#since the power balance seems to be. at least a bit different there than elsewhere if not equal. mortalitasi gonna mortalitasi

[vaguely-concerned]

cassandra is so hot that I genuinely get a bit dizzy and wild whenever I let myself really think about it for too long. she's so beautiful and so wonderfully earnest and incapable of pretending to be anything but who she is and so True and Honourable in her private life that my horny brain asserts dominance and completely overwrites everything else that could get in the way. baby you are perfect I will fight for you I will read and write you poetry our love will even find a way around the fact that you're a barely moderate conservative and I'm the thedas equivalent of flirting with being a dirty commie

[sword-and-lance]

((Okay fuck it BG3!Nemesis and BG3!Dae posting time

just various background bits for now because I'm rather sure I'm probably gonna wind up writing fics for this l o l))

===

NEMESIS:

—Black Dragonborn Druid (that also has a startling amount of red on them), with an alligator-esque tail like most of their ex-clan has

—Goes by she/they, and yes Nemesis is a name she chose for herself, no she will not tell you what her ~*actual*~ name was, that name's dead as far as she's concerned

—7 feet ish tall and built like a fuckin truck

—Has a fairly deep voice and is also capable of making a noise somewhere between an alligator bellow and a roar that she will happily use for intimidation purposes a la a Barbarian

—Adopted siblings with Daeyona the Dark Urge but isn’t aware of the DUrge thing, only that Dae “seems to have anger issues” much like their own just cranked up to 11

—When Dae was suspected of a murder they were stubbornly insistent that she didn’t do it but no one believed them and so when Dae got booted out of that Dragonborn clan, they went with her

—Only for her to just disappear shortly after and leaving them alone, and they’re not as bitter about that as one might think; they know that Dae just thought she was protecting them by taking herself off elsewhere

—Still hurt though

—That’s when they got picked up by a local circle and asked if they wanted to Druid and they went SURE SOUNDS GOOD 

—Specifically is a Circle of the Moon Druid; she just likes turning herself into critters and has a serious knack for it

—Their grove is the Grove of Dead Gods, which is precisely what it says on the tin: it’s where a number of gods and a whole bunch of other spirits have gone to die over the years

—It’s a big fuckoff swamp wood because of that and she’s the only Druid in the grove actually because she’s the only local one that actually likes it

—They have a teacher who’s the leader of the local Circle, a male Drow Druid (an ex-Lolth worshipper) who only calls himself “Lahyra”, but he’s fairly hands-off at this point and generally trusts that they’ll do the right thing

—Whether or not he’s right about that is semi-debatable

—They’re very pragmatic to a fault and instead of getting unnerved or spooked by the sheer amount of creepy spiritual shit going on around them at all times, they’re mostly just exasperated about it, let them do their job of keeping the balance of nature please or they WILL bop Los Espookies over the head with a fencepost until they all knock it off

—Absolutely the type to unironically say DECAY IS AN EXTANT PART OF LIFE

—In fact she’ll outright start a screed about that exact thing because she gets annoyed that non-Druids forget that life is a fucking messy-ass circle not a straight uncomplicated line whose end is always a terrible thing period

—That said it’s not like she’s gonna demand people just submit to suffering/dying or suffering and death being “always good” or weird cult-y shit like that, she’s not a monster she’s just trying to keep the overall circle of life going, and also a lot of people take being freaked out over even possibly suffering/dying way too far and start making abominations about it and it’s a pain in her ass

—There are LAYERS to this mindset and they’ll freely acknowledge that it’s complicated and that they’re no less prone to being a hypocrite than anyone else

—They’re just at least aware of that so they can think about it and refine their philosophy more

—And they have a lot of time to do so since they’re basically living alone in a huge hollow tree with only the occasional bird for company

—And a wood dryad who is technically from a tree in a different Grove but who finds them fascinating to talk to/be around

—There’s also Grand Nona Sycamore who used to be a hag and then got turned into a dryad of the biggest oldest tree in the Grove of Dead Gods, after the prior dryad died, but even if she’s much less people-eater than most hags after that, she’s still very powerful and ancient and tricky like the Fae and while Nemesis is happy to occasionally do her little innocuous favors (namely giving her the bones of their kills and helping her with her hair) and show her a good deal of freely-given respect, they’re honestly a bit unnerved by her and Nemesis has better sense than to make deals with her

—Usually

—There was a Shadow Druid infiltration once when they were younger and Nemesis had to make a deal to get rid of ‘em since they were grossly over her general skill level at the time and they wanted to try and be clever about it and do it on her own

—They still consider it lucky that they only lost all their teeth for a while for it; Dragonborn teeth grow back, a lot of other shit that the Sycamore could’ve demanded does not

—In fact Grand Nona was so damn happy with that many widely-varied new skulls for her collection and all the teeth that she gave Nemesis a talisman to help them get even more creative with their shapeshifting

—It’s in the shape of a red dragon skull, albeit at a very shrunken scale, hanging on a leather necklace strap, and Nemesis very literally can’t lose it

—It’ll just. Reappear on their person after a couple hours of delay

—Nemesis’ fave form is actually one she temporarily loses post-tadpole-ing and only picks up again while facing Nere in Grymforge: a dragonish and very spiky thing with greyhound proportions, and a pair of large finned “sails” on its back

—If you’re imagining a Flight Rising Sandsurge dragon: yeah basically that just with horns more like Nemesis’ own

(—Basically is a reskin of the Owlbear mechanics-wise, may not look like a tank but acts like it)

—Got picked up and tadpole’d out of fucking nowhere one day, which reset a lot of her spell-learning and transformations unfortunately

—But it didn’t reset her memory for plants and shit and so she’s definitely the designated I HAVE A TEA/POTION FOR THAT guy out of the lot of them

—Definitely SOMEHOW the most well-adjusted out of anyone in this fucking game and she both leans into that fact and also is immensely wigged out by it

—The incarnation of Eldest Sibling Behavior (TM) to everyone but especially towards Astarion lmao

—Would 100% bite someone and has the jaw strength to back it up

—In fact one of their fave games they used to play with Dae as kids was "jaw sparring" which is exactly what it sounds like

==

DAEYONA (AKA "KHANNJAEGA"):

—Red Dragonborn Warlock, with an alligator-esque tail like most of her ex-clan has (her form took a lot of developmental cues from those around her you see)

—6 and a half feet tall, built more lithe than bulky like her (adoptive) sibling

—Has a rather low but more distinctly feminine voice than her sibling does; Daeyona was the name given to her by her clan (and is what she uses after her memory loss), but she started going by "Khannjaega" or "the Laughing Hunter" as the Dark Urge

—Dark Urge, so therefore made by Bhaal and chucked out into the world to go Murderbhaalin' Murderballin’

—Her egg just happened to land in Nemesis’ clan’s territory and she and Nemesis were incubated and hatched together and put in the care of the same lady

—Said lady was unfortunately an ass who had little patience for either of their “temper tantrums”, and while Nemesis managed to learn to keep hers under control, Dae uh

—Much less so because Lol Bhaalspawn

—In fact she did wind up offing another Dragonborn as a teenager for picking on her too hard and then got kicked out for it, even though the lot of them never were able to prove that she did it

—That Nemesis actually so stubbornly stuck up for her and believed her better than to do that, even when she wasn’t, haunted her so fiercely that she ran away instead of staying

—Like yes she WAS bitter at her clan’s indolence in stopping their “mother” from being awful while being so quick to ban people for technically unprovable murder, but Nemesis’ unrelenting belief in her is what drove her to running

—Then Bhaal-Sceleritas showed up all HEY BHAALKIDDO <3 and convinced her that it’s alright, she was destined for something greater than that anyway, would she like to see it

—And given she had little else in her life now other than him and her own violence she just went I Would Like To See It

—And that’s how she wound up in Baldur’s Gate in the Bhaal temple where she was hailed as the second coming of Evil Jesus and that went RIGHT to her head

—Here was a “family” that actually cared about her! That honored her talents, nasty as they were, and encouraged them! Whose authorities actually wanted her when she had never been wanted before! 

—Never mind that it was basically for their own selfish ends, she had just gotten so used to that that it flew right over her head

—So ofc she goes right for being Bhaal’s Chosen and he’s perfectly happy to give it to her and turn her loose on everyone

—Which she does! With aplomb! Very murdery aplomb

—It’s basically a case of boiling the frog where it just steadily devolves from “simple” murder to nasty murders to torturing people 

—That said she never hits the depths that Orin did on that last one—that level of torture was mostly reserved for people who had very pissed her off and/or tried to harm her, otherwise you’d “just” lose a couple fingers or something reasonably quick for displeasing her

—Not that she ever stopped other Bhaal cultists and Orin from doing crazy extended torture shit for giggles though. She just called it gauche and refused to participate

—Look she’s the avatar of murder not the avatar of torture that’s more Loviataar’s or Bane’s shtick than hers

—SPEAKING OF, Gortash is actually rather fascinated by her (as in typical DUrge canon fashion lmao) and keeps trying to figure out what makes his murderbuddy tick, but while she can appreciate his dedication to his god’s art and his subtlety in getting what he wants (in fact she learns quite a bit of underhanded slyness from him), she stays fairly withdrawn and keeps to herself

—She’s increasingly coming to realize that it all feels kinda. Empty. Yes she has what she thought she wanted but it feels like she has to constantly constantly perform “correctly” Or Else (Orin was very very keen on demonstrating that out of sheer jealousy that Dae got what Orin thought she deserved instead, and Orin had a growing number of supporters)

—She still has everyone else’s expectations weighing her down they’re just. Same shit different bowl, everyone just wants something from her and never just…her

—And yeah she is still thinking about Nemesis’ stubborn fucking trust in her and knowing that Nemesis wouldn’t like any of this and is very torn by it

—She doesn’t like feeling this! She even agrees to the crazy-ass Netherbrain plan of Bhaal’s with the thought that it might make her not just want to die because if constant exhausting levels of performance and never being allowed her own identity is all that’s expected of her from everyone else (except Nemesis who would definitely hate her for what she’s done) then what’s the point of it all

—And it uh. Doesn’t work.

—Yes she’d love to have the rest of the world burn but she knows on some level that it wouldn’t satisfy her and would just be letting herself be puppeted around yet again and her inherent pride was starting to resent that a fair bit

—Cue a Mephistopheles devil named Runya stealing an opportunity from under Raphael’s nose and showing up to her (in full winged rothe-headed form and everything) and messing with her head 

—Doesn’t she want something different, doesn’t she want to be free of everyone else imposing their idea of what she should be on her

—Doesn’t she want to not feel like death is the only answer anymore for what’s left for her

—Doesn’t she deserve a future that's hers, not something dictated to her by someone else

—And eventually she actually agrees to make a deal, and when Runya goes to seal it, it literally etched itself into her bones in ittybitty print

—It was Painful and Runya only made it worse when he whacked her in the skull with the business end of an ice pick and knocked her out

—And knocked enough of a chunk of skull out for Orin to stuff a tadpole in and scramble her brains and etc etc to get her on the Nautiloid

—Far as he’s concerned he only promised to give her an opportunity to be free and the exact manner of it wasn’t specified; he has just barely enough foresight (like, the literal seeing-the-future kind) to know that this is the closest way to wrecking the Dead Three’s plans somehow and he wants to wreck those plans

—If the Dead Three had their way there’d be no more new souls to bargain with! Which would be bad! And Runya wanted to impress his own boss too with his cleverness, soooooo

—And he got great headway on it already by taking an annoying escapee of a Great Old One spirit off of said boss’ hands

—And stuffing it into her eyeball as part of the deal, which turned it that bright orange color and also turned her into a Warlock

—It’s a weird interdimensional eel spirit that feeds off of feelings and also made a deal with Runya that it would get to escape Hell’s back shelf (where it was otherwise just collecting dust), but that any souls that Dae killed would pass by her and instead get funneled back to him and into soul coins

—Not that Dae’s entirely aware of it or the deal itself, fucking Orin man

—In fact her memories extend up to the point of running away from Nemesis before they turn into a total blank (IE: she lost knowledge of the entire Ur A Bhaalspawn Lol thing)

—Not that it made the murder-urges any less but she at least tries to keep a lid on them

—Desperately trying to be hinged. Clinging to those hinges by her fingernails. DESPITE EVERYTHING.

—Falling for Astarion of all people didn't help that but she tries

—Now is very fond of shotgunning Eldritch Blast and likes her Warlock spellcasting but is incredibly fast with knives and maces and sufficiently short swords courtesy of the part of her life she doesn’t remember

—…Yet

[igotanidea]

COUNTERPARTS : Morpheus x OC

Summary: Kayleen was born to be the embodiment of Reality. Protector of the Waking World and Keeper of the Order. Naturally, that makes her a counterpart of the Dream of The Endless. Despite their differences in both approach to life and characters they are forced to work together to keep balance between Dreaming and Waking. Thank God, they are both professionals who DO NOT fight or engage emotionally….. Or do they?

Pairing: Morpheus x OC 

A/N: You can find Kayleen’s origin in the prologue, but I’d like to explicitly say that she is human (and so, has human needs), but also immortal, considering the role she was given.

prev/ next

 Chapter 1

Sometimes reality sucks.

From my observations there are four groups of people in this world, and though it may seem a little bit far-fetched they can be divided if you try hard enough.

First group is the one who are completely out of touch with reality. The ones who are sad, or even depressed, suicidal, emotionally deranged. They don’t have a care in the world. Long story short, walking zombies.

Secondly, the bunch of people who get up, get on with their day, fulfilling it with duties, task and obligations only to wish to get through till weekend to unwind a bit. I call them The Hamsters because they keep spinning their wheel but basically every day is the same for them.  

Thirdly, people who are perfectly content with what they have. Their reality is everything they need and more. Those are the ones who either worked hard to make their dreams come true and now derive from it or the ones who don’t have bigger ambitions and just take what they’re given. Either way, those are the happiest.

Finally, the last group. The Day-Dreamers. I’m not supposed to say that but I think those are my favorites. If you are the kind of person who search deeper than just what you see on the first glance, if you want something more from reality, if you dare to ask questions and search for the answers you will fit right in. Why settle, right? Think bigger. It’s good. Well, at least as long as you don’t let those dreams consume you, because most likely you will end up in group one.

Anyhow. Since my birth I was assigned a task to keep all of those people safe. To make sure that they are not in danger, that none of the Endless won’t interfere too much. Obviously, it was hard to keep Destiny at bay – he’s a self-made man and to be honest, a bit terrifying at times. Death has her own ways, but she never abuses her power. Destruction left some time ago so this one’s of the list. Desire can’t be controlled by anyone, always meddling with everyone’s affair. This one is a troublemaker for sure and have caused me a lot of trouble. So is its twin – Despair, but I don’t have to do with her that much, she prefers being lonely. Delight, ever since she became Delirium, was cut off, so the only one left is … Dream.

The Endless call us the counterparts. Hell, ever people believe that we are. You know what I mean? Dream and Reality. A very, very, very thin wall between those two realms. So easy to break. Thankfully, Dream is compliant with the established rules (DO NOT CROSS), so he’s not that problematic. However, there are times when we need to cooperate. Like one time when there was a lucid dreamer. Or that time when someone literally forgot to live because of some crazy fantasies Dream planted in his head. …

Flashback

-          Watch out, mister! – I grabbed the man’s hand in the last moment to save him from the rushing car. – You might wanna be more careful

-          Thank you, miss. I don’t know what I was thinking. Guess my head is elsewhere.

-          Yes. I suppose it is -  I carefully looked straight into his eyes. – Tell me what’s on your mind.

-          I imagine myself somewhere far away from this place. From my work, my wife who doesn’t love me, my ungrateful son and friends who would stab me in the back with the first opportunity they get. Do you ever get that feeling?

-          Like what?

-          Like you want to get away?

-          Well, I …..

-          I’ve always dreamt of travelling exotic places, exploring, living an exciting life, maybe sharing it with other people. I mean, social media gives us so many opportunities now, don’t they? I could become rich and famous and…. – he got more excited with every said word, squeezing my hand harder and harder to the point where it started to hurt.

-          Sir. I need you to open your eyes now. – I say firmly, my voice resonating – You are on the Street of London. You are a journalist. You have a stable job in which you use your talents. And you actually love it. Your wife is going through a crisis, she believes you don’t need her anymore and that’s why she became distant. As for your son – he’s not ungrateful. He’s hurt because you shoved him off last time he needed your help. That’s what’s real. Nothing is stopping you from fixing it, since you know it now. Now. You are going to become steady and wide-awake. We can’t risk you getting hurt, can we?

-          Yes. Yes, of course miss. You’re absolutely right. Thank you again and have a good day – with that he left, but just to be sure he won’t get into any more trouble I send some protective energy towards his, almost seeing the bubble surrounding him as he went.

-          Time to pay a little visit in the Dreaming – I said to myself.

As I came back home I stood in front of the simple blue door with no doorknob.

-          Take me to the Dreaming – I whispered.

Soon enough I found myself standing on the sand in front of the enormous gate – entrance to the Dreaming. I felt my skin tingle. Crossing the borders of Realms was always a bit exhausting, leaving me lightheaded, but I would lie if I said that I didn’t like it. Whether we choose it or not, Dream and Reality are two sides of the same coin. Obviously it doesn’t; mean anything in our relationship, which is strictly professional. He’s the kind of person who would rather go through hell than show any sign of liking.

-          I require an audience with the Lord of the Dreaming. Dream of The Endless. The King of Nightmares.  – Or whatever title he uses, I thought, but for obvious reason didn’t say that out loud.

With a gentle creak the gates started to open and the Dreaming in its full glory showed up. No matter how hard I tried this place always took my breath away. It has everything that reality was so often missing. At least the Dream section. I assure you, none of you would be as delighted with the Nightmare part of the Kingdom.

-          Greetings. Lady Kayleen. – gate guard, the griffin spoke.

-          Greetings Greyclaw. I’m no Lady, which I have to remind you every time. Still, wonderful to see you as always. I need to speak with your master on the rather urgent matter. Hope he’s on premises.

-          Indeed. Kayleen. I shall take to you to the palace. Yet, I must warn you, His Majesty is in a rather gloomy mood, I dare say so.

-          When isn’t he? – I sighed and followed Greyclaw through the Fiddler’s Green. As we walked some familiar Dreams came to say their hello. It was always exhilarating to let my mind fly with them. Something I was not allowed to do in the Waking. I’m not going to lie – having to be watchful and keep my feet on the ground was hard. Sometimes. Leaving me weary. It was nice to relax every now and then.

-          I shall leave you here, Kayleen. His Majesty expect you.

-          Thank you Greyclaw.

I quickly ascend the steps to the castle, greeted by Merv, the Pumpkin Head, who made a joke about how I look so unreal since it was long since my last visit. I knew it was impolite to keep the Ruler waiting but I couldn’t restrain myself from  a little visit in the Library, where my friend Lucienne was working. Just a quick glance, I promised myself.

-          Lucienne?

-          Kayleen?

-          It’s so wonderful to see you, Librarian.

-          Likewise, my dear. What brings you to the Dreaming. No trouble I hope.

-          I wouldn’t say trouble but I believe Dream and I should have a talk about some recent event in the Waking. Those may be of his concern as well as mine. – I sighed – Any new book appearing lately?

-          A few. You would love them.

-          If you say so. I will surely have a look at them later on, but now….

-          You must follow to the more important matters.

-          Indeed.

-          I’ll have Jessamy announce you.

-          That won’t be necessary. He already knows.

It seems like my words meant nothing though, because as I approached the Throne Room a Raven flew right in front of me, and made some circles in the air before finally landing on the arm of a dark-clothed man. He was standing on the steps, not even facing me, his long black coat cascading in the steps.

-          Lord of the Dreams – I spoke firmly – I believe this meeting is long overdue.

-          Indeed it is, Reality. – he still did not turn toward me, his eyes locked on the stained glass in front of him

-          It would be nice to actually have a face to face conversation, though.

Finally, slowly (I bet it was just for the effect) he shifted towards me. His eyes locked on mine as he spoke with his deep voice.

-          Welcome, Kayleen. – almost invisible sign of smile on his lips.  

-          Hello, Morpheus.

-          Been a while.

-          Quite a while.

This was clearly getting quite uncomfortable for both of us. I should get to my point before it gets worse than that.

-          I need you to take control of your Kingdom, Dream. Apparently, some of your subjects were invading the Waking long after their reign ended. You know well enough they have no power during the day. This has been occurring for a while in the last couple days. I can’t have people walking in front of vehicles all the time. This may cause a commotion, which I’m sure none of us want.

-          It’s so bold of you to come here and tell me what I should do, don’t you think – his footsteps echoing through the wall , his voice cold as ice, and yet his eyes were somehow glowing. – You’re still a guest in the Dreaming, even if the honored one. The only thing in your power is to ask me for help and not demand it.

Damn his stubborn ass and his space-blown ego. He can’t hurt me here, cause he’d be damaging reality. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction he wants. I will not beg.

-          I actually can. You have your duties as well as I.

-          I’m perfectly aware of my duties and the rules that were set. -  He was now standing in front of me, slightly taller so to my dislike I had to look up at him. His dark hair, a mess, as usual, his face paler than I remembered, and his eyes, a space showing you so many universes, you could actually get lost. Defeated I looked away, but he used his index finger to turn my chin up again. And said nothing. Utter silence. Not  a single sound, ever from Jessamy. Felt like the whole life was swept out of Realm. I almost got lost. Key word being almost. My gaze hardened.

-          Will you help me – I moved myself for a safe space, away from his reach.

A shadow run through Dream’s face when he promised to do so.

-          Shall I call on the Dream who causes such havoc in the Waking? Shall I have said talk to you?

-          No. It’s your realm after all. Those are your subjects and ….. – I started , but then I realized what Morpheus might do to the one defying him. He wasn’t particularly gentle with one of his ex lovers , Nada who did so. From what I know, he literally sent her to hell. – Actually, my Lord – I don’t know why he flinched when I used that title – if you so generously allow, I would love to talk to that Dream.

-          Very well then. I shall summon said.

He moved away from me, his coat sweeping the floor. I cant; lie, putting aside all of that cold behavior and coldness he was graceful. It’s for the best that he stays in the Dreaming most of the time. If he showed up in the Waking more often I would have to deal with way to many daydreaming about him women. This would probably end up with me tampering with their memory and I really hate breaking the rule that states I can only reveal the Truth to people. Not manipulate their mind so they can get the real picture. Well, sometimes we need to turn to desperate measures.

-          Lady Kayleen? – my thoughts were interrupted by a soft, gentle voice

-          I’m no Lady. Just the name – I replied automatically

-          Were you staring? Or maybe daydreaming – unlike himself Morpheus, who switched places and was sitting on his throne decided to mock me.

-          Don’t you forget you are called not only Dream but also a King of Nightmares. I believe I saw that other side and now I can’t shake it. – I knew I was playing with Fire. Saying those words, with such tone and in the presence of the citizens of the Dreaming could end me up faster than I could think. His eyes darkened but he said nothing.

-          I can’t skip the title, Lady Kayleen – the voice spoke again and this time I actually looked at the being it belonged to. A dream. A tall, lean iridescent figure with butterfly wings. It looked so young and inexperienced for the purpose it was set to.

-          Tell me your name, Dream.

-          It’s Axel, my lady.

-          Are you the one, who’s been making people daydream? Endangering them? Causing trouble in the Waking?

-          I am.

-          Why would you do that? – It was quite unlikely for Morpheus to just sit there and watch the whole scene without a word. I can sense something is not right here. Let’s have a little check then. – I believe you should explain yourself to your king rather than to me.

There was no change on Morpheus face but his eyes locked with mine for a brief moment.

-          You heard the Lady, Dream. Explain yourself.

-          My Lord – Axel slowly approached the Throne, just a few steps but stopped as he met Morpheus’s cold gaze – It was never my intention. I merely did what I was created for. Give people dreams. Make their life more colorful, more joyful, make them forget about the trouble.

-          You are supposed to do that only when they sleep. You have no power to invade their waking life.

-          I’m sorry my Lord.

-          You shall be. Your actions cause danger not only to the Waking but also the Dreaming. That also forced Lady Kayleen to abandon her post and came to beg me for help.

Ok, that’s a HUGE exaggeration. And diminishment since like I said I would never beg. Yet again, Dream can be such a drama queen.

-          I shall never overstep again my lord – Axel was almost on the floor. Terrified. As Morphueus rise from his throne I softly looked at him, shaking my head. “Don’t” – I said silently scanning him with my eyes.

-          You are lucky you have a protector  – he spoke. – Rise Dream. I shall keep my eye on you. So. You. Better. Watch. Yourself.

Yes. He made each word a single sentence.

-          Thank you my Lord – Axel stood up and as fast as he could run away from the room.

When I was sure no one would hear us I turned to Morpheus who, again, was standing too close. Personal space was never a concept he would understand. A so-mortal-idea.

-          That was a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

-          We must preserve order of things. You know that well enough.

-          Of course, but keep the cost of that in mind.

-          Are you trying to preach me in my own Realm?

-          I would not dare to do so. I have no authority here after all, do I? – I frowned

-          You know that is not true. Whether I like it or not. – he muttered under his breath.

-          I know you’re not a big fan of me. So I shall not prolong this visit anymore. Until next time, Dream Lord.

-          Farewell Kayleen.

End of flashback

Like I said, our relationship is strictly professional and it serves both parties well enough.  

next part: chapter 2

[thevioletjones]

48. “You make me want things I can’t have.” 💜

Thanks for the inspiration! 💜

Prompt 3

Buffer

Ian Gallagher was starting to become a problem.

And the worst part about it was that he wasn’t even a problem that Mickey wanted to resolve. No. He just kept holding Ian closer and refusing to push him away like he should. He was just letting him ruin Mickey’s mediocre life. Because something about Ian was unshakeable. It wasn’t just that Ian kept coming back no matter what Mickey ever said or did, either. Ian was definitely persistent, but Mickey had formed an attachment too, even though he did everything in his power to hide it. It was still there, buried under layers of caustic remarks, aloof expressions, and occasional lashing out. He wasn’t proud of his behavior, but it was just who he was, and remaining unchanged in his ways was easier than the alternative.

Ian was definitely too good for him. Sure, he was hood trash too, but they were on two different levels. Ian was buffed up with a certain surface shine that Mickey lacked. Although, he would admit he’d come a long way in his style and hygiene game since his early days as an unwashed miscreant. Mickey was a gay man after all, and not immune to gaying certain things up, despite his tendency to flout homo conventions. If he wanted the ability to get a decent dick in his ass, there were standards that he’d learned to push himself to meet. This was the glossiest Mickey was ever gonna get, and it still came with a pinch of grime and hostility.

Maybe he’d developed enough sense to give a fuck, but he still didn’t give two shits either; a concept that walking contradictions the world over could likely comprehend.

The thing about Gallagher was that he was sweet. Not in an annoying, cloying, obvious way that was anathema to everything Mickey was about, but in a low-key, casual, incidental kind of way that somehow managed to be attractive, even to someone with Mickey’s abrasive nature. Ian played tough, and he genuinely was in many ways, but he had a gooey, marshmallow center that evened him out. Mickey didn’t see himself as having that sort of balance.

But there were these unsettling moments like this, usually in the middle of the night or early in the morning, when Mickey would catch himself watching Ian unawares. Unawares because he only ever did it when the redhead was deep in sleep. Suddenly, Mickey would be Mr. Contemplation, burning a hole into the face of the dude he was banging, daring to wonder what could happen between them if he wasn’t an emotionally stunted asshole. And then he’d reflect on what Ian’s life was like whenever he wasn’t around; the things Mickey acted like he didn’t care to know.

These circular thought patterns never led anywhere good, because at the end of the day, Ian wasn’t his. And Mickey could never be Ian’s. He’d long ago resigned himself to a certain destiny that involved long-term solitude until his dying day, which he’d always been fairly certain would come prematurely and most likely in violent fashion. It would be ridiculous to drag someone else into his vortex of apathy for life and the general traditions of living it. Especially someone like Ian, who was good; who helped people because he genuinely cared about, like, the well-being of humanity and shit. Despite the occasional soft look or revelatory comment that Ian would throw his way, he knew better than to think he’d want to be saddled with Mickey’s non-reciprocating ogre-y ass.

Usually when one of these intense, one-sided staring sessions would take place, Mickey would overcompensate for silently slipping by adding an extra dose of rudeness when he kicked Ian out after the fact. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why Gallagher still bothered with him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t get laid elsewhere. Ian was the type that would never have trouble finding a willing ass. Yet somehow he kept coming back to Mickey and ignoring all the negatives thrown in his path. It didn’t make much sense on either of their parts… allowing each other in on any terms. Probably meant that Ian was just as fucked up as he was, really.

Blowing out the last hit off his smoke, Mickey glanced at the bedside clock and stubbed out the cigarette butt. 3:26 AM and he was wide awake, just gawking at his slumbering ginger fuck buddy, and trying to repress the multitude of emotions swirling within him. It was truly pathetic.

He could just get the hell up and drag his ass to the living room to play video games or watch late-night TV, but no. Apparently he liked suffering and feeling conflicted. What a pussy.

Not ten minutes went by before there was slow movement from the other side of the bed... Ian turning over in his sleep, reaching an arm out, and searching. Searching for the warmth of Mickey’s body, it would seem.

A big hand landed on his thigh, rubbing it softly as tired eyes blinked open, and a groggy voice sounded, “What’re’y’doin’?”

Oh, just fuckin’ lying here starin’ at your pasty ass for some reason. “Can’t sleep.”

“Didn’t wear you out?” Ian asked with a breathy titter, squeezing the sensitive flesh precariously close to Mickey’s groin.

Maybe it made his dick twitch a little.

“When did one round ever wear me out?”

“Pretty sure there were two rounds. Did you forget about the couch?”

“Random handies while watchin’ mediocre porn barely counts as a round, carrot-top.”

“A, it wasn’t that mediocre, and B, do you only consider it sex if penetration is involved?”

“I mean… it helps.”

“What about blowjobs, then? How would you classify them?”

“Sex act, but not sex, sex. Know what I mean?”

Ian laughed. “Not really. What about lesbians?”

“Definitely don’t wanna have my cock anywhere near those.”

“Har har. I mean, what would you call lesbian sex?”

“Gross? Boring? I don’t fuckin’ know. Never had it, don’t plan to.”

Ian laughed harder and it made Mickey feel good. “Pretty sure lesbians don’t want fuck all to do with you either, bottom boy.”

“Hey, likin’ what I like don’t make me a bitch.”

“No, but you seem pretty hostile toward anything but a real live human cock poking you in the asshole. I mean, naysaying getting your dick sucked? That’s a bold bossy bottom stance to take.”

“What can I say? I’m a simple man with simple kinks. Aren’t you glad I don’t need any freaky extra shit to get me off?”

“What kinda freaky extras are we talkin’?”

“Fuck off, Gallagher. Don’t act like you don’t just live for stickin’ that big red dick inside any tight manhole that’ll accommodate it. Does that make you a hungry top just begging for it?”

“I prefer ‘brutal top,’ since it’s so big, as you were so kind to mention.”

Mickey rolled his eyes into tomorrow. “Gotta remember to stop accidentally complimenting it. You get so fuckin’ uppity about it.”

Ian rolled over and boxed him in, nuzzling around his face and neck, while Mickey tried to bat him away.

“Come on,” prodded Ian. “Big hard cock seeks tight little hole for another round of deep penetration.”

Mickey could feel said big hard cock firming right up against his hip. “Ixnay on the cutesy man seeking man dirty talk, fuckhead. I will make you take that hulking boner elsewhere.”

“No you won’t,” Ian replied, humping down against him.

Of course he wouldn’t, but he had to front at least a little bit. That was the nature of his inner beast.

While they were fucking, Mickey could just let himself get lost in all the appropriate heightened sensations that really good sex immersed him in. Immersed him and Ian in. Ian and him. Them. Reveling in the pleasure of carnality was totally kosher… as long as it limited him from basking in that additional Ian stuff. That feelings stuff that he had no idea what to do with. That unfathomable connection that existed between them.

He let Ian kiss him a lot too. Like, a lot, a lot. That wasn’t customary for him with other dudes. In fact, it barely ever happened. It was just another habit Ian had slipped under the wire to form with him when he wasn’t paying enough attention. Mickey was pretty sure he’d kissed more girls in his life than boys, because that was always an easy, less disgusting way to publicly appear straight during the years he’d spent in the closet. With guys, there was nothing to prove and everything to hide, so it just wasn’t something he incorporated into his casual sex routine.

Before Ian, he hadn’t exactly attracted the kind of dudes that warranted sticking around for in any capacity, or who made any kind of effort to stick with him. There were never any near-miss boyfriends, or pine-worthy hookups. Sex was always transactional and he’d been perfectly fine with that arrangement.

The truth was that once he’d fucked up and invited Ian in for repeats over and over again, he started to figure out that the sex just kept getting hotter and hotter. That when two bodies really took the time to get to know each other, things fit better, motions got smoother, and orgasms got a thousand times stronger. Turned out that one-night-stands were not where the fuck it was at. Those were always crapshoots with odds that were at best 25/75 in favor of mediocrity. With Ian, it was guaranteed total fulfillment 100% of the time.

That was the only explanation he could find for this unexpected addiction he was stuck with. An addiction to Ian and his stupidly perfect cock. The rest of his body was alright too. And when he spoke, he wasn’t completely fucking annoying. His personality and his nature were tolerable. Mickey didn’t want to gouge his eyes out every time he got sucked into a conversation.

They didn’t really hang out, though. Outside of the bedroom, that is. It was like the whole game changed when they were in bed. They could fuck, they could goof around and have a laugh, they could wrestle, they could accidentally say something profound once in a while… but if Ian had a bag of food when he dropped by, Mickey wasn’t about to sit on the couch and watch TV with him while he ate it, and he definitely wasn’t going to accept a portion for himself.

Until tonight, that is. Or last night, or however the fuck time was identified when you were a natural night owl.

Tonight, they’d crossed another invisible line in the sand, and Mickey had found himself chowing down on tacos, while heckling some shitty 90s action film; his part-time lover chuckling next to him with a sloppy mouth.

It was fucking terrifying.

So as soon as he’d realized what was actually happening, and how much he didn’t hate it, Mickey had switched over to some hardcore porn. They’d cracked jokes about it at first, but it’d done the trick of quickly leading to the familiar comfort of sexual gratification. With that justification, Mickey could just sweep the whole ‘watching a movie and eating together like they were on a date’ thing under the proverbial rug without further examination.

At least until Ian had fallen asleep around 2 AM. Then it was dwell city.

By 4:30 AM, Ian had fucked him into the mattress once again, and promptly fallen back asleep without a care in the world. Mickey was more than sated, but felt even more awake than he had an hour ago, his brain full of fresh bullshit about the man next to him and what was happening between them.

He opened his bedside drawer and pulled out his stash, knowing the high would fog up his brain enough to go off on thought tangents, and eventually shut down for at least five hours. Within ten minutes, he felt a little better, or at least more distracted. He was still very aware of Ian’s looming presence in the darkness, though. He wanted to be comforted by it, but he just couldn’t relax.

There’d always been a buffer between them, which Mickey had been diligent in maintaining, and he could see it slowly falling away now. If he didn’t step up and push back, pretty soon there’d be no barrier left standing. Who the fuck knew what could happen then.

He hated it. He felt so fucking out of control, when it should be the easiest thing in the world to control. All he had to do was break it off. He knew exactly what to say and do to make that happen. Knew enough to be able to really hit Ian where it hurt, both literally and figuratively.

But goddamn it, he didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to make Ian sad, and he didn’t want to give into his own desire to try for more. He would always fuck it up, because he was a fuck-up by nature. His goddamn knuckles spelled it all out in block letters.

He wanted Ian, but he didn’t want the responsibility. Didn’t trust himself, because no one had ever trusted him before in his entire life. What kind of dumbass wanted that kind of damaged douchebag for a boyfriend? No sane one.

Against his better judgment, Mickey rolled closer to Ian and wrapped an arm around his middle, spooning him the way he secretly liked it when Ian spooned him. He held him close and breathed in his scent.

“You make me want things I can’t have,” he murmured to himself, exhaling heavily against Ian’s neck.

He fell asleep swiftly, and in the morning, he didn’t ask Ian to leave.

[sebastianshaw]

@sammysdewysensitiveeyes So, you asked me not long ago, how I’d feel about Haven as a mutant on Krakoa. As it happens, I’m on an RP Discord where I write her as such, since they allow characters there to be mutants who aren’t mutants in canon, in order to join the RP, since it’s set on Krakoa. I made her a healer, able to heal herself and others. Super on the nose, but it’s what she would want, and it also fulfills *my* desire for her not to be hurt anymore (I mean, she still can be, she’ll just recover) Anyway, in March I wrote this for her in that setting. Featuring Shaw as usual since he’s one of my other muses there and, well, you know I love writing my faves together and their conversations because self-indulgence. No obligation to read, just I remembered I had written it and was like “Oh that’s like what Sammy asked about”

Shaw’s latest job was to spread the Krakoan medicine throughout the country of India. A considerable task; India was made up of no less than 28 states and 8 union territories, with an immense and diverse population. There were the dilapidated slums and rural villages that Westerners most often imagined, but there were also bustling cosmopolitan cities, centers of business and technology and commerce to rival New York, and it was in the biggest of these that Shaw was starting---

Mumbai.

Accompanying him on the recommendation of Charles Xavier was Radha Dastoor---Haven of the healing gardens, whom he had previously met when she had helped with his back. At first Shaw had thought this was a bit racist of Charles, but it turned out not only was Haven from Mumbai specifically herself, she had wonderful connections for the tasks. Her philanthropy had connected her with doctors, hospitals, shelters, and its hidden communities of those suffering afflictions such as the oft-claimed-eradicated leprosy. But, Shaw could have done most of that himself, aside from the hidden colonies. No, where Haven came in most handy was, shockingly, her knowledge of Mumbai’s criminal underworld. Not because she had ever been involved with it, but because she had done so much work getting people out of it---the women and children she had worked to get out of human trafficking rings, the survival sex workers rescued from abusive pimps, the children enticed away from little “found families” of criminals who used them for their dirty work.  . .the list went on. And of course she hadn’t been able to do all that alone, she had been funding an entire network of people to get this done, to keep the rescued parties safe and help them in getting to a new life, to block off or arrest those who tried to take them back or attack the rescuers themselves (Haven had been a target MANY times, but those had been in the days when she’d been kept safe by The Adversary’s powers. . . ) and thus she had an abundance of detectives and double agents on the inside. And because they were on the inside, they could bring in the medicine. . . and bring out the mutants being sold, enslaved, and Heaven wept at what else. Mutants that, for the moment, were staying with them in The Rajmani. Haven’s wealth was originally inherited, but she’d kept it coming---so that she could keep giving it away---through The Rajmani, a luxury heritage hotel on par with the likes of New York’s Ritz or Plaza. In income, anyway. In beauty, it surpassed them both. Well, perhaps that was subjective, but it was built within a restored Mughal Palace, and Shaw had to admit he was impressed with the great domes and slender minarets, the  massive vaulted gateways and delicate ornamentation, the elegant water gardens and charbagh walkways through the carefully cultivated yet lush tropical greenery. Most of all, though, he liked learning the fact that the woman earned at least a little of her own money in some kind of sense, even if by her own admission she only owned it, not managed it. Shaw looked down on those who only inherited wealth, just as they had often looked down on him for earning his. Haven, though, did not seem to look down on him. She didn’t seem to have the proverbial stones to look down on anybody, and she certainly was around people who actually deserved it. She seemed to love being around that type, in fact, went out of her way to benefit them, centered her entire life around it. Some people, Shaw had found, were just mad like that. He suspected that it had something to do with growing up with money, taking it front granted and thus not comprehending its worse. But at least she didn’t dare think she was better than him, so she was that sensible at least. Although it was the last word he’d describe her with. No, if he were to describe Radha “Haven” Dastoor, he’d probably start with insipid, senseless, and downright delusional. But she was also. .  .not an unengaging conversationalist. The reverse, actually. “The Mughals were constantly trying to invade Mumbai,” Haven explained, while Shaw nodded along. He was interested in architecture, and in martial history. “But as much of India as they had conquered, the native Marathis were just as constantly pushing them back. It was touch and go for decades. It surprises me that a Mughal structure remained without being torn down, though it was taken over.” “The native Marathis, you say---are Mughals not native? Or merely from another part of India?” “Well, that’s a complicated question, and the answer is a controversial one, so I till try to explain it as neutrally as I can,” Haven replied, and she indeed sounded neutral. They were standing together on the jharoka, an elaborately carved balcony with a roof, each with a glass of nimbu pani, though Shaw would have preferred a good Scotch. “The Mughal Empire in South Asia was begun by Babur, who came from Central Asia, specifically what is today Uzbekistan. His tribe was of Mongol origin, and the word Mughal is itself derived from “Mongol”. He actually came to South Asia to escape his fellow Uzbeks---it’s a very long story--but instead of being a refugee, he became a conqueror, starting by burning Lahore for two days and killing the last Sultan of the Lodi dynasty in Delhi, and the Lodi dynasty itself was not Indian, but Afghan. India was colonized by the Middle East long before Europe decided to try its hand. But to answer your question. . .they did not begin as Indian, no, but they were a part of our country for two hundred years and left a deep mark in our culture---clothing, food, language, art, and, of course, the buildings. But, the same could also be said of the British, and you would be hard-pressed to find anyone, including myself, who considers the British Raj to have been “Indian” simply because they were there for a long time and forced their ways upon us. At the same time, my mother is a Parsi, a people who originate from Iran, thousands of years ago---Parsi comes from “Persian”. And how can one tell me my mother, who was born and raised here, whose mother’s mothers and father’s fathers were born and raised here, that she was not Indian? And though Babur came from elsewhere, his sons and successors were born and raised here, and often to Indian mothers, and their descendants dwell here still, with no other homeland, so are they not Indian? Because if they were not, then perhaps I am not either, at least by half. Ultimately. . . it depends which Mughals, at what time period, and whom you ask, I suppose.” “And I suppose there’s also a difference between ethnicity and nationality to be considered,” Shaw said, though Haven was now losing his interest with this topic. He’d been more interest in the invasions and warring. “Ethnically, one can be anything, and still nationally be American if you were born there or otherwise have citizenship. But, I suppose you need not contemplate such matters anymore--” He cracked a wry smile as she, with a questioning look, awaited the rest of his sentence. “---after all, we are all Krakoan now, are we not? We’re all mutants, and that’s the only thing that matters.” Haven smiled back, not wryly but sincerely, “Oh, I am now, yes. But I am also still everything I was before. I have been balancing multiple identities my entire life Mr. Shaw, I believe I shall be able to continue to do so. But I must confess--” A moment of hesitation. “--I do not truly think of myself as a mutant yet.” She was not sure what reaction that she had expected to this confession, but it was not what Shaw said next. “I don’t either, Ms. Dastoor.” She looked at him in surprise. “Or rather,” he elaborated, “I do not consider myself a mutant in any sense other than in the way I consider myself to have black hair. It’s a physical fact, but nothing else. It is not a “culture” or “identity” to me, and in truth I find such attitudes to be foolish and even dangerous, not to mention a sign that an individual lacks their own personality and convictions and thus must merely default to group identity politics. Being a mutant tells you nothing about me, Ms. Dastoor, and so if I were to talk about who I am, that’s not something I’d include any more than my eye color.” “That’s an especially interesting perspective from someone on Krakoa’s Council,” said Haven, sounding very curious, “Could I ask you---” But her voice was cut off by the unmistakable sound of gunshots---and from INSIDE the building. “The children!” Haven exclaimed. It was not just her and Shaw that were lodged at The Rajmani tonight; it was where the mutants they had rescued were staying before the journey to the nearest portal tomorrow. And most were, indeed, children. As quickly as she spoke, she was moving back inside from the jharoka, but Shaw grabbed her by the elbow, easily holding her back despite her not being a small or weak woman despite her gentle demeanor. Haven was large, and could carry a grown man. But Shaw didn’t even need to be rough to halt her. “You stay put,” he said sternly, “The guards will handle this.” “Mr. Shaw---” “They are better equipped than you, Ms. Dastoor, you will only interfere--” Shaw and Haven had, of course, not come alone. Shaw had brought several trained mutants on his own payroll---not everyone needed to be one of the X-Men to be capable of handling a few humans and their toys--and they had been tasked with keeping watch over, as Shaw had earlier referred to them as, the latest flock of Krakoa’s little sheep. A statement Haven had also wondered about, though it was far from her mind now. Haven might have been about to argue with him. She might have been about to admit he was right, and she should hang back. But as with her question, she was cut off by a gunshot as she turned her face back to him and started to speak. A gunshot, and bullet through the back of her head. It exited through her right eye, and bounced off Shaw’s face and fell to the floor. She would have as well, had he not caught her as she crumpled. When her healing factor had repaired her enough that she regained consciousness, she was on Krakoa again, as were all the refugees, safe and sound. And so was Shaw. “Well, Ms. Dastoor,” he said, “You’ve been murdered---or rather, nearly so--by perfect strangers for a quirk of your genetics. Nothing can make you more of a mutant than that, wouldn’t you agree?” Haven smiled slightly, “I feel as much a mutant as perhaps a Mughal might feel Indian, Mr. Shaw. Take that as you will.” He took it ambiguously. Which was indeed how she had meant it. == END==

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted Mid-Year Round-Up: Part 2, Dr. Pete Larson to  Young Slo-Be

James Brandon Lewis

The mid-year exchange continues with the second half of the alphabet and another round of Dusted writers reviewing other people’s favorite records.  Today’s selection runs the gamut from Afro-beat to hip hop to experimental music and includes some of this year’s best jazz records.  Check out part one if you missed it yesterday.  

Dr. Pete Larson and His Cytotoxic Nyatiti Band — Damballah (Dagoretti Records)

Damballah by Dr. Pete Larson and his Cytotoxic Nyatiti Band

Who Picked it? Mason Jones

Did we review it? No, but Jennifer Kelly said about his previous record, “It’s authentic not to some musicological conception of what nyatiti music should sound like, but to the instincts and proclivities of the musicians involved.”

Bryon Hayes’ take:

Judging from Jenny’s review, Dr. Pete Larson hasn’t really changed his modus operandi much since last year’s self-titled release. Well, he has appeared to have dropped vocalist Kat Steih and drummer Tom Hohman, who aren’t credited with an appearance on Damballah. Sonically, this album feels more polished than its predecessor. There’s a richness that was lacking before, a sense of clarity that Larson seems to have added here. He still hypnotizes with his nyatiti but doesn’t lose himself behind the other players. That sense of mesmerizing repetition of short passages on the resonant lute-like instrument is what sets the music of the Cytotoxic Nyatiti Band apart from other rock groups who play in the psychedelic vein. It’s easy to get lost in the intricate plucking patterns as the guitars and synths swirl about. The rhythms bounce cleverly against those created by the percussion, anchoring the songs to solid ground. Balancing the airy and the earthy, Dr. Peter Larson and His Cytotoxic Nyatiti Band create a cosmic commotion perfect for contemplation. 

 James Brandon Lewis / Red Lily Quintet — Jesup Wagon (TAO Forms)

Jesup Wagon by James Brandon Lewis / Red Lily Quintet

Who recommended it? Derek Taylor

Did we review it? Yes, Derek said, “’Fallen Flowers’ and ‘Seer’ contain sections of almost telepathic convergence, the former and the closing ‘Chemurgy’ culminating in Lewis’ spoken words inculcating the import of his subject.” 

Tim Clarke’s take:

Tenor saxophonist and composer James Brandon Lewis demonstrates his control of the instrument in the opening moments of Jesup Wagon’s title track. Before his Red Lily Quintet bandmates join the fray, he alternates between hushed ululations and full-blooded honks, inviting the listener to lean in conspiratorially. Once the rest of the band fire up, cornet player Kirk Knuffke, bassist William Parker, cellist Chris Hoffman and drummer Chad Taylor lock into a loose, muscular shuffle. Their collective chemistry is immediately evident, and each player has the opportunity to shine across this diverse set’s 50-minute runtime. I’m particularly drawn to the rapid-fire rhythmic runs on “Lowlands of Sorrow,” the gorgeous cello on “Arachis,” and the spacious, mbira-laced “Seer.” There’s something about the mournful horn melody of the final piece, “Chemurgy,” that sends me back to first hearing Ornette Coleman’s “Lonely Woman” — and, just like that, I’m excited about the prospect of exploring jazz again, for the first time in a long time. Great pick, Derek.

 Roscoe Mitchell & Mike Reed — The Ritual And The Dance (Astral Spirits) 

the Ritual and the Dance by Roscoe Mitchell & Mike Reed

Who recommended it? Derek Taylor

Did we review it? Yes, Derek wrote, “Roscoe Mitchell remains an improvisational force to be reckoned with.”

Andrew Forell’s take:

For 17-plus minutes, Roscoe Mitchell solos on his soprano with barely a pause, the rush of notes powered by circular breathing, as drummer Mike Reed’s controlled clatter counterpoints Mitchell’s exploration of his instrument’s range and tonal qualities in what sounds like a summation of his long career at the outer edge of jazz. It‘s an extraordinary beginning to this performance, recorded live in 2015. On first listen it sounds chaotic, but shapes emerge in Mitchell’s sound, and Reed’s combination of density and silence complements, punctuates and supports in equal measure. After an incisive solo workout from Reed combining clanging metal and rolling toms, Mitchell swaps to tenor and the pace changes. Longer, slower notes, a rougher, reed heavy tone and a lighter touch from Reed. Having not closely followed Mitchell’s work since his days in The Art Ensemble Of Chicago, this performance was a revelation and will have me searching back through his catalog.     

The Notwist — Vertigo Days (Morr Music)

Vertigo Days by The Notwist

Who recommended it? Tim Clarke

Did we review it?  Yes, Tim said, “The Notwist really know how to structure a front-to-back listening experience, and this is emphatically a work of art best appreciated as a whole.”

Arthur Krumins’ take: 

In his review of Vertigo Days, Tim Clarke highlights the “multiple layers of drifting, shifting instrumentation.” It is an album that seems unbound by adherence to a set instrument lineup, and it moves quickly between moods both frenetic and contemplative. However, due to a careful mixing and an unforced approach to genre expectations, it is a surprising and varied listen that bears repeated scrutiny. The touchstones of the sound are at times the motorik beat of krautrock, at others the ethereal indie pop of their melodies and the quality of their singing. It feels like the perfect quirky coffee shop album, just out there enough to create a vibe, but tactful enough to take you along for the ride.

  Dorothea Paas — Anything Can’t Happen (Telephone Explosion)

Anything Can't Happen by Dorothea Paas

Who picked it? Arthur Krumins.

Did we review it? No. 

Eric McDowell’s take:

In one sense, it’s fair to say that Dorothea Paas’s debut album opens with a false start: A single note sounded and then retreated from, fingers sliding up and down the fretboard with the diffidence of a throat clearing. Yet what gesture could more perfectly introduce an album so marked by uncertainty, vulnerability, and naked self-assessment? 

If Anything Can’t Happen is an open wound, it’s a wound Paas willingly opens: “I’m not lonely now / Doing all the things I want to and working on my mind / Sorting through old thoughts.” That doesn’t make the pain any less real — though it does make it more complex. “It’s so hard to trust again / When you can’t even trust yourself,” Paas sings on the utterly compelling title track, her gaze aiming both inward and outward. Elsewhere she admits: “I long for a body closer to mine / But I don’t want to seek, I just want to find.” Instrumentally, Paas and her bandmates manage to temper an inclination toward static brooding with propulsive forward motion, a balance that suits the difficult truth — or better yet, difficult truce — the album arrives at in the climactic “Frozen Window”: “How can I open to love again, like a plant searches for light through a frozen window? / Can I be loved, or is it all about control? / I will never know until I start again.” In the spirit of starting again, Anything Can’t Happen ends with a doubling down on the opening prelude, reprising and extending it — no false start to be found. 

 Dominic Pifarely Quartet — Nocturnes (Clean Feed) 

Nocturnes by Dominique Pifarély Quartet

Who recommended it? Jason Bivins

Did we review it? No 

Derek Taylor’s take: 

Pifarely and I actually go way back in my listening life, specifically to Acoustic Quartet, an album the French violinist made for ECM as a co-leader with countryman clarinetist Louis Sclavis in 1994. Thirty-something at the time, his vehicle for that venture was an improvising chamber ensemble merging classical instrumentation and extended techniques with jazz and folk derived influences. The results, playful and often exhilaratingly acrobatic, benefited greatly from austere ECM house acoustics. Nearly three decades distant, Nocturnes is a different creature, delicate and darker hued in plumage and less enamored of melody, harmony and rhythm, at least along conventional measures. Drones and other textures are regular elements of the interplay between the leader’s strings, the piano of Antonin Rayon and the sparse braiding and shadings of bassist Bruno Chevillon and drummer Francois Merville. Duos also determine direction, particular on the series of titular miniatures that are as much about space as they are centered in sound. It’s delightful to get reacquainted after so much time apart.  

The Reds Pinks & Purples — Uncommon Weather (Slumberland/Tough Love)

Uncommon Weather by The Reds, Pinks & Purples

Who picked it? Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? Yes, Jennifer said, “Uncommon Weather is undoubtedly the best of the Reds, Pinks & Purples discs so far, an album that is damned near perfect without seeming to try very hard.”   

Bill Meyer’s take:

Sometimes a record hits you where you live. Glenn Donaldson’s too polite to do you any harm, but he not only knows where you live, he knows your twin homes away from home, the record store and the club where you measure your night by how many bands’ sets separate you from last call. He knows the gushing merch-table mooches and the old crushes that casually bring the regulars down, and he also knows how to make records just like the ones that these folks have been listening to since they started making dubious choices. Uncommon Weather sounds like a deeply skilled recreation of early, less chops-heavy Bats, and if that description makes sense to you, so will this record.

 claire rousay — A Softer Focus (American Dreams Records)

a softer focus by Claire Rousay

Who picked it? Bryon Hayes  

Did we review it? Yes, Bryon Hayes wrote, “These field recordings of the mundane, when coupled with the radiance of the musical elements, are magical.”  

Ian Mathers’ take:  

In a weird way (because they are very different works from very different artists), A Softer Focus reminds me a bit of Robert Ashley’s Private Parts (The Album). Both feel like the products of deep focus and concentration but wear their rigor loosely, and both feel like beautifully futile attempts to capture or convey the rich messiness of human experience. But although there is a musicality to Private Parts, Ashley is almost obsessed by language and language acts, and even though the human voice is more present than ever in rousay’s work (not just sampled or field recorded, but outright albeit technologically smeared singing on a few tracks) it feels like it reaches to a place in that experience beyond words. The first few times I played it I had moments where I was no longer sure exactly what part of what I was hearing were coming from my speakers versus from outside my apartment, and as beautiful as the more conventional ambient/drone aspects of A Softer Focus are (including the cello and violin heard throughout), it’s that kind of intoxicating disorientation, of almost feeling like I’m experiencing someone else’s memory, that’s going to stay with me the longest. 

 M. Sage — The Wind Of Things (Geographic North)

The Wind of Things by M. Sage

Who recommended it? Bryon Hayes

Did we review it? No

Bill Meyer’s take:

Matthew Sage’s hybrid music gets labeled as ambient by default. Sure, it’s gentle enough to be ignorable, but Sage’s combination of ruminative acoustic playing (mostly piano and guitar, with occasional seasoning from reeds, violin, banjo, and percussion) and memory-laden field recordings feels so personal that it’s hard to believe he’d really be satisfied with anyone treating this stuff as background music. But that combination of the placid and the personal may also be The Wind of Things’ undoing since it’s a bit too airy and undemonstrative to make an impression.

 Skee Mask — Pool (Ilian Tape)

ITLP09 Skee Mask - Pool by Skee Mask

Who picked it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? No 

Robert Ham’s take:

Pool is an appropriate title for the new album by Munich electronic artist Bryan Müller. The record is huge and deep, with its 18 tracks clocking in at around 103 minutes. And Müller has pointedly only released the digital version of Pool through Bandcamp, adding it a little hurdle to fans who just want to pick and choose from its wares for their playlists. Dipping one’s toes in is an option, but the only way to truly appreciate the full effect is to dive on in. 

Though Müller filled Pool up with around five years’ worth of material, the album plays like the result of great deliberation. It flows with the thoughtfulness and intention of an adventurous DJ set, with furious breakbeat explosions like “Breathing Method” making way for the languorous ambient track “Ozone” and the unbound “Rio Dub.” Then, without warning, the drum ‘n’ bass breaks kick in for a while. 

The full album delights in those quick shifts into new genres or wild seemingly disparate sonic connections happening within the span of a single song. But again, these decisions don’t sound like they were made carelessly. Müller took some time with this one to get the track list just right. But if there is one thread that runs along the entirety of Pool, it is the air of joy that cuts through even its downcast moments. The splashing playfulness is refreshing and inviting.

 Speaker Music — Soul-Making Theodicy (Planet Mu)

Soul-Making Theodicy by Speaker Music

Who picked it? Mason Jones

Did we review it? No 

Robert Ham’s take:

The process by which DeForrest Brown Jr., the artist known as Speaker Music, created his latest EP sounds almost as exciting as the finished music. If I understand it correctly — and I’m not entirely sure that I do — he created rhythm tracks using haptic synths, a Push sequencer, and a MIDI keyboard, that he sent through Ableton and performed essentially a live set of abstract beats informed by free jazz, trap and marching band. Or as Brown calls them “stereophonic paintings.” 

Whatever term you care to apply to these tracks and however they were made, the experience of listening to them is a dizzying one. A cosmic high that takes over the synapses and vibrates them until your vision becomes blurry and your word starts to smear together like fog on a windshield. Listening to this EP on headphones makes the experience more vertiginous if, like I did, you try to unearth the details and sounds buried within the centerpiece track “Rhythmatic Music For Speakers,” a 33-minute symphony of footwork stuttering and polyrhythms. Is that the sound of an audience responding to this sensory overload that I hear underneath it all? Or is that wishful imaginings coming from a mind hungry for the live music experience? 

 The Telescopes — Songs of Love And Revolution (Tapete) 

Songs Of Love And Revolution by the telescopes

Who recommended it? Robert Ham

Did we review it? No. 

Andrew Forell’s take:

Songs Of Love And Revolution glides along on murky subterranean rhythms that evoke Mo Tucker’s heartbeat toms backed with thick bowel-shaking bass lines. Somewhere in the murk Stephen Lawrie’s murmured vocals barely surface as he wrings squalls of noise from his guitar to create a dissonant turmoil to contrast the familiarity of what lies beneath. The effect is at once hypnotic and joltingly thrilling, similar to hearing Jesus And Mary Chain for the first time but played a at pace closer to Bedhead. A kind of slowcore shoegaze, its mystery enhanced by what seems deliberately monochrome production that forces and rewards close attention. When they really let go on “We See Magic And We Are Neutral, Unnecessary” it hits like The Birthday Party wrestling The Stooges. So yeah, pretty damn good.

 Leon Vynehall — Rare, Forever (Ninja Tune)

Rare, Forever by LEON VYNEHALL

Who recommended it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? No. 

Jason Bivins’ take: 

I was amused to see Leon Vynehall’s album tucked into the expansive “Unknown genre” non-category. This is, as is often the case with these mid-year exchanges, a bit far afield from the kind of music I usually spin. Much of it is, I suppose, rooted in house music. Throughout these tracks, there are indeed some slinky beats that’ll get you nodding your head while prepping the dinner or while studying in earnest. There’s plenty to appreciate on the level of grooves and patterns, but he closer you listen, the more subversive, sneaky details you notice. The opening “Ecce! Ego!” isn’t quite as brash as the title would suggest, featuring some playfully morphed voices, old school synth patches and snatches of instrumentalism. But after just a couple minutes, vast cosmic sounds start careening around your brainpan while a metal bar drops somewhere in the audial space. Did that just happen? you wonder as the groove continues. Moments of curiosity and even discomfort are plopped down, sometimes as transitions (like the closing vocal announcement on “In>Pin” — “like a moth” — that introduces the echo-canyon of “Mothra”) but usually as head-scrambling curveballs. Startled voices or flutes or subterranean sax bubble up from beneath deep house thrum, then are gone in ways that are arresting and deceptive. I still don’t know what to make of the lounge-y closing to “Snakeskin – Has-Been” or the unexpected drone monolith of “Farewell! Magnus Gabbro.” In its way, Vynehall’s music is almost like what you’d get if Graham Lambkin or Jason Lescalleet made a house record. Pretty rich stuff.

 Michael Winter — single track (Another Timbre)

single track by Michael Winter

Who recommended it? Eric McDowell 

Did we review it? Not yet! 

Mason Jones’ take: 

Over its 45 minutes, Michael Winter’s 2015 composition slowly accelerates and accumulates, starting from an isolated violin playing slightly arrhythmic, single fast strokes. The playing, centered around a single root note, seems almost random, but flashes of melodic clusters make it clear they're not. After nine minutes other players have joined in and there's a developing drone, as things sort of devolve, with atonal combinations building. By the one-third mark everything has slowed down significantly, and the players are blending together, with fewer melodies standing out. Instead, it's almost more drone than not; and at a half hour in, most of the strings have been reduced to slowly changing tones. As we near the end we’re hearing beautiful layers of string drones, descending into the final few minutes of nearly static notes. It's an intriguing and oddly listenable composition given its atonality. The early moments bring to mind Michael Nyman, and the later movements summon thoughts of Tony Conrad and La Monte Young, but it's clearly different from any of them, and more than the sum of those parts.

 Young Slo-Be — Red Mamba (KoldGreedy Entertainment / Thizzler On The Roof)

Who picked it? Ray Garraty 

Did we review it? No. 

Ian Mathers’ take: 

The 12 tracks on Red Mamba fly by in a little over 27 minutes (not a one breaks the three-minute mark) but the result doesn’t feel slight so much as pared down to a sharpness you might cut yourself on. Stockon’s Young Slo-Be only seems to have one flow (or maybe it’d be more accurate to say he only seems interested in one) but he knows how to wield it with precision and force, and if the subject matter hews closely to the accepted canon of gangbanger concerns, Slo-Be delivers it all with vivid language and the studied, superior disdain of an older brother explaining the world to you and busting your chops at the same time. The tracks on Red Mamba all come from different producers, but Slo-Be consistently chooses spectral, eerie, foreboding backgrounds for these songs, even when adding piano and church bells (on “Asshole”), dog barks (“21 Thoughts”) or even Godfather-esque strings (the closing “Rico Swavo”). What’s the old line about the strength of street knowledge? These are different streets, and different knowledge.

[succulentsunrise]

Where the Fire Lilies Grow

Content: SFW!

It’s time for the Royal Knights Exam! This was supposed to be just one chapter, but it stretched into two...I’ll have the second one ready soon 😅 

In the next one there will be a mention of another person’s amazing and beautiful OC and some more hints towards Mereoleona!! I’m very excited for it!! 

< Previous | Next >

Chapter 3: The Tribulations

“I wanted movement and not a calm course of existence. I wanted excitement and danger and the chance to sacrifice myself for my love.”

Leo Tolstoy

The days following the announcement of the Royal Knights exam were filled with hustle and bustle. Every participant was training rigorously amidst their normal missions, and Tani was no exception. Since the exam was to be held in the same amphitheater as the Magic Knight entrance exams, she assumed it was going to be a series of duels. This meant she had to win a fight against someone on her own. Common bandits were not a problem for Tani - her skill with a sword came most often as a surprise to them, and she usually had one or two of Luka’s sculpted jackals helping her. In addition, she had been practising binding magic recently in hopes of being able to at least contain people. The situation was different with another Magic Knight though. She knew three other knights from Azure Deer were participating: Fragil, Francis and Eric. If she had to go against them, she would be in trouble. Fragil’s snow magic was a captivating trap that dulled the senses, but could also be used for healing. If the battle would prolong with both of them trying to recover from each other’s blows, the gentle snow mage would likely take the win. Tani did not have as much mana as her. Eric, on the other hand, was an offensive sand mage. Tani had only occasionally seen the brunette man - he was as distant as most Azure Deer’s knights - but she knew that his magic could be surprisingly quick. It could drain some magic attributes, making it possible for him to kill the plants she’d conjure. She’d have the easiest time going against Francis - his attribute was water, which he manipulated for fluid movement and powerful torrents. She hoped she wouldn’t have to go against them. Her every night was restless that week, bouncing between aching muscles, worrisome scenarios and - and Mereoleona Vermillion, the intriguing new captain of the Crimson Lion Kings. Tani knew no one from the squad, and she dared not to inquire too much from Icree. She hadn’t even gotten one glance of the woman since the festival. Of course, she denied to herself that the walks to the capital would have had anything to do with catching a glimpse. Of course not. She just had grown bored of walking in the forest.

On the day of the exam, Tani walked the familiar cobbled streets of her hometown towards the amphitheater. She had not mentioned the exam to her family in her last letter. She selfishly wanted to tell them only after she knew if she was picked or not. If she wasn’t chosen, why worry them with news of such a dangerous mission? If she was - well, then she’d have to hope they’d understand. As Tani entered the stone amphitheater, she could hear the murmurs of people talking to each other. There was quite the crowd. Knights from all squads were gathered to participate. Royals, nobles and commoners, all wanting to unite for protecting the realm. Tani moved to the sides, her gaze searching for Fragil. Eventually her eyes landed on a group of people standing together: a black-haired woman dressed in a long, white dress with another dark-haired man, all clothed in black tunic and a long cape. Next to them was a brunette man with an aqua-coloured tunic. Fragil waved to her happily, while Francis and Eric merely nodded.

“I’m glad you came as well,” Fragil said softly, her smile honest and cheerful.

Eric looked less happy next to her. His round features were rather sullen, as if he wanted to be elsewhere. Tani couldn’t blame him. They all knew each other, but only on the level of acquaintances.

“”Do you know what kind of an exam it’s going to be?” Tani asked, answering the smile nervously.

All three of them shook their heads.

“I don’t have the faintest clue,” Fragil admitted, looking around. “Nor have I heard anyone else mention anything either.”

They looked around themselves, as if they could find some kind of a sign that would tell them what they’d have to do. They found none - however, a voice coming from the balcony snapped them all to attention. The Wizard King Julius Novachrono had appeared on a balcony. By him was one of his advisors, the serious-looking Marx Francois. His appearance and name were the only things Tani really knew about him. He was a man, shorter than the Wizard King, with light blue bangs and hair cupping his face. He was often by the Wizard King’s side, aiding him with the matters of the realm. Behind the two, the Royal King Augustus Kira Clover XIII stepped forward. Tani’s eyes narrowed. She could not understand why the man forced his way into this, as it was none of his business. Everyone knew the Wizard King was behind all of this.

“The exam will consist of a team competition!” the King announced pompously, his voice echoing from the walls. “The rules are simple: protect your own team’s crystal and destroy the other team’s crystal. The first team to do this wins!”

Tani glanced at the others in surprise. A team competition? It made no sense to her. If they wanted teams, they should’ve told the squads to send teams. As the King hesitated to tell the reason for that, Julius Novachrono stepped in.

“In battles against the Eye of the Midnight Sun, brigades will have to work together,” he explained calmly. “We thought this would be the best way to measure cooperation and strategy skills.”

Tani shifted nervously. She wasn’t a strategist by any means, she had always let Icree do it for her. Now it came to stab her in the back, metaphorically. She knew very little people outside of her own squad, and had not needed to often cooperate with them in battle. She wished Icree would have been there. The advisor of the King moved his hand and conjured a giant screen with grouped up names, clearly visible for everyone in the amphitheatre. Tani’s gaze jumped from group to group, seeking her own name. It took her a while to find it among the others.

[Adrastea Dnia Gamma Roon Tani Chartreuse]

Somewhere next to her, Fragil sighed.

“It seems that I am with the Vice-Captain of the Golden Dawn,” she said quietly, her voice a little worried.

“You’ll do great,” Tani reassured her, searching for Fragil’s name.

It seemed indeed that she was teamed up with a vice-captain. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. She might get far, but it would be easy to be overshadowed by someone so capable. Tani was a little bit jealous, but pushed it deep down. She’d rise on her own, without any help. A little farther away, Eric scoffed, still squinting at the screen. Tani was fairly certain he didn’t know his teammates any more than she knew her own. Francis was turning around to go search for his own party.

“Well, I got to go find mine. See you later,” she wished her squadmates, beginning her own search.

It was a rather drawn out search, even when people started finding their own groups. Eventually, however, Tani was able to find the two others. Gamma was a tall, young man with a blonde undercut. His posture was rather relaxed, and he greeted them in a friendly and excited fashion. Covering his black turtleneck was the red, billowing cloak of the Crimson Lion Kings. He was certainly younger than Tani, though she wasn’t sure if he would be even younger than Kliodna. Adrastea was a much more quiet person, barely talking to them. She wore her white hair on a high, tight bun, as if in contrast to her more comfortable clothes. The blue cloak of the Blue Roses was complemented by a white tank top and dark blue harem pants. Her glare seemed to be specifically directed at the member of the Crimson Lion Kings.

“Ready to do your best?” Gamma asked them cheerfully, balancing on one leg.

Tani could only assume that the strange standing position was to relieve stress.

“Yeah,” she answered, glancing over to Adrastea.

The white-haired woman simply nodded. There was certain wariness to her, and based on the glare, Tani had a feeling it was about Gamma. The Blue Roses prided themselves on showing that they were strong women - emphasis being on “women”. Tani could only hope Adrastea wasn’t one of the more extreme members that refused any help from men, or otherwise the team would fall apart quickly.  

“As long as we all work together and figure out--” she started, but was cut off by the appearance of large double doors, made by a nearby spatial mage.

It was apparent it had taken them a little bit too long to find each other, and so they had missed a valuable part of talking and strategizing. Tani bit her lip nervously, but turned towards the doors. It seemed like they were going to go elsewhere for the battles. It made sense - the amphitheater was way too small for trying to protect a crystal from a whole other team. Tani and her team went into the line, glancing at each other still a little warily.

“I’m certain we’ll get far,” Gamma proclaimed confidently, seemingly having no worries.

It made Tani a little worried, but she walked with them through the doors. What opened before the group was a large roof of some kind of a building, and below it a field of grass, ruins and sand. On its northern side was a coastal region with water, and to the east a thick forest. The ground was elevated on both the western and eastern side, where two large crystals could be seen floating in the air.

“This battlefield has a wide range of different areas,” the Wizard King proclaimed, appearing last through the doors. “Use them to display your powers to the fullest!”

Tani noticed a glint of excitement in his eyes, though his expression was a calm one. Behind him, another screen appeared: the tournament chart. Her team was on the last round, facing people she knew nothing of. However, should they manage to win that one, she would be going against Eric’s team. She glanced at the two other members of her team carefully.

“Hey, what are your magic attributes?” Tani asked quietly, trying to formulate a plan as the first battle preparations were beginning.

“Ah, well,” Gamma hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “Magma. It’s a little volatile still and I don’t have perfect control of it, but it packs a punch.”

Adrastea clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

“My specialty is highly controlled strikes,” she informed them. “My attribute is silk.”

“Well, we are a somewhat rounded team then,” Tani said quickly, not liking the slightly hostile attitude of the other woman. “Mine is plants, and I specialize in supporting other people. I can help you with control or simply augment your abilities.”

“Don’t worry, with the recent training with our new Captain, I can work with my powers much better!” Gamma exclaimed happily, clearly unbothered by Adrastea’s disapproval. “Even if I never managed to reach the hot springs in time…”

“Hot springs?” Tani questioned, raising an eyebrow at the statement.

She wasn’t aware there were any hot springs in the vicinity. The younger man didn’t answer, however, as his attention was stolen by the battle that had begun below. The other team seemed to be barraged with long range attacks without a way to properly dodge them.

“Is it possible for us to do something like that? Long range?” Tani asked the other two. “I can increase your reach, if you have good aim.”

Adrastea shook her head.

“I fight in close-quarters. Don’t you have something like that yourself?” the white-haired woman asked, nodding below.

It was clear she meant one of the other participants, who also used plant magic. Mimosa Vermillion was one of the royals, as evident by her bright orange hair. Her magic was very praised for its healing capabilities, and not without a reason - she had gotten to the Golden Dawn, after all. It seemed like she had some offensive spells as well, as a giant flower with pink blooms had formed behind her. The young girl was shooting missiles of mana out of it while protecting the flower and determining the position of their enemies. A small feeling of envy twisted inside of Tani. Royals really were on a whole other level.

“No,” she replied.

Adrastea looked to her for an explanation, but Tani gave none. She did not feel like explaining to her group that she couldn’t even shoot a concentrated missile.

“I can throw quite a bit, but my aim’s wonky,” Gamma confessed, balancing once more on one leg. “The crystal’s big though. If I can get one hit in, it might be enough to break it.”

“Great,” Adrastea commented sarcastically. “Rely on the unreliable.”

“Hey, if you have a better idea, shoot ahead.”

Gamma’s voice was a little sharper now, causing Tani a budding headache. These two would butt heads sooner or later.

“We should go quickly to their crystal, and I will cut it with my silk,” Adrastea stated, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, uh, did you look at who we are against?” Gamma laughed, the sarcasm starting to seep into his tone. “Weiss has air affinity. She is going to be on us before you get there.”

“How about we combine your ideas?” Tani suggested tiredly.

The two others turned to her with a questioning gaze.

“We’ll start with long range attacks. I’ll try to help Gamma with aiming, while Adrastea, you’ll protect our crystal. I will give your mana detection a little boost. If only this Weiss comes closer, leave the protection to me and head for their crystal. If they all come close to us, we’ll move as a group and I’ll support you two as you destroy their crystal.”

“I don’t have a lot of protective spells,” Adrastea warned quietly.

Still, she and Gamma seemed to be considering the suggestion. Tani had no idea if it would actually work, but if it made the two of them work together, it would be the best thing they had. Below, the battles were continuing. It was intriguing to see so many different kinds of magic. She had always listened half-heartedly to Icree talking and describing how important it was to recognize and read mana patterns, but here Tani was simply blown away. The difference between a commoner and a royal seemed so vast. Every show of great power made her more and more nervous, forcing her to fiddle with her fingers. Even Fragil’s team’s battle was short and simple, with the dark-haired Azure Deer member having very little to do. The vice-captain of Golden Dawn, Langris Vaude, took care of it with only one spatial spell. It was a terrifying gap in ability in Tani’s eyes. It was shocking enough for her to ignore the fact that her own captain, Rill, was taking part in the competition. It took Gamma’s repeated questions to snap her out of her frozen state.

“Isn’t that your captain? You know, if we win, you might have to fight him!” he spoke eagerly, eyes glued to the captain of the Azure Deer.

Tani crossed her arms tightly, giving her captain a glance. The blue-haired man was as cheerful as always, eagerly speaking with other competitors. The exam felt as good as failed for her. Rill Boismortier’s magic was picture magic: whatever he drew came to life, and he had the ability to control it as he wished. He was a genius, a prodigy.

“Then we’ll have to hope that we are very uninspiring fighters,” Tani sighed. “The more you excite him, the more he gets into it. Though - he seems rather excited already.”

“Aren’t you excited about fighting him?”

“No, not really. I’ve no way to counter his art.”

Gamma looked thoughtful, but did not pursue the subject. Tani had a feeling he disapproved of her lack of enthusiasm. She turned her gaze back to the battleground, where Rill and his team descended.

“Plus,” she started, giving a glance to the match-ups again. “It seems Francis will have to go against him first.”

“Francis?”

“He is also a member of Azure Deer. He is going to fight against one team, and if he wins, he’ll be against Rill.”

“You are very certain your captain will win,” Gamma commented cheerfully.

Tani nodded. Certainly, her captain was making a point down there, first having been captured by the enemy team, and now countering their magic with relative ease.

“I wouldn’t be so sure your Francis will win, though,” Adrastea intruded into the conversation. “Puli is in the team going against him, and she is very strong.”

“I’m not aware of the full extent of his capabilities,” Tani said quietly, not wishing to start any rivalries between squads. “It is very possible this Puli will win.”

“We’ll see soon,” the member of the Blue Roses replied, looking as the two other teams descended to the battleground.

The battle wasn’t long itself, and as Adrastea predicted, her squadmate’s team won. Still, Tani did not think the team would be able to win against her captain. She would be surprised if they did. She didn’t have a lot of time to think about it, however - they were next in line to fight. She could see the other team briefly, as they both started to head to their respective starting points. They were all from different squads than Tani’s team, consisting of a long-haired, blonde man wearing the short coat of the Green Mantis, one slightly larger man with the triangular coat of the Purple Orca, and a pale, white-haired woman with the fluffy cloak of the Silver Eagle. There was no telling what their affinities were, other than the woman’s - Gamma had mentioned she was Weiss, the air mage. The groups separated in tense silence, Tani heart beating faster than ever. She questioned why she even was there. She hated exams.

“Let’s hide in the ruins, set up a place to throw missiles at them, and wait for them to come to us,” Gamma suggested silently as they stood on the starting place.

“How are we to know where to throw the missiles?” Adrastea asked, her voice no longer so cold.

It seemed like her distaste for Gamma was pushed back by the need for a strategy. Tani felt slightly relieved.

“It’s a long shot, but I could locate them,” she said hesitantly. “It would eat a lot of my mana though. It might be better that we set up an ambush of some sort and hope Weiss rushes in.”

The others nodded, looking at the ruins nearby. They’d set up there and protect the crystal. They would win.

Hopefully.

[imdoingthismspaintadventure]

Worm Interlude 2 -- In which two sisters clean up a street

There were very few things, in Victoria Dallon’s estimation, that were  cooler than flying.  The invisible forcefield that extended a few  millimeters over her skin and clothes just made it better.  The field  kept the worst of the chill from touching her, but still let her feel  the wind on her skin and in her hair.  Bugs didn’t splat against her  face like they did against car windshields, even when she was pushing  eighty miles an hour.

Time for an interlude, it seems we will be getting these between arcs! From the point of view of different characters, to flesh out the world and the story. I always love when stories do that, put us in a point of view different from the main character. If done right, it adds so much richness to the setting.

It seems our interlude protagonist has the power of flight, plus some sort of force field that actively shields her against friction and particles. We learn this in the same paragraph where we also see how much she enjoys using her flight, so we both get characterization and powers at the same time. Nice!

Spotting her target, she whooped and plunged for the ground, gaining  speed where anyone else would be slowing down.  She hit the asphalt hard  enough to crack it and send fragments of it into the air, touching  ground with her knee and foot, one arm extended.  She stayed in that  kneeling position for just heartbeats, letting her platinum curls and  the cape that was draped over one of her shoulders flutter in the wake  of air that had followed her descent.  She met the eyes of her quarry  with a steely glare.  

Superhero landing!

I would certainly be intimidated if she landed in front of me like that! She gives me lots of superhero vibes in terms of her overall alignment.

She’d practiced that landing for weeks to get it right.  

Pfft. Okay she’s also a bit of a dork, and very human.

The man was a twenty something Caucasian with a shaved head, a dress  shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans and work boots.  He took one  look at her and bolted.  

You, sir, look like an underling of someone, and the way he nope’d out of there also gave me mook vibes.

Victoria grinned as he disappeared down the far end of the alley.  She  rose from her kneeling position, dusted herself off and ran her fingers  through her hair to tidy it.  Then she raised herself a foot off the  ground and flew after him at an easy forty five miles an hour.  

Classic superman-like superspeed / flight / superendurance is such a nice power to have. I bet you feel like a god.

It didn’t take a minute to catch him, even with the head start she had  given him.  She flew just past him, grazing him.  An instant later, she  came to a dead stop, facing him.  Again, the wind made for a dramatic  flourish as it stirred her hair, her cape and the skirt of her costume.  

She’s really theatric with all this, and I kinda love it. I feel like this guy is thoroughly outmatched.

“The woman you attacked was named Andrea Young,” she spoke.

The man looked over his shoulder, as if gauging his escape routes.

Grunt attacked a civilian and they sent the superhero cavalry to make him super regret it?

“Don’t even think about it, fugly,” she told him, “You know I’d catch  you, and trust me, I’m already pissed off enough without you wasting my  time.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the man snarled.

“Andrea Young!” Victoria raised her voice.  As she shouted, she  exercised her power.  The man quailed as though she’d slapped him.  “A  black college student was beaten so badly she needed medical attention!   Her teeth were knocked out!  You’re trying to tell me that you, a  skinhead with swollen knuckles, someone who was in the crowd watching  paramedics arrive with an expression bordering on glee, you didn’t do  anything!?”

Oh so he’s neonazi filth. Ugh.

I was already kinda unsympathetic to him from the start, but now he can choke.

Fuck his shit up, Victoria.

“I didn’t do nothing worth caring about,” he sneered.  His bravado was  tempered by a second look over his shoulder, as though he’d very much  like to be elsewhere right that moment.  

Fuck this guy. He’s also cowering like a little bitch and trying to look all brave in front of no one, like an idiot.

She flew forward, her fists catching him by the collar.  For just a  moment, she contemplated slamming him up against a wall.  It would have  been fitting and satisfying to shove him hard enough against the brick  to crack it, then drop him into the dumpster that sat at the wall’s  base.  

Taunting a girl who can absolutely ruin his fucking life, maybe not his best idea.

He almost got literally dumpstered.

Instead, she pulled up a little, bringing the two of them to a stop.   They were now just high enough above the ground that he’d feel  uncomfortable with the height.  The dumpster, mostly empty, was directly  below him, but she doubted he was paying attention to anything but her.  

Ah, threatening him with falling from great heights! The batman strat! Or one of them anyway.

“I think it’s a safe bet to say you’re a member of Empire Eighty-Eight,”  she told him, meeting his eyes with a hard stare, “or at least, you’ve  got some friends who are.  So here’s what’s going to happen.  You’re  going to either tell me everything the triple-E’s have been up to, or  I’m going to break your arms and legs and then you’re going to tell me everything.”  

Empire Eighty-Eight huh? Since the last time I heard the name, I’ve been informed about the 1488 dogwhistle, which I had never heard in spain. So yeah this guy is definitely part of some neonazi group, and is all around human garbage.

The group seems pretty big if it has a lot of unpowered mooks, kind of reminds me of Lung and his boys. I bet them and these guys wouldn’t really get along.

As she spoke, she ratcheted up her power.  She knew it was working when he started squirming just to avoid her gaze.

“Fuck you, you can’t touch me.  There’s laws against that shit,” he blustered, staring fixedly over one shoulder.

She turned up her power another notch.  Her body thrummed with current – waves of energy that anyone in her presence would experience as an emotional charge of awe and admiration.  For those with a reason to be afraid of her, it would be a feeling of raw intimidation instead.

Oh so she not only has superman-like powers! She also has an intimidation factor! That is fascinating. It makes her enemies afraid and everyone else feel awe at her presence. ...That sounds a little creepy if it influences normal people but I see how it can give a massive advantage against villains and criminals, in conjunction with her other powers!

“Last chance,” she warned him.

Unfortunately, fear affected everyone differently.  For this particular asshole, it just made him dig in his heels and become obstinate.  She could see it in his body language before he opened his mouth – this was the sort of guy who reacted to anything that spooked or unsettled him with an almost mindless refusal to bend.

“Lick my hairy, sweaty balls,” he snarled, before punctuating it with a spat, “Cunt.”

It makes sense that someone like him would get defiant in a moment like this. Still probably not the best judgement. Fear (even this artificial one) is usually there for a reason.

She threw him.  Since she could bench press a cement mixer, though it was hard to balance something so large and unwieldy, even a casual toss on her part could get some good distance.  He flew a good twenty five or thirty yards down the back road before hitting the asphalt, and rolled for another ten.

He was utterly for still for long enough that Victoria had begun to worry that he’d somehow snapped his neck or broken his spine as he’d rolled.  She was relieved when he groaned and began to pull himself to his feet.

Damn, with a power like hers she really has to be careful to not accidentally kill someone. If she can throw a grown healthy adult like that, sending him flying across the street, she could just as easily end anyone who doesn’t have super-endurance.

I wonder if that is actually a problem in this world? Accidental manslaughter via a missuse of super-strength.

“Ready to talk?” she asked him, her voice carrying down the alley.   She didn’t move  forward from where she hovered in the air, but she did let herself drop closer to the ground.

Pressing one hand against his leg to support himself as he straightened up, he raised his other hand and flipped her the bird, then turned and began to limp down the alley.

....what is this guy even doing? She just yeeted your ass to the other side of the street! Since when is pissing dangerous superheroines a good idea??

What was this asshole thinking?  That she would just let him go?  That, what, she would just bend to his witless lack of self preservation?   That she was helpless to do any real harm to him?  To top it off, he was going to insult her and try to walk away?

....he IS probably counting on you being a “good guy”, yeah.

But by the way her internal thoughts are going, he may have made a liiitle mistake with all this.

“Screw you too,” she hissed through her teeth.  Then she kicked the dumpster below her hard enough to send it flying down the little road.   It rotated lazily through the air as it arced towards the retreating figure, the trajectory and rotation barely changing as it knocked him flat.  It skidded to a halt three to five yards beyond him, the metal sides of the dumpster squealing and sparking as it scraped against the asphalt.

...did she just throw an entire dumpster on top of him? Like, as a projectile weapon??  Is this poor asshole still alive???

This time, he didn’t get up.

“Fuck,” she swore, “Fuckity fuck fuck.”  She flew to him and checked for a pulse.  She sighed, and then headed to the nearest street.  She found the street address, grabbed her cell from her belt and dialed.

Oh fuck she might have gone and done it. Used excessive force and super-murdered a suspect. What even happens in cases like this, then?

She seemed to be panicking but then calmed down when she checked for a pulse, so he’s probably still alive, even if knocked out.

It seems to have spooked her enough to make a phone call though.

“Hey sis?  Yeah, I found him.  That’s, uh, sort of the problem.   Yeah.  Look, I’m sorr- ok, can we talk about this later?  Yeah.  I’m at Spayder and Rock, there’s this little road that runs behind the buildings.  Downtownish, yeah.  Yeah?  Thanks.”

Victoria returned to the unconscious skinhead, checked his pulse, and listened intently for changes in his breathing.  It took a very long five minutes for her sister to arrive.

“Again, Victoria?” the voice disturbed her from her contemplations.

She called her sister for help! Does her sister have superpowers too? Maybe some sort of healing or stasis power, so they can avoid him dying, if he’s in a really critical state?

Again, huh? Oof, is excessive force a thing with you Victoria? She might not be as “purely heroic” as I thought. Seeing a lot of gray here as well. Trigger-happy or reckless heroes can be VERY dangerous in certain settings.

“Use my codename, please,” Victoria told the girl.  Her sister was as different from her as night was from day.  Where Victoria was beautiful, tall, gorgeous, blonde, Amy was mousy.  Victoria’s costume showed off her figure, with a white one-piece dress that came to mid-thigh (with shorts underneath) an over-the shoulder cape, high boots and a golden tiara with spikes radiating from it, vaguely reminiscent of the sun’s rays or the statue of liberty.  Amy’s costume, by contrast, was only a shade away from being a burka.  Amy wore a robe with a large hood and a scarf that covered the lower half of her face.  The robe was alabaster white and had a medic’s red cross on the chest and the back.

Oh I like both of their designs a lot! And the contrast between them!

Victoria is a white and gold goddess with statue of liberty and/or divine motifs, which matches up with both her demeanor so far, and the power itself, especially the fear/adoration part.

Amy, on the other hand, reminds me of a final fantasy white mage, so the possibility of her being a healer is even higher (she even wears a red cross!). Also, just by visual design alone, she may be more introverted in comparison to the extroverted nature of her sister. She is like a star radiating light, while Amy is hiding herself with her clothes.

“Our identities are public,” Amy retorted, pushing the hood back and scarf down to reveal brown frizzy hair and a face with freckles spaced evenly across it.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Victoria replied.

“You want to talk about principles, Glory Girl?” Amy asked, in the most sarcastic tone she could manage, “This is the sixth – sixth! – time you’ve nearly killed someone.  That I know about!”

“I’m strong enough to lift a SUV over my head,” Victoria muttered, “It’s hard to hold back all the time.”

Ooh interesting! Ok so a couple of things:

1) Amy looks cute, with her frizzy hair and freckles, in comparison to her sister’s more traditionally “beautiful” look.

2)Their identities are public??. Sooo....is that a thing particular to them, or to a group they belong to?? Cause I don’t remember very well, but I think Armsmaster kept his identity secret, didn’t he??

It’s very interesting that there are superheroes with public identities! I suppose that turns them into celebrities, even in their private lives, but isn’t that dangerous? Aren’t there villains who would attack their homes or families?

3)It seems Glory Girl is indeed a bit sketchy with the way she uses her super-strength, having six close calls with killing someone just because of an excess of force. I wonder if she can learn to regulate just how hard she needs to hit, because that seems dangerous!

“I’m sure Carol would buy that line,” Amy said, making it clear in her tone she wasn’t, “But I know you better than anyone.  If you’re having trouble holding back, the problem isn’t here -” she poked Victoria in the bicep.  “It’s here-” she jabbed her sister in the forehead, hard.  Victoria didn’t even blink.

“Look, can you just fix him?” Victoria pleaded.

“I’m thinking I shouldn’t,” Amy said, quietly.

“What?”

“There’s consequences, Vicky.  If I help you now, what’s going to stop you from doing it again?  I can call the paramedics.  I know some good people from the hospital.  They could probably fix him up alright.”

Seems Amy is fed up with her sister dodging responsabilities for her recklessness, and wants her to learn the consequences of her behaviour and hopefully excercise more caution. This also confirms that Amy is indeed some kind of healer. Also is Carol their mother or caretaker??

Hey, hey, hey,” Victoria said, “That’s not funny.  He goes to the hospital, people ask questions.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware,” Amy said, her voice hushed.

“This isn’t, like, me getting grounded.  I’d get pulled into court on charges of aggravated assault and battery.  That doesn’t just fuck with me.  It fucks with our family, all of New Wave.  Everything we’ve struggled to build.”

On the other hand, facing the consequences could mean that their whole family takes the blame.

New Wave...it seems Amy and Victoria have a whole family of superheroes, like The Incredibles! Is New Wave’s gimmick that the identities are public? The fact that excessive force threatens the founding purpose of the group leads me to think that revealing their identities is an attempt to gain the trust of the general public.

Amy frowned and looked at the fallen man..

“I know you’re not keen on the superhero thing, but you’d really go that far?  You’d do that to us?  To me?”

Amy pointed a finger at her sister, “That’s not me.  It’s not my fault we’re at this point.  It’s you.  You’re crossing the line, going too far.  Which is exactly what people who criticize New Wave are scared of.  We’re not government sponsored.  We’re not protected or organized or regulated in the same way.  Everyone knows who we are under our masks.  That means we have to be accountable.  The responsible thing for me to do, as a member of this team, is to let the paramedics take him, and let the law do as it sees fit.”

So, New Wave is not government sponsored, like the protectorate is!

On one hand, we have the Protectorate, which is a state-funded professional justice league, with secret identities and constumed antics and such.

On the other, we have New Wave, which is a freelance family of heroes with their identities public and emphasizing accountability and probably a more modern, refreshing approach to superheroing (which kinda goes with the new wave name)

I really like the world building we’ve got going on here. It doesn’t seem to be going that well if Victoria here nearly killed a crook due to an excessive use of force though. At least it seems Amy is more level-headed and wants her sis to also be more careful.

Victoria abruptly pulled Amy into a hug.  Amy resisted for a moment, then let her arms go limp at her sides.

“This isn’t just a team, Ames,” Victoria told her, “We’re a family.  We’re your family.”

Heh, what Victoria is pulling here is the exact sort of emotional manipulation that a spoiled family member pulls when trying to get away with something scot-free. They’ve got a sister dinamic, that’s for sure!

The man lying just a matter of feet away stirred, then groaned, long and loud.

“My adoptive family,” Amy mumbled into Victoria’s shoulder, “And stop trying to use your frigging power to make me all squee over how amazing you are.  Doesn’t work.  I’ve been exposed so long I’m immune.”

Oh wow, seems like Victoria was trying literal emotional manipulation by way of her powers, but Amy has been exposed for so long she’s inmmune. So.... one can build an inmmunity to that aspect of her power?

Also it’s a bit disturbing to think of Victoria using her emotional powers to make her family subtly like her more.

And Amy is adopted! She did look very different from Victoria, based on that description we got earlier.

“It hurts,” the man moaned.

“I’m not using my power, dumbass,” Victoria told Amy, letting her go, “I’m hugging my sister.  My awesome, caring and merciful sister.”

The man whined, louder, “I can’t move.  I feel cold.”

Amy frowned at Victoria, “I’ll heal him.  But this is the last time.”

Victoria beamed, “Thank you.”

The bastard deserves it, but it’s kind of funny how nonchalant they are being with his continued pain in the background.

Seems Amy has finally caved-in to her demands and will heal this badly wounded piece of shit. (Victoria totally acts like a spoiled brat who broke a toy during all this, which is a bit terrifying with a power combination like hers)

Amy leaned over the man and touched her hand to his cheek, “Slingshot break to his ribs, fractured clavicle, broken mandible, broken scapula, fractured sternum, bruised lung, broken ulna, broken radius -“

“I get the point,” Victoria said.

“Do you?” Amy asked.  Then she sighed, “I wasn’t even halfway down the list.  This is going to take a little while.  Sit?”

Victoria crossed her legs and assumed a sitting position, floating a half foot above the ground.  Amy just knelt where she was and rested her hand on the man’s cheek.  The tension went out of his body and he relaxed.

Holy shit, Victoria really pummeled him badly! I guess that’s what happens when a superwoman toys like that with a normal human.

Also Amy can analyze and diagnose what a person has wrong in their body with just a touch? And can remove all pain, also with a single touch? On top of some form of healing?

That is ...incredible. She could revolutionize the world of healthcare and be an incredible professional doctor! Just the analysis part of it alone! It’s just ...so good.

“How’s the woman?  Andrea?”

“Better than ever, physically,” Amy replied, “I grew her new teeth, fixed everything from the bruising to the scrapes, and even gave her a head to toe tune-up.  Physically, she’ll feel on top of the world, like she had been to a spa and had the best nutritionist, best fitness expert and the best doctor all looking after her for a straight month.”

This power is astonishingly good.

She (and other powers like hers) would save so many lives, just by doing normal medical work.

Can she only heal injuries like these, or can she also do things like grow half a person’s body back, or even make someone younger? The posibilities with her are endless!

“Good,” Victoria said.

“Mentally?  Emotionally?  It’s up to her to deal with the aftermath of a beating.  I can’t affect the brain.”

“Well-” Victoria started to speak.

“Yeah, yeah.  Not can’t.  Won’t.  It’s complicated and I don’t trust myself not to screw something up when I’m tampering with someone’s head.  That’s it, that’s all.”

Well it seems she couldn’t cure dementia or parkinson’s disease or any of these blights on humankind. But she’s still amazing!

It’s very interesting to see that it’s not just bam, you’re healed, with her power. She has to actually perform the healing herself. So her power would be ...what? Body scan and manipulation? Organic manipulation? Using the inherent healing sistems of the body as a tool?

Victoria started to say something, then shut her mouth.  Even if they weren’t related by blood, they were sisters.  Only sisters could have these sorts of recurring arguments.   They had gone through a dozen different variations on this argument before.  As far as she was concerned, Amy was doing herself a disservice by not practicing using her powers on the brain.  It was only a matter of time before her sister found herself in a situation where she needed to do some emergency brain surgery and found herself incapable.  Amy, for her part, refused to even discuss it.

Victoria has a more reckless demeanor than her sister. It’s true that Amy being able to cure brain diseases would be incredible, but how would she practice? Would there need to be people used as basically experiments until she gets the hang of it? It seems it would require some not very good means.

Also, Amy does use her powers to do medical stuff it seems! That’s good. I wonder how much certain powers have benefitted humankind in this series.

She didn’t want to raise a sensitive issue when Amy was in the process of doing her a major favor.  To change the subject, Victoria asked, “Is it cool if I question him?”

“Might as well,” Amy sighed.

Victoria tapped the man a few times on the forehead to get his attention.  He could barely move his head, but his eyes lolled in her direction.

“Ready to answer my questions, or do me and my sister just walk away and leave you like this?”

“I… sue you, he gasped out, then managed an added, “Whore.”

“Try it.  I’d just love to see a skinhead with a few broken bones go up against a superheroine whose mom just happens to be one of the best lawyers in Brockton Bay.  You know her, right?”

“Brandish,” he said.

Hmm I feel like there is an ethical conversation to be had here. Both in ransoming the healing and in flaunting that they could get away with it because their mom is a lawyer.

Would the Protectorate be ok with doing something like this? Would the citizenship be ok with something like this?

Again, it could be argued that he’s a neonazi scumbag, but what about in more general cases? Or is getting information out of him instrumental in protecting the people and saving lives, and does that justify one’s actions?

Interesting questions to be had, all in all.

“That’s her name in costume.  Normally she’s Carol Dallon.  She’d kick your ass in court, believe me,” Victoria said.  She believed it.  What the thug didn’t understand was that even if he lost the case, the media circus that would be stirred up would do more damage than anything else.  But she didn’t need to inform him of that.  She asked him, “So do I get my sister to leave you as you are, or are you willing to trade some information for relief from months of incredible pain and a lifetime of arthritis and stiffness in your bones?”

So Carol is indeed their mother, and also the superheroine Brandish! ...I don’t have any idea what her powers are based on that name alone.

“And erectile dysfunction,” Amy said, just loud enough for the thug to hear her, “You fractured your ninth vertebra.  That’s going to affect all nerve function in extremities below your waist.  If I leave you like you are, your toes will always feel a little numb, and you’ll have a hell of a time getting it up, if you know what I mean.”

The skinhead’s eyes widened a fraction, “You’re fucking with me.”

“I have an honorary medical license,” Amy told him, her expression solemn, “I’m not allowed to fuck with you about stuff like that.   Hippocratic oath.”

“Isn’t that ‘do no harm’?” the thug asked.  Then he groaned, long, loud and with the slightest rattle in his breath, as she removed her hand from his body.

Okay I’m kinda enjoying the way they are messing with him, ethical questions aside. Amy going straight for the erectile dysfunction! And a version of the “If I was an undercover cop, I would be obligated to tell you” kind of gambit.

Would the removing the anesthetic hand to make him comply be considered torture? Hm.

“That’s just the first part of it, like how freedom of speech and the right to bear arms is just the first part of a very long constitution. It doesn’t look like he’s cooperating, Glory Girl.  Should we go?”

“Fuck!” the man shouted, then winced, tenderly touching his side with one hand, “I’ll tell you.  Please, just… do what you were doing.  Touch me and make the pain go away, put me back together.  Fix me?”

Amy touched him.  He relaxed, and then he started talking.

Looks like they got him to talk! Not so cocky in the end, against these two.

“Empire Eighty-Eight is extending into the Docks on Kaiser’s orders.   Lung’s in custody, and whatever happens, the ABB is weaker than it was. That means there’s territory for grabs, and the Empire sure ain’t making progress downtown.”

Seems like Taylor accidentaly created a power vacuum! Due to Lung no longer being there, the ABB is left much weaker and other gangs are rising up to the occasion.

Kaiser huh? That’s the leader of these neonazis? Named after german emperors, so it really fits.

“Why not?” Victoria asked him.

“This guy, Coil.  Don’t know what his powers are, but he’s got a private army.  Ex-military, all of ’em.  At least fifty, Kaiser said, and every one of ’em has top notch gear.  Their armor’s better than kevlar.  You shoot ’em, they’re back up in a few seconds.  ‘Least when you shoot a pig, you can be pretty sure you broke a few ribs.  But that’s not the fucked up thing.  These guys?  They’ve got these lasers hooked up to the machine guns they carry around.  If they don’t think bullets are doing it, or if they’re after people who are behind cover, they fire off these purple laser beams that can cut through steel.  Tear through any cover you’re standing behind and burn through you too.”

More competition! In the same way that the ABB seems to have an asian theme, and the Empire are neo-nazis, these guys seem to be some sort of paramilitary militia armed to the teeth with high-tech gear, including ...laser weapons?? So these guys are less about superpowers and more about collective strength, tactics and formations? They sound awesome.

Coil makes me think about tesla coils, so maybe some electricity power to go along with the high-tech motif and weird technology?

“Yeah.  I know about him.  His methods get expensive,” Victoria said, “Top of the line soldiers, top of the line gear.”

The thug nodded weakly, “But even with money to burn, he’s fighting us over Downtown territories.  Constant tug of war, neither of us making much headway.  Been going on for months.  So Kaiser thinks we should take the Docks now that the ABB are on the outs, gain some ground somewhere easier.  Don’t know any more than that, as far as his plans.”

Seems this Coil group and the Empire are about equal in power, with the ABB being now weaker but maybe stronger than both of them previously?

“Who else is up to something?  Faultline?”

“The bitch with the freaks in her crew?  She’s a mercenary, different goals.  But maybe.  If she wanted to branch out, now would be the time to do it.  With her rep, she’d even do alright.”

“Then who?  There’s a power vacuum in the docks.  Kaiser’s declared he wants to seize it, but I’m willing to bet he’s warned you about others making a play.”

Another new player! She’s a mercenary, with a bunch of ...freaks? Are these like mutants, where the powers change their appearance and they are discriminated against? Seems like an interesting group. Faultline.... maybe some earth or earthquake-related power?

The skinhead laughed, then winced, “Are you dense, girl?  Everyone’s going to make a play.  It’s not just the major gangs and teams that are looking for a slice of the pie, there.  It’s everyone.  The Docks are ripe for the taking.  The location’s worth as much money as you’d get downtown.  It’s the go to place if you want to buy black market.  Sex, drugs, violence.  And the locals are already used to paying protection money.  It’s just a matter of changing who they pay to.  The Docks are rich territory, and we’re talking the potential for a full scale fucking war over it.”

He looked up at the blond superheroine and laughed.  Her lips set into a firm line.

Dear god Taylor what have you done? Now we have a full-scale gang war that could spread to the whole district thanks to your actions that day. You certainly caused a big splash!

It kinda reminds me of Doflamingo’s speech in One Piece, where there is a power vacuum that is going to make everyone fight in the near future, only that is much much more high scale than this. Still, what a way to change things.

He continued, “You want to know my guess?  Empire Eighty Eight is going to take the biggest slice of the Docks, because we’re strong enough to. Coil’s going to stick his thumb in just to spite us, ABB is going to hold on to some.  But you’re also going to have a bunch of the little guys trying to take something for themselves.  Über and Leet, Circus, the Undersiders, Squealer, Trainwreck, Stain, others you’ve never heard of?  They’re going to stake out their ground, and one of two things is going to happen.  Either there’s war, in which case civilians get hurt and things get bad for you, or there’s alliances between the various teams and solo villains and shit gets even worse for you.”

Woaah a loot of even more new names! This is worldbuilding, the chapter!

Uber and Leet ...I think they vaguely mentioned them once..? But they apparently were small-fries

Circus is maybe a carnaval or clown-themed villain? Those are always ...fun. I expect a lot of circus gimmicks as their powerset.

The Undersiders are that group of totally innocent teens of which Taylor might or might not be a part of now, and might or might not be planning to eventually betray.

Squealer sounds ...weird. Maybe something animal-based?

Trainwreck maybe summons trains to crash against you. That seems too silly though. (Yukari-approved! )

Stain is obviously from Mha and I don’t know how he jumped to here. On a more serious note, I have no idea what he could be about.

All of these (including our undersiders) seem to be small timers, at least compared to the big three of the ABB, the Empire and the supersoldiers. And also Faultline, which even though she was a mercenary was considered high enough to be counted outside of the smaller ones.

We’re getting to know our underworld landscape here!

He broke into laughter yet again.

“Come on, Panacea,” Victoria said as she stood up, touched ground with her boots and brushed her skirt straight, “We’ve gotten enough.”

“You sure?  I’m not done yet,” Amy told her.

“You fixed the bruises and scrapes, broken bones?”  Everything that could get her in trouble, in other words.

“Yeah, but I didn’t fix everything,” Amy replied.

“Good enough,” Victoria decided.

“Hey!” the skinhead shouted, “The deal was you’d fix me if I talked! Did you fix my cock?”  He tried to struggle to get to his feet, but his legs buckled under him,  “Hey!  I can’t fuckin’ walk!  I’ll fucking sue you!”

Victoria’s expression changed in an instant, and her power flooded out, blindsiding the thug.  For an instant, his eyes were like those of a panicked horse, all whites, rolling around, unfocused.  She grabbed him by the shirt collar, lifted him up and growled into his ear, her voice just above a whisper, “Try it.  My sister just healed you… most of you, with a touch.  Did you ever wonder what else she could do?  Ever think, maybe, she could break you just as easily?  Or change the color of your skin, you racist fuck?  I’ll tell you this, I’m not half as scary as my little sister is.”

Seems the skinhead was still being a pest faking not being cured and Victoria had enough. Damn she can be scary, and that’s aside from the ability to literally make him feel fear. I think part of the scary factor to her is that she could very easily break you and she doesn’t really have that much impulse control. Imagine facing down someone like that and thanks to her power having that fear you feel towards her amplified until she is the worst thing in your world.

And that all pales in comparison to her sister. Oh god I hadn’t considered that application of her power! She has organic manipulation, not healing. Healing is just what she chooses to use her power for! She could unmake you with just her continued touch, or give you any sort of illness or deformity. She has one of the greatest and scariest powers so far.

She let him go.  He collapsed in a heap on the ground.

As the two sisters walked away, Victoria pulled her cell phone out of a pouch on her belt with her free hand.  Turning to Amy, she said, “Thank you.”

“Play safe, Victoria.  I can’t bring people back from the dead, and once you’ve gone that far…”

“I’ll be good.  I’ll be better,” Victoria promised as she dialed with one hand.  She put the phone to her ear, “Hello?  Emergency services?   Requesting special line.  New Wave, Glory Girl.  Incapacitated criminal for you to pick up, no powers.  No, no rush, I can hold.”

Seems this situation concluded with a minor big problem averted. Glory Girl really should be grateful for the free healer she has to get her out of her excessive use of force! They are cleaning nazis from the streets so they aren’t bad or anything, they are the good guys, just a bit too dangerous sometimes!

Looking over her shoulder, Victoria noted the thug, still floundering and half-crawling, “He’s not going to get up?”

“He’ll be numb from the waist down for another three hours.  His left arm will be iffy for about that long, too, so he’s not going to move unless he can drag himself somewhere with just one limb.  He’ll also have numb toes for a good month or so, too,” Amy smiled.

“You didn’t actually…”

“No.  Nothing was broken, and I didn’t screw up anything, beyond a temporary numbness.  But he doesn’t know that.  Fear and doubt will complete the effect, and the suggestion becomes a self fulfilling prophecy.”

“Amy!” Victoria laughed, hugging her sister with one arm, “Weren’t you just saying you weren’t going to mess with people’s heads?”

Heh, I really like Amy. And Victoria too, to a degree. She’s a lil bit spoiled, but I imagine getting such awesome powers at a young age warps your perception of things.

We set up a lot of things this chapter, and it seems our protagonist may have destabilized all of the city with her first night in costume! She’s certainly off to a good start!

[real-jaune-isms]

RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 3 Review & Rundown

Oh boy oh boy, this sure was a heck of a time wasn’t it? Not quite as panic inducing and chaotic as last week with the Hound playing fetch with Oscar’s body, but I still felt a great deal of dread and unease as things took a turn for the negative. Hopefully I can properly explain how.

We begin on a black screen as Ruby pants and groans in a way that made me worry I had put on the wrong video. But no, she’s just winded from riding the tube up to Atlas, and we see her stagger out to see the rest of the group awaiting her. Nora is being painfully held by the ear for what she did to Weiss last episode, but she defends herself by saying it was the kind of thing you only get to do once in a lifetime so she should be happy about it. Blake is the last one to pop out of the tube, and she seems to have had a real bad time coming up. Hair a mess, a little of balance, out of breath, she has good reason to want to NEVER do this again. May asks Penny for directions through the base, though she calls her “robo-girl” when she does it which isn’t the greatest nickname. Penny does a 3D scan of the base and pulls up a map for reference, or something cool and digital to that effect, its more of a visual thing than something you can explain. She gives a rapid series of perfect directions, much to everyone but Ruby’s wide eyed amazement. Ruby is just smugly impressed that her gal pal can do this sort of cool thing. Penny also takes this chance to assert that she would much prefer being called by her actual name. Ruby gives a smug “heh” that May is getting told off, to which May scoffs. Kdin herself has commented that this was meant to only be indignation at being chided for the nickname, not any annoyance at Penny being insistent on what she is called. Personal identity is something May understands well, and she does call her Penny from that point on. So it’s nothing to go insulting or slandering May over.

May puts up her invisibility bubble, and they head off. We see them standing around in an elevator waiting to reach their floor, a very relatable bit of comedy, before taking a few hesitant steps back as it stops on an early floor and two soldiers get in. These two are outside the bubble so they can’t see our girls, but it’s still a tense situation. They get to their floor and sneak around the soldiers while they’re busy talking about how creepy Salem’s horde waiting in the air is, and Nora plays a little prank by hitting every elevator button on the way out. The soldiers are so confused and annoyed! Reaching a door with a security checkpoint, Penny pops one of her fingertips off to reveal a USB insert that she plugs into the terminal to use Pietro’s credentials without his hand print. Ruby is quite impressed by this cool new tool, as would be expected of the weapons buff. May asks which way to turn, and Penny informs them that next they will need to go directly through the central command room. There are a lot of people crowded together and walking around, and May’s Semblance is not equipped for that kind of navigation. Fortunately, we get an answer in the form of what I’d like to call the Pennydex. She explains, with a fun cartoony visual, that Ruby’s Semblance allows her to do much more than just move fast, she actually breaks down to a molecular level so her mass can be negated and she can move faster. So, as we saw briefly in episode 1 of Volumes 4 and 6 with Nora and Weiss respectively, she can do the same to other people and transport a group since the mass of a whole group wouldn’t matter if they’re all just flying molecules. TLDR: We were misinterpreting Ruby’s Semblance the whole time and she can use it to get them through the crowded room easily. And judging from Ruby’s look of shock and confusion, she’s been misinterpreting her Semblance too. Harriet did say that her power is unlike anything she’s ever seen before back in V7... Blake continues to be the funniest member of the group by pointing out how Penny knew this was possible before Ruby did, and all Ruby can do is remind her (and us) that Penny also figured out Blake’s faunus identity before Ruby had. Not exactly painting yourself in the brightest light if your only rebuttal is further proof you’re not that perceptive... 

With the opening of a door we shift scenes to Ironwood explaining himself for being tardy to... whatever it is he’s doing, and blaming it on how busy today has been. Meaning he’s probably killed someone else offscreen. The only thing that pisses me off more than that idea is whom he’s talking to: Watts, working for Ironwood to try and hack Penny under threat of execution from two armed guards. Point all the guns you want, Jimbo, this WILL backfire on you in a tremendous way. As quickly illustrated in a podcast about this episode by an IT professional, it is VERY bad business to hire a malicious hacker who has made no efforts to prove his stance with your security or what he will do with his skills has changed. If you can’t understand the jargon on his screen, he will use your ignorance to stab you in the back and turn this in his favor. But it is at least fortunate for Ironwood that Watts is here, because he points out that Pietro’s credentials are in use within the compound and it’s a little uncertain if the general would have noticed that without someone there checking the system. Naturally, as the paranoid man he is, Ironwood declares a security breach and a code red lockdown, authorization to use lethal force granted. Hey, I said this was fortunate for Ironwood, not for our heroes! The girls are of course panicked and worried, Penny checking the systems to see the tubes have been sealed too so they can’t leave how they came in. May is ready to swipe an airship for them so they can bail immediately, but Penny is resolute that the mission can still be achieved. Nora gets a good idea on how to make this work, and we see May sneak into the control room while cloaked to trip a guy walking by with a cup of coffee. His mug, labeled #1 Dad Dud, flies through the air and the hot coffee spills on a coworker’s computer and lap. This poor guy Bill who just wanted to drink some good bean juice, gets screamed at by another employee while the victim of the spill runs screaming out of the room to change pants. Bill is apparently notorious for not heeding the sign they have pinned up to say no food or drinks in the control room, and while the angry guy lists off his misdemeanors Ruby swoops up the rest of her friends and zooms through the room towards their destination while everyone is occupied with Bill. There’s a theory Bill is actually Velvet’s father Will Scarletina, since according to Before the Dawn he does work in Atlas, but considering the kind of guy Bill seems to be I would kinda hope otherwise. He microwaved salmon, for Christ’s sake! Unforgiveable!

The girls, minus May who went elsewhere to get a ship for their departure, emerge from Ruby’s petal blur safe and sound... except Blake. Penny, Weiss, and Nora have all been carried by Ruby before and are used to it, but this is Blake’s first time traveling Air Rose. So while the others look very proud of a triumphant Ruby, Blake is panicked and trying to steady herself. We next see them walking along an ominous looking bridgeway to a door with an electrified field in front of it. Penny does her USB insert thing to take down the electric barrier and unlock the door, and the others ready themselves to fight whoever might be on the other side. Instead, they find an empty room with several terminal pillars, a couple chairs, and one central interface computer that Penny will be using. After the door closes, Nora notes that the electricity started up again. Penny sits down at the terminal, and after taking a moment to breath and prepare herself notifies Pietro over whatever comms they use that she’s ready to start. It’s cute that she calls him dad, reminds me that yeah they are a family. What’s much less cute is that Pietro then remotely takes control of Penny from all the way at Amity so he can use her to perform the complicated process they need to make the launch plan work. The size of her irises and pupils changes, as does the color of her irises from green to yellow. Makes me very wary of the fact that her eyes were briefly red in the intro... especially since Watts is on the job to try and hack into her. Knowing her being remotely controlled is already possible in how she is programmed is TERRIFYING. Ruby is understandably a bit confused and taken aback by Pietro’s voice coming from Penny. “Penny” starts the complicated task as Ruby watches and probably has no idea what she’s looking at, and we cut over to Nora as she looks around the room. She passes by Weiss and Blake, and Blake is the one to voice her concern for Yang’s group. Makes sense she’s so concerned, she’s an only child worried by the fact that Ruby and Yang butted heads like that. Weiss is a sister so she knows what it’s like for siblings to fight like this, she knows it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other less or are on opposite sides. They just have different ideas about what’s right. Clearly she’s drawing from her own feelings on going against Winter at the end of Volume 7. Nora also tries to reassure Blake by talking about how strong and talented Jaune and Yang are and how much Oscar has grown as a fighter. Blake and Yang both seem impressed and reassured by this appraisal, while we the audience know this is very far from the current truth, since Oscar has been stolen away and Yang was unable to protect him. But what is also noteworthy is that she said nothing about Ren. She notices her own gap in information and tries to offer something but... she has no idea what Ren is right now. She hates feeling like she’s losing him, like she has less and less of an understanding who he is than ever before despite the years they’ve spent together, and she’s unsure if she should blame him or herself for this. This time Blake is the one with sage advice pulled from her own bittersweet experiences. When you’ve been at someone’s side for as long as they have, your identities become intertwined and you can lose track of what is really you vs what is a part of them mixed in. It’s important to keep a firm grip on who you are, to be your own person outside of that other person. Clearly, this is a warning to not make the mistakes she did with Adam, for Nora to not blind herself with obsession and attachment to this partner she trusts so much. They don’t say this flat out, but we can read between the lines. It’s a very nice moment from Blake, but it only worries Nora more. She’s had Ren in her life for so long, she really doesn’t know who she is as an individual. That’s a bit sad to think about, but Weiss tries to look on the bright side and says this can be an opportunity for Nora to do some self discovery and find who Nora Valkyrie truly is on her own. All Nora can think of to define herself though... is the value of her strength and her destructive capability. That’s all people expect of her, and she is finally getting a chance to prove herself beyond that.

Before Blake or Weiss have a chance to reassure her, they hear some promising beeps from the computer and rejoin Ruby and Penny. Pietro explains through Penny that he’s cloned the imprint of Ironwood’s computer signature onto Penny, so when they run the launch sequence for Amity the system will connect to her to get clearance instead of going all the way to this terminal to get it from the General. She finally returns to being herself, and says she’ll be sure to rejoin her friends once the launch is done so she can help finish the evacuations, buuuut Pietro has a different idea. He wants her to stay on the tower with him and Maria, but Penny wants to be here and help her friends who need her. Ruby does her best to be diplomatic about this, but she has to agree with Pietro. If Ironwood was right about the tower being unreachable by Salem’s forces then it will be the safest place for the Winter Maiden powers until Salem is beaten or leaves. So maybe Penny should stay there, at least for now? Weiss agrees, while Blake tries to change the subject and say they should head to the hangar and GTFO. Penny unlocks the door while lamenting how often folks are having to do things they would rather not. Appropriately enough, the Ace Ops are waiting on the other side looking for a fight our girls would probably rather not be having. With all the authority of a neighbor at your door to ask for their vacuum back, Harriet insists they’ll be bringing Penny “home” now. RNBW are quick to draw their weapons in defense, and it becomes a verbal spar instead. Surprisingly, it’s Vine who steps up with the speech to convince Penny. And just like the General, its full of negging and gaslighting to make her think she only thought she’s been doing what’s right but really she needs to do what Ironwood says. That she’s not protecting people unless she’s getting the relic for Ironwood. Which is, of course, bullshit because 60% of the people are in Mantle and the General has expressly stated he wants to abandon them to die in favor of keeping his already well fortified 40% up in Atlas safe. Penny tries to defend herself and her position on things with Mantle, but Hare and Elm have a pretty damn backwards way of remembering the end of Volume 7 because they call Penny ungrateful and blame her for Winter being in critical condition. Let’s try to imagine how that dramatic climax would have gone without Penny being there, hm? Winter wouldn’t have been able to get through the arctic vortex Fria was creating without dying of sheer cold, Cinder would have burned through with rage or spite or just been closer when Fria finally collapsed and died. Penny saved Winter’s life twofold and delayed Cinder long enough for Ruby to come in and make the Fall Maiden panic and leave. Get bent, bootlickers...

Marrow and Harriet try to rapidfire good cop bad cop Penny into backing down and surrendering her access of the vault to them, but Ruby uses actual logic and says boosting Atlas into the sky won’t stop Salem, it will only harm more people and delay the inevitable. Or at least, she tries to but hot tempered Hare yaps at her to shut up or she’ll get arrested just like Qrow. Threatening Ruby is more than Penny is willing to allow, and she takes the clear bait to step out of the server room only for Harriet to close the door behind her and leave the other girls trapped behind solid steel and deadly electric current. Penny uses her Maiden powers and her sword array to put up a good fight, but it’s still 4 vs 1 and their teamwork starts to overwhelm her, especially when Marrow uses his trump card Semblance to immobilize her for Vine to put cuffs on her. Meanwhile Weiss tries to use her Summon Knight to break down the door and even the odds, but the electric field is too much. She and Ruby lament how unfair this is and hope Penny can last a little while, but we are seeing how poorly that goes. Nora decides she has to step up for the clutch play, repeating the only 2 things she thinks she can do. “Be strong, and hit stuff...” So she jabs Magnhild into the power source on one side of the door and starts absorbing all the electricity into her body, screaming like Goku going Super Saiyan 3. And the analogy fits, because lightning runs across her skin in cool jagged bolts of pink and her hair stands on end. With a swing and a scream, she bashes the doors in and knocks the Ace Ops back a bit before they can cuff Penny. But all things must come with a cost, and this blows through all her Aura and she passes out with a momentary glassly look in her eyes. Not only that, the pink faded but the lightning patterns are still on her skin as an extensive set of scars consistent with the Lichtenberg figure observed on people actually struck by lightning. In terms of predictions for future consequences, serious electrocution like this has been documented to result in paralysis to some limbs, brain damage or memory loss, and sometimes even blindness. I worry those last two could be possible, since she was already having a hard time determining who she was without Ren so now she might completely forget who she is altogether, or she might lose her sight completely. I don’t know if RT would dare to do that, but we do have Yang’s arm as an example of their willingness for consequences... Regardless, the heroes are now down a woman but they’re still ready to fight for their friend. 

Ironwood bitches and moans about losing the chance for the odds to be stacked in his favor since he can’t win this encounter otherwise, but Watts has a new plan for the Ace Ops. Harriet doesn’t like the new orders, but Marrow is ready and willing to obey. Elm quickly swipes RWB over the edge of the walkway before they can do much to fight back against the already winded Atlesians, and by the time Ruby can scoop up her teammates with her Semblance (thank goodness she learned to do that today), the damage is done. Harriet maneuvers behind Penny and yanks one of her swords out of her back with a heart wrenching pluck of the connecting string. Like pulling off a butterfly’s wing... especially since in this world weapons are supposed to be like an extension of your soul. With the sword yoinked their job is done here and they all bail, though Marrow has a remorseful look back at the teens as if he knows he’s trapped on the wrong side. Guess we know why he agreed to this plan so quickly, it was a grab and go rather than a total takedown of their former friends. Blake is the first to point out how incredibly sus this behavior was, but they don’t have time to fully ruminate on the situation because they’ve also done what they came to do and they need to GTFO. Carrying Nora, they meet May in the hangar where her jaunty greeting is cut short by the sight of the ginger girl’s injuries. They need to get her somewhere safe, so they violently bust out through the doors. While in the open air, Penny says her goodbyes and they reveal the ship can be a convertible so she can fly away. Ruby and Penny share a tender but deep hug, and Ruby promises they’ll see each other soon. I just worry when they do it will be on opposite sides of the battlefield, and this worry is not helped by the final scene. The Ace Ops deliver Penny’s sword to a satisfied Ironwood, though Harriet would have been happier taking all of those meddling kids down. Watts cryptically implies that with a piece of Penny’s tech they can make her join them, and anyone who doesn’t trust him immediately knows by “them” he means Salem. And that’s the worrisome note we end on this week. Will next week be better? With the element of future knowledge/ the curse of this review being a week or so late I can say NOPE.

[khaosgaming22]

You Are Here- Part III

Kenneth ran down the hallway dodging out of the way of any Guardians trying to head toward the dormitory elevator and sprinted to a door. He stopped to catch his breath for a second and started knocking on the door. No answer, shit. He tried again, he could hear the shower running and loud opera music playing. She was definitely home, but there was no time for this. He took out his knife and picked the lock to the door, after a few quick tries it opened and he walked inside the two-guardian dorm closing the door behind him. Didn’t want anyone to hear this.

He heard the shower stop and the music get a bit quieter, he could then hear her humming along to it. He waited outside the door not wanting to intrude anymore than he already had until she came out in a lavender bathrobe and saw him.

“Hello... Ken? What are you doing in our dorm?” Ken took a breath.

“I need to talk to you about something and ask a few questions.” He answered.

“Couldn’t it have waited till I was dressed?” She pouted and Ken shook his head.

“Not this time. It’s about Drake.” Drake? The person she hadn’t seen for at least a week now? Now that she thought about it, missions lasted a while even Vanguard but a week was unusual.

“Let me just put something on, nothing fancy, just some clothes and we can talk okay?” Ken nodded and sat down at a two person table as she went to change. He looked around at the place, things had definitely changed. There were pictures of the two up now and a few books about music were in between research journals on the bookshelf. ...Oh and there was a Vex arm.

Torra sat down across from Ken while he was looking around.

“Okay so, whats going on?” She asked and Ken pulled out a small scrap of torn Warlock robe colored in yellow and brown.

“My house was broken into, whoever the thief was was very careful, they only took one thing but they were also a bit sloppy and the weapon must’ve ripped off a piece of their clothing.” Torra listened and nodded.

“Wh- What did they take?”

“My Thorn.”

Thorn. The weapon all Guardians feared, once wielded by the dreaded Dredgen Yor, Ken had made his own before with the help of Shin as an experiment. To see if he could hold both Light and Dark without it consuming him. He must’ve succeeded if it was in a place so simple as his own home. But now it was gone and that piece of cloth was looking awfully familiar as she stared down at it...

“I don’t know for sure. But... I think Drake has turned Dredgen.”

~

...Draaaake...

...Draaaaaake...

WAKE UP.

Drake awoke in a combat arena made entirely of jagged black edges, he could see engravings etched into the stone. He saw his opponent, a lowly Taken Vandal nothing he hadn’t seen already. He went to reach for his Corrupted Thorn but his arm was stopped.

“No Draeko. No weapon this time. You must become the weapon.” The voice spoke, Drake obeyed. He charged the Vandal as it took sniper shots at him, the rounds hit but they had seemingly no effect as he reached out with his hands, took the Vandal’s rifle and shot him with his own weapon. It all happened within seconds, then the voice came back for approval.

“Good. Now let’s try two stronger targets.”

And Drake blacked out again.

~

Ken flew the ship toward where they thought Drake would be, all they had was some journals and advice from Eris but they were sure it had to be the moon of Jupiter that a pyramid ship was parked over. Torra sat in the seat next to him shaking a bit and hiding in her robes. Ken could tell she was afraid, hell he was too. This was probably the craziest thing he had done since the Moon, but at least he wasn’t alone this time and he had no choice, they had taken Drake. And his stuff! He wasn’t gonna let that slide.

“Like the new ship? He asked trying to lighten the mood a bit. Torra gave a small shrug as she held the necklace Drake gave her close. They could see the ship now, it’s monstrous presence loomed over the place where humanity once was, where the Traveller once blessed above, now it’s enemy sat and withered away. Ken took another breath and sent the ship in toward the pyramid. For a split second a Hive portal opened swallowing the ship and moving them elsewhere, then just as quick they were back.

“What the hell just happened?” Ken asked stabilizing the craft.

“I... I don’t know, I think someone or some thing is trying to keep us from going any further.” Ken got the ship back on course, he saw a landing platform open up on the side of the pyramid. Whatever was in there, wanted them closer.

Ken set down the ship and loaded his Sacramento, he felt cold as he descended down to make contact with the pyramid. Not like the temperature dropped, no more like something was disrupting the heat from getting to him. His light felt weak, when he tried to light the dark hallway his fire were only sparks. The architecture of the pyramid was dark, sharp, edgy. He decided he shouldn’t take Chase out unless absolutely necessary and told Torra the same.

The hallway was lit by red lights that looked like eyes peering into his soul. It was the creepiest place Ken had ever saw, but they had to find Drake. Torra stayed close behind dancing small waves of Void light across her palm, it kept her feeling like she was in control of something. Some modicum of safety in this wrong place.

They must’ve been walking for hours, Ken had left a trail of knives to find their way back to the ship once they found him. Then they came across a large room with a figure sitting on his knees in the middle. The walls closed off. They were trapped in the room. The figure stood up and turned to them, they wore tattered and cracked Warlock gear in yellow and brown. At least that’s what it looked like, it was hard to tell in so little of light.

“Drake!”

“Wait Torra-“ Drake put out a palm and pushed her away unmoved. Torra flew backwards and hit the wall next to Kenneth. Whoever this was, it was clearly not Drake.

“Why... who what happened to him? Why would he do that to me...” Torra sobbed and Ken shook his head.

“Whatever happened on this ship, it turned him into something else. That may be Drake but it isn’t him...” He looked back at his former friend as he sat back down on his knees again. “Torra I’m sorry but we’re gonna have to fight him.”

“What?!”

“It’s the only way to get him to snap outta this. Or... only way I see it working at least.” Torra said nothing. “I’ll keep him busy while you try and knock him out.” Torra was unmoved, there had to be another way. Ken stood up and lit his Hunter knife with as much fire as he could gather and rushed him.

Drake stood up using his palm to force his attacker away but Ken dodged and was able to get a slash in. It didn’t seem to do much of anything and Drake kicked Kenneth in the side, as he fell to the floor he threw the knife and it landed a direct hit in his arm. Drake looked down at the knife and tried to pull it out as Ken struggled to get back up. His vision was clouded but he saw Torra tackle him to the ground and rip his hood off.

“DRAKE!” She yelled through tears. “Drake I know you’re still in there, you have to fight it!” Drake pushed her off of him and punched her in the jaw. She bled a bit from her nose and it disoriented her but she wasn’t giving up that easily. She Blinked in front of him and kicked him in the ribs, probably cracked a few but they would heal once she could get out of this horrible place with him.

As they fought Ken held his side and looked off into a corner of the room covered in shadow, another figure smiled creepily as he watched them fight. Ken looked a bit closer and the figure came into view, another Warlock.

“You...” He groaned trying to sit up. “You’re the reason he’s doing this, I dunno who the hell you think you are but I will kill you.” The former Warlock stepped out of the shadows with a sword that was lit ablaze. A Dawnblade.

“You are different. You aren’t like your comrade over there, no.... You are not afraid of the Dark.”

“If you’re referring to wheather I give a damn about Light and Dark and using their power I don’t. But I know that the Darkness can do horrible things to people. I’ve seen it.”

“You clearly misunderstand the balance then, so-called Symmetrist. For if you believe you cannot have Light without Dark, you would embrace it as you have the Gardener’s gift.”

“Having Light and Dark is fine but I’ll decide the balance. Now get lost and leave my friend alone you shadowed creep.” He spat.

“There are things your friend has not told you. You see, you may be his friend, but I am his creator. And now that he is here he will be reunited. His training has been a bit... shaky but he will improve.”

“I don’t care if you’re his third cousin’s aunt’s brother twice removed, you’re evil. And we will put an end to you once we save him.” The shadow chuckled dryly.

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“Like this. TORRA NOW!” Ken threw a Tripmine Grenade behind the Warlock and summoned his Goldengun, putting six rounds through him causing him to fall onto the grenade and disorient him for a bit. Drake’s corruption lifted slightly and Torra finished the job as tears streamed down her face. Drake blacked out as Kenneth stood above his father and twirled a knife around.

“You... you were-“

“Distracting you, biding my time, waiting for my Light to build. Any of those work. Once I saw that you actually bothered to show up and were tangible I just had to get back to full strength. It’s just now that you notice the red lights are a bit dimmer? Heh, for a former Warlock you aren’t a very good one.”

“Don’t you dare speak of that INFERNAL title again!” He shouted angrily. “The Light forced me into a role, now I have the power to play my own. The Dark offers freedom don’t you simpletons get i-“ Ken shot him in the head.

“You talk too much.”

Drake came to shortly after dazed and confused.

“Where... where am I? Torra? Ken-“ He stopped. “KEN GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

“Relax man, I just shot him. He’s dead in the dirt.” Drake shook his head.

“No, no it would never be that easy. You may have killed that form but he will continue to exist wherever there’s Darkness.”

“The boy is half right.” A whispered voice spoke to all three of them as the crumpled mess of Drake’s former father picked himself back up. “Did you really think I could be killed with simple weaponry like that? Ha! Not likely. Though that handcannon of yours did leave a mark, there must be something special about it. In any case, take my failure of a son, if he could not beat two Lightbearers then he is not worthy to continue. For now I take my leave, I will find another blade to sharpen...” He sneered holding Drake’s Dawnblade in his hands. Ken shot him with a rocket launcher but he shielded himself in a cloud of Darkness and disappeared.

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight prologue (part 3)

Levelling up and last stands

Graendal to Galad, and now Galad to Padan Fain. It’s like alignment whiplash.

The sky was black. A tempest. He liked that, though he hated the one who caused it.

This is great because there’s just a hint of ambiguity to who that actually may be. Rand? Or the Dark One? And when you have to ask, even for a second…well, that’s sort of the point, isn’t it.

Hatred. It was the proof that he still lived, the one emotion left.

Well, that’s one more than Rand at any rate.

(Pre-Dragonmount, I mean).

Padan Fain exists to chew scenery and you know what buddy? Chew away. Live your dreams.

Did his hatred cause that storm? It must be so. Yes.

Sorry Fain; pretty sure Rand has first claim on I am the storm. He just carries it better, you see. It’s a good look on him and we don’t mess with that.

I typo-ed that as ‘it’s a god look on him’ and really… either way.

When you accepted madness into yourself – embraced it and drank it in as if it were sunlight or water or the air itself – it became another part of you.

I’m mostly amused by how similar this sounds to the wording of Egwene thinking of how the Aiel handle pain. In this case I don’t think it’s particularly intentional or meaningful or anything, but it amuses me.

Another part of you. Like a hand or an eye.

Not sure those are the best examples, given Rand and also very likely at some point Mat, but sure.

He was finally free.

Has something changed? Oh, wait. Is this the first we’ve seen of him since saidin was cleansed? And Shadar Logoth destroyed? I think it is, in which case… interesting. Particularly interesting since it doesn’t seem to have affected the dagger’s power – Fain’s still obsessed with his precious, at any rate – and last we heard Rand’s wound(s) hadn’t healed. But Shadar Logoth was destroyed, and its power seemingly with it, more or less, and so now Fain or Mordeth or Smeagol or whoever he is these days is free, in a manner of speaking. That’ll end well for everyone involved, I’m sure.

Oh he killed a worm. And he’s in the Blight so that’s a Worm. Im…pressive?

Mist had begun to trail him, creeping up from the ground. Was that mist his madness, or was it his hatred? It was so familiar. It twisted around his ankles and liked at his heels.

Like a yellow fog, that rubs its back upon the window panes, a yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window panes, licks its tongue into the corners of the evening…

No? Or perhaps like, say, Mashadar? I mean, maybe it’s nothing, but if it’s not nothing, that’s… concerning. Were more things freed than Fain, in the ruination of Shadar Logoth? Open to give the world hope but did it also release some element of despair?

The mist struck.

And unless we’ve transported into one of Sanderson’s original works, that means I’m right and the cleansing of saidin did indeed have some… unintended consequences. Which is fitting, in a grander sense of balance, but still kind of… well, sad.

So Fain has levelled up again, it would seem, which is the outcome absolutely no one needed.

That said, he played enough of a part early on, and enough has been made of him from time to time afterwards, that it would be kind of weird to leave him out of the ending. Personally I wouldn’t particularly mind; watching him chew scenery is fun enough from time to time but the rest of the time I sort of tend to forget about him, and I’m not particularly invested in anything to do with him, and the slightly more critical side of me wonders if he was ever truly necessary as a character… but at this point in a series, once you have a character like that, dropping them now would feel untidy. It would feel like an oversight, or like lazy plotting.

Which is hard, when everything about him suggests that his entire purpose is to be a wildcard character. He doesn’t have a clear fated role to play in all of this, unless it’s something to do with his link to the dagger and, via that, to Mat somehow.

Instead, he’s a powerful entity on a third side in a two-sided war. Yes, there are far more factions than that within each of those sides, and so much of the point of the last several books has been that lack of unity, and the tragedy but perhaps inevitability of fighting against those who should be your allies, of losing sight of the larger conflict in favour of the smaller and more immediate ones, and of trying to forge some kind of alliance despite that, and the ways in which that can succeed or fail.

But Fain is less a part of that and more a completely outside element. Not, in a way, unlike Aridhol itself was, as it became Shadar Logoth. A darkness and an evil that came from a form of the Light and its hatred of the Shadow and, over time, twisted. And therefore was an evil that was not truly of the Shadow, but was no longer an ally of the Light. Instead it was its own poison.

That’s kind of what Fain is. Which certainly has potential, as a story element, but I am curious to see how that’s played, and how well it’s played, given the sheer volume of characters we’re dealing with, and the size of this conflict, and the many other themes already at play. Can his role, whatever it is, end up feeling satisfying? I guess we’ll read and find out on that one.

Anyway, that was a bit of a tangent, but the point of it was: yes, he’s levelled up, because I think he has to in order to have a hope of having his part in the ending being interesting or satisfying.

Red below, black above. Red and black, red and black, so much red and black.

See, the thing is, I know for a fact that Brandon Sanderson is a fan of Les Miserables, so I am fully justified in humming ‘red, the blood of angry men; black, the dark of ages past….’

Also, Moridin would approve. Of the colour scheme, if nothing else.

And also of the chaos. Some say the world will end in (bale)fire, some say in ice, and Padan Fain says fuck it why not evil killer mist. Less poetic but sure.

(Let’s play a little game called: over the course of the liveblog, how much of an English Literature syllabus do we think I’ve referenced? …on second thought let’s not play that game)

Oh, the Trollocs didn’t die, they just got a Mashadar Makeover and now they’re competing for Malkier’s Blight’s Next Top Abomination.

He left the Myrddraal. It would not rise, as rumours said they did. His touch now brought instant death to one of its kind. Pity. He had a few nails he might have otherwise put to good use.

Perhaps he should get some gloves. But if he did, he couldn’t cut his hand. What a problem.

The thing is, while the style here is very Sanderson, for a character like Fain it actually works pretty well. Which is mainly, I think, because I have long suspected Sanderson has a soft spot for writing characters who are utterly batshit and having the time of their lives with it. Pass the scenery, and the salt. Yum.

Like an old friend. A dear, beloved old friend that you were going to stab through the eye, open up at the gut and consume by handfuls while drinking his blood. That was the proper way to treat friends.

Sure, it lacks the undertone of beautiful horror, and the poetry of Machin Shin whispering about braiding flayed skin, which is in a way a shame. But it conveys the essential message and character, and at least for me, this works well as an example of Sanderson’s approach of not trying to imitate style because that could go so badly, but instead emulating the feel of the story itself. Sometimes it doesn’t work, but here, at least for me, it does.

It's ironic in a way that it’s a similar thing to what he’s done with Mat, but it has the opposite effect. With Mat – I’ve written about this elsewhere, but tl;dr is that I think he read Mat as funny and so tried to write Mat as funny, using his own methods rather than Jordan’s because imitating style exactly is a lost cause, but something very essential was lost in the translation (like the fact that Mat himself isn’t really humorous; it more comes from the contrast of his thoughts with his actions, and his character against the world around him, but I digress again). So he went for ‘convey the same idea through my own methods rather than trying to imitate Jordan’s’ – consciously or subconsciously – and it backfired. But with Fain, he’s taken the same approach – ‘convey a scenery-chewing wildcard who has lost every mind he’s possessed, which is several’ – and this time the same-idea-different-style still gets that across in a way that feels true to character.

Obviously mileage can and will vary on whether or not this works, but for me it’s just an interesting study in how a certain approach or method can succeed or fail depending on exactly how and where it’s applied, and what the cause of that success or failure may be – why it works in one place but not another, and what went right or wrong.

It is, I think, something of a writing exercise if you want to turn it into one. A bit like reverse-engineering an outline from a book you’ve read (I do this often; I realised at some point that I was doing it and then I made a point of doing it deliberately, and it’s super interesting, and for me at least it’s helped me think more deliberately about the structure of a story, and how that can be leveraged for different effects). But thinking about the specifics of what does or doesn’t work for you about the authorship switch – a particular character, or a scene, or the pacing, or the handling of a certain theme, or anything else – and then digging into the specifics of why it works, or doesn’t.

That, for me, has been more interesting than just picking out the differences. Sure, I’ll nitpick, but I prefer not to focus on it, because ‘this is different’ feels… kind of pointless. Of course it’s different. Figuring out exactly what is different, or why it’s different is interesting sometimes. But also figuring out where and how that difference matters or doesn’t is more what I’m trying to get at here. Because some of the differences, I don’t mind. Some, I do. And trying to understand why I mind some and not others has been helpful at least for me in, again, understanding all of those elements of a story or piece of writing better, and thinking about how they could be used or changed or recombined.

But then, I’m the kind of person who likes to take things apart to figure out how they work. And also to overthink every goddamn text I consume.

Still, it’s a fun one if you’re in the market for writing exercises to try whilst in quarantine.

*

Malenarin Rai. Bold of you to introduce a new POV character in the penultimate book of a series that already has dozens if not hundreds, but that’s WoT for you.

Also it’s a prologue so the rules are different.

Heeth Tower is a weird name. Heeth. But then, I don’t think Sanderson has ever been quite as good with names as Jordan was. And that’s the sort of change I’m not going to get too worked up over. (Also, it was Jordan who gave us Mountains of Dhoom, so I rest my case).

The whistling wind rattled the wooden shutter.

It’s not time for the wind yet; we’re still in the prologue! Wait your turn, wind; chapter one should be here any day now.

Using a Trolloc horn as a paperweight is pretty badass, Malenarin, but Furyk Karede and his human skull wineglass might offer some competition.

I don’t think we’ve spent much – any, depending on where exactly the scene in TPoD’s prologue takes place – time in Kandor outside of New Spring. I guess we’ve got to finish filling in the map now; we’ve only got one book left!

Malenarin’s son is turning fourteen soon, so he might just be lucky enough to get Tarmon Gai’don as a birthday party.

He smiled, setting the Trolloc horn on the note, in case that shutter broke open again. He’d slain the Trolloc who had borne that horn himself. Then he walked over to the side of his office and opened his battered oak trunk. Among the other effects inside was a cloth-wrapped sword, the brown scabbard kept well oiled and maintained, but faded with time.

Typing it out, it’s not even that similar, but reading this my first thought was of Tam al’Thor, pulling out his old trunk and his old sword at the beginning of The Eye of the World, before giving it to Rand as he sets off on his coming-of-age story.

To have a duty was to have pride – just as to bear a burden was to gain strength.

In moderation, though. *Looks pointedly at Rand al’Thor*

I still don’t understand how turning their backs on the Blight to go find the Dragon Reborn to tell him to pay attention to the Blight is a good idea for the Borderland rulers. I must be missing something here and I hope it is eventually revealed to me, because otherwise that is terrible strategy on so many counts.

The only way to go to the fourth level was to climb a narrow, collapsible ramp on the outside of the tower

What could possibly go wrong? I mean, last time we were in Kandor a kid was thrown off a balcony, so…

[Jargen] wore a cord looped around the shoulder of his brown uniform; it bore a knot for each Trolloc he’d killed. There had to be approaching fifty knots in the thing by now.

That’s cute, Rand says, flicking dust off his shoulder Luke-Skywalker-in-The-Last-Jedi style, and flicking some Arrows of Fire off with it to torch another thousand or so Trollocs without breaking a sweat.

But okay, yes, for an ordinary non-protagonist non-Lan in a random guard tower in Kandor, I suppose that qualifies as pretty badass.

The beacons have been lit! Gondor Rena Tower calls for aid!

Pretty sure that’s your cue, Lan.

Or not; Malenarin seems to think it’s his cue to confirm the SOS and start preparing the tower for… bad things, probably.

Seriously, wind, wait your turn.

Of course his son is next on the list of messenger boys to be sent out. Well, it’s a better fate than being thrown off a balcony at least. Maybe.

‘No, we need to send several messengers. Double up. Just in case the towers fall.’

Do you have any uncrowned infant kings you want to send as well? Just checking.

Malenarin let himself feel a hint of relief that his son was one of those riding to safety. There was no dishonour in that; the messages needed to be delivered, and Keemlin was next on the roster.

There is a kind of parallel here – less a parallel, perhaps, than an echo – to Lan. A son sent to safety as a Borderland hold prepares to fall, the sense of a last stand. Because in the Borderlands perhaps that is not so unusual a story, in its way. The Wheel of Time turns.

It was time for Tarmon Gai’don. And looking out into the storm, Malenarin thought he could see to the very edge of time itself. An edge that was not so far distant.

Maybe you should have a dream-chat with Moridin, Malenarin. Maybe it’s just the air in the Blight: gives you nihilist thoughts.

Oh oops, his son wasn’t one of the messengers to go. Because he decided to be all noble and let another boy go in his place, whose mother had already lost four sons. That’s sweet, kid, and it’ll probably get you killed.

Tian, Sanderson? Named after another ill-fated messenger boy in your own works, perhaps?

‘Run down to my office,’ Malenarin said. ‘There is a sword in my oaken trunk. Fetch it for me.’

Aw. Because his son has proven himself a man, three whole days early. Because we’re approaching the end now, and it’s time for everyone to take their last steps into their roles, become who they must be to face that end – whether they’re a protagonist or just some poor doomed kid in a tower in the Blight.

It's something these kinds of snapshot one-off scenes are good for: to show the scope of the story, that it touches everyone, no matter that they’ve never even met Rand or any of the others. And to give this sense of those final steps happening in snapshots like this across the land. The sense of an entire world taking a last deep breath. And so we pause for brief close-ups on the faces of some of the extras stepping onto the battlefield, to illustrate that.

Keemlin’s swearing his version of the ‘kill the bad things until we die or they do’ that every Borderland (and Aiel) nation seems to have, each with its own slight semantic variations.

‘Rise as a man, my son!’

This is no place, or time, for children. Ergo, he can no longer be a child, by simple virtue of being here. Which makes this a rather bittersweet moment; Malenarin’s proud of his son but there’s also this sense that far too many children are having to grow up far too fast in these last moments (and others will never grow up at all – in today’s theme of referencing poetry I like, go check out The Lads in their Hundreds).

They yelled defiance of the Shadow. For a moment, their voices rang louder than the thunder.

I don’t have a lot to say about this except that it’s a lovely image.

Together they turned to face the oncoming Shadow.

Nice knowing you.

Draghkar overhead and Trollocs oncoming, and they’re just a lonely tower waiting to die. I do love a doomed last stand, even if it’s characters I’ve never met before and likely will never see again.

Malenarin was a man of the Borderlands, same as his father, same as his son beside him. They knew their task. You held until you were relieved.

THAT’S YOUR CUE, LAN.

Next (ToM ch 1) Previous (ToM prologue pt.2)

[shesthelastjedi]

Finding the Fire Within: Boy in an Iceberg

Hi!

I thought I would give you guys Chapter 1 today since the prologue was so short. I hope you enjoy chapter one. My story is posted on FF, ao3 and Tumblr. Thank you to those who took a chance to read this.

Forever and Always,

Ari.

Disclaimer: I only own my OC's and the parts of the plot you do not recognize from the Avatar The Last Airbender.

Chapter 1: Boy in an Iceberg

Adara stood on the deck, inhaling the salty ocean air, grimacing at her stomach swirling unpleasantly. The smell of salt was one thing she still couldn’t get used to no matter how long she had been out at sea. But she still thanked her lucky stars that she wasn’t plagued with seasickness as she had been at the beginning of their journey. She breathed in deeply pushing past the salt aroma, seeing the sun beginning to rise from the East. Even with the sun barely rising, she felt the rush of warmth and energy radiating from the fireball in the sky. Her eyes closed involuntarily as she relished in the familiar warmth spreading throughout her body. Adara’s skin prickled at the energy. She disregarded the irritated cough from behind her attempting to gain her attention. Adara held her smile when he coughed again. Every morning he greeted her the same way, and she didn’t understand why he couldn’t greet her normally.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you ready to train,” Zuko questioned, moving to stand beside her. Adara eyed him, wanting nothing more than to smack him for his absence of manners. If only their teachers were here to drill some common sense into him. He was getting off lucky that she was in a forgiving mood today and she was holding onto her manners.

She pursed her lips, letting the small amount of serenity she produced fade elsewhere. Adara glanced at Zuko, regarding the impatient look plastered on his face. Ignoring her temper, she plastered a fake smile on her face knowing how much he hated it her false happiness. “Good morning Prince Zuko,” Adara inclined her head slightly to upset him even more. She raised an eyebrow at him when he refused to greet her back. “Normally this is where someone with manners says, ‘Good morning Adara my greatest, truest friend, did you sleep well?’” She prompted him with a small smile, opting to tease him to make herself dull her irritation. He let out an annoyed breath, still refusing to respond. “Seems someone forgot their manners again… Come back and try again. If you happen to remember your manners, maybe I’ll train with you.”

She veered away from Zuko, heading towards the front railing of the ship to watch the water. Adara clutched the bars tightly, watching her hands turn a ghostly shade. She studied the ocean noticing medium chunks of ice crashing against the steel. Adara grimaced, already disliking the idea of cold and water joining together. Two of her least favorite elements. Ever since she fell in a year ago, she loathed being in cold water. Yet the trauma still didn’t stop her from peering over the edge to peek at the different sea animals. It had always been her favorite thing to do after training.

“Good morning Lady Adara, did you sleep well?” Zuko relented from his stance behind her. She bit her lower lip, hiding her grin. Even though she was upset at him, he always gave in to her request to greet her.

Adara couldn’t help but let her smile cross her face, glancing at the water one last time, she turned to meet his gaze letting him see that she was pleased. “I slept well Prince Zuko, so I suppose I can fit in a few hours of training. But only if you agree to meditate with me afterward,” She comprised watching him roll his eyes. He hated to meditate, just like she hated training.

“Fine,” He turned abruptly heading towards the center of the ship. She watched him letting out a small sigh, casually trailing after him ready to help him meet whatever fury he had endured during the night.

Adara eyed the sky wishing that she had been born as a hawk so she didn’t have to train so hard with Zuko, ignoring the sweat trickling down the sides of her face. Zuko leaned down towards her blocking her view of the clouds. He grinned smugly reaching his hand out to haul her up. She held in her sneer when she realized how excited he was that he always beat her. Adara rolled her eyes at his smug grin still etched on his face as she grasped his hand, allowing him to pull her up. One of these days she would best him, so she could grin down at him.

“It’s not a good look for a Prince to cheat,” Adara teased, raising an eyebrow at him. She dusted her clothes off, fixing her top listening to his growl.

“I didn’t cheat! Must you always resort to that line when I beat you,” Zuko exclaimed throwing his hands up in anger. She watched him, smirking at how easy it was to rile him up.

She pushed her hair away from her face, wishing she would’ve tied it up. “Depends…Does it still make you angry?” She darted away from him when he tried to swat at her. “I’m only teasing Zuko! But you fall for it every single time!” Adara chuckled, dodging his hands again when he stalked towards her.

“Why you litt-” Zuko snarled, holding his arms out, ready to send fire towards her.

Adara snickered, running to hide behind Iroh. “Prince Zuko, excellent form!” Iroh tossed her towel over his shoulder, focusing on Zuko. She took it, bowing her head slightly in thanks. “Adara you are still holding back,” He chided, shaking his head in discontent, turning so he could stare at her and Zuko. She dropped her head, frustration beginning to bubble in her chest. She was a disgrace to the Fire Nation. She still couldn’t grasp her training and she was failing at being a successful sparring partner for Zuko. A warm hand clasped her on shoulder causing her to glance up. “Once you learn to trust your body, your form will start to improve.”

She plastered a smile on her face, blotting the sweat from her face. “Thank you, Iroh.” It was hard to place his words into action. Ever since she fell in the ocean, she started to fall behind. She had trusted her body to swim, but she had failed and became a burden. Adara breathed in deeply feeling the chill from the wind. “We are getting closer to colder waters. Will the crew be okay with this weather?” Adara stood on the tip of her toes, seeing more ice gathering in the water. She looked at Zuko, waiting for him to answer, only to get no response as he went back to practicing his forms.

“Most of the crew are fire benders, they have learned to control their inner warmth,” Iroh reassured, watching Zuko. “Shall I continue teaching you the art of Pai sho?” Adara knew that she should probably mirror Zuko to get better, but her heart wasn’t in it.

She nodded wanting to take a break from her training. “Lead the way.”Iroh trailed to a smaller table that was being set up a few feet away. She sat down after him, looking at the tiles. A cool breeze had her shivering slightly as she touched within to harness her inner warmth.

While Iroh was concentrating on his move, she watched Zuko hold his practice to stare at the neverending horizon. Adara studied him wondering how she had managed to preserve their friendship even with all of their ill-tempered words and temper outbursts. A small part of her wished that they could travel back to how it was before the banishment. She missed her friend who loved to feed the turtleducks and show off his swordsmanship. The Zuko she knew now was just angry at the world and it wasn’t the world’s fault but it wasn’t like she could tell him that without upsetting him. Adara eyed at his scar, her heart feeling dejected because of the pain that he endured. Her eyes flashed back to the board, when he turned around, knowing that he would be upset if she was caught staring.

“Finally,” Zuko whispered loud enough for her to hear. Adara watched a bright blue beam of light shoot up into the sky. “Uncle, do you realize what this means?” She pressed her lips together when Iroh continued to focus on the board. “We won’t get to finish our game?”

She met Zuko’s golden gaze and she could see the hope shining in his eyes. Adara hadn’t seen it in a long time. “It means my search - it's about to come to an end.” Iroh groaned loudly voicing his displeasure as he finally made a move.

Without thinking Adara moved a tile, standing up quickly walking towards Zuko. The game was the last thing on her mind as she stood beside him. The light was signaling that something important was occurring, and she wanted to believe that it was the Avatar. “How can we be sure that it’s him Zuko,” She asked, voicing her concern. The last thing she wanted to do was squash his hope that was beginning to grow.

“Adara, that light came from an incredibly powerful source. It has to be him,” Zuko exclaimed, gesturing to the light that they had experienced in a similar situation last year. Adara fiddled with her fingers, trying to figure out a way to tell him not to get his hopes up without being so blunt.

“Or it's just the celestial lights. We've been down this road before, Prince Zuko. I don't want you to get too excited over nothing. Please, sit. Why don't you enjoy a cup of calming jasmine tea?” Iroh set another piece down, gesturing for them both to sit. Adara froze, waiting for Zuko’s temper to explode from him.

Zuko spun on his heels so fast, Adara felt dizzy looking at him. “I don’t need any calming tea! I need to capture the Avatar. Helmsman, head a course for the light!”

Adara tentatively reached out a hand, setting it on Zuko’s arm, “Zuko, just don’t be upset if it isn’t him.”

He stared at her, his eyes softening slightly before they hardened. “I know it’s him,” He muttered broodingly, shaking her hand off his arm. Adara nodded backing away from him as she went back to sit with Iroh. She tried her best to focus on the game, but her mind kept drifting back to the light.

Adara walked up to the spotting deck, watching Zuko stare at the horizon again. He hadn’t left his spot to come and eat with them. Carefully she balanced the tray, setting it on the smaller table. Once she had fixed his food, she stood moving to stand next to him quietly. “I know he’s out there Adara… I can feel it.” Adara bit her lip at Zuko’s words knowing he needed her support and she wasn’t going to stand in the way of his hope. A part of her believed him when he told her his thoughts, but she knew that the Avatar hadn't been seen in so long.

“I will always follow you… I just don’t want to see you hurt again,” Adara leaned against the railing, knowing that he believed her. “I brought your food and it’s all set up. Remember we need our strength. So eat, even if your mind is telling you that you aren’t hungry.” Adara set her hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly before she let go.

Zuko’s P.O.V

Zuko glanced at her, watching her incline her head respectfully. Adara looked up at him, sending him a small smile as she turned to leave him to his thoughts. He was grateful to her, she knew that he wanted to be alone, but how he also wanted to be heard and she had given him what he needed. He allowed his shoulders to drop as he smelt his favorite dish, although he didn’t have the stomach to eat. Zuko lowered himself, picking up the cup of water knowing that if he didn’t eat, Adara would track him down and force him to eat. It wouldn’t matter if he was royalty. Zuko pulled the tray closer to him, savoring the warm dish.

Zuko set the tray to the side, satisfied that he had eaten everything. He stood up focusing on the darkening sky. He clasped his hands on the railing, and his eyes trailed down to the deck seeing Adara meditating. He had promised her he would meditate and she hadn’t bugged him into doing it. Zuko watched her seem bothered at the fact that her loose black hair kept blowing in her face. He held in a smile when she shoved her hair behind her ears, closing her eyes hiding her light brown eyes behind her eyelids. His lips twitched again when she let out a long huff as her hair continued to brush against her face. Zuko turned his attention back to the dark sky. The sun’s power was beginning to withdraw from him and the rush of fatigue had him struggling to focus on his next move.

He sighed loudly hearing the noisy entrance from his uncle, “I’m going to bed now. Yep. A man needs his rest. Prince Zuko, you need some sleep. Even if you're right and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, everyone was expecting him to fail and he wouldn’t. People were depending on him to succeed. He didn’t bother turning around to face his Uncle, “because their honor didn’t hinge on the Avatar’s capture. Mind does. This coward’s hundred years in hiding are over.” Zuko stared at Adara, seeing her stifling a yawn. His eyes closed when the door shut.

Adara’s P.O.V.

Adara yawned again, deciding to forgo the rest of her meditation and retire to her room. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, opening her eyes and stretched her sore limbs. Zuko had told her when she first started training that the burn her muscles gave after training would make her feel good and accomplished and she had been waiting for that feeling for almost two years. She never felt good after training, she always felt dejected and unbelievably sore. Adara slowly got up, ignoring her protesting muscles. She reached towards the sky, feeling her back adjust at the movement. Turning slowly she saw Zuko still rooted in the same spot that she had left him in. He was still looking at the horizon where he saw the beam of light. She could see the droop of his shoulder and it was a sign that he was fighting against his drowsiness. Adara sighed, shaking her head at him. Slowly she made her way to the spotting deck, hoping that he was in a sense to see reason. She knocked twice, entering the room walking to lean against the railing beside Zuko.

Pulling her cloak closer to her body, wishing that she wasn’t so bothered by the cool breeze. “So are you planning on going against the old man, Master of all four elements on no sleep?”

Zuko sighed, leaning beside her. “No Adara.”

“Then you should get some rest,” Adara urged, setting her hand on his arm. She knew that since he was so close to the light, rest wouldn’t come easy. “Should I get some tea?”

“It feels surreal Dara,” Zuko murmured, glancing from the corner of his eyes. “This could be my chance to return home, retake my honor, and reclaim my throne.”

Adara let the hope bubble up in her chest at the thought of returning to their homeland. She missed being able to walk the streets and sit in the garden reading until there was no light left. “If this is your chance, then Zuko, you must rest.” Adara set her hand over his, squeezing his hand lightly feeling the familiar warmth of a firebenders hands. “I believe in you, you know that right?”

“You’ve only mentioned it a thousand times,” He commented dryly, turning his hand so that he could grip her back.

“I’ll say it a million more to remind you to have hope in yourself,” She smiled, hoping that she was helping soothe his self-loathing thoughts that plagued his mind. Adara stared up at the moon, feeling the true weight of the sun’s energy leave her body. “Rest well, Zuko,” Adara squeezed his hand once last time, slipping her hand from his, ignoring their shared warmth that started to diminish.

Adara kneeled next to Iroh, watching Zuko’s movements carefully. He trained against Takumi and Jun and so far he was holding out longer than he usually did. She swept her long hair over her shoulder, ignoring the wisps of hair plastered to her sweat ridden face. Adara was ecstatic that she had managed to beat both guards during the second round without getting knocked down or burned.

“Again,” Iroh commanded, watching the training with hawk-like precision. Adara smirked when she saw Zuko’s powerful blow of fire towards the two. Both Takumi and Jun, sent blows of fire at Zuko but instead of blocking them he dodged them effortlessly, flipping and landing behind them. Iroh sighed in displeasure, standing from the small stool. “No,” He called sharply causing the training to halt, “Power in firebending comes from the breath. Not the muscles. The breath becomes energy in the body. The energy extends past your limbs and becomes fire.” She watched in awe as Iroh sent a controlled blast of fire towards Zuko, not letting it brush enough to burn him. “Get it right this time.”

Zuko stalked towards his uncle, causing Adara to stand up when she saw his face morphing into rage. “Enough. I’ve been dripping this sequence all day. Teach me the next set. I’m more than ready.” Adara rolled her eyes, knowing that he was rushing because of the beam of light. He was pushing himself further and he wasn’t listening to Iroh’s lessons.

“No, you are impatient. You have yet to master your basics,” Iroh held his ground sitting down. Adara gnawed on her lower lip, wishing she had claimed she felt ill. “Drill it again!” She felt goosebumps rise on her arms at Iroh’s command.

Zuko yelled out, sending a blast of fire towards Takumi knocking him down harshly. “Zuko!” Adara yelled at him ignoring his glare. Adara brushed off his anger, rushing towards Takumi. He didn’t deserve his anger. She offered Takumi her hand, grabbed her hand and she pulled him up with ease. Adara stared up at him, as he inclined his head towards her. “Sorry.”

“The sages tell us that the Avatar is the last Airbender. He must be over a hundred years old by now. He’s had a century to master the four elements. I’ll need more than basic firebending to defeat him. You WILL teach me the advanced set!” Adara held in her fury at Zuko’s demand. It wasn’t her place to intrude on their argument.

Adara watched Iroh, knowing that he was going to give in to keep the peace. “Very well. But first I must finish my roast duck,” Iroh pulled up his food jokingly, ignoring Zuko’s look of disgust.

She set her hand on Takumi’s arm, patting it gently. Adara sent a glare to Zuko, stalking over to the railing. It bothered her deeply when he treated others horribly. She was reminded of Azula when he did it. She wanted to ignore Zuko as he leaned next to her, his arm brushing against hers. “Your show of anger towards Takumi was uncalled for,” Adara bit, letting her temper rise. She admired Takumi, he had been patient and kind when she first came on the ship. He reminded her of Shang and it helped ease how much she missed her elder brother. “I know you won’t bother to apologize to him, so I did it for you. I’m angry at you right now.”

Zuko scoffed, letting his hands tighten on the railing. “I need to be prepared for when I face the Avatar, Adara.”

She rolled her eyes as if that excused his lack of control for his anger. Adara knew that he thought that he had go up against the avatar alone and it made her angry. She wasn’t just training to help her with her firebending, she was trying to be an asset to aid him. “That doesn’t excuse what you did to Takumi.” Adara sighed knowing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with him angry, “I’m here to help, although I may not be up to par with you, I can still aid you. You can’t treat them like this because of your temper.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what I already know,” Zuko hissed, turning so that he was facing her.

Adara bit her tongue, reigning in her temper. She had to be the more reasonable one. “Prove that you know it then…” Adara turned away from Zuko, heading back to her room. She shoved the heavy door open, letting it slam behind her.

Once she cooled down she joined Iroh, running her fingers through her freshly washed obsidian hair, letting it dry with the cool breeze. She focused on warming her body, while she played Pai Sho. Since she started playing she has come close to winning once out of the many times she played. “I’ll never be able to beat you Iroh… you’re a master at Pai Sho.”

“Then the saying, poor is the pupil who does not surpass the master is fitting for this occasion,” Iroh stroked his beard, raising an eyebrow at her when she made a questionable move.

Adara smirked, shaking her head at his challenge. “My mission in life now is to get you to say the pupil has finally surpassed the master,” She laughed, glancing up at Zuko holding the telescope. “See anything yet Zuko?”

A flare shot up in the sky, causing Adara to get up ignoring the game. She watched the fire nation flare, wondering what set off the trap. “The last Airbender.” He breathed, “Quite agile for his old age.”

“What,” Adara asked, moving closer to the railing to squint to see what he was looking at.

“He’s jumping from the ship with a person in his arms. I’ve found his hiding place,” Zuko pushed her back, handing her the telescope, so she could see what he was talking about. Her mouth turned dry at the small Water Tribe village. The last thing she wanted to do was comb through the village with possible waterbenders. Adara lowered the telescope, trying to be brave at the fact that this was possibly Zuko’s moment.

[inspirationdivine]

Eye to Eye || Lydia and Amnon

A Spirit and a Fae walk into a bar...

@exorciseyourspirit

“Thank you for this. I’ll keep you in mind next time I need arsenic based paint,” Lydia said, as the man in green stood up. She rather loathed to deal with people who did not share their name, but as an alchemist he knew how to obtain things she did not, and so this would have to do. Now he was finished, though, her gaze turned to the non humandancers on the stage in front of her. Here, few hid. A lampade danced with her top off and her antlers out. A werewolf’s teeth glinted in the blue lights as he negotiated with a customer. There were no meals here, but plenty of talent, and perhaps someone who was immune to her lips to spend the night with. She sipped at her martini as she watched, curiously. 

Amnon was a creature of many vices. It’s how he’d become what he was-- this monstrosity of a spirit, full of rage and anger and power. The world he’d been born into hadn’t been ready for someone like him, and he’d left the world cursing them all with his hate. But having been without a physical form for so long, being in one now only made him smile. Especially in such a body so full of energy. It made him want to enjoy his many vices over and over and over again. Freakture comforts had been a place he’d frequented back when Rebecca’s body hadn’t been his, and he’d been more than happy to return. He’d been preoccupied for a while, but then someone else had caught his eye. In the corner, tucked away, talking to another more regular looking man. One of them was probably a spellcaster, the other-- as soon as her counterpart left, he saw them. The iridescent eyes. Now what could someone like this be up to? He just had to know. Moving gracefully through the crowd, he sat next to her. “All these people,” he said softly, “and I somehow find you the most enticing.” 

“Oh?” Lydia turned her gaze to the newcomer, an ordinary looking woman with one, notable difference. His eyes were red. Her first thought went to the dangerous gaze of Mara, but this red was much plainer. It did not glow, they were simply as red as the heels of Lydia’s shoes. She looked the woman over curiously, with a critical eye. “That is a high compliment, considering the available entertainment. You’ve a rather intriguing appearance yourself. I had been considering whether to leave or not, but perhaps I’ll stay.”

“Well, you’re certainly the nicest to look at here,” Amnon said in Rebecca’s silky smooth voice, letting a smile curl onto her lips, eyes flitting around before resting back on the other woman. Her eyes intrigued him as well, as they sparkled softly under her lashes. “Tell me, is it the eyes? Because it’s the eyes for me, too,” he said, stirring his drink with the two little straws they stuck in them. He’d watched bartending evolve over the years, and the little straws had always been his favorite addition, aside from the tiny little toothpick swords they served olives on. “I’d prefer it if you stayed.”

The woman had a seductive quality to his features, as he glanced around the room, before turning his gaze back to Lydia. “Are they now?” As the lights shifted across her irises, so did the colour of them, glimmering. “It is the eyes. I’ve not seen eyes like yours before. I’d normally wear contacts over mine, but I needed a contact to identify me.” He was so interesting, as he spoke with that lily soft voice. “If I’m to stay, do I get to learn a name? My name is Lydia.”

“Yours are just as interesting, though I’m sure I’ve seen them somewhere before,” Amnon said, tilting his head as he watched the woman with wide eyes. “Lydia? That’s quite the name. Can’t say I’ve met any Lydia’s in my lifetime, and trust me,” he nodded, taking a pause to pick up his drink again, “I’ve been around a while.” He swilled the ice in his cup before taking a sip. “You can call me Tamar for now,” he said, before shifting the conversation. “A client, you say? Now, what kind of business aside from the obvious could someone have here?”

“Tamar for now,” Lydia replied, with an eyebrow raised, but acquiesced with a small nod, intrigue glittering in her eyes. “Hardly anything too exciting. Occasionally my work requires ingredients one cannot acquire elsewhere, and that dealer in particular has an unusual taste for meeting places. There are not many people anymore who produce arsenic paint.  It was rather routine, but my evening seems to have improved from there. What brings someone like you to a place like this?”

He liked watching Lydia’s eyes. They reminded him of the iridescent sheen blood took on in moonlight. Amnon shifted, his focus solely on her now. “Your work? Oh, arsenic paint. Haven’t heard of anyone using that in at least a century. Are you the daring type or just the ‘don’t have to worry’ type?” He gave a chuckle, in Rebecca’s soft tone. “I’m glad I can help improve it. Me? Oh, just...indulging. It’s been awhile since I’ve been so...corporeal.”

“I do it safely, with protective equipment. I work in art restoration. Some painting are very literally demanding as to the materials I use,” Lydia replied. “This one spits goop at me when I use the wrong material. Understandably, it is something I’m hoping to avoid.” She laughed, but her eyes were piercing as she looked him over. “I see now. That body wasn’t originally yours, then?” A ghost, or perhaps a spirit. Now that was interesting. 

“Oh,” Amnon said suddenly, “You’re the restorer. I remember talking to you online.” Interesting, he thought, that people could meet through such a service. My, how the world had changed. He brought his eyes up to meet Lydia’s, loving the way her gaze tried to pierce his. “It spits at you? My, can’t say I’ve ever encountered something like that.” He leaned back, hand tapping against his glass. She caught on quick. Rolling his lip between his teeth, he grinned. “You’re clever. No, it wasn’t. But it is now. And that’s what’s important, right?” He met Lydia’s gaze again. “So I showed you my cards, do I get to see yours?”

“Ah. That must make you the anthropologist. Although I suspect a being such as yourself is more concerned with other things.” Lydia replied, tilting her head. She hardly believed a spirit like this would concern itself with being a Professor. “Indeed. I’ve dealt with paintings of all natures and statuses, but I will definitely be glad to see this one go. It’s one thing dealing with demanding clients, altogether another if the painting has opinions.” She preened slightly under the compliment, and watched him bite his lip. Lydia was, in some way, very aware that this being was not the safest to be around. But then, neither was she. “You can see my cards in my eyes, but perhaps I’ll give you another clue.” Her glamour slid off her face a little, just enough to reveal the tips of her ears. “Leanan-Sidhe.”

“Oh, no,” Amnon said, “I’m no anthropologist, though I have watched a lot of their history develop myself.” He followed her head tilt with his own, watching her closely as she spoke. “Hmmm, sounds like a hoot. I’m sure someone would pay good money for it once you’re done.” He smiled as she responded to his gaze, straightening herself up. When her glamor slid, his eyes widened, taking in the little gift he was being given. “Ahhhh, yes,” he said, perking up himself, excitement in his eyes. “Oh, I’ve met a few of you in my lifetime. Or, lifetimes I suppose. I admire your work, and I don’t just mean the paint restoration. What would it be like to feed straight from a human’s essence?” he bristled with eagerness at the thought. Though his power came from the soul, and other souls, he’d always wondered what it would be like to feed directly from a human. 

So he didn’t have complete control then, Lydia suspected, not that she was about to ask. “You must be ancient,” she commented with deep admiration in her voice as she leant forward. “Someone is paying good money for me to finish it. They want it in their museum, in good enough condition that it doesn’t threaten the guests. Once I learnt about this painting’s quirks, naturally my quote increased quite drastically.” She sipped from her martini, watching him with a proud smile. “Depends on the human. Some of them are dry as unflavoured chicken, some are like fine wine.”

“Ancient is one word for it. Let’s just say I was there before Rome and I’m still here after,” Amnon commented. He liked to flaunt his age. With age came power and knowledge over others only time could give. It wasn’t something taken lightly, and he knew that. He could see it in the eyes. “Though, to be fair, I was killed long before even the Etruscans came around. Being a spirit has it perks, but I do often find myself missing the corporeal world. Hence, the new look.” He gave a little wave to Rebecca. “You like? She was an exorcist who bit off more than she could chew.” He watched her drink, eyeing her sharply. “I’m almost curious enough to want to see this painting for myself. I wonder who would pay for such a thing. And if that’s true, then, what’s your favorite flavor of human? I know your kind feeds from the ah-- artistically inclined, right? So what do you prefer? Musician? Author? Illustrator?” 

“Before even the etruscans? I cannot imagine the things you have seen, what you must know,” Lydia murmured, looking him over curiously. “I have no desire for immortality like that myself, but I would love to hear the stories you must have to tell.” At the mention of the exorcist, she felt herself grow more comfortable, and more bold despite herself. Her reverence lingered, but Lydia also sensed a kindred spirit of sorts. “Classic human. A couple evolutionary quirks and they deem themselves fit to be the moral arbiters of everyone and everything else. It sounds like she has gotten what she deserves.” Lydia chuckled. “Perhaps you should come see it sometime. Word smiths of all kinds, although I like to keep my portfolio variable, so that I can keep a balanced palate. What about yourself? Why this particular exorcist, as beautiful as she is?”

“Oh, the things I’ve seen, darling,” Amnon cooed, as if wistful. “Empires come and go, men rise and fall. Cities built and burnt down. History written before my eyes. By my hand, sometimes. I could go on.” He stirred his drink again before finishing it off. “Immortality isn’t for everyone, I understand that. I didn’t truly ask for this life, but I suppose dying with a curse on my tongue is what got me here. Not that I’m complaining anymore.” A smirk, lips curling, eyes shining. He liked this Lydia. He liked her a lot. It wasn’t often he found himself fond of anyone, but he knew there was something different about Lydia. Something he could connect to. The slow torture of humans, after all, was in her DNA. Whether she believed she loved her humans or not, that’s ultimately what it was. Torture. A form of torture he’d never be able to compare to. But he would try. He had, after all, an eternity. “She certainly got what was coming to her.” A chuckle to match. “Ah, yes, the wordsmith. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that humans always have something to say about everything. Good choice. I bet they taste delicious.” He leaned back again, arms relaxing. “Revenge, mostly. She ruined my last body and chased me down for years thinking she could best me. I obviously proved her wrong. But her connection to souls is what really drew me in. And the fact that she’s one of the only exorcists around that practices the right type of ritual to out my certain kind of spiritual existence. It’s like...a safety measure, if you will.” 

“You must tell me about it, some time. Whatever you’d like to share. History is always so much better when it comes from someone who was there.” Lydia looked at his drink with a smile. “Do you want me to get you another?” She asked, finishing hers too. She grinned, resting her chin on her hand.”No, you are certainly enjoying it now.” She glanced around the club pointedly, with all the people and drink to enjoy here. “They sure do. They’re such tools. If they must talk, then why shouldn’t I take advantage? Especially considering how they taste.” She licked her lips at the thought, although she’d fed quite recently. “Revenge is entirely justifiable, especially if you can take out a threat at the same time. That’s fascinating. She suits you well.”

“I’d love to. I have so many tales to tell, it would be nice to tell them to someone interested,” Amnon agreed. “If you’re offering, how can I possibly say no?” It was clear they were both interested in each other, though he wondered just how deep her interest ran. “Oh, I certainly am. Time will do that, to you. Change your mind about things.” Though the one thing that had never changed for him was his lust for chaos in all forms. He doubted it ever would. “More power to you, Lydia. Anyone who can benefit from a foolish human’s hubris is at the top of my list.” He perked up at her compliment, smoothing Rebecca’s hands down her stomach to the tops of her legs. “You think so? I thought as much. I’ll give humans this, some of them really do know how to catch the eye.”

“That they do,” Lydia thought, giving Rebecca a look again. She was older than Lydia liked her humans, sure, but for one of that age, fine to look at. She stood up, leaning over the table to pick up Tamar’s drink. “Another of these, Tamar?” She asked, before walking to the bar. When she returned, two full glasses once more, she settled down with eyes glittering with newfound curiosity. This town, while decidedly cursed, was also the place that kept on giving. “So, how about one of those stories?”

[gilbirda]

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Chapter 7: Lights, camera, action!

When Marianne finally got home, her mind was going around and far away from her body. She hadn't felt like this before, not even when Roland confessed an eternity ago. She felt like she could fly from her bed and right through the ceiling, floating away in a gentle breeze…

She sighed and opened her eyes, a bitter smile on her lips despite the happiness filling her chest. While this wasn’t something she expected to feel, at least not so soon, she was aware of the things this entailed. That even if Bog kissed her back - she still couldn’t believe that it really happened! -, this whatever that was happening between them could not last.

She was young and he was... what? Ten years older than her? Maybe even more, and that was just too much for her. Why the hell did she think that it was a good idea? I mean, she was the one that took the first step. She, who despised romance and love. She, who denied to her own sister that something was going on between her and the librarian.

Marianne put a hand over her eyes, snorting at the thought. She was being too silly with this. Bog was an adult and he knew that this couldn’t continue. Yeah. Tomorrow she was going to sit down with him and discuss the termination of…

Of his soft kisses and warm hands? Of the way that he looked at her like she was beautiful? Like she mattered, like her existence was worth something for someone. Bog’s blue eyes told her what she had needed to hear this whole time, bringing the life she had lost back to her. And it has only been one evening like this.

A future with him was too tantalising. In less than a year she would be eighteen and she would be legally an adult. She could date whoever she wanted, so it wasn’t a wild thought to be… involved with the librarian. Romantically.

Marianne chuckled lowly. God, she was a mess.

“You are pretty quiet tonight,” Dadga said to his eldest daughter, who hadn’t touched much of her dinner.

When he finally got home and found that Marianne forgot to make dinner he thought nothing of it. The girl was in her last year and it wasn’t weird that she would be balancing a lot of work right now. And, of course, her after school punishment for bad behavior.

“Huh?” she asked without looking up from her food. The Director looked at Dawn, but the girl shrugged in response, not knowing what was going on with her sister.

“Is everything okay at school?” he asked, putting down his fork.

Marianne blinked slowly and smiled, knowing what was going to happen if she told him the truth. It would eventually go back to Roland, that why did she have to end her relationship with him if 'things were going great’ and that she was prettier without that much make up. She would answer that her reasons were her own, and that her choices weren’t driven by a broken heart, as everyone seemed to assume. He would scoff and tell her that why did she have to be so difficult and if Violet was still there with them she wouldn’t behave like this.

She hated when her father mentioned her mother like that, like if she were still alive they would be happy and things would go as planned. Things wouldn’t suddenly be going to get better, she was aware of that, and if he wanted her to be happier he could at least pay attention to what she had to say for once in his life.

But right now she was way too tired to start a fight. That’s why she just smiled and said:

“Nah. Everything is ok.” But her father’s face didn’t look very convinced.

“You sure? You look… different,” he frowned and leaned in, trying to look closer at his daughter’s face. “Don’t you think so, Dawn?”

The mentioned girl smiled weakly. Marianne was crushing on a handsome, tall librarian, but she couldn’t say it. She chose the safe route and shrugged again.

“Something new lately?” he kept trying to connect with his little girl. She seemed so far away since Roland… she was not the Marianne he used to know. “Maybe -,” he swallowed hard, “Maybe a boy?”

Marianne looked at him so fast and he knew that he was right.

“Roland?” Dagda smiled tentatively, but the teenager was shaking her head already.

“Never,” she sighed and ate a few bites with a frown on her face. “I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll eat this tomorrow.” She got up and went to the kitchen to store the food.

The father blinked in surprise and sighed. Roland was a delicate topic in the house and he didn’t know how to bring it up anymore without getting this type of response from the girl. It was like the mere mention of his name triggered her defenses and made her even more closed off to the world than what she usually was.

When they had that final fight where they broke up, he thought it was going to simply go away in a while. Yes, they were in the same school but their classes were in different parts of the building so she wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him everyday. And kids were like that, right? One partner here, another one later… He had a few girlfriends in high school and he never behaved like that when those relationships ended.

He wished that his wife were still alive. She would have known what to do. Maybe it was a woman’s thing? He never understood them very well, specially not teenagers, but he was trying.

Why was Marianne being so difficult? Just let it go, that’s what he usually tried to tell her. Even if it is going back with Roland and resolve this absurd tension or finding someone else to be with - he didn’t care. He just wanted his old Marianne back.

***

“What have you told him?” The older sister cornered Dawn once she got back to her room. The blonde was expecting this conversation sooner or later, so she squared her shoulders and smiled innocently.

“Not a thing. Really.”

“Then why did he ask all those questions?” Marianne frowned and crossed her arms.

“I haven’t said anything. I promise,” she sat down on her bed and looked up to her sister with a gentler smile on her lips. “I said I would help you with Bog and that’s what I intend to do.”

“Don’t say his name!” Dawn blinked in surprise, noticing the slight blush on the other girl’s face.

“Oh my,” she giggled. “What happened?”

Marianne blushed deeper and damned her bad luck. Telling Dawn was a bad idea. But it wasn’t like there was much to tell, though; and she still intended to end it - whatever there was - tomorrow once she spoke with the librarian.

“Nothing.”

Dawn smiled wider, her eyes full of mirth in her trademark knowing look.

“Okay, maybe something happened today,” Marianne looked elsewhere in shame, choosing to ignore the tiny shriek of glee from her sister. “But I’m going to end it tomorrow.”

“What? Why?” Dawn jumped to her feet, ready to shake her sister until she were more reasonable. “And tell me the details! Did you kiss?” Marianne’s blush darkened. “Oh my -!”

“Shh!!”

“I know, I know.” the girl jumped in her place. “Is just that I’m sooooo happy! I knew he was good for you!”

“He is not -”

“Nonsense!” Dawn interrupted, placing her hands on her hips as she frowned. “He has been the best thing in your life since… well, since that. You are not letting him go, you hear me!?”

“But he is much older than me, and I -”

“Nonsense!” she said again, this time with a light chuckle. “You are not going down that path, girl. He might be older, but you guys fit so damn well that it doesn’t matter. Age is just a number!”

Marianne sighed in defeat.

“You’ve read too many shoujo mangas, Dawn. In real life things don’t work like that.” The sister made a face at the comment, knowing that the older teen was closed to any argument or reasoning. She bit her lip and used her last card, using the soft voice she reserved for their mother’s memory.

“Mom and Dad had almost ten years of age difference.”

That finally made Marianne listen.

“But - but that’s different!” she tried to defend herself. “They were adults when it happened! They -”

“They met in college and started going out when she was a freshman. Which you’ll be next year, Marianne,” Dawn’s serious face, devoid from any of it usual spark, almost scared the elder sister for a moment. “In a few months you’ll start college and be all adult. You can make your own decisions about love.”

Marianne smirked at the irony of being lectured by her sister, who was using her own thoughts against her.

“I think so,” she shrugged.

“No, don’t run away from this. There’s nothing wrong with it, Marianne. He adores you. I can see that!”

“I…,” she blushed slightly, remembering Bog’s eyes that same evening. They looked at her like she was beautiful. He touched her like she was the most precious thing he had ever seen. He kissed her like it was the last time he could be able to do it.

Maybe it was, her most obnoxious part responded inside her head, reminding her that she should not succumb to the temptation; that changing was bad, that taking risks was what put her in this place first. That romance was for the weak. That letting someone else have that kind of power over her was a bad idea.

And it was, looking at it from certain perspective. Loving someone implied giving them the key to bring her down, and trust that they wouldn’t ever use it. That Roland disappointed her was part of the learning process, but it didn’t mean that the next one would do the same. That Bog would do the same.

Of course Dawn was right. She should stop and listen to her heart for once. If he made her happy then it was stupid to care so much for what they would say or if he’s older and whatnot.

“Oh, Marianne…,” her sister said as she got up. For a moment Marianne was confused by her sister’s behaviour, unable to stop the girl when she hugged her. “Don’t be scared. Everything’s going to be alright.” She patted the older sister’s back.

It was then that Marianne noticed that she was crying.

***

Things weren’t alright, she thought bitterly as she stood in front of the Library’s door, unable to simply open it and face Bog.

She couldn’t sleep last night and her classes were painfully slow and difficult to follow in her sleep-deprived state. Teachers talked about nonsense and formulas and words mixed together in a big mess in her brain. That’s why she knew that it was a bad idea to talk to Bog after school. She needed to be in her right mind to do that conversation.

“Hey,” she heard the man’s voice and blinked open the eyes she didn’t remember closing. The girl looked up and found the subject of her despair right in front of her face, a tentative smile on his lips and obvious nervousness in his eyes.

“‘Sup,” Marianne answered, trying to mask the fact that maybe she just fell asleep while standing there.

“You look horrible.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. Both laughed.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

“I wonder why,” Bog smiled cheekily, surprising Marianne by his bold move. She pushed him to get inside the Library with a scoff, refusing to answer that remark.

She had to stop.

She had to end this.

She had to!

But as soon as they went inside the Library it was like an electric current passed between them, the memories from the previous day going through their minds. Any smart speech she had rehearsed in her mind went out of the window in the moment their skin touched when Bog lovingly caressed her cheek.

She barely had time to sigh before the man leaned down and kissed her, a mere touch on the lips, something chaste and delicate like the situation they were in.

She tried to force her mouth to form words, but blaming the lack of sleep - even if she knew she was more awake in that moment than the whole day -, she wasn’t able to stop the situation. A simple “hey” would do the trick to make him stop kissing her. Anything! But the spell of his lips touching hers broke any kind of resolution inside of her body.

His soft touch on her skin as he caressed her cheeks, cupping her face with so much care with his big hands. It was in moments like this when she forgets how he may look at the rest of the world; that for her he was soft and tender, gentle with infinite care.

And Marianne knew that she was doomed.

She couldn’t stop this, stop him, stop herself. It was like her body acted on its own, crossing her arms behind his neck, bringing him down to her level for better access. Kissing him back with enthusiasm, she decided then and there that what the hell; she was old enough to make these kind of decisions by herself after all.

It was then that they heard a knock on the door, startling them and making them jump and take a step back just in case. Marianne cleared her throat and combed back her messy hair - she glared at the librarian - before opening the door, finding…

“Hello, Buttercup.” The blond man smiled there, showing as much as he could his perfectly white teeth.

“What are you doing here!” she hissed and looked back at Bog with worry. Had they been discovered?

“I came to talk to you. It’s important,” Roland glanced at the librarian, his smile faltering a bit, sending a clear message: It was private, too.

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave,” Bog sighed and walked deeper into the Library to give them some privacy. Roland waited until he disappeared behind a far shelf to look back at Marianne with a serious expression.

“We have to go, now,” he whispered before grabbing the girl’s arm, pulling with a bit too much force.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“I’m saving you, Buttercup.” She narrowed her eyes, planting her feet on the ground.

“What?” Marianne forced her arm out of his disgusting hands. “And if I needed saving it should be from you!”

“Stop being so difficult! I’m trying to save you from that man!” Roland approached her and put his hands on her shoulders, but it wasn’t a pleasant touch. It wasn’t like when Bog did it, because then she felt protected and warm. Now, it made her fight or flight instinct arise.

“What the hell are you talking about!”

“Marianne,” the sound of her name coming from his lips made her recoil. “You have been seen kissing… that man.”

The girl’s body went cold. Her slow mind tried to process the fact that word of her beautiful relationship, which still didn’t have a name for, with the librarian was already passing around. She felt heavy, she felt tired. She felt like crumbling down. This couldn’t be happening, at least not so soon.

She never had the chance to be happy.

“... and I had to get you as far as possible!” Roland was still talking, but she could barely hear him over the beeping in her ears. “Are you alright?” He put his hand on her cheek, making her snap out of her trance.

“What have you done?” she whispered, looking fiercely at him in the eyes.”Why are you torturing me? Have you not done enough?”

“I don’t know what are you talking about, Buttercu-”

“Silence,” Marianne cut him, too tired to scream. She tried to take a step back, but he still had his hands around her. “Let me go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why.” It wasn’t even a question.

“Because you can’t go back to him.”

“Who the fuck said so.”

Roland smiled, putting his other hand on her left cheek, successfully cupping her face in what could have been a loving gesture. Instead, she felt threatened when Roland leaned down and whispered in her ear: “Your father said so.”

Before she could dwell on the discovery, the speaker on the wall came back to life to deliver the message that the librarian was requested at the Director’s office. Immediately.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, GRACIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of LADY MACBETH with an approved FC change to Melissa Barrera. Admin Jen: God, I just can’t get over the beautiful, captivating vision you’ve presented to us, Gracie. One can’t think of Lady Macbeth without thinking of the power that she encompasses, and not only did you capture that with such fascinating plots and stellar imagery, you added depth and a crucial touch of humanity to it. She's not just a pawn in a game greater than herself, and she's not just a woman consumed by her wants and desires, either. She’s so much more than that, and we absolutely cannot wait to see her flourish on our dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | gracie

Age | 25

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I am pretty around - work has slowed down majorly and I am looking for a new rp to fill the hole in my heart <3 I am almost always on mobile to plot and chat and I try to write at least every other day

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp?  | scoping out the tags!

Current/Past RP Accounts |

IN CHARACTER

Character | Lady Macbeth, Lucrezia Eleonora Falco nee Capuccio - I’d like to change her face to Summer Bishil pretty please!

What drew you to this character? | I have always held a soft spot for Lady Macbeth. Why are the traits that would be seen as positive, almost heroic, in a man the ones that doom her in the end? Why is she punished for her ambition and cleverness, the willingness to do whatever it takes to get ahead? Lucrezia to me answers the question of what if Lady Macbeth wasn’t condemned and drowned in guilt, what if she was able to remain as much of a force to be reckoned with throughout the whole play, not just the first two acts. Strength, competence, and ambition have far too often been seen as faults in women - in Lucrezia they are her crowning glory. By no means does that make her a good person, it makes her all the more interesting and dynamic. I also truly love that there is no deep violent or horrible reason that she is the way that she is. No tragic villain origin story. It was a deliberate choice, one that I feel she made freely and intentionally, to give into the longing for something more that the rose colored world she was born into. Something interesting and dark, to explore the innate cruelty that anyone can be capable of. I want to play with the darkness and with the idea that a girl could be given everything one could possibly want and still demand more.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

Give my rage back to me, I know how to hold it - Men have always sought to own pretty things, and he is no different. Til death do us part, you said with more than a little irony. Who’s death is still uncertain. Your husband wanted you because you were just out of reach, all poison laced smiles and velvet rage in a pleasing package. He held such promise in those days, made the game almost interesting enough for you to want to see it out to the end. And now that he owns you, slipped that diamond shackle on your finger and tattooed his name on your soul, did he really expect you to be happy one step behind him? You are never happy, you force his name higher and farther than he could even dream. But when you plunged your hand into his chest, the organ you pulled out was feeble and pathetic, not nearly strong enough to fill the emptiness inside your own ribs. You are a creature of rage, he knew what he was getting into. His heart did not satisfy your hunger, in fact it only made you all the more starved. You will taste every heart in Verona if you have to, and he has no one to blame but himself.

[ I love a twisty and toxic relationship! Mikael did not gave her a taste for blood and destruction, but he increased her lust and refined her palate. Lucrezia wants to play with her food and conquests, twisting the knife deeper and deeper until their heart slips freely into her stained hands. Rage is her tool and I want to explore her being held back and fighting against her husband or anyone who tries to tame and control her. I also want to see the consequences of reaching too far or biting into a heart that is perhaps more poisonous than her own ]

All that hard, glossy armor - You watch them call her names you yourself wear like badges of honor and see her flinch at every verbal dagger. You are not one to care for other people, you never have. Perhaps you see yourself in her, or what you might have become if you did not learn early to love the darkness for what it was, not what you wished it to be. You crafted your armor, lovingly cultivated this reputation into a weapon. You attack first, and if they are dumb enough to hit back they find anger and armor all the way down. She needs your help, a decision that surprises even you. Maybe you are bored, and think it might be interesting to try and create someone for once instead of destroying. You will teach her to take their venomous barbs and learn to love the sting until she has built up her own armor. And what if, in the middle of this, she discovers a tiny crack in yours?

[ Gals helping gals we love to see it! This is an opportunity to explore Lucrezia’s armor and reputation - how she built it and what might threaten it. I want to play out what happens when someone finds a chink in hers - originally based on the Delilah connection, but could work for anyone who can get close enough. The inner turmoil of her trying not to care then realizing that she does and dealing with the repercussions of this is something I definitely want to explore! Give her a weakness, or someone else to see past what she projects and tries to be, maybe they can use this to hurt her or maybe they actually care. I want to test the strength of all that hard, glossy armor. ]

Then why does it feel like I’m losing my mind? - Madness sings from the blood of every woman, your mother once said, imploring you to resist its call. Can there be such a thing as too much love? Too much attention and coddling? Maybe you learned to love the cruelty and darkness just to spite them. They obsessed over the porcelain doll they thought you were, smothering and controlling and loving all too much. You learned to crave the thrill of chaos, the high that came from taking this love and holding it over their heads like a whip. And they made it so delightfully easy, tracing out the lines so clearly they were practically begging you to cross and smudge them. Because despite all that they tried to teach, all the loving words and sickly sweet affection, you knew you could never be enough. Even if you did exactly what they asked, dampened down the parts of you that were dark and interesting, resisted madness and her pretty call; you would never be enough. Perfection is utterly unattainable, to strive for it is a type of madness itself. If you are going to miss the mark, it might as well be deliberate and enjoyable. But guilt is a ghost who has followed you throughout your life, singing her own sort of haunting refrain. You tried to cut that part of you away and were mostly successful. She still finds you in quiet moments, crashing in with an alien emotion, methodically clawing away at that armor. You will not allow this imagined weakness to threaten everything you have built and so you double down on your devotion, cutting away that traitorous part of your mind again and again until maybe there is nothing left.

[ Guilt and madness and paying the price for ambition are huge parts of Lady Macbeth’s play arc and I want to explore Lucrezia fighting against these. “Madness” and “losing ones mind” seem to be the end, the punishment given for reaching too far. But what if they are a choice one makes to get there? Another tool like beauty and sex used to get ahead. I want to play with Lucrezia balancing right on that line between control and the loss of it. Likely her own actions and weaknesses will lead to some sort of confrontation, maybe an internal battle that leaks out to threaten her plans and ambitions. Is the idea of madness a choice one can make or simply the result of other choices? I want to see what happens when she is forced to deal with the consequences of her actions and choices, a reckoning for her rage. ]

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes probably but I am fairly attached to her so I’d like to have plenty of time to play first. I don’t really want her to meet the same end as her literary namesake, ie if Lucrezia is to die, I would like it to not be by her own hand.

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona?

“Twelfth Night Museum in the early morning,” she responded without hesitating, the truth flowing almost as easily as a lie. “I like the stillness and the silence, there’s a sense of peace that is hard to find elsewhere.” At this Lucrezia smirked at her questioner, peace was rare in such a tumultuous city. And for those who knew her well as an agent of controlled chaos (and even those who only knew of her), even the word peace sounded unnatural on those red lips. It was meant to be an offhanded question by some eager tourist looking for the locals perspective - ( Note: since when did she give off the approachable ‘ask-me-for-recommendations’ vibe? Lucrezia needed another espresso and quickly ) - but it lingered even after he was long gone. It wasn’t peace, she decided, there had always been a bit of unease in the empty museum, like she was intruding on a sacred crypt for the gods. Those moments in the early mornings seemed to exist outside of the normal confines of time and space, Lucrezia could walk through all ages at the same time. She almost expected to see the old masters adding a final touch while the elements whether away details on a nearby marble bust. Maybe that was why she loved it so much, a place both haunted by the weight of history and expectations while utterly, achingly empty. The museum held some sort contradictions as Lucrezia herself, and perhaps she wanted to co-exist just as beautifully.

What does your typical day look like?

“I certainly hope there isn’t a ‘typical day’, that would be so boring,” she resisted rolling her eyes, “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting something different is a type of madness, is it not? So I would hope to never be typical.” Still, the questions seemed to have been asked in good faith, so Lucrezia sighed a bit dramatically and continued. “I guess I have to wake up every day, sometimes early sometimes late - it depends.” She had never been good at sleeping well, the task of quieting her own mind daunting but not nearly as exhausting as she wished. “And then I go to work. Or I go to the museum, I always make sure to find time to be alone and surrounded by beauty - art, music, places, maybe another person.” Her smirk was laced with honey but her eyes flashed in a warning. “Work is never boring, there is always something new.” Lucrezia did not expand on this, her companion did not need all the details regardless of how she longed to brag. Because she was very good at her job and thought that was something she should be praised for. Charm was second nature, she was expert at the delicate blending of flattery and threats. More than that - it was a game, the give and take of honeyed words balanced with a sudden shift to cold cruelty. And Lucrezia loved to win. “And then I come home to my adoring husband who loves to take me out.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far? (Tw self harm kinda)

Lucrezia laughed harshly, “Getting married at eighteen” She spun that huge diamond around her finger, a nervous habit, feeling the bite of the gem in the well worn callous on her palm. She loved the ring, she liked the sharp edge. The pain kept her grounded, reminded her of the goal. She would sometimes count - one turn for every year with him. Ten to right, then ten more to the left, and she was back smile in place, momentary lapse in control gone. Mikael served a purpose, she knew this, even that young she wasn’t so stupid as to throw her life away on something as meaningless as infatuation that could be mistaken for love. His name gave her access, status her father’s could not. And he so prettily sank to his knees for her, feeding into that innate desire for power - her driving force. The strangest part? She’d made the initial mistake of showing too much, of letting him see too much of who she was, the rage and cruelty and force. And instead of running, instead of longing for the pretty smile and charming mask - he saw her for who she was, and wanted her even more for it. Lucrezia looked down at her hands, the ring still twisting - eight, nine, ten - and then back up at the questioner. “I just mean I was too young, we should have waited a bit more.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

“Oh, I don’t know,” she waved an errant hand, as if to dismiss the question. “Probably some negotiation with a particularly horrible client. I am sure it was difficult and tiresome, but I persisted and won, naturally.” A lie, they surely knew that it was, but she wasn’t about to attempt to unpack the particular traumas of a picture perfect childhood. Because the most difficult task had always been the first one asked of her, the most spectacular failure of her life. Little Lucrezia Capuccio with her chocolate curls and wild gaze tasked with lessening herself, carving out anything interesting, shrinking and molding herself to fit into their expectations - the porcelain doll daughter they thought they deserved. She was a creature of rage, even then. And when they begged her to stop, to peel away parts of her self to please them - Lucrezia set fire to anything good and pure that might have remained inside her. They had it wrong, though, when they pleaded for her to be their little angel. Angels had always been vengeful, violent spirits - sent by God to punish, to kill, to make an example. There is nothing soft, simpering, or good about a creature who’s wings have always been dipped in blood.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“War seems like a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” She took a sip of her drink, “it is not so far reaching and tragic as all that.” She knew her side, had chosen carefully. Mikael had been her way in, but she’d long ago outranked him. But she had never had time for such dualities as black and white, good and evil; the battle-lines were far messier than the poets would have you believe. And that was the best part about choosing, she wasn’t bound to a side with anything as weighty and meaningful as blood or history. Lucrezia chose, and she would continue to chose - the next right thing, the next fortuitous position. One could only ever truly be loyal to oneself, any other pledge would alway eventually become a lie. “This situation,” she chose this word carefully, “provides opportunity for those who are able and willing to take it. We all want the same thing, right? What is best for those we love and our dear, fair Verona.”

In-Character Para Sample: Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

(Tw mention of violence, tw blood)

On her wedding night, the newly minted Mrs. Mikael Falco considered killing her husband.

There wasn’t any particular reason, it was just the fact that she could. She wasn’t unfamiliar with violence, having dipped her toe in those depths more than once, but the particular sin of murdering one’s husband called out like a deliciously dramatic turn of events. Lucrezia thought she might make an excellent widow, she’d perfected false tears that still left her beautiful long ago. She could play vengeful, demanding the city run red with the blood of her husband’s killer. It could be a nice spark, instigating more chaos and violence between factions, an opportunity to climb even higher, not to mention how entertaining it would be to watch.

He looked so peaceful sleeping like this. Lucrezia watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest with every breath. She felt a sudden desire to touch him, to trail her fingers lightly along the outlines of his muscles, to trace the marks her nails had left earlier and then to press down harder and harder until he awoke and forced her to stop. Instead she grabbed the glass of wine from the bedside table, cradling it in both her hands to take a too large sip. Some heavy red, she remembered, not her favorite. Surely he would have learned her preferences by now, beyond the exquisite things his hands and mouth could do to her body. Then again, she might not have ever told him what wine she liked. Not that ignorance was an excuse she would accept.

Was being served the wrong type of wine offense enough to warrant the death of one’s husband? Asking for a friend.

Lucrezia took another sip of the disappointing wine and idly wondered if he’d ever thought the same of her. She wasn’t afraid of him, he wouldn’t have the balls to go through with it he was far too devoted - something she’d made certain of before saying yes. It was the headiest type of high to watch him carve it out himself and willingly place his protesting heart in her hands. She often tried to replicate that initial thrill and occasionally she got close, but never quite the same heights. Taking his life would surely do it, an incredible rush buzzing across her skin if she were to actually stain it with his blood. But it would be just as short lived as the last.

Since she was indulging this little fantasy, she might as well consider the details - she was nothing if not a very thorough planner. It wouldn’t be with a gun, the weight and heft of the weapon always felt wrong in her hand. And that was such a clinical, distanced way to harm. Lucrezia preferred a knife. Their intimacy had always teetered just on the edge of violence, he might not even realize her intentions until it was too late. And maybe, she let her self think for a fraction of a second, it was how he wanted to go. Mikael knew her better than anyone else, he saw her for exactly what she was and loved her anyway. It was almost frightening.

Fear and guilt are sisters - or so Shirley Jackson told her.

She finished the wine and reached over to place the glass on the table. Her husband stirred, his fingers twisting in her dark hair and Lucrezia let herself be pulled back into his arms.

“What are you thinking?” Even his half asleep whisper sent a spark of something down her spine and she smiled that arcane, cruel smile she knew drove him mad.

“I was wondering if I could be strong enough to kill you if I needed to.” Her honestly startled her, something about him caused intimacy and vulnerability. Or maybe she’d had too much to drink. He laughed then moved swiftly, rolling over on top of her while pinning both her wrists above her head with just one of his hands. The other gently caressed the side of her face and she met his burning gaze, wondering if her own eyes looked empty. He did not ask if she’d decided. She didn’t know if he thought she was joking.

He kissed her, hard, biting down on her bottom lip until she tasted her own blood and let out a gasp of desire. No, Lucrezia thought, I don’t think I could kill him. She reasoned that she would never be able to top that power rush, that he could still prove useful and the sex was excellent so best to keep him around. But really, she would be lost without his devotion, his obsessive love.

The gods only die when there is no one left to worship their names.

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

Pinterest - https://www.pinterest.com/gracieewrites/lucrezia-f/

[hisgirlwonder]

Atonement - Part One

Length: 2.5k words Warning: Extreme smut/extreme humiliation, multiple kinks – maybe don’t read if you aren’t into that sort of thing? Synopsis: Michael finds out you disobeyed his one rule and decides to make an example of you in front of the rest of the Outpost. Notes: I tried to be somewhat brutal with this OS but I also added in a touch of ~feelings~ because Michael is still human and he let Y/N into a part of his life that nobody else was allowed into. Basically, Y/N is in love with Michael but he scares her/she doesn’t think she’s worthy of him (or that anyone is) so she does something careless to try and relieve her from the numbness she’s going through. She’s locked her feelings deep inside her and it’s causing her so much pain which is why she did what she did. Michael feels the same but doesn’t know how to show love anymore after being hurt one too many times/rising to power when he becomes the Antichrist.

You’ve held the position of Michael’s assistant for the past month and it has been interesting, to say the least. Most of the time there are perks and then other times you’ve witnessed less-than-desirable things happen. It has taught you many things including the fact that that man has more power in one of his ring-adorned fingers than all of the inhabitants in Outpost 3 put together.

“Would you like some water, sir?”

Michael sits at the head of the table about to hold a conference on his laptop. Today was different to others – his meeting wasn’t with The Co-Operative instead it was with those who lived at Outpost 3.

He nods his head in response to your question as he usually does and continues on with what he’s about to say.

“I’ll make this quick. There appears to be an issue within this Outpost. Before any of you make an assumption it’s not the incessant bitching behind my back nor is it about holding a grudge against me. The issue at hand is that some of you here think that it’s acceptable to open your legs without my permission. I implore that you all remember my father owns you therefore I own you too. You only eat because I allow you to be fed, you only sleep because I allow you to rest. I’ve given the privileges back that Venable had once restricted, and what do I ask for in return? The decency for openness and honesty. You’re all about to learn soon why you shouldn’t cross me.” He abruptly closes his laptop, without so much as a goodbye, to end the session.

You know exactly what Michael is talking about. It’s you. You’re the issue. You slept with one of the other members in the Outpost. It wasn’t anything great but you needed to feel something, anything.

A shaky hand of yours picks up the glass of water and places it down in front of Michael on a coaster. When your eyes meet briefly it’s very clear you’ve well and truly fucked up; nausea is pooling in the pit of your belly and your skin is crawling. How did you ever think you’d get away with it?

Usually the lack of words being spoken isn’t a cause for concern when you’re in his office – the room would be filled with the sound of him tapping his keyboard and not him tapping the table out of concealed aggression. You gather together any courage left inside to speak, trying to break the tension in the air, “Michael, I know this is about me. I can explain.”

He stops tapping on the table and leans back into his chain with clasped hands held in front of his stomach. One second he’s cold and the next the cockiness he begins to emit almost chokes you.

“Oh, can you? That’s good! Then I will have an answer as to why you’re making a fool out of me and we can forget this whole thing happened. I mean, you’re just a poor little girl and nothing is ever your fault, right?”

These stupid actions were going to cost you everything you’d worked so hard for over the last four weeks; You and Michael had built up a special rapport. You realised words won’t help your cause but attempt to apologise regardless, “I’m sorry I just-“

He interrupts your attempts at making amends as his interest was placed elsewhere. To him, an apology only came across as a vapid attempt at appeasing the pain he was experiencing.

“Call me intrigued but why did you let that boy inside you, anyway?”

Your words stay stuck in your throat and won’t budge, leaving you to stumble over them when you finally force them out, “I-I-I j-just wanted to f-feel something.”

Michael’s sight out of those blue eyes runs rampant over your body; half curious at what you may look like naked on his bed and half deciding how best to cut you down.

“I see. This will work perfectly since you certainly are going to feel something. It truly is unfortunate. If only you came to me about your urges then this could have been avoided, but you had to be a slut, didn’t you? Go into the bathroom and get undressed. I don’t want to look at you right now.”

You’d say Michael was killing you softly but that was an understatement. He knows exactly where to hit you and he does it hard. You could deal with disapproval from your family, from Venable, but not Michael. For every ounce of intimidation in your body that Michael gave you there was just as much of an ache to fill the inevitable loneliness in his life that he must have felt. You knew you weren’t worthy of such a privilege; nobody here was.

-

You weren’t sure how long it took you to reach the destination because you disassociated to deal with the embarrassment, like you always do in a stressful situation, but Michael snaps you back to reality when you get to those doors, letting you know the two of you had arrived.

Beyond the entrance there was room slightly bigger than your living quarters. It had beautiful wooden floors, reminding you of the house you used to live in, but was decorated rather plainly and at present full of people. He walks to stand in front of everyone and you’re following a few paces behind; refusing to take your eyes off the ground in an endeavour to hide others from seeing your shame.

Michael takes a position with you by his side where neither of you can hide. You bring your head up and scan the crowd – your eyes count twenty people in the room; twenty faces staring at you.

His feet begin pacing across the floor while looking straight ahead, refusing to even glance at anyone.

“This girl here is someone you may or may not recognise but the point is she is naked, stripped of any ability to conceal herself, reeking of desperation. She’s going to atone for her wrongdoings before all of you. Not only is this her own punishment but she serves as a warning. If anyone else would like the same treatment as you’re about to witness by all means feel free to disobey me. Need I remind you, however, if you are in this room and still follow through then your punishment will be more severe than Y/N receives today.”

Michael retreats to your side and forces you to kneel before him. You comply with the demands; any further disobedience would only make things worse. You clench your mouth shut to hold back any snivelling sounds because Michael would only revel in these and who knows what kind of effect that would have on what he was about to do to you.

A hand reaches for your face with the thumb and index finger forcing open your mouth, causing pain to your cheeks from the pressure. He pushes you backwards out of his hand, jarring you slightly. His eyes lock on you waiting for you to steady yourself again before he decides to inflict the next lot of degradation on your body.

You become balanced but are still unaware of what Michael is going to subject you to; whatever it is, you’re sure that you deserve it. He spits in your face followed by that same hand which squeezed you rubbing it in, smiling as he does it. It seemed as if your ignorance act of defiance had hardened his heart. It became more and more apparent that Michael did care for you underneath it all but it was late.

You wipe back the spit from your face and Michael squats in front, the two of you becoming level. His tone changes and this time he speaks to you as if you were a child in need of praise, “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Now you want to be clean? Oh, I don’t think so.”

He rises from the squatting position to be at full height, leaving you feeling like he might just step on you. Little do you know that would be better than what’s about to come. Michael says nothing but pulls himself out of his pants, semi-flaccid, and starts to urinate on you.

“You wanted to be a dirty bitch so now you get what’s coming to you. How does it feel to be my toilet? Is this how dirty you wanted it? Are you feeling something now, huh?”

The contrast of the temperatures catches you off guard – this warm liquid against your cold, naked skin. The stream hits your face and runs down your body to cover your tits and thighs in a golden shower. Once his urges have been relieved, he pulls out a crumpled tissue from his pocket to wipe any stray drips then he forces your mouth open and shoving it inside what he calls your other useless hole. You spit it out, scratching away at the bits left behind on your tongue, and listen as Michael addresses the audience, high off the authority he was holding.

“Y/N told me her excuse for opening her legs for another member in the Outpost was because she wanted to feel something so we’re giving her just that today. Here comes the fun part. Since this little piss covered whore is so desperate for a nice hot load,” he grabs at your face again, eyes locked with yours and digging his fingers in even harder, “We’re going to give her just that.”

You break away from the contact and look down to Michael’s cock which had hardened at the thought of what he’d just said; the power and control left him needing relief. He starts to stroke himself while belittling you as his hand travelled the length of his member repeatedly, “I know you wish your worthless pussy was my hand but unfortunately for you it’s not. This is as close as you’ll get to sating your desires and fucking me.”

He was right and oh how you wish he wasn’t.

His glance dropped and all you could focus on were the narrowed eyes and furrowing brows – his anger couldn’t mask the enjoyment he was experiencing fucking his hand over your submission. You hadn’t even tried to fight back and he loved it. He loved that you took the punishment he was dealing out. In his eyes, you were a toy planted in the Outpost, his Outpost, purely for his own amusement.

Michael would never tell you that he hired you as his assistant so could watch you; he wanted to take in every inch of the being he was going to destroy. He was the lion, and he decided from the day you arrived that you were his lamb. He was going to rip the flesh from your bones and devour you whole, he just never saw it happening like this.

He didn’t even need to say a word because his face was saying everything - His nostrils became flared, those perfect teeth bit down on his even more perfect lower lip, and it was clear he was holding back the moans in case they escaped his mouth.

It took so much strength to hide his enjoyment but it fell short when it came to him instinctively thrusting while he fucked himself as he got lost in the thrill of it all. It overpowers him and his eyes shut, small moans of pleasure had built up in his lungs and he breathes them out at you, no longer being able to hide the truth.

He edges closer and closer until finally he cannot contain himself anymore. He does what he said he would and covers your face in a thick, hot load. Once his high wears off, he puts his weakening erection away and turns to the crowd, “I hope this has been made very clear.”

So many adulterated thoughts are running through your mind as you’re wiping the viscous mess away. He reads his mind (of course he does) and this is too much for him. He knows it all. Part of you didn’t learn your lesson. Part of you still made him feel like he failed.

-

He mercilessly drags you out of the room with his hands digging into your arm and throwing you into the corridor. You’re already tired from his torment and are unable to land on your feet which leads you to take a tumble, grazing your knees as you fall down.

“Y/N, I have this sneaking suspicion my punishment didn’t work, care to explain just why that might be?”

You continue trying to clean off what Michael left behind, unable to speak. The sticky remnants of his disgust begin to solidify and you can feel your peach fuzz sticking to your skin.

“Speak to me when I ask you a question, grey, and remember if you lie I will know.”

Gulping back the fear that was bubbling in your throat, you admit that he was right and that it didn’t help you because it made you weak in other ways. Michael’s perfect lips transformed into a smirk on what befell his ears – the confession that transpired in that moment showed him you were putty in his hands.

The next sentence was one that fills you with dread. It became obvious that there was nothing that could be hidden from Michael; he got under your skin and there wasn’t a thing you could do about it.

Seductively he asks, “Do you find me arousing?”

You gazed upon your now dirty fingers, picking the evidence off your nails, avoiding him as best as you can. “Y-y-yes sir.”

“Do you sometimes wish you could be the floor beneath my feet and have me step on you? Remember, I will know if you are dishonest and the consequences will be severe for attempting to lie to me.”

You nod, feeling sheepish at your own desires. It was your deepest, darkest secret that you tried to keep locked away from the world and the one person who you desperately wanted never to find out saw right through you.

“Ah, yes, look at you wallowing in your shame. God, you’re a disgusting mess.”

He strokes your ruined face, lulling you into a false sense of security before yanking you up by your hair, bringing you close to his mouth so you can hear nice and clearly what he has to say.

“Don’t you ever pull that fucking shit again, okay? Otherwise, you’ll give me no choice but to leave you longing to meet the same fate my horses did.”

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sammythankyou @sevenwondr