#no the light its not completely free and it explains why carmen still has a hold on people with her view on self love

[scp-168]

Sometimes i hate you guys

[iestyn-crowe]

In Years Past

March fifteenth. It was two decades ago today, but he remembered it in such vivid detail. He found himself back on the ship, which had become significantly quieter in recent weeks. Desmond was visiting family in Elwynn, Em had vanished entirely, Inron and Cynthia generally spent the daytime below deck. After what the musician had told Iestyn, though, he couldn’t be certain that he was there at all. He still wouldn’t chance his usual venture to the bilge, just in case he passed by them on the way-- he couldn’t hide nor explain the mournful expression on his face and he didn’t want to try. There was only one person on the crew who knew everything, so he mustered the energy to knock on the door to his quarters.

March fifteenth. It was two decades ago today.

Carmen pulled the door open and wordlessly beckoned his first mate inside. The damned thing looked like he was on the verge of tears and he had anticipated his arrival. Rising from a dish on the desk was a wisp of smoke, evidence of the unfinished cigarette that he had twisted upon it for the sake of the lad. He wouldn’t light another while he was here. The captain made his way back to his seat, sitting down with a quiet grunt and turning back to the invoices and contracts he had been working on before the interruption. To anyone but Iestyn that may have seemed callous, but he appreciated the lack of staring as he crawled onto the bed and laid down. He managed to look just like the lost child he had pulled from the water all those years ago, and in many ways he still was.

A comforting silence had fallen between them, accented only by the soft scratch of quill on parchment while Carmen worked. Iestyn closed his eyes, taking a deep and shaky breath to fight the sting of tears.

Two decades ago today had been a dark, dark day, but it had brought the brightest light he had ever seen into his life. He remembered being told to leave the room, he remembered reentering hours later to see his mother in bed, staring silently at the wall. Her face was still wet from tears but she was too exhausted to sob anymore. There was blood-- entirely too much of it for this sort of thing. His ears pinned back and he looked around for the midwife, but it was just them.

“<Momma…? Is there a baby?>”

She gave a weak nod, though her gaze didn’t move from the spot on the wall. When she spoke, her voice was raspy and raw from the cries he had heard from the other side of the door, “<For now. … Outside.>”

The child didn’t know what that meant, but it made his blood run cold all the same. He ran out as though somehow he could help. They tried to keep him away, really, but he ducked and weaved through the arms that attempted to shoo him until he managed to see her. She was… small. Too small. He didn’t know the proper size for a baby, exactly, but even he could tell that something was very, very wrong. Her arms and legs were like brittle twigs curled close to her body and her skin was a deep, bright red. The hands held above in a desperate attempt to heal overshadowed her completely. She could have fit in one palm. That’s what he remembered before he was picked up and carried back to his mother, too stunned and confused to fight or complain this time.

They had said she probably wouldn’t live to see morning. Even if she did, every day was going to be a struggle. The idea that she would see a twentieth birthday was laughable at the time, so how could he still hold it against his mother? How could it still pain him so much?

“<Would you like to name her?>”

“<... Why bother?>”

In years past, he had seen her celebrate. He had seen her cook a feast entirely too large for the household she lived in. He had seen her give away flowers from her garden to friends and strangers alike, always happily chirping that it was her birthday and she wanted to spend it making people smile. That was the best present anyone could give her, anyways. She loved making people smile.

This year, he couldn’t risk the visit. If he went anywhere near her again…

Iestyn rolled over, taking a shaky breath and pulling a pillow close to cling to. He just needed a moment-- but the sound of a notification on his communicator had his ears pinning back. Even Carmen glanced over his shoulder. He wasn’t certain if he should be proud or worried that the thief had become so sociable lately, as it usually ended in either a new crewmate or a downward spiral.

He winced at the brightness of the screen, reading the message with some difficulty after wiping his eyes on his sleeve. It was from Leon.

I seem to have accidentally made a small cake. If you’re so inclined, feel free to help me dispose of it.

It got a broken laugh from him. He hadn’t meant to tell anyone the significance of the date, but there had been so much on his mind that it spilled outward on Poetry Night. Of course the bloody Gilnean would reach out, that man’s heart was so big that it only fit in his chest sometimes. In all others, he wore it on his sleeve. Iestyn laid the communicator back face down, running his hand through his hair. He wasn’t going anywhere and he knew it. No one could see him like this.

In retrospect, the communicator was a much more welcome interruption to his melancholy than the soft scratch at the door that followed. He glanced at his captain, knowing full well that he never had any visitors. Besides, that didn’t sound quite like a knock. Carmen stood reluctantly to open it, finding a crow waiting on the deck with a rolled up letter attached to its leg. It wasn’t Lenore and the seal on the parchment matched the tattoo on Iestyn’s forearm, something that was enough cause for alarm for his brow to furrow while he untied it. The Guild didn’t usually contact their master at sea unless it was extremely urgent, and in their line of business, urgent matters never meant something good.

Iestyn had thrown his legs off the side of the bed, an expectant look on his face when his captain returned to the quarters. He handed him the letter silently, still sealed. He knew better than to meddle in his affairs, even if he was interested in doing so. (He wasn’t.)

The thief tensed in recognition of what appeared to be an official report from his thieves, opening it with a conflicting sense of impatience and hesitance. As with all those from his guild, the letter was written in an encrypted language-- Thieves Cant-- and took a moment to decode even for the man himself.

Master Crowe,

We regret to report that our team has lost sight of our person of interest as of the of tenth March, two forty-eight post meridiem.

Her last known points of contact were two Ebon Blade knights due south of Sindragosa’s Fall. One, a high elf identified as Scout Vanlaris Brassvale and the other, a human identified as Scout Isaac Riley. She had inadvertently left the company of Corporal Allivarin Blackmorrow the week prior due to poor weather conditions. As per our orders, we had no intentions of interfering unless in a matter of life or death.

We regret to report that interference, in this case, was necessary.

The person of interest found herself separated as well from the knights, drawn away for unknown reasons. She brought with her her feline companion. Our scouts followed her into the blizzard but were unable to maintain consistent vision on the target. When it became clear that she would succumb to hypothermia if left unsheltered, we moved in.

The cat was recovered, but the person of interest was nowhere to be found.

We will continue our search and send updates as the situation unfolds.

He read it several times over, heart rising into his throat and racing to match his thoughts. They lost her? They lost her. Five days ago-- and he was just now hearing of it? His jaw set and hands trembled with the barely restrained desire to tear the paper to shreds. Carmen watched him with brow arched. The closest thing to worry that ever crossed the captain’s features often looked more like mild intrigue.

“... I need to go to Icecrown. Now.”

((Mentioned: @mremaknu​))

[arcanaheadcanons]

Carmen Meets Muriel

over my vacation, when i wasn’t on the internet because the place i was at had very sketchy free internet that probably would have given my laptop an std, i wrote a li’l oneshot fic. it was one my ideas for a carmen comic but it would have taken too much effort to draw soooo it’s written now. idk what tumblr’s post limit is but i doubt i’ll go over it (seriously it’s less than 2k) so i’m gonna paste it under the cut and we’ll see what happens.

word count: 1899

description: muriel has to talk to carmen (character concept here) and he’s not very happy about it

The sun had disappeared under the horizon and darkness was washing the last orange stains from the sky when Muriel, cursing himself for even being there, approached the shop. He had one final errand left in the day, and it was crucial: he had run out of angelica. The herb, a thick stalk with umbels of little white flowers, was sometimes used for medicines and sometimes used in spells for protection. In Muriel’s case, it was a necessary component in the wards he had placed around the forest, which were in need of replacing. As angelica favored a colder climate than sunny Vesuvia, he had to rely on the magic shop’s supply. Asra was always more than happy to lend him a hand free of charge, but the magician was currently unconscious in a magic circle on Muriel’s floor while his spirit roamed the realm of the Arcana. Which meant that, if Muriel was going to an Asra-less shop, he would have to deal with…

…his apprentice.

Muriel winced as he heard a muffled, off-key sea shanty coming from the upper floor. To his knowledge, Carmen had never set foot on a boat. However, as she kept sneaking off to the south end of town ever since her incident, it made sense that she had picked up a thing or two from the local color; the “local color” being every seedy bar in the city. He knocked on the door and almost hoped she didn’t hear him. The singing stopped.

“Closed!” she half-shouted, her voice coming from the back of the shop this time. She must have moved closer to the stairs to allow the sound to carry.

It would have been so much easier for both of them if he could just leave – if he could go back home and let her think he was just another customer who hadn’t noticed the porch light was out. But he didn’t have the option. He imagined the wards he had placed breaking, Lucio’s ghost being allowed full strength, and Asra, unguarded, out cold in a hut in the middle of nowhere, and knocked on the door a second time.

“Ohhhhmygodddddddddddddddddd whyyyy.”

A string of irritated muttering started up and ended just as quickly as it was replaced by the sound of someone falling down a flight of stairs.

Muriel froze, concerned and unsure of what to do about that, but soon enough the door opened and Carmen, slightly frazzled, looked out into the space she typically expected a person’s face to be. That space was located squarely in the middle of his chest.

She slowly corrected her gaze to meet his, almost having to crane her neck to do so. “Well, damn,” she said. Muriel had seen her mouth those words during other chance meetings of theirs, but this was the first time she said them aloud. He didn’t like this. His face was getting hot. He had to explain himself, finish his errand, and leave as soon as possible.

“I’m–”

“Muriel, right?”

What.

Carmen opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Come on in. I’ll uh, make tea? Or something?”

What. Why. How. What was going on. Muriel entered the shop and watched as she sifted through the jars of herbs on the shelves in search of tea. He noticed as he looked away that the front of the shop was the only area that hadn’t gone to complete disarray. Everything from the base of the stairs to the back was covered in a mishmash of belongings. Trinkets and clothing were heaped into piles with no immediately apparent category, flanked by an unsettling amount of empty alcohol bottles.

“Sorry about the mess.” Carmen resurfaced from the shop’s stock with a short, squat jar full of the blooming tea that Asra made. “I was. Well. Y’know. Looking. Through stuff.” She began her quest to the stairs, carefully stepping around the stacks with amazing precision for someone who was having balance issues. “This is what happens when I’m left unsupervised. Be right back.”

As Carmen went to the upstairs kitchen and started a new batch of worrying clanking sounds that aren’t typically associated with the tea making process, Muriel wandered over to the jars and picked out the angelica. He counted out the necessary number of stalks, placed them in one of the pouches tied to his belts, and returned the jar to the shelf. He strongly considered leaving the shop then and there, but there was a question gnawing at his guts and it couldn’t be ignored, no matter how much he wanted to ignore it. While he waited for Carmen’s return, he busied himself with reorganizing the jars that she had disturbed.

Fifteen minutes later she came back down the stairs with a large soup mug filled with green tea and a larger bottle that, judging by the scent, contained brandy. As she gave to mug to Muriel, he noticed that she must have spent the extra time and effort looking for a cup that fit his hands. The emotional impact of her thoughtfulness was interrupted when she ripped the cork out of the brandy with her teeth, spat it into a corner, and took a deep swig.

Once she came up for air, he decided to confront what had been bothering him. “How do you know about me?”

She lowered the bottle and stared at him in mild confusion. “Was I… not supposed to?”

Muriel didn’t know what to say to that, but apparently the look on his face spoke for him.

“Oh. Oh, whoops. Sorry about that. I, uh…”

He continued to stay silent so that she could elaborate.

Carmen set the brandy on the shop counter and turned towards the piles. “The old me kept some notes on you,” she started. She reached out to one of the piles and a notebook shot into her hand. “Because of the whole Forget-Me thing. She made sure to jot something down every time you met before the spell kicked in.”

She offered the notebook to him, and he set down his yet-untouched tea to flip through it. It was a small, flimsy thing, and he had some difficulty picking the pages apart. Sure enough, there were several notes on his appearance and habits, the entries of which were no more than a few words long, and they were dated some years ago. Back when her hair was short, and her smile was wide, and wildflowers grew in her footsteps. When Carmen continued talking, he remembered the dull-eyed stranger she had become and snapped back to reality.

“So yeah, with hints like ‘about seven feet tall’ and ‘GREEN EYES’ written in capitals, it wasn’t too hard to recognize you,” she said. She studied him intently. “You know, I didn’t know what she meant by using capital letters, but I get it now. Your eyes are really green, like–” Stopping herself, Carmen winced and looked away, blinking hard as if she were trying to wake up from a dream. “Sorry. I’m losing my mental filter. What were you here for again? Asra’s out of town if you were looking for him.”

“I know,” Muriel said. He dug through his belongings until he found a pouch full of myrrh and tossed it to her.

“Oh! Um… thanks?” Carmen opened and closed the bag. “What is this for?”

“To ward off the spell.”

She looked even more confused than before. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to know about you?”

“You already do, and I don’t want to have this conversation again.” He turned to leave. At this point, he had far exceeded his limit on social activity. “Thanks for the tea.”

“Huh? But you didn’t even have any– aaaaand he’s gone.” Carmen’s words faded as he shut the door behind him.

 It was well into the night when Muriel returned home. The journey was long enough already, but the added detour he took to replace all the wards by the roadsides added a considerable amount of time. He would have to rest a little before replacing the rest of them. The hut was a welcome sight after the day’s adventure. Though cramped, it was a safe haven from the rest of the world; a place so deep in the woods that it was rarely stumbled upon by strangers. He examined his house’s ward – a bundle of sticks hanging from one of the great tree roots that engulfed the structure – and decided that it was strong enough to leave as it was. Then he opened the door.

Everything was exactly as he had left it. The runes in the magic circle on the floor were thankfully undisturbed, and Asra was still sleeping at its center under a thick blanket, which Muriel had given him when he had to extinguish the hearth on his way out. In the corner, Inanna stirred from her makeshift bed and trotted over to him.

“I’m home,” he said redundantly.

The wolf acknowledged this by placing her head firmly under his hand for scratches. Muriel gave her a standard head-pat and asked her to wait while he restarted the fire in the hearth. When he returned, he pulled up a chair and complied with her request. With his free hand, he began removing pouches from his belts and putting them on the table with the intention of reequipping the ones he’d need before he next left the hut. His task was stopped when he took a pouch he couldn’t recall the contents of and Inanna abruptly leaned out of his grasp to smell it.

Curious, Muriel opened the pouch and pulled out the little notebook that Carmen had handed him earlier that day. He must have absent-mindedly pocketed it. He had no idea when, how, or even if he’d be able to return it. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to. It was bad to take someone else’s property, but now that Carmen had some myrrh, she wouldn’t need to read about him to know who he was. He idly opened it to a page somewhere in the middle.

“Doesn’t like to talk. – May 11”

“Shame, he has a nice voice. – May 27”

“Wears a big tattered cloak with a hood. – June 9”

“Likes snow. – July 30”

“WHY DID NONE OF YOU WARN ME HE’S SO HANDSOME – November 3”

Face burning, he closed the book. Inanna, sensing that he was done with it, moved closer and gently took the notebook in her teeth. He released his grip and she retreated to her bed with it.

“You miss her, huh?”

Inanna nibbled on the notebook a little before putting her head down and sighing gruffly.

Muriel looked at Asra and watched his chest rise and fall to confirm that he was still breathing normally. The magician and he had been closer than siblings ever since they were young, and Muriel could feel the emotional weight of the past three years on his shoulders. Even though Asra raised her from the dead, Carmen – their Carmen – would never come back. It had been a bittersweet victory, embittered even further when they realized how truly unhappy she was without her memory. Tonight was not the first time that Muriel had found her seeking refuge from the bottom of a bottle, and it wouldn’t be the last.

When Inanna turned her attention back to the notebook, so did Muriel.

“Yeah… we miss her too.”