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callboxkat · 4 years ago

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Banished (part 2)

Author’s note: Hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Janus has been banished from his pod for crimes that he did not commit. However, this merman’s bad luck is far from over. A mer is not meant to live on their own in the open ocean, and as one would expect, things do not go well. Enter: Florida Man.

Chapter Warnings: past imprisonment, banishment, censored swearing, death mentions, injury (electric shock, minor burn), minor self injury (bruises), killing for food (not graphic), loneliness

Word count: 2800

Banished Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

It was growing dark.

The water was cold here, far from the surface and far from the reef, and it was dark enough that Janus had to use small echoes of electricity to help find his way. He couldn’t help but fear he’d ram into some unexpected obstacle hidden in the darkness, even though he knew the open water was much emptier than he was used to. Janus had put on his gloves and fastened his capelet around his shoulders, but he could still feel himself shiver. He could have gone closer to the surface, but he didn’t intend to spend the night just floating in the water column, and he wouldn’t be able to return to warmer, shallower waters until he’d put some distance between himself and the home that had cast him out. He could make his way back towards the coast later, but not yet. For now, he had little choice but to continue on further into the unknown. He had already left the reef behind, but members of the pod sometimes came this way, and if one of the stricter members of the pod’s law enforcement found him, they might still consider it a violation of his banishment if they found him here. He had to make sure that didn’t happen.

Janus’s fists clenched, anger rippling through him at the thought of recent events, but he just kept swimming.

He was fine.

Honestly, he probably should have left a little earlier, to make sure he would be safe—if he could call it that—by the time anyone would come for him, but he hadn’t been able to force himself from Roman’s side any sooner.

It was officially night, now, and still Janus was close enough that he could just barely see the reef, now only a vague shadow against the faint light that managed to leak down from the surface. Janus swore he could still see Roman, hovering at the edge of the reef, as if Janus might come back. As if the mers who had banished his best friend would suddenly change their minds, and he would be allowed to bring Janus home.

He knew it was his imagination, that he could still see the merman. He also knew that that was exactly where Roman was and what he was doing.

Just as Roman knew that Janus was here, alone in the dark.

Roman could not have joined Janus in his banishment, since no one else could care for his little sibling. Still, a part of Janus felt bitter that no one else had even considered it, even if he knew exactly why that was: banishment was little better than an outright death sentence. The blood was just one step removed from their hands. No mer could survive without a pod.

Still, Janus wished he didn’t have to face this alone.

He gripped the cuff around his wrist without looking at it. He tugged at it, an obligatory attempt to remove it; but of course, it didn’t budge.

He was fine.

The sea grew darker and darker as the night dragged on, and Janus soon realized that with the adrenaline of the situation wearing off, he was utterly exhausted. He hadn’t been sleeping well, in his cell, in the time leading up to his trial and sentencing. He had eaten before leaving Roman’s, but that had been some time ago, and his stomach rumbled; but he couldn’t bear the thought of eating. All he wanted to do was sleep, if he was able. At least that would give him the chance to forget his troubles, until morning came and they inevitably slapped him in the face.

With his electric echolocation, he eventually stumbled upon an old, human vehicle, half buried in the sand. A number of barnacles and other small creatures had made the old metal contraption their home, and a couple of small fish darted away from the wreck as Janus cautiously approached. It was a mystery how it had gotten there. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a car: sometimes there were vehicles sunken near the reef—sometimes, humans even put them there intentionally—but this was pretty far from shore, and clearly not intentionally placed. Maybe the ocean’s currents had eventually moved it here, or maybe it had fallen from one of those enormous ships of theirs.

To be honest, Janus didn’t really care.

He sent out a couple of small zaps, just to see if he could sense anything moving inside. It seemed empty; but still Janus pounded a fist on the hull, to scare out any creatures that he might have missed. The metal sent up a cloud of rust and nothing else. Empty.

He peered in through the dark, broken windows at the seats within, whose upholstery was long gone, instead showing exposed springs and occasional thicker strings of fabric that floated morosely in the water, where the main stitching of the seats had probably been. What remained was thoroughly rusted, where it was metal, or covered in stains, debris, and sand where it wasn’t. All in all, the sunken vehicle was very old and very broken down, hardly constituting lavish accommodations; but it wouldn’t be the worst place to spend the night. Certainly much better than trying to make himself comfortable on the exposed sea floor.

It was the best option he was likely to find, Janus had to admit. At least it wasn’t the same cell whose walls he had stared at, night after night, for longer than he cared to acknowledge.

Janus swam inside, carefully avoiding the broken glass that still clung to the edges of the windows. He inspected everything for a moment, looking for the best place to settle, and soon decided to curl up at the base of what had once been the back seat. He covered himself with his capelet and put his bag under his head to use as a pillow. He scooted around for a moment, trying to get comfortable as small bits of detritus dug into his skin. He tossed out a few larger pebbles, glass, and shell fragments; but he wasn’t going to get everything, and he was too tired and unmotivated to try. He curled up, hoping the space would warm the longer he was there. The plastic floor chilled his skin. Perhaps he could add some kelp or something to his bag, once it was day, if he planned to keep using it as a pillow. It wasn’t very comfortable, as it was. The stone carvings seemed to dig into his cheekbone no matter how he positioned them.

He lay there for a while, allowing himself some time to wallow in some well-deserved self-pity. He had Roman’s scale held in his fingers, thinking about how his friend was probably handling this, and what might have been, had he never been arrested. Hopefully Patty would be able to help Roman through it.

Feeling very alone, Janus closed his eyes and fell asleep.

When he woke, it was little warmer, and there was a fish staring at him.

Janus startled, letting out a reflexive shock; and, well, he supposed that was one way to get breakfast. He could only be glad, thinking of his wonderful new accessory, that he hadn’t accidentally let out a stronger shock.

He ate quickly, buried the bones with a small thank you to the fish, and went on his way. The vehicle had been bearable for one night, but it wasn’t much of a home.

Much of that first full day of Janus’s banishment was rather uneventful. Janus was cold, and his heart ached, but at least nothing terrible happened. He saw some whales in the distance in the morning, and two ships passed overhead at different times of the day, one dragging a net that he easily avoided. But that was all.

At least he would get to see more of the ocean, he told himself. He wasn’t trapped in the same cell, or even obligated to stay in one reef. He would be an adventurer, as Roman said.

…Optimism was not Janus’s strong suit.

It turned out that hunting without the full use of his electricity was a lot more difficult than he’d hoped. He couldn’t send out a shock strong enough to affect any fish that were far away, not without hurting himself because of that awful cuff, so he’d have to get closer before attempting to stun them. He’d gotten lucky, that morning, that an unwary fish had gotten so close.

Unfortunately, Janus was not built for speed, so simply chasing down the fish held little promise unless they were already old or sick; and there was little to hide behind out here in the open water, so stealth would not work, either.

It was painful, how horrible a hunter he was without his electricity. He didn’t even have claws, like most mers did. He wasn’t supposed to need them!

Finally, he had to give up, and turn to what little food he’d been able to bring from the reef. He glared at the cuff on his wrist as he ate, stopping before he was really full. He hadn’t wanted to use the food in his pack so soon, figuring he’d save it for the uncertain future, but his options were either that or to go hungry. He could only hope that he’d adapt quickly to his new circumstances.

…

Unfortunately, over the next few days, it became clear that Janus was not going to get the hang of hunting using only his (less-than-impressive) speed and stealth as quickly as he’d hoped. He could turn to food sources like algae, seaweed, and clams, but he really wasn’t going to get everything he needed without fish for food. He debated trying to build himself some sort of spear, but it would only slow him down more, and he doubted he would be especially talented with it, especially since he was still in darker, open waters.

“This is perfectly fine,” Janus muttered to himself, sitting against a rocky outcrop, using a fist-sized rock to crack open a small pile of clams he’d collected. “Who doesn’t want to live on seaweed and clams? I’m living the dream over here.” The bitterness was heavy in his voice, but he couldn’t help but hope that maybe the words themselves would help convince him that things weren’t so bad.

He looked down at his pitiful pile of clams, and at his hand, which was turning red from him repeatedly striking the shells with the rock. He winced, tossed the rock aside, and shook out his sore hand.

It didn’t help that Janus hated clams.

“Maybe I’ll catch a crab tomorrow,” he muttered. “Really spice up my diet.”

He sighed, thinking of the dinner his family was probably eating at that very moment, rich and flavorful and with all of them together. Almost all of them together.

Janus wrapped up one of the clams in seaweed and swallowed it, grimacing as it slid down his throat. The seaweed hadn’t quite masked the taste.

“Gah. Roman, how can you stand these?” he asked, glancing down at the scale around his neck. Roman loved clams.

Perhaps it should have been concerning, that Janus was already talking to himself. To be fair, though, Janus’s previous setup in a prison cell hadn’t presented many opportunities to be social, either. It would be strange if he wasn’t talking to himself by now.

Janus swallowed another seaweed-wrapped clam with a slight shudder. Unfortunately, he couldn’t wrap them in much seaweed without having to chew them, and then he’d really taste them. He probably didn’t have enough seaweed for that, anyway. So this was his best option.

“I don’t suppose any fish want to swim up to my mouth, huh?” Janus called out. He looked around at the empty, open water, and spread his arms slightly, as if offering an open invitation. Of course, nothing happened. “No takers?” Janus dropped his arms and shook his head. “Can’t imagine why.”

…

With his difficulties adapting to a new hunting style, it didn’t take long for Janus to fully deplete what meager food supply he’d been able to bring from the reef. And not long after that, his luck in finding clams, crabs, and other “easy” food sources ran out. He still had seaweed, and could go up to the surface for algae, but he wasn’t an herbivore. He couldn’t live like that forever.

Now, Janus hovered in a bed of kelp that clung to the cliffside, watching a nearby school of fish with hungry eyes. If they’d just get a little closer, surely he could manage to snatch a couple of them. Just one or two.

He could do this. He wasn’t some guppy.

He waited, staring, as if he could bring the fish closer through sheer force of will. His stomach rumbled. Janus silently cursed it.

He could do this. He had to.

A moment or two passed, and then a few of the fish began to swim away.

Sh*t.

Janus darted out from his hiding place, and the fish immediately scattered. He let out a burst of electricity, which seemed to slow a few of the fish down, but didn’t stop them from swimming away. He tried again, a stronger shock this time, desperate.

Janus’s body seized, and he shrieked, immediately immobilized as his own electricity turned against him. Thankfully, it dissipated quickly, but Janus was left panting and shaky. His wrist felt like it had been burned, and his head ached. His arms twitched involuntarily

A couple of the fish had been caught by the electricity this time. Janus collected them, his sore arm held to his chest. One of them was clearly an older fish, while the other was missing a fin.

He had his dinner, but… it hadn’t been worth it.

…

That night, alone in the cave he’d found for the night, Janus glared down at the cuff on his wrist. His wrist, thankfully, hadn’t been as badly burned as he’d initially feared. It was simply red, and sensitive to the touch, but no worse for wear. He did still have a pounding headache, though, and the little spasms that kept going through his muscles had only just stopped.

Was this how the rest of Janus’s life was going to go? Having to choose between putting up with foods he hated, without even the promise of finding those, or injuring himself for a proper meal?

“You stupid, f*cking thing,” Janus hissed at the metal cuff on his wrist, sitting there innocently against his irritated flesh like it had nothing at all to do with how difficult his life was. “This is your fault.”

Janus wrapped one hand around the cuff and yanked, sending a sharp pain through his wrist and the already sore bones of his hand. The cuff remained firmly in place. Suddenly enraged, Janus screamed at it, his fangs bared, face surely turning red. Naturally, this accomplished entirely nothing, which only made Janus angrier. He didn’t care how ridiculous he looked—and there was no one else around to see, let alone care! There probably never would be again!

“They couldn’t just send me out here to die alone, huh? No—no, that would’ve been too nice. They had to give me you, for their protection or whatever—f*ck them, those f*cking assholes.” Janus looked out at the open water, in the direction of the reef, far out of his reach. “You might as well have cut off my fins,” he said, his voice softer, threatening to break. He fisted his fingers in his hair, closing his eyes, groaning in frustration. “Couldn’t be bothered to finish the job yourselves, huh? And you call that mercy?!” He released his hair, looking out into the water, back towards the reef that he had once considered his home. “F*ck you!” he screamed. He tugged on the cuff again, again, and again, and again, trying to get it free, too angry to care that he was hurting himself in the process.

Eventually, his fervent attempts to remove the cuff slowed, and Janus dropped his head, his eyes stinging. He pulled out his gloves and tugged them on, just so that he wouldn’t have to look at the cuff. It’s weight was still there, both literally and metaphorically, but at least he wouldn’t have to see it. His wrist and hand ached, pounding in time with his heartbeat, matching his headache.

Janus let out a single, broken sob, and curled up on the floor of the cave.

There was only one way that Janus could think of to ever get the cuff off. And it was something that Janus wasn’t stupid enough to try. He hoped he would never get so desperate.

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literalliterature · 4 years ago

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The Fool - new beginnings, innocence, journeying into the unknown

The Star - purpose, spirituality, understanding the core self

Decided to only care about my upcoming D&D campaign from now on. This is my selkie ranger and my girlfriend @all-delighted-people 's astral genasi warlock for the ancient Greece-themed game we'll be playing. :3 I'll do the other 3 PCs when I know more about them lmao

(I beg you to click for quality...)

[ID: Two tarot-inspired drawings of D&D PCs. The first, "the Fool," shows a young woman with a thick build, light olive skin, and very light freckles across her face. She has wavy, dark hair in a loose bun with a gold band and a couple of brown and white feathers in it. There is a white fur capelet over her shoulders. She also wears a white dress with a thick leather belt and leather sandals. She steps forward toward the edge of a stone on which she stands, surrounded by tossing turquoise waves and white spray. As she does so, she looks upward. An osprey flies in the distance behind her against a orange and pink dawn sky.

The second, "the Star," shows a nighttime scene and features a thin woman with very dark brown skin that appears to glow faintly with purple light, most visibly on her cheeks and under her eyes. She has long, thick, textured black hair with star-like points of light within it. She wears mostly brown leather armor with a glowing purple crescent moon shape on the front of the chest piece. Fixated on a dark pool in front of her, she reaches forward with a glowing purple hand, causing light purple ripples to scatter across the water. A glow appears beneath the surface. To her right, an amphora turned on its side pours more dark water into the pool. Behind her are several hills, with a temple sitting atop the highest. The night sky above is full of stars, including one shooting star. End ID.]

#dnd #dungeons & dragons #ttrpg #captioned #accessible art #ocs #oc #ranger #warlock #selkie #genasi #accessible #digital art #procreate #polished locks on ancient doors #tarot #keet #rhea

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stevenuniverse-described · 11 months ago

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[Image Description: a stylized, digital drawing of two Pearls with slightly exaggerated hair shapes and rounded lines.

On the left side of the drawing, the two Pearls are standing next to each other.

Peach Pearl has peach-orange skin, a gem on her chest, and a puffy, coral-red bob that curls inwards(especially her bangs). She is wearing a coral-red mini dress with a sweetheart neckline and vertical lines running down to the scalloped hem, a sheer, orange capelet with ruffled sleeves, and short, coral-red gloves.

Mint Pearl has mint-green skin, a gem on her chest, and a teal bob that sticks out at the ends. She is wearing a teal bodysuit with a sweetheart neckline and a sheer, rippling shawl.

Peach Pearl gestures animatedly and Mint Pearl clasps her hands demurely.

To the right, is a drawing of the two from the shoulders-up. They are clasping hands as Peach Pearl giggles.

End Description.]

My two perlsonas, Mint and Peach! Peach is very playful and childish, Mint is a total mom friend! They’re best friends :]

#image description #described #steven universe #su #pearl #gemsona #pearlsona #peach pearl #mint pearl

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courage-a-word-of-justice · 4 years ago

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AU in progress...

...This AU seems to be kind of stuck, so if I write it out like the others, maybe it'll all come together in my head...?

Basically, this is a proper magical boy AU, but with some cues from the pseudo-Pokemon AU. The reason I haven't inflicted it on anyone before this is because when you think "magical boys", you think "fancy outfits" and some things work better than others with some characters. This AU has probably given me enough cursed mental images to last a lifetime, too, which doesn't help matters at all...(*erhem* Samatoki with Jakurai-length hair... *erhem*).

So in this AU, TDD and the rest of the Yamada family come from the mascot/fairy world (<-no clue what I should call it). TDD once fought in the name of Chuohku (which took over the mascot world as well as the human world), but are now fighting for themselves and their world by forming partnerships with humans. Each division has a theme for their magical boy outfits, set powers, transformation items (which they already have in canon, they just need to be designated) and, in some cases, accent colours as well.

BB:

The only team with only fairy creatures.

They transform into suits of their individual colour using their badges (Ichiro uses the B badge, Jiro the M badge and Saburo the L badge).

They can assume a halfway form with wings and claws.

Ichiro: A fairy that appears to be a scarlet macaw. Controls fire.

Jiro: A fairy that appears to be a Spix's macaw, slightly smaller than Ichiro's fairy form. Controls water.

Saburo: A fairy that appears to be a yellow budgerigar. Controls electricity.

MTC:

They transform into white suits and short cloaks kind of like Otome's (...apparently the correct term is "capelet"...?). Samatoki uses his necklace, Jyuto uses his tie pin and Riou uses his dog tag to transform.

Samatoki: A fairy that appears to be a white unicorn. Can add the horn to his human form to enhance his ability to use magic, but he would prefer to stick with his (fully) human form out of embarrassment for his other forms. Summons spikes.

Jyuto: Summons handcuffs (kind of like Hibari from KHR does).

Riou: Summons guns. Discovered a weakened Samatoki (in fairy form) in the Yokohama wilderness and threatened to eat him (!!!) before Samatoki got defensive, lashed out at him and then turned human.

FP:

They transform into marching band outfits (black button-up shirt, white shako hat, white short shorts, suspenders, short white military coat with epaulettes and black boots that go to the knees). Ramuda transforms using the ribbon around his neck, Gentaro uses the pin on his cape and Dice uses the dice and tassel decoration in his hair.

They each have an accent colour which differs from user to user. These appear on the band of the hat, the hemming of the outfit and the inside of the coat.

Their powers are directly inspired by their abilities.

Ramuda: A fairy that appears to be a calico cat. Accent colour: Light orange. Has an extra strap on the back of his coat which hangs loose, suggesting a tail. Uses illusions. Can assume a catboy form.

Gentaro: Accent colour: Purple. Copies powers.

Dice: Accent colour: Olive green. Summons slot machines that cause random effects. A secret prince of the mascot world, with his mascot form being a shabby black cat. Can also assume a catboy form. I have no idea if Otome in this AU is also from the mascot world, though...

MTR:

Jakurai wears an outfit which has the demon king cape and suit from HypMic Quest with no horns or spikes, while Hifumi and Doppo get their outfits almost directly from HypMic Quest.

Jakurai uses the cross closest to his neck to transform, while Hifumi uses the red pendant and Doppo his cross-shaped tie pin.

Jakurai: A fairy that appears to be a grey wolf. TDD gained their name after Ramuda tried to insult him and the name stuck. Summons people to aid him in his fights (typically he'll summon Yotsutsuji to help him analyse/be moral support and he'll fight for himself). Cannot summon the dead, although he can summon the comatose as if they were still alive.

Hifumi: Summons animals (typically wears thick leather gloves in his transformed state to summon a falcon or other predatory bird).

Doppo: Summons objects (typically staves and potions, but also medical tools for Jakurai and gloves for Hifumi). Cannot summon the weapons the others can summon at the cost of being able to summon everything else, hence his choice of items.

Like in regular canon, there used to be MCD, Naughty Busters and Kuujaku Posse. Before TDD went on to fight for Chuohku, Sasara and Kuko had an argument with Samatoki and Ichiro respectively and were horrified when they found out what TDD were doing, so once they found the former TDD were fighting for themselves this time, they joined in.

DH:

They wear cyberpunk-inspired outfits - the base outfit is a form-fitting silver body suit which only exposes the hands, head and feet, but also black combat boots that go to the knees and a black belt tilted to one side. Sasara's has a leather jacket similar to TDD Samatoki's and visor (the glasses kind) in his accent colour, Rosho's has a combat vest and fingerless gloves and Rei's has a beige trenchcoat which, in his typical way, he wears over his shoulders. Rei also has a metallic cybernetic chestplate with patterns that ripple across it as he uses his magic, as well as a sniper's monocle (worn over his left eye) he uses to hide his heterochromia.

Similarly to FP's, the buttons and shoes of their outfits are highlighted by an accent colour which differs from user to user. The highlights glow faintly in the dark.

They transform using their fan-shaped pins, except Rei who uses that necklace of his.

Sasara: A fairy that appears to be a kitsune. Has psychic powers and has multiple straps coming off the back and sleeves of his jacket to resemble kitsune tails. Accent colour: Pink.

Rosho: Uses the fighting-type powers from the pseudo-Pokemon AU. Accent colour: Dark purple.

Rei: A fairy that resembles a phoenix. Controls light. Accent colour: Orange.

[Bonus: If DH had BAT's powers, Sasara would summon energy arrows and carry a bow + quiver to use them with, Rosho would summon the light-up jitte from Akudama Drive and Rei would summon ray guns (as a pun on his name).]

BAT:

They wear steampunk-inspired outfits. Kuko transforms using his prayer beads, Jyushi with his choker and Hitoya with his lightning-shaped pin.

Kuko: A fairy which appears to be an Eastern dragon. His transformation outfit is an eccentric inventor's/mechanic's, similar to Impey Barbicane from Code: Realise (i.e. it has tawny overalls, goggles, black knee-length boots and a white singlet). Also has gloves which have decorations at the fingertips that resemble dragon claws (similar to demon king Jakurai's). Summons swords, typically larger swords like katana or tachi.

Jyushi: Has the most Victorian-inspired outfit, with a red cravat, brown suit with a cog design on the right leg/lapel and a swallowtail jacket. Summons shields.

Hitoya: Has an aviator's outfit, but with no hat or goggles - just the leather jacket/shirt/trousers/boots. Summons steampunk-style guns.

(...yep, now that I've written it out, I think most of it works.)

#hypnosis mic #alternate universe #HypMic

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butyouvealwaysbeenthecaretaker · 5 years ago

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@gatheringbones see, this is where 99% of my art problems start and end because I could also glue two triangles together into a hood, or even...follow a pattern someone else has put online...

...but what I’m doing is redesigning the capelet to fall in dramatic, natural folds over the shoulders using a pattern I draped from scratch first on a soft toy, and then on a mannequin in my scale; and now I’m devising a hood which, instead of hugging the face like a cosy Medieval balaclava-style “I don’t want my face to get cold” hood, I’m trying do design more of a Galadriel-style “the hood just balances like this naturally like all I do in life is glide and look otherworldly”, blended with a bit of “pixie Brian Froud art” pointy hat but without looking like I’ve got a date later this evening at some kind of meeting involving a firey cross and...

...but my motivation is always, always like. If I wanted some default garment, I could buy one - I want to learn this because I like dressing fancy and absurd, and part of that is. I want to wear the shapes I want to wear. I want to throw on this hood and have the folds look just so around my shoulders. I want to shape the hood and sew in chain-weights so it balances with grace and falls into ripples. It’s a difficult balance between “you’ve set yourself a challenge so hard you’re going to get frustrated & you’re never getting the satisfaction of a well-turned-out finished piece“ and being motivated by the challenge and the dream of the goal you’re aiming at. Tricky tricky tricky.

#the craftsman tag

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cassowary-rapture · 3 months ago

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Row 18

#photos #crochet #ripple capelet #me

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vicshush · 3 years ago

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[Text ID : Art of two slim figures from about mid-thigh up.

On the right is a figure, three-quarters turned toward the viewer. They are dressed in a medium pine green with mint adornments -- frond like flourishes on the hips, two arcs bordering the trousers from the tops of the hips and meeting at the pelvis, two mirroring arcs bordering the croptop from the bottom of the ribcage and meeting at about the clavicle. The torso exposed in between the garments is a very dark green or black with two gold circles, the outer one outlined in short lines, radiating from a central gold circle. Two clock hands extend from that circle, reaching past the edge of the top and trousers (positions indicate approximately the time two thirty-two). Gold Roman numerals are visible at the top, bottom, and left, marking six, nine, and twelve. The figure wears a long green glove over the right hand and, where the elbow would be, is a glowing golden orb. The left arm also has a glowing golden orb at the elbow, with wispy bronze circles of varying diameters emanating downward from the joint. At the top of the green-wrapped neck hovers a large black circle, outlined in dark gold with a golden gear centered within. Two smaller golden gears overlap the central gear from below, jutting past the outline of the black circle. Two dark gold sketchy arcs that don't quite meet or line up make almost three quarters of a halo. A couple of gear teeth connect the smaller, upper arc to the dark gold outline, with a longer tooth extending further outward. Seven more thin teeth and a short arrow, pointing down past the figure's shoulder, outline the larger arc.

On the left is a figure facing the viewer. They are dressed in gray-blue, with a capelet falling from the clavicle to halfway down the biceps -- the bottom rippling edge of which is outlined in a band of gold -- very long, darker blue sleeves draping down from under the cape and thigh-highs that match the capelet. The sleeves are also edged in gold with a diamond-like curlicue centered on each sleeve edge, and the thigh-highs have a large gold circle with a straight line down from it more or less following the femur in the hip socket. The tops of the thigh-highs each have a downward-facing crescent of gold that runs from the inside of the though almost to the outside. The crescents fall a little short and cover the edge of the start of another crescent that appears to run from the front to the back of the side of the hip. In the exposed area between the capelet and the thigh-highs is a blue-gray a little lighter than the sleeves. An ivory ribcage is visible and two gold pendulums hang from the breastbone, one with a circle pendant, one with a cylinder. Dull copper gears extend from the thigh-highs, behind the pendulums, mimicking the pelvis. At the top of the blue-wrapped neck is an ornately gold-outlined clock. The face is white with a thin black circle inset. Black clock hands point at approximately one fifty-two. Twelve Arabic numerals are marked. Thick gold flourishes like sprays of petals curl from the outline, symmetrically at the 'chin', 'ears', and 'crown' levels of the clock head. At the very top, a thick arch in dark gold runs from one side's petal flourishes to the other. Behind the arch, three thin gear teeth radiate, extending past the arch. The center tooth, pointing straight up, is topped with a sort of teardrop- or Hershey's kiss-shaped flourish, also pointing straight up.

/end ID]

Drew some character designs based on clocks today~

#art #clock faces #faces #fantasy art #tok about ticking all the boxes #coool #Old Timers #clockwork people

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daybreakrising · 1 year ago

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BEISHT - CHARACTER INFO

BASICS

NAME: Beisht AKA: Avenger of the Vortex ALIAS: Li Yangxing AGE: >5000 SEXUALITY: Biromantic Bisexual; Polyam NATION: Liyue LOCATION: Liyue Harbour; The Ocean; Unknown lair between Mondstadt & Inazuma ALLEGIANCES: Osial (spouse)

APPEARANCE

APPEARANCE POST WITH IMAGES GOD: A serpentine water monster with between one and three heads. her body is deep blue upon the back, with feathery scales and horns, and her underside is a lighter turquoise-blue that ripples and moves like water. she has wing-like fins upon the sides of each head that fan out in anger or intimidation, and each head has four pairs of eyes and an unknown (hydro elemental?) mark upon the forehead. Though not often used, she is also able to take on a smaller variant of this form. HUMANOID: A bipedal vessel that resembles a human, though with rather obvious inhuman traits. Her eyes are a bright turquoise like the underside of her godly vessel, with a rippling white ring around the pupil that glows when she uses her abilities. Her skin is a very pale grey-blue, with slightly pointed ears. She bears darker turquoise markings on her face; two lines from jaw to brow, and her hydro mark (hidden) on her forehead. Her hair, light blue in colour, is long, falling past her lower back when hanging loose. Her typical hairstyle has the back held in a somewhat high ponytail, leaving shorter sections at the front that frame the face and fall across her forehead. She has two seagreen horns that protrude from her temples. Her clothing style is a combination of comfort and combat - she often wears small armoured pieces on top of light, durable garments that allow ease of movement. Post-Liyue Archon Quest, she bears a couple of scars across her left eye; presumably acquired during the fight against the Traveller & Shenhe. There are other scars upon her body, both from aforementioned fight and from the ballista attacks, but these are concealed from view. DISGUISE: (post Liyue AQ) Same light blue hair as her humanoid vessel, the very ends of which are almost white (following the typical god theme), though it is kept much shorter - it falls just past her shoulders loose, but is always worn in a similar high ponytail at the back, the front kept loose and wavy, with some sections worn in soft ringlets. Same bright turquoise eyes; the white ring around her pupil is stationary in this form and only glows when using her "burst". A more natural human skin tone with no markings (but still retains the scars over her eye) and no pointed ears. Clothing is of Liyue fashion, more suited to an adventuring / travelling lifestyle, with a collared capelet that is designed to fall like waves around the shoulders and is trimmed with white like seafoam.

ABILITIES

SHAPESHIFTING: Like many gods, Beisht has the ability to change her form, though she is limited in her options. Prior to the Liyue AQ, she had no need for a human disguise so this is a relatively new form which she is still adjusting to. Her other forms include a bipedal humanoid vessel and a smaller variant of her hydra form (though this form only has one head) which she occasionally uses to avoid detection when moving between place to place. WATER MANIPULATION: Beisht is able to command control of water in any of its forms; the greater the volume, the more she can do with it. She favours large, destructive effects, such as giant waves, vortexes, and water beams, but is capable of producing more concentrated effects (such as orbs & water bombs). In her humanoid / human forms, she is also able to deflect rain in a small radius around her and likes to toy with the puddles on the ground, affecting the surface of the water. EMOTION MANIPULATION: Beisht is able to influence the emotions of those around her, affecting their perceptions or opinions. This ability has a limited range and is more effective through touch, though simply eye-contact can be enough to establish a connection. Beisht cannot fully control a target's emotions or override instinct, and her influence is temporary (the duration depends on energy used, strength of connection, etc).

NOTABLE POSSESSIONS

FAKE HYDRO VISION: Beisht wears a fake hydro vision, used as a clasp for her capelet, set in a silver Liyue casing. JEWELLERY: Beisht wears a slender seaglass bracelet upon each wrist, gifts from Osial, who wears a similar matching piece. In her human disguise, she has a seashell & coral hairpin fixed upon the right side of her head, and a delicate, pointed ear cuff on her right ear, from which hangs a tiny seaglass star. PIECE OF BROKEN POTTERY: Though not on display, Beisht carries a jagged section of broken pottery in a pouch on her belt. This is actually debris from the first Jade Chamber, which she carries as a reminder of her hatred towards the object that defeated her husband and, post Liyue AQ, brought about her own defeat in his name.

#;i have always been a storm (about; beisht)#( i will probably add to this as i develop her ! )

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permetanoia · 2 years ago

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Pale twilight glows a faint icy shine against the velvet curtains and he wakes awash in its hue.

The bell rings the blue hour in the snowy distance and with nothing but routine dictating him, he pulls himself from the weighted sheets. The frigid air bites at what measure of skin it can find and the sensation brings him closer to the lucid chill of reality than the lurid flames of his dreams.

His hand passes over his bare chest to feel his heart and the faint beat reminds him that yes, he is alive.

His shadow shifts against the dawn light, the movements in the dark room foretold only by the susurration of shuffling cloth. In time he finds himself reaching for the cassock, which stares back at him with a stranger's gaze locked in its hanger for a head.

He avoids its scrutiny as he pulls the sleeves from the metal arms to his own. The inner silk is ice upon his reddened back and its valleys ripple across the sweltering blisters. It is stiff on his arms and the soft creases lightly dig into his elbows as he raises his hands. He counts the full thirty-nine buttons on this cassock and before his mind wanders again to the ashen place where his old one remains, he ties the cincture around his waist with hands deft of habit.

The alb is next, standing like a faded specter next to the empty hanger. The wool has the opposite effect, dragging across both silk and skin like pulled cotton. The stench of iron and fire is embedded upon its dull white grain, haunted by faces he will never see again.

From the corner of his eye, he catches a glint of red and turns to face his ghost in the smudged mirror. The faded burgundy of his stole yawns between the galloons and golden embroidery while the capelet droops over his shoulders too widely. He watches his reflection pull a rosary over his neck and when it clasps a hand over the star sapphire, the stone and glass seem to burn his skin.

A man of the cloth, they call him. Revered for what he dons more than what he has failed to become, the weight of the vestments suffocates him. A disguise for the devoutless. A gaol for the godless. A prison for the prayerless.

His hand travels to his heart, now caged behind liturgical cloth.

Of course, he cannot feel its beat and he supposes he never has.

Two sharp raps upon the wooden door strike him out of his thoughts.

"Are you ready?" The door is nudged ajar and a sliver of light cuts through the darkness. "It is time."

The priest wearing his skin looks back at him beyond the mirror, as if prompting him to respond. "Yes," he says as the word tumbles out of his dry mouth.

The seeping chill of the outside world frosts his breath. He clutches the worn, frayed klobuk and finally, after a long moment, puts it over his head.

"Let us depart."

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writesandramblings · 6 years ago

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The Captain’s Secret - p.101

“The Memory of Your Heart”

A/N: There is a scene referenced in this chapter that took place in episode 15 and was not included in this fanfic. Just want to make sure the non-show watchers know they didn't miss anything I wrote; the scene didn't really fit in this story except as a moment of reminiscence. If you rewatch this scene with a mind towards the context it's presented here, though, it really is pretty unnerving.

I'm at the big Star Trek convention in Vegas if anyone wants to drop me a line.

Also, hey, did you catch that the titular captain is Saru? Yep. Planned that one from day one. He ended up with a different secret than originally intended because Lorca lived, but it was Saru all along.

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 100 - The Captain’s Secret 102 - Only Then Am I Free >>

The lobby of the opera house was stunning. Swirl-patterned windows rose three and a half stories tall with terraced levels of curving wood and white walls that caught the reflected light of the moonscape outside. Blue and purple plants native to Vorasa system cascaded down like a waterfall of life from the top level, weaving down towards the garden on the first level with bursts of orange and green flowers.

"This is incredible," breathed Tilly, barely able to catch her breath at the sight of it.

Next to her, Stamets was more concerned with the tickets. He smacked his hand twice on the side of the holoticket and the seat numbers fritzed into view along with live directions to reach them. "There we go."

"Couldn't you just live here? If there were beds, I mean, and..." She trailed off, uncertain what else living in a space this immense would require.

"It is stunning," admitted Stamets. There was a time when he might have come here and found the architecture preferable to the music. Now he felt capable of appreciating both.

"Wow," said Tilly, head tilted up towards the ceiling, her feet following the movement of her eyes across a series of rippling metal ribbons arranged along the ceiling. There was a soft impact as she backed into another guest, almost tripping over the trailing hem of a gown. The Bolian she had collided with turned to look at her with wide-eyed surprise. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking—"

The Bolian smiled at Tilly. "It's fine," the woman assured her, sweeping the shimmery, peacock purple fabric of her floor-length gown to the side. "Your first time?"

"Yes," Tilly nodded, excitement overcoming her fluster.

"Enjoy your visit," said the Bolian kindly and resumed her conversation with her companion.

Stamets watched the exchange with a smile of his own. "Making new friends everywhere we go," he gently teased. "Shall we find our seats?" They followed the instructions on the ticket to the middle terrace level and the far left of the auditorium. The theatre itself was shallow but tall—as tall as the lobby—with multiple levels of seating stacked almost on top of one another so every seat had a view of the stage, with the preference being for the audience to be above the performers but a stone's throw back, rather than deep and far away as most theatres on Earth. Elegant scalloping behind the stage directed the sound from the base up towards the top. At the moment, the sound consisted of a gentle, whispering murmur of patrons seeking seats and the orchestra members taking their places, punctuated by notes of instrument tuning,

"We're so high up," said Tilly, feeling slightly queasy. It was impossible not to feel a momentary sense of acrophobia. The theatre was the polar opposite of Discovery's low, modest ceilings and the scalloped back wall of the room created the illusory sensation of leaning over the stage below in a mild optical illusion.

"At least we're not on the front row," said Stamets, because merely standing at the front row of any section was enough to create the sensation of teetering at the edge of a cliff. Species prone to inner ear imbalances like humans were advised to avoid those seats entirely.

They took their seats, Stamets smart in his tuxedo and Tilly looking the picture of elegance in a long black dress and attached capelet. Her red curls were pulled back into a ponytail big enough to be a halo. Stamets listened to the whisper in the air and for a moment it felt like he might hear Culber if he listened closely enough. "Thank you for doing this with me."

"I'm honored you invited me," said Tilly, consulting her program.

The conductor arrived to brief fanfare. As the lights dimmed and the stage came to life, a triumph of horns and flutes played their spirited invitation to the world of Puccini's La Bohème and were joined almost immediately by the voices of the performers.

The notes floated upwards through the air. The movements of the singers were balletic when viewed from above, carefully choreographed to suit the swirling aesthetics of classical Kasseelian culture, and Tilly was soon lost in the music even if she did not understand the exact words.

Stamets was lost in the music, too, but he could barely see the performers through the watery field of his eyes and soon closed them, imagining he was in another time and place with a different companion. He settled back against the plush velvety material of the seat and heard partly the music and partly the memory of Culber, his mind's eye picturing the doctor's smile and the brush of stubble across his jaw. The opera house was forgotten in favor of the soft blue lights of their shared quarters late at night. Moonlight settings they had called it, and the singing became a backdrop to a far more beautiful moment.

Stamets’ eyes only opened when the version of Culber in his mind said, "Come on, we're missing the show."

At intermission, they refreshed themselves with a pair of drinks as Tilly fretted about the wisdom of drinking at all. Taking a bathroom break while the performance was ongoing seemed a terrible social faux pas.

"You're overthinking," Stamets told her.

"You know what? I am!" She downed her drink in one go. "Whew!"

Tilly turned, looking across the crowd to see what else people did during opera intermissions besides imbibe alcohol and saw something on the far side of the terrace that made her face light up with recognition. "Is that..."

Stamets turned in the direction she was looking. Even across such a large room, it was hard to mistake the form of a lului as anything else and impossible to deny the familiar shade of grey-blue epithelial tendrils beneath the gossamer strands of the lului's semitransparent shawl. She was stretched up to the height of a human with the support of a cocktail table. Beside her stood a humanoid in a full environmental suit leaning with one arm on the table and the other on his hip, an angled black cape hiding the slight offense of the environmental suit's vulgarity against the sea of well-dressed operagoers.

"I think it is! Lalana!"

"Don't—" But it was too late. Tilly was already waving her arms to get Lalana's attention and the lului, with her massive eyes that took in whole vistas at a glance, had seen them first. Stamets felt his heart drop.

Approaching the table, Tilly was startled to find she recognized the alien's style of environmental mask. She had seen one exactly like it once before. "Hello Sylvia and Paul!" said Lalana. There were three empty drink tumblers on the table, though how many had gone to Lalana and how many her companion was unclear. (The answer, of course, was that none of the alcohol had gone to Lalana.)

"Fancy meeting you here," was Tilly's cheerful reply. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Omen. May I introduce Paul Stamets and Sylvia Tilly. They were with me during my time on Discovery."

"Pleasure," said Omen, his voice a low metallic timbre that seemed to hint at a darkly wry tone.

Stamets considered the masked figure. The height and build checked out. "I think we've met once before," he ventured. "You were with Lalana when she came to visit my research station the first time. Before Discovery."

There was no audible reply, but the masked figure tilted his head to the side and Stamets could well imagine the dry and disapproving frown.

"Was that where you got the idea?" asked Tilly. Lalana's head twisted in a manner indicating confusion. Tilly gestured to her own head to supply some visual context to supplement her verbal deficiency. "The—Memory Alpha."

"Why, yes," said Lalana. "Omen's species was the source of the design." She began clicking her tongue in a private joke. Lorca figured it out after a moment and shook his head with annoyance at the lameness of essentially saying the design was a human one.

The coincidence was too much. Stamets shot Lorca a sidelong glare. "What brings you here?"

"I am very much a fan of live music, especially singing," Lalana answered. "Gabriel and I used to attend concerts when we would visit Risa."

"Lorca liked opera?" said Stamets, incredulous.

"You're telling me people enjoy this caterwauling?" shot back Lorca, absolutely confirming his identity to Stamets.

"People with good taste," Stamets retorted, though Culber's love of opera had not been something they shared while the doctor was alive. It was only now that Culber was dead and the sound of opera brought him back to life in Stamets' mind that the engineer found he could appreciate the genre fully. "I wouldn't think this would be of interest to... someone like you."

"Likewise," was the response from under the mask. Tilly reacted with momentary surprise at hearing the word, which she associated with O'Malley.

Lalana was untroubled by the tenseness between Lorca and Stamets and said, "I am enjoying it very much!"

"Me, too!" bubbled Tilly, launching into an excited discussion of the specifics with Lalana that lasted until the lights flashed to signal the end of intermission, another one of those Earth customs that had successfully migrated across the Federation as an easily understandable universal cue.

Lalana's presence Stamets could almost understand, but he seriously wondered what Lorca had been doing there. Thankfully, when he and Tilly returned the following year for what soon became an annual pilgrimage, Lorca and Lalana were both blissfully absent.

2259.

They had unleashed a monster into the galaxy. Philippa Georgiou, every bit the bloodthirsty, murderous, opportunistic tyrant she had always been, spent the first few months learning the ins and outs of the universe she had landed in, playing along with the charade requested of her by Starfleet, and when she was satisfied she had enough of an understanding of her circumstances and her enemies, she left a trail of corpses in her wake that sent a ripple of fear across the whole of the Federation.

For the first few weeks after the initial refugee camp massacre, no one suspected it was her. It was not until the massacre repeated in another system, on another planet, that the rumors began to swirl across subspace of a great Starfleet captain gone inevitably insane after a full year of Klingon prison.

Then the rumors shifted subtly, the fringes of the story changing as a new version emerged. Georgiou was not insane, they said, but rather, the sanest person in the universe. She had seen the truth of what was required in the wake of the Klingon conflict and hers was not a way of madness but of strength: a galactic necessity if they were to prevent the Klingons from reorganizing against them in the future.

The Federation, these rumors further claimed, was being taken advantage of by the Klingons and various non-member states. The aid being offered to others was not being returned with anything of value and non-citizen refugees were illegally flocking to Federation worlds, straining resources already depleted by the recent war and taking what rightfully belonged to the Federation's full, legal citizens.

Georgiou was like a virus, her actions and ideas a contaminant, but this time, her contamination had spread far beyond Cornwell, Sarek, and the other wartime leaders who had approved her hydro bomb proposal in the waning days of the war.

Some flocked to this bold legend, exactly as Georgiou knew they would, because they saw the recent Klingon conflict as a sign of things to come and they longed for the authoritarian strength of someone who would crack down on the Federation's enemies in every way possible.

Others retaliated to this evolution of the narrative by doubling down on the claims of insanity. There could be no other explanation for a mental break so total, so complete, and so bloodthirsty.

A further subset of the population saw this new version of Georgiou as proof of the dangers posed by humans and their viral genetic instability and wondered if perhaps the solution to the problem was something else entirely.

Then there were those who knew the truth of who and what Georgiou truly was.

"You must track her down," ordered Admiral Sherak. "You are the only crew who understands what we are dealing with."

"Yes, admiral," Saru agreed, but after three weeks they were no closer to stopping Georgiou and the death toll had risen to seventy-two. Saru and Burnham were forced to confront the fact their knowledge of this universe's original Philippa Georgiou was not translating into an understanding of the Terran emperor.

In the ready room, Burnham standing across the table from him and a fresh cup of salted tea between them, Saru decided it was time to consider a more drastic measure. "Perhaps it takes a Terran to track a Terran," he mused.

Petrellovitz's little behavioral experiment—approved by Sarek at the time of its proposal—had lasted only seven months on Discovery. In the end, it was not Petrellovitz's lack of morals and systematic disregard for experimental safeties that had doomed the venture, it was Michael Burnham's enduring tendency to regard herself as knowing better than everyone around her and correlating habit of inserting herself into every aspect of ship missions and operations under the auspices of this assertion.

Put another way, Petrellovitz could not get along with this universe's Michael Burnham, and Burnham equally did not get along with her. Petrellovitz was used to a version of Burnham that relied on her for science, not one that tried to tell her how to run her own projects. The two were constantly at odds with one another in a way that went far beyond the rivalry Burnham and Saru had been locked into back on the Shenzhou.

They might have continued in this battle of wills indefinitely but Burnham and Petrellovitz were both too clever for that and had come to the mutual conclusion they simply needed to be on different ships. That, thought Saru, was an exemplary conclusion to the experiment that reflected well on both of them. Petrellovitz had since transferred to the USS Lemaître, where she was now a chief science officer.

"I mean, I can help you, but you should ask Omen," Petrellovitz told them over the holocomm. "Keeping tabs on the emperor was never really my thing." Her thing had been the opposite, avoiding the emperor at all costs.

That was what Saru had been afraid of. It seemed there was no way around it in the end. "I assume you can still contact them?"

Petrellovitz hummed and bounced slightly. Being in this universe had revealed an irreverent edge to her personality that had never been able to fully manifest in the mirror universe. "I can. Mac likes to hear from his sister every now and again. In return, I'd like the full, unredacted mission report from your recent jaunt on Nirros V and detailed scans of the next five magnetars you encounter. I'll send my specifications."

"I agree to your terms." Nirros V was more a curiosity than anything else. The incident was not classified, but several personnel details had been purged to protect the privacy of those involved, piquing Petrellovitz's interest. Saru knew she would keep the salient details to herself. She might even reply to him with some insights into how the crystalline entity had caused the polarity instability in the transporter stream.

"What do you think this means for our old experiment?" Petrellovitz wondered aloud.

"It means all Terrans are different," said Burnham, "same as all humans." Petrellovitz smiled at Burnham and terminated the call.

"Send Petra a copy of our Nirros V report as soon as possible," ordered Saru, but Burnham could not leave until she had asked one more question.

"Who or what is Omen?"

"That information is highly sensitive. There is still a chance they will not respond to our request. If they do not, then there is no need for me to tell you."

Four hours later they had coordinates for a rendezvous and Saru was forced to reveal the truth. The look of horror on Burnham's face made clear she interpreted this as a betrayal. "I saw his body."

"What you saw was Einar Larsson. A gruesome ruse on Lalana's part, assisted by Mr. Groves."

Burnham shook her head, still reeling from the shock. "The Lorca I knew would never have been able to lie low this long." In her ideation of Lorca, he was a self-aggrandizing, egotistical manipulator who had thrust himself to the forefront of the Federation's war with the sole intent of using that mythos to schism and conquer the Federation once the Terran Empire was under his sway. At least, that was what she had to believe to justify the way she had watched Georgiou stab him through the chest. Sometimes she still saw his face in her dreams, his eyes twisted with pleading desperation as he reached towards her.

"Perhaps you did not know him as well as you thought," suggested Saru.

"How could they keep this from me?"

Saru sighed in almost human fashion. "I know it has always been a great difficulty for you to 'put yourself in another's shoes,' but I implore you, attempt to do so now. There was no benefit to telling you this. A decision was made by persons higher-ranking than either of us that Lorca's existence must be kept secret. It was my duty to abide by it."

"You know how he was—is obsessed with me."

"I am your captain," said Saru, but warmly, in a tone that felt like a knowing smile, because theirs was now a long friendship centered around mutual respect. "Captains must be able to keep secrets. I have not held many, so I hope you will forgive me for the one. If I thought he posed any threat to you I would have told you regardless. If you do not wish to be present when he is, there is no need for you to see him."

"No," said Burnham, "I'm the first officer on this ship and I'm the reason Georgiou is here in the first place. This mission is more my responsibility than anyone's."

She was worried, though, what seeing him would do to them both.

They waited at the rendezvous point for hours. Even Saru began to doubt if anyone was coming. Then a small, V-shaped cruiser devoid of any identifying marks and with a disabled transponder dropped out of warp almost on top of them and requested to dock. Saru and Burnham waited at the airlock.

None of the three figures on the other side of the airlock were entirely familiar. There was a pale, yolky yellow lului with a splash of darker yellow on its chest and red on its hands, tail, and head. Beside it stood a humanoid in a black and grey environment suit and rebreather helmet with silver latches. A tall grey alien with long, raven-black hair and red eye slits dressed in a navy-blue gown brought up the rear of the group—a Misellian.

"Greetings, Captain Saru," said the lului. "I am Lolalen, and these are my companions Omen and Aeree."

"Changed my mind," remarked the helmeted alien beside the lului in a metallic voice, turning on his heel.

"Captain!" said Burnham. The helmeted figure paused mid-stride. There was a chance that word had not been for him, but Burnham could imagine he wanted it to be.

"Perhaps we should convene in the conference room to discuss the specifics," suggested Saru.

Once the doors were closed and the official record disabled, all pretext was dropped. Lalana shifted back to her usual blue-grey and Lorca hesitantly removed his helmet. There were streaks of silver peppered throughout his hair and the years had crinkled some new lines onto his face, but the eyes were the same.

He did not hold Burnham's gaze. Half a second after their eyes met he looked away, focusing instead on the polished sheen of the conference table, the objects on the side of the room farthest away from Burnham, and finally the stars outside the window as he went and stood there with his back to the assembly. When he spoke, he addressed and responded only to Saru and his crewmates, treating Burnham as if she were some sort of void in the room.

Burnham did not take her eyes off him. She could not understand his behavior.

"We don't need your help," Lorca declared. "We can get her on our own."

"Then why haven't you gone after her before now?" challenged Burnham. "I thought you hated the emperor."

Lorca's fingers twitched behind his back. Burnham could just make out the enduring frown of his reflection. "Why indeed," he sighed to no one in particular, as if her question had come drifting in through the window on some cosmic wind.

"Because there could not be any question as to who had killed her," said Lalana. "We will help you, but only if you leave us out of all reports, official and otherwise, and take all credit for stopping her."

Burnham was confused. "You don't want people to know it was you."

Truth be told, he had always been a self-aggrandizing, egotistical manipulator, and he still was, but he had been forced to temper this against the realities of living on the fringe.

"It would be counter to our role in the universe," said Lalana.

"I was addressing Lorca."

At last he spoke to her, but his eyes remained locked on the stars outside. "Then you're shit out of luck, Burnham, 'cause there is no Lorca. But if you want to put a line in there about the great and mighty Captain Omen, you be my guest."

"Omen," said Burnham. "As in a portent of fate. You haven't changed at all."

Lorca snorted so hard he got saliva in his nose. Burnham was entirely missing the trick to the name. He turned away from the window, keeping his back to Burnham, and addressed the Misellian sitting at the conference table. "Ree! You handle the specs." He grabbed his helmet from the table and stormed out.

"Let him go," Lalana advised Saru and Burnham. "He did not want to come."

Burnham looked at Lalana with pity for how little the lului knew about anything. "That may be what he wants all of us to believe, but that does not make it true. The Gabriel Lorca I remember was obsessed with me."

"Oh, Michael Burnham, it was not that he was obsessed with you, it was that he loved someone who had your face. And when you have lost someone you love, it is such a comfort to still be able to see their face."

The problem, Lorca informed them all once he had calmed down, was that they were trying to track Georgiou down. "You don't track Georgiou, you draw her out to you."

They knew roughly what region of space she was in. From there, it was a simple matter to falsify a set of refugee transfer records, disguise the stealth cruiser as a transport, and fabricate a distress signal for a fake engine emergency.

"Can't be subtle about it. She doesn't go for subtle. Whatever you put in that message, you gotta clobber her over the head with it."

"If it's too obvious, she'll see through it," said Burnham.

"Trust me," said Lorca to Saru. He was still pointedly avoiding looking at Burnham.

While the real refugees hitched a ride on Discovery to somewhere more welcoming than this region of space, Burnham and three of Discovery's security officers boarded the cruiser.

"Welcome aboard the Hayliel," said Lalana.

The ship was dark both inside and out. Its interior felt like being in a hole deep underground rather than the infinite reaches of space and the passages that made up the ship's veins were so narrow Burnham and her entourage could only walk in a single file. It was claustrophobic, dimly lit, and eerily quiet. It felt very Terran.

They arrived in the cargo bay and encountered a fourth crewmember: a young human woman who smirked up at them as she expertly cleaned and reassembled a rifle weapon. "The great Michael Burnham," said the woman, identifying herself as "Simi the Starkiller."

The security officers were permitted to wander the ship freely because, as Lalana said, "Anywhere that you are not allowed, you will not be able to enter." It was an opportunity to familiarize themselves with the layout of the ship and prepare for the coming trap.

Lorca was on the bridge, sitting in the captain's chair and gnawing on his finger in agitation. Burnham took up a position just off to his right, almost but not quite in his eyeline, and kept watch on him from the corner of her eye. He remained clearly displeased by her presence even if he was refusing to actively acknowledge her.

He was not the only one to take issue with the mission. "I am under no obligation to help with missions I do not agree with," said Aeree from what appeared to be an operations station. "That's not the deal. Give me the shuttle. I can still make the rendezvous with Jochrat and complete our objective."

Most humans would not have recognized what Lorca and Aeree were discussing, but Burnham had grown up on Vulcan and knew a Romulan name when she heard one. Exactly what had Lorca and his friends been up to?

"I'm amending the deal," said Lorca. "You want Mac to find out what you did to that cat? No? Well then, you're staying here."

Aeree said in a tone so cloyingly sweet it felt like it was dripping sugary ichor, "You cannot hold that over my head forever, Omen."

"You don't eat a man's cat!" Was that anger or exasperation in Lorca's voice? Burnham could not decide which.

"Even I know that, and I once ate a man," clicked Lalana from the helm controls.

Aeree hissed softly. "Very well, but you are warned," she said nebulously. Burnham was reminded of Lorca's time commanding Discovery. Then, as now, he had created a highly contentious ship environment. She failed to realize that this was a game to them all, and that it had been a game back on Discovery, too, with the sole difference that all the participants on the Hayliel knew they were playing. In time, Lorca would do something that Aeree could hold over his head and the balance of power would be restored between them and perhaps even tip in the Misellian's favor.

They waited. And waited. Lorca's agitation grew to a boiling point and Burnham felt it necessary to point out that the reason the ploy had not worked was likely him. "Our message was too obvious," she announced. "She realized it was a trap."

Lorca jumped up from the captain's chair and stormed out of the room.

"Why did you do that," Aeree hissed at Burnham. "Do you think Omen does not see that possibility?"

"It needed to be said," said Burnham.

Aeree's reply was unequivocally firm. "If everyone in a room knows something, it does not need to be said. You only say things when you think people need to know them and do not already. Do you think we were born yesterday, little Earth child, or that there is any thought in your head that has not already filtered through ours? What are you in the face of a thousand years of experience?"

"Ree, that's enough." Lorca had turned around almost immediately after leaving the bridge and heard most of the exchange from the entryway. "Burnham, with me."

The cruiser was not very big and there were few places to go. Burnham put a hand to the phaser on her hip as she trailed Lorca. She couldn't tell Lorca's mood completely from his back, but his voice was grimly resigned. "Sorry 'bout that. Aeree's a little protective. I'd say she's harmless, but... Her bark is entirely less than her bite."

"If you try anything, I will defend myself," Burnham warned.

Lorca did not respond. Their destination turned out to be a tiny mess hall, surprisingly bright compared to the rest of the ship, with white walls and silver fixtures. A silver table with bench seating took up most of the space. Lorca hit a switch just inside the door and the lights dimmed halfway, shifting the room from glaring white to a more neutral warm cream color he found tolerable. He slid past the table and plucked two cups from a storage cupboard. "When my Michael got tense, it was usually because she was getting peckish."

Burnham watched Lorca's shoulders as he poured coffee into the cups and rummaged for something to serve with it, settling on some sweet rolls. "I'm not your Michael."

"Ree's not wrong. When everyone knows something, sometimes it doesn't need to be said." He pushed one of the coffee cups towards her and sat down at the table.

At last they were sitting across from each other and it became clear the reason he had been avoiding her so thoroughly. He gazed at her with a mixture of melancholy, longing, and relief. A faint smile touched his lips.

This time, Burnham looked away. He sniffed in mildly derisive amusement at her discomfort. "So this is what it's come to. You hate me that much."

When their eyes met again, hers were steady and cold. "I barely think about you. You're nothing but a bad memory that I put behind me a long time ago."

He frowned in annoyance, a frown she remembered from seeing it many times on Discovery, and Burnham was glad; she knew hearing she never thought about him would hurt more than suggesting she possessed any emotion towards him at all. "After everything I did for you," he said, shaking his head. "Without me, you'd still be languishing in Federation prison. Your adopted dad'd be dead in the Yridia nebula, and you wouldn't be back in Starfleet serving as first officer on that ship. A ship I gave you. You ungrateful..." He grabbed his roll and bit off a large chunk, chewing on it angrily.

Burnham was shocked. "You expect me to thank you?" she realized.

He washed the roll down with a swig of coffee and sniped at her, "That'd be a start."

"After everything you did." Burnham shook her head.

"Because of it," he countered.

"You lied. To me, to Starfleet, to everyone."

"What was I supposed to do? You think if I'd waltzed up and said, 'I'm not from this universe,' they'd've given me a ship? I'd have been poked and prodded like a goddamn specimen. I only did what I had to do to get a command."

"You were using us to get back to your universe."

"As if!" He rolled his eyes. It had been the plan, and then it wasn't the plan, and then it was again. The plan had therefore existed in a state of Schrodinger-like uncertainty, both true and untrue, until events had forced it to become a last-ditch desperate effort to retain control of his own destiny. That was all he had ever wanted, really. Control for himself to make up for a life where he'd had none. "I just wanted to keep my goddamn ship." He sighed. "Maybe win that war for you. The right way."

"By bringing the Terran Empire here to 'save' us just so you could turn around and crush us beneath your heel and become emperor of two universes."

"Now that," said Lorca, "sounds like something the other you would've come up with. Maybe I could've managed it. Imagine, the might of two universes united, the possibilities." That was one way things could have played out and he would have been entirely satisfied to make it so. There was no denying it was a solution he had considered. "But if I had..."

If he had gone through with that course of action, he would have lost her. The only thing he had left of Michael. In the end, he'd lost her anyway, but at least it was not because he had intentionally set them down a path towards that inevitability.

"Then what was your plan?"

"Well, now you'll never know, will you."

Had he been feeling more generous, he might have told her his secret. There had never been one plan, there had always been twenty. His brilliance was in coming up with plan after plan so that in the moment, he could make the most of whatever fate had presented him in a way that seemed intentioned. He made the plans and fate chose among them.

Burnham glared at him as she sipped her coffee. Despite his denials, she felt she knew the truth. He was a liar and had always been.

Another sigh. "I didn't bring you in here for this. When I first became this universe's Gabriel Lorca, someone gave me a gift. A story. Funnily enough, a story was the gift I gave my Michael. It's time I gave you one, too."

A lie, she thought to herself, but the story he told felt true.

"I've got a scar on my back. From an agonizer, handheld. Spot where it is, can't quite reach it myself. Which is exactly what the person who put it there intended. She liked to put scars in that spot so her victims would have to debase themselves by asking for help to get rid of 'em. I even did a few times. I hated that scar so much. Every time I got rid of it, she'd put it right back. The last time she put it on my back was just before I came here. Now, I coulda had someone in this universe remove it the minute I arrived because no one here knows what the scar is or what it means, but I didn't. You know why?"

Burnham waited, sensing he did not require her to ask the question.

"She had the same scar on her back. My Michael. I swore I'd keep it until I took down the person who gave it to us both. So thank you, Burnham. It looks like now I finally get that chance."

Knowing that Georgiou was in the habit of marking people on their backs like chattel was disturbing but Burnham held herself firm and said coldly, "That doesn't excuse what you did. Georgiou told me how you groomed the other me."

Lorca's stare was uncharacteristically surprised. "Did she? That's funny. You ever think Pippa mighta been describing herself?"

Until this moment, Burnham never had, because she couldn't possibly imagine the original Captain Georgiou doing anything like that.

Then she remembered a moment before she, Georgiou, Tilly, and Tyler had beamed down to Qo'noS to deliver what turned out to be a hydro bomb. How Georgiou had lit up at the sight of Tilly, stroked her hair, called her "Killy" in a way that sounded like a personal pet name. A knot of revulsion formed in Burnham's stomach. "No. You tricked the other me."

"You don't give the other you enough credit. I couldn't make that girl do anything she didn't wanna do. You have that in common. And she... she always knew she had me wrapped around her little finger." Lorca smiled, his eyes faraway as he recalled his Michael. He had committed a cardinal sin where the other universe was concerned, just not the sin Burnham thought he had. Sins were defined a little differently for Terrans. "She was the one wanted to be emperor. I was just happy to help."

Burnham instantly saw the flaw in the logic he was offering. "She was the emperor's heir. She didn't need your help."

"You think she was Pippa's one and only? Georgiou was fickle and vindictive. Still is, thanks to you. Michael and I lasted longer than most. Didn't mean we were safe. So we took a gamble. Together." He closed his eyes. "I still see her sometimes. My Michael."

If only Burnham had stayed with him in the other universe and taken up the mantle of emperor. He wished he could have seen some version of Michael on that throne. His end goal had always been to remove Georgiou and replace her with someone who would not debase him, threaten his life constantly, and take away the things he loved. Someone who would allow him the autonomy to fly freely across the expanse of the stars. Michael had exceeded his expectation in every regard.

Aeree's voice came over the comms. "Omen, we detect them."

Lorca's eyes snapped open and he smirked confidently. "Time to put on a show."

At the show's conclusion, Georgiou was flat on her back in the middle of the Hayliel's cargo bay, pinned mostly beneath a cargo crate, with Lorca's boot on her wrist and a Romulan disruptor pistol aimed at her head. Burnham stared at this reversal of fortune with panic. "No!"

"King of the misfits," Georgiou said venomously, reviving an old nickname of Lorca's. In their universe, that was what he had been: leader of the aberrations who pursued things other than power. People like Matthew Kerrigan, Jackson Benford, and Emellia Petrellovitz. There were plenty around him who were there for power, but enough that weren't to earn them revulsion.

"Emperor of nothing," he responded.

"Do it," Georgiou hissed.

Burnham walked slowly towards Lorca, her hands outstretched in a plea, her own phaser set to stun. "There's no reason for us to kill her."

"She had her chance," said Lorca. "You really wanna give her another one, Michael?"

"Yes." A chance to go to Federation prison, but a chance nonetheless.

"You didn't give me a chance."

Burnham stopped. There were always signs, of course. Pahvo, the Yridia nebula, Corvan, his attempts to rescue, protect, and help her. Moments that to Burnham were obfuscated by his darkness, his cruelty, his contempt for the people around him, and his apparent obsession with her.

She raised her phaser into the air in a sign of peace. "I'm giving it to you now."

He holstered his disruptor and stepped away. At last, long last, Burnham could see who he was.

At the end of it all, Burnham made an offer she did not expect to make. "I cannot offer you what you had with your Michael, but... If you wish to communicate..."

"No. You've been talking to Lalana." He turned towards her, years of sadness reflected in his eyes. "You know what the worst thing in the universe is? Watching the face of someone you love turn against you. I look at you and I see..." His voice began to break. "You standin' there, staring at me... I just wanted one more moment with her. One last moment. I gave you back the stars and you wouldn't even give me that!"

She could see that moment, too. A terrified face, staring at her with shocked betrayal, falling to the floor with a wound worse than the physical hole in his chest.

"I don't want to see you. I don't wanna be near you. I wish I'd never—" But he couldn't finish that sentence because it wasn't true. "I wish things had been different. But I want you to know, I forgive you."

Burnham stared at him, confused.

"For thinking the worst of me."

2260.

"We are not far from Risa," said Lalana. "We should visit Sollis and Caxus. They have been asking to see you." As with Stamets and Tilly and that seemingly calculated encounter on the Kasseelian moon, Lorca was abiding by the strict rules set out by Starfleet. He scrupulously avoided contacting anyone from his time on Discovery or the other Lorca's life.

Lalana had made no such agreement. When O'Malley mentioned where Tilly and Stamets were headed, Lalana brought Lorca to give him the chance to antagonize Stamets one last time as a small consolation gift. Also because, as much as Lorca loved pushing Stamets' buttons, he still liked Stamets in his own way.

The thought of visiting Risa made Lorca uncomfortable. Out of all the people who had known the other Lorca, he had not managed to trick any of them for very long, and by all accounts, Sollis and Caxus knew the other Lorca very, very well. He pointed this out.

"Do not worry," said Lalana. "It is you they wish to meet. I knew they could keep a secret and so I told them who you were."

"That wasn't your secret to tell," Lorca chided.

"Wasn't it?"

In the end, they could not go to Risa because it was too much a risk. Sollis and Caxus came to them, beaming aboard the Hayliel after very carefully confirming Lalana was standing far enough away that there was no danger of materializing where she was standing. Lorca shielded his eyes from the blinding white light of the transport. Since they were not headed down to the planet, he had seen no reason to spray his eyes that morning and now he was being rewarded with a wincing pain for his sulking laziness.

"Sollis and Caxus, it is so wonderful to have you on my ship at last. May I introduce Gabriel Lorca?"

Lorca lowered his hand and squinted at their guests, unsure what to make of them as his eyes adjusted.

He froze with his arm hovering in the air. It was her. Impossibly, unbelievably, and miraculously her, and because Risians lived much longer than humans, she looked much the same as she had back then. Those unmistakable emerald-green eyes, the cascade of wavy honey-brown hair, sun-kissed skin and a smile that made you want to drop everything and run to wherever she was.

These details had been entirely diminished in the version of her he had once known, but here they were presented in full radiance, and she was even more stunning.

"You're Sollis?" he asked.

Sollis smiled. "Like the word 'solace' in your language, meaning comfort."

Lorca had never known her name. In his universe, it was likely she had never had one. Many slaves were never given names or were taken from their parents at such young ages they never knew them. If he could have chosen a name for her, though, it would have been exactly that. Solace was what she had been, the other version of her, for that brief moment until Georgiou took her away and created a wound that lasted until he found new purpose in Michael. Now, here she was again, entirely restored. He could scarcely breathe at the sight of her.

Sollis could tell there was something more to this than a mere first meeting. She could see the pain and shock and sensed it was connected to her. There was a lopsidedly helpless yet hopeful smile on Lorca's face, a wish he could not speak, and a despair just beneath it.

She decided to do something about it. She approached, arms raised, and hugged him. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said.

He wrapped his arms around her after a moment, returning the hug more tightly than he should have. Her hair smelled faintly of flowers and the sea. Destiny, he decided. It was destiny. "I've missed your face," he said softly in a whisper only she could hear.

She smiled and closed her eyes, because even if this was not her friend Gabriel Lorca, there was no denying she felt the same. "I missed yours."

Standing to the side, Lalana and Caxus watched this display of desperate familiarity without judgment. Caxus touched a finger to his lips in a pensive motion Lalana recognized all too well. "This Gabriel is a little more of a one partner person," she advised.

"That's disappointing," said Caxus mildly.

"Nn. He is a very good Gabriel Lorca, but he will never be our Hayliel, not entirely."

Caxus reached over and twined his fingers around Lalana's tail. "There was only one Hayliel Lorla."

Watching Lorca and Sollis with unblinking eyes, Lalana pressed her hands together thoughtfully. She was reminded for a moment of Mischkelovitz's sacrifice—a sacrifice intended to save some other version of Gabriel Lorca in what Mischkelovitz believed was the original timeline. If Mischkelovitz was right, then maybe there were two Gabriel Lorcas in the world she had gone to, and maybe one of them was Hayliel.

Except John Allan had gone back in time to the Triton and put Hayliel in Lalana's path. That probably meant in the original timeline, Lorca and Lalana had never met and shared the things they shared here. If so, there was only one Hayliel Lorla, and he was gone.

How happy she was to have ever known him. How much she wished to see him again. All she had left was his reflection from the other universe.

Part 102

#Star Trek Discovery #Star Trek #Discovery #Paul Stamets #Sylvia Tilly #Kasseelian opera #Mirror Gabriel Lorca #Michael Burnham #Captain Saru #Saru

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afutureinthesky · 4 years ago

Text

The Heart Never Forgets, pt 2

Part 1

The co-ordinates led her to a small cave at the base of a huge rock formation butted up against a cliff. It was obvious that she was meant to go inside. She had nothing with her; she had no idea if she would end up disembodied on the other side or not, and it wasn’t worth wasting any supplies if she would just lose them. Steeling herself, she stepped forward into the darkness. She was barely past the entrance when the floor fell out from beneath her and she fell into the void.

She woke up, aching and stiff, on the ground. Sparse grass and leaves shushed gently as she sat up with a groan. She heard the faint call of birds, as well as even fainter whispering. Opening her eyes, she blinked and looked around.

There was a bit of mist hovering over the ground, and gently glowing lights lingered in the trees. Tears burned her eyes as she took in the familiar sight of Nekton.

She got to her feet, wiping her eyes a bit. She felt a thrumming in her veins that she didn’t recognize, but it was comforting all the same.

“Hello, spirits,” she called softly, glancing around. The whispering around her intensified.

hellohelloGuardianwelcomeheyhihello

“I need to get out of the Shrine,” she continued. “Can you please point me out?”

yesyesyesthiswaythiswaycomegogogo

“Thank you,” June said, smiling gratefully. The whispers seemed to ripple away from her, and she followed them. They led her around pockets of monsters and past dead ends, and soon she could see the end of the path leading out of the forest. They whispered to her again as she went for the way out.

goodluckGuardiangoodluckbesafe

“Thank you, everyone,” she said again. Then she turned and left the forest, emerging into the road leading into Balancoire.

The mist-filled city was just as she remembered it. The cobblestones underfoot felt new, only because she’d never felt them herself, but the atmosphere of the city was the same. It seemed to be around midday, and the streets were bustling with people. It took her a moment to figure out where she wanted to go. She had to find Kalas. She had no idea where to start. She needed to find someone to ask. Melodia might know something. She needed to talk to Melodia. Turning, she headed for the Duke’s Manor.

“Who goes there?” one of the guards asked as she approached.

“I need to speak to Lady Melodia,” she said. “Please.”

“Do you have an appointment with the Lady?” the guard asked. June paused.

“I didn’t think anyone needed an appointment to enter the Manor,” she said carefully.

“Not to enter the Manor, but to see the Duchess,” the guard replied. “The Manor is closed to the public today, anyway.” He looked her over. “I take it you don’t have an appointment.”

“I don’t,” June admitted. “But I need to talk to her.”

The guards looked at one another, and one shrugged.

“I’ll see if the Lady is accepting visitors,” the second one said. He turned and went inside.

“Thank you,” June said with a sigh. She stood there for a few moments, waiting for the other guard to come back. When he did, he gestured for her to follow him inside. She did so, and he led her into the Manor. The inside looked about the same as she remembered. The portrait hanging above the main staircase was not of Duke Calbren; instead, it was of Melodia. June’s eyes widened as she remembered the guard referring to her as the Duchess.

“Things have changed,” she murmured to herself. The guard led her to the main throne room and opened the door for her. As soon as she stepped inside, the door was shut behind her.

“I was told you needed to speak with me,” a familiar, girlish voice said. “It sounded urgent.”

June’s gaze snapped to the woman sitting on the modest throne. The stained-glass dress was gone, replaced with an elegant, deep maroon gown. Her teal hair was longer and pulled back into a simple chignon, and her red eyes were bright and clear. June couldn’t help but react to the sight of Melodia standing there, and one hand went to her mouth as she took a shuddering breath, eyes prickling with tears.

“Yes,” she managed to say around the sudden tightness in her throat. She swallowed and tried to regain control of herself. “Yes, I do.” She took a steadying breath. “My name is June.” She saw Melodia’s eyes widen a bit as the woman made the connection with the name.

“Spirit…?” Melodia asked softly, taking a step forward and raising a hand. June smiled and nodded a bit.

“It’s good to see you again, Melodia,” she said.

“How can this be?” Melodia asked. She took another step forward, and then more, until she was in front of June. She reached out with a trembling hand to touch June’s shoulder.

“It’s a long story,” June said. She was stopped from saying anything else when Melodia threw her arms around her and pulled her into a hug. June returned the hug, wrapping her arms around the duchess. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured.

“I don’t deserve it,” Melodia murmured in response. “Not after everything I did.”

“I still missed you,” June replied. “I’ve missed everyone.”

They embraced for a moment longer, and then Melodia let go.

“Why are you here?” she asked. June took a breath.

“I’m looking for Kalas,” she said. She hesitated. “I had a dream that he’s in trouble, and I need to find him.”

“Kalas?” Melodia asked. She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I haven’t heard from him recently, but word doesn’t come out of Wazn often.” Melodia hesitated. “But something did happen.”

“what happened?” June asked. “Tell me.”

“It’s the Islands,” Melodia said. “They…” She hesitated again. “The Ocean is still down there. And so is the continent with the Children of the Earth. But the Islands are…” She trailed off, but June made the connection.

“We’re back in the Sky?” she asked, hopeful against her will. The Ocean was all well and good, but the Sky was what she had fallen in love with.

“No one knows how,” Melodia said. It was all the confirmation June needed. “It just happened. The Nations are working together to figure it out.”

“The End Magnus?” June suggested. Melodia shook her head.

“We thought the same,” she said. “It was the obvious conclusion. But nobody can find them.”

“Well, they turned into the supports for the Islands when they fell from the Sky, right?” June said, thinking back. “Each one holding up its Island.”

“That’s right,” Melodia confirmed, nodding.

“Are they still down there?” June asked. “In the Ocean.”

Melodia opened her mouth, and then stopped.

“I don’t think anyone thought to check,” she said. “I think we all just assumed that the End Magnus came with the Islands. It was the logical conclusion, after all.”

“I agree,” June said, nodding. “The End Magnus were what kept the Islands in the Sky before. But maybe they’re still down there? Maybe they just… transferred their power, somehow?”

“Perhaps,” Melodia said distantly, clearly thinking about that. “We’ll have to tell Corellia about that at once, get the School of Magic on it. And Wazn, the witches should know this as well.” She started to pace a little, the skirt of her gown flowing gracefully around her. “I can send an envoy to Anuenue, but I’ll have to go to Wazn myself, I have nobody willing to brave the cold.”

“I’ll go with you,” June said immediately. Melodia glanced at her curiously, and then softened.

“Of course,” she said. She smiled a little. “I’m sure Kalas and Xelha will be overjoyed to have you back.” She looked June over. “Are those clothes… all you have?”

June looked a bit embarrassed.

“I wasn’t sure I’d have a body when I got here,” she admitted. “I thought I might come back as a spirit again. I didn’t think I’d need to actually, you know, pack things.”

Melodia looked a bit baffled, and then laughed.

“You really are a match for Kalas, aren’t you?” she said, still smiling. She looked June over again, more critically this time. “You look about my size. I’m sure some of my old things can be altered to fit you while I prepare for the trip.”

“Thank you, Melodia,” June said, relieved. “You’re being so generous.”

“It’s the least I can do for you,” Melodia said, waving a hand. “After everything you did to save us all, it really is the least I can do to repay you.” Melodia gestured for June to follow, and June did so. Melodia led her out of the throne room and down the hall, towards a door at the end. Opening it, Melodia revealed her bedroom. June vaguely remembered the room, and it obviously didn’t belong to a seventeen-year-old girl anymore. The room seemed to have matured as Melodia did, and June found that the change was good.

“Please, sit down,” Melodia said, gesturing towards the chair sitting in front of the vanity. June did so and watched as Melodia went and rummaged through her wardrobe. When she didn’t seem to find anything suitable in the wardrobe, she went to a chest tucked in the corner and opened it.

“Ah,” she murmured, pulling out a few things. She brought the bundle of clothes over to June. “Try these on. If they need alteration, I’ll have my seamstress work on them before we leave.”

“Thank you,” June said, taking the clothes. They turned out to be a pair of seafoam green fleece-lined leggings and a plum-colored, calf-length dress with a full skirt and fitted bodice. The sleeves were long and slim, and the whole dress was made of warm, soft wool. There were also a pair of thickly-knitted, lighter purple socks. A teal coat completed the set, long enough to go halfway down the skirt with a capelet covering the shoulders. The coat had a hood that was lined with white fur, and there seemed to be a matching fur muff with it. A pair of finely-made gloves were tucked into a pocket.

She glanced at Melodia hesitantly, and Melodia seemed to understand her hesitation, because she gestured to an ornate folding screen going across one corner of the room.

“You can change behind there, if it makes you more comfortable,” she said. “While you try those on, I’m sure I have a pair of boots you can borrow.”

June nodded and went behind the screen. It didn’t take her long to figure out how to put the clothes on, and she was surprised to find that they fit her fairly well. The dress was a bit tight through the bodice and sleeves, since she wasn’t as slight as Melodia, but the coat was fitted better and the leggings fit just fine. She came out from behind the screen, and Melodia turned to look her over.

“It looks a bit tight,” she said, turning June this way and that to check the fit. “Nothing my seamstress can’t adjust for you, I’m sure. Wool is forgiving, I’m told.”

“It is,” June replied absently, looking at herself in the mirror. The clothes were unfamiliar in cut, for the most part, but they were flattering and very warm. She had no doubt she’d be alright in the Ice Lands.

“I don’t have spare boots,” Melodia said. “But I’m sure we can find you a pair in town. They won’t be custom, I’m afraid, but needs must.”

“I’m alright with pre-made boots,” June assured her. “Back-- back in my world, custom-fit clothes are rare. Everything is mass-produced and fit to the lowest common denominator.”

“To the…” Melodia looked a bit lost.

“Made to fit the most people possible,” June clarified.

“How strange,” Melodia murmured. She shook her head a bit. “Go ahead and change back into your own things. I’ll send the dress to be altered, and you should go into town and find some boots.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Do you have any magnus? Or skills to defend yourself?”

“No…” June said uncertainly. “I… don’t know how to use magnus. I’ve only ever shared abilities with Kalas and Xelha.”

“Abilities?” Melodia prompted.

“When I was a spirit,” June replied. “Elemental spells I shared with them.”

“I see,” Melodia replied. She thought for a moment. “I’ll send for some blank magnus, then. Having those spells with us can only help, I’m sure.” June nodded, though she was still uncertain.

A few days later, she found herself on Melodia’s sapphire-colored skyship, dressed in another borrowed outfit that was lighter than the heavy winter gear but still flattering and less conspicuous than her own clothes. She wore her new boots, and there was a trunk in the cargo hold that contained other outfits donated to her by Melodia.

She absently flipped through her six magnus. Each depicted one of her elemental Guardian spells. She continued to fidget with them.

“We’ll arrive in Wazn tomorrow,” Melodia said from her seat. She had a book in her lap and a cup of tea next to her. The tea hardly rippled as the skyship coasted through the Sky. “Are you alright?”

“Nervous, I guess,” June admitted. “It’s been ten years. None of us are who we were.”

“That is true,” Melodia conceded. “But I think you’ll find that they are the same in all the ways that matter.”

“I hope so,” June murmured.

#baten kaitos fanfiction #baten kaitos #baten kaitos: eternal wings and the lost ocean #baten kaitos fanfic

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