. He must have drunk far more than Drake realized.

Frowning, he watched as the four of them circled, cutting off any attempt of fleeing by surrounding all four sides of them. A little of the tension in his shoulders vanished when he felt the press of her smaller form of her own back pressed against his.

“Friends of yours?” She asked jerking her head at them.

“No.” He muttered. But he rarely believed in coincidences.

“Ah, well that’s comforting.”

The corner of his lips twitched. “If you’re planning to stay around to help me figure it out, then perhaps I will have answers for you then.”

Instead of answering, she feinted right once one of the figures broke the line. The attacker missed her by mere inches as she twisted her body to dodge his incoming blow.

Taken off guard, the man fumbled and Drake pressed the advantage. Punching the man square into the jaw, he tittered forward and staggered. Robyn ducked a second blow from another attacked and swept the legs from under the first man.

The man fell in a heap and struggled to get back to his feet until Drake yanked him by his cowl – swiftly into the wood.

He did not move after that.

The three other figures drew themselves back as though reassessing the situation.

“You think they’ll leave us alone?” Robyn muttered hopefully, darting her eyes back up at Drake.

He snorted. “Unlikely.” He barely managed to speak before the three of them decided to attack together. Cursing, he drew the woman out of harms way a second before she was surrounded, yanking her back behind him. They’re fighting smarter. He couldn’t protect her and fight.

Although much to her credit, she kept up on her own – did a fair amount of fighting while getting hit in return, they were back to back to each other nearly panting until the man that had been left on the floor suddenly yanked Robyn off her feet.

“Hey!” She yelped in surprise as her feet swept from underneath. Pain arched up her spine as she landed; arms barely protecting her head in time before she could have sustained a serious injury.

But it bought the others enough time.

All three had ran at Drake at once – wrestling him from off his feet before capturing his hands behind his back.

“Restrain him!” One of them yelled before the other two dutifully followed.

“No!” Magic fizzled in the air, hissing and snapping from under Robyn’s fingertips as she tittered near the edge of losing control. She fought to keep it, pausing in defending herself and stared at her own fingers in horror. They sparked and she wiggled them slightly – not realizing the fist that was sailing in her direction would connect with her cheek.

She swore she felt something pop as the fist landed. She could not scream. Her throat ached and her vision blurred, but she could not scream as her world threatened to shatter. The last thing she saw was a flash of panic, mingled with pain and concern inside the knight’s eyes – before she descended into darkness.

-