#maybe alyster cross though. perhaps

[ghoulishtapir]

been rotating a prime defenders insert into the fallout show ..... making a hyperfixatuin soup if u will

william is the ghoul. but the more body horror ghouls and also southern . (would also say rgat in this case barb would actually be david. i mean its literally belltech -> vaulttec wgat can i say)

dakota is maximus but not as motivated by revenge more just by believing that the brotherhood is doing the right thing

ashe is lucy. isolated from real world until violently thrown into it and quickly having to adapt (and yknow. mark as hank and that whole situation works horribly great)

now. i was trying to figure out where vyncent would fit in. at first i was leaning towards him being more of his own thing not replacing a character, probably like an enclave experiment, but um. i realized a much funnier idea was that its the exact same thing (with some tweaks) as canon. he gets isekaied into fallout. he's still magic, hes still elf. but now in the wastelands.

n e ways just needed to write this down before i forgor but i want to draw it....

[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 13

Catch Up Here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 3k

Warnings: Exposition dump! 

A/N: This chapter and I are frenemies. On the one hand, I love delving into lore, on the other... I don’t like info dumbing, but... Yeah. Also, I didn’t get a chance to work on some things that I had originally intended but the good news is that the action picks up in chapter 14! I haven’t proofread so bear with me. 

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

"Vampires?" Peter huffed with a humorous chortle in his throat.

Maggie pinched the bridge of her nose, annoyed that he had interrupted her mid-sentence, "Not in the conventional Vlad the Impaler sense… but yes, for lack of a better term, 'vampire' is as accurate an explanation as I can give."

Theo chuckled under his breath, his body shaking with amusement, "Vampires. Now I've heard it all."

"Almost everyone in this room is a werewolf and you're a chimera, but for some reason believing in a well-established mythological creature just as popular as the werewolf is where you draw the line?" Stiles gawked at both Peter and Theo.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Peter folded his arms.

"Perhaps if you'd let Maggie finish what she was telling us, we'd have an easier time swallowing this 'vampires exist' pill," Stiles posited with some annoyance in his voice.

"Thank you, Stiles," Maggie said gratefully before continuing: "Okay so from what I've gathered, we know that these hunters never appear in daylight and that any effort to kill them hasn’t been successful as far as we know. And according to Derek, when you two were in the dream state, they mentioned something called the Mother Tree and one of them had a tattoo of a five-fold-knot. We also know they are warded off by burning sage."

"Oh, I get where you're going with this," Jonah plopped down onto several cushions and crossed his legs. "Sage is their garlic… right?"

"What?" Esme frowned, lost in translation.

"Because vampires can't stand garlic. So if these hunters are some type of vampires, then sage is their garlic," Jonah said excitedly. "Oh, oh, oh, does that mean that we have to whittle stakes to kill them?"

“They do suck people’s essences out of their body, don’t forget that,” Peter added dryly.

Jonah’s eyes went large and his jaw dropped, “Woah! Maybe they are vampires.”

"That's all well and good, Speedy, but that's not what I was getting at," Maggie patted his back appreciatively. "I was going to say that the Mother Tree is probably a very old Nematon and sage is an ancient ingredient used by druids for centuries, usually to cleanse negative energy and such. Naturally, this led Deaton and I to the legend of the liaths. And they in turn led us to--"

"Now I’m confused," Derek jumped in. "What's a liath?"

Maggie pursed her lips as she thought of the simplest way to explain it to them.

It was Deaton who chimed in this time, "The same way druid emissaries are a force for good and darachs are a force of evil, liaths are those caught in between. They don't really serve any one side."

Esme pulled out a scroll from a stack of papers shoved in the bookcase after Maggie whispered something in her ear. Once it was unrolled, a large portrait of several faces stared back at you from the crumbling paper. You gasped when you saw what looked to be a perfect illustration of Alyster and Astrid and that kitsune -Kaze- from before.

“Are these the guys who attacked you in the church in Mexico?” Maggie’s dark nails scrapped over the paper slightly and the noise made a few of the werewolves in the room cringe.

"That's impossible," Peter chocked on his words as he took a closer step to see the scroll better. "They look exactly as they did in your memories..."

"They haven't aged a day," Liam said in amazement.

"I thought so," Maggie popped her knuckles, bangles sliding down her arm nosily, "That is one of the few remaining iterations of an ancient order known as the Venatores -which Stiles told me you had already figured out thanks to Lydia’s translations. Over the years they’ve been called different names: Order of Osiris, Order of Sagittarius, The Solstice Hunters… it goes on and on. They've been around for thousands of years."

"Why?" you finally spoke, but your voice was shakier than you would have liked. "What do they want?"

Derek's eyes fell on you when he heard the subtle quake in your words, he instinctively took a step closer to you but then stopped himself from moving any closer. That awkward tension was still strong between you two. You dreaded the fact that you'd have to talk about the kiss... eventually.

Markus rubbed your arms to comfort you, it helped but not by much.

Maggie opened her mouth to answer you but couldn't pull through. Having sensed Maggie's distress from trying to answer your question, Esme laced her fingers with hers in a silent act of assurance.

"What is it?" you asked frantically, eyes searching the pile of notes and sketches and open books for any clues. Markus held you fast so you didn't shake like a leaf in front of everyone.

Theo exhaled loudly, his fingers scratching at his eyebrow, "Isn't it obvious. They want what they've always wanted. You. Dead. The real question is why?" He turned his attention back to Maggie, ignoring your distraught expression.

A hush fell over the room and you could see Markus's eyes squint in Theo's direction when you turned to jelly in his arms from dread.

"He's not wrong," Peter mumbled and Derek jabbed his side with his elbow forcing a cough out of Peter’s mouth.

You took in a deep breath and sat down on a chair, head in your hands as you blinked back the image of Alex lying dead on the ground and Scott and Derek being cornered by the hunters. Your life was turning out to be one great big nightmare, and right now you were beginning to resent the fact you hadn't gone with Alyster. With that thought, a tingle returned to your lips and you were reminded of the kiss. It brought with it a bitter-sweetness that kept you grounded while your thoughts bounced all over the place. You felt like you were going insane.

As though to shift the focus and clear the stale air, Deaton pushed a large, musty-smelling book towards the group and flipped it 180 degrees. His finger tapped on an illustration of an intricate compass that looked to be hundreds of years old. "Is this the device that the man -Alyster- had around his neck?"

You studied the detailed drawing and then nodded weakly, "Yeah, that's it. What is it?"

"It's called the Oculus. It grants the wearer an ability to wield the Wadjet, it is more popularly known as the--"

"Eye of Horus," Markus interjected, brows knit in thought. A few people shot him surprised looks and he just shrugged them off with a nonchalant: "I have a masters in history."

"That's right," Deaton affirmed. "Horus is associated with protection from evil spirits and he is usually depicted as a falcon, hence the reason why this Alyster's eyes change when he activates the Oculus."

"So now we're fighting ancient Egyptians? I--" Liam plopped down next to Jonah and just stared blankly at the floor. "Can someone just run us by the SparkNotes version or...?"

Esme laughed and sat atop the table with one leg dangling over the air, "You gotta brush up on your storytelling skills, hon." she smiled at the very exhausted Maggie.

Deaton cleared his throat before throwing his hypothesis out for everyone to ponder, “I think this amulet gives him the ability to track and locate the Order’s targets. I also think it’s used as an anchor to a much more powerful source of magic.”

Maggie jumped in on Deaton’s bandwagon and started breaking down what everyone knew, "Okay, so from what Stiles found out, we know that these hunters have some sacred mission linked to all their killing. We now also know they're older than dirt so… that's a plus because there’ll be a trail left behind somewhere. What we didn't know before was, just as Theo put it, why they do what they do. Until now."

Maggie placed a book identical to the one Stiles had been trying to translate in the bunker days prior, “According to this text, the Order was established by a group of druids, liaths and darachs alike. A few hundred years ago a plague nearly wiped out all shapeshifters on earth -that's why our numbers are so low despite how long we've been around. Those that were immune stopped presenting the ability to shift. Those who contracted the plague were killed by the Order. It was called the First Coming of the End of Days. The sacred duty of the Order -or Venatores- was to try and prevent a second coming. The druids on this council feared that the plague would one day return, and so they created these hunters using the sacred power stored inside the oldest focal point of concentrated magic in their village. A Nematon. And since Nematon’s have a tendency to influence the formation of telluric currents, we believe that’s where the Oculus comes into play. We think after they absorb someone’s essence, the Oculus channels that energy into the earth and sends it somewhere else using telluric currents.”

Peter ran a hand through his face, his jaw muscles tensing, "Oh for the love of- So far, all you've told us is that these hunters are very old, very unkillable and very specific in choosing their victims. None of that helps us in any way. I want to know how to kill them, and if we can't, I'd like the quickest route to the airport please." He flashed a forced smile and everyone collectively sighed.  

"Scott, how do you feel about all this, you've been quiet during this whole thing," Derek ignored Peter's outburst and placed his focus on Scott, who looked to be in his own little world.

Scott stretched and turned his head up to regard everyone's inquisitive gazes, "Honestly, my whole life has been one impossible thing succeeding another and another… So what if they're vampires or if they're supposedly the first warning sign of the end of days. A few days ago, Monroe was our biggest worry, now she's dead and her numbers are cut in half. That's one crisis averted. Things have a way of balancing themselves out. We just have to maintain cool heads until they do."

Stiles paced about the room before clapping his hands together at the prospect of a new idea dawning over him, “Uh, hey, Maggie, you got a map that displays telluric currents?”

Maggie moved about the room in a hurry, but it was Markus that came to the rescue, “Here,” he handed Stiles a map he had grabbed from a trunk. “Telluric currents were a passion project of mine. I’m a bit of a nerd for this stuff.”

Stiles slapped Markus’s large arms in thanks and winced before flicking his hand at the wrist several times, “Ow, what do they feed you?”

“Kibble,” Markus joked dryly. “Why the map?”

“I’m thinking if we spot any major changes between the data on this map and a more recent one, we can determine whether this Oculus theory is accurate and maybe plot out where the fluctuations lead to,” Stiles fumbled with the map until he gave up and handed it to Scott who unfolded it with ease.

"That just might work…” Markus looked over your shoulder, his attentions shifted onto the piece of paper in front of you. “What are you drawing?"

You furrowed your brows, confused by his question and then looked down to where his eyes were focused. On the page were several pened drawings of a bow and shank of a key without a bit. To your surprise, you had been scribbling the symbol from the car ride over and over.

"I… I didn't know I was doing it," you sat up from the chair and dropped the pen like it had burned you.

"I know this symbol. Professor Tennyson ran a class on semiotics. That's the Ankh. The Egyptian symbol of life," Markus finished the symbol by drawing a line that intersected between the bow and shank of the key.

"Okay, but that doesn't explain why I'm drawing random symbols without thinking it..." you looked to everyone in the room and saw Stiles raise his hand. ”Stiles?"

"Ah, yeah, so I was possessed once by an evil kitsune's spirit and that would sometimes cause me to do things I didn't remember doing," he shoved both his hands in his pockets and started rocking on the balls of his feet, lips pressed tightly together when he noticed Jonah's jaw practically fall to the ground.

Everyone in the room took a tentative step back or inched away from you. You rolled your eyes at their behaviour.

"I'm not possessed. I think I'd know if I was possessed," you bit back.

"I'm pretty sure that's not how that works," Liam chimed in, his words muffled by his curled hand placed on his chin and lips.

"Maybe its residual magic from when Alyster was inside your head," Esme said casually as she took a bite of an apple.

"Alyster was in your head?" Markus repeated in shock. "How? When? How? And why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was under the impression that everyone heard my conversation with Esme and Maggie a few nights ago," you glared at Derek. "Seeing as how I live in a house full of werewolves with supernatural hearing."

Peter coughed again, but this time it was to hide his grin and laughter. Derek opened his mouth to say something but Deaton's busy hands rustling through papers and books garnered everyone's attentions away from the two of you.

"What are ya thinking?" Maggie asked him.

"I think Esme is right, and I think there's a pattern we aren't seeing," he answered.

"What pattern?" Scott moved closer to the table.

"Semiotics," Deaton smiled when he pulled up an encyclopaedia. "First, Alyster mentioned a Mother Tree. Then we find out that the hunters are the closest thing to immortal as we can get and now Y/N is unknowingly sketching the Ankh of all thing. Do you see it yet?”

“These are all three very different things,” Liam nodded.

“N-no… They are all linked by one semiotic message. Life,” Deaton said, his finger pointing into the air stiffly like he was giving a powerpoint presentation. “Every spell draws power from somewhere. All magic is just an exchange of energy.”

“So what if they’re killing people for fuel?” Derek posited, stepping closer to you and the table.

“Why don’t we just ask one of them?” Theo’s bored tone swept through the room.

Stiles squinted at him, “What? Just stroll up to them and ask one of them to come over for tea and crumpets?” he retorted sarcastically.

“No, I mean like set a trap, kidnap them and then try different methods of murder until one of them sticks,” he stated morbidly.

Jonah swallowed loudly and hid half his face behind a pillow, “That sounds mean.”

“It doesn’t count if they’re immortal,” Theo smirked.

Esme lobbed her apple at his face, some of its fleshy interior broke off and showered around Theo’s feet in juicy sprays. He wiped the residual bits off with his jackets sleeve and a sour face.

“Don’t fill his head with such things. You aren’t helping. Out!” Esme pointed to the door and Theo lifted his hands defensively as he strode out confidently.

“Can I leave too, or are we only handing out hall passes if we say insensitive things?” Peter pointed to Theo’s retreating form. “Because, let me tell you, I have so man—“

 Esme lobbed another apple but Peter’s quick reflexes caught in just before it touched his nose. He crushed the apple in his hands and made quite the show of it, “I take it that was a no?”

“Stop being an ass, Peter. Otherwise, the next thing someone throws at you will be a stake,” Derek spoke over his shoulder without looking up from the map Stiles had laid down.

“A stake…” Peter glanced at Jonah and then back up at Derek’s back. “The kid was onto something!”

“W- Who me?” Jonah bounced on the couch, happy to be included in the discourse. “About what? Vampire stakes?”

Peter rose a brow and said, “Yes.”

No one moved an inch, the only sound in the room was the passing of wind and Stiles flipping map pages like he was ripping rice paper apart.

“Think about it,” Peter wiped his hands on Scott’s shirt and Scott simply sighed. “Maybe 'vampire' isn’t the most far off explanation after all. I mean… what if we need a very specific weapon to kill these hunters? Maggie said that they were created using magic from a Nematon. And Deaton thinks the Oculus is used to traverse through telluric currents -Hell, I bet that’s how they travel so quickly too!- Maybe we need a piece of the thing that made them, to kill them!”

Esme worked her back muscles before begrudgingly siding with Peter, “I hate to say this, but maybe the ass is right.”

“Well that’s just rude,” Peter complained. “But at least you can see the obvious genius in my explanation. And look at that, I didn’t even take a whole morning to explain things to everyone.”

Markus rubbed his eyebrows, “So we find this tree and…”

“I found it! I found the spot where the telluric lines converge!” Stiles cheered by himself, fist-pumping in the air. Jonah joined along too figuring it was the more appropriate thing to do in this situation. Then Stiles’s face fell and he swore under his breath as he looked over the map on his phone and the one of the table.

Derek sighed, his teeth clenching in disappointment, “It’s in Sweden.”

The room collectively groaned.

“Well we can scratch that off the list because there’s no way we’d be able to go all the way to Sweden and back before the hunters murder everyone,” Peter sat on the windowsill looking defeated. “Come to think of it, why haven’t they found us yet? It’s been days. Last time it took them mere hours to find us after we’d crossed the border into Mexico.”

Maggie was chewing a biscuit and had to dry swallow most of it to answer him, “We’ve been taking turns burning sage pales around the property's border. I’m surprised you haven’t smelt it.”

“I just thought that was the usual smell around here,” Peter mumbled snidely.

“Actually, I don’t think we have to go very far to get what we need,” Deaton stated. “Most Nematon’s come from the same root. In theory, all we have to do is head back to Beacon Hills to get what we need.”

“Then I guess we’re going back to Beacon Hills,” You stood from the chair, spine groaning from being stretched too suddenly. “If you want to test out your stake theory, you’re going to need bait.”

“It’ll be dangerous,” Derek protested in a dark voice.

“Then you’ll just have to protect me. Like you promised,” you spoke with confidence.

“Shotgun!” Peter said loudly with a mischievous wink sent Derek’s way.

It didn’t take long for a plan to be formed. Soon after everyone was familiar with their roles, they all broke off to start packing up.

You had started packing up some of the clothes you’d found in your old drawers. You didn’t know why you were doing this but it seemed to help, it kept your mind busy. Markus, Esme and Maggie had argued for you to stay home and let everyone else handle everything, but in the end, they were left with no option but to concede. Even though it was dangerous, you were right, the plan wouldn’t work if you stayed behind.

Maggie gave you a pendant with a hollow locket filled with sage essential oils so you could stay shielded from the Order during your drive back. There was a spot on your chest that always got a little oily if the necklace stayed still for too long. You made a habit of wringing the charm along the silver chain in between still moments.

There was a rap at your door and you started from your thoughts, “Come in.”

It was Derek.

“Got a minute?” he asked from behind the ajar door.

“All I’ve got are minutes.”

He hummed before walking in and closing the door behind him, affording himself some privacy, “I wanted to talk to you about--“

“The kiss,” you said simply.

“Yeah, listen, it was a spur of the moment thing. It was a heated argument and you were so stubborn that I felt like I couldn’t get a word in,” Derek tried to explain while his hands fidgeted.

“Right. It was the only thing you could think to do.”

“Yes!” His eyes lit up.

“Like in the dreamscape…”

“Yes!” then his eyes grew serious and his cheeks went hot. “Wait, that’s not what I was getting at…”

You laughed, stuffing more clothes into your bag, though at this point the only thing left were baby booties and torn towels, “Relax Derek. I’m not going to eat you. As long as you don't make things awkward, I won't make things awkward.” You joked.

He held you steady and stared you dead in the centre of your eyes, you shivered again, your lips going numb as they remembered what it felt like to have Derek's lips over them.

“Look, I came here to tell you… It was a mistake, for me to have kissed you… in that way. I promise I won’t do it again,” he released his grip from your arms and you felt an odd sense of disappointment at having heard those words.

Derek pulled the door handle and before he stepped out of your room, he whispered, “Not until you ask me to.”

Your knees caved in and you crashed onto your bed. You didn’t know what to say or think or feel. You were left feeling dazed again. It was turning into a force of habit now. But behind your fear and uncertainty, behind your broken heart that still mourned Alex, you felt a glimmer of warmth spread through you. It felt like molten sunshine. Bright and happy.

As the sensation spread, you fought the sudden urge to smile in spite of all the devastation you had faced –and were about to face.

Next Chapter>>

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[searchingthedepths]

The Day We First Met

As I said once before, this blog uses a combination of literature, art, and audio to tell its story. What I neglected to say was that it wouldn’t necessarily be in sequential order. This event has happened long before the blog story begins, as Bella is still human here, hasn’t become a searcher yet like in our brief introduction. I’ll be dropping little “chapters” like this from time to time to give you something to pick at. ~Kat Alyst

From the Desk of F.K.E.

“So, what’s your story?”

A young lady sat cross-legged on the Prophet’s weathered desk. She’d taken off her worn newsboy cap and laid it in her lap. Gently she tried to fix her scruffy hair with her hand, but it wouldn’t suffice without a brush. The ink-swallowed man in suspenders that sat in the chair beside her stared at the floor. The mask on his face slipped a little. It was unlike him to not immediately fix it.

“My dear sheep, I’m afraid there’s not much else to say. You claim you heard the tapes that reside on this level. Those hold a majority of my tale, to go any further would be…”

Sammy tapered off into the silence. The girl on the desk hopped down from her spot and hugged him tightly. His ink was sticky, and there was no doubt that it was staining her already filthy clothes, but she didn’t mind. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do, she couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors this studio had faced all that time ago. But that begged the question, why was it all still here? Could it be fixed?

It took Sammy a moment to react. His body stiffened in the girl’s arms, and his heart beat was slow and groggy. He gave her a light tap on the back before removing her from his body.

“I’d advise against that dear sheep. Believe me, you don’t want this stuff on you any more than it already is,” he said.

She lowered her head, glancing over her body. It had already wrecked her pants while searching for a way out, everything was flecked with black. Her left hand had the tiniest bit on it, and even though much time had passed, it was still wet. It was as though the ink could never dry. She looked up at the man and held his shoulder.

“How do I get you out of this?”

“I beg your pardon?” Sammy replied.

“How do I get you out of this?” she said again. There was a determined glow in her eyes, it was as bright as the red pigment that stained the top of her apron. Sammy leaned backwards, her grip still tightly held his shoulder. What little of his face was visible showed bewilderment and confusion.

“Why…why would you want to? I-I don’t understand, what is the meaning of this?” said Sammy.

The girl squeezed his shoulder. “There’s a human underneath all of this. I saw those creatures on the way in. They’re the same as you, aren’t they?”

Sammy hesitated to respond. “Yes, yes they are. But humanity means nothing down here.”

“Well lucky for you, I don’t belong down here. I’m stuck here, there’s no way for me to get out, or any of you for that matter, unless that old man finds what you need him to find. If I’m gonna be trapped, I may as well be useful and give you a hand,” she said. She let go of his shoulder, placing it on her hip.

“My sheep, you’re making a grave mistake. There is no saving us, only the Lord can set us free, and that will only happen if we follow his orders,” Sammy said.

“Do you really believe that?” she retorted.

He couldn’t look her in the eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look Prophet, I’ve spent most of my life cooped up and wings clipped. This isn’t anything new to me. We both want to pursue new dreams, and we can’t do that unless we get out of this dump. So, if there’s any way I can play ‘divine intervention’ and help your guy get us out of here, I’d love to try it,” she said. She looked rather serious.

 Under the ink, Sammy’s eyebrow was raised. She didn’t really think she was capable of eliminating a demonic curse, did she? But no, he could tell she was intent on trying. Sammy mulled over the options, stroking his chin as he stared at the floor. He knew there was no hope of getting out, and that made the reality of two humans being down here all the worse. There may’ve been a lot of bacon soup before, but Henry had been pounding it in his efforts to stay alive, there wouldn’t be enough to sustain them both. It had already been several days since the girl had fallen here, and he could clearly see the paleness in her face. She looked sickly. It was only a matter of time before either of them died, and while he knew his Lord’s plans would guarantee that Henry survived to a point, he wasn’t certain the same would be allowed for an accidental trespasser. There was no winning. He’d had to help sacrifice so many employees over the years, he didn’t want his conscience stained with another death, especially someone so young. But the only alternative, it was equally extreme. He would never wish the hell he’d be cast in on anyone, no one deserved to live undead. But what choice did he have? Either swallow her or leave her to rot. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t fair.

Of course, his Lord would always be happy to have a little more labor on the premises…No Lawrence, don’t think like that, that’s what got you into this mess. Still, how could he justify it? Truth was he couldn’t. He stared at his hands, entranced, his mind blurred. What to do, what to do. There’s got to be something, I can’t go through this again. Something within the bitter man had softened. He clenched his left hand into a fist, squeezing tightly, barely feeling anything. Perhaps, just perhaps…that might just work.

              Sammy rose from the chair and knelt beside the desk. He opened one of the drawers to reveal a can of soup, the last one in the area. He raised his head to look at the girl. It was noticeable that she was lost in thought as well. But as quickly as it came, the awkward silence was broken by her cough. It was hoarse and stuffy, she pounded her fist against her chest a few times to try and silence it. Sammy glanced at his nubby feet, taking a deep breath before he stood up. He was a rather tall up close. As she slid off the desk, she only came up to just below his shoulders. He placed a hand behind her back and lead her out of his crumbling office, navigating his way through the music department. He sighed, something broken and deflated. The girl looked up at him in curiosity, unsure of what to expect.

            Sammy reached into his pocket and pulled out a keyring. He went up to one of the thousands of locked doors and opened it, revealing a tiny kitchenette that hadn’t been used in quite some time. There was a small couch and a few chairs around a table. He opened a cabinet that was filled to the brim with mismatched mugs, bent spoons, and a few bowls. Could it have been this was a break room at one point? Sammy sat his guest down on the couch and got to work and heating the soup on a barely functional stovetop, while he searched for something else in a smaller cabinet. He pulled out a small box and gave it a sniff.

            “Still good. Now there’s a surprise.”

            The girl watched him intently as he worked. His movements were rhythmic, each step methodical and practiced, like clockwork. A pinch of this, a little of that, a stir here, a tap on the rim. It was mesmerizing. He returned to the table moments later, a bowl of soup in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. He motioned for her to join him, both sitting in chairs. He pushes the soup to her spot.

            “Eat up, there may not be anything else for a while,” he said.

            “T-thank you sir, you’re very kind,” she replied quietly. She took a spoonful and gently blew on it before taking a bite. It was definitely bacon, no doubt about it. The stuff was horribly old, she dared not ask the expiration date, but it wasn’t so bad. Heck, a little salt and a few spices would probably do wonders for it. She slowly worked her way through the bowl, leaving nothing untouched.

            Sammy watched as he sipped his tea. He hadn’t thought to make it in a while, but even though he required no food or drink to fuel him, the tea on his throat was soothing. Under the mask, his smile was hidden. That felt much better. He moved a hand over his diaphragm. The last time he’d had this peppermint brew, gosh, how long ago was it? Maybe five years after Henry had left? All a part of his personal rituals, something he’d drink before warming up to sing. Even now he could still remember the words, fidgeting his fingers as though her were playing the old chords on his keyboard. He lost himself for a moment, humming under his breath. It wasn’t until he heard the spoon clink in the empty bowl that he realized she was smiling at him.

            The girl chuckled. “I’d love to hear the full piece one day. You have a lovely voice.”

            Sammy turned away, slightly embarrassed. “You’re very kind little lamb. But I’m afraid that particular composition remains unfinished. It was the last one I worked on before well…before my assignments were changed.”

            “That’s a shame, it sounds so beautiful. If I could make anything half as good as that, I’d be rich.” She laughed, a tinkly sort of sound, like a little fairy.

            Sammy smirked a little. “You flatter me. I dedicated my entire life to my music before all of this happened. Nothing could be less than perfect.”

            “Must be nice getting to work on your craft like that. It’s rare I run into another artist with that philosophy.”

            He took another sip of tea. “Oh really now? What field do you work in?”

            “Well up until recently, I was a printer. Worked in a shop not too far from here. But that’s all in the past now, they laid me off the day before I wound up here.”

            “Now why’s that? You seem perfectly capable to me.”

            The girl lowered her head. “They found me out. They learned I was a woman.”

            The prophet stiffened, somewhat confused. “I don’t follow.”

“When I applied for the job, I sent in my resume under the name Bryan Ewe. Every shop I’d tried to work at before denied me, wouldn’t even consider hiring a woman. I kept up the act for a long time, wore fake beards, created a whole identity for myself. I was determined to follow my dreams, work my way up to be an illustrator, run my own plates and sell them. But I didn’t even come close,” She buried her face in her hands, “What the hell was I thinking? There was no way I was ever going to make it as an artist. No one ever believed in my dream.”

A small puddle of ink started rising through the floorboards. The prophet noticed, but he chose to keep quiet. He had to be careful.

“Come now, there had to be someone. Didn’t you believe in your own ambitions?”

“Yes, for a long time I did. Maybe that was a lie, there was one other person who believed. My father…god rest his soul.”

The puddle retreated a little from under her feet.

Sammy felt like he was hit in the chest. “I’m….I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like anything could’ve been done to save him,” She leans back in her chair, gingerly holding her hat over her heart, “I’ve been alone in this world ever since. Nothing has made any sense, even less so here.”

She turned away, but Sammy could very clearly see the tears that were sliding down her cheek, gently washing over her freckles. The puddle below her dissipated completely. The ink knew when to back off thankfully.

She’s got nothing left. No wonder she’s trying to help us. Sammy wasn’t one for religion before the incident, but he had a friend in the studio who was once. She’d always spoken to him about feeling ‘renewed’ after returning home from church. Perhaps it may be best if he called her in a little later, she would know how to deal with emotions better than himself. He stroked his chin for a moment. A question had come to mind.

“You said you pretended to be a man named Bryan. What’s your real name?”

“Bella. Isabella Ewe,” She wiped the tears from her eyes, “And since you never formally introduced yourself, am I right to assume that you’re Mr. Lawrence?”

“Sammy, if you please.” He nodded

“Sammy, alright, I can remember that. So, who are they?”

“They?”

Bella pointed at the door. There was a trio of searchers peeking passed the doorframe. They slinked backwards upon being noticed, shy and petrified no doubt. But Sammy didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t get angry, he didn’t holler, he didn’t start cackling evilly. No, instead he did something far less expected.

He removed his mask.

“They’re my coworkers.”