#nightshade killed itself when I asked it to work with them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hela-avenger · 4 years ago

Text

To the Stars Who Listen- Part 5

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1507

Summary: When Loki desires to never fall in love, he casts a spell to prevent such a thing from happening. Except, well, in the matters of love and magic, you never know the result it may have in the end. Loki x Reader

A/N: Thanks for all the love everyone! I’m happy you’re liking my fic! Tags are open! (Send me an ask/message/response.)

TTSWL Masterlist

The moment Steve lands at the facility, Loki practically runs inside. It was as if he expected to be dragged back to the tower if he hesitated for even a moment. You watch him and he seemed pleased enough in what he encountered. You turn away when Steve finds you still lingering in the back. He takes your bag from your hand and motions you to walk with him.

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” you sigh out. “It just feels weird to be back to square one, you know? I worked so hard to get where I am and now I have to go back to training wheels. It’s not really fair.”

Steve offers you a sympathetic smile.

“You’ll be back with us before you know it,” he assures you. “And if Loki is to be trusted, which I’ll admit is a hard thing for me to do, you’ll come out of this stronger than ever.”

“I was already strong before,” you sigh. “I was doing fine. Sure, I didn’t have some super soldier serum or a powerful suit, but I was fighting alongside you so that speaks for itself.”

“Y/N…”

“Steve just…” you whisper in resignation. “I was happy being normal and now… now, I’m not. I haven’t really gotten a chance to wrap my head around that everything has completely changed.”

“I understand,” Steve breathes out. “Things just happen in life, Y/N. They may be good, most times it’s bad, and it’s up to us to figure out how to deal with it. I know you have it in you to make the best out of this situation.”

Steve stops at the door of your room and hands you your bag back. Your hand lingers on his as the request comes swiftly into your mind.

“Can I ask you for a favor?”

Steve nods, “Anything.”

“I’m going to try my best to gain control of this power but if I can’t, then I want it out of me.”

“That could kill you.”

“Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good,” you tell him. “You out of everyone should know. You did the same thing years ago.”

“And you know what that cost me.”

Indeed you did. He had told you about it some time ago. Trusted you with this information he kept close.

Steve had lost his comrades, the love of his life, and skipped 70 years into the future and though you wouldn’t have the same repercussions he had, you found the conclusion albeit still alarming.

“If I hurt someone, Steve… If I end up on the wrong side of things where I become the enemy… I don’t know if I could live with myself if I could have prevented it to begin with.”

Steve hesitates but he must see the deep desperation in your eyes.

“I’ll look into it,” Steve sighs. “And if that day comes… Just know, I’ll find another way to save you. I don’t care what it takes.”

You knew Steve to be stubborn so you allowed him this small victory. You release your hand from his and take your bag. Steve is quick to pull you into a hug and you allow yourself the small comfort.

“The next time I see you better be on a good note,” Steve chuckles into your ear. “I know you can beat this, Y/N. Don’t give up before it even starts.”

You nod and force yourself to let him go. He offers you one last encouraging smile before finally turning and walking away.

Your quiet solemn moment is disrupted by a dark chuckle that appears suddenly in front of you.

“That was agonizing to watch,” Loki mutters. “I think our innocent Captain was expecting a kiss out of it.”

“We’re just friends,” you respond glaring at the God that leaned against the door frame of his room which conveniently resided right in front of yours.

“Are you sure?” Loki grins. “I don’t think you’re being completely honest at this moment.”

“And I think you’re spinning lies out of nowhere so you can incite drama because you find yourself bored.”

Loki doesn’t respond and you knew you had him. You turn away and open the door of your room. You don’t bother to turn the light on as you throw your bag inside. You make up your mind you’ll unpack and settle in later.

“Come on,” you call out to Loki. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

A highlight at being moved to the large and expansive Avengers Facility that laid out of the city is the people who resided there. You can’t help but laugh when you step into the dining room to find a Welcome Home banner hung up with Wanda and Vision at the head of a filled table. Bucky and Sam were there too but the serious scowl on their faces made it seem like they were unhappy with your arrival.

“You didn’t have to do all of that,” you tell Wanda as you hug her. “It hasn’t been that long since I’ve stayed here.”

“It’s been long enough,” Wanda states.

“Welcome home Agent Y/N,” Vision nods at you.

“Hello again, Viz.”

“We all heard about what happened,” Wanda speaks up. “Are you ok?”

“Not really,” you shrug. “But I will be once I get myself under control.”

Wanda squeezes your arm and you turn towards Bucky and Sam who haven’t moved to greet you. They remain rooted in place as they glared at your travel partner who remains in the outskirts of the room.

“Hey, stop that,” you nudge them. “He’s not a threat.”

“That’s not what Steve said,” Bucky mutters. “He said we needed to pay extra attention to him.”

“Yeah, emphasis on extra,” Sam adds.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it literally,” you argue.

“Better safe than sorry,” Sam responds.

You roll your eyes at them and turn to Loki instead.

“Loki, this is the rest of the team,” you introduce him vaguely. “Team, this is Loki.”

Wanda’s the only one to offer a small wave while everyone else remained silent. You understood why Vision was hesitant to step forward. Loki had once wielded the mind stone that was currently resting on his forehead. As for Bucky and Sam, they were just being overprotective by Steve’s warning.

“Alright, great start,” you mumble as you nod Loki forward. “Let’s just sit. They’ll get over the whole security threat thing once they realize you’re not going to do anything.”

“And what if I do step out of line?” Loki asks with a slight grin.

The question doesn’t go unheard as Bucky and Sam are quick to straighten up while Wanda lets out a heavy sigh. You set your plate down and turn towards the mischievous God.

“Bucky there,” you point out. “Has a metal arm and a variation of the super soldier serum running through his body. He’s also a very notorious assassin but we don’t talk about it.”

You then point towards Sam.

“Now Sam here, you might think he’s nothing special and in a way he isn’t…”

“Hey!”

You shoot Sam a pointed glare and he shuts up enough to allow you to continue.

“As I was saying, Sam may not be a super soldier, but he can sure fight like one and you won’t want to face him with his Falcon suit on. You won’t stand a chance if he catches you in the air.”

Loki takes in the information you offered and makes note of it. He knows better than to create enemies without knowing who they are and the threat they may impose on him.

“Now Wanda is a sweetheart,” you continue earning a smile from her. “But she can kick ass if she needs to and between you and me, I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side. She got her powers through the mind stone which allows her to do a lot of cool stuff. Telekinesis, telepathy, force fields, mental manipulation… The list goes on and on.”

You take a deep breath and then turn to Vision who’s still joining them on the table though he doesn’t need to eat dinner.

“Now Vision is the youngest of us all if you can believe it,” you tell Loki. “I still don’t understand the science of how he was made but basically he’s an android with a conscience. A robot with a heart of gold. Plus, he’s the self-appointed guardian of the mind stone and we all saw him wield Mjolnir though Thor refuses to admit it.”

Loki now realizes why his brother had been so easily convinced to allow him out of his sight. With this band of trainee heroes, Loki would be well supervised and beaten if he stepped out of line.

“Now that the introductions are out of the way, let’s eat.”

You eagerly begin to pile food on your plate passing the courses around. Everyone follows your lead easing into an amicable conversation. Loki simply sat back and drank the wine offered as he suddenly found himself with appetite lost.

TTSWL Tag: @catsladen @is-it-madness @manyfandoms-marvel @mejusttryintogetby @illogicalfangirl @ariel-snow-tmnt @islinglivesinshire @musicconversedance @missmadwoman @smaranshakthi @adaydreamingdragon @poetic-fiasco @like-a-wildfire @jasminecalia @ha-tep @charbokbok @setsuna-meiou31 @ms-blvck @country-cowgirl-101 @bepo-is-sorry

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-nightshade @aoirohi @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @just-a-donut-who-reads @day-dreaming-fox

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie @ariel-snow-tmnt @badhollandfluff @what-a-flammable-heart

184 notes · View notes

dreaming-in-alicante · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter four is up! Sorry about the longer wait, life was busy.

Also @fair-but-wilde-child here you go!

Chapter 4: Reflux

Grace paused repeatedly to drink in the sights and sounds of the Shadow Market around her as she followed Christopher around to different stalls. He got the nightshade he had wanted, as well as a variety of other ingredients.

“Mr. Lightwood!” a werewolf man called as they approached his stall. “We’ve just gotten fresh thorn-apple in.” He rummaged around in a cart and pulled out some samples, and placed them out for Christopher to inspect. The vendors all seemed to know him, and it was impressive watching him haggle for each item. Grace didn’t know if she would have the patience to argue with someone for that long, but Christopher knew exactly what he was doing.

While he negotiated a price on the thorn-apple Grace began, already, to mentally prepare herself for the ride back. With Christopher. Alone. She had felt like a fool earlier, even if Christopher remained oblivious. The realization had slowly crept up on her in the past few days that she might want to be more than friends with him.

She had become closer with both Lucie and Kamala in recent weeks. Kamala had shared her birth name with her; Grace was very honored that she wanted Grace to be one of the few people who used that name. Something had been bothering Grace, however, whenever she thought about and compared her new friendships. She realized that her relationship with both girls felt much different than that with Christopher. At first she attributed this to the fact that since they spent so much time together in the lab, she was simply closer with him than either girl. But she had spent plenty of time with both Lucie and Kamala now. Whenever she was with them, it seemed that more were always merrier, but she never felt that way with Christopher. While Grace didn’t necessarily mindHenry being in the lab (he was truly a brilliant scientist), or Thomas on his occasional visits, she greatly preferred when it was just the two of them.

The most obvious sign that something was different, however, was that she had started to notice Christopher in a way that she didn’t with either girl, or anyone else really. Earlier that week, while she watched him talk with Henry, the unexpected thought went through her head that he was really incredibly handsome. One might not notice at first, with his thick glasses and messy appearance, but now that Grace had noticed, she was constantly aware. It was starting to get ridiculous. When he had grabbed her arm excitedly earlier that morning, she told herself firmly that her heart was only racing because he had pulled her into a jog to get downstairs. Then in the carriage, by the Angel…she was grateful he thought her flushed face was from being too warm. She had never thought about how close people were when sitting in a carriage. Not that she hadn’t been close to him before, when they looked over notes together, but that was in the huge space of the lab. Enclosed in the small space of the carriage, it felt so intimate. Grace was determined to keep her composure on the return trip. She treasured her friendship with Christopher and she was terrified to ruin it by being ridiculous.

------------------------------------

When Christopher was completed with his shopping and they started back to the carriage, Grace cleverly engaged him in what promised to be a long discussion about the chemical properties of nightshade. Beyond being an interesting subject in itself, Grace expected that it would keep her mind occupied. Everything was going exactly as planned until Christopher paused to double-check his list and purchases, and Grace forced her eyes away, watching the city pass in dimly-lit nighttime. As the carriage approached the end of the block, she frowned as she noticed an odd, pulsing red glow that seemed to come from around the corner.

“Christopher, do you see that strange light?” she asked, still studying the view outside.

“Most peculiar,” he said as he also looked out. “Perhaps a colored light cover?” They finally reached the intersection, and Grace noticed that it was oddly empty. Not that many people were out at that time of night, but it was unusual to see absolutely no one. And then, as they passed through the intersection, they finally saw that the light came from a figure in the middle of the street dodging and fighting something…demons! The darting figure must be a shadowhunter.

“Anna,” Christopher said suddenly, going a bit pale. He motioned the carriage to stop and was jumping out before Grace understood what was happening. His sister, of course – her unusual red necklace that glowed when demons were around, Grace realized, hence Christopher’s urgency to go help. She hopped out of the carriage to find Christopher with a seraph blade already blazing. “I have to go help – Come help if you feel ready, but otherwise probably best to stay in the carriage!” he told her hastily, then began running down the street towards the fighting.

Grace took in the scene at the end of the street. Anna and someone else – Kamala she realized – were holding off three demons that resembled giant scorpions with wrinkled faces. Anna fought to keep two at bay, her electrum whip arcing furiously through the air, while Kamala attacked the third and largest demon. A fourth demon laid dying on the street near them. The creatures were ridiculously fast – especially their long, barbed tails which moved almost too swiftly to see. As Grace watched, Christopher reached them, seraph blades blazing, and engaged one of the demons that Anna held back.

Grace felt frozen. She had so little experience fighting, she had only been training for a few months, but she had spent too much of her life on the sidelines already. Grace resolved to get closer to offer help, but keep out of everyone’s way. She had two daggers, which seemed pitiful compared to the monsters before her, but she was an excellent shot, especially with her skills enhanced by an Accuracy rune – she would make her throws count.

She raced down the street, pulling out a dagger. As she approached the battle, she saw Kamala falter, barely knocking away the demon’s tail as it simultaneously grabbed at her with its oddly monkey-like hands. Anna and Christopher were fighting side-by-side, too far away to help. Grace reacted faster than she realized she was capable of, sending her dagger flying with perfect precision into a bulbous yellow eye. The demon hissed, writhing, as Kamala called “Good throw!” and continued to attack it.

Grace was upon the battle now and planned to hang back and wait for an opening, when from the corner of her eye she saw a fifth demon appear, looming behind Christopher. She began running in his direction and swiftly drew her second dagger as she shouted, “Kit, behind you!”.

She struck true again, halting the demon as Christopher turned. Anna lashed out her whip, catching the attention of the demon Christopher had been battling as he engaged the new foe. Grace hastily pulled her seraph blade and named it. She came up behind the demon and, with it distracted by Christopher, took a swipe. The tail moved so quickly that although she aimed for the center, her strike only cut off the very needle-like tip. The demon whirled around hissing and, to her dismay, knocked Christopher clean off his feet with its lashing tail. It bore down on Grace, snapping sharp teeth. She defended with her seraph blade but was unable to land a hit on it. She was vaguely aware that Kamala had now joined Anna, having dispatched the largest demon.

The demon Grace fought suddenly shrieked and stumbled, and she saw that Christopher had gotten back to his feet, and successfully cut off a large part of its tail. This was distraction enough for Grace to drive her seraph blade into the demon’s chest. It collapsed with a final hiss, spraying ichor from its wound, and crumbled to dust. Christopher quickly went to help fight the remaining two demons, Grace following behind. With the odds now turned four-to-two, they made quick work of the remaining demons. Soon all that remained were piles of dust and the four shadowhunters breathing hard as they recovered.

“Well,” Anna said as she coiled her whip, “a much more exciting patrol than I anticipated. It appears Kamala and I disturbed a nest of them. We are lucky that you two showed up when you did.” She leveled an assessing gaze at her brother and Grace. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but what exactly are you two doing running around together at this hour?” she asked.

“Shadow market,” Christopher answered, “I was out of nightshade, and Grace had never gone there.” He stood a bit awkwardly, and Grace wondered if he was alright.

“Well we’re very grateful for your assistance,” Kamala said, shaking dust out of her long braid. “Excellent job for your first real demon fight Grace!” she said smiling, and Grace smiled back. Anna and Christopher also offered congratulations. Grace couldn’t wait to tell Jesse – he’d be proud of her. She thought also, he’ll be jealous I killed my first demon before he did, and smirked.

“Well, let’s head to my flat, it’s not far. We should get all this ichor off,” Anna declared “and perhaps some iratzes.” Grace’s front was quite covered in ichor, and Anna and Kamala were also a mess. Somehow, ever-untidy Christopher had ended the battle with the least-soiled clothing. Anna looked appraisingly at her brother. “Are you feeling alright, Kit?” she asked, clearly noting his stiff posture like Grace had earlier.

“I believe I will need a few iratzes,” he replied, wincing, holding a hand to his side. “I likely didn’t notice earlier with all the adrenaline, but it seems the demon’s tail did catch me quite hard in the ribs.”

Grace couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty. If only she had been faster, managed to cut off the tail…but no, she assured herself, she had done well. The others had all said so. She had done well with her daggers and held her own in the fight. Christopher would be fine after a few iratzes. Still, she couldn’t help aiming worried glances his way the entire carriage ride.

------------------------------------

Anna’s flat was small but cozy, the main room full of mismatched furniture. Anna got water and rags for them to clean off with, then started fussing over Christopher. Kamala, obviously familiar with the place, pulled Grace into a messy bedroom. “I think I have a spare blouse here that you can wear,” she said, “since you got most of the ichor on the front of you.” She rummaged around in the wardrobe and pulled out a pale blue blouse with a triumphant “aha!”

They cleaned themselves off and began changing. Kamala was several inches taller than Grace so the blouse was oversized on her, but it would do until she got home. She slipped out of the bedroom while Kamala finished putting on a simple dress, and reentered the main room.

Anna brushed past her, going to change, and Grace walked around to the couch…where she found Christopher wearing only his trousers and undershirt. It covered him, of course, but it was a thinner material that she could see marks through, and because the sleeves were short, she could see most of his arms. By the Angel, stop staring! she scolded herself. She had seen him in just shirtsleeves many times in the lab. She had seen more of his arms the time his sleeve caught fire in lab than right now.

“You’re alright then, Grace?” he asked. She forced her eyes to his face, and immediately discovered this was not better. He had removed his glasses, presumably while getting cleaned up, and now there was no barrier to hide his spectacular eyes. Compose yourself Grace! she chided herself.

“Yes, I’m completely fine,” she replied, settling herself on an armchair. “Nothing more than some scratches. Are you okay?” His movements were less stiff as he leaned forward a bit, but she was still concerned.

“Perfectly fine!” he answered blithely. “Anna’s iratzes are fixing me right up. Honestly, I’ve had much worse lab accidents.” Given what she’d seen just this month in the lab, Grace didn’t doubt this. She could see evidence of old burns and other scars along the whole length of his exposed arms.

“What was your worst lab accident?” she asked curiously.

“Perhaps the time I spilled an entire bottle of sulfuric acid on myself,” Christopher said thoughtfully, “although there have also been some nasty explosions.”

Kamala reentered the main room then. “Anna and I will need to head to the institute to check in and submit a report,” she told Grace, “so we can drop you at your apartment.”

“Thank you,” Grace replied. “Hopefully I’ll be back soon enough that Jesse won’t be worrying.”

“He’ll always be worrying – he’s an older sibling,” Anna said, now changed into a plain shirt and trousers. “Speaking of which,” she continued, “let me see if you need another iratze before we leave, Kit.”

Grace got up quickly – perhaps too quickly – and started over to the door to wait. She kept her gaze determinedly away from Christopher as Anna checked him over. Kamala joined Grace, a querying eyebrow raised. Grace could not help blushing, which caused Kamala to giver her a knowing smirk, making Grace blush even harder.

“I think we’ll have something to talk about at training tomorrow,” Kamala said with a grin. Grace was relieved when Anna joined them to leave. She insisted that Christopher just stay at the apartment to sleep, and he was tired enough that he agreed.

It was a surprisingly pleasant ride home. Grace had little prior interaction with Anna, but either because of Christopher, Kamala, Jesse, or a combination of the three, she did not seem to resent or distrust Grace for any of her prior actions, which was a relief. They dropped her at home and as they exchanged goodbyes, Anna commented “I expect I’ll see more of you in the future Grace,” Anna said, “as my brother’s lab partner.” She winked at Grace before hopping back into the carriage.

By the Angel, Grace thought, how does she know?Well, at least Christopher remained oblivious.

#gracetopher #tlh #you may have noticed that I don't describe Kamala's weapon because seriously what does she usually fight with?#like in Every Exquisite Thing she has a whip #but I see lots of art where she has axes #and I didn't see anything in the books #grace blackthorn #christopher lightwood #my fic

29 notes · View notes

currywaifu · 4 years ago

Text

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: escape room 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: minagi tsuzuru/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 3.4k words, 3 images

𝐚𝐧: the combi of my love for this tsuzuru sr card + a certain enabler + my first time wearing handcuffs being in an escape room = the birth of this fic. it’s chaotic, but so is every escape room experience i’ve had. wtf is this fic.

One of the perks of having Tsuzuru as a boyfriend was that the two of you always found ways to have fun and go out on dates without spending a lot of money. Neither of you were big on splurging out a bunch of money anyway— not with you rather spending your allowance on necessities and Tsuzuru being the King of Part-timers™.

Watching community and college plays, having picnics, movie marathons, making dinner together, going grocery shopping, taking advantage of coupon sites, couples promos and happy hours to get great deals on things you wouldn’t normally be able to just for the ultimate discount...

It was domestic, it was homey, and it was Tsuzuru through and through; you loved every single second of it.

Which was why you were surprised when he suggested going to an escape room together.

“Those can be kind of pricey, right?” you replied, raising your voice slightly to make sure he could hear you despite the noise you were making in the kitchen. You turned the burner to high heat, scooching the veggies over to one side of the pan, melting the remaining butter in the other half.

“Oh, well, a friend gave me a 20% discount coupon. Apparently he didn’t need it anymore,” Tsuzuru’s voice was a little quiet coming from your phone’s speaker, and you quickly put down the soy sauce to adjust the volume before going back to the stove.

“I figured there was some kind of catch,” you replied with a soft chuckle as you continued stirring the veggies and sautéing the rice. “When do you wanna go? I know we’re both busy over the weekend, and that’s when we usually—“

Your hand halted its motions as soon as Tsuzuru uttered the word, “tomorrow.”

It wasn’t like you weren’t free, thankfully you only had one, albeit three hour, lecture during Tuesdays, but wasn’t he saying it a bit suddenly? It was a Monday evening, after all.

“Why tomorrow?”

Your boyfriend’s awkward laughter rang, but he remained undeterred as he explained to you his reasoning— going to an escape room would be a good way to get more writing experience, especially in terms of creating and feeling the ambience.

“Plus, not only is it cheaper if we go together, but the rates are also lower Monday to Thursday,” after a few seconds of silence on your part, he quickly added in, “and! And, we usually don’t have dates like this… so it’ll be fun, right?”

That thought process was so like Tsuzuru that you couldn’t help but smile.

Oh, the rice and veggies were already turning brown?

“You know what? I’m not even surprised,” you commented, adding and stirring in the rest of the ingredients. Ahhh, it was starting to smell heavenly, “by the way, have you had dinner yet?”

“About to. Excited to figure out what kind of curry we’re having,” a giggle escaped you upon hearing Tsuzuru’s deadpan voice, “are you almost done cooking?”

“Just about done!” after giving the rice a taste, you decided to season it with a pinch of salt and pepper, “thanks for giving me your fried rice recipe, by the way. Even though I’m the one cooking it, it feels like I’m about to eat something you made with love~”

As you were pretty much done with the kitchen, Tsuzuru’s exhale was a lot more audible to you. You could already envision the slight quiver in his tight-lipped grin and the way he would avert his eyes for a few seconds as he addressed you.

“Seriously, don’t be so cute,” he said, sounding a little exasperated, “sometimes I don’t know how to respond anymore.”

“A writer at a loss for words?” it was steadily getting difficult to keep the bubbling up amusement in check— you should probably be serving yourself dinner and accomplish your work for the night, but in the same manner it was always fun to flirt with the brunet. “When you put it that way, it makes me want to act even cuter for y—“

“Anyway!” you couldn’t hold back your laughter at his sudden interruption. Alright, that was enough for the both of you tonight.

“So are you free tomorrow?” he asked.

Well, who were you to be able to say no to that?

You completed signing the waiver the staff asked you to fill out, before turning to Tsuzuru.

“I forgot to ask, but which room are we playing? They have, like, 3 different ones here.”

Your eyes followed where Tsuzuru’s pointer finger landed— a simple but eerie poster in black and white, the three masks you could commonly see in craft stores plain and copies of one another, save for one thing. The first mask had gloved hands atop its eyeholes, the second had them covering where the ears would be, and the third had them placed over the lips.

Domain of Discernment.

“I don’t know much about it, but it’s one of the more popular ones. Apparently we’ll be held captive by some serial killer named Sire Maniac, and we’ll have one of our senses taken away,” he explained. Before he could potentially say anymore, one of the personnel went over to bring you right by the room entrance.

After giving a brief rundown of rules and some info about the room itself, she brought out an unused pair of foam earplugs and a blindfold. “Since there’s only two of you, we’ll be taking out the not being able to speak part. Both of you, choose who gets their sight or hearing removed for 50 minutes.”

You and Tsuzuru turned to look at each other, quietly discussing amongst yourselves which option would be more beneficial, coming to the conclusion that you would be the one to don the blindfold and he’d be the one with the earplugs.

“You might accidentally fall asleep if you had the blindfold,” you joked, “besides, I trust you to be able to guide me.”

Not one to be a killjoy or cheat, he plugged in the foam properly as you get your blindfold tied securely by the woman, making sure it definitely wouldn’t loosen up midway through the game.

When the both of you are within the room already, the both of you hear (well, Tsuzuru lip-reads) the woman say one more thing.

“After hand-cuffing you two and I leave the room, the timer will start. Good luck.”

… hand-cuffing?

With a sound of a click and seeing the door shutting from the distance, the both of you knew the timer would be counting down from 50 right about now.

You’re the first to speak up. You’re unsure where he’s facing right now, so you pulled your left hand knowing the pull of the metal chain would catch his attention, and you were right.

At the slight pressure on his right hand, he turned to face you with a hum leaving his mouth, and unexpectedly finding himself stupefied at the sight of you. You opened your mouth to say something, and he can excuse himself all he wanted that it was him not used to lip-reading yet, but he knew it wasn’t the truth.

He felt a little guilty, really. You both knew how flustered or embarrassed he could get around you, but how blissfully unaware you must be right now that his brain was literally mush because of your blindfolded self and how you were handcuffed to him. He, well, he never thought… no, he could never—

Time to kill that train of thought. Right now.

He should really be responding to you right now. What… what were you saying?

“You want me to describe our… surroundings?” he sighed in relief as you nodded. Okay, at least a part of him was still functioning properly. All he had to do was focus on that and not hyper focus on you.

The two of you were in a cell of sorts— barred, jail doors preventing your exit into a much larger room, which inevitably would lead to a door the both of you would escape to.

Though the jail room was significantly smaller, there were an assortment of items to sift and look through— boxes with and without locks, some papers scattered on a small desk, a lampshade that was left turned off, and a CD player were what stood out the most to him.

After relaying it to you, you pulled him again by your shared shackles as you asked him to read out what was in the papers—the first, a hint on how to figure out the number combination to unlock one of the boxes and a code decryption guide.

The second, a torn page from a “book” of either plants or poisons, based on the content and stylisation. Atropa belladonna, also known as deadly nightshade.

“Why are shade and floor highlighted though?”

Another pull on the cuffs. Another look at you— and trying not to be awkward about it as he combined his lip-reading with whatever the earplugs couldn’t block out of your voice.

“Shade? You said there was a lamp shade, right? Maybe a key or something is hidden under there?” you suggested, a pout set on your lips, “don’t know what the relevance of floor is, though.”

He didn’t have to look very far, the papers being situated on the desk beside the lampshade. It’s in his second time staring though that he realised something’s off with it. “You’re right, there’s something in the lampshade.”

When he lifted the bell-shaped cover, he’d come to find that there was no lightbulb in the first place, but a thin flashlight cleverly inserted within a vase. “If there’s a flashlight in the vase, then—“

“Shine a light on the floor!” you exclaimed, excited at the prospect of being able to move forward with the game, despite not being able to see.

Doing just that, he swished the flashlight left and right, verbally listing all the letters he could see.

“X, O, I, C, T…” you repeated, before trying to clap your hands (keyword: trying to, handcuffs say no), “the order is toxic! So the encrypt—“

“I’ll decode it ASAP,” Tsuzuru replied, immediately referring to the guide the “killer” oh so graciously left there.

“The passcode is… 420652,” he fumbled with the digits on the only 6 numbered padlocked box, before grinning, “alright, we got it!”

Another tug, and at this point he’s already aware that tug or pull on the cuff equals you having something to say.

“If they were gonna do a 420 joke, they should’ve inserted a 666 joke for the full eerie, creepy effect.”

Okay, just how was he able to lip read that perfectly? Was he just that used to the dumb jokes you made?

“I can just imagine your dream escape room— all the hints and puzzles are meme related,” the earplugs were unable to block your laugh, ringing through the room as he opened the box. A key, and a CD.

Knowing that between the two remaining boxes left, one of them needed a key so that was pretty much solved. The disc, on the other hand…

He called your name, you turning to face him based on the direction of his voice. “Since there’s a CD player and a CD, and unless I go really close I wouldn’t be able to hear anything—“

“I’ll listen carefully, no sweat!”

“I swear, if I hear the word wall another time, I will scream... and this isn’t even a horror room!”

The two of you came across your first real obstacle. Your audio just talked about poisonous vines growing on walls and other surfaces, while his box just contained another note that neither of you could decipher whatsoever. For five minutes, the two of you stood there, pondering.

Every once in a while, Tsuzuru would check the giant timer— currently displaying that 35 minutes were left.

“… honestly, just give it to me,” you suddenly spoke, Tsuzuru’s shoulders going up in shock.

“Give what?”

“The box! While we try to figure it out, I’ll use my nonexistent luck to just guess the passcode somehow,” you explained, feeling up the type of padlock it was “it’s just rolling everything around anyway until it magically opens.”

Within less than a minute, you had figured out the passcode.

“I’m—“ Tsuzuru trailed off, clearly just as shocked as you were. Your eyes probably would’ve been wide open right now.

“Eye… so this is where all my luck went,” you said, before shaking your head to refocus yourself, “okay! So inside the box is a… another key? It has buttons… car key?”

You hand the object to the brunet, who, upon taking it from you spared no second in his next actions.

“Wall,” he said out loud, pointing the car keys at the wall. With one press of a button, the wall, slowly but surely, opened to reveal another room. Though you couldn’t see it, the sound was loud enough to amaze you as well.

“Worm,” you breathed out, “pretty lit, not gonna lie.”

You wouldn’t know but the room was actually extremely dark, so not lit at all. Thank god he had a flashlight or else the handcuff + your blindfold + him not being able to lip read combo would be… particularly deadly.

The misunderstandings, he could already imagine it. Ah, well, for the writing experience.

“I don’t know what worm means, but yeah, lit.”

“Sorry,” Tsuzuru apologised as he bumped into you for the nth time.

Obstacle number two was unlike any other. It wasn’t another audio recording, neither a puzzle nor riddle.

“Ah, shit, sorry!” you shouted for the nth time, raising your voice as much as you could so Tsuzuru would be able to hear you properly.

This was getting ridiculous. You were able to figure out the meaning of an audio file after a few loops, while Tsuzuru got to work reading more clues and unlocking locks. The real problem, however, was since the room was dark and had limited space, the two of you tended to crash against one another even with what limited movement you could make.

You had to wonder— did the staff get some sort of amusement or feel any pity watching people stumble around in this room through the CCTV? It wasn’t so bad in the jail room, but this closet? storage? room gave you two a run for your money. How did other people get through this room, genuinely? Especially the bigger parties?

“… I have an idea,” Tsuzuru mentioned. You wait for him to tell you what it is, his hesitance confusing you. However, before you could have said anything, you felt his strong arms wrapped around you.

Was… was there an equivalent to a verbal keyboard smash? Even if you weren’t saying it out loud to save you the embarrassment, the fact still stood that your brain was legit going ztesxrdctijmoljhnge right now. Help—

“How does this… help?” you asked, still a little confused by his motive. He wasn’t really one for PDA, and despite the two of you being the only ones in the room the fact still stood that the escape room staff are probably required to glance at the CCTV monitors every once in a while to check up on you two.

“Since we’re… handcuffed, and there’s barely any space it’d be better to just stay together,” he explained as nonchalantly as possible, “sorry, it’s just for this room. We’ll go back to normal when we get to the last room.”

See, if your brain was working right now, you’d be able to think of a counter or a better solution— actually, if you could see right now maybe you could point out something about Tsuzuru’s face that screamed he was lying, but something about escape rooms just made your logic go brrr.

That, or you were just a simp for your own boyfriend.

… not gonna lie, the chances of it being both were pretty high.

“Makes sense. Can’t bump into each other when you’re already stuck together,” you said, already convincing yourself.

Sorry to whoever’s manning the CCTV monitor, it was their fault for handcuffing the two of you anyway.

Well, this set up wasn’t that bad. Other than, you know, getting to hug Tsuzuru, you were able to still keep doing your task while he did—

You heard the padlock unlock after your fingers pressed a certain combination of numbers. Pushing the device upwards, the cabinet doors opened as you removed the lock.

“It’s a digit push combination padlock! How are you doing this? Blindfolded?”

“I… I have guessing powers. For locks.”

“I’m considering robbing a bank or business with you now.”

“Awww, cute couple’s date idea!”

After two or three minutes of Tsuzuru doing some last minute riddle solving, the sound of jingling keys and him letting go of you let you know of one thing— you two were almost out.

With a writer compromising one half of the team, and an exceptional guesser and context clue figure-outer as the other half, you weren’t gonna lie— the last room was kind of anti-climatic to go through.

…

SIKE!

Every time the two of you ever accomplished anything, be it decrypting a message, unlocking something, or finding a hidden item the two of you still reacted to it— Tsuzuru being more on the shookt side and you being on the hype side.

With fifteen minutes to spare, only one thing was left to do— finding who Sire Maniac’s real name, and then decoding that name into number form so you could use it on the exit’s number pad lock. It was pretty obvious to you that you had to use the number equivalents of the name, but first… you needed to know the name.

“You sure you don’t want to try your luck?” Tsuzuru teased, procuring a huff out of you.

There were only two clues. The first was a letter to an A. R. Nicolas, detailing something about being thankful for a book.

Initially, the two of you thought that that A. R. Nicolas would be his real name, but clearly it was some sort of pen name based on the second clue— several torn pages from a book penned by the very same A. R. Nicolas the letter was addressed to.

It was clear— Sire Maniac and A. R. Nicolas were the same person, but what was his third identity? His real identity?

“What are the poisons on the torn pages again? Those usually have something to do with the answer,” you asked Tsuzuru. The sound of shuffling of paper entered your ears as he began listing them off.

“Ricin, amatoxin, tetradotoxin, chloropicrin, batrachotoxin… and arsenic.”

“Huh… arsenic is the only one that ends differently, lol,” you pointed out with a laugh, before it quickly died as the realisation dawned on you, “no fucking way.”

“Okay what the hell, I think you’re on to something,” Tsuzuru replied hastily, “because A. R. Nicolas, as in A. R. Nic. Arsenic.”

“Tsuzuru. Tsuzuru. Tsuzuru—“ you chanted, before laying out one last game-changer, “Sire Maniac. Is a fucking anagram. For I am Arsenic.”

With a speedy enter of the number 2773642, the two of you had achieved freedom.

“Not gonna lie, some parts of it were a little cliche, but… I had fun,” you told him, the two of you walking home together, “I felt simultaneously dumb and a genius at the same time.”

“Same to both, honestly,” Tsuzuru replied, before looking down at your hand linked with his. “Huh, haven’t you had enough of being stuck with me?”

You rolled your eyes. “I could say the same to you— didn’t you totally take advantage of us being handcuffed together? Or me being blindfolded?”

It was just a joke, but Tsuzuru’s sudden sputtering caught you off guard. Did… aha, no way, did he actually enjoy that gimmick?

“Tsu~ zu~ ru~”

“Whatever you’re thinking, that’s not it—“

“Are you sure? Because—“

“You’re misunderstanding something.”

“I’m just saying, it’s better to be honest~”

As the stoplight turned red, the two of you finally found the time to take a good look at each other. The laughter that erupted was instantaneous.

“Thanks for going out with me today,” Tsuzuru said softly, the blooming smile on his face impossible for you to not mirror.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you replied, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After a few seconds, the stoplight turned green, and the two of you continue making your way back home.

want to order again?

𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬: ⤷ curium fairway (the person who sent arsenic the letter) is an anagram for “i am currywaifu”.

⤷ the “reader is good at guessing part” is just based off of me. being really good at guessing padlock combinations. ⤷ the hugging part was based on my two irl friends (who are dating) hugging in front of the cctv

⤷ the “one sense gets removed” and “being handcuffed to someone” part is based on two different escape rooms i played

⤷ i wasn’t supposed to make a whole concept for the escape room with media and riddles... but i decided to finally make use of all the research i did before on poison. am i on a watchlist?

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#tsuzuru minagi #tsuzuru minagi x reader #minagi tsuzuru #cafe: dessert menu #a3! tsuzuru #a3! imagines #a3! x reader

129 notes · View notes

correct4disneyprincesses · 4 years ago

Text

Snow White or in German, Schneewitchen

POB: Kingdom of Bavaria, Germany 1868.

DOB: 1854

Evidence:

Exhibit A: Doc asks if Snow White can make apple dumplings which is a 18th century dish. She can also make plum pudding also known as Christmas pudding.

Exhibit B: Snow White’s hair bow. Hair bows originated from the 17th century and were used in wigs during the 17th and 18th century. That, and it’s an Alice band which came out some time in 1865 after Alice in Wonderland was published.

Exhibit C: Queen Grimhilde’s balaclava. The balaclava is named after the Battle of Balaclava from the Crimean War in 1854, the time when the Brothers Grimm completed the final revision of Snow White.

Exhibit D: Prince Florian’s feathered beret. Berets are an ancient type of hat but they were very popular in the 19th century and beyond.

Exhibit E: Snow White’s court shoes or pumps are very 17th century and the buckles had bows attached to them in the 19th century.

Exhibit F: There is a three-dimensional cuckoo clock with a frog coming out of it. Stuff like that wasn’t popularized for cuckoo clocks until 1860. One example is the 1861 Hunt piece design.

Exhibit G: Queen Grimhilde uses a Bunsen burner. Gas technology didn’t come about until 1852.

Exhibit H: Dopey uses a dustpan to sweep up the diamonds. The first dustpan, made from metal like in the movie, came out in the 1850s.

Fact 1: Although bob hairstyles didn’t technically exist back then, Snow White was 14 years old in the movie, so her hair was allowed to be short during that time because it was obviously naturally short but it could be curled up just like the long hair on girls.

Fact 2: Snow White has puffed sleeves with teardrop-shaped slashing designs on them, very popular in Tudor times. And the drops are red to symbolize the three drops of blood from Snow White’s mother the First Queen.

Fact 3: Humbert the Huntsman wears a bycocket which was very fashionable for hunters in the 13th to 16th century. They fell out of fashion in England, France, and Spain but were still worn in the Netherlands by merchants, in the Low Countries by Masters of the Guild, and by nobility as far as Hungary.

Fact 4: The Dwarf’s Cottage is located “over the seven jeweled hills and beyond the seventh fall” according to the Spirit of the Magic Mirror. The Seven Hills of Bamberg are near the Black Forest in which the seventh fall known as the Triberg Waterfalls is located.

Additional Information:

Despite Snow White being 14, Prince Florian is not a pedophile. When it came to marriage, the couple had to strictly be teenagers. Sometimes, the boys present at the birth of a daughter were 3 to 4 years older than the baby princess. So, Florian had to be at least 17 to 18 years old.

Also, there is evidence that Snow White met Florian long before they saw each other at the well. In the song, “I’m Wishing,” she clearly says, “I’m wishing for the one I love to find me today.” She could’ve said, “I’m wishing for someone to love.” Instead, she said, “I’m wishing for the one I love.” Past tense. This was never love at first sight. She loved Florian long before the well scene and only ran away from him because she was embarrassed. She thought he would laugh at her for wearing the rags Grimhilde made her wear as evidenced when she brushes them off after running away and hiding.

Also, Snow White isn’t the fairest of them all because of her physical beauty but because of her pure heart as evidenced when the Spirit of Magic Mirror says, “Rags cannot hide her gentle grace.” So, she’s beautiful on the inside because she’s really nice and considerate unlike Grimhilde who’s vain, coldhearted and evil.

Given the opportunity, the Queen would easily kill Snow White. But as a Queen, she has an image to protect and is aware that the citizens like Snow White more than her and the citizens know that the Queen is evil, so, if the Queen did murder Snow White, she would have the entirety of the kingdom on her tail, especially considering that Snow White is her stepdaughter. That was why she needed someone else to do the job for her. But when that fails, she decides to take it upon herself to kill her but knowing that she has an image to protect, she has to disguise herself so completely that no one would ever suspect. Her transformation into an old Hag worked but it also made her senile. The ingredients used to make the potion which were written in English for translation purposes by Disney, were:

1. Mummy Dust or Mummia to make her old.

3. Black of Night or Nightshade to shroud her clothes.

4. Old Hag’s Cackle or a mixture of dumbcane to irritate the voice and propolis to relax it and give it the orange color. Both age the voice.

5. Scream of Fright or a combination of rhubarb juice to give it a good taste, hydrogen peroxide, and ammonia to whiten the hair.

6. Wind to fan the drink’s heat.

7. A thunderbolt to conjoin the particles in the drink and mix it altogether.

In her senile state, she decided to use a special sort of death for Snow White. The poisoned apple that would put Snow White into a state of suspended animation.

Ingredients were:

Belladonna to cause delirium and hallucinations.

Henbane as an anesthetic potion, as well as for its psychoactive properties in "magic brews." These psychoactive properties include visual hallucinations and a sensation of flight. Common effects of ingestion of henbane in humans include hallucinations, dilated pupils, restlessness, and flushed skin. If you mix belladonna and henbane together, you have a very powerful anesthetic potion.

Aconite which causes asphyxiation and would've killed her but it would've made it painless and would've calmed her.

Jimson Weed would be added to the anesthetic potion, as it causes hallucinations. So, instead of dying, she would've been put to sleep because there are too many anesthetics in the brew. Of course, you wouldn't call it sleep, because it is a sleep in which there is no air. Like the Queen disguised as the old peddler woman said, when Snow White eats the apple, her breath will still, and her blood will congeal. So, the aconite would not only stop her breathing but it would cause her blood to clot excessively since the blood has oxygen in it, too. Of course, Snow White didn't die from it. All the ingredients I've mentioned would only put her in a state of suspended animation.

White Snakeroot is non-toxic unless in the milk of cattle. It is used for curing ague, diarrhea, kidney stones, and fever. It can also be used to revive unconscious people. It, of course, was added as a way for the real antidote, Love's First Kiss, to take affect and that antidote's power lies in the apple itself. Throughout history, the apple has been a symbol for love and sexuality, which is why Love's First Kiss woke her up. Apples are full of Vitamin C and promote strong bones and blood sugar regulation. It is also full of flavonoids and antioxidants that neutralize harmful free radicals.

The antidote in the Evil Queen’s senile old mind does not bother her because she believed the Dwarfs, thinking Snow White was dead, would bury her alive.

She goes to Snow White in her old hag form knowing that Snow White’s kindness towards others and inability to be deceived by appearances since beauty is found within would be easy to prey upon.

That and she’s also Christian as seen when she prays to God to “bless the seven little men who were so kind to her.” That Christianity plays a big role in the poisoned apple scene. It’s understandable, not just because she’s 14 and children are easier to take advantage of than adults but because of a Bible scripture that she may have heard of and took to heart.

Hebrews 13: 2 states, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so, some have shown hospitality to angels without even knowing it.”

Of course, we see that Snow White is clearly creeped out by the old woman as she backs away from her advances. So, she might’ve eaten the apple just to humor her so that she’d leave her alone. So, she was just being polite.

Now, contrary to what people believe, Prince Florian is not a necrophiliac. The kiss was a goodbye kiss. He was mourning for her.

I know that Snow White wouldn’t be rated G if it were made in present day.

We have scary images from when Snow White is in the Black Forest and the comeuppance of the Evil Queen.

But it was the first animated feature-length film and if it had flopped, Walt Disney would’ve lost everything. He wanted it to be timeless and he made it so.

#disney princess #snow white #historical accuracy #analysis #character info #snow white and the seven dwarfs

26 notes · View notes

shannapage · 4 years ago

Text

Stellae: Chapter 1

Author: Shanna Page

Status: Incomplete / Ongoing

Genre: Fantasy / Sci-Fi

Synopsis: The gods do not exist. Divine intervention is only imagined by those too cowardly to act. No, we only have ourselves in this word. Ourselves, the weapons we wield and the evil we choose to tolerate.

Eline Ritvak is the most renowned thief in all three Kingdoms. Mentored by the infamous criminal, Nightshade, she lives by a strict code of honor seemingly at odds with her chosen profession.When the Prince of Nitenbeir requests Eline steal a sword for him, she is curious enough to accept on his terms. What happens next sends Eline’s world tumbling into chaos, and she finds herself on the run from the most feared man on the continent. All she has is a sword, a know-it-all bookkeeper and the realization that perhaps, they are not alone in this world.

Word Count: 5,782

Author’s Note: As part of my fundraising initiative on my other blog for BLM, I stated that if a certain number was reached, I would release the first chapter of my unpublished (non-fanfic) novel. Since this amount was reached, here it is! This is only the first chapter and I do not plan on releasing more on this website. Know that this fight is not over and we still have tons of work to do. If you can still donate, please do so. If you’re living in the US, ensure you’re registered to vote at TurboVote.Org.

More information about this world / my novel can be found here on my page.

Those who frequented the gambling dens of Kebasa had a saying they told to anyone who would listen; the most fruitful of grounds often bore the most teeth.

The saying was old, stemming from the antewalk, an animal known equally for its migratory patterns as a distinct lack of self-preservation. There was a game amongst children named after the animal in which the smallest of them attempted to cross a field before they could be tagged by the larger, faster children. If they were tagged, they were considered out.

The game was cruel by nature but then again, most things were cruel by nature. Every summer, the antewalk migrated to their northern breeding grounds through the Beir Mountains. If any place could be described as ‘having teeth,’ the Beir range was a natural contender.

Spiders as large as a person’s fist dangled from shoddy webs, draped across caves which housed the fearsome gargantum – a predator as feared as death itself, whose jaws could easily snap a cougar in half. Snakes the size of tree trunks hid in the canopy above before dropping ten feet to feast upon unsuspecting prey. Despite all these horrors, the antewalk continued to make the same journey.

To them, the potential goal of their breeding ground was worth the likely cost.

Much as those who frequented gamblers row viewed the potential for riches to be worth its likely cost – bankruptcy.

It might be worth noting that the antewalk were nearly extinct.

Regardless, the gambling dens of Kebasa drew a multitude of customers, not only its regulars who sought to turn copens to riches. The dens were famous across the vast continent of Prima – and even further than that, drawing attention past the Farephen Sea. Merchants, nobles, and paupers alike were drawn to the gamble and in this way, the dens were amongst the most diverse places on the continent.

Lounged in a seat, one leg crossed over the other, Eline considered the Merryweather laid out before her.

Contrary to its name, the Merryweather was neither a cheerful place, nor was it exposed to the elements. As far as gambling dens went, the interior was much of what Eline had come to expect – crooked tables, crooked people, and an overwhelming stench of spilled ale in between.

At a first glance, she counted seven people in the crowd who did not belong. They were easy enough to spot, once one knew what to look for. Although Eline herself was not Kebasan, she blended in as though she might have been. Her gaze lingered near the bar, assessing a lone, pockmarked youth who glanced longingly at the door. Likely, someone had said this would be the easiest way to escape in case of an emergency.

Utter nonsense. Once a person entered the den, the only way out was further in.

Uncrossing both legs, Eline returned to her game. Casually, she tossed a gold coin on the table.

“Jinn,” she declared.

Murmurs of outrage rippled around the table – to Eline’s right a man growled, not bothering to conceal his state of frustration. The move was a provocative one, to be sure. Scarab was a game designed to confuse its own players, an eclectic combination of dice, cards, and boldfaced lying. It took several years to become proficient but luckily, Eline had learned the game from the best.

Jinn was a give me command. A player could use it only once per game, but once declared, all players were required to increase their bet or exit the table. By using it when she did, Eline had raised the game not by a copen – which was traditional – but by an entire talir. Such riches would have bought the very table they sat at.

“That’s not fair,” grumbled the man to her right. He spoke around the toothpick which dangled precariously from his lip. “Copen’s the norm.”

“It may be the norm, by my move wasn’t illegal.” Eline spoke with great boredom, as though the entire conversation were below her pay grade. “What’s the matter, Revani? Not good for the money?”

The man beside her started, not having expected her to know him by name.

Eline was no fool. She did careful research before deciding to enter any given situation; this was the main way she ensured she only walked into situations she could walk away of. Not everyone was as careful as Eline, but then, not everyone was as successful as her either.

Revani scowled and removed his toothpick. Much to Eline’s utter disgust, he placed this on the table beside her palm.

“I’m in,” he declared, tossing down a gold coin.

The hair beneath his cap could have been either blonde or brown; it was difficult to tell through its matted mess. The clothing he wore gave nothing away either; plain, loose fabric designed to resist the sweltering heat of Kebasa. The only hint of his heritage were his eyes, which were blue. Only certain parts of the southern Kingdom of Sur claimed such a color.

After much hemming and hawing, another two players tossed their coins down. The rest pushed back their chairs, scraping the floorboards, and casting annoyed glances at Eline.

Beneath her crimson hood, she tried not to smile.

Only four players remained: a more manageable number. A lucky number as well, according to Surnese superstition. Eline was not the type who subscribed to good fortune, but when she did, she found the Surnese gods to be most obliging.

Stretching, Revani extended both arms overhead to reveal a wrist tattoo. Foolish of him to flash his crew’s sign so carelessly since it was not the same colors as those of the Merryweather. Men had gotten killed for less than gambling on other crews’ turfs.

He was not the only player Eline knew at the table. To her left was a man who called himself Lorcin and directly across from them were two called Copper and Jo. Those two seemed to move as a team, one of them shifting when the other went still, and vice versa. Eline wondered if they behaved like this always, or only when they felt they were cornered.

Eline was the only woman at the table, although this was to be expected. Many nations and Kingdoms underestimated womenkind. Eline supposed she could not be perturbed by this fact, since it meant those same people underestimated her, as well.

In her line of work, underestimation was a valuable tool.

Lowering her gaze, Eline looked once more her cards. They were not terrible, but neither were they a winning hand. This fact did not bother her since the prize Eline sought was not a singular card game. No, her quarry was far more valuable than that.

Thumbing the sharp edge of her deck, Eline sighed. “Are you going to take your turn, Jo?” she asked, looking up. “Or will we all die of old age before you realize you’ve lost.”

A low chuckle rose from the other men at the table.

Jo – a man whose mustache was the most defining thing about him – scowled. “Don’t know why you’re trying to rush things, ma’am. Scarab is a game best savored, not swallowed.” He paused, allowing a smirk. “I’d imagine you know a thing or two about that.”

How clever; a reference to Eline’s assumed sexuality. She’d dealt with far worse jibes in her lifetime though and so, she ignored him and awaited his next move.

Copper nearly choked at the remark, forcing Jo to reach over and pound him on the back. Eline tried not roll her eyes at this, although it was hard.

Ko women were not known for being overly revealing and this was Eline’s chosen character for the night. Beneath her bright cloak, she wore simple merchant’s clothing from Ko, a distant Kingdom across the Farephen sea.

It was one of Eline’s preferred disguises; it was infinitely easier to pretend she hailed from Ko than say, one of the northern lands, like Dagmari. Dagmari women all had skin the color of the bone underneath, with copper-colored hair distinctive on every continent. Their accent alone was difficult to emulate, full of clipped consonants and elongated vowels.

At least Ko women had dark hair, even if their eyes were known to be golden, not silver. No Kingdom on any continent was known for silver eyes though, and so in this, Eline remained squarely out of luck.

Whenever someone asked about the unusual color, Eline would brush it aside and claim bastard parentage. Likely this was true, but she had no way of knowing for sure.

Exhaling loudly, Jo reached for the dice.

His resulting throw was not favorable and based on his sour expression, Eline assumed his cards to be no good. Ruling him out as competition, she moved her attention to the other men at the table.

Twisting around in his seat, Revani flagged a passing waitress. “More ale,” he instructed before turning back. Glancing in Eline’s direction, he offered a wicked smile. “What about you, Lady? Care to partake?”

The word Lady was mocking and belied his nation of origin. Although the three Kingdoms of Prima were monarchies, Kebasa was run by wealthy merchants, Nitenbeir was militaristic and only Sur had retained the notion of nobility – in more ways than one.

The use of Lady indicated Revani hailed from the south, although none of their renowned education seemed to have stuck. From where she was sitting, Eline could see his whole cards, and they were not particularly good ones.

“Thank you, but no,” she declined. “I prefer to keep my wits about me when I play.”

Revani’s upper lip curled. “Ah. Womanly concerns.”

“I’d imagine so,” Eline said. “As one must first possess wit in order to be concerned about losing it.”

Revani’s cheeks reddened, his entire expression darkening as Lorcin released a chuckle. He had been the quietest at the table so far and thus, was the only one Eline judged as true competition.

Shooting her a bemused look, Lorcin crossed both his feet at the ankles. Based solely on appearance, Eline assumed him to be from either Nitenbeir or Dagmari. Both were northern Kingdoms, so the complexions were similar, although neither wore their hair in the way Lorcin did – long and unbound, hung nearly to his waist.

He kept one hand beneath the table to conceal his cards from view; the other lay casually beside his untouched wine. Smart, to blend in while keeping his head clear.

Copper laughed, the joke just catching up to him. “A clever tongue,” he said, reaching to pick up his dice. “That’s a shame. Isn’t it a pity when women are clever?”

“It is at that.” Revani accepted the flagon he had ordered. “Clever women always get themselves into trouble.”

Outwardly, Eline betrayed no reaction but inwardly, she burned. What she would not give to have these men know her true wrath; to let them know exactly who she was and what she was capable of.

She knew if these men only knew her other name – if anyone in this establishment so much as whispered the word Umbra – it would make them shake in her boots and yet, here she sat and pretended to smile. To reveal who she was meant losing the upper hand, and in Scarab – as in life – having the upper hand was tantamount to winning.

“Indeed,” Eline said. “Clever women often make men uncomfortable. I imagine those without beauty are often discomforted to find it has a voice.”

Lorcin burst out into laughter as Revani’s scowl deepened.

Eline imagined that under different circumstances, she might have been able to enjoy Lorcin’s presence – a pity then, that her line of work failed to leave time for meaningful connections.

In the corner of her gaze, she saw the door to the Merryweather swing inward, allowing balmy, summer air to escape from the street.

“Shut the door!” someone called from the closest table.

All the gambling dens of Kebasa were housed belowground. This allowed for the coolest environment, since Kebasa was a desert city half as often as it was mountainous. A narrow staircase at the front led to the street; a purposeful decision to restrict entrance or exit.

In Ko, humidity and high waters made underground enclosures impossible. There, gambling dens were tied together like rafts, bobbing in sea at the ends of each dock. Eline disliked these types of places; the small amount of time she had spent in Ko was enough for her to realize she despised the ocean.

With the entrance of Kebasa’s heat came an actual person – several people actually, each one climbing down from the mouth of the alley. This was not unusual; men rarely chose to gamble alone. What was unusual was the way they all gripped the balustrade, as though uncertain whether the stairs could support all their weight.

Eline hid her smile. Make that ten men in the Merryweather who did not belong.

At least the first two men tried to blend in. They wore breathable fabric paired with the colorful vests preferred by Kebasa’s working class. Of course, most Kebasans wouldn’t wear such attire to a gambling den. Bright clothing was how one got noticed; it ensured one’s memorability and most who visited the dens preferred to remain anonymous.

The last man through the door didn’t even bother with a vest, though. His back stayed straight as he entered, steadily scanning the premises with an air of disgust. His distinguished sideburns marked him as a high-ranking citizen of Nitenbeir, as did the thin sword he had buckled around his waist. A rapier, much preferred amongst the dueling sort of men. Eline had always found the weapon rather silly, preferring instead the flexibility of her short sword.

It was the scar though, burnt into the side of his neck, which revealed who he was.

As far as legends went, General Marksam was known across the whole continent. He had been captured in his youth by Dagmari forces, held for twenty days and twenty nights until he escaped by fashioning a knife from his spoon to kill two guards through the door of his cell. That had been years ago, but the man’s name remained feared across Prima.

Nitenbeir nobility was strange; they dressed in severe cuts and sharp lines, as though to emulate their method of thinking. It was surprising to see one Nitenbeiran in a gambling den, let alone two, but Eline had been certain Marksam would appear tonight.

It was rumored the General had a fondness for gambling, which was something his Kingdom frowned upon – at least they did in theory. It was the Nitenbeir way to present no external weakness, but to privately indulge if they wished. Whenever Marksam traveled, he was known to clean out a tavern or two.

The Merryweather had a reputation as the highest of stakes, the most varied clientele, and a mostly discrete owner – for the right price, of course. Travelers had recently swelled Kebasa’s town limits for the summer solstice festival; Marksam was merely one amongst the many. It was the perfect opportunity for him to slip away, get his gambling fix and return before he was noticed missing.

Their group were stopped just inside the entrance, searched, and ordered to hand over their weapons. Marksam looked as though he argued with the bouncer, pointing at something on his chest which might have been a medal. He should have saved his breath for how much he succeeded. Eventually, Marksam handed over his sword, as Eline knew he would.

The rules of the Merryweather were simple – disarm, or don’t play.

Of course, the bouncers did need to find your weapons in order to remove them.

This was something of a game to the locals but people like Marksam were obviously unaware of the rules. It was proper in Nitenbeir for a General to wear their sword at their waist. The gesture was intended to show discipline, decorum and had absolutely no place on gambler’s row.

Swords around here came for their target in night, cloaked with darkness and ill-intent. It didn’t matter if a person showed their sword when one couldn’t be certain what they hid behind their opponent’s vest.

Shifting her weight, Eline stretched her toes against the worn pad of her boot. There were several knives concealed on her frame, since Eline had been forced to leave her short sword at home. One knife was hidden in the sole of her boot, another in its lining and a third strapped to the inside of her thigh.

The key to remaining armed in the Merryweather was to look unimportant. Marksam was obviously unaware of this lesson.

Flapping his coat out behind him, Marksam gingerly sat upon a rounded stool in the corner. His table was closer to the front than Eline’s – which meant the stakes of his table were lower and his game was considered easier. Eline assumed he would move further back over the course of the night; men like him were rarely satisfied with a cheap thrill.

His back faced the door – again, not what Eline would have done. His two comrades seemed to be smarter; they faced the only entrance, keeping careful watch on whoever walked through the door. Eline could only assume Marksam had hired them because they were more familiar with the gambling dens than he was.

Smart of him to seek out their guidance. Stupid of him not to listen.

Returning her attention to her own game, Eline scanned the table before her. While she had been distracted, Jo had backed himself into a corner. Only she, Lorcin, Revani and Copper remained as contenders.

Scowling, Jo threw his cards down to stand. “I’m out,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “May your pockets stay strong.”

Another idiom; this one easier to discern, if no longer applicable. Back when Kebasa was barely a town, trade was exchanged using gemstones as currency. The stones were so ubiquitous to its natives, legends stated they didn’t know their true value until neighbors from Nitenbeir and Sur reached them across the Imir desert. That was when Kebasa began to blossom as a Kingdom and eventually, coins came to replace gemstones as currency.

While in use though, the gemstones had been heavy and to have sturdy pockets meant you had been blessed with good fortune.

Downing the rest of his ale, Jo slammed his glass on the table and stalked towards the bar. The same pockmarked youth Eline had noticed remained slouched in its corner; Jo squeezed in beside him to order another round.

Revani added a second gold coin to the pile. “And what of that, Lady?” he asked, leaning back. “Are you good for it?”

He mimicked her words from earlier. Eyes narrowed, Eline moved to respond but before she could speak, there came a shout from the bar.

“Thief!” The pockmarked boy pointed, wide-eyed, at the door. “THIEF!”

The response around the room was instantaneous.

Jumping up from their table in the corner, both bouncers rushed towards the rickety stairs. Alertness swept through the crowd, jumping from table to table as players craned their necks to look. Many did not seem to care – they had already bet their livelihoods on the games – but many more flinched and scrambled for their purses.

Including Marksam, who instinctively clutched his right pocket – after patting it once, he exhaled and let go.

Hiding her smile, Eline returned to her cards. Fool.

“In,” she declared and added a coin.

Lorcin increased the pile without comment, throwing his dice and losing his next turn. Copper took up the dice and shook, glancing up at the ceiling before rolling a sixteen.

His smile broadened. “Reveal.”

Groaning out loud, Revani slouched in his seat.

The rules of Scarab were complicated, but the final player in any increase round had the opportunity to roll to end the game if they desired. Copper had rolled high enough to do just that, which meant the rest of the table was forced to lay down their cards.

Eline kept her face casual as Lorcin revealed his hand to be better than hers – better than anyone else at the table, including Copper, who looked a bit green as he stared.

Placing her cards down, Eline revealed her hand to be slightly lower than Lorcin’s. Revani’s was worst, but Eline had already known that before he revealed them. His cards held no coherent order, almost as though he had never played the game before, nor learned what it was. Eline idly wondered how he had gotten a seat at their table. Probably money.

“I need another drink,” declared Copper, standing up from his chair.

He wandered over to Jo, who still stood at the bar. The youth who had yelled thief was nowhere to be found, likely scared off by the events of the night.

Undisturbed by his loss, Revani spread his legs wider. “Care to play again, Lorcin? Or you, Lady?” he added, shooting Eline a smirk. “I would have the chance to redeem myself.”

Eline pushed her chair back. “Unfortunately,” she said, gathering her coins. “Redemption is not something I’m in the habit of giving.”

Scanning the den, she drew her cloak tight and wondered where to go next. There was no purpose to her cloak’s color other than to be remembered. At the end of the night, she wanted her face to be paired with this cloak in the den’s memory.

“I agree with the lady,” Lorcin said, also standing. “Best to quit while ahead.”

“Nitenbeirans.” Revani sighed and rolled his neck. “All of them the same. So meticulously practical. Very well,” he said, glancing past them to where multiple players had lined up on the wall. “Which of you wants to try their hand?”

Several rushed forward, eager to take their departed seats and Eline slipped past them, unnoticed.

The den was more crowded than when she had first entered, the dense scent of sweat and alcohol hanging low overhead. Elin scanned the room as she walked, coming to a stop beside the wooden bar. Drinks stained its surface, blending into the varnish until it seemed part of its décor.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Marksam stand from his seat. One hand splayed to the table, he questioned his players and glanced away from the entrance.

There were several halls which led from the back of the Merryweather. One of them ended in a stairwell which climbed to other floors of the building. As it was with the rest of gambler’s row, the Merryweather was not only a place in which to take bets. Its owner, Ren Drago, dabbled in various illicit activities throughout Kebasa; the main floor was merely the tip of the iceberg.

Marksam nodded at whatever his table said, turning around to disappear into the crowd. Eline’s gaze followed him to the back where he entered a hallway marked with a green arrow. Its interior was dimly lit, she could barely see his cloak whipping around the cramped corner.

Eline waited a moment, then slipped behind a group of players to remove her cloak and pull it on inside-out. The other side was dark, a coarser material not unlike that of the other gambling patrons. Lowering the hood, she moved out from the men who hid her from view.

Anyone who saw her would fail to place her as the gambler in red. Another trick from the thieves’ manual – create a memorable character, then become someone else. No one followed Eline as she moved towards the same back hall, which meant no one would remember her as the person Marksam encountered.

He was not difficult to spot once Eline reached the hall. He stood out even amongst the shadows, glancing about him with a puzzled look on his face. It seemed not even the advice of his table had been enough to locate the washroom.

Eline paused before entering, reaching out to puck a flagon of ale from a table. Adopting an intoxicated swagger, she raised the cup to her lips as she pretended to drink.

The light from a singular gas lamp dimmed when she passed, the hood of her cloak blocking out most illumination. Said lamp swung from above her, attached to the weathered ceiling; all sconces in the hall had been pilfered, their metal likely stolen and sold to melt down into wares.

Hearing Eline’s approach, Marksam turned his head. Giving her a swift once-over, he apparently decided she was harmless and lifted a hand.

“You there!” he called out. “Madam.”

As though surprised by the address, Eline stumbled for some of her ale to slosh towards the ground.

Nose wrinkled, Marksam drew back as though he could smell the imaginary alcohol on her breath. Eline noticed he didn’t seem to be drunk – at least one of the Nitenbeiran principles had rubbed off on him. It meant he would be more aware though, which made this transaction dangerous.

“Are you familiar with this establishment?” Marksam’s other palm rested upon the hilt of his rapier. “Do you happen to know where one might relieve oneself?”

“Establishment?” Laying the Ko accent on thick, Eline came to a stop. “You’re out of your depths, soldier,” she laughed, ending the word with a hiccup. “This here’s no establishment, it’s a right pigsty.”

Marksam’s eyes narrowed at the title she gave him.

Nitenbeir social hierarchy was based upon military rank. Their system was complicated – overly so, in Eline’s opinion – but based on his attire, Marksam could be identified as at least a General. Calling him a soldier was an insult; one strong enough that in Nitenbeir he wouldn’t have been remotely out of line in challenging her to a duel.

And they had the nerve to call other Kingdoms savages.

“Regardless of where you think I belong,” he said stiffly. “I would hear your response.”

Lifting her drink, Eline’s hand trembled, more ale sloshing over the rim. “You would hear my response?” she mocked, mimicking his imperious tone. “Most people just piss down that hall to the left, I guess. That’s if they even bother to – ah!” she blurted, spilling the flagon down his front.

Marksam swore and jumped back, but the damage had been done. Brownish-gold liquid dribbled down his front of his shirt, seeping to stain the white silk underneath.

“S-sorry,” Eline stuttered, blinking at him in horror.

Marksam froze for a moment, staring stunned at his shirt. Slowly, his gaze lifted to hers. “You… vermin,” he hissed and lunged forward.

Eline cowered away from him, her right shoulder hitting the wall as she tripped on the end of her cloak. She cut a pitiful figure in the dark of the hall, both hands lifted as Marksam reached for his sword. Here he hesitated, chest heaving while he considered the pathetic figure before him. Eline worked to make herself seem smaller, hunching both shoulders as she stared at the ground.

At last the image seemed to work, since Marksam slowly exhaled and slid his sword in its sheath.

“Bah,” he grumbled, shoving past. “Filthy urchin. Not worth my trouble.”

Eline let herself be pushed, briefly gripping his cloak to steady herself – and then he was gone, disappeared around the corner. He left not in the direction of the gambling floor, but to the left, deeper into the den in search of a washroom.

As soon as he was gone, Eline straightened.

Trying not to smile, she slipped her hand into her pocket and ran the tip of her finger along the edge of a key. Here, at last, was her true prize for the evening. The entirety of the wealth played in the front room barely held a candle to the key inside her pocket.

It was one of twenty keys distributed by King Tulen himself, the ruler and monarch of the Kingdom of Kebasa. Each key granted entrance to the most exclusive level of the summer solstice festival; the highborn, an ongoing celebration to which only twenty people could enter at one time.

Eline had a buyer who wanted a key.

What her buyer needed it for, she did not dare ask, nor did she care. Eline had a job to do and that was all that mattered. After all, she more than anyone understood people often did desperate things in desperate situations.

Marksam was one of twenty individuals who had been granted a key. Each Kingdom on the continent usually received two or three to distribute. Marksam was considered important enough in Nitenbeir that the King had sent him in his place.

While Marksam had been distracted by the drink she spilled, Eline had dipped a hand in his pocket and pilfered his key – the very same pocket he had patted when the pockmarked youth at the bar had yelled thief earlier.

Yet another thief’s trick, and a widely effective one.

When a reasonable person heard the word thief, they immediately reached to protect their valuables. Of course, if another person – say, Eline – were also watching, said person would give away where they were keeping their valuables. All it took was a little distraction to ensure Eline stole the key out from under his nose.

She made a mental note to pay Jaspin, the pockmarked youth, double tomorrow for a job well-done.

Turning around, she strode down the corridor. At the crossway she turned in the opposite direction of Marksam. It would be a while before he returned from that particular hallway. Eline had purposefully sent him in that direction, since the corridor housed the back rooms where private games were held.

If no one stabbed Marksam as soon as he entered, it would take him a while to explain his mistake. Once he did, Eline would be long gone.

Paused at what seemed like a dead end, Eline came to a stop and lowered her hood.

Glancing above, she scanned the long grate in the ceiling – another common design on gambler’s row. Although there was only one way inside the den from the street, there existed another way out from the back.

It would be inconvenient for a den’s owner to barricade themselves in, along with anyone else they wished to trap. As a precautionary measure, most buildings housed a special exit: a crawl space between the first and second floors, just large enough for a person to move through while escaping to the next alley.

Glancing over her shoulder, Eline ensured no one was watching and backed up a few steps.

Bending both legs, she leapt to grab hold of a stone jutting out from the wall. Using the smaller crevices as handholds, she swiftly climbed to reach the ceiling above. Positioning her weight evenly on all limbs, Eline reached above to loosen the grate and push.

It clattered off to one side – frozen, Eline waited, but no one seemed to have heard. Re-gripping the grate, Eline swung her legs upwards and launched herself into the hole. Once inside the crawlspace, she carefully repositioned the grate in the floor.

Crouched to the ground, Eline examined her surroundings.

The space around her was dusty, as though no one had used the corridor in quite some time. Eline suspected this was the case; Ren Drago, the owner of the Merryweather, was amongst the most feared men in Kebasa. To break a rule in his establishment usually meant you’d break something else. There were not many a man like Ren would feel the need to escape from.

Not wasting any time, Eline began to move, carefully positioning her weight so she failed to make noise. It was unlikely anyone would think to look for her here, since the actual entrance to the crawl space was on the second floor, but it was better to be careful than dead.

At the end of the tunnel, Eline pulled a knife from her boot and went to work on the grate. Twisting the screws one by one, she calculated how much time had passed since she left Marksam alone. It wouldn’t be long before he returned – if she were lucky, he wouldn’t notice the missing key until he returned to his lodgings.

Removing the final screw from the grate, Eline jiggled it free from the wall. She hesitated a moment, listening to the sounds of the alley below.

Nothing unusual.

Setting the steel grate aside, Eline leaned out of the opening to glance at the ground. Nose wrinkled, she sighed. The grate emptied into an alleyway behind a butcher shop. Scraps of days-old meat were piled below, their blood trickling slowly to join through the cobblestones.

At least the meat would offer her a soft landing. Swinging both legs aloft, Eline held her breath as she dropped down from the ledge. For most people, this would have been a difficult task, but these kinds of feats had always come easily for Eline.

Straightening from her crouch, Eline immediately strode in the opposite direction of gambler’s row. Her footsteps were muffled, thanks to special boots Eline had designed herself.

Even if the alleyway was quiet, the city around her was not – each distant yell of laughter sounded at once too far and too loud. The dense, squatted buildings forced Eline to imagine she saw shapes in the shadows.

One hand drifted towards her belt as she walked; a pointless reflex, since her short sword remained at her lodgings, but she still found it comforting.

It would have been suspicious for her to run from gambler’s row, so Eline forced herself to calmly walk on. Each muscle in her body strained against instinct, yearning to be free now that the job was complete. All that was left was dropping key in its preassigned destination, collecting her money, and washing her mind of the memory.

Eline was good at that.

She was good at forgetting what she needed to forget, unseeing what she needed to unsee. It was why she made such a good thief, as her mentor once said. Eline could compartmentalize her soul in ways few even dreamed of and even while distracted, her senses remained intact.

It was how Eline heard the moment someone turned down the alley, their footsteps echoing hers around the sound of leaking pipes. Tilting her head, she listened as she walked, her stride never breaking as she pretended not to hear.

When the footsteps were barely a pace away, she exhaled and turned, yanking a knife from her belt.

Her blade was met with another, aimed directly at her heart.

The man on the other end of the sword smiled, his face hidden by shadow. “The famous Umbra,” he said, inclining his head. “I’ve been searching for you.”

#writeblr #fantasy #sci-fi #writing

41 notes · View notes

itzagothamcitysiren · 5 years ago

Text

Welcome to the Family

I’ve always struggled finding someone who I think would make a good Damian. I love the voice actor from the DCAU, and even the kid who did the voice in the Harley show lol, but live action wise I’ve never really settled on a kid I’d think would do a really good job. I’d love to know everyone’s own fan casting and who they would think would make a good Damian. :)

Mother’s Day pt.2

Damian couldn’t stop himself from watching the whole scene play out in front of him, cursing Drake as he knew that this was his plan all along. Drake wanted to rub it in his face no matter how hard he would deny it when Damian confronted him on it later. The bitter taste of the sweat was all Damian could taste as he slowly began to peel off his costume after a long and tiring night of patrolling Gotham City. His eyes darted from person to person, trying to keep the sudden annoyance down in the pit of his stomach.

His father stood off near the batcomputer, slowly getting ready to call it a night, overlooking some files. His father had his cowl off, the tiredness of a long night out in the city showing on his face. A little ways away stood his sister, politely excepting the water bottle Alfred was now handing out to each of them. He started to head towards the pair to retrieve his own but halted. Drake approached them, clearly hiding something behind his back, underneath his cape. He turned around, simmering but kept listening as Drake began to speak.

“Hey, staying the night?” Tim cleared his throat as he approached Halley, a hint of hopefulness reaching his voice.

The girl chugged her water bottle, capping it off with a sigh. The cold liquid felt good running down her throat. Placing the near empty bottle on a nearby desk she turned to give Tim her full attention. With a smile, she leaned up against the desk, her muscles sore. “Nah, I have to head to the library first thing tomorrow, finish up my term paper.”

“I can help you. Use the library here,” Tim frowned, offering his help. He hadn’t seen his sister as much as he’d like over the past few months. She’d been busy with her last year of college and the internship she started this year at the Gotham Gazette.

He did get to see her two weeks ago but that didn’t really count. He’d never gotten to meet the Robin before him, Jason Todd, but Halley spoke very fondly of him. They had grew extremely close he learned and she was absolutely devastated when the Joker killed him six years ago. And for the last couple of years, Tim would accompany with her to visit Jason’s grave on his death day because she could never bring herself to handle going alone.

“As much as I would love that, it’s actually a study date.” She bit her lip, looking at her feet.

“Wow, like a date, date?” Tim was taken aback, almost looking proud at the older girl. All the years he’s known her, she’s never been one for dating or having interest in anyone.

“Yeah, we’re going to go to this café; the one on fifth, the one you said had really good coffee muffins.” She nodded, still timid about the date itself. She hadn’t been on a date in six years. It felt weird, but Dick told her it was time to start moving on and Dick had never led her astray before so, she was going to try. Jason would want her to anyway, she kept telling herself.

“Well, I hope you have a good time. And actually get some work done.” Tim chuckled. “Well since I won’t see you in the morning and it’s technically the tenth right now, here you go,” Tim said, pulling out what was hidden behind his back.

Halley looked down at the items that were being outreached to her, her eyes already getting watery. Tim really didn’t understand how much this stuff meant to her. Glazing over the card, seeing it goofily decorated with glitter and cute little doodles, Halley couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. She thought it was adorable. Opening it up, she read what he wrote inside, chuckling more at the little stick figures of Nightshade and Red Robin. Inside it read: A mother is the person you can always call to see how long chicken can last in the fridge.

Shaking her head at him she moved to the other item he handed her. It was a medium sized box wrapped in wrapping paper with little cute cartoon pugs and an oversized purple bow. Putting the card in between her armpit, in order to not drop it, she tore the wrapping paper apart, letting out a squeal, causing everyone to look at her in shock; it took a lot to make the former assassin to squeal in pure giddiness.

Damian was now almost fuming as Halley lunged herself into Tim, nearly tripping the boy over in her excitement. Her grip on him was tight, as was her grasp on the gift she still held in her hand, as if holding onto it for dear life. She couldn’t believe he got her this,

“How did you get this? It sold out in seconds!” She pulled away, now hugging the object to her chest, “Tim you really didn’t have to do this, I totally didn’t realize the date, with school and-,”

“I knew how much you wanted it and were bummed when you had to go on that mission with the Titans when it went on sale and so I ordered it for you, so you didn’t miss out.” Tim cut off her rambling, shrugging her off. “I was going to give it to you for Christmas, but it didn’t come in on time so I saved it for this.”

“I can’t wait to show Steph!” She excitedly held it up to look at the smooth and shiny new box, revealing it to everyone in the room the newest Jeffree Star and Shane Dawson palate. “You’re literally the best Tim.” She pulled him into another hug, this time a quick one, no one noticing how Damian was now practically steaming. “What are you doing Wednesday? I’m only at the Gazette until like noon, we should hang out, go to the movies or arcade or something once you’re out of school. I’ll pick you up.”

“I promised I’d help the Titans with something, it’s not an emergency though-” Tim frowned, hesitating, he could try and reschedule.

“No, no it’s okay. I know you’ve missed them, being busy with school and all,” She waved off, scrunching up her nose. “We’ll figure it out, but soon, we gotta at least go get burgers or something. It’s been too long.”

Damian watched as Halley began to start saying her goodbye, realizing that it was nearly five am at this point and wanted to try to get at least three or four hours of sleep before she had to be up for her date. She called out a goodbye to Bruce and Alfred, shooting Tim another thank you and smile before heading to the showers to change and grab her bag to head to her apartment in the city. On her way out, Damian felt his cheeks turn red as she nicely wished him goodnight, smiling wider than she did to Tim. Feeling a strange pang in his chest, he brushed her off, muttering a grumpy ‘night, before curtly turning to head up to the Manor.

He was unamused by the exchange between her and Drake. He was only under the impression that he was giving her that immature card, not a gift as well. She looked so happy that it almost appeared that Drake was indeed the favorite brother, which absolutely could not possibly be true. He was the blood brother, he reminded himself. He couldn’t let Drake outshine him like that. It wasn’t even because he cared that much, it was just unacceptable. If it had been Grayson it might sit a little easier with Damian but Drake?

Damian thought about it until the sun shined through his windows, making him even angrier. Why was he letting this get to him as badly as it was? It was just a stupid card and a box of colorful dirt. But that stupid card and box of colorful dirt still stood in his mind for the following days, making it nearly impossible for him to concentrate on anything else. His father asked him what was wrong during patrol the following nights, only to get a growl here and a grunt there in response. If Damian had to see Drake’s smug look one more time during these moments, he’d finally kill him, his father be damned.

Damian couldn’t believe how much he let this get to him. He tried to deny it; blame it on hormones or whatever Grayson called the cause of his mood swings. He didn’t even begin to consider admitting he was jealous of his sister’s close relationships with his so called brothers until he found himself standing in front of the Gotham Gazette at 1:50pm. Gritting his teeth, he walked straight in. Once he reached the front desk, he said he was here to see his sister. He was a Wayne, they knew who he was and the woman nervously pointed him to the way to the office his sister worked in.

The look of worry and shock his sister wore as he stood in front of her desk confirmed that this had indeed been a terrible idea. She had been head deep in her computer, typing away furiously, while on the phone, barking out questions and demands; something about needing to have some interview with some councilman rescheduled ASAP. Damian was impressed as she spoke. He was used to her stern voice from working with her on missions but this was different, she seemed so professional but scary; he almost felt bad for whoever she was talking to on the phone, but also felt proud by the way she was demanding things like an al Ghul would.

She must have thought that he was someone else who knocked on her door for when she slammed the phone down, she didn’t even look up at him, just outreached her hand waiting to be passed something. She was expecting someone. She was busy. This was a terrible idea, Damian thought to himself in a slight panic. Was that sweat starting to form on his brow? Grow up Damian, he spat to himself.

When her hand stood empty she shook it aggressively as if silently saying to hand her something. Damian raised an eyebrow at her and when she was still left empty handed, she whipped her head up, clearly irritated. She was tired from another all-nighter. She couldn’t even consider going on patrol last night, which was something she never missed up until the last couple of months. She was itching to be done with school already.

She had to stay up all night trying to make a backup plan for her final article and paper. She was writing about the coming election, making a strong article highlighting the past Mayor’s and city officials. It was a puff piece, but a damn good one. She wanted it to be perfect so that way when she graduated in June she’d hopefully get to stay at the Gazette permanently. But at the same time, she was also just trying to use her connection with the paper to weasel her way into an interview with councilman, Rupert Thorne.

Her paper had been her obsession since starting it; she was exposing the corruption of city hall and it was at the point where her grade didn’t matter, she just wanted it to be done so she could publish it. Everyone knew that Gotham was corrupt, but no one really talked about, just complained about the crazy, dressed up weirdos that tormented the city at night. People like Scarecrow, Riddler and the Joker make people overlook villains who in her opinion where just as bad. For example, Rupert Thorne

He had his nose deep in too many illegal operations running out of Gotham that Halley and even Bruce lost count. He had the audacity to run for mayor this election season, as being a councilman wasn’t enough for someone like Thorne. If he won this, Gotham was more screwed then it already was. Without at least speaking with him once her entire paper and grade would be ruined. And she couldn’t exactly go as her alter ego and force him to talk to her. That would raise too many questions. She didn’t even care as she named dropped Bruce, making sure they knew that she was Halley Wayne; she was desperate.

When she saw Damian though all thoughts about Thorne left her mind and her face softened before scrunching up again with concern. Damian never visited her before a she had been pretty sure he forgot that she interned here a couple days out of the week. Stopping her work, she looked up at him, looking around the room as her co-workers eyed them curiously. “Damian, is everything okay? What happened?”

“Tt.” He crossed his arms.

“Damian, is everything okay?” She pressed, seeing that look in his eyes when he looked stressed or in trouble.

“Nothing is wrong, I-,” He paused. He hadn’t figured out what to say. He didn’t prepare for this. Gulping down his anxiety, he took the seat that was across from her desk. He could see the bags underneath her eyes and the untouched food sitting at the other end of the desk. He also noted how the clock said that it was now a couple minutes past two. “Didn’t you tell Drake you were done with work at noon?”

Halley blinked a few times, now knowing that there was no emergency but instead was just thrown off. What was he talking about? Looking down at the time on her laptop it clicked. Her conversation with Tim in the cave, about possibly hanging out today. Oh right, she remembered. Looking back up at her younger brother she gave him an unsure look, she didn’t understand why he was here.

“Um, yeah, well I don’t have a concept of time when I’m in here.” She lightly chuckled, trying to get a vibe on why he was here. Rubbing the black beanie on her head, itching her head awkwardly, “Most times the janitor has to kick me out.”

She looked at him when he just nodded at her, still not stating why he was sitting in front of her. She was surprised he remembered her conversation with Tim, she hadn’t thought he had been listening and it was like they were talking that loudly for him to be forced to overhear him. She had taken note of Tim texting her about how unbearable he’s been since last Sunday though. She bit the inside of her cheek, was Damian jealous? She laughed to herself, there was no way. But when she have him another look over she saw his green eyes staring at her messy desk with a slight pout on his face. Oh he was totally jealous of Tim, she thought.

She looked at her untouched lunch, having totally losing herself in her work and forgetting it even existed. She then felt her stomach growl, seeing how Damian noticed it as well, raising his eyebrow higher, if that was even possible. Quickly saving the document she was working on, she slowly closed her laptop, letting what she was about to do sink in. Trying to contain her smile, not wanting to scare him off before she could even begin, she cleared her throat.

“So do you like Burgers?”

145 notes · View notes

doritopaw101 · 4 years ago

Text

Arc1, book 2: Chapter 12

Icefire always thought of Riverclan as as plump and sleek, well fed from the river. That was until Silverstream told him that the oil issue had gotten worse, and humans were scaring away the fish.

In spite of his pang of pity, Icefire knew he and Graystripe would have to work hard to convince Stormstar that they had really saved the kits.

The Clan leader was at least prepared to give them a chance to explain. "Tell us what happened," Stormstar ordered.

Icefire began at the point when he had heard the kits wailing and seen them stranded on the mat of debris in the river.

"Since when have Thunderclan cats risked their lives for us?" Blackclaw broke in contemptuously as Icefire how he pushed the kits through the torrent to the riverbank.

Icefire wanted to to bite back but couldn't "That's rich coming from the cat that murdered a queen and started countless fights for no good reason other then stupid clan 'glory'"

Blackclaw hissed and looked ready to pounce but Stormstar stopped him "Quiet, Blackclaw! Let him speak. If he's lying, we'll find out soon enough and he does speak truth on that and don't think I forgot what you've done"

While Blackclaw grumbled, Mistyfoot spoke "He's not lying" They were still nuzzling their kits. "Why should Thunderclan steal kits when everyone is struggling to feed everyone, leaf-bare isn't completely over and prey is still scare they don't need more mouths to feed"

"Icefire's story makes sense" Silverstream observed calmly "We had to abandon the camp and shelter in these bushes when the water started to rise again" he explained to Icefire, his voice never falling "When we came to move Mistyfoot's kits, we could only find Primrosekit. Pikekit and Perchkit were missing. The whole nursery had been washed away. They must've been swept along the river to where you found them"

Stormstar nodded slowly, and Icefire realized that the hostility of the Riverclan cats was fading-all except for Blackclaw, who turned his back on the Thunderclan warriors with a snort of disgust.

"In that case, we're grateful to you" Stormstar mewed though he sounded grudging, as if he could hardly bear to be in debt to a pair of Thunders.

"Yes" Mistyfoot mewed. They looked up again, their eyes glowing softly with gratitude. "Without you, my kits would have died"

Icefire dipped his head in acknowledgment. Impulsively, he asked "Is there anything we can do for you? If you can't go back to your camp, and if prey's scare because of the flood-"

"We need no help from Thunderclan" Stormstar growled "Riverclan can look after itself"

"Don't be such a fool" It was Graypool who spoke, with a glare at her leader. Icefire saw Graystripe crouch down at the sound of her voice. Graypool was Splashsong's mother, the guilt would never fade.

"You're too proud for your own good," the elder rasped "How can we feed ourselves, even with the thaw? there is no good fish to eat. The river's practically poisoned; Echomist, Cedarpelt, and Lakeshine are evidence of that"

"It's true Storm" Voleclaw mewed, Shellkit, Mosskit, and Hailkit sitting in between his legs.

"It's all the Twolegs fault" Condorpaw hissed, his tail lashing

"They dumped their trash into the river and we suffer" Tidepaw added

Icefire rolled his eyes at this problem. He knew all about pride but they we're going to die without help. He looked around the Riverclan cats. Most of them couldn't meet his eyes, as if they were ashamed that a cat of another clan should know about their troubles.

"Thunderclan probably already knows when you allowed the white Thunder-rat into our camp" Suneyes growled "I'm sure Bluestar would love that"

"Bluestar doesn't know shit..er..mouse-dung" Icefire retorted "or do you want her to know, cause with your attitude it's getting really temping"

Suneyes's narrowed but her mouth was covered by Grasswhisker, wrapping her tail around her mother's muzzle. It seemed the Riverclan cats took his words seriously.

"Let us help you" Icefire urged "We'll catch prey for you in our territory and bring it to you, until the floods have gone and the river is clean" Even as he made this offer, he knew that he was breaking the warrior code that demanded loyalty to his own clan alone. Bluestar would snap his neck if she found out he was willing to share Thunderclan prey with Riverclan. There was another little bonus to this though, if he helped them the cats of Riverclan could trust him more.

He always thought about becoming leader, more than he cared to admit. Working to bring down Tiger-roar and Nightshade made that take priority by working themself very well into Tiger-roar's good graces, like Nightshade and Miststrike levels. Making Darkstripe jealous was a highlight. He hoped he got a position of power because if Riverclan could trust him then it could work out in the long run. If he couldn't gain leadership, the role of medicine cat or Silverblood could work.

"Would you really help us?" Stormstar asked slowly, his blue and amber eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Yes" Icefire mewed

"And I'll help too" Graystripe promised

"Then the clan thanks you" Stormstar grunted "None of my cats will challenge you in our territory until the floods go down and we can return to our camp. But after that, we will fend for overselves again" He turned and led the way back to the bushes, His subdued cats followed him, casting glances back at Icefire and Graystripe as they went. He could feel their doubt in his offer to help.

Last to go was Mistyfoot, nudging their kits to their paws and guiding them up the slope where Leopardclaw and Skyeyes were. "Thank you both" she murmured "I won't forget this"

Icefire and Graystripe were left alone as the Riverclan cats disappeared into the bushes. As they picked their way down the slop again toward the river, Graystripe shook her head in disbelief "Hunting for another clan? We must be mad"

"What else could we do?" Icefire retorted as Graystripe licked his muzzle wound "Let them starve?"

"Of course not! But we'll have to be careful. We'll be crowfood if Bluestar finds out"

"If she finds out" Icefire stated

It was a cold morning, gray morning. Icefire dragged themself out reluctantly out of the warm embrace of Raveneye and Graystripe cuddled on top of them and kicked Graystripe out of the nest.

"Why?" Graystripe whined

Icefire lowered their head and butted the broad gray shoulder. "Come on, Graystripe" they whispered into their lover's ear "We've got to hunt for Riverclan Pigeon, don't tell me you forgot"

At that, Graystripe gripped his tom flower crown as he leveled himself upright and parted his jaws in an enormous yawn. Icefire felt just as tired as their lover; supplying Riverclan with fresh-kill as well as keeping up with their duties in Thunderclan was taking up all their time and energy. They had crossed the river with prey several times, and so far their luck had held. No Thunderclan cat had found out what they were doing.

The clan was doing well this moons, Littlepaw, Sleetpaw, and Smokypaw passed their assessments as well as their duels and received their warrior names: Littlebreeze, Sleetpelt, and Smokyclaw. Chivekit, Stagkit, and Hawk-kit were apprenticed, Chivepaw had gotten Goldenflower, Stagpaw got Cranewing, and Hawkpaw was given to Larkwing. Seedspots had moved into the nursery, expecting Lionheart's kits. Only a bitch could love a basturd. Petalpaw's training had been given over to Robinwing. Thornkit and Brightkit were apprenticed to Nightshade and Tiger-roar.

Stretching, Icefire glanced cautiously around the den. Most of the warriors were curled among the loss, too sound asleep to ask awkward questions. Tiger-roar was just a mound of two-colored tabby fur in his nest, with white bush in the form of Leopardstorm.

Icefire slipped out between the branches of the den. At first he thought all the other cats were asleep; then he saw Brindleface appear at the entrance to the nursery and lifted their head to sniff the air. As if they didn't like the raw, damp wind that greeted them, they retreated almost at once.

Icefire looked back at Graystripe, who was shaking scraps of moss off his coat. "Okay" they mewed "We can go now"

The two cats bounded across the clearing toward the gorse tunnel. Just as they reached it, two familiar voices behind them called out, "Dad! Dad!"

Icefire froze and turned around, Sunnykitkit and Shrikekit scampering over, yowling at him.

"Why!" Graystripe whined once more

"Starclan knows" Icefire sighed "Let me deal with my kits"

"Where are you going?" Sunnykit panted excitedly as she skidded to a stop in front of the warriors "Can we come with you?"

"No" Graystripe mewed "Kits don't leave camp, only with warriors"

"I'll be an apprentice soon" Sunnykit whined

"Soon isn't now" Icefire reminded his daughter, struggling to keep calm. If they hung around much longer, the whole clan would be awake and wanting know where they were going.

"What's going on?" Cranewing said with a yawn

"Nothing" Graystripe quickly mewed to his sister "Just going for an busy hunt with Icefire"

Cranewing nodded her head in realization "Got ya, come on kits, you can watch me and Stagpaw train"

"You're never around as much" Sunnykit whined, her amber eyes tearful "We miss you"

"The rouges are still out there and who else knows what so none of you will be going anywhere without warriors with you, now go back to your nests" Icefire looked straight ahead so they couldn't see his kits sad faces "Let's go Graystripe"

Moments later they were racing up the ravine with Graystripe at their side.

"Let's hope they won't tell anyone" Graystripe puffed

"We can worry about that later" Icefire panted "I'm sure Cranewing can keep them busy" 'helps me feel less bad'

The two warriors headed for the stepping-stones. The fallen tree was still there to help them cross the river, and hunting close by meant they had less distance to carry the fresh-kill, and were less likely to be spotted.

By the time they reached the edge of the forest, the daylight had grown stronger, but the sunrise was hidden behind a mass of gray cloud. There was spatter of rain in the wind.

Icefire and Graystripe caught the scent of squirrel. Graystripe spotted it and didn't think and chased after it. Icefire facepawed then went after the gray tom. He saw Icefire saw Graystripe chase the squirrel into a log, Icefire went over to the other side. The squirrel hadn't been ready for that and Icefire killed it quickly.

"That's one" Icefire said through the prey.

"Uh..Icy"

"Yeah?"

"I'm stuck"

Icefire rolled his eyes "Of course"

It took a few moments to pull Graystripe out by the tail then just digging into his hind legs and pulling him out. The two warriors continued their hunt until they had killed a rabbit and a couple of mice. By then, although he gladly couldn't see the sun, Icefire knew it must be near sun-high. "We'd better take this to Riverclan" he mewed "They're bound to miss us back at the camp soon"

His was relived as they pasted the fallen tree, the water was no higher, and the crossing seemed easier now that he had done it several times. All the same, Icefire felt uneasy as he scrambled through the branches, knowing that he was in full view of Thunderclan cat who happened to be patrolling the forest's edge.

He and Graystripe swam the last couple of fox-lengths and pulled themselves out of the river on the Riverclan side. When they had shaken the water out of their fur they slunk quickly toward the bushes where Riverclan had made their temporary camp.

A cat must have been on watch, because as they approached, Leopardclaw emerged from the bushes. "Welcome," she mewed, sounding a lot friendlier than she had when she first came upon them with Pikekit and Perchkit.

Icefire followed her into the shelter of the hawthorn branches. The Riverclan cats had worked hard since the floods forced them out their camp, bringing moss for bedding and scraping out a place beside the roots of a large bush where fresh-kill could be stored. Today this was little more than pitiful collection of a few mice and couple of blackbirds, which made the Thunderclan warrior's contribution all the more necessary. Icefire dropped his prey onto the pile, and Graystripe did the same.

"Is that more fresh-kill?" Stonefur appeared with Silverstream and Minnowpool just behind him. "Great!"

"We have to feed Graypool and the royals first" Leopardclaw reminded the gray warrior

"I know Leopardclaw" Stonefur stated, his voice level

"We'll take something for Graypool" Silverstream mewed, stepping between the two calmly "Graystripe grab that rabbit will ya"

Graystripe grabbed the rabbit hesitantly.

"Graypool wants to talk with you Graystripe, don't worry I'll stay around" Silverstream added with a wink ignoring Leopardclaw's disapproving glare

Graystripe stepped lightly and followed Minnowpool and Silverstream out of the bushes.

"They've got the right idea" Stonefur mewed "Icefire, do you want to the nursing queens? Then they can thank you themselves"

Icefire agreed. Following Stonefur, they got curious about something.

"Is is weird being half-clan?"

"It's less about it being weird and more about loyalty with cats, the fact I look more Thunderclan than Riverclan doesn't help"

"Mistyfoot looks more like Bluestar than you do"

"She has Stormstar's figure, I act more like a Thunder from what others say about me being a stubborn as a bass"

"Sometimes you need to be stubborn for things to get done"

"That's what I say but trying saying that from calm and too relaxed cats of Riverclan"

"Leoaprdclaw and Blackclaw seem more stubborn than you"

Stonefur chuckled at that.

They neared the makeshift nursery, Icefire wondered one more thing though "How's it going with Blackclaw?"

"Tossed him like a fish into the river, literally" He pointed to a nick in his already cut ears "Can't stop me from seeing our kits and it's not like Skyeyes going to stop me, Seaweedpaw is a blessing for her help with them"

"How's she doing by the way, Marigoldpaw's been asking"

"Petalstream says she's doing well, she likes using her name sake to make necklaces and crowns for the other apprentices"

"Spottedleaf would be proud"

Stonefur smiled "Yeah, she would"

Icefire padded in and was pleased to see Mistyfoot again, stretched out to their side while their kits suckled contentedly. Swanlight greeted him with a lick on the head as did Dawnscale and Mallowtail, they let their kits come over to him as well. Sootwhisker and Greenflower nodded to him. Suneyes ignored him though her kits sure didn't. What he did notice was Mosspelt and Flameshell.

"Filou" he said curtly, letting Gullkit, Mink-kit, Garkit play with his tail

Flameshell ducked her head like a turtle "I'm sorry I didn't tell you"

Icefire hummed "Who?"

"Well me and Willowheart wanted kits and I offered to carry them"

Icefire turned to Mosspelt "And you?"

"I thought Silvertide told you"

Stonefur led him to a spot further along the ridge where Graypool was crouched on a bed of heather and bracken, tucking into the fresh-kill. He spotted Graystripe looking much calmer than he had been in a while.

They had left quickly, wanting to get back to camp as soon as possible. Icefire still weighed down with anxiety as they crossed the tree truck and went back into Thunderclan territory, though he tried hard to push the problem out of his mind. He had two ideas to use as an excuse, he did the first already.

"Now I want to sleep" Graystripe yawned, grooming his fur and avoiding sitting on his rump. Only a mousebrain would think Graystripe was the dominant one between the two them.

"I hate and love your stamina" he muttered, "We should hunt, at least-"

An excited mew from the edge of the forest interrupted him. "Papa! Dad!"

Icefire stared in disbelief as he saw Sunnykit, Shrikekit, and Rosekit crashed out of the bracken at the edge of the trees.

"Oh, mouse dung!" Graystripe muttered

Icefire padded across the grass, his heart sinking. "What are you three doing here?" he demanded "I told you to stay back at camp"

"I tracked you" Sunnykit announced proudly "All the way from camp"

As he looked at his nephew's shining blue eyes, Icefire felt sick with apprehension, Their chances of slipping back into camp with a story of early hunting had just vanished. They must have seen them crossing the river.

"Sunnykit followed your scent trail right up to the stepping-stones" Shrikekit mewed "Papa, what were you and Graystripe doing in Riverclan territory?

"Why do you smell weird?" Sunnykit asked

Before Icefire could think of a reply, another voice broke in-a low, menacing growl. "Yes, that's what I would like to know, too"

Icefire tried to stay calm as he looked up to see Tiger-roar shouldering his way through the crisp brown bracken.

"You screwed up this time Icefire"

Shit

When they reached the camp, Icefire saw Bluestar standing at the foot of the Highrock, Seedspots laying behind her, her plump white belly exposed. A patrol made up of Leopardstorm, Fogtail, Chestnutclaw, and Mousefur was reporting to Bluestar.

"The stream is flooded as far as the Thunderpath" Icefire heard Leopardstorm say. "If the water doesn't go down, we won't be able to make it to the next gathering"

"There's still time before-" Bluestar broke off when she saw Tiger-roar approach her. "Yes, what is is?"

"I've brought these cats to you" the deputy growled "Three disobedient kits, and two traitors"

"Traitors!" Fogtail echoed, Chestnutclaw smirked. Chestnutclaw's eyes met Icefire's with an unpleasant gleam "Just what I'd expect from a kittypet" the reddish-brown tom sneered, he stared at the kits "What were you three thinking?"

"We wanted to see where Papa was going" Sunnykit said

"I've taught you three better than to follow him around"

"Excuse me?" Icefire hissed

"Enough" Bluestar ordered, more like snarled. She nodded to the cats in the patrol "You may go" she glanced at Seedspots who wore an amused grin "all of you" She turned back to Tiger-roar as the cats moved away. "Tell me what happened"

"Well if it isn't our newest apprentices, Icepaw and Graypaw"

Icefire looked up from his vole to see Fogtail swaggering toward him, his long tail waving in the air. "Ready for a training session?"

Bluestar hadn't been as mad as he thought. She punished Shrikekit, Sunnykit, and Rosekit with elder duties while she made Icefire and Graystripe do apprentice duties. Shrikekit seemed to enjoy talking with the elders and taking care of them, especially White-eye. Better than Smallear's favoritism over Rosekit.

Chestnutclaw had tried to contest his custody of their kits, stating that he was a danger and trouble for them. Considering what they and Graystripe had been caught doing, good will wasn't exactly on his side. Icefire was allowed in the nursery when deemed needed or at night any other time the kits were to be watched by Chestnutclaw or another royal. It made his blood boil that he was denied his kits but Bluestar did remind him that he didn't help his case, he was mad he agreed with her. =

Icefire and Graystripe took their time to finish their meals, then they had to follow Fogtail out of camp.

"Now Icepaw-"

"I'mma stop you right there before I slice your other ear" Icefire snapped before Fogtail could even start "Let's get this over with"

The day was cold and gray, just how he liked it especially when rain had began to fall but prey was hard to find. It was hard to pinpoint any movement for him and Fogtail wasn't making it easier, when he sneered in his ringing ears. Even if he lost his sight he could still make a good shot for Fogtail's ear or muzzle.

He ended up smacking Fogtail when he made him lose a dove.

He regretted nothing.

Icefire had a bad feeling in his belly. He was already ticked cause his nest in the apprentices den made him uncomfortable. Goosefeather just told him to grin and bear it. The apprentices had stared at him with wide eye, as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing. Swiftpaw sneered at him, probably encouraged by Fogtail.

The good was that Bluestar had thought he and Graystripe learned their lesson. He was glad.

He wasn't glad when he found out he was stuck on a flood patrol with Tiger-roar, Chestnutclaw, and Fogtail. A recipe for disaster, or he thought but they seemed peaceful, it weirded him out.

The sun rose higher, and the sky turned to a deep blue as the four cats journeyed through the forest toward Fourtrees.

As he padded after Tiger-roar, Icefire was distracted by tempting movements in the undergrowth as prey scurried to and fro. After a while the deputy let them stop and hunt for themselves. He wasn't going to let Tiger-roar's good mood go to waste. he quickly caught a vole with a swift pounce.

Then they went on, Icefire's stomach was warm and full from the vole he had eaten. Then they reached the top of a slope and looked down toward the stream that crossed Thunderclan territory, separating them from Fourtrees. Tiger-roar let out a long, soft hiss, Chestnutclaw lashed his tail, and Fogtail yowled in dismay.

Icefire shared their exasperation. Usually the stream was shallow enough for cats to cross easily, keeping their paws dry by leaping from rock to rock. Now the water had spread into a glistening sheet in either side, while the current churned swiftly along the original course of the stream.

"Fancy crossing that?" Fogtail spat "I don't"

Without a word, Tiger-roar began padding upstream, following the edge of the floodwater toward the Thunderpath. The land sloped gently upward, and before long, Icefire could see when he narrowed his eyes the shining surface was broken by tussocks of grass and clumps of bracken poking above the water.

"This isn't as deep as when Leopardstorm last reported" Tiger-roar mewed "We try to cross here"

Icefire had doubts but knew if he said a word, he would be mocked for his kittypet roots. He quietly followed Tiger-roar, who was already wading into the flood. He couldn't help noticing that Fogtail's ears twitched nervously as he splashed in beside him. Chestnutclaw just brought waves as he tried to get to land, Icefire wasn't helping him in the slightest.

In front of him, the current was brown where it stirred up mud from the streambed. It was much too wide for a cat to leap, and the stepping-stones were completely submerged.

"Those damn Rivers were right" Tiger-roar growled

Whiteclaw and Morningriver had come to Thunderclan to warn them about the water levels but the Thunderclan wanted to see it for themselves.

"Come here! Look at this!"

Icefire splashed toward him. The deputy, with Fogtail and Chestnutclaw beside him, was standing at the edge of the stream. A branch was lodged in front of them, swept into place by the current so that it stretched from one bank to the other.

"Just what we need" Tiger-roar grunted in satisfaction

Icefire felt a shove "Icefire, check that it's safe, will you?" Chestnutclaw mewed

Icefire saw Goosefeather floating above the muddy water, the gray speckled tom said nothing. It was foreboding and Icefire knew it.

"Scared, kittypet?" Chestnutclaw taunted him.

"Of drowning, yes" he snapped at the brutish warrior "I don't see you eager to do it, so shut your trap before I do it for you" He turned back to the murky water. Gritting his teeth, he stepped onto the end of the branch. He would not let them, least of them Chestnutclaw taunt him and have the pleasure of reporting him.

Immediately it sagged under his paws, and he dug his claws in hard, fighting for balance. He could see brown water racing a mouse-length below, and for a few heartbeats he thought he would plunge straight into it.

Then he steadied himself. He began to move forward cautiously, pacing his paws in a straight line one after the other. The slender branch bounced under weight with every step. Twigs caught in his fur, threatening his balance, 'We'll never get to the gathering like this', Icefire thought.

Gradually he drew closer to the middle of the stream, where the current was strongest. The branch tapered until it was barley as thick as his tail, making it harder to find a pawhold. Pausing, Icefire measured the distance left; was he close enough to leap safely yet?

Then the branch lurched under him. Instinctively he gripped tighter with his claw. He heard Tiger-roar yowl, "Icefire! Get back!"

Icefire tried to double back, he sway precariously. Then the branch lurched again and suddenly it was free, racing along with the surging water. Icefire slipped side ways, and thought he heard Tiger-roar yowl once more as the waves closed over his head.

7 notes · View notes

forfuchssake · 5 years ago

Text

Batbear to the Rescue || Bri & Morgan

TIMING: Present PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems & @honeybugbearbri SUMMARY: A hunter tries to capture and kill Morgan and Bri comes to the rescue.

Bri found it funny the way hunters worked. Always so concentrated on their prey that they forgot how quickly they themselves could become the prey. She’d been watching Jack for a few days now, ever since she saw him stake a vampire outside Nightshade. That simply wouldn’t do. It was easy enough to keep somewhat on his trail, get a feel of his routine, and slightly play with his reality. Men like that, they never dreamed that they could be on the other side of it all. They thought they were the biggest predators out there and their own ego would be their downfall. He was in her forest now, her domain, stalking after some girl who seemed to be hunting a rabbit. Brianne knew she must have been some sort of undead, but that mattered little. The priority was turning this hunter into her own trophy. She lurked quietly behind the trees, waiting for him to spring into action.

Morgan was reluctant to call Remmy the moment she felt herself coming a little too unglued. They had only just started talking again, and this wasn’t a disaster of a day. This was just a time when the nothing of the world around her grated, when she felt the pull of the death-pit inside her a little harder than she had the last few days. And dammit, she didn’t want to go straight back into bed, or worse, the floor. Remmy said to keep trying. So, while Deirdre was out, Morgan returned to the woods. She was hoping to practice the lessons Ulfric had given her, but the smell of death was distracting her. It was just the right kind, she could tell by spotting it in the distance. Not too fresh, not too rotted. Morgan turned her attention away from her live prey and towards another. She didn’t even have to be quiet. Morgan leapt--and felt a stiff wire around her neck, yanking her onto her back. Morgan scrambled, kicking her feet uselessly at the grass. She didn’t even think about calling for help. Who would hear her? Who even knew where she was? Morgan tugged at the wire, her fingers slipping on the smooth cording, scrambling for purchase. She pawed back, searching for the rest of the lasso. The person on the other end tugged, dragging her across the ground. Morgan tilted her head back, eyes pinballing through the woods in panic. She couldn’t see anything. Just a shadow. A no one shadow.

“Don’t fight,” they said. “You’re only gonna make this harder on yourself.”

Morgan squeaked, grunted mutely. The cord was digging too deep into her neck for her to speak.

Any suspicions she had that Jack had been on the hunt were confirmed when Bri saw him attack. As he sprung to capture the woman with some sort of cord, her body shifted and Bri felt herself become larger than life. With a roar, she leapt for the distracted hunter, claws tearing into his sides. The pitiful little yelp that came out of his mouth was music to her ears. The bear looked him straight in the eye, loving how palpable the fear radiating off of him was. His grip on the wire he was using to trap the undead woman loosened and fell from his hands. A quick paw swiped it away from him, leaving gashes in his hand, as he tried to reach for it again. With a booming roar, Bri lowered her now bear shaped head right into his face. The fear coming off of him was delicious. The righteous poetic justice of watching the wretched man realize he had become her prey. If bears could smile, her grin would be wide as she could smell the stink of urine on him. Jack really was quite easily frightened. Seemed surprising giving his occupation, but when faced with the reality of death, they were all the same. As he whimpered, she slashed her claws into his throat and watched the blood pool into the grass beneath him. Confident he was dead, the bear backed away from the hunter’s body. Jack was effectively dead and she contemplated finishing off a bottle of Jack Daniels. She could place his teeth and smaller bones inside once she finished. It’d make a great centerpiece. A true bottle of Jack. Sensing the girl’s eyes on her, she focused on shifting back to her now nude human form. She quizzically looked the other woman over. “Are you hurt?”

Morgan felt the cord loosen first. Whimpering like a frightened animal, she tugged and clawed at it wildly until she could get it over her head and as far away from her as she could throw it. It was a fucking metal lasso, like the kind they used in zoos for the big cats. Morgan touched her throat, grimacing with a horror she hadn’t felt before. Her stomach tightened. Fuck, was she going to be sick? She backed away. She couldn’t remember where the dead rabbit was, which way she’d come from, where she’d put her phone in her pocket. She fumbled to pat herself as she backed away, but her hands were shaking too much to dig through anything. When she heard a strange voice, she cried out, backing further away. This was--not the scary murderer in the woods. Mostly because the scary murderer, and his stakes and sword were on the ground. So-- “Who are you?” Wait. She’d asked her a question first. Right? “U-uh…” It was a little hard to speak. “I’m fine. I’m...not hurt. I can’t...really get hurt anymore. Mostly.” But it was hard drawing enough air in to speak. Her throat ached. “Where did you come from?”

Bri looked at her with narrow, quizzical eyes. It was clear she was in pain, but she supposed it would heal quickly considering what she was. Her questions were valid, it wasn’t every day a bear came out of the woodwork and killed an undead hunter before your eyes. Catching wind of these guys was rare for her. Most of her collection had been werewolf hunters, but she always believed variety to be a virtue. Plus, now the woman before her could go about her way and hopefully stir fear in those around her. As she answered, Bri crossed her arms over her bare chest and answered, “I’m Bri. I live closeby. I do these woods a service and keep them as hunter free as I’m able.” Looking her over, it was clear she was going to be okay. The undead had a way of healing quickly. “I’m glad you’re okay. A hunter victory is a loss for all of us.” With a slightly sinister grin, she said, “Why? Did I startle you?” With a gesture over to a cluster of trees, she answered, “From over there. I’ve been trying to keep tabs on this one since I saw him stake a vampire outside of Nightshade. He wasn’t quite so brave in the face of fear itself it seems.”

Bri was taking all of this very weirdly in stride for Morgan. Just standing naked in the woods and talking about the woods and asking questions like why and what’s up. Just another day in the life of...whatever she was. Morgan didn’t know where to put her eyes. Looking at the person talking to you good, gawking at naked women, bad. No winning here, and Morgan’s brain was still frazzled from how suddenly the world had literally fallen out from under her, how quickly she could’ve been chopped or caged away from the life she was just barely getting a grip on. Morgan risked a look down at the body. Not much of a looker anymore, but he didn’t seem familiar. “I don’t think I even know that guy,” she said faintly. “How does that even work? When did he meet me?” What did hunters like him do? Prowl the woods for zombies looking for dead critters? Because that was super threatening. “H-hunter victory,” she repeated. “That’s...that’s a thing. The thing that almost but didn’t happen. Right. Um...no, not startled, exactly, I think that started somewhere around the wire noose in the middle of what I really thought were deserted woods.” She swallowed, touching her throat again. Then risked an awkward ‘promise I’m not a creepy lesbian staring at you naked’ look in her general direction. “Thank you. For saving me. That was...I mean, you don’t even know me. And, um, sorry, my brain is lagging with the sudden near second-death--I’m assuming you know, somehow, I’m already kind of dead, and if not, weeeell--um, but: what is Nightshade? And can I--get you anything. Do anything or...whatever, for the random rescue favor? Do you do this a lot or something?”

Nudity was no stranger to Brianne. It was never something she really thought much of until seeing more of the human world. For bugbears and she had to imagine for other shifters, being naked was not something that was inherently sexual. It was just a natural state, the most natural if you were constantly shifting between bear and human forms. Her short stints of socializing did help her learn most others were uncomfortable with nakedness, whether it be their own or the nakedness of others. “You can look at me,” she remarked, “I was just a bear, societal norms mean little to me.” Bri supposed if she was still uncomfortable, that was her own deal. As expected, she had a lot of questions. “It’s hard to tell if he had been previously tracking you or not. I had been tracking him which was quite easy. He was overconfident.” She looked down to Jack, he looked like a work of art the way he was mangled on the grass. If she could paint, she’d paint Jack as he was right now. Her shoulders shrugged as she looked back to the undead woman, “I gathered as much. I presume undead seeing as dear Jack here was after you.” She listened momentarily as the other woman seemed to gather her bearings and asked more questions. It was understandable, some lesser man had just tried to turn her into prey with a cowardly metal lasso. With narrow eyes studying her, she answered, “Nightshade is the farmer’s market in town. It’s a nighttime market that’s open on Friday’s. I’m a beekeeper, I have a stand there called Honey Bri. You don’t owe me anything, I take joy in bringing hunters to justice. I’m Bri, a bugbear if you were curious about the whole bear thing.”

“Just a what?” Morgan was so surprised she looked Bri square in the face, trying to understand. “Did you say bear? Like...uh...a real bear? A bear who’s sometimes a person or a person who’s sometimes a bear?” She went on, something about tracking the hunter, or the hunter tracking her, she couldn’t keep track of which was which. When had she been tracked? Had someone really reported ‘woman playing dead in the cemetery’ to the police? Were there creepy pictures of her yoinking her arm out of its socket with Jane? Morgan started to tally up her outings in her head, trying to figure out how few pieces someone might need to put together who she was, what she was. “Honey Bri,” she mumbled, coming out of her thoughts. “I’ve never been to...there. The uh, Nightshade Market. I thought there was just...the normal farmer’s market.” She stared at the woman again. She had definitely, definitely said something about bringing hunters to justice. And not through giving them a good talking-to, but murder in the woods kind of justice. Morgan’s insides were still clenched with fear, but she couldn’t help being relieved. She would have wanted this to happen to him. It was what he deserved, dragging her across the forest floor like a mangy animal. But Bri had done it with so much calm. She wasn’t even breaking a sweat. And yet the thing Morgan could summon the words for was, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what bugbear means.”

“A bear,” Bri deadpanned. At the visible still very present confusion, she cackled slightly, She supposed her kind wasn’t as well known as most among the supernatural community. “Both, I suppose. Some bugbears live their lives mostly in bear form, others live mostly in human form. Depends on who you ask. I live mostly as a human. Still am very comfortable with nudity considering I transition between forms often.” She quietly allowed time for the woman to process what had just happened. Near death experiences seemed to throw most for a loop. Learning of a new species was probably also a bit on the strange side, especially if she was new to life as a zombie. Bri’s head was tilted as she watched her process everything. “Nightshade is a night time market that’s open on Friday’s. You can find ordinary stuff there as well as some out of the ordinary things. If you think of it, you can probably find it there. My stand is straightforward though- it’s honey and beeswax candles. I just like bees so I keep them.” She shook her head lightly, the woman was still disoriented and likely still hungry. “Yes, a bugbear. That’s what I am. I eat fear, spook people, and turn into a bear sometimes. The stopping hunters from killing people like you is more of a personal hobby.”

Processing was coming a little easier. Morgan caught the part where Bri’s ratio of animal-to-human was more fifty-fifty than, say, Ricky’s. She understood about the appetite, and how that might open some doors to aggressive tendencies, friendly as she seemed now. “Oh, like a Mara. Only...not. Okay. That’s neat.” She caught the part where Nightshade was a supernatural farmer’s market, and Bri smelled beeswax candles, and had enough brain cells working together to suppose it might be a good thing that she was only finding out about this after she’d lost the magic to compete with her. Bri didn’t seem the type to take kindly to a monkey’s paw. The part where Bri was some sort of superhero vigilante gave her more pause. She wasn’t sure why someone fighting back or helping strangers was the hardest thing to believe since she’d moved here, but it boggled her mind enough to fill her with a distressed wonder. “That’s...I mean, that’s kind of amazing, but...well, don’t you...don’t they ever try to hurt you back? Don’t you ever get scared about what they’ll do? I mean, not that I’m not grateful that I’m not—” she gestured vaguely to the hunter’s body. “Like that. Or in the back of some truck or being cut up for bone goo—” her voice trembled as the wide variety of potential awful started to sink in. “I just mean. That could be you too. That’s a lot to do for someone you don’t know.”

It seemed the initial shock of being hunted was starting to wear off. Bri nodded slowly at the mention of mara. She was familiar with them, primarily because of the shifts she’d pick up every so often at Misery Manor, but she found some of them to be a bit uppity. She paid little attention to their superiority complex. “Not quite. Similar in feeding on fear, but still different. Most mara and bugbears wouldn’t like to be compared. I don’t care much, but there is a little bit of rivalry there.” Bri found her question to be funny. Fear wasn’t something she experienced herself, but she craved other’s fears. Hunting hunters was dangerous from time to time, but it was rewarding work. There was a certain satisfaction that came with snuffing out someone who would choose to eliminate the supernatural altogether if they had the choice. As if they didn’t have the right to exist in their true nature. Whether it was safe was of little concern. Her body shifted as she shrugged and the light crack of twigs beneath her bare feet could be heard. “Nothing scares me. I’ve gotten hurt a few times, but I do not fear pain or death. They’re part of life. Most of the time, they don’t suspect someone is tracking them on their hunts and they don’t typically look for my kind.” While Bri felt righteous in her ways, she wasn’t quite sure how to accept the thanks. It didn’t feel like much. Jack had been easy enough to take down as a bear with the element of surprise. Her head shook slightly, “Don’t worry about it. I’d rather see you alive than Jack here.” She bent down to examine his body. The only part she really cared to save for herself was his teeth. She turned back to Morgan, “Would you care for his brain? I have little use for it.”

“Well...jinkies, Bri,” Morgan said, somewhat at a loss. “I guess that makes you the hero Gotham needs. And a heck of a lot better to look at than Batman.” A little wry humor always helped her keep her balanced on the edge when she thought she might fall over. And, well, this was as on the edge as she’d been since she’d died. Morgan dusted herself off again and backed away from the body. She’d had enough of a taste of what the hunter was capable of by feeling its wire rope around her. She didn’t want to know what his taste in music was, what sports he liked, how much of a person he’d been, and still hurt her like she was nothing. “I’m good,” she said. “I don’t...do that, not a lot, anyway. But I don’t think I’d want to feel someone like that inside of me anyways. Chop it up for the scavengers to eat, if you want it to go to use.” She swallowed thickly, searching for her footpath out and heading that way. “Even if you say I don’t owe you, I’ll find you, maybe? At the market, or...around. You’re a good person, you know. I hope there’s someone who looks out for you too.”

Bri blinked slowly. She had never really thought of herself as Batman. The only reason she’d even seen any of the films was because the Joker had a certain level of appeal though Harley Quinn was the far greater figure in the movie. She’d rather be Harley Quinn than Batman, but she supposed she could understand the comparison. “Thank you… I guess I am a bit of a vigilante of sorts. I would hope so, but then I don’t find men to be very… appealing to look at it.” She could hardly blame Morgan for not lowering herself to eat hunter brains. There had to be some sort of contagion for their staunch superiority complexes. Still, she felt the need to offer since the woman hadn’t gotten a proper meal. Then she was on about making it up to her. That wasn’t why she did this, but she wouldn’t mind seeing Morgan again. “You really don’t owe me, but I’d love to have you by the stand sometime. I can introduce you to my friend, Glen. His stand has some… things that may suit your appetite. Be safe out there, friend.”

#morgan #batbear to the rescue #wickedswriting

15 notes · View notes

vixenandviper · 5 years ago

Photo

HOLD! WHO GOES THERE? WHY, IS THAT [CATLINA JOHAR] THE [MADAME OF THE HOUSE] OF [ILLASQA]? THEY DO LOOK [ASSERTIVE] FOR A [WOMAN] OF [29] YEARS. DON’T THEY CALL [HER] THE [SAVVY AND PROTECTIVE HARLOT]? I’VE HEARD THEY’RE ALSO [SILVER TONGUED AND VICIOUS] THOUGH. DON’T TAKE MY WORD FOR IT BUT THEY DO LOOK AN AWFUL LOT LIKE [SUMMER BISHIL].

Basic Info

NAME: Catlina Johar

PRONUNCIATION: Cat-Leena Joe-Har

OCCUPATION: Madame of the Nightshade

AGE: 29

PLACE OF ORIGIN: The Red Keep

FAMILY MEMBERS: None known

Physical Description

HEIGHT: 5′2″

HAIIR COLOR: Dark chestnut with some lighter brown highlights

EYE COLOR: Dark brown

GENDER: Female

BUILD: Pete and slim

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES?: None besides a few freckles

ANY HEALTH RELATED ISSUES?: None

Personality

Catlina isn’t a sweet person. She can drip honey from her tongue if that’s what you want but it’ll cost you. Overall, she is someone who isn’t afraid to speak her mind but won’t give you any insight into her past. She does have a bit of an explosive temper but her rage is something she rarely taps into because she knows if she did, the things she’d say would probably land her in prison.

She is, however, extremely loyal to those who have been good to her. Whether that’s a simple favor or someone who has befriended her, you can be sure Catlina Johar will have your back. She is extremely protective of the people who work in her brothel and by extension, the people that work in the tavern. The tavern itself is owned by someone else but they all work together closely.

Additional Info

Catlina runs a tavern and brothel in Illasqa currently, though she was born in the Red Keep. I would love for her to have a few girls and/or guys in her care and business partners. Anything involving the brothel, essentially. As well as rival brothels or establishments too. She’s extremely protective of the girls in her care and wouldn’t let anyone do anything without their consent.

I’d love the Elliot to her Margo. He could be someone who frequents the tavern/brothel or someone who bought it with her. Essentially, he’s her only real friend and the only person other than herself she actually trusts. She would kill for him… and probably has. And he thinks of her as his best friend.

People from her past. She was born on the streets of the Red Keep, her mother was probably a prostitute herself. But an older woman took pity on Cat and took her in, essentially ‘buying’ her from her mother. She was the only person Cat ever saw as a mother but she died when she was a child. Afterwards, Cat lived on the street and probably ran with some bad crowds, fending for herself. She probably made friends enough with some of the prostitutes and convinced them to let her clean up after them or fetch them food and drinks, etc, that they gave her a little closet she could sleep in. She eventually got a job as a serving wench and worked as a prostitute when she was older. But I would love plots from her past, anyone that would have known her back then.

History

She could have ended up in the gutter, in the shit and the muck, in the poorest areas of the Red Keep were it not for her intense desire to not die. Catlina was born without a last name. She was born without a first name until she was given up, just a few days after her birth. Her mother was a prostitute and she was an accident.

Cat was given up to an old woman known around town as Mani who often sold pastries and bread and cakes to the courtesans and clients that visited the Red Door. Her mother had left her in a basket, her only words to the old baker woman were “Please… I can’t. Please take my johar.” The first few years of her life were probably the happiest she could have actually known, given all of the circumstances. The woman was old and growing frail, already into at least her mid-sixties by the time she’d been given Catlina. But she had a heart full of love and a warm home, even if it was really just a room on top of her bakery.

The woman had decided to give Catlina a real name, though she often called her ‘Johar’ as her birth mother did. She taught Catlina how to read and write over the years and some basics that she knew about keeping her business going in the bakery. She often told Cat tales of her own youth and the life she’d led with her husband who had died a few years before. It had been a joyful and full life, even if they’d never had children. And she never told Cat who her mother was, only where she worked. She always said “We’ll talk about this when you’re older.”

But older never came for Cat’s caretaker. She was returning from buying goods from the woman when the bakery was ablaze. The old woman’s body had been burned to an unrecognizable degree and all the magi putting out the fire could tell her was that they hoped she’d died before the inferno took over the home. It seemed the oven had caught the rickety old walls on fire and the rest… was left as cinders. She had once again lost everything and she realized the woman who’d taken care of her was the closest thing she had to a mother.

For weeks, the girl managed to survive on the streets, doing odd chores for various business owners who knew her caretaker. They gave her a few coins, enough for her to buy some bread and fruit and occasionally would let her sleep in their store rooms. It was enough for her, she only ever wanted to survive.

Catlina found herself on the streets during a storm and afterwards, the girl became terribly ill. She remembers falling asleep on the streets and later feeling nothing but warmth. She didn’t know that’s what death would feel like but she was certain she was dying. And perhaps it was Jvala greeting her herself. Welcoming her back into the volcanic earth that she grew.

When she came to, she found it wasn’t Jvala’s warmth welcoming her into the After, but rather someone physical and real and towering and… she was terrified at first. Arvasdarr happened to be the one to find her, broken and sick and cold as she was in the streets. And through whatever hope or goodness or pity he had left in his heart, he took her in and helped her recover. She was with him for a few months at the most, and he’d never quite felt human. She’d asked him very straightforward if he was a dragon. He laughed at her but that was all the answer she needed. Even as a child of just ten years old, she knew he needed his freedom. And he needed to fly free more than anything. And he couldn’t do that looking after a kid. So she went to the place her Mani had mentioned, the Red Door.

No child of ten should have seen the things Catlina saw there. But she begged a few of the girls to give her chores, errands, let her clean, anything, if they’d just let her stay in one of the small store closets. They allowed this little trespass as long as she stayed out of their way. So Catlina went to Arvasdarr and the two parted ways. It was for the best, although he might have been the closest she’d ever find to a father figure.

The years drug on for Catlina, she cleaned, cooked, ran errands, bought groceries, mopped up bodily fluids and even helped the women at the brothel kick drunk men out of their rooms. And she stayed out of sight when she could and out of the way the rest of the time. The women there kicked her a few coins back every time she did them a favor and Catlina began saving more and more of it, buying only as much food as she needed to survive, the rest she stockpiled in order to one day leave the Red Keep.

She had dreams, she wanted a small house somewhere on a beach maybe, and she wanted to live by what she could provide herself. If she found a family along the way, she might be happy to make her own, but all she needed, perhaps, was independence and her own indomitable willpower.

Catlina started servicing the clients too sometime around fifteen or sixteen. She was making more money and paid for a room at the brothel out of her cut. Still, she scrimped and saved, occasionally fighting with one other girl there specifically, but she paid her as little mind as possible. She knew it would solve nothing and get her nowhere near what she wanted.

At eighteen, she left the Red Keep. Her first stop was a three year long stint in East Reach before she finally had enough money saved to book passage and move permanently to Illasqa. She found work there at what was then the Shrieking Clam. But she was motivated and she put in more than her fair share of hard work. On top of taking clients, she did what she could around the tavern and inn to make it function and look better.

She also met Avitej Kumara there. If only she’d known how much her life would change just by meeting him.

The first rule for any whore is to never fall in love. And perhaps she’d broken that rule the moment they’d locked eyes. But she would not realize the extent of the hold he had on her for many years. He was wild then, seemingly untamable. But he’d come often to the Shrieking Clam, it was a favorite haunt of his apparently, and when he’d laid eyes on her, there’d been no one else he wanted to claim.

The next few years were a whirlwind for Catlina. She quickly gained the previous owner of the Shrieking Clam’s favor by being hardworking and having the business tact and savvy that he was looking for. He was aging and wanted someone to take over for him. He trained her on everything she needed to properly manage a brothel and as she stepped further into the role of leadership, the place really started to turn around, and she took less and less clients.

When the man finally retired, Catlina was twenty six. By that point, she only ever took one client when he came around, and she had fixed and rebuilt all of the broken parts of the brothel. She renamed it the Nightshade and slowly, but surely, it had become less and less of a den of debauchery, and more and more a palace of pleasure. If it was any other sort of business, it would be respectable outside of Loqoala, even admired and favored.

But that was Calina Johar’s life. Hard work. The fate she was given overcome by sheer will but the fate she wanted still so far out of reach.

#kc.intro #finally posting this after literally 28 years

6 notes · View notes

whump-tr0pes · 5 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 7

Continuing for David & Nia. Read shaky hands, gunpoint, dragged away

Prompt: isolation

Tw: torture, probably nsfw

AO3

Carson dragged Nia a few steps farther into the room, almost against the back wall. He forced her to her knees again, pulling another set of handcuffs from a pocket. Nia felt him click one side around the chain between her wrists. The other he tightened around an anchor bolted into the floor she hadn’t noticed before. He stalked out of the room without a word.

Graylan watched her cooly. “I’d really recommend you start talking right now.”

“Start talking about what?” Nia’s voice shook.

Graylan rolled his eyes. “I’m wondering how you think this is going to go for you. I’m going to start hurting you and you are going to break. It doesn’t really matter when, because I’m very confident you’ll break long before we’ve been here for two hours, let alone 24. Do you think David is coming for you? Do you really think he’s going to get you out?”

Her jaw tightened. “You made a call. It doesn’t matter that it was a burner phone. It’s still traceable and whether it’s David or someone else, yeah, I think someone’s coming for me.” Shut up, you idiot.

Graylan laughed. “Wow, I hadn’t thought of that! Damn. My plan is blown. What a waste of fucking time.” He smacked his forehead. “I’m hurt by your lack of confidence in me. I used wi-fi calling and installed a VPN service. Yeah, they probably are tracking me, but to the wrong location.”

She felt like a bucket of cold water had been turned over in her stomach. That call was the only lifeline she had. If it wasn’t traceable…she had no hope of anyone finding her again. They would find her body. Ok. At least I know now. I’m not getting out of here alive. She felt her throat burn with tears for just a moment. I want to see David again. She didn’t feel selfish wanting it, now that she knew he would never find her in time. If there was no hope at all of being rescued, she knew her mission. Hang on until I can’t.

“You look upset.” Graylan pouted his lips.

“Fuck off and die.”

Carson walked back into the room with a duffle bag slung on his shoulder. She didn’t have to wonder what was in it. They needed an entire bag for their equipment? Christ.

Graylan took the bag from Carson and set it on the ground next to her. The only thing he took out was a coil of paracord. “Do you know what a stress position is?” he asked her, casually unwinding it.

Nia snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna start me off with some kinky shit, Graylan.”

He laughed. “I should have figured that’s what you would associate it with. No, a stress position is a form of torture that uses the mechanics of the human body against itself. It puts pressure and weight on the body in an unbalanced way.” He dragged the chair next to her and stood on it. She thought about knocking the chair out from under him but she couldn’t lean her body far enough to reach it. He passed the end of the paracord through another anchor loop on the ceiling and stepped down, pulling the two ends down with him. As Nia glanced around she noticed a few more anchors on the walls. “It’s a surprisingly brutal form of torture. I enjoy it because there isn’t a lot of work that goes into it on my end.” Quickly, before Nia realized what he was doing, he tied a loop in one of the ends of the cord. He passed his arm through it, grabbed her hair, and guided the loop off his arm and around her neck. She twisted away from him. “Carson,” he said calmly over his shoulder. ��Come help me with this.” Carson pulled the loop so it was snug around her neck and knotted the ends so it couldn’t constrict further.

Graylan took a pause to smile at Nia. Her breaths came in hitched gasps as she tried not to panic. The other end of the cord hung loosely in Graylan’s hand.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here,” Graylan said, “and guess this whole lung injury thing has given you a little PTSD around not being able to breathe.”

Her voice sounded hard. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say most people aren’t super comfortable about the idea of not breathing.”

“Huh.” His lips curled up. “Yeah, I figured I was right.” He slowly pulled the cord down.

As the cord tightened around Nia’s neck, she sat straight up as tall as she could. Right before she was able to kneel straight up, her wrists jerked against the handcuffs. She gasped as she realized she couldn’t straighten her hips. Immediately she felt the strain down the front of her legs. Graylan continued to pull the cord down. She felt it begin to pull tight around her throat, constricting her airway. She whimpered.

Graylan’s hand paused. “Should I stop?”

She couldn’t nod, it would make it tighter. “Please,” she choked.

“Ok. Tell me about Operation Nightshade.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She closed them and two tears ran down her cheeks. “Please,” she said again.

“Wrong answer.” He pulled the cord tighter.

As the loop tightened more, a high whine began in her throat. She strained her neck up as high as she could, trying desperately to make a little slack in the cord. Her shoulders screamed in protest. The cuffs cut into her wrists. Her legs were already beginning to spasm. Her chest heaved in terrified gasps. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe no no no no no no no no no.

“Had enough? Should I let you go?” He toyed with the remaining coil.

Nia ground her teeth together with the effort of keeping the words inside. I know about Operation Nightshade let me go I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe.

Graylan puffed an exhale from between his lips. “Ok. Looks like we might be here a while.”

He stooped to run the loose end of the cord through the anchor on the floor. Pulling tight to make sure he hadn’t allowed any slack, he tied the cord and stepped back to admire how she looked.

Her breath was coming in choked gasps. She gagged over and over, straining every muscle, trying to find some way to give herself the slack she needed to breathe. Her eyes were wide with panic. Tears poured down her face, dripping off the cord and her shirt onto the floor.

Graylan moved the chair so its back was directly in front of Nia and sat, resting his forearms on the back of the chair. He let her choke for a few more minutes before he spoke.

“I want you to know,” he said smoothly, “how alone you are right now. Carson is with me for this but everyone else I have on the perimeter. There isn’t a single other person in this building. There isn’t anyone on your team, or in your agency, or on your side who knows where you are. There’s no chance of anyone stumbling across this place either. We are completely isolated. I have 24 hours…” He paused as a smile spread over his face. “…to do anything I want to you. And this is probably going to be the least pain you will ever be in again until I kill you.”

Nia fought for every breath. I can’t break I can’t break I can’t breathe I can’t breathe. The words took on an almost meditative quality. She willingly let her mind follow the rhythmic repetition of the words. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe.

Graylan looked at his watch. “It’s only been…about 30 minutes since I started the clock. You are going to die from this long before the 24 hours is up and honestly…there are a few more things I wanted to do. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this plan during my recovery.” He rolled up his left sleeve. The skin on his left arm was puckered and streaked with scars from the fire. Nia couldn’t see it. Her eyes were fixed on the wall behind him, wild and unfocused.

He sighed. “Ok.” He stood up from the chair and kneeled right in front her. “I’ll make you a deal. If you tell me you’ve heard of Operation Nightshade, I’ll stop this. I’ll let you breathe. Does that sound good?” Her lips were taking on a blue tinge. “Come on Nia, if you pass out you’re gonna wake up in the exact same position. This is not going to get better unless you give me something. Do you know what Operation Nightshade is?” She was passing less and less air. “Do yourself a favor and give me something to work with, Nia. Have you heard of Operation Nightshade?”

She closed her eyes. Imperceptibly, her lips moved. Yes.

“It’s about fucking time.” He drew a knife from his belt and held it to her throat.

Please kill me.

He pressed the blade against her skin. She couldn’t feel afraid. She couldn’t breathe.

Please kill me I can’t breathe.

Blood beaded on the blade. Just before the skin gave way, Graylan looped the serrated edge under the cord and jerked. The cord snapped. Nia collapsed to floor.

She slumped to her side, wrists pulling against the cuffs. She took a shuddering, wheezing gasp and coughed until she thought her throat would tear open. She gulped in the air hungrily and whimpered with every exhale.

I can’t believe I already broke.

@whumptober2019

@untilthepainstarts

Next chapter

#whumptober2019 #no.7 #isolation #nsfwhump #David&Nia #torture #interrogation #strangulation #ptsd #begging #she's still got a long way to go #stress positions #choking #whump

51 notes · View notes

hela-avenger · 4 years ago

Text

To the Stars Who Listen- Part 3

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1583

A/N: And so it begins! Thanks for all the likes/reblogs/comments everyone! I see them and I appreciate them! I’ll probably be updating every Tuesday and Thursday now so there’s that. Tags are open!

TTSWL Masterlist

You feel like you’re floating in the middle of a dark pool surrounded by cold and unknown waters. It is relentless in its attempts to drag you down into nothing. Some part of you desires to just let yourself sink and try to ground yourself to whatever you find below. It would be so easy and yet a part of you knew that if you allowed yourself to reach the bottom you would be unable to float up once again.

So you fight against the rising tide to keep your head above the water. It doesn’t take long then to be pulled out of that darkness.

“She’s waking up.”

“She can’t,” someone mumbles next to you. “That tranq should have kept her under for the rest of the night.”

“It’s the power within her. Must have adapted around the sedative to wake its host up from it. The power won’t be put so easily to rest.”

“Then do something about it!”

“I can’t until she’s fully conscious!”

As if on cue, your eyes flutter open. Your eyelids feel heavy and the brightness in the room doesn’t help your sudden weak state.

“What’s-” you voice cracks and your tongue feels so foreign in your mouth. “What’s going on?”

Your sight blurs in and out but you recognize that bright red hair from anywhere.

“Nat?”

“Hey, Y/N,” she whispers beside you. “It’s ok. You’re ok.”

You can’t help but feel suddenly angry at the lie that she’s so blatantly telling you at the moment.

“Liar, liar,” you mutter through gritted teeth. “Pants on...”

A hand is quick to cover your mouth and you move to shove it off only to find your hands handcuffed to the hospital bed.

“That would have not bode well and you know that.”

You glare at your assailant only to find Loki staring down at you with a grin. The anger doesn’t fade away at the sight of him. It seems to enhance and he takes notice of it too.

“Everyone out!”

Your eyes snap away as you take in the crowd that’s in the room. Everyone is apparently there and you find this sudden urge to yell at them for staring.

“We’re not-” Tony starts to say before Loki cuts him off.

“She’s still quite volatile and until she gains some ounce of control, she will not stop until you are all disposed of.”

With that warning, they all have no other choice but to leave. They all shoot you a sympathetic look and you despise it. You don’t know why you’re feeling so darkly about your friends but you couldn’t stop it.

“I know,” Loki whispers as he looks down at you. “I know you are quite confused, but I’m going to let go of you now and I hope you can rein in your emotions and be civil with me.”

His honesty is oddly refreshing and you find yourself relaxing under his hold. True to his word, he releases you and you watch closely as he retreats into the seat next to you.

“I’m sure you have questions.”

“So, so many, don’t know where to begin,” you answer. “My head is spinning and I see no end.”

You frown at the choice of words that flowed out of your mouth so casually.

“Why am I rhyming? Why can’t I stop? Tell me now before my head drops.”

“I will answer your questions but I need you to remain calm,” Loki responds. “Can’t have you losing your head... literally.”

You take a deep breath trying your best to ease your mind, but it was hard. You didn’t know what was going on and why, out of everyone you knew, Loki was the one assisting you with it.

“You seemed surprised to find everyone here,” Loki states. “Do you not remember how you got here?”

You shake your head feeling uneasy of not having any recent memories since the museum.

“You found a book, one of mine, known as the Book of Veritas,” Loki explains. “Essentially, you got too close to it and it unleashed a power to you. I’m not sure exactly the extent of your abilities but I do know that you will have a knack of always knowing the truth of whoever you meet.”

He pauses as you try to make sense of everything you’ve been told. Oddly enough, some innate part of you told you he wasn’t lying which further proved that his explanation was indeed right.

“Now, as for your rhyming tongue,” Loki takes a deep breath and shrugs. “I can only presume that this new psychic development is one your mortal mind isn’t capable of withstanding. You are overwhelmed and your mind has reverted to a default language to ease the strain.”

“This is not ok,” you mumble. “Am I stuck this way?”

“No, not if I can help it,” Loki answers. “The rhyming is getting on my nerves already.”

He frowns, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Don’t know why I told you that. Must be another side effect of yours.”

You open your mouth to respond but close it when you realize that whatever apologies you had would end up rhyming and sounding insincere.

Loki doesn’t question your silence and instead props his hand up for you to take. You find yourself hesitating even though something told you he meant no harm.

“I just need to assess the power you have,” Loki explains. “It’ll be quick and harmless.”

With that answer, you raise your hand as far as the handcuff allowed you to. Loki met you halfway and you instantly feel a warmth spreading through your body.

“Hmm,” he hums. “That’s surprising.”

He lets go of your hand and looks up at you.

“You’ve grown stronger since you first came in. Not strong enough to expel your power physically so we will have to do this the hard way.”

“Hard way?” you repeat.

“You need to dig deep and spread some truth.”

“How is that hard?”

“Because certain truths, the heaviest ones, we like to keep real close,” Loki explains. “You don’t remember this, but you pinpointed some of your friends' insecurities when you first came in. You were quite cruel with them.“

You frown at hearing this hoping your friends knew you hadn’t meant any of it. As if sensing where your mind had drifted to, Loki speaks up.

“They know it wasn’t you,” he assures you. “It’s all because of the power residing in you. There is no way to extract it without killing you so the solution here is to gain control of it. Seeing as I am the expert on the book and magic itself, I’m going to train you. So first, let’s get you back to speaking normally.”

You nod in response and take a deep breath.

“Speak the truth. Use me as a target if you wish. I like to think I’ve got thick skin when it comes to taunting.”

You hesitate at Loki’s offer, but you find it so easy to read him.

“Little Loki went into the Great Hall. Little Loki had a big fall. Little Loki was the laughing stock of them all. Little Loki felt so utterly small.”

Loki chuckles at the memory you brought forth. It was simple and childish. Yes it was embarrassing to fall in front of the royal court but it was just a drop in the ocean compared to everything else. He sits back in his chair and looks at you.

“Now I know you can do better than that,” Loki states. “Come on, dig deeper.”

You find yourself focusing a bit harder on him and the words just slipped out of your mouth with ease.

“Silver tongue turned to lead. Thor won her heart in your stead. Princess Elvira loved the royal prince. Loki wasn’t even offered a second glimpse.”

That one did make him wince but Loki wasn’t utterly devastated at the memory of the Alfheim princess favoring his brother over him. You were getting close to gaining some control but your rhyming tongue still stood strong.

“Dig deeper,” Loki repeats.

You take a deep breath and clear your mind of everything but Loki. Envisioning his image, his voice, his overall being.

Eyes turning red. Ivory skin turning blue. Cold, everything is cold.

“I…” you stammer out confused. “I’ll rather not say.”

Loki pauses wondering what it is that you saw but withheld from saying.

“Y/N.”

“No, it’s a secret for a reason,” you shake your head. “I don’t really understand what I saw exactly but it felt so dark.”

Loki knew better than to push you to state what you saw in him. He suspected already of the secret you might have uncovered. You had certainly dug deep if you managed to find it.

He shrugs it off like he always does and looks at you with a small smile.

“You didn’t rhyme that time,” Loki states. “You managed to not only control what truth to find but whether or not to say it. That’s progress.”

“Does that mean I can get these off?” you ask as you raise your cuffed wrists.

With a snap of his fingers, the handcuffs are pried open. You stare down at your freed wrists and look up at him in surprise. Last you were told, Loki was incapable of doing magic.

“How did you do that?”

Loki doesn’t deem you a verbal response as he offers you a grin before getting up and leaving you on your own.

TTSWL Tag: @catsladen @is-it-madness @manyfandoms-marvel @mejusttryintogetby @illogicalfangirl @moonlightprime @islinglivesinshire @musicconversedance @missmadwoman @smaranshakthi @adaydreamingdragon @poetic-fiasco @like-a-wildfire @jasminecalia @ha-tep @charbokbok @setsuna-meiou31 @ms-blvck

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie @moonlightprime @badhollandfluff

211 notes · View notes

theharellan · 5 years ago

Note

Five times defended (from frcgment)

Five Times Solas Defended Mythal ( @frcgment )

one. The challenger falls to the ground at Mythal’s feet. Alive, but at her mercy. He stands over her, staff brushing the ground where it had swept under her knees. A self-assured smile steals onto Mythal’s face and her eyes lift, sweeping across the crowd. “Would anyone else care to try?”

Silence follows. Eyes wide with alarm now lower, falling as hands clasp in prayer. He straightens, staff in hand, only convinced the danger had passed when the challenger limps away. “I thought not.” She beckons to him, hand bracing his shoulder with a familial touch.

The moment is committed to memory, woven by one of her devoted. His elvhen shape is forgotten, in its stead, the wolf’s teeth flash, red with blood.

two. Time slows to a crawl within the palm of his hand, dust suspended between his fingers. The wings of a horsefly cease their drone, held in stasis before Mythal’s very eyes. “It was after your blood,” Fenara says with mock offense, though the lazy smile that turns the corners of his lips betrays him. “Does it not know who you are?”

“Evidently not, but what would a fly know of dragons?”

“A horsefly? Very little, I assume.” Time quickens, but only by a fraction, the buzzing sound swallowed as though heard from across a field. He pushes his palm out, wafting away thin air, and the fly is hurried along invisible currents, its wings humming the song of Mythal’s mercy.

three. Blood darkens the steps of her temple, the fright its bearer knew in his final moments lingers, heavy in the air. Mythal steps over the pool deftly, crimson red steals up her robes in streaks where the hem trails along the floor. She regards Fenara with a warm eye, hand reaching out to calm the magic still clenched in his fist. “It is over, lethallen,” she says. “The danger has passed.”

His fingers spread at her command, energy dissipating between them. The trespasser’s body lies broken at the bottom of the stairs. Glassy eyes hold the image of his reflection, expression twisted with the heat of a fight. He cannot bring himself to look long, face turning to stare at the still surface of the Vir’abelasan.

Mythal leans over to inspect his remains, hands tucked neatly behind her back. “You were overzealous,” she chides. “No trace of their motive remains, dread alone persists.”

Ears pin against his head, shame needling his conscience. He reaches out with his mind, grasping for some information he might have to offer and comes up with little. “He tried to speak before he breathed his last.” He gestures to the body, though his eyes do not move from their target. Whispers mist across the water, carrying secrets meant only for the chosen few. It had to be the trespasser’s goal, though to what end they may never know. “The sound may be caught.”

“I see.”

He catches her hand in the corner of his vision, palm up, waiting expectantly for him to answer her unspoken request. The dagger at his waist hums, so eager that it leaps into his fingers when he reaches to it. Mythal takes it and, kneeling upon her own temple’s floor, draws it over the dead man’s throat. A name breaks free from the jugular, its sound sweet and wanting: “Eshelan.”

They linger in its echo, each waiting for the other to come to a revelation. Mythal relents first, “Does it mean anything to you?” His head shakes in response.

“Nothing.” It replays in his head irregardless, equal parts awed and remorseful that a few short sounds can convey such affection. “Only that he knew love worth dying for.”

four. Her form tears at the seams, skin splitting at the joints as the essence of the Void bleeds through. The scream that rips from her lips turn his blood to ice. Secrets spill forth from them, filling his head with whispers, blackening the world in her wake. Over her cries, he tries to call her name– Andruil– but it is dead to her ears.

“She has forgotten,” Mythal says, her expression grave. Fear shines in her eyes, though it takes him a breath to recognise it (he had forgotten how it looked on her).

“I had hoped…” he begins to say, wondering if it even matters what he had hoped. Enough of her remained that their gambit had worked, mere rumours of a beast had brought her to them. Despite everything, some essence of the Hunter remains.

He tries to move forward, resolve swelling within him, ready to take the shape of a hunted beast. Her hand on his shoulder stops him. “Wait.” He stills immediately. “I am her quarry.”

An argument dies within him. What good is this body if it is not permitted to die for you? The question burns within him, begging to be asked beside a thousand others. Why do I wish for it? They howl like the secrets that erupt from Andruil, but his lips are sealed. He bows his head deferentially, stepping aside so that she may make her move.

Mythal takes to the air with an ease fitting of the First, dark wings pale against the black curse Andruil brought with her. He watches from afar, his name lessening with every blow struck against her.

five. Dressed in threadbare robes, he walks among the People, seeking normalcy in someone else’s life. The west remembers Andruil’s plague, but in the east it is a mere story carried forth by their heralds. Fountains sing praises to a new day, city streets gleam with the city’s prosperity, life is as he remembers.

Almost.

A great temple looms in the city’s center, nightshade vines twisting up its walls. The prayers of the faithful rise from within, as fervent and sincere as the day he’d first heard them, but their song disquiets him, apprehension flooding his veins. He evades the shadow it casts, hood pulled over his head to avoid the carved eyes of Falon’Din. Fenara begins to ask himself why, but kills the question in him before he can answer.

Beyond its shadow, shelter lies. He settles into a seat that had been saving itself long before his arrival and is served a warm, honeyed drink which quiets the fear in him. Yet around him, the world continues, ever forward. Conversations between friends, strangers whose faces he might never see again.

“They should have acted sooner.” One voice carries farther than the rest, loud in their cup. Day has only just broken, yet the quality of their opinion comes with the taste of wine. Suspicion tells him this has gone on for days. “Mythal tarried, and lives were lost. Convenient that she only cared to intervene when the life of her fellows were the ones at risk.” The gulp of wine punctuates their thoughts. “They should have acted sooner.”

His grip tightens around his cup, knuckles white against his skin. He tells himself not to speak, to let them have their blasphemes, that Mythal had bled for them to express their doubt, but his mouth opens as he turns in his seat. “Without her, we would all be lost to plague,” he says. The stranger’s eyes widen with bewilderment, in them he sees days of drunken stupor, each word of sacrilege deaf to the ears of their compatriots. Only he had heard them, only his heart had heeded them. Why? “You ought to be in worship, praising her name.”

Confusion fades quickly from their eyes, and in its place hard defiance sets in, drawn across a dark brow. “If you believe that, then tell me: why are you here?”

No answer comes, or none that will not give him away.

Defiance gives way to satisfaction, broadening their grin. “As I thought,” they say, “you agree.”

Cold doubt steals over him, and from afar he feels the statue’s gaze turn his way.

#frcgment #dorf elgar ( anonymous )#( asks )#suicidal thoughts cw #( my writing )#( long post )#she stood above the rest ( mythal )#for the strength of the wolf is the pack ( fen'amelan )#[ dont ask me how long this has been in my drafts ]#v; we were everyone ( elvhenan )

21 notes · View notes

sml8180 · 5 years ago

Text

Shot at Redemption - 21

Faith

“I said that I wanted to speak with all of you. That is true, but, this concerns Rose in particular,” Joseph addressed, sipping from his glass of water. Rose looked up towards the man, unsure of what he might have to say. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress, your spiritual growth since joining us is wonderful to see. Now that Faith is gone, we need someone to look after the Henbane region. You would have help, of course, we wouldn’t have you doing it alone, but I believe that it would be a good fit to you.”

“Wait, what?” Rose was clearly confused, looking at Joseph as she set her fork down.

“You want her to take Faith’s place?” John seemed equally surprised; he clearly hadn’t known about this.

Joseph nodded, “I do. With Faith gone, we need somebody in the Henbane region. Someone needs to supervise the process of getting Bliss plants into the main greenhouses, and otherwise getting things sorted out before it starts to get cold again. If last year is any indicator, we need to get things done by mid October, and the three of us cannot oversee all of it. Somebody needs to be there full time.”

“Why not have one of the Chosen oversee it?” Jacob questioned. “They’re plenty capable.”

“We can’t spare the Chosen to oversee the full region. The Junior Deputy took out a number of them before your men took them out, we don’t have the numbers we did before,” Joseph replied.

“I can handle the logistics all damn day, Jacob. Teach me what I need to know, and I’ll do what I can to make sure things run smoothly,” Rose cut in. She was still a bit confused, but she never let whether or not she was capable of something come into question, especially not by somebody like Jacob.

“I would rather you not curse at the table, Rose,” Joseph calmly chastised.

“I’ll make an effort, but no promises.”

Joseph and John sighed a bit, John shaking his head, while Jacob actually gave a short chuckle at Rose’s comment.

“What about her Angels?” Jacob pointed out. “If any of the ones she was working on are still alive, that is.”

“Angels?” Rose had no idea what Jacob was talking about. She vaguely remembered mentions of Bliss and Angels from weeks ago, but considering how much had happened in such a short period, she couldn’t recall if she’d ever actually learned anything about either.

“She won’t be handling them,” John cut in, practically ignoring the blonde. “It’d be too dangerous.”

“You and your men will handle them, Jacob. Whether they’re dead or alive, Rose is not to be in contact with them. The amount of Bliss used to get them to their state and keep them there is massive, and it lingers,” Joseph finalized, and Jacob nodded.

After a few beats of silence, Rose spoke up once again. “So… Does this make me, like, the new Faith, or something?”

“It won’t be official, but I suppose it does, to a degree. It will be your choice as to whether or not you stay in the position,” Joseph informed her.

The woman nodded, and fell into silent thought as their meal continued. The four finished eating, and John helped Joseph to clear the table, while Rose and Jacob neatened up the chairs and wiped the table down. Rose was still quiet as she and John made their way back to the Ranch, simply processing everything.

“You alright, Rose?” John asked as they made their way inside. “You’ve been quiet since dinner.”

“Just thinking,” she confessed. “I just took on a lot of responsibility without really knowing what I’m actually doing.”

“We’ll take it one thing at a time. Usually Faith didn’t have too much to worry about, except for the start of spring and the start of fall. You got unlucky, seeing as it’s late September.”

“Late September? Already? I guess I haven’t been paying too much attention to the date lately,” the woman ran a hand through her hair, letting out a sigh. It seemed like realizing how close to the end of the month it was shifted her attitude a bit, as if it bothered her.

“Is there something wrong about late September?” John looked down at the freckled blonde, seeming almost concerned.

“Just brings up memories of Maine, is all. I don’t really have the best memories of this time of year.”

John simply nodded, but didn’t press for more information. He had the resources to find out quite a bit about Rose, if he really wanted to learn about what she might mean. Instead, he let her go up to her room, making his way into his. They both got changed and settled down for the night, enjoying one another’s company before going to bed.

In the morning, Rose got up as she usually did, yawning and stretching a bit as she came down the stairs in her large t-shirt and shorts, with her hair still a mess. The smell of coffee and the sound of Blue humming in the kitchen brought a tired smile to her face.

"Morning, Blue," she greeted him, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Morning, Sunshine. I made coffee, and cinnamon bread is warming up, should be ready soon," John replied, pouring a couple cups of coffee.

"You made cinnamon bread?"

"Joseph did, he brought some down earlier with a letter for you." With that, the man handed Rose an envelope with her coffee, and the woman opened it up, reading through what was written as she took a sip of her drink.

"Says he’s going to show me around the Henbane region, get me up to speed on what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“That makes sense. October is just around the corner, after all, and we need to get the Bliss indoors. I’ll bring you to the Compound after breakfast.”

Rose gave a nod, sipping her coffee. John brought over a few slices of cinnamon bread, and the two ate while drinking their coffee and discussing whatever came to mind. It was a usual morning for them, as they ate and drank and got dressed. John drove Rose up to Joseph’s Compound, dropping her off before going to see to some work back in the Valley. The blonde met up with the Father, getting into one of the spare vehicles around the Compound with him, and they started off towards the Henbane region.

“This will be a busy day of learning for you, Rose,” Joseph started. “Is there anything you’d like to ask while we’re on our way?”

“Too many things…” Rose answered. She thought for a moment, before settling on a question. “Jacob mentioned Angels, and you and Blue said that I shouldn’t be in contact with them. Are they dangerous?”

“Faith’s Angels were once those too resistant and full of wrath to be saved. They were exposed to extremely high amounts of Bliss, making them compliant. Although, they can become extremely aggressive very easily. With the Faith they recognize gone, it is far more likely they will be aggressive towards anyone trying to take their place,” Joseph answered, doing his best to explain the situation. “Jacob and his men will be working to relocate or eliminate the current Angels, to ensure your safety.”

“Is there anything I should know about the Bliss?”

“Bliss is a hallucinogen, derived from a strain of nightshade. In its natural form, it can provide the user a high for a time. We normally refine it into either a liquid or a powder, which makes it far more potent. Faith had been looking to make it even stronger, before the Deputy killed her.”

“She was trying to make the refinement stronger?”

“She was, and some progress was being made. After her death, I called the project off. The refined product overall is strong enough. Our focus should be on ensuring the plants survive the Winter. This strain of the plant doesn’t do well in the cold.”

Rose nodded, taking in what she’d been told. The rest of the drive passed without another word from either of them, the silence only filled by the radio playing. Eventually, the pair arrived at one of the main Henbane outposts, the Jessop Conservatory. There was a large home on the property, and several plots where green plants with white flowers were growing, along with a couple of green houses. Project followers were milling about, tending to the plants and anything else that needed to be done.

“Here we are,” Joseph announced. “I can show you around, what you’ll need to do, and all that.”

Rose nodded, getting out of the car with Joseph. He lead her around the property, pointing out different equipment and informing the blonde about the things being done by the followers. As they entered one of the green houses, Rose quickly began to feel off. She coughed a bit, holding her head a bit. Initially, she waved it off, but after a bit more time, the woman had to catch herself on Joseph’s arm, halting him.

“Rose? Are you alright?” Joseph looked down at the woman, concerned.

“Dizzy…” Rose mumbled, before coughing once again.

Joseph didn’t say anything in response, he simply ushered Rose out of the green house. He had the blonde sit down on a stack of boxes, much like the hard ones scattered throughout John’s Ranch. After a few moments in the fresh air, Rose seemed to be breathing easier, she was still a bit dizzy, but at least her coughing had stopped. Joseph was by her side, carefully rubbing her back in an attempt to keep her calm.

“How are you feeling?” Joseph finally asked.

“Still a little dizzy… What happened?” Rose answered, looking over at Joseph.

“I believe that this may be from the flowers,” Joseph suggested. “The concentration inside the green house is much like if you were to walk through the fields. Most get a mild high from it, but some can become dizzy or otherwise sick from it.”

“Noted; wear a mask around Bliss,” Rose responded, brushing some of her hair back away from her face. Joseph gave a nod, letting Rose recover for another moment before they continued on. After he had showed her the rest of the Conservatory’s grounds, he lead her into the main house itself.

“Most of the time, this is where Faith lived. The property had belonged to her family, and she turned it over to us when she joined the Project,” Joseph informed Rose, showing her inside.

Inside the home, there were Bliss plants in flats, a number of workstations, and personal items that had once belonged to Faith and her family. Aside from the plants and tables littered about, Rose could tell that the home had been a cozy place to live at one point. It almost reminded her of the home her family had back in Maine, and rather than feel the desire to burn or otherwise deface the house, as she did when she thought about her family home, she felt an odd sense of comfort.

“Until Winter hits, your main job will be to oversee the plants being brought into the green houses, recording the number of plants, as well as recording the number of barrels of liquid Bliss and cases of powdered Bliss,” Joseph told her. He strode over to a desk and looked through a couple of the drawers before finding what looked to be a worn notebook. He flipped through it for a moment, before offering it to Rose. “This has Faith’s notes from the last couple of Winters, I would suggest you look through them to get yourself familiar with what you’ll be doing.”

Rose nodded a bit, taking the book from the Father. The brown leather was scuffed and a bit worn, and the pages inside were filled with neat printed handwriting. There were numbers and notes concerning the Autumn harvest of Bliss, as well as Spring replanting, notes as to how to best care for the plants indoors versus outdoors, refinement methods, and a good number of other notes. The information would prove useful if Rose was going to ensure this all went well. The most recent notes, near the final pages of the book, were in a very different writing. Dates on the pages indicated that these notes were written after Faith was killed, likely written in by a trusted Follower doing their best to ensure that records were still kept.

A few more hours went by, with Joseph answering any questions Rose had to ask. By the time they were making their way back to the Compound, it was late afternoon, nearing evening. Joseph and Rose spoke about a number of topics, simply passing the time. They arrived at the Compound, finding John and Jacob speaking outside the small church. The pair looked up as they heard their brother pulling up, and a smile came to John’s face as he came to let Rose out of the car, planting a peck on her cheek.

“How did things go?” John asked, taking hold of Rose’s hand.

“Pretty well. Learned a lot, actually. Including that I need to double check my backpack when we get back to the Ranch,” she replied, seeming to relax with John’s grip on her hand.

“Well, you’ll have to check later, Joseph’s sermon is supposed to be starting soon,” John informed her. The blonde nodded a bit, heading inside with John and his brothers.

Joseph’s sermon that night was about having faith during times of change. With the seasons changing and the temperatures growing colder, he suggested that now the Project needed one another even more than they did in the warmer months. He spoke about how he had seen some lose faith as Winter seemed to drag on, and how he didn’t want his followers to fall victim to the cold. With so much changing so quickly, from the Resistance pushing back with more force, to Faith being killed, there was a lot happening to cause the faith of some to be shaken. The Father urged his Followers to look after one another, and to go to one another, or himself, if they needed to talk about things. The Project was a family, after all, and family looks after one another.

After a final prayer, the congregation was dismissed, and Rose went back to the Ranch with John. They had a simple dinner, simply reheating some soup from a couple of nights prior, and got changed for the night. The couple settled in next to one another, reading and enjoying one another’s company. The night eventually grew late, and both Rose and John decided to turn in, finding that they were both nodding off on each other’s shoulders.

Before she went to bed, though, Rose pulled her backpack from the shelf in her closet. Kneeling on the floor with the bag, she dug around in the pockets of the bag, mumbling to herself.

“It should be in here,” she muttered, unzipping a pocket and digging around inside it. After a moment of rummaging around in the pocket, she smiled, pulling out a pair of black masks which resembled dust masks. They were a solid black, with fairly comfortable straps to keep them on. Rose had gotten them when she had moved to the city, as she had found she was either getting sick often or simply having trouble breathing in the city environment. Originally, she also had a pair with rose patterns on them, but she had left them behind when she went on the run. The masks were intended to filter out pollution and various allergens, so they should work just fine to keep her from inhaling the Bliss fumes. With her masks set on top of her dresser, and backpack put back up on the shelf in the closet, Rose went to bed, wrapping up in the covers and falling into a deep sleep.

Taglist: @statichvm @thot4stacipratt @thotful-writing @wastelandshitlord @cerulean-aries @ignoranttruly @rookieseed @honesthearts

#SaR #shot at redemption #oc: rose carter #john seed #joseph seed #long post

9 notes · View notes