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unsteadygalaxy · 4 years ago

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all is soft inside chapter 10

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on Ao3; my username is the same there!

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10. feet won’t fail you now

CW: blood, match violence

Elliott lands hard, the impact sending shockwaves through his feet and legs. His heart immediately starts to pound- three sets of footsteps echo around him and he dives into the nearest building. He scoops up a Prowler, inserts a nearby HCOG scope, and just as he’s finishing up, the door in front of him flies open.

He breathes, steadying his aim, and pulls the trigger five times, sending an entire clip directly into a Legend hopeful’s head. The poor man’s face turns white and he immediately drops to the ground. Mirage lets out a whoosh of breath, and finishes him off. He’s got two heavy ammo boxes and a level one backpack, which he quickly takes. Another set of footsteps quickly approaches, and Mirage reloads the Prowler.

The other door bangs open, and just as Mirage turns around, Revenant fires an Eva-8 right at him. Two rounds of double-fire pellets rip into Elliott’s chest and neck, and to his horror, he falls to the ground, bleeding and gasping. Shit! No! It can’t end like this!

“Hey, uh, need help,” he gags into his earpiece, blood pouring from his mouth. Revenant picks up a crate of shotgun ammo and leaves, reloading his Eva-8 as he goes.

“Damn, Witt, lose that winning energy so quick?” Octane teases over the comms, and Elliott can hear more gunfire in the background.

“Oh, you know,” he chokes, “it’s kind of hard to win when you immediately get downed by a goddamn murderbot!” His hands are slick with red and he’s fading fast, and he wants to throw up.

A giant smoke grenade comes careening through the door, and Elliott’s vision is immediately obscured. He presses his hands to his wounds, trying desperately to keep the pressure on so he doesn’t bleed out. “Williams, coming to my rescue? You shouldn’t have,” he says, and he coughs up a glob of blood that splatters across the floor.

“Shut up and let me focus, Witt!!” Anita’s voice is commanding and harsh over the earpiece, and it shuts Elliott right up.

Just as his vision starts to go fuzzy, he hears a percussive beat of bullets close by, and Revenant screams, his modulated voice garbled with rage. “Get back here, you coward!” Anita yells. “Damn you!” Elliott loses track of how much time passes, but just before he passes out, something sharp plunges directly into his heart. “Fuck!” he yells, and his body jolts painfully, sending his arms and legs flailing. Adrenaline and heat surge through his veins, painfully clotting and repairing his wounds. A rush wallops his head and Anita drags him to his feet.

“Come on, Witt, get off your ass and give us a hand, would you?” She’s panting hard as she sticks a syringe into her wrist. Elliott grabs the wall for support as a wave of nausea flows through him, threatening to overturn his stomach.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, Williams,” he chokes out, spitting out the last of the blood. “How many are left?”

“Two, by my count. Revenant got away, and he’s still got a teammate somewhere. Looks like you took care of their third.” She nods over at him, seemingly satisfied with his work. Anita had consistently been the toughest to crack- Elliott had not yet made her laugh to this day- so he would take what he could get.

“Yep, wasn’t a problem,” he says flippantly, shrugging as picks up a nearby shield cell. “Poor guy went down faster than- faster than… uh, poor guy went down fast.” His cheeks burn at his failed attempt at some sort of joke, and Anita’s deadpan expression tells him she’s not amused, either.

She tosses him a Phoenix Kit, and he fumbles it a little before shoving his arm into it. “Not the time. Joke around later. He’ll be coming back for us any second now.” Her voice is short, and it stings Elliott’s ego a little.

The Kit depletes with a hissing noise, and Elliott is good to go. He reloads his Prowler with shaking fingers. “Hey, let me get Revenant,” Elliott says, readjusting his backpack against his shoulders. “Gotta pay the son-of-a-bitch back. You go help Octane with… whatever he’s doing.” “Sure you can handle yourself?” Anita sounds skeptical, and her eyebrows are raised as she reloads her weapons. “Me?” He forces an incredulous laugh. “Of course I can! Didn’t you see how well I kicked his ass the other day? This’ll be a walk in the park.” He hops up and down on the balls of his feet, still feeling a little faint from being brought back from the brink.

“All right.” Anita shrugs and gives her weapon one last check, and she’s out the door before he knows it. She probably just wants to see me get my ass handed to me, he thinks, but it’s not a big deal. He wants to prove her wrong.

Sure enough, the sound of robotic footsteps pounds ominously against the pavement outside. Elliott casts a decoy and stations it next to the door, hoping to buy him a few more seconds. Shnk! An arc star slams into the already fragile door and begins to whine. Elliott throws himself backwards, deeper into the building, and shields his face against the explosion. The door disintegrates into bits, and the sound is deafening in his ears. An orange silencer hits the ground with a sinister whoosh, and Elliott backs up more, leveling his Prowler as his decoy dissipates into the air.

Revenant charges through the open door and through his silencer, hefting his Eva-8 once more. Elliott fires the Prowler, and the bullets smatter against the simulacrum’s shoulders, barely missing his head. Elliott curses under his breath and dodges out of the way as a volley of pellets exits Revenant’s gun. The bullets connect with his shoulder and arm and Elliott cries out in pain. He casts a decoy and sends it running right at Revenant to give himself more time to reload. Revenant grunts in frustration and nearly pulls the trigger again just as Elliott takes aim.

A full magazine of ammo assaults Revenant’s head and chest, and he goes down immediately, his shields melting into nothingness. “Damn you, skinsuit!” Revenant screams, trying to crawl away. But it’s no use- Elliott finishes Revenant off, sending another magazine of ammo right into his metal head.

“Murderbot down!” he shouts over the comms, heaving a sigh of relief. “What’s happening out there?” He loots Revenant’s backpack and heals up while he waits for an answer.

“Two squads down!” Octane crows, sounding extremely proud of himself. “You’re really missing all the fun out here, amigo!”

“Hey, I took care of Revenant, didn’t I?” Elliott replies indignantly as he plunges another syringe into his wrist. “You all should be thanking me.” He’s being cocky and he knows it, but it’s so much easier than admitting he fucked up in the heat of the moment.

“Sounds like you’re two for two with him, Witt,” Anita calls, breathing hard from her and Octane’s fight. “Good work. Keep it up.”

Elliott raises an eyebrow, somewhat surprised by Bangalore’s open praise. “Wow, thanks, Anita! I’m touched, really. You do have a heart.” “Don’t make me regret it, kid.”

“All right, all right, fine.” He smiles and zips up his backpack, and then realizes that Bangalore really isn’t that much older than him. “Hey!”

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

kzzzhhhCRACK!

Shit.

A Sentinel bullet just barely misses Elliott’s nose, and he dives back under the scaffolding. His heart is racing and his pulse is pounding; this match has barely given him and his team time to breathe. They’ve just finished a ridiculous fight in which four different squads had piled up on each other, and he’s absolutely covered in blood and gunpowder. The only perk of continually fighting so many people is that he and Octane and Bangalore are fully kitted with every item they could need. Bangalore is taking a Phoenix kit and Octane is still for once, just getting finished with charging his shields. The banners report that there is only one other squad besides them, and Elliott is grateful. He’s had about enough of being third partied.

Elliott reloads his Prowler with shaking fingers and checks his Triple Take. After making sure the digital sight is correctly slotted, he takes a deep breath and aims up towards Cage. Through the sights, he can see Wattson’s fences crackling around each of the entrances to the upper part of the tower. Caustic’s intimidating form glows red for a moment and then disappears behind the railings. Dammit, Elliott thinks. Wattson’s fences plus Caustic’s gas make for a deadly combination, and an annoying one at that. The only thing that made that duo worse was Bloodhound being on their team, and if that charged Sentinel shot was any indication, Elliott and his team had a miniscule chance of winning if they rushed the tower.

“Who’s up there, amigo?” Octane asks, clearly ready to go. He’s literally vibrating with anticipation, and he makes Elliott exhausted just by looking at him.

“Caustic, Natalie, and Bloodhound,” he sighs, and ducks back into cover. “They’re set up in there like it’s a goddamn fort. Gonna be impossible to charge up in there.” He wipes sweat from his forehead and leans back against one of the posts.

“Well, where’s the next Ring at?” Bangalore questions, pulling out her holomap. She pinches her fingers and zooms in on their location, squinting hard. “Damn,” she swears, and dread fills Elliott’s chest. “The top of Cage is just barely inside the next Ring.” She snaps the map shut angrily and stuffs it back into her pockets.

Octane swears under his breath. “Looks like today’s just not our day,” he says, itching at his cap. He stands and peeks up above their hiding spot, just barely poking out of cover. kzzzhhhCRACK! His body flies backwards, his helmet blinking out of existence, and he scrambles back down to them, sheepishly pulling out a shield battery.

Elliott groans, amused and frustrated. The chances of them feasibly winning this match are fading fast. There’s no way they’ll be able to get up there undetected, and the thought of fighting upwards made Elliott exhausted. He’s so tempted to just recklessly run in, but something stops him.

Bloodhound wouldn’t give up, and neither should you.

He sighs, knowing it’s true. Bloodhound would find any way they could to dominate the situation and reshape it to their will. He’s jealous for the millionth time, and has to remind himself that Bloodhound is human and fallible too, even if he still doesn’t really believe it.

“All right, we’ve got a couple options,” Mirage says, rubbing his chin. “Either we wait them out, or we can charge up there head on before the Ring closes. Personally, I’d vote for smoking them out, but I’m not the one with the missiles.” He inclines his head towards Bangalore.

Anita considers this, then shakes her head. “Neither of them are ideal options. Waiting them out would give us the upper hand, but we could also take them by surprise by charging them now. We’d have to take out all the traps though.” She breaks off, still thinking intensely. “But if we wait for them to charge, we’ll have to deal with Bloodhound’s Ultimate plus Caustic’s gas. The next Ring is small enough that that’ll make the battlefield hard to navigate. Plus, my smoke will be pretty much useless. Bloodhound’s Eye will make sure of that.”

Elliott has to agree with that. He’s been trying to avoid thinking about them all day, but of course they’re on the last enemy squad. The way they had run out of the bar the night before made him extremely concerned, and his stomach churns when he thinks of how stiff and cold they had become. Elliott doesn’t completely know what he did wrong, but he knows he must have brought up something painful for them to leave as abruptly as they had.

But the memory of holding their hands in his makes his cheeks burn a little. He remembers how their grief had rolled off of them in waves, and how he’d felt so utterly helpless. Still, he’d felt closer to them than ever before, even though they were separated across the bar. Their openness had intimidated him a little bit- they were so naturally talented at making him feel better, and reciprocating definitely wasn’t his forte. But most of all, he had been stunned to the core by what he had told them. He would never be able to look at Epicenter the same way again.

“Witt!” Anita barks, and the way she says it tells Elliott that it’s definitely not the first time she has called to him.

“Sorry, what?”

“Ring’s closing in 30,” she warns. “We’re charging up the tower. How many times do I have to tell you to get your head out of your ass?”

“At least a few times more,” he fires back, rolling his eyes. He’s frustrated, but mostly at himself for getting distracted. “Sorry. I’m good to go.”

Anita does not look convinced, but she just sighs and turns back to her map. “All right. I’ll call in my missiles. Ring should be small enough to cover the whole area. Silva, try to get behind them. Witt, you throw us some clones whenever you’ve got them. I’ll toss in some smoke to keep them blinded. We’ve all got at least one digital scope, so that should give us an edge once we get up top.”

“Sounds good, amiga,” Octane agrees. “They won’t know what hit them!” He’s fidgeting with his butterfly knife, and Elliott is one hundred percent positive that Ajay is going to have to deal with his sliced fingers sooner or later.

Elliott nods as he flips on the full-auto mode on his Prowler. His limbs are aching and he’s drenched in sweat, but he’s determined to see this through. Anita’s plan is pretty solid, and he’s got few qualms with it. Her expertise on the battlefield is something he’s always been grateful for. Careful planning and meticulous strategy were certainly her strengths, and she regularly put his on-the-fly ideas to shame.

She checks over her weapons and then pulls out her Ultimate grenade, just as a warning horn blares over the loudspeakers. “Let’s give them a show.”

The Ring moves swiftly, advancing across the plains of green grass with an ominous humming noise. Elliott only has a few seconds, but he peeks back through his sniper sights to see what’s happening in the tower. Bloodhound is still crouched next to the steel fences, and he’s sure they have an easy shot on him. But they don’t fire. They look away from their sights and shrug at him, as if to say, Show me what you are made of. A peculiar heat drops into his stomach.

He looks back through the sights for a split second, but his heart drops into his gut when he realizes they had forgotten something absolutely essential. “Anita, wait! Wattson’s py-”

But it’s too late- Bangalore cocks her arm back and lobs the canister forwards, a shower of red sparks whizzing through the air. Missiles crash into the ground, and Elliott groans out loud. “Shit,” he hisses, punching the ground next to him. As the missiles advance forward, brilliant sparks of blue arc out into the sky over a limited radius, zapping the rockets away like they’re nothing more than flies.

Bangalore groans, immediately popping to her feet. “Come on, we’ve got to go!” She takes off running towards Cage, just barely ahead of the rockets as they begin to detonate.

The ground starts to heave beneath his feet, and Elliott stumbles as he starts to run. Bangalore is much more accustomed to sprinting across the roiling earth, and she does so with ease and grace. Octane weaves in and out of the explosions at an inhuman pace, pulling out his jump pad as he goes. “Vamonos!” he cries gleefully, laughing as he soars into the air.

Elliott can barely keep up, and he can feel the heat at his back as he goes. He nearly trips and falls, but recovers at the last possible second. His entire body is killing him, and he can feel sweat running down his spine as he runs. God, this whole thing is starting to feel hopeless again. He can see it now- they’ll run up to Cage and Caustic will drop gas canisters everywhere, leaving them a minefield of fumes. Wattson will fence up all the entrances and neutralize their grenades, and Bloodhound will weave across the battlefield, taking Elliott’s team out without a second thought. He figures that Bangalore and Octane can easily hold their own for at least a while, but there is no plausible victory for him today.

He’s never felt this hopeless, this reluctant to try and win a match, and it scares him a little. Elliott tries shoving the thoughts away- he doesn’t have time for his self-deprecating tendencies. But the doubt creeps into his veins and stubbornly sinks in its claws, making it really hard to think without immediately assuming the worst. He feels antsy, anxious to just get this over with and go back to his apartment above the bar to sulk for the rest of the day.

Show me what you are made of.

He swears he hears Bloodhound’s voice in his head, and the thought suddenly bolsters his confidence tenfold. Mirage throws a decoy out through the smoke ahead of him, hoping that Bloodhound takes notice of it and not him. Shifting the Prowler in his hands, he winces as the rockets nearest to him detonate, throwing him off balance again. They’re almost to Cage, and he starts to sprint towards the stairs on his left. G7 and Triple Take shots ring out towards him, narrowly missing his running form. He makes it to the steel tunnel and scrambles inside, holding his breath as the last few rockets explode. He hears the horrible screech of shredding metal, and takes bizarre comfort in knowing that the enemy team is that much more exposed up in the tower as the doors explode. A high pitched noise plays over the speakers, and he knows that the final Ring will soon begin to close.

I’ll show you.

“Where’s everyone at?” he hisses through the comms, his pulse roaring in his ears. He’s going to win this game if it kills him, dammit.

“Ground floor,” Anita answers, and he hears her breathing hard. “Got hit by a couple bullets, but I’m healing up.”

“Second floor,” Octane says, not sounding tired in the slightest. “The rockets busted through a couple fences, so we’ve got an opening, but we gotta go fast.”

“Got it,” Elliott says, his mind whirring. “Williams, got any ideas?”

“Always,” she replies steadily. “Send out some decoys and try to join us down here. The zipline on the south side is still in the Ring, so we’ve got our point of entry. If we try to make it around to the other one, we’ll be toast. Only Silva has any chance of running in and out of the Ring and making it out alive.”

“Hell yeah, chica!” Octane laughs, ridiculously upbeat and much too excited for this. “I’ll be faster que un conejo!”

Elliott’s minimal Spanish comes in clutch, and he rolls his eyes. “Sure, buddy. Just don’t get yourself killed up there. There’s a hunter waiting for you.” He checks over his weapons, and after considering it for a moment, he takes the digital threat sniper optics off of his Triple Take. He’s not going to need it now- they’ll be fighting in too close of quarters for him to be effective with it. Best shotgun in the Games, he thinks, laughing at his own joke.

“All right, coming for you guys in three, two, one!” Elliott sprints out of the tunnels, sending all of his decoys spiraling in different directions. As expected, bullets begin to pepper the ground around him as he runs towards an entrance. The Ring is blocking off the two low slats at the bottom of Cage, so he makes his way to the west side door. kzzzhhhCRACK! A Sentinel bullet collides with the top of his head, and he screams in pain, launching himself into the double doors. They give way, and he stumbles inside, slinging off his backpack as he goes.

“S-shit,” he stutters, rooting through his bag for a Phoenix Kit. He locates one and stuffs his arm into it, his whole body shaking. Anita is there in an instant, tossing down a cover of smoke just in case any of the enemy team had decided to drop down to try and finish Elliott off. No such footsteps are heard, and Elliott breathes a sigh of relief.

Time is quickly running out, and the three of them really need to move. “Okay, we’ve gotta get up there fast. This is gonna suck, but I’d rather go down fighting,” he pants as the Kit finishes healing him.

“Already on it!” Octane is somewhere above them, and Elliott hears the whirring noise of a zipline. He looks to Anita, who runs up the ramp and disappears out of sight. Elliott clambers to his feet and follows, willing his hands to stop shaking.

“I’m gonna take out the doors!” Octane announces, and Elliott hears a frag grenade skip across the metal above him. There’s a huge boom, and the doors shred into bits, the noise of it wrenching through his ears. Gas hisses and spews just as Elliott clambers to the open third floor, and Octane begins to cough. “Dammit!”

The smaller man drops down to them via the zipline and immediately pops a shield cell. “I busted the traps, but Señor Apestoso just sent down more.”

“It’s fine,” Anita replies shortly. “Is the pylon still up?”

“Yeah, but it’s out of the Ring, so the circle barely reaches them.”

“Can you shoot it down?”

“No, it’s in a really weird spot. Kind of hiding up there. You gotta be in the middle of the room to shoot it down, and that’s a no go.”

Anita swears, but Elliott smiles, a fantastic idea popping into his head. “Not a problem. Let’s get back up there and send in some distractions,” he says. He hopes to God that things work in their favor, and he readies his Prowler before jumping to the zipline.

His jump pack carries him up, and as he lands he dives to the right, dangerously close to the wall of the Ring. Both doors have indeed been demolished, and so has Wattson’s fence. One post still sits next to the opening, barely blocked by two of Caustic’s gas traps. Elliott shoots the traps down, but a third one comes flying down to take its place. He’s too close to it, and it goes off, releasing fumes everywhere. Gas clouds his vision and chokes his lungs, and he tries desperately to back up enough to be out of it, but the Ring is too close. Sticking a syringe into his wrist, he dips out of the Ring for just a moment. The orange energy field bites into his skin, and he groans in pain, every nerve on fire. Damn, Natalie, way to go, he thinks wildly. Even in the middle of a match, he can still admire his friends’ expertise and genius, and Wattson’s engineering of the Ring is no exception.

The gas cloud dissipates and Anita and Octavio zip up, landing beside him. She shoots in a canister of smoke, and Elliott acts immediately. A decoy sprints through the busted doors, stopping just short of the edge of the Ring. Octane dashes into the room after sticking a stim into his veins, a green blur of activity that Elliott can’t quite follow. He skirts the edge of the Ring and throws a frag up onto the top floor, but it’s zapped away by Wattson’s pylon. A tattoo of bullets beats down onto the metal, and Elliott cringes, willing Octane to get out of there as his decoy disappears in a shower of blue sparks.

“Octavio, come on!” he yells. But Octane is fast, of course- he weaves through the barrage of fire with ease and comes skidding to a stop just outside the doors.

“Told you, amigo!”

“Not the time!” Elliott says, his heart pounding. Anita shoots in another canister and Elliott puts his plan into motion.

Another decoy runs lazily across the floor with a snap of Elliott’s fingers, and pretends to check the pouches in its belt. The three enemies upstairs do not shoot, having caught on to Mirage’s tricks. Anita sneaks in behind it, examines the radius of Wattson’s pylon, and makes a calculated throw with an arc star. To Elliott’s delight, it slips up above them and connects with Caustic’s foot before spectacularly exploding in a wave of dizzying energy. Elliott feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he takes advantage of the distraction.

He aims his Prowler up and fires, and the pylon crumples to the ground in a series of deafening crackling noises. His decoy hadn’t been a decoy at all, and the adrenaline of his plan actually working floods into his chest like a rush of water. His celebration is short-lived though- the sting of bullets begins to slam across his shoulders, and he releases all of his decoys. The cloaking does its job, and he takes a brief moment to hurl a thermite grenade up above him before sprinting out the doors. Wattson’s fences putter out, roasted by the flames, and Elliott breathes a sigh of relief.

He cheers out loud as he heals up, his body shaking in delight and shock. It had actually worked! But the job was not over yet- even though he can hear the other team groaning in pain up above him, he knows they still have to finish them off.

“Let’s go!” Anita calls, and she ascends the zipline, closely followed by Octane. Elliott rounds the corner, reloading his Prowler. Just as he makes it to the zipline, Caustic throws down another trap, which Elliott narrowly avoids before shooting down.

The steady chak-chak-chak of a hopped up P2020 rings through the air, and a collection of bullets from Octane’s gun collides with Caustic’s face and chest. Octavio moves to reload, but Nox catches him with a deadly Mastiff shot straight to the head, shattering the smaller man’s shields. Elliott ascends the zipline and unleashes a full clip of ammo into Caustic’s arms and neck, finishing him off quickly, but Octane takes a bullet from Wattson across the way, and he falls to the floor, unconscious.

Anita fires a full clip of ammo into Wattson’s chest, and the engineer falls to the ground, wincing and gasping. She finishes her off, but the older woman breathes hard, clearly having taken a considerable amount of bullets from somewhere as Elliott was helping Octavio. Sure enough, the percussive barrage of an R-99 shatters the brief silence, and Anita falls to the ground, swearing.

Bloodhound emerges from the opposite corner of the room, and Elliott does not hesitate. The warning horn of the closing Ring roars out, and Elliott leaps down from the upper level, knowing there’s absolutely zero chance of reviving Anita. A few quick bullets follow him, but Bloodhound is smart enough to not completely track his erratic movement. Elliott sprints across the floor and out the doors, throwing himself off the tower and onto the grass below.

He hits the ground running, ankles and knees screaming in protest, and he thanks his lucky stars that Bloodhound can’t keep the high ground. He hears them roar in that deep, otherworldly fashion, and his stomach drops straight into his toes. The Triple Take slides into his hands as he turns, and he watches in awe as Bloodhound leaps off the tower far more gracefully than he had, surrounded by crackling red energy. He backs up, takes aim, and fires twice, but the spread of bullets is too wide and each bullet whizzes past their glowing form. He has to remind himself not to stare- it’s not the time to dwell on how powerful and majestic they look, nor is it time to listen to how heavy they’re breathing and worry if they’re okay. Elliott fires again, and the shot connects, but a torrent of bullets smashes into his chest. He swears, fumbling the Prowler back into his hands. In a panic, he sends a decoy running straight at them to give him more time, but Bloodhound shoots it down. They bob and weave, taking a second to reload.

Elliott takes his chance. He breathes deeply, centering himself, and aims the Prowler right at their head. Time seems to slow, just like it had with Revenant, and he applies the slightest bit of pressure to his trigger finger. The bullets fly out of the gun, and he doesn’t feel the recoil at all. Every bullet finds its mark on Bloodhound’s head, obliterating their golden helmet and sinking into their mask.

Bloodhound drops to the ground and convulses for a moment before going horribly, eerily still.

Shock washes through his stomach, and he drops the Prowler. A buzzing fills Elliott’s ears. He… he actually did it? He… beat Bloodhound?

He approaches Bloodhound’s unconscious form slowly, feeling like he’s in a dream, and stares at them. They look so peaceful, even though blood is leaking from their helmet down into the grass. He picks up their R-99, weighing it in his hands. A flash of memory and feeling comes to him from a few days before- Bloodhound picking up his gun and placing it over his sternum…

Mirage settles the R-99 across their chest gently. As he falls to his knees, a flash of pain crosses his chest. He knows he should feel triumphant- ecstatic, even- but the only thing he feels is sorrow.

Elliott picks up their arm, crosses it across their stomach, and murmurs, “forgive me” as victory music roars over the loudspeakers.

#miragehound #apex #apex legends #bloodhound #bloodhound apex #bloodhound apex legends #elliott witt #elliott witt apex #elliott witt apex legends #mirage #mirage apex #mirage apex legends #miragehound fanfiction #my writing

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ryik-the-writer · 6 years ago

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Chapter 21 - The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 3

[A03]

Chapter 1: Pan meets a Wendy Chapter 2: Scars (Felix’s Story) Chapter 3: Day One Chapter 4: Revenge and Fireflies Chapter 5: Brighter than Stars Chapter 6: filler: The Tigress Chapter 7: Operation Spotless! Chapter 8: Operation Spotless: Reporters Down Chapter 9: A Dance with the Devil Chapter 10: filler: Felix and the Pancake Chapter 11: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 1 Chapter 12: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 2 Chapter 13: The Girl With Blue Eyes: Underground Chapter 14. Recovery Chapter 14.2 Recovery some more Chapter 15: Trapped Chapter 16: Filth Chapter 17: Fairydust pt. 1 Chapter 18: Fairydust pt. 2 Chapter 19: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 1 Chapter 20: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 2

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I began writing Papers and Sleuthers just after OUAT 3B aired.

I was already frustrated after the show severely underused the Peter Pan characters and ultimately threw them away. I knew I wanted to write something, but I couldn’t grasp just what.

Then one day, I was dozing in the back seat of my aunt’s car and saw a missing poster for a dalmatian, and my humble little fic was born.

By season 4, I was starting college and was hit with a terrifying apprehension for the future to the point where I considered abandoning writing altogether.

While I did put a pin in several stories, I never could turn away from P&S. I don’t really know why; maybe because I was starving for more fics with these characters; maybe I was hiding from my problems in the ones of these characters.

I conceived Revenge and Fireflies while I was studying for a French exam; popped out the end of Operation: Spotless during my first Christmas break; cried through Wendy’s fight with Edward and her father in Reporters Down, and after a year and a half long hiatus, I finally got to write Pan’s more human side when he reconnected with Belle in The Girl with Blue Eyes

Now, my 23, freshly graduated from college, and once again I’m that scared writer-wanna-be who must beg their selves to function.

P&S has been with me through a portion of my life when I was ecstatic with the idea of the future and loathed it at the same time.

I can’t end it—I just can’t. It’s in my bones. A shitty fic conceived from a shitty show. But I want to keep it going for as long as possible. As long as I keep going. Even if it takes years.

Anyway, here’s Papers and Sleuthers.

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Yesterday

Wendy was furious with him, and Pan was enjoying the shit out of it.

Toying with Wendy’s sanity was becoming a much-enjoyed habit for Pan, he concluded. He kept her disgusted with him enough that she kept her distance—kept her self safe from the filth of him—but just close enough that he could revel in her misery.

He had to think of his self, didn’t he?

But his reveling was cut short by the ringing of his cell phone.

Duty calls. Probably Glass calling to bitch about putting an unapproved story in the morning paper.

Just another day in Storybrooke.

But when he saw the name on the screen, he felt a twinge of panic.

Just a twinge—Peter Pan was always collected—except when he wasn’t.

Wendy began yelling at him again as he answered, and between her yelling and the person on the phone, he couldn’t make out a word anyone was saying.

Thus he threw off his bedcovers to send Wendy into a temporary state of shock, smothering a bark of laughter at her pink face. From the corner of his eye he could see August—who for some damn reason had helped himself to his coffee AND favorite mug.

“Alright, repeat that.” Pan asserted with a slight smirk.

“Pan this is bad this is so bad oh my god this is so bad!”

“Astrid, slow down.” Pan demanded over the phone.

“Pan, Mother Superior…she’s…she’s dead!”

Pan felt the coldness in his blood slowly freeze into hard crystals.

“What? When?”

“This morning!” Astrid sobbed. “Pan…I…I’m so scared!”

Pan managed not to turn to Wendy, though he desperately wanted to.

He needed to see her eyes.

This whole thing could be pure coincidence. The holy terror could have finally met her end and died in her sleep…but there were no such things as coincidences, not in Storybrooke and not mere hours after Pan had run her in the dirt using Wendy’s name.

“Damn…”

“Pan!”

“Yeah, sorry for swearing, whatever. I’ll be there soon.” He hung up before he could get her response.

Had he stayed on the line just a second longer, he could have caught the tail-end of her worry, and subsequently, her confession.

“It was an accident Pan! I was only trying to get her to admit what she did! I just want my freedom! I didn’t mean for anything to happen to her! Pan? Pan…”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

It wasn’t until the icy wind of the cold November night hit Wendy in the face that the exact caliber of what they were about to do sank in:

They were going after Mother Superior’s probable killer. A girl—according to Pan—was as much of a victim in all this as Wendy was, as any of the nuns from the convent were.

Victim or not, Pan was willing to scapegoat Astrid…for her.

Wendy’s stomach twisted in guilt. No, no matter if she was guilty or not, she couldn’t allow that poor girl to go to jail, not without all the facts.

Her mind started racing for someway to just…slow everything down. What would they do if they found her? Would they call the police? Or would Pan set the entire town on fire just to help her get away?

She peaked up from Pan’s shoulder and could just catch the corner of his eye. What was he going to do? And what was she going to do to stop him?

They were around the corner from the convent when Pan came to a screaming halt, cursing ‘shit!’ as Wendy’s nails dug into his abs to prevent from getting thrown into the asphalt.

“The hell. Pan!” she hissed. He shushed her instantly, pulling her from the moped and ducking behind a bush. Wendy pushed the hair from her face and saw the pulsing of police lights just at the entrance of the convent.

“Fuck!” Pan hissed. “Double fucking hell!”

“Do they have her?” Wendy whispered.

“No, doesn’t look like it.” Pan responded. “Graham must have figured it out! That dirty bloodhound!”

Wendy shook her head, trying to calculate their next move—should they need one at all.

If Astrid were caught and confessed, Wendy’s name would be cleared.

But there was something else going on, something Pan was once again not letting her in on.

Whoever this ‘Astrid’ was, she meant enough to Pan that he was running after her, and Wendy sensed it was not for the sole purpose of clearing Wendy’s name.

He said he helped her before, and however he did so may have caused their predicament with the dead head nun.

The police must have thought so as well if they were at the convent.

They watched as Deputy Nolan exited the front door, saying something to Graham that caused him to send a command into his walkie-talkie.

Pan nudged her arm. “We have to go.”

“Where?” she whispered as she helped him roll his moped a quiet distance away.

“If Astrid’s not at the convent, there’s one other place she might be, but we need to get there before Graham and his pack do.”

Wendy nodded and jumped on the back of the moped as Pan hurriedly started it up, holding on for dear life as he drove them into uncertainty.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

She hadn’t seen the docks yet, Wendy realized as Pan eased into the eerily quiet area.

It was strange, after a month and a half of pure trauma, she thought she saw all Storybrooke had to offer. Yet there was this massive and important part of the town she’d just looked over.

A part that apparently was harboring a possible killer.

Just on the edge of a very rickety boardwalk was a small boat with a barely visible light flickering inside, the only light on the entire dock.

“Why are we here?” Wendy whispered, lowering the flashlight on her cellphone to its lowest setting.

“In that boat is a man named Leroy Miner,” Pan explained. “He’s been Astrid’s secret lover for about four years now.”

Wendy blinked at the reveal and awaited its significance to their plight.

“She planned to elope with him several years ago, but Mother Superior stopped them, and incited a dash of blackmail with Leroy to add to the pot.”

Wendy nodded, releasing a knowing breath. It was a motive for murder, but why would Astrid wait so long to go through with it? She hardly seemed like a cold-blooded killer. Did it simply take her several years of being pushed to her limit, of not being with the man she loved, to finally set her off?

Or maybe she hadn’t been the one to be set off at all?

“Do you think this Leroy man had something to do with Mother Superior’s murder?” Wendy inquired. She could just see the outline of Pan’s face in the dark.

“I plan to find out,” Pan growled, rushing up to the boat. Wendy scurried after him.

“It could be dangerous! What if this Leroy man has a gun?”

Pan scoffed. “When have either one of us ever been intimidated by a gun?”

A brief flash of Cruella’s black and white hair struck Wendy’s mind and she went very quiet.

Unperturbed, Pan stepped onto the boat’s step, ready to bang on the door and demand Astrid’s whereabouts.

“Get the fuck away from that door Pan!”

Wendy shot around, shining her light on a squinting Tink.

“Watch it!” she hollered, blinking in irritation.

Pan jumped off the stepped. “The hell are you doing here!” he hissed, monitoring his tone in case he alerted the occupants of the boat.

She was going to ruin everything.

“I could ask you the same thing you little shit!” Tink spat, her own flashlight shaking in her hands. “But I believe I already know the answer to that.” She glanced around him to glare at Wendy. “Trying to get part two of your little fuckfest?”

Wendy swallowed a large lump in her throat. She knew Tink’s anger was misguided, but it still hurt to be so rawly despised by the truest friend she had in town.

Oddly, it was her worst enemy who stepped in front of her, shielding her from the ex-nun’s fire.

“You’re going to feel like a total jackass when this is all over,” Pan stated. “But for now I need you to shut the hell up an leave before you blow this whole thing.”

“Oh kiss a rattle snake Pan! I’ve been doing our own investigation. And I know what you’re about to do!”

“You mean trying to save a technically innocent woman from going to jail?”

“From framing her in the first place!” Tink yelled. “You’re trying to pin this on her and I won’t allow it!”

“Pin it?” Pan scoffed. “I know good and damn well she had something to do with it!”

“You’re here to stir up trouble like you always do! You’re going to mess her up just like you did Wendy!”

Wendy winced, and from the corner of her eye she could see lights of homes flickering on in the distance.

“Perhaps we should move this somewhere else?” Wendy called out in concern.

“Why would we do that! This is perfect! I’m so glad we can have this conversation out in the fucking open!” Pan howled, the sound loud and violent enough to wake half of Storybrooke.

And the occupants of Leory’s boat.

Through the curtained windows Wendy could see a fluster of movement and just the faintest clatter of glass. The string of movement traveled to the door until it slung open, revealing a stalky man in a wifebeater holding a baseball bat.

“You better have one hell of a reason to—” the man lowered his bat when he saw Pan glaring stolidly at him, a wide-eyed Wendy ducking just behind him.

“Pan?” he barked.

“Leroy.” Pan spat.

“Tink?”

“Not now Leroy!” Tink yelled.

“Oh for God’s sake!” he exclaimed.

“Leroy!” came a squeaky, much more feminine voice behind him.

The commotion stopped, and Wendy peeked behind Pan’s shoulder as Leroy muttered a hasty apology to the person, catching a glimpse of the itchy fabric the nuns had to wear as skirts.

“Astrid?” Tink inquired hopefully.

A small sound came from behind Leroy and in a moment the young murder suspect revealed herself.

The two nuns eyed each other for a moment, each taking in their distinctions. Astrid’s overly-ironed uniform that clung to her like a straightjacket. Tink’s messy updo and rugged jeans, ripped at the seams from constant wears.

One was caged. The other was free.

Yet they both were still wearing their own pair of shackles.

“Astrid,” Tink greeted with a wet smile. “I…”

“I was going to call you!” Astrid blurted out, her hands twitching. “Afterwards…when…” she glanced at Leroy.

Tink nodded, the worry resurfacing in her eyes.

“Please tell me what happened.” Tink begged. “The sisters said you disappeared sometime this morning, after Mother Superior…” Tink shook her head, her gaze landing on a sole overstuffed bag just beside the couch. Astrid had literally packed everything she owned.

Wendy heard talking from a distance, and knew they were seconds away from having a run-in with Graham.

“Like I said, let’s move this,” Wendy commanded.

Pan gave Leroy a dark look, and with a grumble he stepped aside to allow the three into his crowded boat.

But then, there was total silence. Everyone was staring at each other, unsure of who to trust, who would turn out to be the real enemy.

Wendy wanted this all to end so bad, but the only way it would be so was if the woman in front of her somehow confessed to Mother Superior’s murder. And that, no matter the consequence for her, is not what she wanted.

Wendy met the timid eyes, earnestly begging her to say something. The poor woman sensed her plea, and her fingers weaved nervously through her starchy skirt.

“I…I…” Astrid hesitated from behind the solidly-built man in front of her.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Leroy insisted.

Pan made a rush at the nun, stepping right up to her and avoiding Leroy’s ready bat.

“Astrid,” he said calmly, his fingers twitching to reach out and grab her. “You need to tell us what happened.”

“Don’t answer him sweetie!” Leroy warned. “It’s a trap! Look what they did to Mother Superior!”

“It wasn’t like that!” Wendy cut in.

“Sure it wasn’t!” Leroy snarled. “You’re just the one who wrote the story! How many more lives do you want to ruin tonight?”

Wendy locked her jaw to prevent herself from yelling at this man. He was only defending Astrid, she knew, but she was about damn tired of people jumping to conclusions about her.

Much to her curiosity it was Pan who stepped forward and got into the stalky man’s face.

“How about you shut up and let us settle this before someone else ends up dead?” he warned, low and frightening enough that Wendy’s throat in apprehension.

“Do not threaten him!” Tink warned, stepping between Leroy and Pan.

Pan gritted his teeth, wanting to scream at her to go away. She was going to ruin everything! But he saw the rawness in her light brown eyes. She didn’t hate him; Tink didn’t have that kind of bitterness in her soul, even towards him.

And there was something else there, something he hadn’t seen even when she was being pulled out of Jekyll’s morgue drawers.

Fear.

Fear for Astrid, fear for the a future without her wicked mother.

“Yesterday you escorted Wendy into Mother Superior’s office, right?” he inquired more softly.

“Y…yes.” Astrid admitted.

“Astrid, be careful.” Leroy warned.

“But you didn’t leave them? You hung back, heard a few things?”

“No!” Astrid defended earnestly. “I mean…I did hear the beginning of the conversation, but I left,” she nodded, as if trying to convince herself.

“What did you hear,” Wendy asked.

“Just…” Astrid fidgeted. “Who you were and that she upset your friend. But I left after that I swear!”

Wendy nodded, remember the bits of the conversation.

“But you didn’t stay away for long, did you?” Pan pressed, and Wendy turned to see the lifelessness in his eyes. Gone was the gamemaster who had his target corner. All that was left was a guilty man who had to make the strenuous decision of turning over the culprit and letting an innocent person take the fall if he didn’t.

“When did you go back?” Wendy continued.

“Later,” Astrid continued, and Leroy led her to the bruised couch. “I saw you,” she said to Wendy. “I saw you break in…but I recognized you from earlier, so I hesitated to call the police…I just… didn’t.” she looked back to Pan. “Then I saw you. You were running, and I thought something was wrong.”

Wendy glanced at Pan, forgotten aggravation over yesterday’s interference resurfacing. Though Pan didn’t return her look, she could feel the cockiness radiating just under his skin.

With a smothered roll of her eyes, she replayed her confrontation with Mother Superior in bouts. Her coming across the half cross, confront the head nun on it and nearly losing her hand when she took the cross back. And then, of course, Pan making his grand entrance and stealing her thunder, though to his credit his presence did cause her to finally admit what she did to Tink.

Wendy rubbed her temple. If she had just looked over her shoulder, she might have seen Astrid, might have prevented all of this.

“You heard everything,” Wendy concluded. “Mother Superior’s confession, and her promise to deny everything.”

Astrid slowly closed her eyes, the guilt written all over her face.

“Astrid,” Pan growled. “Whatever you saw or did after we left will determine what’s going to happen next. To you, to Tink,” he barely nudged Wendy’s way. “And even to her.”

The young nun’s head shot up, meeting Wendy’s dull gaze. Wendy gasped at the wounded look in her eyes, and knew in a single moment that no matter what happened after tonight, whether she came forward or not, she couldn’t hate her.

All she could see in that moment was Tink leaning into Felix’s arms as she struggled not to fall apart.

She’s always doing this.

Surrogate, but just barely.

Make it stop.

She wasn’t looking at a crazed vengeful murderer. She was looking at an abuse survivor.

And whether she had anything to do with Mother Superior’s death or not, she didn’t deserve any of the backlash from it.

Wendy went looking for the truth to give Tink some well-deserved closure. It was more than apparent to her now that Astrid deserved the same.

“Wait…” Wendy sighed, ready to end the whole mess when there was a loud bang on the door.

“Shit!” Leroy yelled, raising his bat. Astrid gasped and pressed herself into the corner.

“Leroy, open the door!” came Graham’s brogue.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Pan hissed.

Wendy gasped as Tink shot past her to run to Nova. If Graham came through, it was over for both of them.

The young journalist gulped, her mind readying a very stupid idea that would either save her or endanger all of them.

“Is there a back door?” Wendy whispered to Leroy.

The stout man’s face lit with realization. “Yes, and there’s a supply shed just down the docks. She can stay there until I get these pests out of here.”

Wendy nodded. “Astrid, come with me.”

“I’m coming too,” Tink announced, stashing Astrid’s bag in a small cupboard.

“We’ll all go,” Pan added, looking out one of the back blinds. “All clear.”

Graham knocked on the door again and Leroy called out to keep him occupied while the four of them quietly left through the back.

Wendy could here someone walking around on top of the boat, no doubt looking for evidence for Astrid’s arrival. Up a head a flashlight was hovering about, and Pan grabbed her by the collar to keep her from walking out into it.

As soon as it lifted, the four of them quietly sprinted towards the direction of the shed, all worried that if they looked back they’d be caught for sure.

Pan struggled to get the rusty door open, the friction causing the metal to scream in protest, giving away their position. He did manage to get it open just enough for them all the slip in, the overwhelming smell of salt filling their lungs as Pan closed them in.

Wendy brought out her cellphone, the dim light barely adding illumination to the dark room.

“Watch your step,” Pan warned, pulling out his own cellphone to aid her. “One false move and you’ll fall into the water.

“Thanks for the tip,” Wendy deadpanned as Tink added her phone light as well.

They managed to find overturned barrels to sit on while they waited, using the cracks in the walls to watch the police raid from a far.

Tink had Astrid nestled close to her side, protecting her from the elements—and worse—the two people in the room who wanted her to talk.

Wendy squinted at Pan, his emotions disjointed from the light. What were they going to do, she asked with her eyes.

I’m working on it, he said with his own.

“I…I had to have proof.”

Wendy turned to a mousy Astrid. “Proof? Proof of what?”

“Remember what Leroy said,” Tink jumped in, glaring at Wendy, “You don’t have to say anything.”

“No, no I do,” Astrid gasped, pulling herself from her surrogate sister’s loving embrace. “I-I-I need to let this out. I need to confess to what I did.”

“Hold it,” growled Tink as she jumped up and stalked over to Pan. He barely had time to raise his eyebrows before Tink lifted him by his collar and began groping his pockets.

“The shit Tink!” Pan yelled, swatting her hands away.

Tink pushed him back harshly against the barrel. “Just had to be sure you weren’t recording this,” she snarled. “Rule one, right?”

“Rule two, actually,” Pan growled.

With Pan checked, Tink nodded to Astrid, giving her her blessing to continue.

Wendy rolled past him, anxious to hear Astrid’s truth.

“You were there that night, weren’t you?” Wendy gasped, searching her eyes in the weak light.

“I was…returning from Leroy’s,” she said with a shy smile. “And my room is right near Mother Superior’s office.”

Wendy watched as her hands wrung nervously in her skirt.

“So you heard me talking to her?” Wendy pressed carefully.

“Yeah…” Astrid sighed. “I heard…everything.” She glanced to Tink, tears in her eyes. “Tink I’m so sorry!”

Tink shook her head, though her face was as blank as a fresh coat of paint.

“So then, what, you stuffed pills down her throat?”

“Pan!” Tink warned.

“I’m just trying to wrap this up.” Pan shrugged.

“You know good and damn well she didn’t kill her, Pan!” Tink fought. “Why the hell are you trying to in this on her?”

Pan glanced Astrid’s way and clenched his teeth when she didn’t meet his eyes. He brushed past Tink and Wendy and sat right in front of her, making their knees touch to keep her attention.

“You heard what she did, and couldn’t take it, so you went into her office and drugged her up.”

“No!” Astrid gasped.

“Or maybe you waited until she drugged herself up and slipped some more in?” Pan shrugged. “She have a nice cup of tea before she croaked?”

Tink grabbed his shoulder. “Pan I’m fucking warning you?”

“Or maybe you walked in at the right time?” he smiled cruelly. “Maybe she already overdosed and you made sure she didn’t come back from it.”

“No!” Astrid sobbed. “I would never do something like that, I couldn’t!”

“Yes you can I know you can! I watched you—”

Before he could finish his accusation, someone grabbed him by the collar and pulled him around. In a second he was on the rotting wood, his nose aching and bloody, his head spinning from the adrenaline of it all.

A shout followed next.

And then a thud of something heavy hitting the ground.

The lights danced from the confusion, and for a moment Pan was surrounded by blackness.

Yet somehow it was nearly as terrifying as it should have been.

He smirked, the feeling of blood on his fingers expected but still a unrequited surprise.

He reached across the floor to grab his phone, using the light to illuminate his attacker’s bloody, clenched wrist, and then her face, ready to congratulate Tink on finally getting it all out of her system.

His smile faded some when he saw it was actually Wendy, her eyes bloodshot from unshed tears, her breath labored.

Pan took in a shaky breath, squashing his instinct to fight back.

She needed this. He wanted her to have it.

“I just went to get proof.”

Pan glanced up at Astrid. “Proof of what? What the hell did you take?”

“I’m guessing that,” Wendy answered, nodding just behind Tink and Astrid.

Tink followed her gaze and the sight of the familiar lusterless metal stilled the air in her lungs.

Astrid hurried to the object, cradling it to her chest.

“She was asleep when I went in, so I searched for anything to prove what she did. Paperwork or something, but I found this instead.”

Tink reached out and took the object, the other half of her begotten cross.

Pan stood, wiping his nose as he addressed the hurting woman.

“I was going to send it to you later, but I wanted to keep it in case she…”

“In case she what?” inquired Wendy.

Astrid looked absolutely miserable. “I…I was planning on leaving the convent for a long time. Leroy finally fixed the engine in his boat and we were going to leave,” she smiled fondly. “We were finally leaving this place.” Astrid shook her head—there was no time for sentimentals. “So, I searched her drawers until I found that, and I was going to call her as soon as I was out of Storybrooke to tell her what I knew.”

“So that she wouldn’t come after you,” Pan muttered.

“Exactly,” Astrid concluded wetly. “And—and I swear she was breathing when I left! She was just sleeping! I swear…I don’t know what happened after I left.”

Tink wrapped her arms around her from behind.

“Don’t.” Tink breathed. “Don’t say anymore. I believe you. I get it.”

Wendy gulped, stepping forward in hopes of comforting both of them.

This is all my fault.

“Don’t!” Tink sobbed. “Just stay away from me,”

Astrid pulled away from Tink, holding her hands up in defense.

“No, Tink she didn’t do any of this!” Astrid proclaimed. “She told Mother Superior she would let her tell you everything.”

Tink glanced at Wendy, disbelief glassing over her eyes.

“But you published it anyway,” she said quietly. “You published her filth for the entire town to see.”

“No she didn’t,” Astrid jumped in before Wendy could defend herself. “She wanted to give you two a chance. Even Pan said—”

“Pan?” Tink questioned. “What the hell does he have to…”

Wendy gulped when the realization blossomed in her eyes.

Pan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was fucked.

“You did this.” Tink said, not as a question but as a fact. “This was all you…” she paused, her lips twitching until her body shook with rusty laughter.

“Oh my god of course this was you!” she laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You…you do shit like this all the time!”

“Tink—”

“You take…” she breathed in a shaky breath of stale air and limped up to Pan, inches from his stoic face. “Innocent people…their lives…everything they love…and you crush it!”

Pan remained still, even as the spit flew from her mouth and hit him.

Let her have this.

“I trusted you,” Tink cried. “I forgave you even after everything! After you let the psychopath lock me in a fucking drawer!”

Pan flinched, but kept his gaze with the spitting ex-nun.

“But why?” Tink gasped. “Why me? Why hurt me like this? Why her!” she motioned to Wendy. “Do you have any idea the things I said to her because of you?”

Wendy wiped the tears from her cheeks and willed herself to speak for Pan.

“He wasn’t trying to hurt you Tink—”

“You stay out of this!” Tink yelled at her. “This is still on you as much as him!”

“Oh please,” Pan snorted. “She’s doesn’t have the gall to pull something like this.”

“To ruin lives?” Tink laughed. She glanced briefly at Wendy and nodded. “That much I believe.”

“This was never to hurt you Tink,” Pan sighed. “This was to take that bitch down once and for all. Wendy just stumbled on the perfect gateway.”

“Oh please,” Wendy gagged. “You invited yourself to my investigation.”

“If I hadn’t showed up she would have knocked your ass out and nailed you to a cross.”

“Sacrilegious much?” Wendy snarked.

Astrid shook her head. “But who killed her then?”

Wendy and Pan looked at each other, both wishing they had some kind of answer.

Tink moved past them and slumped exhaustedly on her barrel.

“Maybe it really was an accident,” Tink shrugged. “Maybe she took too much Vitacin and…” her shoulders began to quake. “went to sleep.”

Astrid was by her side in an instant, consoling her friend and releasing her own sorrows.

Pan stood back, dumbfounded and sobbing women before him.

All he could see was Felix running after the devil nun as she dragged Tink away…begging her to let her go.

To set her free.

“You’re hurting her!”

“Why!” Pan yelled at them, starling even Wendy.

“Why are you crying over that bitch? She hurt you both! She hurt so many others! And you shed tears over her? Why? Why aren’t you celebrating?”

Please thank me. I did this for you.

“She was my mother, Pan!” Tink screamed.

“Oh why the hell does that matter now!” he spat.

“Because if I had found out from her rather than reading it in the fucking paper, maybe we could have a chance?”

“Chance at what?”

“To forgive!” Tink cried. “To begin again. To…something.”

Something.

Why was it always ‘something’?

“Now…I’ll never have that.” She rested her head on her clasped hands. Like she was praying.

To what?

“I’ll never know what it’s like to have a mom who truly loves me. If she were alive…if I knew everything…I might have had a chance then.”

Tink’s word cut Wendy to her core. When she first came to Storybrooke she was terrified of losing her mother. Even as she proved victorious in her fight with cancer, that god-awful fear refused to stop chewing at her brain.

Through the fear there was an intense love that made the cells in her bones sing. Her mother always had her back, always protected from her the ostracizing voices around her.

The very idea of anyone—especially Tink—not having that, and never having, broke Wendy’s spirit.

“Tink, I’m so sorry,” Wendy said. Sorry for the investigation. For Tink’s lost youth. Even for Mother Superior and the crater of emotion her death had left on her begotten daughter.

Pan tensed.

Not you too. Please Wendy don’t.

“Well this sob fest isn’t getting us anywhere,” Pan exclaimed. “We need to come up with a plan. Astrid says Mother Superior was still alive when she met. That either means someone finished her off or it really was an accident.”

“Then let’s just turn ourselves over,” Wendy suggested. “Astrid had nothing to do with Mother Superior’s death, and neither did we.”

Pan rolled his eyes. “That watchdog will get us for everything else but murder. Breaking and entering, evading the police, knocking out a doctor and stealing an autopsy report—”

“Half of that is on you!” Wendy shouted at him.

“Technically you broke into the convent on your own, I just followed you in,” Pan winked.

“On your suggestion!” Wendy fought.

“This all started because you couldn’t mind your own damn business!”

“I was trying to help my friend! What have you done good lately!”

Before he could fire back, the door to the shed opened with a rusted scream.

“Astrid!”

The three gathered around the scared nun, using their bodies as barriers between her and the intruder.

“Astrid your safe!”

The three let out a strained breath of relief as Leroy’s stalky body bounded through the shed and took hold of Astrid’s freezing hands.

“It’s over, they know what happened to Mother Superior! You’re not a suspect any more!”

“What?” Pan exclaimed.

Leroy turned to him but his eyes stopped on Tink, his wide thankful grin vanishing at her tear-stained face.

“Oh Tink.”

“What is it Leroy,” Pan ordered.

Wendy watched in uncertainty as the man stumbled for words, for a way to spare Tink from the pain she didn’t deserve.

However, there were times when one needed to just be…blunt.

“Tink, they found a suicide note.”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Wendy rubbed her eyes, exhaustion sinking into her bones. She gasped when she looked at the overhead clock in Graham’s office: 8:30 p.m. This day seemed to be lasting forever.

Across the room Pan was still wiping dried blood from his bruised nose. Wendy wondered if he felt guilty at all, if he would show any change at all from the experience.

Then again, she wondered the same thing after the de Vil incident as well as the Jekyll one. He was still cold, and reckless, and illusive.

Through the glass window she could see Leroy and Astrid standing, looking utterly relieved. Tink was in the other office with Deputy Nolan giving her own statement.

Wendy couldn’t help but smile. They’d all been to hell and back, but it was all almost over. Astrid and Leroy could begin their lives anew, and Wendy could work on earning Tink’s trust back. She was indirectly responsible for her grief, and as much as she hated to admit it, Pan was right about her busy-bodiness. She shouldn’t have done any of this without Tink’s blessing.

However, Tink would have closure now, even if forgiveness was a long way off.

Graham finally walked them to the door, but Astrid looked over her shoulder, smiling brightly at Wendy. The young journalist could see years of stress melt off her face.

Thank you, she seemed to say.

“Good,” Wendy sighed, relaxing in her seat. “Good,”

Graham returned shortly and the two journalists were faced with a new mystery: how were they going to be punished for their various crimes.

“I should lock both of you up,” Graham said. “This has been a day from hell.”

“Glad we could add some excitement in your pointless life,” Pan smirked.

“Shut it!” Graham warned, and though Pan’s smirk didn’t fade he became blessedly quiet.

“Then…just what are you going to do to us?” Wendy inquired tentatively.

“Shut up rookie!” Pan hissed. “Never show fear, rule six!”

“You both shut up!”

Wendy and Pan both flinched when Sydney’s voice boomed through the police station.

Wendy herself felt a chill at the site of him, but not necessarily for the rage on his face. Glass had to use a cane due to the back injury he received during the showdown with Jekyll’s lackey. Just the thought of the battle made Wendy’s blood curdle.

“I leave you two to your own devices for a day and you almost become accessories in a murder!” he yelled at them.

“Please, we were barely witnesses—”

“I mean it, Pan!”

Pan stopped talking, but he popped his jaw as loudly as he could just to prove he wasn't going to be put down.

Glass sighed, leaning tiredly against Graham’s death.

“This was too close a call, and your actions caused a lot a problems.”

“That’s journalism, Glass,” Pan muttered.

“You’re both suspended.”

“What!” Pan roared.

“One week.”

“Like hell we are!” Pan jumped up.

In a flash Glass had the end of his cane just pressing into Pan’s windpipe. The younger man barely flinched, but he didn’t try to pick a fight.

“I’m warning you, leave, and shut the hell up,” Glass growled. “Or so help me I will make sure your writing Garden Club updates until the day you die.”

Wendy could see steam rising from Pan’s skin. He was ready to explode, and he would more than likely take half the block out with him.

“Go home, Pan,”

Pan glare turned to Wendy, piercing into her soul. Wendy resisted his heat. She’d accepted her part in this and would gladly accept her punishment. He couldn’t hurt her.

With a growl Pan slapped Glass’s cane away and stormed out of the office, the concrete of each step sounding as if it was breaking under his seething stomp.

The rest of the party flinched when Pan slammed the door downstairs.

“As for you kid,” Glass continued exhaustedly. “I’ll drive you home.”

Wendy nodded and followed him without protest, avoiding Graham’s downcast eyes.

The ride to her apartment was slow and quiet, the humming of the heat a dutiful distractor from the slight tension between the two journalists.

“For what it’s worth, kid,” Glass spoke. “What you did was pretty damn impressive, but this on top of everything else you and Pan have stirred up, it was either cut you down or let Graham cage you.”

“Duly noted,” Wendy sighed.

Another short bout of quiet followed until Glass began to shuffle around in his saddle back, worrying the woman with his slight swerving.

“Check it out,” he said as he handled her a wrinkled paper. “A rought draft of tomorrow’s paper.”

Wendy gulped at the large printed headline of Mother Superior’s story. She scanned through the story, the first-testimony coming from another nun at the convent who found the note under Mother Superior’s chair after the police left, followed by a statement from Sheriff Graham.

“How does an entire forensic team miss a suicide note?” Wendy pondered aloud.

Glass laughed. “I wondered the same thing. I also wondered how the hell Superior overdosed on meds that she took for years.”

Wendy paused. “That…is weird.”

She turned the page for the rest of the story and saw a strangely shot picture. She squinted a bit, and found it to be a letter.

Wendy gasped. “Is this…”

“Technically yeah,” Glass answered as he slowed at a stop sign. “But there is no way in hell I could actually publish it. Respect for the victim and all that. We replaced it with a photo of her.”

Wendy nodded absently and turned on the mirror light to better illuminate the page. The letter was sprawled out, obviously hastily written. Wendy pondered if her hurried letter was written out of fear. Fear of the future in her position? Or with the community? Maybe with Tink, if she cared about her at all.

Wendy couldn’t make out the writing after all, but she couldn’t look away from the letter.

There was something else. She could feel it in her bones. Buzzing and begging to nestle deeper.

Until it finds blood.

She squinted at the letter and while the words were unclear, the penmanship was admirable with it’s curvy cursive. It reminded her of her father’s. It took years of practice to create such longhand, and usually by people who’s livelihood depended on how well they could right. Bankers, like her father, secretariws, lawyers…

Wendy’s blood went cold.

“Kid?”

It found the blood.

Wendy grabbed her bag and dumped its contents in her lap, searching hastily for the one scrap of evidence that would tie this nightmare together.

And she did.

Wrinkled under a slew of pens was Mr. Gold’s cell number on his business card.

The l’s on the card and in the letter were the same.

“Kid are you listening?”

Wendy clutched the card in her hand and opened the door, causing Glass to come to a screeching halt.

“The hell! Wendy?” he barely dodged her seatbelt hitting him in the face as she sprinted from the car.

“Wendy? Wendy!”

Wendy blocked him out, blocked anything out that would prevent her from getting to Mr. Gold in time.

It was ironic really.

The only time she ran in a panic was to evade a foe, yet for once she wasn’t running from a monster.

She was running to one.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

It was well past closing by the time she reached Gold’s shop, yet the lights were still on and the man himself was behind his desk, seeming to fill out paperwork.

Or more suicide letters. Wendy thought bitterly.

The door was locked, and Gold looked up when he heard someone jimmying the lock.

Through the glass she could see his lip tug in a half smile, and she resisted throwing the nearest rock through the door.

“A bit late, isn’t it Miss Darling?” he greeted when he let her in.

“You did this,” Wendy seethed when he closed the door.

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific,” he countered as he limped back to his desk.

Wendy rushed after him and threw his business card on the glass.

“You wrote Mother Superior’s suicide letter,” Wendy gasped. “It’s your handwriting!”

Gold simply stared at her, brilliantly masking any fear or being caught or surprise that Wendy had put the pieces together so soon.

“That is a very serous accusation, Miss Darling,”

“But not untrue,” Wendy calculated. “Do not lie to me, Gold. We’ve been completely honest with each other up to this point.”

Gold nodded in agreement. “Indeed we have,”

“So its true then?” Wendy gulped. “You wrote her letter?”

Gold simply stared at her, and Wendy could almost think it was Pan.

And as Pan he would do, Gold tilted his head and chuckled, low and humorous. Dark.

“Why?” Wendy breathed. “Why would you do something so…heinous?”

Gold shook his head, his smirk becoming more of a tired grin.

“A variety of reasons really. Not that her dark little secret was out, I no long had the leverage I needed to keep her in my corner. She was disposable.”

“She was human!” Wendy yelled.

“She,” Gold seethed, “was a vile woman who used fear to manipulate people to do her bidding.”

“Like you?” Wendy scoffed.

“I always give the people I deal with something in return.”

Wendy shook her head. She couldn’t believe this. This was a nightmare. When was she going to wake up?

“Did you kill her?” Wendy inquired.

Gold actually scoffed, as if being accused of murder was below him.

“I simply put everything into place. She handled the dirty bits.”

“But the letter…”

“Was the only way you and Sister Astrid would ever be clear.” He concluded, his tone dropping more seriously. “If her death remained labeled an accident, the eyes of the town would have stayed on you forever. They’d never trust you, never accept you because suspicion wins out every time.”

“No,” Wendy shook her head.

“And then of course there was Sister Astrid’s unintentional role in all of this,” Mr. Gold said in a low, almost sarcastic tone. “She would have been arrested, being the last person in her office and all,”

“We would have helped her!”

“And ruin yourself in the process,” Gold pointed out. “This is what is best for everyone, dearie. You’re all free now. Why not fly and leave the matter be?”

“Because it’s still wrong!” Wendy gasped. “You meddled with evidence and put a horrible light on her death. That is how she’s going to be remembered.”

“As she should be,” Gold growled. “That woman was no saint, and now she can receive the reputation she finally deserves.”

“No…” Wendy gasped. This was wrong. So wrong.

Gold sighed. “You’re a smart woman, Miss Darling. I no doubt you’ll see the benefit in this soon enough.”

Wendy glared at him, holding back tears.

“But you’re also a kind one,” Gold added, picking up his business phone and placing it in front of Wendy. “You have a good heart. I saw that yesterday with Miss la Bell,” he paused for a moment. “And with Belle.”

Wendy gulped.

“If you truly believe that revealing my folly is the right thing to do, then go ahead,” he tapped on the phone. “Expose me.”

Wendy’s fingers flinched, itching to take the phone, call Sheriff Graham, and end this whole thing.

“But I know you won’t do it.”

Wendy’s hand shot back.

“And just why do you think that?”

That eerie smirk returned.

“Because deep down you know I’m right. That Pan is right.”

“Stop.”

“And I think he’s in your bones now,” he nodded convinced. “And I think you do too.”

“Why the hell would you say that!”

Gold tapped on the phone again. “Because you’re not picking up the phone.”

Wendy took in a shaky breath, willing her hand to rise.

You’re just as filthy and selfish as he is.

“That’s not true.”

You're setting yourself up for a world of trouble if you stay here.

“No I’m not.”

This town, that…maniac you call a boyfriend, they're going to ruin you.

“I’m not like him.” She reached for the phone but couldn’t will the nerves in her body to pick it up.

I just want to be free.

She was no saint.

And next time

No one's going to run back here to save you

Wendy released the phone and got out of Gold’s shop as fast as she could, just missing the satisfied look on his face.

“Fly, fly, little bird.”

Her lungs were on fire by the time she reached her apartment, her vision blurring. By shear instinct she was able to find her own apartment.

She didn’t feel safe until her door was closed and locked. Until she was past her bedroom. Until she was in the deep polished tub where she could blame the sickening noises that left her throat on the aging pipes.

#darling pan #darling pan fic #wendy darling #peter pan #Tinkerbell #astrid/nova #grumpy #ouat #ouat fic #ryik's fics

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gamesoffate · 7 years ago

Text

The Darker Grey: Arc1 Ses8

[Watch P1 Here] [Watch P2 Here] [Watch P3 Here]

Mission/Session Eight

Oh look, it’s my fucking turn again to spin the tale of our daily life in the big bad Greyhounds. Such a fucking waste of time but whatever…HERE WE GO YOU DICKBAGS!

Alright, since we are going by chronological order, I wasn’t exactly there for this situation. Our good moron Percy explaining what wonderful thing he got himself into. Apparently while we were out dealing with Mike, our dearly departed dip shit of a leader that now lies riddled with bullets…Good riddance.

But yeah back to the thing that happened. Percy wakes up chained to some bed in some normal ass looking room. Sure that’s nothing new for him but yeah. The young library wench that we took the money from places a curse on him that he can’t steal anymore, throwing sawdust all over him and shit. Magic is fucking weird and stupid but yeah. She says he will be cursed until he pays her back completely. Her motive other than that was that she found out we blinded that old bag Mag who ran that mystic shop. Old bitch would have died soon anyway, what’s wrong with being blind for the rest of her short years? People are soo fucking whiny. So yeah only the library bitch is the only one that can take the curse off.

Percy, of course agrees to do this, not known for manning up to anything. Apparently she claps and his dumb ass wakes up in front of the QBF covered in dew and shit.

So this is when the rest of this group including the awesome mother fucker writing this piece of shit report is sitting in the usual spot. There’s a crying woman, Itniss’ gf or whatever but nobody bothers to ask what is up. Like we would give a shit anyway. Itniss is comforting her though. How cute. I’m not rolling my eyes.

Sincere, that little wimpy shit comes up to us and with his usual little weak ass self. He asks Hazel who I just ragged about losing her eye that Rolan, his dead friend was supposed to be in some tournament and asks her to take his position in the fight because she’s strong and since his dead bf died, he would have to fight and we all know that wouldn’t end well. Useless twat. She says ‘we’ll see’. Apparently the tournament is this afternoon so she doesn’t have much time to decide.

Percy then asks the million dollar question about her missing eye then she redirects it to me. I’m not going to tell some absent doucher what happened so I withheld the info. Percy has no idea where he went apparently and neither do we. I just assumed he ran away like a little bitch as always.

Percy then explains the events that happened, already explained above. I aint writing it again, for the love of fuck. So the genius I am says we should just force them to take off the curse. My gun is good for this sort of thing. I remember her being a little mouse so shouldn’t be a problem. Percy says they need the money and I we agree as long as we get it back. We can always kill the bitch and take it. No big deal.

I’m feeling proud still having come from the successful night of killing that useless prick Mike so I had to brag cause hell yeah! Fuck that guy!

Then the front door blasts open and Boss lady comes stomping in with her samurai wannabe ass partner (one of those ooh so amazing Alpha’s). They are arguing about some stupid shit and rules and yada yada I don’t know what the fuck they are on about. They push past my druggie I brought on board and Toshiro uses his token ‘bitch tits’ line. Articulate. They go upstairs, talking about compromise. Idfk.

Yunam is just about to leave when Rajeet comes up to our table or as I like to call him, boss number three. He stops Yunam and nudges his head back to the table. Boss 3 tries to give us a mission but we talk about sorting the curse out first. He calls it a personal problem and gives us some mission about getting in the good graces of the Mayor of the mines, his royal sootness! Apparently now we can’t be found responsible for killing any officials or some shit. I was losing interest. Details, details.

Our mission for the night is to go to some scrap metal factory that turns shit to weapons, located out in the boonies. We are simply to fuck the place up so it doesn’t work anymore. Simple shit, nothing more. I ask questions and he gets bitchy, bringing up my dead father that I shot through the fucking chest with a shot gun. Wouldn’t mind doing the same to this Boss 3. Stupid prick.

We go to get Yunam to help with the whole curse shit. We got upstairs, me and Percy. Little boy is napping…of course. We hear noises from a room, rage induced voices. Hopefully not Boss 1 and 2 having angry sex or some shit. We get closer and hear them arguing that this is a partnership even as Anakah is becoming true alpha, Grey dog.

Anakah is sticking up for our group saying we are worthy of being Beta’s but Toshiro disagrees the dumb ass hat. Toshiro goes on about it taking others years to become Beta’s and we have only been there for a few days. Anakah sticks by her decision but then Toshiro says it’s just cause she likes us. Then it’s a pissing contest between them about being jealous and shit.

Percy finally knocks and Toshiro answers and grunts like a caveman with less brains. I of course greet him with ‘What’s up bitch?’ We ask to speak to Anakah, the he slams the door and she opens it again. Percy asks for the money needed for the lifting of the curse. She says as long as we will return it. Like we would let them keep it. I ask for my spear, the one she said she would have given back to me. So get this, she fucking tells me to ask Boss 3. FUCKING REALLY?! Go fucking figure! She’s way too busy dealing with the bloodhounds and shit to keep her word to me.

Apparently while we were coming back down, Sincere bugs Hazel again about the tournament. She agrees for half the prize after she finishes her drink. Guess she can only see half the situation. Whatever.

I ask about one eye going with us to take the curse off Percy. She says nah, probably still upset about losing the eye. Boo fucking hoo! No need for her anyway. Then I go up to Boss 3 Rajeetbag. Apparently the stupid fuck sold it. I’m this close to pistol whipping his stupid fucking face but yeah can’t do that! How un grey houndly! He asks Sincere about the spear. Sincere is scared of boss 3 apparently. They agree to go to the marketplace after the tournament. I demand the little wimp Sincere to get it back and he starts fucking crying. As much as I love being feared, this is fucking pathetic.

We come to an agreement and Rajeet gives me the money to get the spear back. They go to the tournament while we go to the library. We arrive at the library and I stand outside while Percy goes in to deal with this cause me showing up would not make it easy. Plus I don’t give a shit. I’m to listen out and make sure Percy doesn’t get dragged out. The usual.

Percy goes and talks to Petunia and tries to get the curse off, they try it once and Percy attempts to steal and fails miserable, looking much like the fool he is. He goes back and she wants to try again but apparently he’s sick of it and tries to use blue spirit magic to take it and fails. What a loser.

By this point I go around the back and climb this chimney closed off for their renovation, though it’s rough to climb I make it to the window cause I’m Nazeem and look in to see this shit going on.

At this point he has failed the blue spirit thing and she screams while throwing books. The other library bitch comes up and asks what’s going on. Percy notices me and just as a book hits his stupid fucking face, he says I’m the one who stole the money and I jump in to end this stupid bullshit, pulling my trusty gun out. I demand they both get to the back and to take the stupid curse off. If she fails I will kill her.

Apparently it works, dumbass testing his returning stealing skills on me, taking my compass without me knowing. We demand the money back, threateningly, the only way to handle anything. Percy takes the book. I scare the shit out of them and they give me the key to the money and we get it back. Mission success. I threaten them again along with their families for good measure so they don’t try some shit like this again.

With that finished, we return to the QBF and give the money back then head to the tournament which is held in some stable. People are fighting in this make shift ring, the usual lumbering, big moron type. There is some fancy person in a purple dress with blonde hair. She looks important.

But yeah two guys are fighting, one very fat and the other muscular when Percy and I show up right when the fat ass of the two knees the other so hard there is some loud ass crunch. The muscular dude goes down. A little boy takes ten fucking minutes to pull the muscular dude away.

Hazel is told to take to the ring. Rules are simple enough, don’t step out of the circle. Hazel has to fight fat ass now. Reward is money and some nice gloves.

I decide to threaten Sincere, saying if Hazel loses imma kill him with my arm around him. I keep it there. He trembles but then stiffens saying he believes in Hazel. Uhuh. We shall see.

The two in the ring circle one another, not doing a damn fucking thing. I thought this was supposed to be a damn fight! Hazel finally provokes the big fucker and he charges at her but she ducks out of the way with ease and he slides out of the circle and bonks his stupid head in the wall. And it’s over. I want my money back. This wasn’t a fight at all. How anticlimactic. I tell Sincere he gets to live another day as pointless that is for him.

The little boy lifts her arm and says she wins and calls her fury. Cyclops would have been a better fighter name. Libby, the purple lady not lady brings Hazel the trophy and gloves.

Sincere holds onto the trophy and money with a stupid smile on his face like he did it himself. This fucking idiot is a greyhound.

Next up is to get my fucking spear back. Hazel asks Sincere about half her cut when we are leaving. I help her out by making Sincere give her more than half, the more he was trying to keep for himself. Kids these days. Sincere cries per the norm and I tell him to shut the fuck up. Parenting 101.

We leave and arrive at some outside market. Looks like a run down cheap ass place. My spear better be fucking here. I go ask the weapon tent owner about the spear and once again I’m told it’s not where it should be, that she sold it to Libby, purple person.

Yunam apparently bought some gloves and sold his stolen tomatoes for money. Percy goes and buys a fucking crab at a fish stand. A fucking crab named Fred apparently! Seriously, this is fucking stupid. Hazel buys greaves too before we all leave.

We make it back to the stable/fight club. Nobody seems to be there. Percy goes into another area and finds Libby and we ask about the spear. At first we can’t find it in the storage room and then Hazel in her old cop ways even with one eye missing notices footsteps leading from the storage room. I’m soo fucking livid at this point considering we STILL HAVEN’T FOUND THE FUCKING SPEAR! I fucking hate this fucking cat and mouse BULLSHIT!

Hazel follows the footprints and they find two guys hiding behind one of the horses. They see us and one says he can explain everything. Then he tries to run and Hazel clotheslines him and Percy captures him. Other guy hiding asks if they want the spear. Of fucking course I do! For fuck sakes this is such a pain. Everyone is such a fucking moron!

He asks them to let them go. I scare him into giving the spear over which he does willingly all the while nearly pissing his pants no doubt along with his money. I ask for the other guys money too and get it. They ask if we are going to arrest us cause they know Hazel was a cop or some shit. Then we find out they were the ones in the bank robbing it on the same day as us for the spear. Funny how life works out huh?

Hazel then lets them go, giving them a lesson not to steal again or they have to deal with her. Before they go however, we ask who they were getting the spear for and why. They proclaim themselves the STICKY PAWS and we let them go…seriously what a stupid fucking name.

They are about to leave with the spear when Libby asks for her money back cause she bought the spear back fair and square. We come to an agreement that Sincere give her back the trophy and it’s square. He gives a sob story about how his friend Rolan was the fighter and his best friend, beating all the big guys and wants the trophy to remember him by. Must have been his bf or some shit. I wasn’t falling for it, just seemed like utter horse shit to me. Memories are there to remember someone by, no need for a trophy.

Sincere tries to say he will pay Libby back some other way cause he’s a Greyhound. Libby does not fall for it and asks for the trophy and after standing there crying SOME MORE, he hands it off to her.

Libby tells Hazel that she is welcome to come back and fight cause she has talent unlike Sincerely gets his ass kicked. Yeah of course. I bet if he was on the other side of her, Hazel wouldn’t have won that fight.

I tell Sincere not to worry we will get him another trophy then walk away laughing maniacally. I’m quite proud of that one. Sincere then says what happened to Yunam. Of course he’s not here anymore. He hopes the boy doesn’t get attacked by the sweepers again-the mask freaks. He says they attack a certain type of people. But Yunam is a kid and that’s all we know about him so who the fuck knows why they attacked him.

Hazel finds Yunam’s footprints where he had sneaked away from us probably for some inane reason. We follow Cyclops. Percy uses the line I used on Libby when she found me trying to steal the trophy back in just a dead pan voice. After getting the spear back I was in a good enough mood to accept his stupid ass compliment.

We follow Hazel who follows the footprints back to the QBF…SHOCKER! Yunam is apparently napping and only woken by Toshiro who tells him its time for his writing lesson.

Percy gives his crab friend, Fred to Crazy Cooke and he loses his shit and goes to prepare it. Hazel goes to check on Yunam and I get bothered by my druggie that I got to join about drugs. I ask for money and he just goes on about drugs. Literally….this goes on for too long….

I’m fucking tired of writing this bullshit so imma stop here. I’ll leave whoever’s next to write the rest of this crap. I hope you find this report useful! Hah, just kidding! I don’t give a flying fuck! Have an awful day!

#Victubia #Victubia OC #Roll20 #DND #Fate Core

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