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unpeumacabre · 5 years ago

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my kingdom for a horse: chapter 1

the year is 1601, a messenger has been sent to dongnae, and he has not returned. lord cho-hak-ju advises the joseon king to send crown prince lee chang to dongnae to investigate, but the plot he unravels there threatens the safety of the entire kingdom, and the stability of the dynasty.

a rewriting of kingdom, and lee chang finds love.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Lee Chang/Yeong-shin

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting)

Count: 7k

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A/N: ummmmm so basically i wanted to rewrite kingdom... with a yeong-shin/lee chang twist... and it turned out as a massive lee chang character study lol. the plot borrows elements from the drama but is quite different - i wanted to bring out certain aspects of the characters and tone down on some of them a little more. the story is mostly complete, i'm just in the midst of editing, so updates will be weekly. enjoy~

Survive.

Lee Chang gathers the reins of his horse in his hands, and looks out towards the horizon. The sun is waning, and Mu-yeong is complaining about the flies, and Lee Chang still feels the heat of anger and injustice scorching his skin.

He had been there when the King had sent the messenger to Dongnae – a routine check it had been, nothing more. Apparently, Cho Hak-ju and his spies had heard murmurs of a rebellion in the South, and he had whispered his foul poison into the King’s ear, convincing him to send a messenger to Dongnae to put the magistrate on his guard.

Lee Chang had also been there when the messenger’s horse had returned, bereft of its rider, and bereft of its message.

“Why not send the Prince to investigate?” had been Cho Hak-ju’s answer. “We must send someone reliable this time, someone who will not shirk his mission. And the Prince must have been so bored of late. There is little to occupy his scholarly mind in recent days, what with everyone being occupied preparing for the new prince’s birth.”

“Why not send Beom-il? Surely your son is more experienced than I am at these matters,” Lee Chang had answered, and he had felt the strain of his smile stretch tight against his cheekbones.

“Of course, but Beom-il is indisposed at the moment. He has been sent to oversee the setting up of the new regiment at Haeju, and will not return for a few days more.”

He was an odious snake, he was, Lee Chang thought bitterly, but still the King had acquiesced.

His only modicum of hope lay in the words the King had said to him that night, as they took their private dinner together – a rarity, now that most of his time was occupied with the queen and her increasingly-rounded belly.

“It pains me to say this, but…” the King had picked at his food. “There is something brewing in the south, although I do not believe it to be the rebellion that Lord Cho is suggesting.”

Lee Chang personally thought there was nothing in it, but then again, he didn’t have the extensive network of spies the King and Cho Hak-ju seemed to have. He could not – and probably never will – understand how one can trust men who live in the shadows and trade secrets – and lives – for their livelihood. Perhaps it would not make him a good king, but Lee Chang wanted to believe that it would make him a better one instead.

“I want you to investigate what the Haewon Cho clan is up to in the south,” the King had then said, and Lee Chang had almost fallen from his seat.

“Father, why?” he had asked, a perfectly reasonable question. He well remembered the times in his youth when Cho Hak-ju had said something insulting to him or done something to side-line him, something so serious that he had felt the need to go to the King for recompense. Every single time, he could recall being brushed off and told “Lord Cho thinks only of the good of the nation” and “you would do well to heed his teachings”. Never had the King shown even a hint of resentment or suspicion of the Haewon Cho clan’s leader, and Lee Chang had always thought his trust in Cho Hak-ju unshakeable.

Not so unshakeable, it seemed. A shadow had crossed the King's face then, and he had turned away as if to hide his face.

“I did not believe it when first the Head of the Royal Commandery brought it to my attention,” the King had said then, “but Cho Beom-il has been implicated in several – well, shall we say, unsavoury deals, and Lord Min’s investigations point to Lord Cho at their head. But he has been very careful to cover his tracks, and the evidence is, while convincing, mostly circumstantial.”

Lee Chang had taken a sip of his wine, his throat suddenly dry. “And of my role in all this?” he had managed. “Why send me? Surely by doing so we are playing precisely into Lord Cho’s hands.”

“I do not yet know what he plans,” the King had replied, shaking his head. “All I have are ominous tidings from my spies in Sangju and Dongnae that there is something nefarious being planned, but Lord Cho – if it is indeed he behind it – is an intelligent man. He has not yet let anything slip. If we must play into his hands, at least for now, just know that you go as my envoy, my emissary, and not the messenger boy of the Haewon Cho clan. I trust only my son to carry this through for me.”

“I wish to see my son, and I miss my wife,” Mu-yeong complains, and it snaps Lee Chang back to reality. He huffs out an exasperated laugh at the familiar refrain.

“At least she will be well-taken care of while you are gone,” he says, letting the amusement thread through his voice. “Where did you say she was staying while you are with me?”

“With her aunt, in Naesonjae. Her brother has found work in the queen’s palace, so they have enough money to put her up at least until I return,” Mu-yeong answers, and punctuates his answer with an enormous, put-upon sigh.

“That is good,” Lee Chang says absently. “At least you need not steal desserts from my table any longer to feed her.”

“Your Highness – you said you wouldn’t - ” splutters Mu-yeong, his face turning beet red, as he spins around in his horse to check on the entourage of three guards following them. Thankfully for him, they are bickering among themselves about something inconsequential, and Lee Chang dismisses them as not having heard anything.

“We must find somewhere to make camp soon,” he decides, looking back towards the horizon, and the sun’s fading rays colouring it red.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong replies, and he slows his horse to tell the guards.

Very quickly, they find a clearing in which to make camp, and Lee Chang grooms his horse while the guards and Mu-yeong start the fire. When the fire is sufficiently large, he sits by it and unwraps the jangguk mandu prepared for him that morning by his chefs. The smell of pork and kimchi wafts like sweet perfume from the wrappings, and he catches the guards looking at him enviously from the corner of their eyes, as they dig into their mieum. The gruel splatters over the grass as they eat.

One of the guards’ voices drifts over to him on the wind. “Royals are lucky,” he says, a thread of envy in his voice. “Jangguk mandu and tteokguk for dinner. What I would do for some meat.”

“Hush,” Mu-yeong says, glancing over at Lee Chang, but he pretends not to hear their conversation, and Mu-yeong returns his attention to the guards, reassured. “You know meat is a luxury us peasants cannot afford, especially in these trying times.”

“Yeah? You’d think the royals and the lords don’t know of the ongoing famine. The other day, I was on guard for Lord Park, and he left a whole dish of goldongban untouched. Untouched!” There is a collective groan from the group.

“What I wouldn’t do for some beef and eggs,” agrees one of the others, fervently.

“My mother died of illness last month. She wasted away,” comes the quiet voice of the last guard. “And when you think of all the food that’s left on the royals’ tables…” He shakes his head, and fumbles in his pockets. “I only have my daughter and my dear wife left, and the little girl’s so much like her grandmother. Worries about me all the time. She made me this talisman to keep me safe.” He displays the charm, and Lee Chang can vaguely see the childish drawings on the blue fabric, accompanied by words he is too far away to read.

He looks down at his mandu. Suddenly, the dumplings no longer seem as inviting.

Lee Chang thinks of offering them his food, then. Thinks of unwrapping the rest of the packages tethered to his horse, and sharing the food among the guards, because, if he’s honest, there was far too much food packed for him alone.

But something holds him back. Pride, perhaps, or irrational fear, that they will hate him even more for what they might construe as his pity.

And now it is too late. Before he could come to a a decision, the guards had finished their food, and now they are standing up, stretching, and sorting out the watch schedule. Mu-yeong comes over to him and notices his untouched meal.

“You must eat, Your Highness,” he urges, his tone teasing.

But when Lee Chang turns his face up to face him, Mu-yeong must see something in his face, for he squats down, his eyes turning liquid and understanding.

“Your Highness is different from the rest of the nobles,” he murmurs, under his breath so the other guards do not hear. “You did not execute my family when you caught me stealing from your table to provide for my wife. You did not execute the maid when she ruined your second-best coat with her shoddy washing skills. You did not execute the chef when he cooked you kongguksu for dinner, forgetting soy beans give you sleepless nights. That mercy is far above what any other noble is capable of – ah, now, don’t blush, Your Highness – you know it to be true! Don’t be embarrassed.”

Lee Chang scoffs and turns away. “Be quiet, or I shall execute your whole family,” he mutters under his breath.

“Isn’t it about time you stopped joking about that?” Mu-yeong cries, aghast. “Such a threat from the Crown Prince holds more weight than you think!”

Lee Chang glares at him out of the corner of his eye, then sighs, and turns his attention away. He begins unpacking the linens with which he is to make his bed, and tries not to smile; but he is sure the way his lips twitch, gives him away.

Satisfied that he has restored his prince’s spirits, Mu-yeong returns to the rest of the guards, who have been watching their exchange with some curiosity. Lee Chang strains to hear their conversation as they welcome his guard back to their side with a comradely clap to the back, but it is late, and the hard riding of the morning has driven all the energy from his bones.

The ground is hard against his back, and it is with the unhappy feeling of rocks digging pinpricks of pain into his skin, that he finally drifts into a restless slumber.

***

He is in the King’s study, staring at the irworobongdo behind the King’s desk and thinking to himself, “I will never be king.”

The King’s great-grandfather, his great-great-grandfather, had had the folding screens installed behind his desk in his room in Gyeongbokgung Palace during his reign, to emulate the irworobongdo behind the royal throne where he held court. Lee Chang had been told by his nurse as a boy that the former King, his great-great-grandfather, had used the paintings to intimidate whoever was unlucky enough to be called to his study for an audience. After the Second War of Jeong-yu, three years ago, Gyeongbokgung had been razed to ashes, they had moved here into Changdeokgung as the main palace, and the current King had decided to adopt the same practice as his great-grandfather.

It makes a majestic sight for sure, the five peaks rising above the head of the King, flanked by the two moons, conifers, and streams running down from the mountains. Lee Chang had often been called here in his youth, and one of his earliest – and most vivid – memories is of standing before the King, only nine years old, on his knees and crying. He remembers having been summoned for some small prank he had played on one of the guards. He remembers the King’s back, tall and stately, looming above him, his arms crossed behind him, and his voice: “You are the Crown Prince, Lee Chang. Such childish frivolities are beneath you. You must always act with the maturity and dignity required of your station.”

Yet he cannot remember the King’s face.

So now, he fixes his gaze blankly on the third and middle peak of the irworobongdo, as the King strides leisurely across the room, watching him.

“Did you hear me, Chang?” he says, and his voice is quiet.

“Yes,” Lee Chang manages. “That is wonderful news. You have informed the ministers, then? That Her Highness is with child?”

“Yes, yes,” the King replies, waving his hand airily. “They have given their best wishes, of course. I am sure he will be a beautiful baby boy.”

Or a girl, Lee Chang’s mind whispers, but somehow he knows in his bones that it will be a boy. Cho Hak-ju is not known for his errors.

The King is still watching him. Lee Chang does not know what he is expecting to see.

Then he turns his head away, sighs, and gestures imperiously towards Lee Chang, beckoning him forward. Lee Chang steps forward and kneels at the King's feet. He feels like that nine-year-old child all over again; but the difference is that, in the years between then and now, he has learned not to cry.

“Chang,” the King says, and Lee Chang feels a hand in his hair, a gentle touch which catches him by surprise. “You have survived, as I commanded you to. And you are all that a father can ever ask for. All that a nation can ask for in its prince. When this child comes, you will no longer be destined to be king. But you will still be a prince, and that is all that matters.”

“Is it?” Lee Chang whispers. “I have been brought up to be a king, with the expectation that one day, it was to be I who would sit on the Phoenix Throne and command the kingdom of Joseon. And now I realise that all that will have been for nothing.”

The King sighs again. “Not for nothing,” he amends. “Your brother will need you as he grows. You are experienced both in scholarship and military command. Do not dismiss yourself so easily.” The hand in his hair disappears, and Lee Chang finds himself strangely bereft.

When next he looks up again, the King is sitting at his desk, reading. The third peak glimmers in the light of his lamp, directly above his head. Lee Chang takes it as a dismissal.

“Chang,” the King says, as Lee Chang turns to leave. He turns back to face him, and the King’s eyes are molten gold.

“Remember,” he says. “Survive.” And he opens his mouth, and emits a piercing scream.

Lee Chang is jolted from his slumber and scrambles for the handle of his sword. He whips around and the blade points directly at Mu-yeong’s throat.

“Your Highness,” Mu-yeong gasps, his hand still on Lee Chang’s shoulder, where he has clearly been trying to rouse Lee Chang from his sleep. “We are under attack!”

Lee Chang’s mind immediately flies to Cho Hak-ju’s miserable face, but he quickly dismisses the notion. There is hardly any legitimate reason Cho can find to hunt him down, after all – Lee Chang’s plans had not been ready to set in motion before he had left the capital.

“By who?” he roars, instead. “Who dares attack – “ He is cut off by another piercing yell, this time of pain, and he turns in time to see one of the guards fall to the ground, a man covered in bloody rags clinging to his throat.

Immediately he leaps forward and buries his blade in the back of the attacker. The blow is harsh, and carves a deep line to the bone. The man jerks and convulses, falling off the guard and rolling onto the ground. Lee Chang is repulsed to see that his face is covered in blood, and that his teeth had been buried in the guard’s throat.

Quickly he bends down and shakes the guard. “Are you alright?” he asks roughly, scanning the wound. It is a bad bite, it is, and the attacker had torn out a good chunk of flesh when he had fallen off the body. It needs bandaging, and so Lee Chang rips off a piece of cloth from the hem of his coat. He pulls the fabric around the guard’s neck, making sure not to pull it too tight and obstruct his breathing, then he ties it off with a quick bow.

It is only Mu-yeong’s reflexes which save him from certain death, in those next few moments.

The man who had been lying on the ground – who had clearly been dead, no one could survive such a blow and live – had sprung up from his supine position and leapt for Lee Chang’s throat. He is too slow to react, and when he turns, the man’s breath is hot on his neck, in the instant before Mu-yeong’s blade whistles past him and separates the attacker’s head from his body.

Lee Chang falls back in disbelief, his bottom hitting the ground, and stares unseeingly at the head on the ground, its teeth bared in a foul approximation of a smile.

“How?” he asks, blankly. “He was dead. I buried my blade in his back myself. I severed his spinal cord. He should be dead.”

Another scream of pain attracts his attention, and he looks away in time to see the other two guards fall, and descended upon by more raggedy attackers. Lee Chang feels his stomach roil as he realises one of the smaller figures among the pack, is that of a child. His hand flies to the handle of his sword, and he is about to rise to his feet and run to the rescue, when he feels the body under his other hand begin to tremble.

“Your Highness,” Mu-yeong says warningly, but Lee Chang hardly needs his words to recognise the mottled colour spreading across the downed guard’s face, and the milky film descending over his eyes. He recognises that face, for he has seen it just moments before – on the head that is now sitting, eyes unseeing, among the blood-stained blades of grass.

Purely on instinct, his body leaps back from the guard, and he watches in horror as the guard begins to writhe and shake, as if caught in a fit. His neck arches backwards, beyond what is humanely possible, and his mouth falls open, froth drooling from his jowls. It is the most terrible thing Lee Chang has ever seen.

“Are you alright?” he calls, urgently. No answer, as the man continues to fit.

Then, suddenly, eerily, he stops moving.

“We must get medical help for him,” Lee Chang says urgently, glancing up at Mu-yeong. “He is on the brink of death!”

But Mu-yeong is not looking at him. Lee Chang follows his gaze, and although his body is screaming at him to run, he finds he cannot move. The sight before him is so horrific, it is beyond anything in his worst nightmares.

The other two guards, with their throats torn out and blood gushing from numerous wounds all over their body, are also convulsing on the ground. One of them – the one who had been, only just last night, bemoaning his lack of meat and the royals’ frivolity – has had his eye torn out. The eyeball dangles, almost comically, from the empty cavity of his eye socket, except that there is nothing laughable about this situation at all. Lee Chang turns his head to the side and retches.

As he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, he hears Mu-yeong suck in a sharp breath. “Your Highness,” he says, and his voice is small. “Your Highness!” he repeats, this time louder, and with more urgency. Lee Chang lifts his head, and the group of attackers is looking straight at them.

“They see us,” hisses Mu-yeong frantically. “Your Highness, we must run!”

Lee Chang springs to his feet, but something catches his ankle in a vice-like grip, and he almost falls. He turns, and the body of the third guard – who he had thought stone-cold dead, after his fits! – has roused itself. He is leering up at him, teeth bared grotesquely, and its claws digging into the skin of his ankle.

He is no longer human, some primal instinct of his tells him, and so he does not hesitate.

Again, his blade strikes honest and true, and cuts deep into the body’s abdomen – a blow that would fell any normal man. But the body does not falter, and rears upwards, sword still buried in his stomach, intestines spewing out, his jaws gnashing and aiming straight towards Lee Chang’s face.

Lee Chang yanks the blade from its stomach with a motion that jars his shoulder, for how deep it is buried in the other man’s abdomen. The movement hoists the creature up towards him, and Lee Chang feels its fetid breath against his nose for one terrifying moment – makes contact with its sightless eyes for barely a second – before he swings and takes the body’s head off.

He can’t hear the thud of the head as it hits the ground, and belatedly he realises that the ground is shaking.

“Your Highness, we must flee! Now!” Mu-yeong yells, and grabs his shoulder. Lee Chang springs up and grabs his pack from the ground, where it is lying next to him.

And so they fly, the pursuers hot on their heels. Lee Chang has never run so fast in his life. He feels his heart beating a thousand miles an hour, thrumming through his ears, counting out the beat of his steps as they sprint over the dry grass and across the plain.

They are running too fast to stop, however, when they reach the cliff. There is barely a split second as they see the water loom before them, Mu-yeong looks at him, and his mouth forms an ‘o’ – Lee Chang would laugh, at the surrealism of the entire situation, if he weren’t working so hard to keep from breaking down. He says some words his wet nurse would have shook him upside down for.

And then they hit the water. The impact is like hitting a wall, and it drives all the air out of his lungs. He feels himself begin to sink, his heavy silk clothes quickly absorbing the water and lending him the weight of a stone, and the water bites cold frost into his skin.

Desperately, he kicks towards the surface, feeling his head throb with the pain of his lack of air. The moonlight is bright above the water’s surface, so near yet so far, as if the moon itself is taunting him. His limbs are a leaden weight, and he barely feels himself move. He cannot breathe.

Then suddenly he breaks the surface of the water with a gasp, and air – blessed air – rushes into his lungs. The cold air stings his reddened cheeks, and he already feels the ache of bruises beginning to form, from his intimate contact with the hard surface of the water.

“Mu-yeong!” he yells hoarsely, when he does not see the guard’s head. Moments later, the man breaks the surface, gasping and flailing, his sodden hair and clothes clinging miserably to his skin. Lee Chang knows he looks no better.

“They are too afraid to jump!” Mu-yeong calls to him, his voice bright with relief, pointing at the cliff’s edge. Indeed, the attackers are gathered above them, staring sombrely down at the two of them paddling in the water. There is one unlucky man who evidently was unable to slow his run, and is now clinging to the cliff face.

As they watch, he slips and plunges into the water. He does not come back up.

“It is a miracle,” Lee Chang says in disbelief. “They are afraid of the water.”

“Probably afraid of freezing to – well, death, if that’s even an appropriate word for them,” Mu-yeong says grimly. “And so will we, if we stay here much longer. The sun is rising, and I can see lights over there – there must be a village, or a camp of some sort. We must make for it before we freeze to death.”

With a nod of assent on Lee Chang’s part, they paddle dolefully to the opposite shore and haul themselves up. The wind is cruel and relentless, and Lee Chang feels his teeth begin to chatter. They lie prone on the ground, chests heaving in tune, arms spread akimbo, and staring unseeingly up at the beautiful night sky.

“C-c-c-curse this autumn wind,” cries Mu-yeong. “I am only thankful that it is not winter. We w-w-would be dead by now, if t-that were the case.”

Lee Chang laughs. But halfway through, it devolves into a sob, and he somehow finds the energy to sit up.

He barely makes it up before he feels his stomach revolt, and he throws up all over the ground. The remnants of meat in his vomit remind him of the chunks of flesh the creatures had torn off the guards’ bodies, and the memory makes him heave again. This time nothing comes up.

He turns, and Mu-yeong is shaking with quiet sobs, his jaw clenched and his eyes blinking furiously as he tries to hold back tears. It is the first time Lee Chang has ever seen Mu-yeong cry.

“Mu-yeong.” Lee Chang calls his name, and the gentleness of his voice surprises even him. The guard turns to him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, and his fist stuffed in his mouth to block his sobs. Lee Chang tries to find the right things to say.

“They were good, honest men,” he says, at last. “I did not know them very long, but I could tell that they were good men. We will honour their memories and their bravery in the face of unholy evil.”

Mu-yeong chokes out a laugh, and it is an ugly sound. “They were bloody awful at times,” he says, casting his eyes away. “We always quarrelled. They begrudged me my role as your guard, and always teased me for only passing the exam in my forties, when they had done so in their youth.” He pauses to wipe at the sides of his eyes, and when he continues, his voice is quiet.

“But they were good men,” he says, and his voice is full of affection. “You are right, Your Highness. They were honest, and hardworking, and brave. They did not deserve the death they received.”

The sun is rising, and the heat of its rays takes the edge off the cold. Lee Chang tries to ignore the sour stench of his own vomit, and stares off into the horizon. Their attackers are no longer gathered at the cliff’s edge, from what he can make out.

“They were ungodly abominations,” he says lowly, recalling the dark patterns that had been spread across their faces and exposed skin, and the rotting flesh that had been falling off their bodies. “I do not know how it is that they were able to sustain blows that would kill any normal man, nor why they were feeding on human flesh. But they are still on the other side of the river, and I fear for the villages we passed on our way.”

“What will we do, Your Highness?” asks Mu-yeong, and some semblance of normality has been restored to his voice. “Do we still ride – well, walk to Dongnae?”

“Yes,” Lee Chang says decisively. “We must go to Dongnae, and light the signal fires to warn the other cities in the region. We do not know how many of these people are out there, nor what they want. It will be good to prepare everyone for an attack.

“And Mu-yeong?” he says, almost as an afterthought, but as quite an important one. He manages a small smile when the guard turns to face him.

“We will return for your friends’ bodies,” he murmurs softly. “Their bodies will not be left to rot, alone and with only the crows for company. We will return them to Hanyang, for an honourable burial, and for the peace of mind of their family.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong says quietly, and he is about to say something else, when they are interrupted by a loud cacophony of clattering.

“Who are you, and what have you come for?” comes a voice from their right, and when Lee Chang turns, he comes face to face with the barrel of a musket.

It is a rough-looking man, smaller in stature but no less fierce for it. His hair is carelessly tossed into a bun, and sweaty strands of it stick to his tan skin. The bags under his eyes speak of countless sleepless nights, but still the hand that is holding the gun is steady and true. A pile of bamboo poles lies by him, the origin of the clattering sound.

“Put down your weapon!” Mu-yeong cries, and hefts his sword. The man spares him a glance out of the corner of his eyes. “Do you know who you dare lift your weapon against? This is the Crown Prince of the Joseon kingdom!”

The stranger’s brows shoot up, but apart from that, he does not move an inch, and the barrel of the musket is still pointed straight at Lee Chang’s face. Lee Chang feels himself begin to sweat.

“You did not answer the question,” he says quietly. “Why have the Crown Prince and his guard emerged from the banks of the Nakdong River, soaking wet and covered in gore?”

“We were attacked,” Lee Chang finds his voice. “By men who ate human flesh and did not balk at our blades in their back. Three of my other guards were felled by the attackers, and we had to flee into the river, which they dared not enter.”

There is a moment of silence, as the man stares at them, his eyes wide, and Lee Chang thinks he does not believe him. Honestly, were he the opposing party, he does not think he would believe his story either, outlandish as it seems – but every word of it is, unfortunately, the cold, hard truth.

“Then they did survive,” the man says abruptly, and his arm drops back to his side. Mu-yeong’s stance relaxes minutely, his blade still drawn, but the man pays him no mind and turns to the river.

“We must return to the other side,” he says urgently. “You must show me where the monsters descended on you.”

“Monsters?” splutters Mu-yeong. “What the hell – beg pardon, Your Highness – what do you mean by that?”

“Those men were dead,” the stranger says ruthlessly. “They frothed at the mouth and fitted to death, but at night they rise again and crave human flesh. They cannot be killed by normal means – only by fire, deep water, or beheading. And if we do not dispose of their bodies by tonight, they will return to kill once more.” He turns to them again, his eyes ablaze. “You must show me where they found you. They will be hiding from the sun, somewhere nearby, as they fear the daylight. We must burn their bodies as soon as possible.”

“We were on our way to Dongnae – “ starts Mu-yeong mulishly, but then he stops as Lee Chang holds up a hand to stop him. If, indeed, these men will rise again tonight to attack more unsuspecting folk… Lee Chang thinks, again, of the villages they had passed on the way, and the playful cries of children that had arisen from those settlements. He cannot let the innocent people in those villages die, not when he can prevent it.

“We will show you the way. Dongnae can wait.”

“Your Highness – “ Mu-yeong says sharply. “What reason do we have to trust this – this stranger? He could be lying. The story he tells – of the dead rising and killing for human flesh? It is a tale that is nigh on impossible.”

“You saw what we saw last night, Mu-yeong,” Lee Chang says quietly. “I do not believe those men were human. Besides,” he says, with a weak smile, “I did promise you we would return to retrieve your friends’ bodies – although I did not expect that we would do it as soon as we are choosing to now. Dongnae can wait. If we find these bodies and destroy them, it will greatly thin the number of monsters out there.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Mu-yeong accedes. Although it is not without a final glare towards the back of the man, who is standing by the riverside a little ways away, glancing restlessly back at them as they make their decision.

He brings them to a bridge further down the road, where they cross to the other side of the river, and they retrace their steps in silence till they reach the remains of the campsite.

The ashes of the fire Mu-yeong had lit are still smoking, and the bodies – even those of the guards – are nowhere to be found.

“They must have carried their bodies off,” Mu-yeong mutters, in disgust. Lee Chang watches as the man squats down and examines the ground.

“Do you see any tracks?” he calls, as the man picks up a piece of dirt off the ground and sniffs at it. He spares Lee Chang a glance, then stands up and brushes his hands off on his trousers.

“They went northward,” he says shortly. “Into the forest. There must be some abandoned homes or buildings among the trees in which they can hide from the sun.”

Lee Chang nods, and gestures forward. “Lead the way then.”

They walk into the woods. The trees have shed their leaves and are bare and stark against the crisp autumn sunlight. Frost crunches under their feet as they walk, and the air is eerily still, undisturbed by the sounds of any animals. Lee Chang gathers his coat tighter around him, and subconsciously tightens his grip on the handle of his sword.

“There,” the man says, stopping suddenly, and he points at a ruined shack that lies a distance from them. They make their way over to it, and Mu-yeong tentatively opens the door. It creaks as it opens, and releases a cloud of dust that makes all of them cough.

Lee Chang steps in first, squinting into the darkness. He draws his sword, and the blade gleams dully. The floorboards groan under his feet as he walks, craning his neck to see further than one chok in front of his face.

There – there is a glimmer of something in the corner of the room, he thinks, and readies his sword for battle – then there is an almighty crash as the complaining floorboards finally give way, and he sinks downwards with a shout of surprise.

The landing is unexpectedly soft, and there is a sinking feeling in his stomach as he turns his head downwards to gaze at what has broken his fall.

Faces upon faces upon faces, bodies upon bodies upon bodies, curled up in grotesque positions under the boards. Their eyes are shut in a gross parody of sleep, but their chests do not move with breath. They are dead.

Mu-yeong hoists him from the ground, and utters a hoarse cry as he sees what Lee Chang has happened upon. The stranger is unfazed, however, and begins pulling up the floorboards.

“We must get all of them out, and make sure their heads are cut off before we bury them, so they do not rise again,” he orders. Lee Chang has a very brief argument with a voice in his head – one that sounds very much like the King’s voice - about the merits of following the orders of someone of a lesser station than himself, before he sternly tells himself off and squats down to help.

They manage to pull out all twenty-one bodies of their attackers, and Lee Chang is horrified to find out that he had been right – one of them had been a child, no older than ten years of age, with the same mottled pattern on his skin, and mouth painted with gore. He almost throws up again, then, but his stomach is protesting the lack of food, and thankfully he manages to push down the urge.

Mu-yeong finds the bodies of the guards, one headless and two others still intact. He drags the bodies and the head out and lays them sombrely in front of the porch, aside from the other bodies.

“I apologise, my friends,” he says, under his breath, so softly that Lee Chang knows the words are not meant for others to hear. “I would give you now a burial worthy of the most honourable of men, but alas, I cannot do so. I promise, I will retrieve your bodies and bring them back to your honourable families, so they can pay their respects to you as you deserve.”

The man comes up to him and stands by his side, looking at the bodies of the guards. Then, in a stern but kind voice, completely at odds with his manner so far, he says, “We must cut off their heads as well. Any man the monsters bite will turn into one of their kind.”

Mu-yeong looks torn, and splutters. “That is absurd. Whoever heard of such a thing? Your Highness,” he turns to Lee Chang, and while his voice is accusatory, his eyes are soft with anguish. “You do not believe him, do you?”

Lee Chang sighs, and inadvertently locks eyes with the man. His eyes are fierce, and hooded, but Lee Chang thinks they hold no lies – at least, with regards to his matter. He shakes his head in answer to Mu-yeong.

“We saw it for ourselves last night, Mu-yeong,” he says patiently. “One of them returned to life and attacked me, and the only way of ensuring he did not rise again, was by taking off his head. Think of this,” and he manages what he hopes is a comforting smile, “it would be the kindest thing to do, to stop them casting a blemish on their honourable record by killing more innocent people. They would have wanted you to do it.”

In answer, Mu-yeong bows his head, and nods. And later, when they are done beheading the rest of the monsters, he takes the heads off the guards himself.

“We must dig a pit to bury the bodies in,” the man says, coming out of the shack with tools in hand. He passes one shovel to Mu-yeong, then he looks at Lee Chang out of the corner of his eye, a question written clearly in his face. Mu-yeong’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to interject; but Lee Chang silences him with a look, and takes the shovel from the man.

About an hour passes as they dig into the frozen ground to create a large shallow pit – shallow because they can go no deeper with the rudimentary tools they have, and the hardness of the soil. It is backbreaking work, and even in the cold biting air, Lee Chang feels sweat beading on his brow. The numbness in his fingers and the weariness in his bones does not help.

When they are finished, they haul most of the bodies over to the pit and try, as carefully as possible, to arrange them inside. They were once human, after all, and every human, no matter how small in stature or station, deserved an honourable burial.

When it comes to the three guards, however, the stranger squats down by the bodies and rifles through their clothing. In a swift movement, Lee Chang strides over and has his blade at the man’s throat.

The man pauses in his movements, and looks up at Lee Chang. A swallow bobs his throat, but his eyes hold no fear, and the twist of his mouth belies his impatience.

“How dare you attempt to desecrate these men by looting from them,” Lee Chang whispers. “Is it not enough that their bodies have been so profanely defiled? Do you intend to rob them as well?”

“Your Highness,” the man replies, very calmly – too calmly, for all that he had a blade at his throat – “while you have been sitting in your golden palace, eating the food of the gods, we have been starving.” Very slowly, his hand comes up and grips the pommel of the sword, right next to Lee Chang’s hand. His eyes are dark, and full of resolve.

“The sick at Jiyulheon need food, or they will die by morning,” he says quietly. “Our stocks had already been depleted before the monsters appeared, and now, more than ever, we need food. Will you let the sick and injured at Jiyulheon starve to death, for your honour and morality? This is reality, Your Highness – the reality of us peasants’ lives. This is not the first time I have stolen from a dead body to live, and it will not be the last.”

Mu-yeong is oddly silent, Lee Chang thinks, dazedly. He is able to hold the man’s gaze for a moment – just a moment more - then he can bear it no longer, and has to avert his eyes.

The man coolly levers the sword away from his throat, and returns to searching quickly through the guards’ clothes. He finds a few packets of dried meat and other trail foods, and these he packs them away in his bag.

When he is done, he makes to drag the bodies into the pit, and a small blue square of fabric falls from one of the guards’ pockets. As Mu-yeong and the stranger lug the bodies away, Lee Chang bends over and retrieves the item.

The guard’s daughter has written on it, in shaky writing; Papa, it reads, pleas keep your self safe and pleas bring back some mandu for mommy. We love you! There is a doodle of a girl sitting on what appears to be some vaguely-four-legged animal, brandishing a sword, with her father seated behind her. Lee Chang finds he suddenly has to steady himself against the walls of the shack, as a lump finds its way to his throat.

“Your Highness,” Mu-yeong calls, and Lee Chang looks up with a start to realise that the other two have already hurried some way up the slight incline that had led to the shed, and are now looking back at him – Mu-yeong with puzzlement, the stranger with badly-concealed impatience.

“The sun is setting,” says the man. “I must return to Jiyulheon – they will need help with defence against whatever monsters are left from this pack.”

“We will come with you,” calls Lee Chang, on some impulse, as the man turns to leave. Lee Chang’s words makes him spin round, his faint brows riding high in surprise.

“Why?” he says, and the twist of his mouth reads of his suspicion. “I thought you were on your way to Dongnae?”

“Staying in Jiyulheon cannot be your permanent solution against an attack,” Lee Chang argues, walking quickly up to them; and from the way the man’s eyes darken, Lee Chang knows he has hit his mark. He steps closer to the man, and they lock gazes.

“We can help with your defence through the night, and when morning comes, we will find a way to bring the people of Jiyulheon to safety. I swear this upon my crown,” he says, solemnly, for the look in those burning eyes holds him to nothing but the truth.

“Can a prince run as fast as is needed?” says the man at last, tossing his head scornfully. A sudden flock of crows ascends above their heads, bringing with them a cacophony of cawing, and their shadow runs long. The sun is setting, and night is drawing near.

Lee Chang feels his resolve set. He tucks the talisman into his pocket, and gives the man a firm nod.

#changshin #kingdom #kingdom netflix #lee chang #yeong shin #upm works #upm #kingdom fanfiction #changshin fanfiction #cho hak ju

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itsbenedict · 5 years ago

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Kingdoms and Koopas: Ep. 8

K&K is a Fate Accelerated campaign set in the Mario universe, which I’m running for three players:

Bee @thebeeskneesocks, playing Kandace Koopa

Jovian @jovian12, playing Cozmo Naut

Malky @sleepdepravity, playing Dr. Chevy Chain

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Previously on Kingdoms and Koopas, the party won a go-kart race on Rainbow Road, foiling Rawk Hawk and Dr. Moneybags’ nefarious plans to fix the competition. The problem was what happened immediately after their victory- the prize was brought out, and turned out not to be the Music Key they were after. Kandace then checked in the direction the real deal’s magical signature was coming from...

...and bumped into a giant invisible spaceship that promptly started invading the planet. Which they will now be infiltrating.

As soon as Opal dispels the UFO’s invisibility, a whole lot of things happen. First is, as mentioned previously, a bunch of people in the audience take off their Toad disguises, revealing themselves as alien bunnies and X-Nauts. Who start taking hostages. But then, well- the main thing they do with the hostages is force them to face the UFO, as if it weren’t attention-getting enough.

A screen shows up, broadcasting a swirly pattern, beginning to mass-hypnotize everyone. This could be quite bad, but thankfully, Princess Opal knows a spell to make people immune to hypnosis. Less thankfully, the spell takes the form of a cone that emits from her broom-staff-wand thing, and so she isn’t caught in the effect of her own spell. (Neither is Chevy, who’s still separated from the other two.)

Chevy, thankfully, makes a very good roll to resist- so good, in fact, that not only does she not get hypnotized, but she hears the orders being hypnotically transmitted to her, without having to obey them. (She’s supposed to report to the ship and assist “the wounded” somewhere on the ship, and has a codephrase, “Hail Tatanga”, to prove she’s brainwashed so she can get inside.)

Princess Opal, however, is caught in the hypnosis, and immediately flies into the ship, to be used for some nefarious purpose!

So, okay- in a rare fit of heroism, Chevy decides that, yes, she is going to actually get involved on purpose, taking advantage of the failed hypnotism to sneak aboard. The party works out and then executes on a plan.

While Chevy rides a handy-dandy X-Naut claw drone up to the ship (they’re being deployed everywhere to carry newly-hypnotized help on board), Cozmo and Kandace take a different route up. Cozmo, see, is already an X-Naut, so he doesn’t actually need a disguise or anything to get aboard. He pretends to take Kandace hostage, pretending to fly her broom up to the ship while Kandace secretly pilots the broom backwards. It’s a tricky roll, but they pull it off. Cozmo is able to bluff past the airlock security, and they’re in.

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The problem, is, they’re both “in” at two different points. Let me give you a rundown on the layout of this ship.

The Orbital Doom Casa is divided into eleven distinct sections- two floors of five rooms each, plus a lower floor containing a single chamber. The two floors are each laid out sort of like a Simon game. Like, uh, this:

Four rooms around the edge, plus a central hub. In this case, Chevy has been taken up to the lower floor’s Simon Yellow, and Kandace and Cozmo entered a different airlock at Simon Blue.

Kandace and Cozmo have arrived at Space Storage Space, a general-purpose supply depot for the ship. Everything’s locked behind alarmed glass cases, though, so they’ll need a passcode to get in. Cozmo might know the passcode, but it’s possible- indeed, likely- that they’ve changed it since the moon fortress days, and getting it wrong could set off an alarm. Since there’s nothing in there they need right now, they decide to go to the yellow area to meet up with Chevy.

Simon Yellow is the X-Production Chamber. Cozmo recognizes a lot of the equipment in the room- this is where new X-Nauts are decanted from mysterious chemical space soup. However, the X-Tubes are currently lying empty, and new equipment has been set up along the far wall (the same wall containing a door to Simon Green, marked “Bunny Ranch”.) This new equipment... it seems to be an array of brainwashing helmets, and a line of hypnotized racing fans are queuing up to be more permanently brainwashed. As victims come out from under the brainwashing helmets, they put on X-Naut uniforms and proceed to whatever their next task is.

Chevy has been taken to the back of the line, but like shell she’s gonna stick around to get helmeted. Instead, Cozmo and Kandace provide a distraction- Cozmo, after all, hasn’t been in the organization in years, and so the X-Scientists on duty have some pointed questions about where in the heck he’s been. This causes trouble for his lies- for instance, this ship doesn’t have brig (why would they need a brig when they have a brainwashing room?) and how come he doesn’t know that? He manages to string together some excuses about doing reconnaissance planetside, and he bluffs well enough that they forget the holes in his story.

The team, finally reunited, heads upstairs to the BarraX (a feat which is difficult but not impossible for Chevy, who is no fan of stairs.) There, they find “the wounded” Chevy was supposed to be treating- which amounts to one X-Naut (Wipe Naut, pronounced Wipe Nowt) who broke his leg skateboarding. Chevy plays it straight and attempts to set his leg using a skateboard as a splint, but, uh, fails. Because skateboards aren’t very good splints. As a stopgap measure to cover her failure, she uses a tongue depressor as a splint, which isn’t great but should at least stop the bone from setting wrong.

Anyway, they don’t have time to mess around with medicine- they need to find the Music Key and rescue Princess Opal! Kandace cajoles her shadow, Carbonado, into sneaking around and gathering some intel- apparently, the ship’s hypnotist is at the lowest level of the ship. Before they can do that, though... it’s getting tiresome having to bluff past every X-Naut they meet, so they decide to go downstairs and get some disguises.

Chevy acts as an obstruction for Kandace to hide behind as she filches an X-Naut uniform from the X-Production Chamber, and then the party is sent to the Space Storage Space to get some X-Naut logo stickers for Chevy- since, well, they don’t exactly have uniforms that fit chain chomps.

At the SSS, they meet the attendant on duty- one Nauti Naut, who both talks like a pirate and is very naughty. As Kandace fights Chevy to see how many stickers she can stick to her, Nauti interrogates Cozmo about where he’s been- Nauti, after all, is one of the old generation, moonbase survivors. Her thing was... constant attempts at mutiny. Which she’s still up to, not having yet been fired because she’s a decent employee when she’s not actively executing said ineffectual mutinies.

From Nauti, they learn that this ship is run by an alliance of three leaders: The Supreme Leader (that’s the severed head of Grodus, still up and kicking), the Supreme Master (some weirdo), and the Supreme Hypnotist (some mysterious weirdo)- plus the new supercomputer, TEC-CC, who’s helping coordinate them.

The plan, currently, is to track down the Supreme Hypnotist first, to cancel the hypnotism and release Princess Opal. The problem with that is that the Hypno-chamber is only accessible via an elevator from the bridge or the power core, and those two areas can only be accessed with a keycard. Their plan to get a keycard is to talk to (and bluff past) TEC-CC, who can print them.

So they head through the X-Production chamber, upstairs to the BarraX, and then into Simon-Green-2, the TEC-CC Server Room. And as they enter- and before they’re noticed- they overhear an incriminating conversation between TEC-CC and... someone. Someone with an unmistakable voice.

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This nefarious bowling pin is unsubtly plotting with TEC-CC to get rid of the Supreme Leader and Supreme Hypnotist, ensuring the spoils of the invasion are a two-way split instead of a four-way split.

Unfortunately, after this, Chevy crit-fails her stealth roll, and unstealth-rolls into a server rack, causing a loud noise that gets Orbulon’s attention.

Chevy, cornered, decides to come clean to Orbulon, mostly: they’re here to sabotage the Supreme Hypnotist and get rid of his influence, which is just fine by Orbulon. In fact, he gives them a codephrase they can use to command the Alien Bunnies on his authority, and a keycard they can use to access the power core (and through there, the hypno-chamber)!

The cost of this, of course, is that now Orbulon knows they’re there and it’ll make it that much harder to stop the entire invasion, even if they can deal with Grodus and whoever the hypnotist is.

Still! No matter! They head straight to the power core, where...

Well, there are several things in the power core.

There’s a couple Yux guards, for one thing- but there’s also the power core itself, which happens to be the Music Key! They’re using it to power the ship!

Princess Opal is also there. She’s there because she’s draped over the shoulder of a giant robot, being piloted by a small (and highly mysterious) purple spaceman.

Now, there’s no reason a fight needs to happen- after all, the party is there to obtain the Music Key, right? Tatanga is about to install the new, more powerful power core he just hypnotized, and he doesn’t need that old thing anymore. They can just have it! Wow, that was easy.

...But, yeah, no, they’re going to rescue the princess. FIGHT!

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Cozmo starts off by firing a firework at one of the Yux guards- but that just breaks its Mini-Yux shield, of course. Kandace follows up with a fireball to the Pagosu’s legs- yeah, it’s got legs now, it was inefficient to use flaming thruster jets to get about a spaceship with a limited oxygen supply and flammable components. It’s a good hit, but then the Pagosu fires a couple missiles that blast Kandace and Cozmo real good.

Conveniently, Nauti Naut is there and manages to finish off the undefended Yux, leaving just the one plus Tatanga. Chevy, meanwhile, anchors herself to the central stalactite-spike thingy of the power core, gearing up to start swinging around the room like a wrecking ball.

The remaining Yux attacks, but Kandace and Cozmo team up with another firework and one of them standard Magikoopa playstation-button blasts to clear it out of the way. It’s just the main boss, now! The party take a few more missile hits, but Chevy manages to huck a scalpel at one of the leg joints, restricting the Pagosu’s movement.

Cozmo tries to capitalize by firing a firework right at the cockpit- but Tatanga uses Opal as a human shield, and he’s forced to let the attack go wide. Kandace decides that’s enough of that- she weaves past his defenses and snags Opal right off his shoulder.

Unfortunately, Opal is still hypnotized. Tatanga simply orders her to return to his side, and she starts floating back to him. That said, he’s momentarily deprived of his meatshield, which gives Chevy an opening to set up a combo attack with Nauti Naut. Nauti throws an anchor up into the air, and Chevy smacks it full-force with her built-up momentum, straight into the Pagosu’s armor. It cracks it, leaving Tatanga off-balance.

Meanwhile, Cozmo is setting up- he’s running up the walls of this cool twisted-gravity chamber, and kicking off to do a flying drop-kick! He goes, not for Tatanga, but for the scalpel Chevy drove into his leg joint earlier!

With a successful kick, Cozmo severs the leg entirely, toppling the Pagosu.

Rather than attack, Kandace now tries to cure Opal. She just saw the spell Opal used to make her immune to hypnosis- surely, she can make it work! It’s a tough roll, and she spends all the boosts she can to make it work, and... she succeeds! She can now counter hypnosis! (With, as is specified in her magic-learning stunt, some kind of troublesome side-effect I have yet to inform anyone of.)

Finally, with Pagosu on the floor, Chevy lets loose, flinging herself off the spike and colliding with the cockpit full-force. The Pagosu is destroyed, and it doesn’t take much after that for the team to gang up on the mysterious spaceman within. He’s knocked right out!

So hey, they’re done, right? They rescued the princess, and the Music Key is right there, and...

...well, they’re still inside a spaceship that’s currently full of aliens invading the planet, and they can’t take the Music Key without making it fall out of the sky and crushing the innocents beneath, and Orbulon knows they’re there, and...

Yeah, this one’s gonna be tough.

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#kingdoms and koopas #mario #benedict art

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yisolbyeol · 5 years ago

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hey ya’ll just cal back at it again with this easy-going chaotic child of mine. i’ll keep this short and simple: below you can read about yi sol byeol, or sollie as i tend to call him. he’s a bb and i would love to work out some plots if ya’ll are interested. hmu either here or on discord. kthanksbye mwah !!

basics

name: yi sol byeol | sollie or yeollie or sol job: unemployed age: twenty gender: demimale pronouns: he/they sexuality: pansexual birthday: 01/29 zodiac: aquarius personality type: adventuerer | isfp pinterest board: HERE

regular order

an iced vanilla latte

aesthetics

looking up at the sky whilst standing in the rain

a blurry figure in the distance you can’t make out the details of

a soft press of lips to your temple as you drift off to sleep

theme song: to make noise (sing) by hozier

remember when you'd sing, just for the fuck of it any joy it would bring honey, the look of it was as sweet as the sound your head tilt back, your funny mouth to the clouds i couldn't hope to know that song and all its words wouldn't claim to feel the same we felt as the first time it was heard i couldn't name that feeling carried in that voice was it that or just the act of making noise that brought you joy?

positive & negative

affable ( adj ) : friendly, good-natured, or easy to talk to.

imprudent ( adj ) : not showing care for the consequences of an action; rash.

about

he has always been stuck in his own head, ever since he was a child. no matter what went on in the world around him, sol byeol remained in a day dream of his own creation. it was due to this, the dreaminess in which he moved through life, that allowed his parents to dictate and control as much of his youth as they did. it was isolating, being in his own little world, and left him without many friends. after all, who would play with the boy who couldn’t follow your conversation or seemed to be having five conversations at the same time when you only agreed to one linear one ?? it didn’t matter much to sol as he still had his older brother and that’s all that mattered to him. he would be fine so long as his brother was by his side.

it was a bit funny. regardless of the ways his parents could move him like a little pawn, they still favoured his eldest brother. perhaps it was because, despite the ease in which they could dress and take sol around, his dreaminess never allowed him to act the way they wanted him to. he never performed outstandingly in school, nor did he seem to care much about any sort of work related events they dragged the two siblings to. his teachers would write home about how he would sleep in their classes and never seemed to get along well with the other students. his parents grew frustrated and tried many ways to get him to engage. they tried tutors, violin lessons, etiquette training, etc, but nothing seemed to work.

solbyeol didn’t mind. his easy going personality and cloud filled mind kept him lost to the inter-workings of his family. he never craved or desired his parents positive attention and any scolding or punishment often failed to teach him any lessons his parents wanted to. eventually, it caused him to simply be overlooked. if he could simply be a background figure in their life then fine. it was much better than him standing out due to negative attention, as far as they were concerned.

little did they know that things were bound to change. there wasn’t a significant trigger that started or caused his quote unquote rebellion. perhaps this could be due to his lack of voice when it came to explaining his thoughts but as far as his parents were concerned, one moment he was in the shadows and the next he suddenly became his parents number one embarrassment.

little did his parents know, but it was a matter of time until solbyeol bloomed. at fifteen, there was a specific shift that they overlooked. he started reading books on gender theory and feminist theory. he delved into a wealth of knowledge that his parents would have banned him from, had they paid enough attention to him to notice. the more he learned, the more his day dreams shifted away from the fantastical and took on more of a literal/realistic tinge. so the changes started small, in regard to visibility, and progressed to the point where he dipped his fingers into make-up and fashion. his parents were completely blindsided when their child suddenly began to appear with make-up and in skirts. they were determined that this was him trying to ruin them, especially when he appeared at one of the most important events for his family all dolled up.

his brother had asked him at one point if he really was doing all this to get back at their parents. it wasn’t unusual for sol to be confused when pulled from his day dreams and yet his brother couldn’t help but be surprised at the sincerity of it when sol questioned why he would think so. it was almost comforting to his other brother, as if sol’s act of ‘rebellion’ had truly made him second guess if he knew his sibling, to find out that solbyeol was only dressing and doing what he wanted to do.

if only their parents could respect that. to be fair, many didn’t. a masculine individual dressed in skirts and make-up?? he’d get quite the looks when he went out and occasionally situations that were far from pleasant occurred, yet they never seemed to bother him and he had a strange amount of luck that allowed him to get out of any situation that was truly trouble without any penalties. perhaps that is why, when his parents eventually kicked him out and distanced their selves from him, that he still managed to stay on his feet.

it wasn’t an unexpected event- getting kicked out, that is. it also didn’t matter to sol either way. at this point, his parents either offered backhanded insults whenever they bothered to interact with him or simply ignored him. at least in this situation, his parents could pretend he was off making a living for himself rather than- well, no one was quite sure what sol did. his parents always assumed it was something nefarious and indecent, while his brother could never get a straight answer out of him.

still, whatever he managed to get up to sustained him easily. he made enough to feel comfortable packing up his stuff and putting it into storage and taking a one-way flight to l.a. to visit his friend he’d’ met online years ago for the first time. that was two months ago and he didn’t appear to have any interest in moving back to seoul anytime soon.

extra

solbyeol is currently living with jimi !! has been since he came to visit his friend two months ago. since arriving, he has been a fairly regular customer at the brew and can often be found wandering around the streets.

a bit of a quirk sol has is, well, he gets lost. he never really lost his dreaminess quality and so often gets lost in his own head that he could go out for milk and be gone five hours because he made a wrong turn or simply was pulled away by a distraction.

despite how easily he gets into strange and potentially dangerous situations, sol has some pretty unfailing luck. its something he hasn’t verbally acknowledged over the years, but if you know him long enough, you can pretty much figure out this kid is really freakin’ lucky.

sol is a very touchy and feely person. he loves platonic skinship as well so if you’re friends with him expect hand holding and kissing from his end if you’re comfortable with it !!

despite his artistic ability with make-up, sol goes in and out of phases where he dresses up. most of the time he can be found looking like a rat in a pair of sweats or skinny jeans, a battered pair of vans, bed hair and a sweatshirt he just swims in. yet, he also can look like a whole snacc when he wants. taking the whole nine years, make-up, jewellery, hair, clothes, etc. he knows how to work it.

he’s a very laid back and relaxing individual that is also kind of chaotic. he’s very easy to get along with and it’s quite difficult to make him upset. should you, however, make him angry or sad, both emotions tend to result in tears on his part. he also has no qualms with feeling freely in public so if you upset him ?? he’s gonna burst into tears in the middle of the a busy street.

kind of ,,, romantic relationship stupid. like, will have no idea you have a romantic interest in him unless you tell him.

he loves !! animals !! will try to take them home, tbh. whether they belong to him ro not and is not very smooth about it.

a little bit clumsy, a.k.a. very clumsy. not uncommon for his knees to be bruised and/or scraped.

he’s currently unemployed yet he seems to be doing just fine for himself. he has no problem spending money and although he can be found and or hired for odd jobs, it can’t possibly be enough to sustain him...can it??

#hqbrew:intro #gonna have to change his theme but i'll do that tomorrow lsdkljsf

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qqueenofhades · 7 years ago

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the dragons on the map: vii

Rating: M Summary: After the Lifeboat is nearly destroyed, the Time Team ends up stranded in their strangest and most unfamiliar destination yet: 1195 France. With Rittenhouse to stop, medieval adventures to be had, and a pair of rival kings at war, it’ll truly be a miracle if they ever get home. (Garcy/Lyatt/pre-Garcyatt, Flogan, Rufus Is Judging, general Time Team relationships and bonding. Guest appearances from the Plantagenets, for reasons.) Available: AO3

This has already been one of the longest days of Lucy Preston’s life – it started before dawn this morning, has seen them arrive at Poitiers, wash up, meet Richard and Eleanor, have a few sparring rounds in the ring, learn about Emma’s presence, culminate with Wyatt getting shot at dinner, and now seems liable to extend well into the night on a wild Rittenhunt – and some small part of her does just want to lie down, go to sleep, and hope it is over when she wakes up. Obviously, she didn’t plan to go on a hair-raising midnight raid (well, it’s not midnight, it’s not even Compline yet) with the intention of taking out Emma before she can put her nefarious plots into action, but then, that is basically Lucy’s life now. There’s even the massively over-optimistic thought that if they could get Emma in time, this would be the last one ever, and they could go back to… whatever’s going to pass as an ordinary existence after this. Lucy honestly has no idea, and sometimes, she’s grateful for the excuse to put it off. At least she’s gotten used to this, though she knows it’s a mark of humans being able to cope and adjust to almost anything. To live in a permanent state of deprivation and trauma, and have your brain convince you that it’s fine, it’s fine, no looking at the little man behind the curtain. You don’t actually want a settled, normal, happy life, do you? That would be boring.

Lucy speeds up, causing Flynn to take longer strides (he, of course, doesn’t actually need to run in order to keep up with her). Someone said they saw a red-haired woman leaving the castle earlier, in the chaos engendered by the botched assassination (Lucy wonders if that was another of Emma’s motives in staging it that way – nobody available to notice or stop her), and that she was on horseback. Oh joy, this means a return to it themselves. Flynn probably doesn’t mind, but Lucy decidedly does. Why couldn’t Emma have just been out for an evil moonlight stroll? Why more riding? Why?

And yet, they don’t have the luxury of doing otherwise. They reach the stables and order their horses saddled, and Flynn makes a step of his hands for Lucy to scramble up, having to give her an extra boost because her legs are so stiff. She groans. “How far do you think she could have gotten? We can’t be that far behind her.”

“No,” Flynn agrees, mounting up with an agility that makes Lucy momentarily hate him. “But we don’t know which direction she was going, or how hard she was riding. We might have to keep it up through the night. If I can get a clear shot at her, I’ll take it, but that’s also going to make it very tricky to find the Mothership.”

“Rufus can work it out.” Lucy has faith in him. “Let’s just worry about catching Emma first.”

Flynn looks at her sidelong, then nods. He puts his heels into his courser, as Lucy does the same with the palfrey, and they gallop out into the late evening.

The castle gates are just about to be closed and locked with the double guard Eleanor has posted, but Flynn calls out and manages, after an interlude of haggling, for him and Lucy to be allowed through. The streets of Poitiers are under curfew as well, people hanging up their shingles and closing their shutters; the latest taverns can operate is until nine PM. That’s late-night anyway, given that you’ll be awake at dawn, and any trouble that intoxicated patrons get into would fall on the tavern keeper’s head. In other words, there are not a lot of people they can ask if a red-haired woman just rode through here in a hurry, and besides, the townsfolk mostly speak Occitan, not French. However, there are a limited number of gates that Emma can go through – the one they arrived by, the one at the far side by the aqueduct, and a postern on the western wall. The latter is the smallest and most discreet, and it’s in the part of the city away from the steep river banks, opening onto the countryside beyond. In other words, if Emma wants to avoid notice in leaving Poitiers, and ride for a while without interruption, that’s probably where she’s headed.

Lucy and Flynn direct themselves accordingly, though when they reach the postern, it is also shut and locked. However, the night watchman is clearly not happy to see them, given the way he scrambles into his wooden tollbooth and pretends he is not there when they ride up. This is a fairly clear indication that a) Emma has been there, and b) threatened him with dire consequences if he let anyone follow her out. He is deaf to all their attempted reasoning (understandable, but still annoying) and finally Flynn, out of patience, draws his gun and fires it directly overhead, scaring the crap out of the poor bastard. He gives in, comes out and opens the postern for them, then presumably goes off to make his last will and testament.

Lucy normally would feel a lot worse for him, but this time she doesn’t look back once, urging her palfrey out into the dark blue hills beyond. It’s dark enough that she can’t really see more than a few yards, and the moon hasn’t risen yet. The only light, aside from the torches on the walls, is the scattered stars above, and she yawns hard and deliberately, trying to get more blood flowing to her brain. This, of course, only really makes her want to yawn again, and she turns to glance back at Flynn. God, he seems indestructible. Do his veins run with energy drinks? And he already got beaten up by Richard, and had to perform makeshift emergency surgery on Wyatt. He should be flagging too.

If he is, however, it’s impossible to tell. He considers a moment, then clucks to the horse, spurring it into a quick trot. The plan appears to be to ride as long as they can and hope they run into Emma somewhere out here. There aren’t exactly highways or service stations or mile markers to lead the way. Lucy hopes they can find their way back.

They canter along for a while in silence, as Lucy does her utmost to ignore her throbbing thighs and gritty eyes and sore back and ass and head, the small, niggling worry in her heart for Wyatt and Rufus, and everything else. Instead she glances sidelong at Flynn, hoping he doesn’t notice her doing it. This is the first time they have really been alone since they left Paris, and to say the least, a lot has happened in that week. He has been almost the sole historian (she feels guilt at not being more helpful, a voice that sounds like her mother’s whispering that she should know more of this, should have studied more), he has dealt in multiple confusing archaic languages and spur-of-the-moment cover stories, demonstrated some seriously hot swordfighting skills, and navigated them through the courts of two rival kings with Rittenhouse up in everyone’s business to boot. Lucy is really trying to ignore it, but the fact is indisputable. She’s had some kind of feelings and attraction to Flynn for a while now, but he’s leveled up about a thousand in that department since they got here. She can’t look at him without feeling something deep and raw and hungry in her stomach, something that wants, and this is literally the worst time for it.

There are a lot of things she could say. She could also say nothing at all, which is always a safe option, but one that rasps her raw in a different way. Then she says, “I thought you didn’t give a damn about Wyatt?”

Flynn twitches, looking startled. “What?”

“That was what you said,” Lucy reminds him pointedly. “Back in Chinatown. But you’ve now saved his life twice in two weeks. Once when the Lifeboat crashed and we couldn’t wake him up and you gave him CPR, and now with the emergency surgery on a supper table while also keeping us from having our covers completely blown. Rufus and I probably wouldn’t be doing so well by ourselves, but Wyatt would definitely be dead. And it’s thanks to you that he’s not, and you and he and I all know that.”

Flynn looks as if it is in fact news to him that they’ve noticed, and also as if he is not sure what to do with that information. He starts to say something, coughs, and stops. Then he says, “I don’t like him. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let him die.”

“But why?” Lucy pushes. “You could. You spent plenty of time trying to kill him, before – ”

“Yes, before.” Flynn takes the reins to steer the courser through a broken, boggy bit of trampled ground, then canters up on the far side and pauses to make sure she navigates it safely. It astounds Lucy how innately and endlessly protective he is – of her, of all of them – when, as she’s just been reminding him, that was his exact opposite instinct for a while. “And most of that was his own fault. He can’t take me straight in a fight, as we’ve just demonstrated again. And if you’d believed me about Rittenhouse and stopped trying to interfere, I wouldn’t have had to do it at all.”

Lucy raises both eyebrows. “Your methods weren’t exactly designed to convince.”

Flynn shrugs, as if to say that’s for everyone else to quibble about, not him. There are another few moments as the horses’ hooves splash in the mire. Then Lucy says, “So what is it? Just about fighting Rittenhouse with help now? Is that what we offer you?”

“What do you want me to say, Lucy?” He sounds wary, not sure if this is a trick or she wants a platitude or a safe answer or something else altogether. To be fair, she doesn’t quite know herself. “You have a problem with how it is now?”

“No. That’s not what I – no. I’m – if I haven’t said it, I’m saying it now. You’ve carried all of us on this, and – I said it back in the tavern in Paris, but it’s true. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” For once, when his words are generally laden with sarcasm and biting wit and sassy turns of phrase and the rest of his drama, it’s soft and simple. It’s hard to make out the expression on his face, since it’s dark and he’s looking straight ahead, but it has a hint of that softness that he tends to show only to her. “You and I, we’ve… we’ve managed.”

Lucy supposes that she has helped, a bit, even if it doesn’t feel up to her usual standards (and God, that’s such an unhealthy reflex, like she’s filling out a scorecard of every mission and if she doesn’t provide a certain, quantifiable amount of useful information, her credential as a historian and a person will be yanked. Her mother, again). She looks at him again, thinking it’s a good thing that they’re on horses, moving at a brisk clip, and several feet apart, or otherwise she might be tempted to reach out, to touch. Wants to ask him what exactly he was going to confess in that moment before Wyatt interrupted, but he’s been so understated and elusive about what he actually says to her (though his actions have said plenty). Does he not want to put undue pressure on her, or is it really just not how he feels?

Lucy doesn’t know why that makes her stomach writhe uncomfortably, or at least she would rather not think why. Yes, Flynn is very attractive – she’s a woman, she has eyes, she noticed that even while they were enemies – but she’s a grownup and she likes to think of herself as a sensible one. She’s not going to be swayed just by a pretty face. Plus, there is the obvious fact that she has no desire whatsoever to sleep with another of her teammates and have that once more go to pot in a spectacular and heart-crushing fashion. It hurt badly enough to lose Wyatt, and though he’s physically back at her side, the emotional part is a long way off. If she had to go through that with Flynn, her rock and her solace and her safe place (how has he taken that job? How is it?) in the darkest hours of her life… well. She might flatter herself that she’s still strong enough to do it, but it is absolutely nothing she wants to go through or even try to contemplate. Flynn has always been hers. Shared with no one. He protects and defends and looks after Wyatt and Rufus, even if he’d never say it out loud or let them get comfortable, but her… no. She’s something altogether different.

They ride for a short while longer, until Flynn hears something, reins up sharp, and holds up a hand. Lucy is not quite as successful at stopping the palfrey on a dime, and it skids, sending her giddily off balance for a moment until it regains its footing. Flynn puts a finger to his lips and points ahead, and then stealthily dismounts, moving over to offer his arms for Lucy to slide down into. She knows it’s just to avoid making any noise, but she catches her hands against his chest as he, yet again, does not seem to expend any effort in any of this. It feels like an electric charge burns up her palms, and she has to resist the urge to jerk away too fast. Her cheeks are still hot, a small flutter rising under her breastbone, as she reminds herself that they very definitely need to focus right now. Hanky-panky, or at least extremely awkward sudden thoughts thereof, later.

Flynn doesn’t seem to have noticed, at any rate. He reaches into his tunic and draws his gun, and shakes his head when Lucy gives him a look asking if she should draw Wyatt’s as well. Leaving the horses behind, they climb up the next hill on foot, and edge up carefully over the top, peering down into the low green vale beyond. There’s a thin stand of alders and larch, dappled by the just-rising moon, but that’s not what is casting the most light. That is the eerie blue glow of the Mothership, which has just ginned up to launch speed and in the next instant, blows out of existence. Emma’s horse, tied nearby, rears and screams, pulling frantically at its tether, but doesn’t quite get loose.

Flynn and Lucy swivel to stare at each other in bafflement and terror. If Emma has somehow already put all her plans in place and is peacing out, leaving the surviving sleeper agents to handle the rest, they’re screwed. They were counting on stealing the Mothership to get out of here, after all, since the Lifeboat is toast. Was Emma asking Wyatt for twenty-four uninterrupted hours just as a misdirect? Bombing back to the future to see if things have changed yet, get a progress report on Rittenhouse’s activities – she’s the CEO now, maybe they can’t spare her too long in the field, terrifying (and terrifyingly competent) as she is. For a long moment, Lucy contemplates the possibility of living the rest of their lives here (that is, if they don’t get killed by any number of people). Tries to tell herself it won’t be so bad and they’ll adjust, just like they have to anything else. But she wants very much to be sick.

She reaches out blindly, grabbing for Flynn’s hand, and he holds it ferociously, steadying her from the brink of total panic. Lucy hauls in a few painful breaths, trying to tell herself there is another way back, even if she doesn’t see one. But just as she’s really about to lose it, the night starts to bend and ripple again, there’s a whine and whir on the edge of hearing, and the Mothership blasts back into the third dimension, landing with a slight skid in the silt. The door cycles open, casting eerie fluorescent light on this twelfth-century rustic countryside, and seven people troop out. Six men and a woman, all dressed in medieval chic.

One of the men turns to say something to Emma, who is just visible in the doorway. At once Flynn raises his gun, but it’s a long shot, they can assume that the Rittenhouse backups are all armed, and as the moon whispers out from behind a cloud, they both can see who the woman is, blonde hair braided in an elegant crown and green cloak artfully draped and clasped with a cloisonné brooch. It’s Jessica.

Both of their hearts skip a beat, though likely for different reasons. Flynn has a better shot at her than he has at Emma, but taking her out at this point is of debatable strategic value, and even he is not so cruel as to shoot Wyatt’s estranged, pregnant wife without him there at all or able to offer any opinion on it, to find out in some terrible way later. Jessica is an enemy, she is technically subject to the same rules of combat as any of the Rittenhouse goons she’s surrounded by, but while Flynn trying to shoot her now might be justifiable on some grounds, it would destroy a lot more on others. And he couldn’t bring himself to shoot John Rittenhouse, the terrified child of his mortal enemy. Is he really going to take out Wyatt’s unborn son or daughter, and call it square for Iris?

Lucy doesn’t know the answer, but she grabs at his arm just in case, shaking her head desperately. She has no reason to protect Jessica either, and perhaps if she was another kind of woman, she wouldn’t mind or just turn a blind eye, but that’s not it, that’s not her. No, she mouths. No, no, you can’t.

For once, Flynn doesn’t demur, if only since it’s clear it would get them into all kinds of trouble to be caught out here by themselves, no backup or shelter. Lucy has gotten better with the gun, but she’s not a sharpshooter or a soldier, and has never been involved in a sustained firefight with trained killers before. They have to observe, gather information, and not act, not yet. If nothing else, this makes it clear that Emma’s threat to Jessica’s life is no bluff, and she thought it would be easier to carry it out with her conveniently at hand. Oh God, is she planning to bring her back to Poitiers and – and what?

Lucy’s spinning head is distracted as Emma once more goes into the Mothership and shuts the door, and after a few seconds, it jumps out of existence again. The six guys and Jessica seem to think she’s coming back, since they start setting up a camp, laughing and talking and looking like they are on a corporate outdoor retreat (which technically they are, if you can forget… all the rest of it). Lucy stares harder at Jessica, trying to tamp down the morass of emotions that have risen in her chest at seeing her again. There’s anger and distrust and grief and an aching feeling like longing. They were friends, weren’t they? Jessica supported her, was kind to her? That can’t have all been a long-con act. There were other chances for Jess to hurt her, to actually walk away. And now this – is she just here for Emma to kill her more conveniently? Or –

At that, Lucy thinks of something, and it feels like another lightning bolt, but for a different reason. Jessica is dressed more nicely than the others; that is a fancy brooch, and there is fur edging her cloak, flashes of pearl bobs at her ears. The moonlight briefly catches on the embroidery on her skirt, which has the gleam of silk. She’s not looking so nice just to be thrown in a dungeon and held as a hostage. Which means, or at least strongly suggests, that that’s not why she’s really here. She’s here to marry Richard.

If you think about it, Lucy considers numbly, it makes sense. Emma probably doesn’t altogether trust Jessica, and wants her away from ongoing Rittenhouse operations in the present. Jessica already has plenty of experience at playing a loving wife, remaining embedded to gather intelligence or whatever they want from her, and she’s pregnant. Since the entire point of this mission is to make sure Richard has a son to succeed him instead of his brother John, Rittenhouse isn’t going to take chances or wait and cross their fingers and hope he eventually feels guilty enough to engage in dutiful heterosexual babymakin’. Make this as painless as possible for him. Provide him with a new wife already pre-installed with a son (is Jessica far enough along, do they know for sure it’s a boy? They must) and exempt him from even having to sleep with her if he doesn’t want to. Jessica can live here for a couple years, then come home when Richard dies in 1199 (if she doesn’t kill him first). Just like Emma, ranching it in the 1880s alone for a decade, she will have proved her loyalty, and can return in triumph. As long as she’s happy leaving her child behind, to grow up as a thirteenth-century king and totally change all of known English and American history.

Lucy turns frantically to Flynn, trying to think how to communicate this without words, but he’s staring at Jessica with an expression that makes her think it might have occurred to him too. At that moment, there’s another whine and flash as the Mothership lands for a second time, and a further seven agents troop out. What the hell. Emma could theoretically be spending as much time in the present as she wants on each trip, and then jumping back to a few minutes later on the same night in April 1195. Could have been gone for a couple weeks, having a spa date and going to evil board meetings and whatever else, then returning here. Time travel, it’s absolutely the worst, especially when they can only sit here and watch.

However, as far as Lucy can tell (or maybe just wants this to be the case) Emma has been running a straightforward shuttle service tonight, there and back in real time. There are now fourteen Rittenhouse operatives plus Emma, and given that they’re all dressed for the job, they must have just been waiting around headquarters tonight for the boss to bomb in and pick them up. The team was thinking hopefully that the two agents down with cyanide capsules might mean that Rittenhouse has to conserve their resources, but they’re bringing in the most agents that Lucy and Flynn have ever seen in one place and time. It was bad enough when they had to track one sleeper agent per jump. Now there are fourteen? Plus Jessica?

Likewise, Emma doesn’t seem to be done. She vanishes into the Mothership again, which then jumps for a third time, and returns with a further seven, upping the total to twenty-one. There is a good mix of men and women, dressed for all levels of society, and after the fourth trip, bringing what clearly look to be Jessica’s fake servants and ladies-in-waiting, there are almost thirty people in the glen. Lucy feels paralyzed. Thirty?

She and Flynn can clearly see that there’s no battle to be had here, and they slowly inch down the far side of the hill, though there is a hair-raising moment when one of the men looks up sharply and almost spots them. They take hold of the horses and try to sneak off as far as they can, but they also can’t just run away and leave the Rittenhouse camping party completely unsupervised. Once they have found a hidden spot that is well out of sight and earshot, but still close enough that they’ll be tipped off if the gang starts to move, Lucy almost collapses. “Oh my God,” she says at last, instinctively keeping her voice low. “That’s – that’s – ”

“I know.” Flynn’s mouth is grim. “That has to be a significant proportion of all their available operatives. After all, there are plenty of members who are in it for the benefits and the power and whatever else, but aren’t trained and expected to take on the time-traveling part. And bringing in fucking Jessica – ”

There’s a pause as they look at each other and silently concur about why they think she’s there. Lucy blows out a breath. “We need to tell Wyatt, don’t we?”

“So what?” Flynn snorts. “He can run off to her and screw us over again? Like Rufus said earlier. Jessica’s clearly picked her allegiances.”

“But has she?” Lucy stares up at the star-flecked sky. God, she wishes she could just not think about this, could switch off her compassion and stop caring, when it seems like it would be so much easier. “I don’t trust her either and I’m not saying we need to make any special effort to rescue her, but I’m not entirely sure she’s here because she wants to be.”

To judge from Flynn’s expression, he could not give a single well-formed shit if Jessica is here to redeem herself in Emma’s eyes, or simply because Emma saw the opportunity and seized it, or any other explanation whatsoever. He won’t kill her, at least not before knowing for sure, and because of it being Wyatt’s child, inconvenient and unwelcome as that may be for the larger cause. But, that look says, he is far, far from happy about it.

Lucy sighs, half-wanting to apologize to him and half-stubbornly convinced she has nothing to apologize for. They lie awkwardly side by side in the hollow of the hill, as the horses whicker and stamp at tether, and Lucy can feel the exhaustion rushing over her like the waves of a soft dark sea. Even if they had to get up and gallop off right now, she isn’t sure she wouldn’t just pass out and fall out of the saddle. She needs to sleep, she craves sleep with an almost physical, hallucinogenic intensity, but it seems irresponsible for both of them to knock off and potentially miss whatever Rittenhouse might do next. She should – she should stay awake, she shouldn’t make Flynn do it and keep watch alone, she should –

Lucy closes her eyes, just for a second, telling herself it is only that. Then she opens them, and it is cool grey predawn, the air calm and dew-damp and still, with the sun not yet in sight over the eastern horizon and Flynn snoring softly next to her. He has his hand on his gun, looks as if he stayed awake as long as he could possibly hack it, and will probably be very annoyed with himself when he rouses. A line is drawn between his brows, his mouth is set and grim, and since it’s been several days since he’s properly shaved, there’s a dark turf of stubble on his jaw, more than Lucy has ever seen him with. She lies there looking at him, reminding herself that a good chunk of Rittenhouse is camped about a quarter-mile off and she should possibly go run a scouting mission to see if they’re still there. But she can’t help but think that if Flynn woke up and she wasn’t here, he’d panic.

Without the sun, and still relatively early in spring, the air is chilly, and Lucy hesitates, then edges a little closer. Flynn is large and warm and comforting, she’s gotten used to sleeping with him nearby or next to her, and it’s a chance to look without the ever-present fear of being noticed or having to pretend she wasn’t or wanting to push him for more answers that he may or may not give. Her fingers are prickling again, the same way they were when he caught her last night, with that impossible, overwhelming urge to touch. There are a few shoots of silver in his stubble, more than there is in his hair. Her pulse keeps tripping in her throat, which is dry even after several swallows.

Lucy rolls onto her back and starts to mentally recite the U.S. presidents in order, which is a tactic of hers to calm herself down or take her mind off things or otherwise shake her out of whatever unprofitable train of thought she’s currently barreling down. But she can’t get further than about Polk before she finds herself glancing over again. She should try to concentrate on the fact that there was actually a man appointed to the highest office in the land named Millard Fillmore. What else does she know about ol’ Millard? Became president thanks to the death of Zachary Taylor, as he was his VP. Last president to be a member of the Whig Party while in office, endorsed by the Know Nothing Party in 1852, and lost his re-election bid (honestly, truth in advertising, you have to wonder if the Know Nothings would win today, which is a sad commentary on the state of America even without Rittenhouse – if Lucy recalls, they also started out as a secret society). Consistently ranked as one of the worst presidents, which seems cruel, given that he was already named Millard Fillmore. Rittenhouse doesn’t seem likely to be sponsoring any trips to his administration. Or –

Lucy turns her head and looks at Flynn again. Their faces are fairly close, and she should probably back up a little – if nothing else, because it would probably scare the dickens out of anyone to wake up and find someone two inches from your nose. She edges herself away carefully, digging her fingernails into her palms until they leave white crescent moons. Even if Flynn was interested in pursuing something else with her (and she doesn’t know for sure that he is – he too has a wife and child he wants to save, he could still change his mind about leaving them), this is an even more horrible time to find out. For God’s sake, Lucy. Focus.

Instead, she just lies there with a dry mouth and a hammering heart and a slickness she can feel between her thighs when she moves them, until Flynn jerks, starts, and wakes up with a snort, rolling onto his side and grabbing for his gun by reflex. When it becomes clear that their hideout has not been found, he grimaces, rubs a hand over his scruffy face (he should not do that, it’s distracting) and pushes himself up on an elbow. With another look telling her to stay where she is (it’s amazing how good they have gotten at totally non-verbal communication, in small glances and gestures), he spiders off on all fours, careful not to stand up and present a broad target before he can be sure where Rittenhouse is, or if they have moved during the night. Climbs up the hill, then disappears down the other side.

Lucy lies very tensely, a knot in her belly for more than one reason, listening with all her might for shouting or gunshots, but the morning remains quiet. She is feeling like breakfast would be nice, but there’s not going to be a Starbucks to stop by on the way back (and this is France, they’d probably scoff at Starbucks on principle). Hopefully Wyatt and Rufus have not concluded the worst about their failure to return last night, and Wyatt is feeling a little better. Though honestly, finding out that Emma has shipped his (ex?)-wife in to marry Richard and leave their son here as Rittenhouse Joffrey (as Rufus so memorably put it) is bound to put a damper on anyone’s spirits. Jeez. Poor Wyatt. Between the two near-death experiences and now further emotional turmoil, it seems like the universe has pasted a kick me sign on his back. Lucy is hardly so cold as to enjoy it, or want any more pain for him. She doesn’t know what else is going to be there for them, but she still cares for him deeply.

It’s another few nerve-wracking minutes until Flynn finally reappears. He sits down and rests his arms on his knees, scowling. “Well,” he says. “They have horses. I don’t know where they got them, though we can assume their previous owners are likely dead. They were talking, I couldn’t hear all of it, but I did catch something about the plan changing. Then Jessica and her escort headed off in the opposite direction than the one we came in. Emma isn’t going to risk taking her back to Poitiers and having us see her, now that she knows we’re there, so she’ll send her to another one of Richard’s cities and have him meet her there. And no, I don’t know which one that is.”

“What about the other agents?” It’s bad news that Jessica is about to slip through their fingers, but they need to get back to Poitiers and find out where Richard might be going next, then accompany him if they can. “Where did they go?”

“About ten of them went with Jessica on horseback. The others looked like they’d be walking. Probably get them planted in several nearby villages, have as many backups and second options as possible. I don’t know if they’ve all been equipped with their own cyanide pill, but not even Emma can afford to burn thirty trained operatives. They can’t all be under suicide orders. So if we could catch one – ”

“Would they talk, though? If they’ve been picked for this mission, they must be the best of the best, the uber-loyalists. Even if they don’t commit hara-kiri, they could still – ”

Flynn cracks his knuckles. “I’m willing to find out.”

Lucy raises an eyebrow, as if to remind him that grievous bodily harm is off the table until she says so (it’s not that she objects, she just wants to make sure they’ve run through their options), and he gazes back at her with a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth expression that is… not the best thing for her currently rather tenuous self-control. God, he really needs to stop being so distracting. Especially when he follows it up with that patented tongue thing of his, which makes her entire face feel like a brushfire. This can’t just be her imagination, can it? This spicy, gut-twisting, breath-catching chemistry, especially recently. Flynn can be soft and tender with her, almost unbearably so, and she has taken refuge in that on repeated occasions, has relied on it being there to catch her if she wants to fall. But she also wants him to, well, not be soft. He can pick her up and lift her and toss her around like a feather, and he would never, ever hurt her. It’s like the fuse of a long-burning stick of dynamite is on the brink of explosion inside her, and the thing about dynamite is that it does not care in the least if you ignore it or not. Eventually, and spectacularly, it is going to go boom.

Once more, Lucy drags herself away from her base impulses and focuses on the mission. “What about Emma?” she says. “Where did she go?”

“She waited until everyone was gone and then set off. She’ll be on her way back to Poitiers by now, so we need to be after her.” Flynn looks disgruntled. “And I can’t even shoot or blow up or lay a finger on the damn Mothership, because it’s our only ticket home too. At least we know where it is now, but with thirty Rittenhouse agents running around, we can hardly just jump in and bail out. Tempting as it sounds.”

“Yeah.” Lucy sighs and tries to work up any enthusiasm at all for yet another ride back. As for now, Emma doesn’t know that they saw her midnight taxi service, much less Jessica, so they have the element of surprise on their side – at least to a point. But that doesn’t make what they have to do any less daunting, or with any more likelihood of success. If anything, much less. They were still relying on the comfortable assumption that this would be like previous missions, even after having been presented with concrete evidence to the contrary. That was stupid and they are lucky it hasn’t gotten them killed, though it’s been a close-run thing. At any rate, they need to stay just far enough behind Emma not to tip her off that they’re on her tail, but not far enough to let her have free rein. It’s a delicate balance.

Flynn makes a step of his hands for Lucy to mount her horse as before, but she decides it might be better not to risk touching him too much, and clambers up on her own. Something flickers over his face – she can’t tell what. Is he insulted, or hurt, or surprised that she’s rejected his help, when it’s become such second nature these days to take it? Or does he figure that she can definitely get on her own horse like a big girl and no need to do it anymore? Or is Lucy horribly reading into all of this, because a state of advanced and deeply unwelcome thirst is not the greatest for perceiving the world (and the man responsible) in a clear and unbiased way? God. This is terrible.

They don’t talk much on the ride back, as the sun steadily rises and casts golden glow over the green French hills. Finally Lucy says, as a neutral and pertinent history question, “Where would Emma be sending Jessica, if she doesn’t want to risk us interfering in Poitiers?”

“Could be any of Richard’s other major cities.” Flynn squints against the morning light. “Rouen is too far, they won’t want Jessica riding too much if she’s pregnant. They probably also don’t want to risk taking her north and running into any of Philip’s men. They could be taking her to Angoulême, that’s only about seventy miles south of here and it’s technically one of Richard’s possessions. But the counts have a fractious relationship with the Plantagenets, so it’s not a sure bet. Bordeaux would be safer, though that’s further away. Or perhaps – ” He stops. “No. Chinon. It has to be Chinon.”

“Chinon?”

“It’s north of here, but not too far. Only about sixty miles. It’s in Anjou, that’s Richard’s other home territory through his father, and it’s near Fontevraud Abbey. That’s the Plantagenets’ favorite religious house, it’s wealthy and influential, and it’s where Richard and Eleanor themselves will be buried in another several years, along with Henry. If Richard is going to remarry, it would make sense to have it happen in Fontevraud, and they can get Jessica there relatively quickly and safely to wait for him. We’ll have to be sure when we get back, but I’d be shocked if it wasn’t.”

“Where’s Richard’s real wife?” Lucy can’t help but feeling bad for this poor woman, who has apparently been put aside for years and isn’t even going to get the reconciliation that she was supposed to, kept at arm’s length and forgotten by almost everyone, her role as queen taken by her formidable mother-in-law and her role as wife all but an afterthought. “Her name’s Berengaria, right? Berengaria of Navarre?”

“Yes, that’s her. I think she might be in Anjou right now as well, or Maine. They have a few different residences, but those are her most common ones. If it’s Anjou, that’s another point in favor of Chinon. Rittenhouse would want to make sure Berengaria dies discreetly and can’t interfere, or lodge a complaint with the Pope, or her brother, the king of Navarre. Scorned royal wives do have a few options for justice, though that hasn’t helped Ingeborg.”

“Ingeborg?”

“Philip’s second wife,” Flynn explains. “Ingeborg of Denmark. He married her a few years ago, in 1193, then immediately and bizarrely rejected her the next morning. He’s currently keeping her locked up in a tower, and he fights the Pope for years refusing to take her back. Even gets all of France put under interdict. She’s finally restored, but not for twenty years.”

“What?” Lucy is outraged. She can’t say she liked Philip, exactly – he was too cold and calculating for that, too manipulative and obsessive – but this is certainly not doing much for her opinion of the guy. “That’s – where is Ingeborg? We should rescue her.”

Flynn gives her a wry little smile, as if he loves the fact that her first instinct is to charge in like a white knight and save an unjustly mistreated historical lady, even if there is no conceivable connection to their current mission. “I don’t know where she is right now,” he says. “She was at a convent in Soissons, but I don’t think she’s still there. Besides, we might have enough on our hands with saving Berengaria.”

“What happens to her?” Lucy asks. “After Richard dies. Does she remarry too?”

“No.” Flynn glances ahead a little too carefully, as if this question of whether a widowed spouse deciding, or not deciding, to move on is strictly academic, or at least he’ll pretend it is. “She outlives him by about thirty years, she never marries again. John isn’t very good at paying for her maintenance, and the Pope badgers him about it on various occasions. In 1204, Philip gives the city of Le Mans on her after she relinquishes her Norman dower properties to him, so she settles there. It’s a lonely existence for a discarded queen with no son to become king or look after her. Not much money, either. But it’s what she does.”

“But surely she could have married again,” Lucy persists. “She’s still the sister of the king of Navarre, isn’t that what you said? That makes her an eligible match, and she can’t be that old. A new husband would at least take care of her, and plenty of widowed noblewomen married more than once.”

“She could have,” Flynn says, after a slight pause. “For whatever reason, she didn’t. Perhaps she really loved Richard, despite all his flaws, and didn’t want to think that any mortal man could take the Lionheart’s place. Maybe her independence as a widow was worth more to her than money. Unless you want to ask her if we meet her, we won’t know.”

“But – ” Lucy doesn’t know how to put this without making it uncomfortably clear that they might not be talking about Berengaria anymore. God, and this was supposed to be a safe avenue of conversation. Finally she says, “From what we’ve seen, Richard has a lot of admirable qualities, but being a great husband isn’t one of them. Did she – could she really love him that much that there just wouldn’t be anyone else, for thirty years afterward?”

“Love doesn’t really enter into medieval marriages,” Flynn points out. “A bit more among the commoners, yes, but for the king and the aristocracy, it’s a business arrangement, for an alliance or for money or for consolidating or claiming territories. That’s part of the reason most kings have mistresses. They’re not really expected to owe emotional or sexual fidelity to their wives, though of course their wives don’t get the same freedom. Berengaria might have had to marry again if her brother forced her, but he doesn’t. So I suppose no. She never found anyone she loved or wanted enough to do it for its own sake.”

Lucy doesn’t answer. There’s a strange kind of grief in her chest that is for Berengaria, and isn’t, and it’s mixed up and sharp-edged and painful. Even if they save Berengaria from getting unceremoniously murdered by Rittenhouse, there’s still no guarantee that Richard will take her back again, or that she won’t end up even more alone than she does. There are so many women in history who get forgotten or overlooked or mistreated or simply ignored, who are much less fortunate than Berengaria – at least history knows her name and who she was. It just isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.

(There are other things that don’t seem entirely fair either, but that’s beside the point.)

They fall silent for the rest of the ride to Poitiers. The sun’s up, it’s morning and the gates are open, so they don’t need to bribe or bash their way through, but they need to get back to the castle. Emma might have figured out that they’re gone, and they also need to ensure what’s going on with Wyatt and Rufus. They canter quickly through the streets, almost aristocratic in their disregard for public rights of way; if it’s there, they take it. Finally, they reach the castle and hurry inside, unable to shake the fear that Emma might be watching from the gatehouse. She has no reason to suspect them, right? Assumed they stayed in the tower room with Wyatt and Rufus? It would be nice to think so, but she’s a formidable and terrifying adversary, and any underestimation whatsoever could easily be lethal. Maybe they can pretend they were just out for a nice breakfast jaunt.

Lucy and Flynn ride into the castle and dismount in the courtyard, at which point Lucy spots a guard across the way who seems to be staring at them a little too intently. It is entirely possible that he’s just surprised to see them back for any number of reasons, or he missed the memo about Prince Ali and his weird friends arriving yesterday, but if he is in fact Rittenhouse and is waiting to report to Emma, they need to throw him off the scent. Lucy turns around and giggles at Flynn, as if he’s just said something funny, and while he is looking confused, tilts her head halfway at the guard, indicating that they’re being watched. Then, before Flynn can look around and make it obvious, Lucy stands on her tiptoes, grabs him by the tunic (it’s necessary to get his head to her level), and kisses him.

She has no idea what the protocol is about PDA in the medieval world, but she’s pretty sure they’re not Puritans (and the Puritans themselves banged like crazy, just where they hoped no one could see them). Lucy remembers her colleague Eleanor, back at Stanford, telling her about a genre of Old French poems known as fabliaux, which feature an extremely healthy amount of sex; indeed, they’re so bawdy that their titles can’t really be said aloud to an undergraduate class. There are also poems called pastourelles, which likewise involve what the people want, literally (albeit with a lot of misogyny, because that, as noted, is history for you). Plus the literature of “courtly love,” often sponsored by and written for powerful noblewomen, tends to horrify the clerical moralists who think it promotes adultery. The point is – medieval people have a robust appreciation of the beast with two backs, draw lewd figures with huge genitalia in the margins of their manuscripts and tapestries, and otherwise are not about to faint at the sight of two presumably married people macking on each other. Not that it’s not macking. It is a dry, swift, timid kiss that almost misses Flynn’s mouth, and Lucy is pulling away before it can let itself be anything else. “Come on,” she says, too breathless. “Let’s find Wyatt and Rufus.”

Flynn looks like he’s been hit by a two-by-four. It’s not clear if he heard a word she just said, because every single bit of his available brainpower is engaged in vainly struggling to pretend that this is an entirely normal, everyday occurrence in his life and that he knows exactly how to deal with it. Lucy can almost smell the burnt wiring, and she’s pretty sure he abjectly fails. Then finally he says, hoarsely and much too belatedly, “Yes. Let’s.”

#timeless #garcy #garcy ff #lucy x flynn #the time team #the dragons on the map #timeless ff

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oodlyenough · 8 years ago

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kali watches iron fist so you don’t have to: episode 1x04

the plot is getting slightly more complicated now that the plot isn’t “danny yells at people that he is danny rand”, so i’m gonna break it up ep by ep i think.

episodes 1-3, if you missed it

the plot:

when we last left our intrepid hero he was being pushed out of a window on the meachum house a la the first episode of game of thrones. this picks up with him miraculously catching on to some kind of pillar a few feet below, and then slipping off of that onto a balcony, so his death-defying fall is only a few feet

he wakes up with ward and harry meachum. harry does his whole transparently manipulative abusive father schitck by being like oH GOD DANNY YOU’RE ALIVE I’M SO GLAAAAAD WELCOME HOOOOME while ward glares in the corner. harry retells how he died of cancer but struck a deal with the sinister Hand, and they revived him but on the catch that he is indebted to them and can never leave his house or reveal that he is alive to anyone except, for some reason, his shitty son and his manservant.

he whines about how he hasn’t seen joy in ages and begs danny not to tell joy that he’s alive, which danny agrees to.. because... whatever.

he also insists that danny be given his rightful stake in Rand (a gajillion dollars and majority shareholder status), which really doesn’t sit well with jealous longsuffering firstborn ward.

so now danny is the majority shareholder of a company that he loves because he misses his dead dad but which he knows truly fuck-all about. rand wants to have him be a figurehead with no official position, just raking in the cash, but danny, who has presumably no business experience or market knowledge literally at all, wants to insert himself in everything, for some reason.

he barges into a board meeting and does one of the most embarassing things i’ve ever seen committed to screen, which is walk over to the one empty rolly chair, drag it painstakingly all the way across the room and then demand everyone budge up so he can sit next to joy. saklfhalwrhlawt the awkward, embarassing nature of this scene is the first time iron fist has truly nailed creating emotional resonance

turns out Rand is Big Pharma. they are discussing some new wonder drug they’ve developed that costs $5 a pill to make and they will sell it for $50 a dose. capitalism’s bad. danny is mad. “we should sell at cost!”

no, other people explain, we need to make a profit, and we funnel most of that money back into our research labs where we find these miracle cures, argues Big Pharma

KILLING PEOPLE IS BAD, FUCK TRUMP, SELL AT COST yells danny, and uses his majority shareholder status to make it so.

everyone is mad because they love money.

ward INEXPLICABLY decides the way to get back at danny is to leak this story to the press. Ward Meachum, Businessman Extraordinaire thinks a story in which his company wanted to make huge profit off the sick and danny rand demanded they sell drugs at cost, honest to god thought this would be good press for his company and bad press for danny. ?!?!?! surprise motherfucker?

(i think karen page writes the article but i’m not 100% sure. it was definitely not karen who came to interview him, which was disappointing.)

meanwhile, danny and joy are friends again! turns out danny didn’t STEAL the craft that had his fingerprint on it, joy gave it to him. awww she’s nice now!! buddies! ?????!

i feel like i in the audience am the only one mad about danny’s trip to “hospital”. i don’t even like the dude, really, but what happened to him there was horrific and everyone’s just fine with it??? danny doesn’t care? joy feels no particular guilt and never even properly apologized for it??? WHAT IS GOING ON. THEY STRAPPED YOU TO A BED AND DRUGGED YOU OH MY GOD

anyway, danny tells his new bestie joy some horrific story about a “job” he really wanted (implied to be the “job” of being the iron fist, whatever that means) and how he had to work for years and it involved monks beating him up, like, all the time.

“that sounds like abuse,” says joy, who can recognize abuse in some contexts. just not at a pretend hospital.

joy goes to ... the hallway for some reason and gets jumped by a bunch of ninjas with hatchets. for real. danny, of course, rescues her, then he takes her to colleen’s place for safety

CAN COLLEEN PLEASE LIVE??!?! WILL THESE RICH WHITE PEOPLE LET HER LIVE

anyway, he ditches joy on colleen and goes to find the people who attacked joy, which is apparently a triad called “the hatchet men”??? very literal, i guess they want brand recognition

the hatchet men are mad at joy because she, on behalf of Rand, bought out some pier that the hatchet men were using for some nefarious criminal purposes. danny explains that the Hand blackmailed Rand (god.......) into buying that pier, and please leave joy alone or i’ll make my fist glow and punch you

the hatchet men ... are fine with this. i mean, it is supposed to be that the hatchet men don’t wanna fuck with the hand, but lol

danny asks what they want with the pier, and what the hand wants with the pier, and the hatchet men hand him a little packet of heroin and then disappear into the shadows

the characters:

no one new in this ep who is meaningful really

at this point in the show i find things are starting to get kind of... odd... with danny as a character. what he described IS obviously abuse, but we don’t see it, and we have no real context for it to make it emotional or compelling, and danny himself is cavalier about it, not even really in the ~hard exterior~ way, just. he doesn’t seem to have noticed. it sounds very similar to what we saw in daredevil with baby matt and stick, which is kind of an interesting comparison because i’d say daredevil was less consistent about portraying matt and stick’s relationship as abusive, yet emotionally i felt a lot more visceral “ugh no” than when danny’s describing his tribulations.

saving joy and demanding at-cost pricing is the first time danny has done anything that could be construed as charitable or not self-interested. it is starting to feel like they’re beginning to try with danny as a character, they’re just ....not succeeding.

he has a lot to overcome in terms of the sympathy level of a white billionaire who corrects chinese people on their own culture, but they’re also just not hitting emotional beats that they could be hitting. it’s hard to put my finger on what exactly isn’t working.

one of his biggest issues is that he continues to be a white man written by men, and thus his relationship with women is still fucked up in ways that the writers obviously don’t realize is fucked up

a good example is that now that he works at Rand, he has an assistant. he walks over to her and is like “hey you’re my assistant right? so does that mean you do whatever i tell you?”

obviously uncomfortable, she’s basically like no, it means i schedule your meetings. danny then LITERALLY asks “if i asked you to go buy me a box of fruit roll-ups, you’d have to, right?” to which the secretary is like “...........do you want a box of fruit roll-ups...?”

but he doesn’t even want fruit roll-ups!!! he instead then veers course and asks what info she has about the pier deal. she explains she has none but can set up a meeting for him with someone who worked on the file. he nods and wanders away, handing her an origami post-it flower, and she seems charmed.

WHAT THE FUCK @ all of that. it was the weirdest goddamn scene. his actual request (info about the pier) makes total sense, so why did he (the writers) cloud it in this weird gender dynamic? why did he start by making her uncomfortable? why did he come up with an absurd fetch-and-carry quest he didn’t even want her to do? what the fuck is happening?

joy is obviously meant to be sympathetic by now, as i expected, but she’s kind of a monster? i don’t know. i can’t get over how she 1) participated in institutionalizing danny, but more importantly 2) DID NOT EVEN CARE LMAO LIKE WHAT THE FUCK. plus that scene where she auctioned off someone’s liver!!!!! i guess her giving him the craft was her absolution? but we didn’t even see it happen. i don’t know.

colleen is doing very little besides helping out danny and going to fight clubs where she kicks ass. colleen taking on two huge men in a cage fight and breaking one’s arm was the most engaging fight scene on this show so far.

#kali watches iron fist

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thelongestdamnreviews · 6 years ago

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Rockman EXE WS

I'm using a translation patch, so the title screen's been changed.

After going through Network Transmission, I decided to try the other Battle Network-flavored sidescroller platformer Mega Man, Rockman EXE WS. This game for the Wonderswan Color actually released a month before Network Transmission in Japan (almost to the day even), so I guess this game actually came first. For the first clear, it took me around 38 minutes, a second clear at 1 hour 18 minutes, 100% at 1 hour 23 minutes, and finally the third loop was finished at 1 hour 42 minutes. There is a translation patch that I used to understand the text and story too, thus the English in these screenshots. I'll call the game by the Japanese title but I'll use English names for characters and stuff, to keep it easier on everyone.

TLDR The Good

Great spritework - While the quality might not be equal to the GameBoy Advance, I was kind of impressed by how well-done the sprites were. Some enemies are different sizes compared to how they are in the regular Battle Network game, but you can still tell which one is which easily. Just be ready for them to attack differently than you're used to! MegaMan has a pretty big variety of sprites, from his aggressive pose becoming a regular standing animation to having a critical health pant, and every Style has one of these too! Even minor things like changing the shape of his Buster in different Styles wasn't glossed over.

Interesting concepts - Not only do you eventually get Styles that change your element as well as certain parameters, you can slot in up to four different chips for immediate use. Some chips are single-use, while others replace the Mega Buster with an infinite-use attack while activated and some others provide some sort of buff as long as they're equipped.

Replay value - Considering you need to go through the game twice to see everything due to the way the game's set up, there's a reason to keep going after seeing the credits the first time. I'm not sure if you can 100% the game in just two rounds, but three doesn't take that long either.

Though the elements change based on the Style, your charged shot will always behave the same even if using HeatGuts or WoodShield, unlike the home series.

TLDR The Bad

Please do stop the music - I'm not sure where the blame lies with this (the composer or the hardware) but it sounded like none of the songs had actual held notes, instead there was quick two-note warbling in quite a few songs. None of the songs really stood out to me, not that I played it for very long for any one to catch on, but I dunno if they'd be better if they were simply on a different system or what. Consider that the original GameBoy had catchy tunes and even the Mega Man games that didn't have ports of the NES games' soundtracks counted there too. What happened?

Level design/difficulty - I can't condense what I have to say about this to a short paragraph, so watch for the several later in the review.

The story flow is pretty messy - It seems to follow the basic plot of the first Battle Network (Lan receives MegaMan, they murder scores of viruses and Navis, they destroy the LifeVirus) but the way the mini plots of each stage are handled is jarring because there's no real transition. Like, you start one stage "investigating the net for WWW rumors" and you transition to one of the stage branches and suddenly Lan is on a train whose braking system is malfunctioning? What? But this too is tied back to the way levels are designed, so buckle up.

Didn't Battletoads have a stage where you stood on and climbed snakes ("Karnath's Revenge" I think)? That explains what the devs were going for on the difficulty!

Lan Hikari has just entered the fifth grade and receives a NetNavi of his own, MegaMan.EXE. Together, they thwart a Navi causing havoc in their oven and uncover a nefarious plot by terrorist organization WWW, and fight against their Navis and evil operators. In 2D! Again.

Though Rockman EXE WS is another sidescroller game in a series that is RPG based, it's not too comparable to Network Transmission other than a few things that are in common with both. A big departure is that the game is extremely linear--instead of picking zones to clear and having a general progression through the game, you have only a small number of stages you go through in a set order, though there are branches that determine what the second half of some stages are and this determines who you fight at the end of the stage. Because there are only two branches in stages 2, 3, 4, and 5, you need to play through twice to see the other version of those stages. You can't merely get to the end of one stage and then decide to play it again going the other way.

You still destroy viruses and sometimes get chips to use, but almost all of them are "single use and they're gone" types. The game thankfully will auto-reload any chips you use provided you have more in storage, but there is no money and no store so you're unfortunately stuck with what you find, and there is no Folder so chips are gone forever once spent. Some chips found lying in the field on their own are actually infinite-use, like the Sword series that replace your Buster with their chip, toggled on or off. There aren't any PowerUPs to find, instead some chips and all of the Styles mess with MegaMan's stats. HeatGuts increases his attack power, AquaCustom has a fast charge, ElecTeam has faster movement speed, and WoodShield has higher defense, with HubStyle having the buffs of the first three with reduced defense instead.

You can pretend you're Zero if you want, but Sword chips are a little hard to use since you can't walk and swing at the same time. You can still do a repeating two-hit combo on the ground and attack in the air at least.

There are also three "equip for effect" chips that apply their effect as long as they're in your loadout and aren't consumed on use. AirShoes increases jump height, AreaSteal increases movement speed (stacks with ElecTeam/Hub), and Undershirt increases defense (stacks with WoodShield and somewhat helps Hub). These are kind of like X series upgrades though you can take them off at almost anytime, like to keep AirShoes from sending you into overhead spikes when you need a short hop. While having any or all of them equipped takes up slots other offense/recovery chips could use, the tradeoff is almost always worth it. And since I'm on about chips, I'm not sure if there's an actual limit on the number of the ones you can carry.

A new feature of the game is your connectivity to Lan. You start with three "bars" and depending on stage factors, it lowers or disappears entirely. At one bar remaining, you lose the ability to pause and thus can't change chips or Styles, and at zero bars you completely lose the ability to use chips, even the "equip for effect" ones! All of these situations seem to be scripted so it's not tied to performance, and you gain all of your bars back in the hallway before the boss room and in the boss room too. It's not really a notable system but it can inconvenience you a little bit in a couple of places. Losing the ability to even pause is kind of ridiculous though.

Most stages start with a 'neutral' kind of theme and you then transition to an entirely different one at an arbitrary point, and this is one of the problems I had with the game. There's no warning at all when you come to a stage branch, other than there just being two ways to advance, and sometimes a branch doesn't move into a new area but is just a side area to pick up an item before you go back to the main path. Stage branches are categorized by going up or down and you're left in the dark as to what you'll face on the other side, though people familiar with the first Battle Network can probably guess who either on the Navi taunting you on entering or by the way the stage looks. It's absolutely jarring to be in an area and then it shifts into something completely different just because you slid through a passage or something. Imagine if Castlevania games had zero transition corridors or even doors at all.

Hey wait, that’s my line!

I'm not really sure how cohesive the story is if you're not familiar with the first Battle Network game. There are story segments between stages, a primary reason to start the next stage, a small story section for each stage variant, and then back to the between stage story bits--but because of the branch system, you might have characters pop up you didn't see before, or you might end up with continuity errors like facing ElecMan near the end of the game and Lan knows who Count Zap is despite not facing him before. You can actually fight him early in one of the branches, but it's not a guarantee and Lan is never directly shown looking up WWW members or anything either. It's kind of like watching a clip show, where you have these "best of" moments presented without context and you'd probably be lost if you weren't familiar with the source material.

You have nine lives (continues) in every stage, refilled to max when you start a new one. You're going to need them. I found myself getting knocked into pits by enemy attacks fairly often, or I'd botch a blind leap, or so on. It felt like X6's level of unfair bullshit as opposed to NT's pretty difficult but still workable difficulty. MegaMan is pretty slow, I guess to account for the two speed upgrades he can get, and for some reason he seems to slow down when he hits the ceiling...and for some other reason, he seems to catch on the corners of some platforms like he can jump again to save himself, but that doesn't work. The stage layouts aren't as bad once you've been through once at least, but going in blind kind of necessitates save states, which I'm not ashamed to admit that I abused this time. Checkpoints aren't always generously placed, either.

*The Price is Right game over horns*

And the disappearing platforms gimmick is probably the worst in this game as opposed to any other Mega Man game I've played. Usually they appear in a pattern of two with them 'leap-frogging' through the sequence. Here, several of them only have one appear at a time, so you need to use the block to be where you need right when the next block in sequence appears lest you hit your head on it or have the block you're standing on disappear. SnakeMan's stage is great for this, and again you'll be going in blind the first time through so you'll need to redo that section more than a few times to not only get the timing down, but know where you need to be when the block appears. Not all of the disappearing blocks are this way, but then the ones in SnakeMan's stage aren't over spikes...

You can only get some chips by having other weapon chips, like to destroy a wall. Even in stage 2, Lan will point out a wall you can demolish with GutsPunch...that you get in the next stage if you go on the correct path. Later on, there's a wall you can punch with ColdPunch, which is just an Aqua-element GutsPunch, and actual GutsPunch does nothing! And back in stage 2, ColdPunch does nothing to the wall Lan mentions. Why is the game set up this way, other than to pad out playtime? Why can't you just use either one? There's a wall that requires a specific Sword chip too for no real reason. Said wall in stage 2 is actually why I had to do three playthroughs for 100% because I apparently didn't pick the most efficient order of branches.

Because there's no grinding and because you can permanently expend recovery chips, you better use as many lives as you can to learn the boss' pattern before you go all-in since you'll potentially put yourself into an unwinnable situation if you burn everything too early. This came up in NT too, but at least you had the option to escape and save and get more chips then.

Poor ElecMan can't beat Air Man! Also, I used WoodShield Style a lot in these screenshots, but I used ElecTeam a bunch too just for the movement speed boost. AreaGrab was the very last chip I got so I needed something to get me off of the default move speed.

There are six stages but you unlock a seventh after you finish the game once. You get to keep all of your chips and Styles for the second and future loops so you'll eventually have your pick of all the Styles and all, and you can apparently unlock a boss rush kind of thing when you finish and unlock its hardest difficulty when you 100% the game. I didn't bother with this. PharaohMan kind of, uh, gave me a terrible impression given how much of a difficulty spike he is so early in the game.

I really did like the Styles though, and being able to switch at almost any time made for some nice flexibility. The Mega Buster is probably the best weapon in the game, especially if you have an element advantage. Chips on the other hand are kind of hard to use considering the WonderSwan's control setup, so you'd have to take your hand off of the movement buttons to use/toggle one of the chips or finagle a good setup in an emulator like I did. That part kind of tapers off the more equipment chips you get, but it's still kind of troublesome. But yeah, I really wish there was another sidescroller Battle Network that had the best features of Network Transmission and EXE WS and the home series. But that's just a silly dream game I guess.

The WonderSwan itself. A to jump, B to fire, X1-4 to move, Y1-4 deals with the chips. An interesting control scheme since some games could be played vertically, but would probably come off clumsy on real hardware.

Overall, I don't think I can recommend this one. There are some nice ideas but they're put in a game with a pretty haphazard plot and malicious stage design in some places. It's very hard and I can't see a reason for it to be other than to pad out the game length since it can be finished three times in an afternoon, albeit with save states. Without, you'll probably be stuck for longer and I can't see your frustration levels staying low with some of the things the game throws at you. Nice ideas, but the execution just doesn't work for me.

They seem to have moved MegaMan's left eye (his left) down a little too far for the HubStyle mugshot so it kind of makes him look crosseyed. Maybe that's where the defense cut comes in?

#wonderswan color #not recommended

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