#something about rich getting into fights and jake turning a blind eye

[lohstandfound]

look i know i said boat boys was so jake and michael (and i still stand by that) but there's this one specific animatic just feels like richjake to me

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Mask/Breathe

Another gift for @wildfaewhump because your comment about putting your oxygen mask on inspired me! Sorry that I had to rewrite the part that got erased this morning!

CW: Some HEAVY subject matter is referenced or discussed here, please heed these CWs: referenced torture, referenced past burns. discussed extended metaphor involving parenting and plane crash/loss of cabin pressure, mentioned/referenced sudden death of spouse and grief, self-loathing thought pattern, brief memory of choking

tagging: @oofowouchies who asked to be tagged for Antoni-stuff, plus @astrobly, @burtlederp, and @finder-of-rings who are my everything taglist!

"Have you ever heard the saying, 'put your own mask on first', Antoni?" Dr. Berger smiles at him. She has a bit of hair coming loose from where it's been tucked behind one ear, her short, sharp bob dyed a deep, rich brown. It was red last year.

Chris loves that about her. He loves seeing people who change themselves in small or big ways year by year, the way he does. Antoni, though, doesn’t change. He stays the same, more or less. His hair a little shaggier, or longer, his eyes set a little more deeply in his face. But mostly he is the same.

Antoni gives her a thin smile, a barely-there stretch of lips, and gives his head a little shake, ducking his chin to look down towards the floor in the safehouse he goes to for therapy on Thursdays. "No, I am sorry," He says, softly. "I don't know the phrase."

At least, he doesn't know it anymore.

It does sting at the inside of his mind, in a way he can't turn into anything coherent. Itches like his scars. Gives him a sense of feeling very small in a big space, of falling asleep in someone's lap. The sudden dip in his stomach like being at the top of a roller coaster and knowing there is no way you’ll survive the trip back down, and yet you do, and yet he did, somewhere in the deeper recesses of his memories.

Dr. Berger can see when Antoni’s eyes go distant - she works with fifteen rescues at any given time, meeting with them in the evenings and weekends, fitting in an hour here or there when her regular practice won’t notice. She is used to the way a rescue’s face can shift to something empty and sad in a blink, as they find some part of themselves just peeking up above the surface.

With Antoni, he tries to let it drift back beneath as often as it can. What he remembers is bad enough. He doesn’t want to know how much worse it could get, for him to know why all of this happened to him.

She waits, as always, for Antoni to find himself again. Only then does she speak. "When you board a plane, there's a bit about safety at the beginning," Dr. Berger says thoughtfully. 

Her pen taps the notepad she keeps. She’s written some things there, in the code she uses. Even if someone found her notes, they would be about a manic-depressive, a man fighting generalized anxiety, treating an adult with ADHD - you would never look at those notes and know she is writing about Leila, about Antoni, about Chris.

You could read her notes on a patient struggling with abandonment issues caused by an abusive relationship and never once understand that she speaks to Kauri on Friday nights, the weeks he agrees to show up at her door with a shy, nervous smile and the wish, just one more week one more meeting one more time, to try.

Antoni's fingertips tap against his own leg. His left leg is the bad one today. They take turns, his limbs, burning over old scars with new injuries that aren't real. They keep him tightrope-walking along some terrible boundary between the person he must be - strong, capable, always ready with a helping hand - and the smaller, meaner, worse person he really is.

The damaged skin, the broken nerves inside of him are all reminders that he deserved it all, and worse, and if he went back he could wear all his wrongs on his skin like he should. But he won’t go back. 

He is too needed. As long as he’s needed, he will stay.

As long as he’s needed-

"They give the same speech every time. Wear your seatbelt as long as the light is on, stay seated, all these basic things. We all kind of know it by our second or third flight but they still repeat it, so that your… well, so your muscle memory will remember in an emergency even when you can’t think rationally, even if you’re following the lights towards the exit because your body knows there was a speech about this even though your mind’s just… checked out with panic. Sorry, let me get to my point. There's a bit there about what to do in a worst-case scenario... like a pressure drop if the plane has to change altitude too quickly. These little masks drop down from, ah-" She frowns, eyebrows furrowing. "Little... panels above your seat. And if you put the mask on, it gives you oxygen until you have enough in the plane to breathe again."

Antoni nods, just to show he's listening.

“One thing that they say, during the speech about the oxygen masks, is how important it is if you’re flying with someone who needs assistance, or you have a child or infant, that you put their oxygen mask on before your own. In the case of a pressure drop, you have seconds, Antoni, before you’ll stop thinking rationally, start acting drunk, losing reason. You have a minute, maybe a couple of minutes, before the situation is even more dire than that. So it’s imperative, absolutely essential, to put your own mask on before you help your child. Do you know why?”

He looks up at her, her warm understanding eyes, and shakes his head. “If you did that, you would save only yourself,” He points out, his voice low, a little gravelly.  “You should save the child instead.��

“No, Antoni.” She licks at her lips in thought, and his eyes drop to her hands, to the wedding band she wears with a sparkling diamond on one finger layered over a plain band next to it. I wear one for my late husband, She’d told him when he asked, and one for my second husband. 

I am so sorry. How did he die?

It was… sudden. Let’s not discuss my scars on our first meeting, Antoni. I’m sorry, it’s just difficult for me to talk about.

But they must talk about his, the ones he will admit to anyway, until he can barely breathe for the burning. He has to admit, though, he feels cleaner when he leaves these appointments, like he’s been purified by the fire, not burned by it. If he could only burn enough…

Dr. Berger clears her throat and gestures with the pen in her hand as she speaks. “As a mother - no, a parent - every single instinct in you will scream to save your baby first. This doesn’t apply across the board, obviously, but for most parents there will be a primal need to get your child out of danger before you care for yourself. In the case of hypoxia, those moments you spend trying to put a mask on your child could result in enough of a loss of oxygen to the brain that you are not only unable to get your own mask on, but you don’t put your child’s on correctly. But if you put your own mask on first, you will have a clear head and working lungs and can take the steps you need in your right mind to provide the best possible result to the situation.”

Antoni waits a beat, then swallows. “Dr. Berger, this is not a plane crash. I am not… I am not a parent.”

He can’t imagine the terror, of handling something so tiny and fragile as the children he sees, like Leila’s tiny infant daughter. Of having to hold it and feed it and care for it when it needed you more than it needed anything else in the world. How could you ever be expected not to shatter under the weight of that sort of responsibility? 

Bad parents made sense to Antoni, the way that bad owners made sense. Power and control over another human being gave you too many reasons, too many chances, to make them suffer for their sins against you. What staggered him wasn’t the existence of bad parents, but that anyone could be a good one.

“Aren’t you, Antoni?” Dr. Berger gives him that slight smile again, then waves her hand. “Sorry, that wasn’t a useful question to ask you. What I’m trying to say is that you come here every week and tell me about your life, but there is something missing from the story.”

There’s a flip in his stomach. He knows where this is going. “What?”

“You.” She taps her notepad again, where she’s written his ‘code’ name, the fake one she uses for all her reports on him. “You are missing, Antoni. You spend your every waking moment supporting Jake Stanton, and Chris, and helping out with the other shelters, and these are all valuable things, but… what of your life is about you?”

He rubs his face with his hands, shaking his head back and forth. “I am not-... I am not sure what you mean.” His voice trembles, a little, something inside him twists and turns to ice. “I like what I do.”

“I know, but… Antoni.” Dr. Berger sits back, glancing over at the window at the night outside. There’s a street light shining a circle down on the sidewalk, and outside of that hint of light the rest of the neighborhood is shrouded in darkness except for the dim yellow lights he can see cutting through blinds or shining out second-story windows. “Do you begin to see how the metaphor applies?”

He doesn’t answer. If he doesn’t answer, he won’t have to say yes.

“You have built a life that consists of providing oxygen to everyone else around you,” Dr. Berger says, and her voice is very low, and soft. “I know the feeling. I did the same, after… well. I did the same once upon a time. I had two young children and it was, God, I don’t even remember the first year. It’s just… the life I’d had was gone, and rather than think about a new one, all I did was tread water. All I did was put the masks on my children and pray I would find the air to breathe before it was too late for me, too. When we have our talks, Antoni, I find… I see a lot of that same way of living in you.”

“I have not lost my husband.” He looks up at her but she isn’t smiling, only looking at him very seriously again, studying his face in that way she has of looking beneath. 

“No,” She says, quietly. “But you lost a life, one that you have been led to believe you were responsible for losing. You are entitled to your life, Antoni. You did something immense to reclaim it. I’m only saying… well.” She shrugs, just a little. “I’m only saying that you must remember that you did reclaim it. I’m saying… Chris deserves his life, yes, and you are an essential part of it. Jake deserves his life, and he couldn’t do this without your support. But…”

The pause between them draws out and draws out until he can barely stand the itching that covers every inch of his skin.

Beg for me to stop, darling. Beg for it to be over, but know that you don’t deserve the mercy. He can almost feel the hands gripped around his throat, crushing his windpipe under the press of thumbs, the weight of Mr. Davies pushing his back into the floor until he thought he might sink into it and be buried under the floorboards of Mr. Davies’ beautiful home, another swirl in the woodgrain, a man’s life soaked into a rug, bled away, painted across the walls.

You don’t deserve the life I allow you, darling.

“You deserve to breathe, Antoni,” Dr. Berger says, softly. “You deserve to put your mask on. You deserve the air. You won’t be able to grapple with anything until you are willing to look me in the eye and admit that you deserve to live.”

The clock strikes the hour.

Their time is up.

[im-actually-ok]

A Bittersweet Reunion

Fandom: Be More Chill

Word Count: 2000

Ships: Anything really if you squint

Warnings: In depth description of a zombie, blood, small casual kiss, implied character death, tied hands, character grabbed by shoulders arms and forearms, mild swearing,(Let me know if I missed anything)

This fic is for the Be More Chill Quarantine Challenge run by @bmc-gift-exchange and the prompt for this fic are these pictures.

I hope you enjoy!

————————

I had never thought of Walmart as eerie before, always jam-packed with people. But as I'm walking through the empty halls as the dim fluorescent lights flicker above me, I realized how quickly I'm so used to can become scary as heck.

The shelves are mostly empty, lucky me, but something catches my eyes as I turn the aisle. That's when the light decided it would be a good idea to stop working. So there I am. In an abandoned Walmart, by myself, In the dark. Just peachy.

I sigh and pull my flashlight from my backpack and flick it on. I hate to be wasting the battery like this, but guys gotta eat, right? I hurry down the hall to what looks like a green bottle on the shelf. I pick it up and read the label. Mountain Dew. Funny joke, universe. Ha, F-ing, Ha.

I think to myself, beggars can't be choosers, and slip the soda into my backpack and continue on through the store, hoping to find anything that could be of use to me.

I run through the store to another area where the lights are still working. I slip my flashlight back into my backpack and pick up speed. When the aisles come into view I see that there is nothing there either. Just my luck. I groan. That Mountain Dew’s gonna have to last me a while at this rate. I haven't had an actual meal in weeks, not since I found a corndog in the back of a resturant. I start to turn towards the exit when I hear a low moan coming from behind me. I freeze and turn to face the sound, hoping, praying, it isn’t what I think it is.

I turn to see exactly what I didn't want to see. The humanoid creature, hobbling aimlessly in my direction, one leg broken in several places dragging behind, leaving a trail of greenish-red blood behind it. It's pale peach-colored flesh hanging loosely to its face, rotted and green in places, one eye missing, the other rolled back into its head. Whoever it was, they’re long gone. Its arm was twisted and cut and bruised along with the rest of its body. I look past what can only be described as a zombie to see many, many more behind it.

Shhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiittttttttttttttttttt.

I back away as slowly as I can. Trying not to provoke them. Stupid me though backs right into a clothing rack, that bumps into another, that in turn, bumps into another. They fall like dominos, clattering loudly when they hit the ground, the sound echoing through the store.

I tear my eyes away from the fallen racks and turn my head to see that slowly, one by one, every zombie looks up and notices me.

They groan and moan loudly, picking up the pace in their limp until they’re basically running at me. Screeches from the horde of zombies ring in my ears as I'm frozen in place. They’re maybe 20 yards away when it clicks in my brain.

This isn’t a video game, run you, idiot!

I turn and sprint towards the exit, catapulting myself over the fallen racks. Zombies are coming from all over now, peeking out from behind shelves and corners. I dodge being grabbed by their gruesome long fingernailed hands and dash towards safety. I basically slam my body into the automatic doors, I glance back at the onslaught of zombies approaching before prying the doors apart.

I groan and swear and push until they finally fly open. I dash out into the cool night air and don't turn back until I realize something. I should have closed the doors. I look to see zombies pouring out after me, clawing and climbing over each other to try and get out the doors.

I don't have long until they catch up to me. I scan my surroundings, trying to figure out where to go. My eyes land on the forest road, hidden with fog and trees.

Yeah, that's a great idea, go into the creepy forest, you're definitely not going to die in there.

Shut up, me. It's the best option I've got.

And now I'm talking to myself.

Just great.

I dash towards the tree hidden area just as the zombies make their way out the door. I reach the trees and run into the fog. I can't see. I hear things all around me, but I can barely see a foot in front of me.

What was I thinking?! Of course, the foggy forest is a bad idea!

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!

I scream as I feel a hands grip around my arms and basically pick me up. I struggle and try to rip away but the grip gets tighter and more hands grip my shoulders and my forearms. I can feel hot tears streaming down my face and I scream and try to break away, but it's no use. This is it, this is how I die.

Zombies, huh, I thought I’d be ready. I can't tell if it's still me yelling, or if it's the screech of the onslaught of zombies. But when a hand flies over my mouth, I hear a soft whisper in my ear, “shut up, will you?” and another whisper of, “Oh my god, is he crying?”

The hands pull me back into the line of trees, the fog hanging heavily over us. The raspy screams from the undead slowly fade as I'm pulled through the woods.

Eventually, I stop struggling and the exhaustion from all running and fighting I've been doing the past few months finally hits me.

Not long after, we enter a clearing with a stump in the middle, one of the things that has me presses a button on a remote and the stump opens up. I barely get a second to collect myself before I'm tossed down the stump into a hole. I hit my head on something as I land, and everything goes dark.

————————————

My eyes flutter open to a blinding light.

“Shit, I'm dead aren’t I?” I say, squinting as my eyes slowly adjust to the light.

I hear someone laugh and say, “Not yet kid.”

I see the silhouette of three people in front of me, their features slowly coming into view. Hey, wait. Arent they…

“Hey, didn't you guys go to my school?” I ask and see the familiar group of seniors glance at each other then back at me, “Listen, we’ll talk when the others get back, until then, you stay here.” The tallest says. He's got broad shoulders and dark skin. He pushes aside a curtain in the dirt wall (wait are we underground?) and passes into another room, followed by another, smaller skinnier boy and girl with short blond hair in a bun.

Once they are out of the room, I look around at the dirt room (yep, 99% sure we’re underground) in front of me there is a steel table and the bright light was coming from a lamp point right at me, interrogation style. I try to get up, but I find that my hands are tied to the chair behind my back.

“Hey!” I call, “Hey, let me go! Who are you people!?”

I hear a loud creak, like a metal door opening, then some chatter. I pick up on a familiar voice saying, “And he’s in here?”

The curtain separating rooms is pushed aside. I flinch, put my head down and close my eyes.

“Jeremy?” A soft voice says.  

I open my eyes and look up to see, “Micheal!” I yell.

“Jeremy! Oh my god!” He rushes over, around the table and wraps his arms around me, “Oh my god I thought I’d never see you again!”

The tears prick my eyes again. He let's go and hold onto my shoulders, “Have you just been out there by yourself all this time? I thought you were dead, man!”

I laugh and say, “Yeah! I've just been surviving! What about you man, you been hanging out with these mole people?”

He's the one laughing now, “I'm actually one of the president mole people! But we have a lot to catch up on, let's get you untied so we can talk.”

———————————-

Turns out I'm one of the only people that weren’t here. As Micheal and I exit the room we are met with the beaming faces of Rich, Brook, Chloe, Jake, and some more seniors that I recognize.

“Looks like the whole crew’s here!” I laugh. I'm met with hugs and high fives. Brook gives me a warm welcome kiss and that's when the thought hits me.

I ask, “Wait, is Christine here too?”  

Brooke’s face falls and I look around the room, everyone is either looking at the ground or at Micheal. I turn to Micheal to, he sighs and places a hand on my shoulder, “We should talk dude.

He leads me into a side room off the room that we were in and pulls a journal out from a cabinet in the room and hands it to me. not looking me in the eyes, he says, “I think you should read this.”

He leaves me alone, closing the curtain that separates this room from the others. Not much privacy in this place, huh?

I flip open the journal and immediately recognize the beautiful cursive handwriting.

It's Christine’s.

Day 1

Day 1 in the zombie apocalypse. Never thought I’d have to say that. I'm hiding in the school with some other kids, Rich and Micheal from school. Micheal found me hiding in the school while looking for Jeremy. He found Rich in the school too. I'm worried about him, he doesn’t look too good, it's probably because he hasn’t found Jeremy yet. To be honest, I'm worried too. Micheal’s worried he's dead, I assured him that he’s probably out their somewhere, but I'm not too sure…

Day 7

It's our one-week anniversary of surviving the zombie apocalypse! We found Chloe and Brooke this week, we decided to venture out of the school so we headed towards the mall, which of course is where we would find those two. Still no Jeremy though, Micheal’s looking worse and worse every day.

Day 9

The whole crew is almost back together! We found Jake roaming the city, plus a group of seniors from our school too.

Day 16

Jeremy Heere is Dead.

Wait, no I'm not?

We were losing hope that we would find him when a horde of zombies passed, one carried with them a body, it had Jeremy’s jacket and aside from how mangled, it looked like him. We had to hold Micheal back from running into the middle of the horde to “get him back”.

I miss him.

They must have mistaken me for a body I guess?

Day 29

We got caught today, Micheal has been different ever since we found Jeremy. I can't blame him. We got caught in the middle of a horde, barely got away unharmed. Well almost unharmed. I got bit. But we don't know if this is standard zombie rules, right? I haven't told the others yet, but I will.

Oh no.

Day 34

I haven't told them yet, but everyday I get worse. I can't go on like this.

No. No. No no no.

Day 41

I can't become one of those things, I just can't. So goodbye Rich, Jake, Chloe, and Brooke. Goodbye Michael. See you soon Jeremy.

And then it ends. And she -- no -- no she couldn't have. Tears prick my eyes and roll down my face. Suddenly I'm gasping for air and everything is distant. I feel a hand on my shoulder and someone shaking me, but I can't hear what they’re saying.

Finally, Micheal brings me out of it. He gives me a room in the bunker and says we’ll talk through everything tomorrow. It's going to be a very long night.

——————————

thanks for reading!!!

@bmc-gift-exchange

[fallenhero-rebirth]

Friendless

m!Sidestep, villain name Sidestep, hero hunter.

Post auction in case you mess up, happy birthday @smuteczekbiczo

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Consciousness comes slowly, reluctantly, like dawn on a smog-filled day. Orange pain filtering through your head with every heartbeat, your blood bringing wakefulness like acid through your veins.

Your wrists hurt. Throbs as if you had been gnawing them like a wolf in a trap. A familiar pain, and you try to bully your legs into holding you upright to ease it. Thankfully that works, but the pain goes from dull throb to screaming agony as blood rushes back. Biting back a groan you focus on making your head stop spinning, flexing your hands lightly, welcoming the pain for clarity. Your hands are manacled above your head, your feet the same to the ground. Stretched. Exposed. But at least they were polite enough to let your feet touch the ground so you can rest your chafed wrists. And to leave your skinsuit on, the constricting fabric a shield against the air that surrounds you.

Fuck. You're not wearing your armor. Opening your eyes sends a jagged blade through your sensitive mind, but at least there's no light to make things worse. Fuck. No light?

That is worse.

The manacles are clamped tightly enough that you abandon any attempts to get loose as soon as you begin. You could dislocate your thumbs, but with your feet trapped as well there's no use unless you can find a way to pick the locks.

Thankfully the room doesn't smell like death or disinfectants.

You get the feel that it's not that large, a cellar maybe, it has the cold dankness of underground concrete. There's no sound other than your own panicked breathing, and you take a moment to get it under control. You are probably being watched, anything else would make no sense. Do they have heat sensors? Night vision? A two-way mirror and IR lights?

Where are you? What are you doing here?

The last thing you remember was the auction, fighting Lady Argent, a moment's misjudgment as you were tearing into her mind and... blackness. Did you lose? Did you pass out? Did the Rangers capture you? No, you silence that thought with a grimace, then you'd have Ortega here, staring accusingly at you. Or worse, Herald. And while all your terrors scream the Farm, this is not their style, you would not have woken up before you had been processed, rendered safe again.

You tug at the bonds again, trying to keep the panic off your face, replacing it with anger. Hollow Ground. It has to be. Did Argent just leave you there? It would be her style, she had things she wanted, and you were not one of them.

Leftovers. Trash. You can't stop the chuckle, letting it turn into a mad cackle, burying your softness under a shield of anger. A familiar shield, a familiar mask. In the darkness you can put it on as easily as your helmet.

Wait? There's a rustle of movement, in the room, not far away, and your panic spikes because you hadn't felt any thoughts. What's hiding underneath the headache? The throbbing pain? There's a familiar fuzz and that pit of nausea in your stomach is not just from migraine.

They fucking drugged you.

You're no stranger to that, of course, it was standard procedure at the farm when outside dampened facilities or if you were deemed untrustworthy. You spent a lot of time drugged before your second escape, you know the effects intimately. And you also know that you have used them enough to build up a tolerance, they will wear off a lot faster than they expect, and that is your window to act. Just has to stay alive until then.

Now you need to get back in control, there are people here, in the dark, watching you.

"So is this one of those games where the first one to speak loses? Because if so, fine, I've lost. Also, bored."

A rough chuckle answers you, low, gravelly but filled with amusement. A man's voice. An unfamiliar voice. "Give him back his eyes Nocturne."

"Are you sure, boss?" A female one, and the one whose clothes were rustling, at least you think so, because they rustle again as she approaches. "He's gonna see your face."

"It's fine," the voice assures. "I'm sure we can come to an understanding."

You tense your stomach as you hear her approach, heels clicking faintly on the concrete. Too open, you know this position, a good one for roughing people up, and then she touches the sides of your face and you bite the inside of your mouth not to flinch. There's a gentle thumb brushing each eyelid, and when you blink, the room is bright enough to make you hiss in pain, spots haloing her as she pulls back. Beautiful and tall, dark skin, golden eyes and an equally golden robe that she pulls tighter around herself as she steps retreats. It's starched enough to rustle, and thin enough to reveal the reinforced skinsuit beneath it. She's still wearing enough jewelry that you doubt she's dressed for an actual fight.

Not that you can put up one now, all you can do is struggle with the pain and nausea as your eyes slowly adjust to focus, tears forming as you squint at the blurred figure revealed as she steps back further.

There's a chair in front of you, a comfortable one, and seated on it is a man clad in an immaculate rust-colored suit, the auburn hair cropped brutally short, ears lined with rows of rings, each of them slightly different in style. His hands are folded together, fingers ringed as well, legs stretched out in front of him. There's a haunting similarity to his face, not like looking into a mirror, but if you squint a little you could see yourself in there. Or maybe that's just the insufferably smug smile you practiced until it felt right, the confidence wrapped around him like a shroud. You're familiar enough with that. He's older than you, older than Ortega? Maybe. Probably. It's hard to tell with the way he dresses, the tailored suit screaming authority while the piercings screams fuck the same.

"Welcome, Sidestep, how nice to finally meet face to... face." Fingers lacing together and loosening again, a soft clickety clack as he talks. "As you might have gathered, I'm Hollow Ground. The man you so very unwisely decided to rob."

"Yeah, fuck you too," you say, gathering what caustic courage you can. So the woman was the one that had blinded you, does she need the physical touch for that, or was it simply theatrics, like her outfit? She's standing behind Hollow Ground now, one hand on his shoulder, fingers playing with his collar. A familiar little gesture, are they sleeping together? Behind them both, in the shadow, another figure leans against the wall. Jake, arms crossed, looking bored with the proceedings. Security. Not bothered. They think you are helpless.

"What possessed you to do something as crazy as that?" The question seems genuine, but there's something so artificial about the way he acts. As if it is just that, an act, put on for your benefit. Just like the suit clashes with the piercings, he still moves like a predator when he gestures, though his lips are polite.

"Getting a present for a friend, the fuck you was just a bonus." You jut your chin out, because this would get a reaction from most villains, a blow, some posturing, something to figure out what makes them tick. You might be fighting heroes now, but you spent too much time fighting villains to forget how to push their buttons.

"You need me to rough him up?" Jake pipes in from the back, but he doesn't push away from the wall.

"Not yet," Hollow Ground pushes up from his chair, walking over with the controlled grace of someone who has most likely fucked over a lot of people in their lifetime. You've got feeling in your fingers now, not that it does you any good. "Words can't hurt me," he licks his lips, there's a single stud in his tongue flashing brightly as he does so.

"I bet my fists could, if you let me down." You widen your grin, channeling Sidestep as you lean down as far as you can through your bonds.

"Now now..." He steps in, steps close, close enough that you can smell his aftershave, just far enough away that you won't be able to bite. "You're stringed up for a reason," he explains, with the patience usually left for small children. "So we can have a conversation. Face to face, like civilized people."

"That's rich," you say with a dismissive snort, looking at him, looking at you and you wish you could read his mind because you're not sure what his play here is.

"It is. And I'm rich enough that your little stunt at the auction is an inconvenience, nothing more. Still..." He reaches out, running his hand over your stomach, as if trying to trace the make of the skinsuit. Find out who crafted it. "... I like people with the balls to pull shit like that."

"Good for you then," you hiss, doing your best not to flinch. The woman, Nocturne looks bored, she has heard it all before. The man, Jake, has pushed off from the wall, circling the room. You following him at the edge of your vision, and see a familiar sight out of the corner of your eye. Your armor. Just a hint, but it's peeled open on the floor, the chest opened up where they pulled you out, helmet resting next to it.

Did they even bother to find out how to disassemble it? Looks like they didn't, just cut you open and peeled you like a lobster, your shell mostly intact.

"I could use someone with balls," Hollow Ground admits and you are glad that you were only looking from the corner of your eye. That's the first rule, let your interrogator think they are the center of your world or they will make themselves just that. Mostly by hurting you.

"Sucks to be you, I don't work for people." The second rule, anything given up easy is suspect. Things you don't like remembering, things you try to push back, try to keep under control but it's there. The clump of fear in your stomach triggering a too manic grin, the predator creeping in to take hold once more.

"How about with?" He reaches out to touch, your face, taking hold of your chin to force you to look him in the eyes. "You can trust me." The words are spoken with the soft smoothness of the conman, the one used to being believed, but you've heard it all before. Better people than you have tried to yank your strings, and you're done with that. Done with them. Cut all your strings and burned them.

"Fuck. You," you cackle, channeling Sidestep instead of common sense. Pushed the wrong buttons, thinking he can push you around, make you afraid. Better men than him have tried.

This time your words hit home, he yanks back his hand as if you'd burnt him.

"Fine." There's emotions hiding behind his lazy smile now, frustration, anger. You said no to him, and you can see from Nocturne's widening eyes that's not something people do often. "Jake?"

"You want me to rough him up now? Or just off him?" The voice is behind you, you can feel the presence, the threat. You steel yourself and think fuck off thoughts, counting your breaths, trying to wear down the edges of the drugs. Rip the bandaid off. How long were you unconscious? Not long enough.

"Rough him up. We'll have another talk once he's had some time to think about it." Hollow Ground's voice sounds like deep-fried murder. "Come on Nocturne." He offers her his arm, and she looks back at you with a look of almost pity. Almost.

And then she closes the door behind them.

Alone. No. Not alone. With Jake.

You know what's coming now, and you struggle in the chains, a familiar futility. You can't move, not get enough leverage to dislocate your thumb, nothing to smash it against. Your fingers are numb, but your stomach is not, and you tense it hard the moment before the blow hits. That defuses it somewhat, and your skinsuit helps, but fuck, your breath is torn from you anyway. He's strong.

"Too bad the boss let you keep your suit." Jake aims another blow, in your ribs, knuckles too hard, strength far more than human. "Guess he's serious about keeping you alive for now."

You don't bother talking back, that's just wasted energy, instead you focus on the pain, on your fear, trying to crawl down into the deep, dark pit of power you know is there. It's just drugs, it can't contain you. Not for long. Not the drugs. Not your headache. Not your pain. Not his knuckles, or the blood you can taste in your mouth, or your watering eyes or...

Fuck. It hurts. Your gasps when he hits you sound like groans.

Failed. Fucked up. Alone.

It hits you then, like one of his blows to your gut, trying to pull your legs up, but they are chained to the ground. You are alone. Even back when you ran with the Rangers, you had people. Maybe friends. Maybe allies. People you couldn't trust but that would be there. Again and again. Pulling you out of the fire.

Nobody's coming to save you now. Ortega's busy with his own schemes, Chen hates your guts, Argent left you to these bastard and Herald... Herald...

Doesn't know.

Daniel has no idea, and you're grateful for that. He would try to save you, if he could. If he knew. He would try to save you and he'd learn the truth, who you are, what you've done. Killed. Broken. He'd learn and then he'd walk away, no salvation for you today, no hero coming to your rescue.

Villains don't get rescued. They get killed.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ ...

A twitch, a touch, a brush. Nothing more. You bare your teeth and spit blood in Jake's face, because behind him, your armor is twitching. Slowly. Fingers moving. One by one. You laugh as he punches you in the face, taunts him, the mad cackle real now, real enough to infuriate him.

Keep his attention as your armor slowly makes it to its feet, the Rat-King quiet but clumsy.

Keep his attention though it adds to your bruises, taunting him, making him grab your throat, hand clenched, ready to do something...

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ !!!

And then the Rat-King punches him in the back of the head, hard enough to throw him forward into you, hard enough for his eyes to glaze over because he wasn't ready. He wasn't prepared.

And now he's down.

Your laugh is real this time, but your legs nearly give out as the nanovores devour the chains, and there's blood coming up as you cough.

Not good. But better than you were.

You drape yourself over the Rat-King's shoulder, cursing as you see the damage they did to your armor. The chest area is ruined, the auto-dissemble systems are broken, it won't come apart when you try to open it properly. Sucking in a pained breath you lean down, picking up the helmet, gingerly fastening it in place on the suit. At least that looks better, even if you can't use it, the Rat-King can pilot it enough to get you out of here. Somehow.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ <3<3<3

You've got something better than a lock pick now and you're not afraid to use it.

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Fan Novel (Book 1, Chapter 7)

Notes: In non-canon scenes this chapter, Alodia gets flirty over dishes. Also, as encouraging as likes are, I love comments. (Shameless fishing for comments over) :) 

Somehow, that night, I manage to eventually fall asleep. When I wake the next morning, Murphy is curled up next to me, kneading me with his paws like a kitten. I stay beside him for a moment, rubbing behind his ears. Then, with a sigh, I push back the blankets. No sense in staying in bed. It won't fix anything.  Nnnnnn

I brush my teeth and take a shower. Before dressing, I dry myself thoroughly and change the bandage on the claw marks. They're not bleeding anymore, and there is no sign of infection. I dress and run a comb through my damp hair. I've just finished making the bed when there's a knock at the door. I go to open it, and find Diego outside.

“Hey, Allie. Ready for breakfast?”

“You know I'm always ready for breakfast.” I grab my key and step outside, shutting the door behind me. “Do you think things are going to be cool in there? That fight yesterday was pretty heated...”

“Heh. You made a temperature pun.”

“Oh, hush. It's a serious question.”

He shrugs. “People fight all the time. How could anyone stay mad in a paradise like this?”

“...Maybe you're right.”

We take the elevator down to the restaurant level. The moment I step inside, the tension rolls over me like a wave. Everyone's there, but no one is speaking. The only things on the buffet table are cold bagels and dry cereal. The laughter and banter of yesterday morning are gone. The beach crew sits on one side, with the group who went investigating on the other. Jake and Sean head their respective tables, eyeballing each other icily. Diego sighs.

“...Welp...I was wrong. Come on. Let's get something to eat.”  

Jake stands and heads over to the buffet table, cutting in front of me. Sean stands sharply, putting himself in Jake's path.

“And where do you think you're going?”

“Getting myself another bagel, Sergeant Buzzkill,” Jake growls. “Got a problem with that?”

“Not everyone's gotten a bagel yet. Since you're not big on contributing to the team, the least you could do is wait till everyone else has had a turn.”

“What are you, the breakfast police? Get out of my way.”

Sean doesn't budge. “Sit. Your. Ass. Down.”

“Sean!” I snap. “Did I miss an election where we voted you Supreme Leader? Because I don't know why you think you can tell people what they can and can't do! There are plenty of bagels to go around, so why don't you relax and enjoy yours instead of worrying about everyone else?”

Jake smirks. “Well, look at that. Even Princess is on my side. That's how you know you're wrong.”

Sean frowns at you. “Really, Alodia? I thought you were better than this.” But he steps out of the way. Jake continues towards the buffet table.

“Can I grab you a plate, Princess?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Forget it!” Sean snarls. “I'm going to go see if I can find a working radion in this place. You wanna help me, be my guest.”

Michelle, Grace, and Aleister go with him as he storms out. A leaden silence settles over the rest of us. I manage to get half my bagel down before my appetite leaves me completely. I stand.

“Everything okay, Allie?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I...just need some air. You finish your breakfast.”

“Yeah. Sure...”

With Murphy at my heels, I head out into the courtyard and stand for awhile, breathing in the air. The smell of saltwater mingles with the scent of the jungle's plantlife. I hug myself, trying to calm the anxious tremors running down my body.

“Alodia!” I turn to see Raj bounding over to me. “Hey, can we talk?”

“...What's up?”

“I'm not gonna mince words. I'm worried about our group. If we keep up this whole feud, we're never gonna get off this island. We need a way to come together. I think I might know how to do it. But I'm gonna need your help.”

I nod. “I'm listening.”

“This is going to sound kind of crazy...but we need to throw a feast.”

“A...feast?”

“Look. My grandmother had this saying: Words make war...but pies make peace.”

For a moment, I can only blink at him. “...Raj, that...is genius!”

He grins at me. “You think so? Most people just stare at me confused when I say it.”

“...How...many times have you been in this situation?”

“Oh, you know. That one time at Chi Sigma Alpha...and in my a capella group...oh, and junior prom...Hoo boy, that was a doozy...” He shakes his head. “Look, the point is, I've actually got a lot of experience bringing folks together. And there's nothing that does the job like good food, strong drinks, and a lot of laughs.”

“I am totally sold. So what's the plan?”

“I'll handle the cooking. I was poking around the kitchen earlier, and there is a lot of good stuff in there.”

“What do you need me for?”

“Come on, Alodia. What's the most important thing for a feast?”

“Uh...friendship? Family? A community coming together in unity and support?”

Raj actually facepalms. “Booze, Alodia! Really, really good booze! I need you to hit up every bar in the resort and make sure tonight's party is stocked!”

“Don't we have a bunch of stuff down here already?”

“Well...” He rubs the back of his head. “We've managed to put a surprisingly large dent in that already. But more importantly, you can't just serve your average pool bar swill at a feast like this. We need the top shelf stuff. The crème de la crème. ...Literally. I'd like a bottle of Creme de la Creme.”

“So, you're sending me on a scavenger hunt of all the bars in the resort to get some special booze for you?”

“I knew I could count on you! Now listen, I've got a few drinks in mind that I wanna make, but I'm going to need some specific ingredients. I'm gonna need that Creme de la Creme, a bottle of McLellyn's Whiskey, and a bottle of Armand de Fleur champagne. You got that.”

“Got it.”

He takes my hand between his large palms and looks earnestly into my eyes. “Good luck, Alodia. The fate of the party is on your shoulders.”

I head back into the hotel, aiming to check the directory on the first floor, when someone sidles up beside me.

“Hey there, buddy!” Zahra's voice is just slightly syrupy. “Heard you were going on a bar crawl.”

I stare at her. “Were...were you eavesdropping on me an Raj?”

“You call it eavesdropping, I call it conveniently overhearing while hiding in a corner. To-may-to, to-mah-to. I'm in.”

“...You are?”

“Look, let's just say I'm a pretty experienced drinker, okay? I've got one hell of a discerning palate. You want this to be some run-of-the-mill frat party beer run? Be my guest. But if you wanna come back with the best of the best, I'm your gal.”

Just then, Craig rounds the corner, appearing in front of us.

“What's this I hear about a beer run?”

“Does anyone on this island not eavesdrop on people?!” I cry.

“Come on, Alodia. You're gonna need someone to carry all those bottles. Someone big and strong...”

“Hey!” Zahra protests. “I called going with Alodia first!”

“Yeah, well, I called it second. And everyone knows first is the worst, second is the best!”

“Who?! Who knows that?!”

I press my fingers to my temples. “I'm sorry, could we back up a moment? ...Are you two just trying to get drunk?”

“Yeeeeeeah, A-dogg! You get it!” Craig holds his fist out for a bump, but Zahra slaps his hand away.

“You really need to learn how to read tone, Craig. And yes. We're just trying to get drunk. It's hot. We're stuck on this island. And we're all probably going to get eaten by a sabertooth tiger. Can you blame us?”

“...Well, I guess when you put it like that...” I sigh. “Okay, fine. You can both tag along.”

Both their expressions shift to something that suggests I've asked them to cross Mount Atropo on a tightrope.

“What?!”

“No, that's...”

They look at each other a moment and then sigh simultaneously.

“Fine,” Zahra mutters. “But I still get the first sip.”

“And I get to drink the most!”

I grin wickedly. “See? You two are getting along already. Seems Raj knows what he's talking about. Now come on. Let's get him what he needs.”

We head through the hotel with Murphy trotting eagerly after us. Remembering the vintage wine we discovered on the first day, I lead us to the ballroom first. I throw open the ornate double doors and suddenly stop short, a strangled scream escaping my lips.  

...The ballroom is gone. On the other side of the doors is a rickety catwalk over a lake of bubbling, blood-colored magma. Smoke and oppressive heat surround me, choke me, encase my body in a suffocating layer of sweat. I can just barely make out the figure of a man on the far end of the catwalk. ...A man wearing an ornately decorated lion mask...

“Wha...who...?”

He looks at me, cocking his head to the side. Then, man, magma, and catwalk dissolve in a blinding white light.

...I'm back in the hotel ballroom with Craig and Zahra. They're both staring at me.

“...What the hell was that?” I ask dazedly.

“What was what?” Zahra asks.

“You okay, Alodia? You just...totally spaced out there for a second...”

“I...I'm fine. Just got lost in my thoughts for a moment, I guess.” I flash them a bright smile. “Let's go find us some alcohol!”

“This doesn't look like a bar...” Craig remarks, eyeing the wedding decorations skeptically.

“Guessing you haven't been to many fancy weddings. Rich couples go all out on nice wine and champagne.”

“Alodia knows what's up. The two of us came here on the first day, and hoo boy did we find the good stuff.”

“Yeah, well, where I'm from, the only thing they serve at weddings is cheap beer and moonshine.”

“I've always wondered,” Zahra says. “Do you actually drink it out of a jug labled XXX, or is that just a stereotype?”

“Okay, stay on target, you two. We're looking for a champagne called Armand de Fleur.”

“Oooo, I've heard of that,” Zahra says. “I'll give Raj credit, boy knows his booze.”

Craig is already poking through the bar fridge. “And we've got a couple bottles right here!” He pulls out a few bottles and tucks them into his backpack.

“Perfect. Next let's check the re--”

“Hold your horses, Alodia,” Zahra cuts in. “It's not a bar crawl unless you're actually drinking.”

“You know, I don't really recall saying this was a bar crawl...”

But Zahra has already popped open a bottle and taken a sip. “Mmmm. Tastes like horrific wealth disparity.”

“Gimme that!” Craig snatches the bottle from her and takes a swig. “Tastes like champagne. What's the big deal?”

“The big deal is that it's one of the finest, most flavorful champagnes in the world!” Zahra shrieks. “You are such a philistine!”

“Racist much? My family's from Taiwan!”

“How about you, Alodia? Gonna drink?”

I sigh and roll my eyes, but I feel a smile playing around my mouth. “Ah, what the hell. Let's do this.”

“That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, y'all!” Craig passes me the bottle, and I tip it towards him in a toast.

“Cheers!” I put it to my lips and take a good, long swallow. Bubbly sweetness rests on my tongue. I detect a hint of pear and an aftertaste of honey. “Ohhhh, wow, that is good...”

“Another! Another!” Craig cheers.

We pass the bottle around for a couple minutes. As I cast my eyes over the ballroom, the world takes a few seconds to catch up with the motion of my head.

“Ooookay, I am definitely feeling that. We should...check the next bar on our list.” I stand carefully, blinking through the mild alcoholic buzz. “Just don't let me drive there.”

Zahra snorts. “Come on. I know where to go next.”

She leads us through the hotel until we come to a thick double door. A sign hangs on the wall nearby. I read it aloud.

“'Club Skullkid'?”

“The hell is this?”

Craig throws open the doors, and reveals a dazzling, high-end nightclub. Soft velour chairs and benches surround gleaming tables, and the whole place glows with multicolored neon lights.

“Oh, whaaaaaaaaaaaat?” Craig cries. “No one told me there was a nightclub here! Why are we not tearing this place down every night?!”

“Because I can think of no worse way to spend my time than listening to crappy EDM while watching your sweaty ass fumble around?” Zahra mutters.

“Pfft. You're just jealous cuz you don't have my moves.”

Craig does what might be intended as a dance...but he looks more like a spastic bunny rabbit. Zahra rolls her eyes and wanders over to the DJ booth. She scoffs.

“What is this, like, retro night? All this equipment is from the mid-90's. Not to mention the music...”

“Come on, guys. The bar's our target. Should have plenty of cocktail supplies.”

Zahra slides over to the bar and starts rummaging through bottles. “Sure does. We've got blackberry liqueur, absinthe, hot chili vodka...”

“We're looking for Creme de la Creme.”

“Yup. Got some of that, too.”

Craig picks up a bottle and reads the label. “ 'A premiere flavored liqueur with hints of chocolate, vanilla, and a dash of cinnamon.' ” He pops open the bottle and takes a chug. “Gah! So...sweet...and...creamy...”

Zahra shrieks in exasperation. “You're supposed to mix a tiny bit of it into a cocktail, you ape, not chug it like cheap beer!”

“Well, where's the warning label, huh?!”

Zahra sighs. “Just give it to me. I'll show you how it's done.” She swings around the bar and starts mixing. I settle onto one of the valour couches to watch. With a flourish, she slides a tall glass of multicolored booze into Craig's beefy hand. He takes a sip.

“Oooooooooooooooh, yeah. That's good.”

“It better be. There's like, six shots in there.”

“There's no way I'm keeping you two sober, is there?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Zahra agrees. “Want one?”

I sigh. “What the hell. You only live once, right?”

“YOLO, baby!” Craig crows. “I've got that tattooed on my butt!”

“We all remember, Craig,” Zahra mutters.

“I don't! I've never seen Craig's butt!” I catch a cocktail as Zahra slides it down the bar to me and take a sip. “Mmm, delicious. And...incredibly strong.”

Zahra offers me a lopsided grin. “Gotta say, Alodia. You're all right.”

“Uh...thanks?” I swallow the rest of my cocktail in three gulps. “Come on. We've still gotta get that...the whiskey.”

“Sure thing,” Craig says, giving me a thumbs up. “After I finish this cocktail. And the one after that.”

It takes us an hour to get out of the nightclub. Partially because we keep drinking awhile, but mostly because the floor has started to become tippy under my feet. Craig's backpack bulges with clinking bottles.

“Hey, guys? Is one of the island's mysteries that everything is spinning? Or is that just me?”

“Nyah! Craig's drunk!” Zahra drawls. “He's as drunk as a drunk guy who's always drunk and is like, 'Hey! Look at me! I'm drunk!'”

I snort, dissolving into giggles. She blinks at me.

“Um...I'm pretty drunk, too, aren't I.”

I nod, still giggling. “You guys...you guys are...yeah...this was...yeeeeeeeeeeeah. I'm not wordsing good...”

Craig slings an arm over my shoulders. “Alodia's feelin' it, Zahra. Gotta looove this woman!”

I shake my head and give the world a few seconds to catch up. “...I think we'veit ev'ry bar in the rzzort. And we got a lot of alcohol. But we never did fin' that McLellyn's whiskey.”

“Well,” Zahra says. “There is one more bar.”

“There is?”

“Saw it when I washgoin' ov'r the blueprints. Somethin' called the V.I.P. Lounge.”

“V.I.P Lounge?” Craig says. “I didn't see anything about that in the brochure...”

“That's cuz you're not a V.I.P., Dummy. Unless it stands for Vomiting...Idiot...Poo-head...”

He snorts. “Sick burn, Z. Really got me with that one.”

“Juss shut up and follow me.”

She leads us through the halls until we come to a locked door with a keypad in the handle. Zahra scoffs.

“Simple one-source keypad authentication? It's like they want me to break in...”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?”

“Saaaaauuuce,” Craig drawls. “It's the V.I.P. Lounge. You know they've got the best shizz in there.”

“The drunker you get, Craiggers, the more you sound like your old self. Remember that time freshman year when you...when we...” Zahra trails off, frowning. “...nevermind.”

“Less just get inside,” I mutter.

“Yeeeeeeeeah!” Craig yells. “Let's. Break! This! Door! Down!” He rams the door with his massive shoulder, but it stays put. Zahra rolls her eyes.

“You never learn, do you, big guy?” She pries open the keypad panel, examining the wires. “Alodia, keep Craig busy. I gotta work my magic.”

“Are you sure you oughta be doing that drunk?”

“Meh, what's the worst that could happen? I trip the wrong wire and 10000 volts of electricity surge through my body, leaving you idiots screaming at the charred husk that is my corpse?”

“...Craig, is she kidding? I can't tell if she's kidding.”

“I can never tell with her,” Craig says resignedly.

Zahra squints, focusing on the wires. A single drop of sweat trickles down her forehead as she mutters to herself.

“Okay...red to green...watch the breaker...careful...careful...aaaand...” There is a spark, and the doors slide open. “Aw, yeah! Slap my ass and call me Snape, 'cause I just worked some magic!”

My drunk brain won't let me hold a straight face. I break down in a fit of ungraceful giggles. Zahra glares at me.

“Tell anyone I said that, I will kill you both.”

I bite my cheek and nod, but I can still feel the smile tugging at my mouth.

The V.I.P Lounge lives up to its name. From the guilded marble fountain at the center of the room to the fancy gold curtains to the LCD screens and the glass case behind the bar that displays top-shelf alcohol.

I whistle, going to sit down on one of the couches. Murphy hops up beside me and settles onto my lap. “Good call, Zahra. This was totally worth it.”

“Uh, duh! Let's see what's this places got!” She steps towards the bar, but ends tripping over a chair and sprawling onto a couch. “On second thought...Imma juss lie here for a li'l while. If someone could just pour a drink into my mouth, that'd be swell...”

Craig makes it over to the bar. “Lessee what they got here. Some nice-ass vodka...like a crystal ball full of gin...and down in the fridge...” He lets out a whoop. “A cheese tray! Oh hells yeah, they've got a cheese tray!”

“Wait, Craig, you don't know how old it is. Maybe you should--” I stop when I hear him gulping noisily. “...Never mind.”

“Mmm...colby-jack.”

“Don't bother, Alodia. Craig's a human garbage disposal. One time freshman year, he ate a candy bar he'd dropped in a public hot tub.”

“The water's hot!” Craig retorts. “That means it's sterile!”

Zahra balks, sputtering for a moment. “Who taught you science?!” she finally shrieks.

“So...you guys knew each other freshman year?”

Instantly, there is a palpable shift in the mood in the room. Zahra and Craig glance uneasily at each other.

“We...uh...well...you know...”

“I mean...there was...”

I look between the two of them, putting two and two together.

“Wait...were you two a couple?”

“What?!” Craig yelps. “No! No no no! Definitely not! What a crazy thing to say!”

Zahra rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, Craig. Don't have a hernia. Yeah, we hooked up a few times. What's the big deal?”

“I thought you didn't want anyone to know.”

“Yeah, well, maybe sometimes I just don't have the energy to lie about it.”

“Huh. I gotta admit, I have a hard time picturing you two together.”

“Yeah, well,” Zahra sighs, “we were different people back then, just two dorky freshmen with no idea what to do...stuck in the same hall...”

Craig sits down next to Zahra, handing her a scotch on the rocks. They tap their glasses together.

“You had that long blonde ponytail, remember? And you always wore that nerdy pony sweater.”

“Yeah, well, you were a total dork. You had glasses and a bowlcut and all you ever talked about was World of Warcraft...”

“Please! Like you didn't totally make a character just to we could raid Scholomance together.”

“...I forgot all about that,” Zahra admits softly. “We wasted so many hours together...”

“Yeah...”

She scowls. “But then your stupid football team started winning, and you and Sean became kings of the school. And all you wanted to do was go to frat parties with perky little cheerleaders.”

“You coulda come with me, you know,” Craig says sullenly. “But no. You just wanted to hang out with those creepy hackers in the CS department.”

“At least they listened to me. They got what I had to say.” She sighs deeply. “...You think our Warcraft characters still exist? Just waiting around on some dusty server, remembering the good times?”

“They're probably pretty lonely.”

They sit in silence for a long time. I curl up on a couch and watch their faces until Zahra stands up and scrubs at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Sun's setting,” she mutters. “We should probably get back to Raj.”

“Yeah,” Craig agrees, getting to his feet. “Time to go.”

I stand as well. “Hang on a sec. Let's see if we can find that whiskey Raj wanted.” I make my way over to the shelf, scanning the labels. “Here it is. McLellyn's.”

I grab a couple of bottles and stuff them into Craig's backpack. I am zipping it up when something catches my eye.

“Huh...that's weird...”

“What's up?”

I pick up a half-full glass of whiskey sitting on the bar on top of a small paper napkin.

“Everything else is neatly put away. What's this doing here? It's like someone was here after the bar closed. Just...having a drink by themselves.” I take an experimental sip. “...Unless this is incredibly weak whiskey, it was on the rocks...but the rocks melted.”

Murphy, sitting on one of the stools, puts his paws up on the bar, raises his hackles, and growls at the glass.

“Spooky!” Zahra drawls. “Maybe it was a ghoooooooooost!”

“There's something written on a piece of paper here...” I pick it up and squint at it. “ 'Project Hermes activation codes. Utilizes satellite uplink at the L.H.O.'...And then a bunch of random numbers and letters. Anyone know what this means?”

“No idea. Now come on. Let's get out of here before it gets sentimental in here again.”

I snort. “Yeah. I thought Diego was a sappy drunk.”

I split off from Zahra and Craig and make my way to the kitchen, Craig's backpack on my shoulders. The heavy bottles clink loudly as I walk. As soon as I enter the kitchen, I am nearly overwhelmed by a dozen intoxicating smells. I inhale deeply.

“Oh, my God! Raj, it smells delicious! What are you making here?”

Raj pops up from behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron.

“There's kahlua pork on the grill, fries in the fryer, oysters are ready to go, and the samosas are stuffed and spiced.”

Murphy yips excitedly and scampers around the kitchen, greedily licking scraps off the floor.

“Slow down, fella. You don't want to get sick before the feast! Here.” I hold out the bag to Raj. “Your booze, oh master chef.”

Raj comes to take the bag. “Tell me you got the good stuff.” He opens the bag and looks through its contents. “All right, Alodia! You got everything!”

“I take my job as booze brigadier very seriously.”

“I knew I was right to count on you!” He sniffs the air curiously, leaning forward. He grins. “You sample the goods on your way back?”

“Not on the way back,” I say with a syrupy grin. “But I might've had a sip. Or two. Or three. ...Looks like you've got things handled down here, though.”

“Well, I had some help.”

He nods at a spot behind me. I look over my shoulder and see Quinn vigorously stirring something in a bowl.

“Quinn!”

“Yeah. She offered to help. She's an amazing cook.”

“Nah, I've just been following instructions. This feast is all Raj.”

Raj grins. “Aw, thanks. Now, I'm going to work on the set-up out by the pool. Everything's on a timer, so don't worry about a thing, Quinn. You just keep on with what you're doing, and I'll be back in a bit.”

He starts to leave, then pauses by the door. “Hey...Alodia. You're keeping track of all the crazy stuff on this island, aren't you?”

“Uh...kinda, I guess...”

“Maybe this isn't a big deal, but I did find one weird thing in the kitchen.” He holds out a frying pan. “All the other frying pans are normal. But this one had a...symbol on it...”

I take the pan and examine the symbol etched into the bottom. My stomach does a flip-flop. Still heady from my multiple cocktails, I can't be sure...but I think I've seen it before. Crude archery arrows with a couple extra legs...

“I don't know why,” Raj says, “But something about that symbol...it really stands out to me. Feels important for some weird reason. Like it's calling out to me. ...I sound crazy, don't I?”

“Yeah...” I admit. “But everything about this island is crazy.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and snap a quick picture.

Raj chuckles. “Touche. You see anything else like that, you'll let me know?”

“Sure thing.”

He heads out. I slip my phone back in my pocket and turn to Quinn.

“How's it going here?”

“Great! I'm working on dessert now.” She gestures in front of her, to the trays of fluffy cupcakes lining the countertop. “Wanna stick around and help? I could always use an extra pair of hands.”

“Count me in!” I say eagerly. “Though...I should warn you, I'm a little drunk.”

She giggles. “I don't need you sober to frost cupcakes.”

She smiles sweetly at me, blue eyes sparkling. Her cheeks are high with color from the heat in the kitchen. For a moment, I can only look back with what feels like a very goofy smile on my face. She tips her head at me.

“Just gonna stand there staring?” She pats the counter beside her. “Come around to my side.”

I don't hesitate to do as she tells me. I look over the trays of cupcakes, trying to count them, and giving up at twenty.

“Think we've got enough?”

“Well, at this rate, we've got four apiece.”

I shake my head with a grin. “Except I'm a six-cupcake kinda gal.”

She laughs. “Well, I've always said there are only two certain truths in this world. We're all gonna die, and you can never have too many cupcakes.”

“Kind of a good-news, bad news kind of scenario, huh?”

“Exactly. Well, I've got enough batter for another dozen or so. But in the meantime, it's time for the most important part of baking any cupcakes.”

“The eating?”

“...Okay, the second most important part. The frosting! What do you think we should go with?”

“Vanilla. No question.”

“Oh, interesting. I never pegged you for the traditional type.”

“What can I say? I like my burgers warm, my drinks cold, and my cupcakes vanilla.”

“Well, you're in luck. This place has the fanciest, creamiest, most incredible vanilla frosting I've ever tasted.”

She opens the cabinet and takes out two jars of frosting. The two of us get to work, using rubber spatulas to smooth the soft white frosting over the rounded tops of the cupcakes. Quinn applies the frosting with a practiced hand, creating elegant mounds.

“You bake a lot?”

“I used to when I was younger. My mom and I were home a lot, so we used to spend the whole day in the kitchen, whipping up pies and souffles and gigantic trays of cupcakes.” She smiles down at the cupcake she's frosting. “My dad would come home from work, and he'd pretend like he was so flustered every time. 'Darn it, you two! Where's my steak and potatoes! A man can't live on cupcakes alone!' ...Then when we weren't looking, he'd stuff himself silly.”

“Sounds like you had a pretty great childhood.”

“...Yeah...parts of it were...”

I apply the last stroke to my half of the cupcake pile and turn to her with a grin. “So...does the Frosting Assistant get a free sample?”

“Only because you were so cute when you asked.”

She hands me the cupcake she has just finished. I take a large bite. Fluffy sweetness fills my senses. The frosting melts across my tongue, blending with the soft, warm cake into a mush that is just sweet enough without being overpowering. I push the mush against the roof of my mouth with my tongue, savoring it before it dissolves and slides down my throat.

“That...might just be the best cupcake I've ever eaten.”

“Might be? Oh, no. That was definitely the best cupcake you've ever eaten.”

I laugh. “Okay, okay. If we had internet here, I would totally write Quinn's Cupcakes a five-star review.”

“When I was a kid, I dreamed of opening my own bakery. It was going to be called For Goodness Cake, and we'd serve nothing but cupcakes.”

“And would you personally bake every single one?”

“For you? Absolutely.” She turns to me with a smile. “Thank you for helping, Alodia. This was fun.”

Her smile makes me feel dreamy. “...Yeah...yeah, it was.”

Our eyes lock. For a moment, a delicate silence hangs over us. ...I realize what's about to happen only seconds before it does. I capture her open lips with mine, tracing the inside of her mouth with my vanilla-coated tongue. She winds her arms around me, slipping her hands under my shirt. I press forward, sliding her up onto the counter. My hand creeps under her shirt, drifting up to cup her breast. She moans softly against my mouth and I feel her legs wrap around me, pulling my hips against hers. I bite her lower lip gently, then let my mouth journey down her neck towards her collarbone. She arches her head back, grinding her hips against me.

“Oh, God...Alodia...”

“...Quinn...”

We're moving faster now as the hunger takes us. She tugs off my shirt and reaches under my bra to grip my breast. I unbotton her blouse and pull it open. Her mouth meets mine again. I slip the button of her shorts out of the buttonhole and tug down the zipper.

“What if someone sees us?” I murmur against her lips. Even as I ask the question, I'm slipping my hand into her shorts.

“I don't care,” she answers, gasping as my hand starts to move against her pubis. Her hips rise. “Oh, god...don't stop...”

“Not a chance in hell.” I move faster, grinning as she moans with pleasure.

There's a bang as the door swings open and Raj sweeps back in.

“Hey, guys. Just wanted to see how it was--” He cuts himself off with a yelp when he sees us. “Oh! Oh God! I didn't realize you two were...I didn't mean to...sorry!”

He turns and flees, leaving me and Quinn frozen.

From just outside, we hear Raj call, “I know you're supposed to cook with love, but I don't think they meant it so literally!”

Quinn and I lock eyes and dissolve into giggles. I ease my hand out of her shorts and help her off the counter.

“Oh, god...did you see his face?”

“I've never seen him so flustered!” She collapses against me, weak with laughter.

“We...should probably catch up with him...see if he needs any help with the party...”

“Yeah...we should...” She slides one hand down the back of my jeans and cups my buttock. “...in a few minutes...”

I grin, running my hands along her ribs. That's when I catch sight of the long, pale scar running the length of the right side of her torso. I pause for a moment, trailing my fingers along it.

When she realizes what I'm touching, she pulls back slightly, averting her eyes. “...Oh...that...it's weird, huh?”

I grin wryly. “No weirder than the ones I'm gonna have,” I say, touching the bandage over the claw wounds on my own ribs. “...How did you get it?”

“Surgery. I was in the hospital a lot growing up. But I'm better than ever now.”

Still, she tugs her blouse closed, hastily doing up the buttons.

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Oh, I'm not embarrassed. Actually, I kinda like it. It reminds me how, no matter what, I'm not going to let anything stop me from living my life.”

I smile at her. “...It's beautiful, Quinn. Really, it is.”

“...You're beautiful, Alodia. ...Should we go catch up with Raj? Or...?” Her eyes twinkle mischeivously. She slips one button back open.

I can still feel desire swirling in my belly, still feel fluttering between my legs. But another desire is overpowering it. I pull her into my arms, cradling her head against my shoulder.

“...Let's stay like this. Just for a few minutes.”

***

As evening falls, Raj calls us all out to the pool. A party playlists blasts out of the speakers, and tiki torches set up around the pool flicker with a beautiful ambient light. Two long tables have been pushed together and draped with a floral-printed oil tablecloth. And the length of the table is filled with a magnificant feast. I can smell sizzling roast pork, savory sauces, juicy fruits, and sweet desserts.

“Holy crap!” I cry. “I thought it smelled good in the kitchen!”

Diego laughs. “Allie, you're drooling.”

“Can I eat it all now? Please?”

Raj bounds over to us, grinning like a maniac. “I can't throw a ball or fly a plane, but you'd better believe I can cook a mean feast.”

I put my hands on his shoulders. “Eat. Now. Please.”

“Have a seat, everyone, and dig in.”

Diego and I make our way to the table, where most everyone is already seated. I slide into a seat beside Grace. I glance around the table, and my heart sinks a little as I realize that except for Diego and I, the table is still split with Jake's group on one side and Sean's on the other. Still, as we start in on the feast, tensions on our end of the table start to thaw.

“Ohhhh, goodness,” Grace sighs happily. “These coconut shrimp are divine.”

“You should try the pork,” Michelle says. “Raj really outdid himself.”

I murmur my agreement around a mouthful of cinnamon-dusted Caribbean fruit salad. I glance down at the other end of the table, where Sean and Jake sit across from each other. It seems that the closer it gets to that end of the table, the more tension remains.

“Pass the fries,” Sean demands.

“Grab 'em yourself,” Jake shoots back.

I look around for Raj, hoping he didn't hear that. But I don't see him. Then suddenly, he reappears, pushing a cart filled with drinks in a variety of glasses. As he makes his way around the table, placing one in front of each of us, I realize that no two people have been given the same drink. In front of me is something red in a champagne flute, topped with cherries and blackberries. Diego has something dark in a sugared martini glass.

Aleister eyes the greenish substance in his brandy glass warily. “Dare I ask what is happening here?”

“I have brought every single person a signature drink!” Raj replies. “One that I think is right for just them. Alodia found all the ingredients.”

“With a little help from some friends,” Zahra adds.

“Can we drink now?” Craig asks. “I wanna drink!”

“Dude, how?” Zahra groans. “It's taking every ounce of willpower I have not to yuke on the floor.”

“We can drink in a sec,” Raj promises. “But first, let me make a toast. Right now, we're sitting at this table, and every single one of us is holding a completely different drink. That's not just because I like mixing up cocktails. It's also a pretty good metaphor. When you look at us from a distance, we all look pretty different. And on the surface, we are. Jocks and nerds, hackers and bullies...well, you'd think none of us have anything in common.”

“...Who's the bully?” Craig asks.

Raj ignores him. “But that's just the surface, just the glass. Because deep inside, these drinks all have a lot in common. They're delicious. They're full of alcohol. And they were all made for one important purpose: to bring us together again.

“We all want to get off this island. We all want to get back to our homes, our families, our lives. But we're never going to accomplish that unless we can overcome our superficial difference and work together as a group. The fact is, everyone here has a role to play. Some of us are natural leaders, confident and assertive. Others are rebels, who test boundaries and find new solutions. Some of us are quiet, studying the way the world works. Others are loud and strong and they keep us all safe. And some of us...well, some of us are insanely cute blue foxes with crazy ice powers.”

Murphy trills happily from my lap. I hold up a piece of pork for him, which he eagerly snaps up.

“If we keep fighting,” Raj continues, “if we keep focusing on our differences, we're going to tear each other apart. But if we come together, if we focus on what we have in common, we can figure this mystery out. We can get off this island. And we can go home with a memory of the most amazing adventure of our lives. So what do you guys say? Can we come together for a toast?”

The table is quiet for a moment. Then, Sean raises his glass towards Jake.

“...To coming together.”

Jake is still for a moment. Then, he raises his own glass and taps it against Sean's.

“...To getting back home.”

I raise my own glass. “To Raj!”

He grins at me. “Aww, thanks, Alodia.”

All together, we raise our glasses and drink.

“Thank you for putting this together, Raj,” Sean says. “We needed it.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees. “This...this was nice.”

At last, all the tension that has gripped our group since last night finally dissolves. We're as lighthearted and jovial as on that first morning, sharing stories and telling jokes. Soon, we begin discussing the events of the day.

“So, Shooter, any luck radioing for help?”

“Not so much,” Sean admits. “Every radio signal I try just brings back static. It's like we're trapped in some kind of communication bubble.”

“It's clear this island is cut off from traditional communication channels. We'd need something more sophisticated.”

“Grace and I believe a satellite uplink could be a strong enough signal to get through the interference,” Aleister says.

“Wait...did you say a satellite uplink?” I ask. “I saw a note about that earlier today in the V.I.P. Lounge. It said there was a satellite uplink at some place called the L.H.O.”

“L.H.O...” Lila repeats thoughtfully. Then, she gasps. “The La Huerta Observatory! That does make sense. The Observatory is a state-of-the-art facility, with direct contact to Mr. Rourke's satellite relay. ...But we still don't know where the observatory is...”

“Uh...” Jake puts up a hand. “Would this be a good time to mention that when I was jet-skiing yesterday, I saw a big domed building with a giant telescope? Maybe seven miles north of here, up high on the slopes of the volcano.”

Stunned silence descends over the table. Diego finally breaks it.

“...I think we just figured out what we need to do next.”

***

The mood shifts after we realize our next move. But though the festive atmosphere dies down, the determination and purpose in the group now is invigorating. We all agree to get some rest and regroup in the morning to come up with a plan. Before going to bed, I help Raj wrap up the leftovers and put them into the fridge. Yawning, he suggests we leave the dishes until morning, but once he's gone, I start loading the dishes into the kitchen's three industrial dishwashers. Murphy finds a dry corner of the kitchen to curl up in and take a nap.

“Hey. Need a hand?”

I look up and find Sean standing in the door of the kitchen, smiling at me. I smile back.

“Wouldn't say no.”

He comes over and picks up a plate, using the knife and fork to scrape the remains into the garbage disposal.

“Seems like this could have waited until morning. You must be exhausted.”

I shrug. “I can't leave dirty dishes in the sink. It's like a pathological condition. Just ask Diego what I nightmare I am about dishes in our apartment. I can leave dirty dishes in the dishwasher, but if there are any in the sink, then I am probably seriously ill.”

He laughs. “Duly noted. If I ever visit your apartment and find dirty dishes in the sink, I'll call an ambulance.”

I snort, rinsing out a bowl before tucking it into the dishwasher. Sean is quiet for a moment.

“...Listen, Alodia...I'm sorry about what I said earlier.”

“...What did you say earlier?”

“At breakfast. When you told me to let Jake get a bagel and I said I thought you were better than that. I'm sorry for that. And all it implied.”

“...Oh. Well, I accept you're apology. But I was never really angry about that.”

“No...I kinda gathered you were angry with me before you accused me of acting like I was elected Supreme Leader.”

“That...might have been a little harsh of me.”

“Well, I was probably overreacting. ...Something about Jake seems to put my teeth on edge.”

“You have been pretty hard on him. ...And by extension, anyone who associated with him. That's why I was angry with you. You may have been directing your anger at Jake yesterday, but you were implicity yelling at my best friend, too.”  

“...And mine.”

“Well, Craig might have deserved it,” I admit. “But Diego didn't, all right? And neither did Quinn, or Jake for that matter. Quinn almost drowned before we got out of that shelter. Would you really fault her for wanting to relax and forget for a little while?”

“I suppose not...”

“And for all you accuse him of lying around and not helping, I don't think any of us would have left that shelter alive if not for Jake.”

“...Alodia...”

“I know he comes across all gruff and misanthropic, but I think there is more to Jake than you give him credit for.”

“What makes you say that?”

I pause for a moment, considering the question. Finally, I shrug. “People are complicated, Sean. There is more to most people than what meets the eye. Look...I've known a lot of people who put up fronts. Goofy fronts, grumpy fronts, even kind fronts. ...Or brave, noble fronts. First impressions are rarely the whole truth of a person.”

Sean is silent for a long moment. “...So...what's your story, Alodia?”

“...My story?”

“...I've seen you on campus, you know. I've noticed you.”

“...You have?”

“Yeah. ...I remember when I first saw you. Last fall, third game of the season. I was warming up on the field, and you were with the dance team, setting up a table on the sidelines.”

“Right...the dance team decided to sell bratwurst at the football games last fall as a fundraiser.”

“Yeah. ...And you were showing off some pretty impressive moves. I remember wondering why you weren't in a cheerleading uniform.”

I make a face. “Because all I would be doing then is cheering on the football team on the sidelines. I'd rather be center stage or competing myself.”

He chuckles. “Hey, no disrespect. You probably deserve to be center stage.”

“...So...you actually noticed me?”

“Yeah. ...And then I realized you were in my European history class.”

“Well, I am a history major.”

“I know. ...Alodia Chandler. History major, member of the dance team, and best friend of one Diego Ortiz Soto.”

“Those are my basic stats, yes.”

“Yeah, that's what I could find out by casually asking around.”

“...I'm embarrassed to admit that I didn't really know who you were before this trip...”

“Hey, I'm not mad or hurt. ...A little impressed, I admit...”

“...Yeah. I've since managed to gather that you're the star of the school. I...guess I didn't really have much reason to notice the football players...”

“So, who do you tend to notice?”

“Um...I don't know...people who put themselves in front of me, I guess.” I shrug. “...That probably makes me sound pretty self-centered, but...my world is pretty small. I don't actively push people away or anything, and people seem to like me. But getting close to me takes time. ...The easiest way to make friends with me is to get thrown in a metaphorical jar with me and shaken up.”

“Sounds like an easy way to become your enemy, too.”

“Well, yeah.” I waggle my eyebrows at him. “That's a risk you take if you decide to throw yourself into my jar.”

“Well...at least it sounds like getting stuck on this island might work to my advantage in one way. If I actually have an opportunity to get a little closer to you.” At my startled glance, he seems to realize what he just said. He clears his throat. “I mean...get to know you better.”

“Yeah...”

He is silent for a long moment.

“...Maybe that's why I got so worked up over Jake.”

“What's why?”

“Jealousy. I see now he's put himself in front of you. Got himself noticed. Guiding you through the shelter...saving you from the exploding plane...basically being your hero...”

“Does that idea appeal to you? Because frankly, I'm not hoping to meet another sabertooth tiger or exploding plane...”

“No, Alodia. I'm not wishing any danger on you. That's the last thing I want.”

“...You don't have to save me from anything to get yourself noticed. I'm noticing you now.”

He grins. “As I save you from mental strife at the thought of a sink full of dirty dishes.”

“Okay, I admit that's pretty heroic.”

“...Alodia...when all this is over...when we get home...I'd like to see about taking you out sometime.”

It's my turn to be silent for awhile. I think of Quinn and our escapades in the kitchen, though somehow they aren’t enough to make me turn him down on the spot. I have to admit I am surprised to think he might be jealous of Jake. I can’t deny that the pilot is attractive, of course. And I suppose he and I do seem to be on the same page most of the time, but I would chalk that up to us having similar personalities more than anything. On the other hand, Diego seems to think Jake is into me, and he isn’t often wrong about that sort of thing... 

“...We'll see, okay, Sean?” I say at last. “...I know it wasn't that long ago that you and Michelle broke up.”

“...True...”

“And in the meantime, we've got to think about getting off this island. But...when this is all over, and we're back home...” I smile at him. “I'm guessing I won't mind if you take me out sometime.”

* * *

We finish the dishes and ride the elevator together up to the penthouse floor. We say goodnight and head into our rooms. Murphy follows at my heels, immediately jumping up onto my bed. Between the food, drinks, and the dizzying conversation with Sean over the dishes, I am surprised by my ability to shower, put on pajamas, and brush my teeth. But there is one more thing that I still manage to do before dropping off.

I pull out my phone and load up the picture I took of the frying pan Raj showed me. Then I pull out the dossiers I had hidden under my mattress. When I look at Raj's page, my heart begins to pound.

...The sigal stamped on his page is the same that was on the frying pan.

I turn my eyes towards the window. Suddenly, I feel exposed. Vulnerable. I leap out of bed and yank the curtains closed, but the feeling does not subside. Somehow, I feel certain that someone or something is out there, watching me.

[tobelongtheseries]

“To Belong” Writing Contest Entry Written by: Samantha

Max looked over the dying embers of the fire, the orange light glazing her bright orbs, reflecting the forest around her, in her gaze. This was her fifth night in the quiet woods, outside of the bustling city, her search for her parents being in the forefront of her mind. She knew that she most likely would never find the ghosts that seemed to haunt her memory, but she couldn’t help but hope that maybe she would. Would they remember her? Would they be just as happy to see her, as she was them? Perhaps, perhaps not. These were trying, hard times, and people couldn’t be faulted for finding a way to cope with the harsh realities. Either by indulging in the opium trades, or by submersing themselves into their work of choice. From what she could recall, they weren’t exactly poor at the time she was taken, but they weren’t well of either. What was her mother doing right now? Was she a governess for an older ladies children, a nurse in a ward of patients, or perhaps she was a maid for a wealthy family. Her father could be a banker, or a doctor, something dignified that helped people.

In her quiet moments, Max liked to selfishly hope that they spent every dime searching for her, that they never stopped looking, but she was never one to spend time on fantasies. She knew that they most likely moved on, pressured by family and society to have another child, never daring to hope that they may see their daughter again. That’s one thing, the only thing, she might ever have in common with her parents. The thought that even though they might wish, and hope, and dream, they knew that they may never meet again.

Suddenly, Max stilled, having finally heard the rustling in the bushes, cursing underneath her breath as she pretended not to notice. Her fingers curling around the pistol at her side for easy draw, her breath quickening, licking her lip as she waited for the culprit to either run off, or make themselves known. Her eyes sharpened, her predatory instincts kicking in, eyes filtering through the darkness to pierce the bushes, watching as a tall man stepped from the bushes, carrying a satchel.

Before he could utter a word, max had risen to her feet, pistol pointed at the man, finger curled around the trigger. “Name and business.” was her curt demand.

The man merely held up his hands and surrendered, smirking softly. Max took a moment to study him, noting that he was perhaps 6 feet, maybe shorter, depending on if his shoes had a heel. He was very well dressed, a short black coat, laid on his satchel, while he was dressed in a crisp white undershirt and brown vest. Brown vest? With a black coat? Perhaps he was blind. However, upon searching his face, she noted with amusement that he wasn’t blind, just fashion impaired. She may not have known many things about fashion or what trends today were deemed acceptable, but she knew that black and brown never mixed.

“The name is Jake Amber, and no, I wasn’t named for my eye colour.” She knew he was trying to make her more comfortable by making a joke, but she wasn’t about to let her guard down.

“I believe I asked for your name, and profession.” Max raised her eyebrow and kept her pistol pointed at him, watching as he ran his hand through his chestnut long hair. It wasn’t uncommon for men to have longer hair, especially aristocratic ones, but it still seemed odd on him. Especially when paired with his unshaven face.

“Well, I happen to be a collector. I collect jewels, fine artifacts-”

“A collector? Out in the woods, at night?” Max asked with a raised brow.

“Ah yes, I have an answer for that. You see, I had purchased a room at the inn, but then I was.. relocated, after I had a.. well for the discretion of those involved, run in with the inkeepers buxomous daughter.”

She rolled her eyes, and sat down, keeping her hand on her pistol but relaxing slightly. “So you’re running from an inkeeper? After having a tryst with his daughter?”

“Yes.” He said, taking a seat opposite of her, while smirking softly. “She looked very lonely, sweeping the floors and such. I just had to offer my services.”

She let out a chuckle, smirking softly before tossing him a bit of her evenings supper. “Something tells me that it wasn’t your floor sweeping skills you offered.”

“No, but if I had, you can believe me when I say there wouldn’t have been a single speck of dust on the floors. It would have been so clean the highest of high society would come to eat off of them. The people would praise me for my marvelous skills” Jake said, quite grandly as he spread his arms out, before taking a bite of the smoked fish she offered.

“Mmm,” she started softly, “And all would call you Lord Broom. Master of wood.” she said with an air of suggestiveness.

However, Jake did not catch on to her suggestive tone and continued with his grand speech. “Yes!” he decreed with the same vigour as a Priest in front of his delegation. “I shall be known as a Master of Wood. For no one knows how to handle wood as I-” He stopped, thinking for a moment before smirking at Max. “Well, I walked into that one didn’t I?”

Snorting, she shook her head in affirmative, letting him continue to eat before looking at him, noting that his shirt had a rip in it. Why would a collector have a rip in their shirt, but not fix it? Surely he’d have the means to. And with all that money, why not get another room at an inn? The city had at least three of them.

“How did you get the scar?”

She was broken from her thoughts again by Jake, turning her head up, she tilted it softly. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening, what did you say?”

He rolled his eyes, just as she had before repeating himself. “The scar. On your eye.”

She sighed and nodded softly, they always wanted to know about the scar. Ever since she escaped, Max had always been asked where it came from, who gave it to her. Usually, she didn’t feel like reliving the memories that came with telling the story, but after another fruitless search for her parents, she felt like talking.

“I got it in the fights. A wolf gave it to me before I pecked his eyes out. An eye for an eye. Well,” she said sardonically, “In my case, an eye for two. No one ever suspects a small barn owl to do much damage.”

He looked at her, furrowing as her meaning dawned on him. Everyone knew about the fights, but no one ever said anything. It was an unspoken hush around the cities, and the main roads. Children warned not to roam at night, lest the snatchers got them. You would think the nobility would speak against something like this, but unfortunately, money talked a lot louder than outcries from grieving parents. As long as the fights turned a profit, a blind eye would be turned on the grieving. She just hoped that she never had to go back, but she knew, deep down that the “employer” wouldn’t give up on his prize fighter so easily.

“I’m sorry.” Jake said simply. Max was glad he didn’t say anything more than that. It’s not that she was ungrateful for peoples condolences, she just felt she didn’t deserve them. Not when she’s killed so many. Those are the people deserving of it.

“Thanks. It stopped hurting a long time ago, but hey,” she added as she poked the fire. “I got a cool scar out of it.”

He grinned before a rustling startled them both. Sighing, Max stood up, pistol in hand as she rolled her eyes. She didn’t mind company, but even this was getting a little ridiculous. One person walking about the woods at night was understandable, but two? Max watched as Jake slowly moved closer to her, before saying in a low whisper. “When I say run.. you run..”

Max furrowed her brow, watching him tug his satchel close, before she turned back to the rustling. It was getting louder and louder, as suddenly, two policeman sprung from the bushes, their batons raised as they pointed at the man standing beside her. “Stop theif!” Max turned your eyes to the man who.. was.. standing beside her, but was now running twenty feet ahead. “RUN!” he yelled behind his back.

Max startled and grabbed her bag before taking off, following him into the bushes as their pursuers chased them. Growling, she caught up to him quickly, used to running frequently on her travels. “I’m guessing,” she started as she huffed, “When you said you were a collector, you were lying!”

His rich voiced laughed and echoed as they dashed through the trees and underbrush. “No, I am a collector! But, I never said those things were mine!”

“And the inkeepers daughter??” She shouted incredulously, her long legs moving as fast as they could carry her. Listening behind them, she found she could hear more than two people. They must have called reinforcements. “Shit!” She thought as she tried to even her breathing.

He chuckled, before looking at her. “That was the truth.” He said while sounding out of breath, his hair flying back behind him, amber eyes shining with delight and mischief.

“Oh great!” She yelled at him. “Not only are you a thief, but a philanderer as well! Lucky me!”

He winked at her before tossing her his satchel. “Hold this for me darling, or we’ll both be caught!” She watched him transform into a brown wolf, his chestnut coat shining in the light as he took off down the path, dust kicking up behind his paws, eyes shining with delight.

Max ran as fast as she could, but she was quickly losing speed. Her muscles screamed for rest as she pushed herself, burdened by the extra weight of his satchel. Her breath came quicker, sweat running down her face, as she panted. She could hear them gaining on her closer and closer, the sounds of their protests and calls for arrest echoing in the forest. She knew she was slowing down, she had to act fast. Max knew she couldn’t get away, not on foot, but she couldn’t change either. It was too painful. Just as she thought hope was lost, she felt a body mass collide with hers, sending her tumbling down a rocky hill, her body rolling hard through the forest floor. It seemed fate was cruel today, as she was sure her body hit every stone and stick it could find, before she collapsed on a heap at the bottom of the steep hill. She lay there for a few moments, catching her breath and trying to stop the pounding of her skull.

When Max looked up into the now human eyes of one Jake Amber, she felt like throttling him, and she would have if he didn’t put his hand on her mouth before she could protest. She considered biting him, as her eyes shot dangerously to his, but when she heard the voices above, she knew what he was doing and stilled.

“The trail runs cold here!” shouted one of the policeman. The voiced were faint, but she could still pick out what they were saying. The hill was a lot longer than she thought it was. “It’s too dark to keep searching Sir!” Shouted another. She could hear an older man sigh, “I suppose you’re right men. We’ll have to consider looking for them in the morn.”

She sighed in relief as she heard them leaving, her body fully collapsing against the ground, muscle tension leaving her as she gave herself to the universe. She could hear snickering coming from beside her, and kicked the sound, smirking when she heard a grunt of protest.

“What was that for??” Jake said half indignantly, and half with humour.

“Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that you nearly got me arrested!” She said while turning her head to look at him.

“Oh. Right, yes well, I didn’t plan on running into anyone, but there you were. Not to mention, it’s your fault since you did invite me to dinner and distract me, and I did happen to save you by pushing you down the hill so.. you’re welcome.”

She rolled her eyes and sat up, checking her body for damages, noting that she only had a few bruises and scratches, before pulling herself to her feet. “Well, this is where I say goodbye. It was nice having a small meal, and running from the police.” As she turned to walk, she heard Jake chuckle before moving in front of her, “We could continue on together?” he asked.

Max mulled the idea over in her head for a second. “No.”

Jake shook his head before looking at her, “No? Why not? It’s a wonderful idea! We’re both wanted criminals now-”

“I’m only a wanted criminal because of you!” She yelled, before he promptly ignored her and continued.

“Not to mention, you’re quick, good at carrying things and from the way you were holding that pistol you’re a damn good shot. I could use you, or someone like you in my line of work.”

“I’m not a thief. I’m trying to find something that was stolen from me, not steal from others.”

Jake pursed his lips before looking over at her, crossing his arms and picking up his satchel. “Okay, how about this. I steal, you cook, and patch me up if I get injured and we share the profits say.. 80-20. It would help you a long way into finding whatever was stolen.”

Putting her hands on her hips, Max looked him over, before pursing her own lips and copying his crossed arms stance. “If I were to take this hypothetical deal, it wouldn’t be for a cut as low as 20.”

Jake smirked, knowing the bartering game that was about to ensue, before she inevitably agreed. He pretended to mull it over before nodding softly. “Well, that is a little low.. perhaps 70-30 then?”

Max shook her head, “They have my face now and associate me with you. I’m in just as much trouble if you get caught. 50-50.”

Jake shook his head, “Ah, but I’m the one doing the actual leg work here. I’m in the most danger. 40-60. Final offer.”

Pausing for a moment, she considered the deal she was about to make and decided that it would benefit her in the end. She wanted to find her parents, and she needed money to do that.

“It’s a deal.” She said as she stuck out her hand, watching as he firmly grasped hers.

“Good.” he said as he smirked. “But, I’m going to need to know your name. In case I need to scream at you to run or that we’re about to face our inevitable doom, and or arrest.”

Pocketing her pistol, she grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Maxilla. But you can call me Max.” She said as she started walking.

She heard Jake trotting behind her, satchel in hand before he moved up beside her, soft smirk playing on his features. “Can I call you Maxie?”

“No.” she said smirking.

He pouted softly, before bounding back, walking resolutely in the crisp night air. The moon shining down brightly on them, as they started their trek along the forest floor. This wasn’t how max intended her night to go, in fact max never expected to be travelling with anyone, but this suited her. She would be making money and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad travelling with someone else. Only time would tell.

Unknown to both however, a mouse scurried off, paws hitting the forest floor with nerry a sound, eyes gleaming with the news he would tell his employer.

[emclarkerps]

❦ - Something they hate about your muse // ✎ - A reason they’re jealous of your muse. // ♪ - A secret they’re keeping from your muse. // ♤ - What they thought about your muse when first meeting for new babies

Brynn ---- Abel

❦ - Something they hate about your muse - I honestly don’t think there’s anything Brynn could possibly hate about Abel. He’s her hurricane. Her family tries so hard to be perfect but it’s such a facade, everything is fake, and everything with Abel is just so real. She doesn’t need to pretend with him.

✎ - A reason they’re jealous of your muse. - Brynn is jealous of Abel’s ability to just go with the flow and not get caught up in things. She’s quick to anger, while he just lets things roll off his back, and she wishes she could do that sometimes. She’s also jealous of his home life. Her parents didn’t really care much about her and just saw her as a materialistic thing growing up, while he had all the love in the world from his large family.

♪ - A secret they’re keeping from your muse. - Her parents really don’t approve of Abel. He’s the one thing in their eyes that is keeping Brynn back from achieving greatness. They wish she would marry someone rich and high class that could take over their business, and they see Abel as just an airhead that couldn’t possibly comprehend the serious business of a law firm as large as theirs. Of course, Brynn just turns a blind eye to this, because she loves that big airhead with all her heart.

♤ - What they thought about your muse when first meeting - Abel amused Brynn. His inability to sit still for five seconds, his easy going nature, he was just so different from what she was used to. She couldn’t help falling in love with him.

Austin ---- Bonnie

❦ - Something they hate about your muse - There isn’t much to hate about Bonnie, if anything at all. The worst thing on his list of things he doesn’t like is probably that she clogs up the DVR with trashy TV shows.

✎ - A reason they’re jealous of your muse. - Austin is pretty jealous of Bonnie’s ability to cook. Even if things don’t turn out well and they end up ordering pizza, at least she doesn’t need to worry about living down that one time she set fire to a box of spaghetti...but he does.

♪ - A secret they’re keeping from your muse. - Austin doesn’t keep secrets. There’s not a single thing that Bonnie doesn’t know about him. That happens when you’ve been together longer than you can remember. (Maybe that’s his secret...he can’t remember their anniversary. It’s just been so long!)

♤ - What they thought about your muse when first meeting - He was three and handed her a dandelion. Not a yellow one that had already bloomed, but one of those fuzzy ones that you can blow on and they blow away. And that’s just what she did, she blew the little specks all over the place and he cried, because he had picked that flower just for her and she ruined it.

Avery ---- Wyatt

❦ - Something they hate about your muse - Even long after they’ve been together, Wyatt is extremely competitive in everything that they do. Sometimes Avery wishes he could just relax some and enjoy their time together and realize not everything is a competition.

✎ - A reason they’re jealous of your muse. - Avery gets pretty jealous when he wins against her. She’s just more graceful about it and it just drives her to do better next time.

♪ - A secret they’re keeping from your muse. - She wishes he would just man up and ask her to marry him. Everyone else around them is getting married, and sure, it’s not a race, and yes, they’ve been together the least amount of time, but out of all the things to take their time on, why does it need to be this?

♤ - What they thought about your muse when first meeting - They were twelve and at soccer camp. Avery had just moved to the area, and of course everyone saw her as this tiny girl on a team full of boys, so what damage could she possibly do? Well, she won the scrimmage match against his team that day and managed to score a goal on him specifically. Avery decided right then and there she was going to compete against this guy as much as she could, and win more often than not, just to see another one of his meltdowns, because that shit was amusing to her.

Evan ---- Liana

❦ - Something they hate about your muse - It isn’t that Evan hates the old Liana, because even back in high school he was secretly in love with her, but it’s more so he’s disappointed in the way she used to act. He knows it’s because of the way she was treated by Jake, but it still hurts to think about her actions. 

✎ - A reason they’re jealous of your muse. - Evan is absolutely jealous of the way that Liana can be so outgoing. He’s so shy that he feels it’s held him back in different aspects of life, while Liana is like a light around everyone. She could make friends with a rock. 

♪ - A secret they’re keeping from your muse. - Evan spent a bit of time in a juvenile detention center. It wasn’t really his fault, he was actually defending himself, but the cops didn’t see it that way. Some kids jumped him while he was walking home one day. It was kids from the nicer part of town, probably some of Jake’s friends. And when one kid started hitting him, he swung back and the kid ended up in the hospital. It didn’t look good, and it wasn’t like his dad had the money to bail him out. It wasn’t for very long, and his record would have been expunged because he was a minor at the time, but he doesn’t want Liana to see him as a monster, especially after what she’s been through.

♤ - What they thought about your muse when first meeting - Honestly, he thought she was a bitch. Then again, everyone who didn’t truly know her either thought she was queen bee or that she was a bitch, so you can’t really blame him. But then he began to notice things, which happens when you live your life in the shadows. Small things like the look of guilt she had after a fight, the sadness in her eyes, and how she hesitated before hugging her boyfriend back. It was the little things that he took interest in, and why he left her small gifts, in the hopes that she would eventually realize it was him, but of course Jake took credit for it.

[prompt-master]

Clingy and Distant

[403secret]

@godhelpthesickies pLEASE DONT BE SAD (and sorry i took forever orz my brain is working very slowly)

EDIT: OH SHIT APPARENTLY RICH ISN’T AN ONLY CHILD FORGIVE MY INCONSISTENCIES 

There are two digits written at the top of his test. Red ink bleeds into the page, and even when he turns the paper around they show through. At first, the numbers don’t register to him–they’re unreadable, unreachable, and he feels numb all over, like nothing can touch him.

And then the score registers--61–and Rich suddenly feels like he can’t breathe.

Normally he’d be fine crumpling up the exam papers and tossing them into the nearest recycling bin, but that currently isn’t a viable option for him. 61 is far below the class’s failing grade, which means the teacher is going to call home. There’s no way he’ll be able to hide this from his dad.

He can’t go home. He can’t go home. He can’t go home. 

The second the bell rings, he bolts from the classroom. School’s out, and he’s supposed to be walking home, but the idea of facing his father makes his stomach turn. He makes a beeline toward the school bathroom and locks himself in the first available stall. His heart is pounding at least four times faster than it should be, and he feels shaky and hyperattentive, like every detail around him has been amplified: the bathroom lights are suddenly blinding. Someone enters the bathroom, and simply the click of the lock turning on the stall beside him sounds deafening. It’s all too loud: the footsteps, the creak of the stall door opening, the rushing of water in the sink.

In his mind, the sounds turn to his father’s footsteps, the creak of the bedroom door, the slosh of alcohol overflowing from a glass bottle, and then his father reaches out and– 

–and then the person leaves the bathroom and he’s alone again. The room is too silent and his heartbeat is too loud. Shakily, Rich sinks to the ground and lets his backpack slide from his shoulders. He’ll just stay here, he guesses, where no one will find him. Better here than home.

“Have you seen Rich?”

Christine looks up at him, puzzled, and shakes her head. “Sorry, but the last time I saw him was at lunch.”

“Well, if you find him, let him know I’m looking for him.” Jake tries keeping his voice even because hey, he’s the coolest kid in the grade, but it’s pretty evident that he’s borderline panicking. He knows for a fact that Rich was at school today–they were supposed to walk home together–but now, he can’t find him anywhere. 

He pulls out his phone. Rich still hasn’t answered the five texts he’s sent, what the fuck?

J: where r u?

J: dude

J: i can’t find you anywhere

J: richard goranski, answer my texts

J: rich?

J: are you okay???

Maybe he just has text notifications turned off. Taking in a shallow breath, Jake dials Rich’s number, bracing himself for the worst.

No one picks up.

Okay, that’s really weird. Jake bites his lip, pocketing his cell phone. Either Rich’s phone is dead or something is very, very wrong.

Rich’s father is a businessman.

Well, actually, that sentence is more accurate in past tense: Rich’s father was a businessman–and a successful one at that–up until he got into alcohol. Now he’s jobless and drunk all the time, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s had a taste of success.

That success has now, unfortunately, slipped from his reach.

With Mr. Goranski himself being incapable of keeping his own business running, of course his expectations get transferred to Rich, his only child. And when Rich can’t uphold those expectations–well, that’s when the problems start.

Rich squeezes his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around his knees and making himself as small as possible. He can’t do it. He can’t go home where he’s vulnerable and defenseless, but what other option does he have? He can’t hide here forever. His father will come looking for him.

Hot, burning tears obscure his vision. Pathetic, his mind supplies, and he doesn’t fight it. Vaguely, he feels the vibrations of his phone in his pocket–a steady on-off pulse like a SOS signal–but he doesn’t reach for the phone. He doesn’t want to pick up because he doesn’t think he can keep his voice steady enough to hold out a conversation. He doesn’t want to sound as broken as he feels.

“Hello?”

There’s no response. Tentatively, Jake pushes open the door to the bathroom, scanning his surroundings for any sign of his boyfriend. The place is empty, except for– 

–a single locked stall. His eyes dart to the ground–he can see Rich’s shoes from under the stall, along with the outline of his backpack. Checkmate.

“Rich, I know you’re in there.” Jake takes a few steps forward, then comes to a stop just outside of the stall door. “Come out?”

“I’m not in here,” comes a muffled voice from the other side, and Jake freezes, feeling his blood run cold. He’s always been perceptive–it helps him out with social cues–and it’s evident, by the rough, uneven edge to Rich’s voice, that Rich has been crying.

“Hey, it’s just me,” Jake tries again. “Can you at least unlock the door so I can come in?”

“No. Please, just–just leave.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Jake.”

“That’s too bad.” Jake exhales, staring down at his fingertips. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“That’s fine.”

Rich doesn’t speak for awhile after that. The room is silent, except for the drip of water coming from a broken tap, and the occasional ghosting of footsteps outside the bathroom door. That’s fine, Jake thinks. He’ll stay here for as long as he needs to.

“If I tell you,” Rich says suddenly, “will you promise not to laugh?”

Jake is a little startled–he’s gotten so accustomed to the silence that the sudden sound is a little jarring. “I’d never laugh,” he says. Nothing that makes Rich sad is worth laughing over.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Then Rich slides a slightly-crumpled sheet of paper through the crack between the stall door and the divider that separates his stall from the next. Jake takes it gingerly and looks it over. There’s a red 61 at the top, next to the typed headline, Math.

At first, Jake just stares. Rich usually gets decent grades, but a rare 61 can’t be that bad, can it?

“I don’t understand,” he starts. “Your average in math is great, right? I’m sure you’ll be okay–”

"That’s not it.”

“What?”

“I'm not worried about that. It’s just– they’re going to call home. My dad's going to get r-really mad.”

That’s when everything clicks into place. Oh, Jake thinks, feeling his blood settle icily in his veins. “Open the door for me, Rich.”

“W-What?”

“Please just open it.”

There are some shuffling noises, and then the lock clicks and the door cracks open. In the split second after, Jake takes in the sight before him–Rich’s eyes are wide and red-rimmed, shining with the glassy sheen of water, and his hair looks disheveled, like he’s been running his fingers through it. He opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

Jake pulls him into a bone crushing hug. His arms fit nicely around Rich’s frame, and he feels the tremble of Rich’s frame as the smaller boy takes a breath. He’s trying not to cry, Jake registers. The realization hurts.

He reaches up tentatively, carding his fingers through Rich’s hair. “You can cry.”

Rich’s breath hitches again and he buries his face into the Jake’s shirt, his fingers loosely grasping the fabric. “Jake–”

“Look. You’re going home with me,” Jake asserts, in a tone that says that he’s already made up his mind about this.

“But my dad–”

“You can stay at my place until he comes to his right mind about this.”

Rich nods, just once. Jake thinks he’d be content to hold him like this forever. 

But the world won’t wait for them, so instead, he takes Rich’s hand. Rich shifts so that his weight is no longer on Jake’s body.

“I’ll walk you back to my place,” Jake offers.

He knows he hasn’t fixed things yet. They’re a long way from that. But from the small, relieved smile on Rich’s face, he knows that it’s a start.

[doedipus]

Let’s Play Dungeons and Dragons: Introduction

So, I think I’m going to go ahead and post the D&D stuff I was talking about earlier. About three months into the campaign, I started keeping notes on each session. I’m thinking of releasing a session or so worth of notes regularly (probably a couple times a week) until I catch up with where we are now, and then just posting updates whenever major story beats wrap up (probably every 1-3 weeks. Sometimes boring things take a long time). Of course, there’s a very obvious problem with that idea: there’s three months of lore between the start of the campaign and when I started taking notes! Thankfully, one of the other players was taking care of that at the time, so I’m going to try to summarize it as best I can.

Let’s get started!

The story began in the town of Valen, a port city located on a peninsula off the southern Sword Coast of Faerun. Three adventurers, Lucas Valeroyant (played by Rich), a recent graduate from the arcane academy of Candlekeep, Ser Graham Broyer (played by Rich’s boyfriend Jake), a trans man who ran away from home and began travelling under his late brother’s name, and Rolen Amastacia (played by Ludovik), a disgraced elven noble and holy man, were summoned from their homelands to a tavern by a mutual friend, Rockseeker. The trio received a mysterious black box from the innkeeper, and were told to deliver it to Rockseeker himself in Waterdeep. The magnificent corvette The Spirit of Fire and her crew awaited them in the harbor, ready to set sail for adventure.

While in town, Lucas met Greg, a dancer at a local bar. Greg robbed him blind and fled. Later that night, some bandits make an attempt on their lives, and were revealed to be assassins. The inn they were staying at was burnt down shortly thereafter, and Graham identified the attackers as the Sisters of the Night, a cult of ne’er do wells bent on causing chaos in Faerun. The party tracks down and captures Greg before fleeing the city on the Spirit.

On the boat, they meet Escrima (Rap), a strange young man from Calimport who was involved with a cult worshipping a lovecraftian creature known only as MOTHER. The party was attacked by some cultists, including villain apparent Sister Elsa. They defeat the attackers handily, though the sister escaped to fight another day. Lucas and Rolen (and Rich and Ludo) began to butt heads frequently, and a rivalry between the two was formed both in and out of character.

In between sessions, Jake posted on /r/transgamers to recruit players, and I joined the gang.

The gang stopped over at Lucas’ alma mater, Candlekeep, to do some research about the Sisters. While there, they ran into Constanza de Catarina (Kim), a tiefling cultist masquerading as a human noblewoman gathering information about the Sisters for her own organization, and Coy (Max), a dragonborn Big Boss expy wandering the world after the dwarven complex he called home was sacked by an angry dragon. The pair quickly hooked up with the party, comparing notes, and running errands for the locals. Along the way, Lucas and Greg formed a close emotional bond. In the countryside, the gang ran into a giant army of drow, orcs, bugbears, gnolls, and Sisters dragging an adult dragon out of its cave and loading it aboard a massive airship. 

The party eventually learned of a secret library below Candlekeep, and set about searching for it. After a dank journey through the partially submerged ruins below the academy, the gang found what they were looking for, and discovered the Sister’s master plan: resurrect their old leader, Overseer Minnia, and summon the demon god Yeenoghu into the material plane. They also found a handful of nifty magic items and a ton of funds, and promptly stole them, because adventurers are bastards.

Among the treasures was a key to a nearby portal to Sigil. Constanza, Graham, Rolen and Escrima accidentally triggered it, and were whisked off to the wild and dangerous city. They met a sapient rat hoard, known as US, and became involved with a murder mystery, meeting Narcovi, a dwarf working for Harmonnium, a guard force in the city, and eventually tracked down and nearly captured Sougad Lawshredder (known within the party as “crazy eyes”), a Believer of the Source who was trying to ascend to godhood by killing lawful folks across the outer planes. Sougad escaped, and Narcovi rewarded the party by helping them locate a portal back home.

Meanwhile, the opening of the portal triggered some sort of alarm in the Candlekeep security, and Coy and Lucas narrowly escaped through the use of a helm of teleportation and some potions of invisibility. They fled Candlekeep, sailing towards the province of Amn, where they believed their missing companions would likely turn up, if they ever did at all. Along the way, the crew encountered a band of slavers and rescued a child slave, Akim. The pair ascended a mountain outside the village of Amswater where a derelict gate was said to stand. Sure enough, the party popped out of the portal shortly after they arrived, and much rejoicing was had.

(Both of those sequences happened in separate sessions due to scheduling snafus. JP, our DM, is a fucking saint for even bothering to set up something like that)

While the gang caught up on the mountain, a company of drow, led by the Sisters sacked Amswater. The party pushed them back, and managed to rescue a couple of villagers from enslavement, though many others were killed in the battle, or carted away to the Underdark. The villagers, having nowhere else to go, boarded the Spirit of Fire with the party. Together, they stopped off at Athkatla, a nearby port city, and Constanza entrusted the refugees to the government there, explaining the situation in the countryside. This earned her the first of several legitimate noble titles that she didn't have to forge.

The adventurers set sail to Waterdeep at last. The sea voyage finally granted them some time to themselves, opportunities to get to know each other, and hone their skills. Graham and Constanza bonded over dragonchess, Escrima attempted to indoctrinate Graham into his cult, and Lucas taught Coy some minor spells in exchange for draconic lessons. Akim bonded with his savior, and essentially became Coy’s adopted child. Constanza established dominance over Escrima by cleaning his filthy ass off. Along the way, the crew captured and sort of tamed a live Wyvern, christened “Lupe,” who the adventurers tried desperately to find some use for besides venom milking.

Eventually, the gang arrived in Waterdeep and met with Rockseeker himself. The man was ostensibly a dwarf, but was quickly discovered to be something more, though the party couldn’t say exactly what. Rockseeker retrieved a parchment from the mysterious box, and explained that contained within it was a magical map that marked the locations of artifacts that could annihilate the Sisters for good... though, the map was encrypted, and the party was going to have to carry the map to Neverwinter, where a talented friend of Rockseeker’s could help them.

While in the city, the gang did much shopping and sleeping around, the latter of which clued them in on a plot to assassinate the Visible Lord of Waterdeep, John Merrow. Supposedly, the ambitious Lord Hier was planning on having him taken care of at an upcoming celebration at his estate. Coincindentally, Rockseeker had some invitations just lying around, so the party had an easy in.

However, the party was still a few days off, and the gang busied themselves with shopping and taking care of small jobs for the locals, as vagrants of their sort are want to do. They uncovered a small vampire infestation, but events conspired such that they never quite got to the bottom of it.

(Scheduling snafus raised their ugly heads again, and Rich ended up doing a solo session)

At this time, Lucas decided to go track down his old mentor from his student days, Gandalf (no relation to the lesser deity from LotR, we swear!) to see if he had any insight on the events that were unfolding, and possibly a way to get Candlekeep to forgive him for his tresspasses against them. He met up with an acquaintance from Candlekeep, Eva (played by Jake), a young lass who had at least one shrine dedicated to Lucas in her home. The two tracked down Gandalf, and, to their horror, discovered that he had become a necromancer, turning most of the town of Proskur into his thralls. The duo narrowly defeated him, though not before Gandalf murdered Eva and blasted a chunk of Lucas’ shoulder off. Eva’s soul found its way into Lucas’ body. Lucas returned to Waterdeep, thoroughly shaken. This is how JP likes to handle multiclassing, by the way.

Since Jake wasn't around to take notes for the session that weekend with the rest of the party, I ended up taking over that day. For whatever reason, Jake basically decided to let me handle the note taking thereafter, so that’s what the rest of this tale is going to look like.

I kind of have a pretty strong emotional connection to this group and campaign. They’re the first group of people I ever met who didn't previously know me as a dude or anything, and because my voice was one of the only things I’d worked on at the time, I was able to just be myself without all the other baggage for a couple hours every week. I didn't really talk about my being trans at all for quite a while, and I’ve been led to believe that I was basically stealth to them for the first couple months of play... though I eventually got more involved with the trans community on reddit, and more open about it in general.

The group was also really my first foray into the LGBT community in general. My impression of LGBT spaces and the people that inhabited them was pretty negative at the time. I just had the idea that everyone was super outgoing and boisterous theater club types, a class of person that I struggle to relate to and get along with. However these folks turned out to be pretty down to earth for the most part, and the realization that there were people like me who I could actually relate to and enjoy being around really opened my eyes.

[changestory]

Chapter 6: Mirror, Mirror

~*Mia*~

After a little more harassment from my mom about Jake, I went up to my room and got ready for bed. As my mind spun from detail to detail, I sighed softly and collapsed onto my bed. I had given my notebook to Jake mainly because I was concerned it would be taken from me. Now that I had finally meet Zero, I wondered if he would come after any information I had on him. Jake would keep it safe for me. And then there was that shiny thing in that small velvety pouch. I didn’t understand why he was so secretive about it. “Wait…could it have been, for me?” I wondered aloud. My heart fluttered for a moment and my face heated up. “No no no no no. No way.” I shook my head in an attempt to calm myself down. But a little part of me remained hopeful that it was a ring or a piece of jewelry meant for me, at just the right time. But he wouldn’t like me like that, we were friends. It was more than likely a gift for his mom or something along those lines. I spent the next half an hour arguing with myself before I grew tired of it, and attempted to go to sleep.

~*~

With little success with the whole sleeping thing, I reluctantly slithered out of bed in the morning and lazily got ready for school. Since I had some time to sort out my thoughts, I planned on telling Jake everything that happened to me. As usual, Jake was there waiting for me outside of the house. Mom waved at him and he gave her a smile, which made her look at me and wink. I swung my head away from her as fast as I could. “Your Mom looks cheerful this morning.” He said.

“Yeahhhh, I guess so," I said a bit embarrassed.

“You look like a wreck.” He said.

“Oh gee, thanks.” I shook my head and he just shrugged. “So, about last night…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He said. I shook my head.

“I want to, If I couldn’t tell you, then who could I tell, you know?” I said.

“Yeah, that’s true.” He nodded.

“Anyway. So, he had long red hair and these, these eyes that just…” I found myself reliving that intense moment of my back pressed against the tree, and his arms trapping me, and his little smirk.

“Just?” I was snapped back to reality and got my arm grabbed just before I walked right into a pole. I blinked and looked over at Jake, who was trying not to laugh. “Was he really that attractive?” He asked. I shook my head fast.

“No no! No, they were just, dark. And mysterious. And almost playful." I said.

“So, he’s a bad boy.” Jake put his hands in his pockets.

"Of course, he's a thief," I answered bluntly.

“You know what I mean. He has that aura about him. And you like that.” He said.

“I do not!” I looked over at him and huffed.

“All girls do right? They like a dangerous, mysterious guy who is smooth and suave, yes?” He said.

“Well, i-it may be true for a lot of us, but that doesn't change the fact that Zero is a wanted man," I said.

“Whatever Mi Mi.” He flicked my forehead and leaned against the locker that was next to mine. I pouted.

"I'm not a little kid anymore," I said.

“I know that, but you’re still younger than me.” He laughed a little. I couldn’t help but smile. “That’s better. That’s the first time you’ve smiled this morning.” He said.

"Thanks, Jake," I said. He could be so sweet sometimes, and he was concerned about me.

“I’ll see you later ok?” He said. I nodded.

"Yes, of course," I said. With a quick smile, he left my side and I got myself prepared for the day.

~*~

Halloween was only a couple days away, and I was in high spirits as I gathered my things for the weekend from my locker. “Hello.” I greeted Jake as he came up behind me.

“You didn’t even see me…” He said sadly.

"I can hear you coming from a mile away," I smirked.

“Oh, alright then.” He chuckled. We headed out and I was admiring all the decorations people were beginning to bring out. “Halloween still one of your favorite holidays?” He asked.

“Of course it is, it’s the one day a year that you can be anyone you want to be.”

“What are you going to be then?” He asked.

"I'm still deciding," I said.

"I want to be Zero," Jake said. I almost tripped over my own feet.

“What?”

“Careful now. You heard me. I think it would be kinda fun. Don’t give me that look.” He crossed his arms as I glared at him.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why not?” He countered. “I can be anyone I want to be, right?”

“W-Well, I guess…” I couldn’t argue what I just said.

“Later.” He messed my hair up and I walked to my door. I stuck my tongue out at him and he just laughed. My parents weren’t home yet as they both had meetings for work. I flipped on the TV so that I wasn’t in total silence.

"And in other news, yet another note has been sent to the courthouse today from the infamous thief, Zero, stating that the local antique mall south of the city will be visited by the mystery man in an attempt to quote, ‘protect the wellbeing of the citizens of the town and the world’. No word yet on the authenticity of the note.” The news reporter continued on to the next story but I dropped my bag, left a scribbled note to my parents, and left the house. I didn't tell Jake about it since I figured he would just laugh it off. I hopped on the bus and made my way to the antique mall. Since nothing was said as to what he specifically wanted, I was forced to wander aimlessly up and down the endless corridors and staring at the tiny toys, old linens, and grand mosque furniture. I saw there were a few extra people working, but I didn’t get the sense of any beefed up security. Maybe they thought it was just a Halloween prank. Just as I turned a corner, something caught my eye on one of the wooden tables for sale. There was what looked to be a beautiful hand mirror, the metal blackened with age. The handle was ornately made, clearly handmade with care and attention. A little piece of parchment accompanied it 

"Belonged to a distant family from central Romania, then known as the region of Transylvania. Negotiable if interested." I said aloud. The phone number was smudged out as well as the year it was made. Maybe this wasn't a wasted trip, after all, I would love to own something like this. I grabbed the handle and turned it over to see how tarnished the glass was, and a brilliant light practically blinded me. Before I could react, my body felt light, and I became so sleepy that I couldn’t fight myself slipping into slumber.

~* 

‘Where, what?’ I thought to myself. I had no idea what was going on, or where I could be. I grabbed the mirror, did I somehow faint? Opening my eyes, I found myself on a cold, stone floor.

“Mia! Goodness child, you shall be the death of me yet!” I glanced up at the woman who was talking to me.

“M-Mother? I’m am so very sorry to worry you, I am fine.” I stood up and brushed off my patched, dirty dress. ‘Wait, mother?! I feel like this isn't even me…' I thought. I could hardly control what I was saying. Looking around, I found myself in a tavern-like place, with customers staring at me with concerned looks. They all looked run down, worked to the bone with their tattered clothes that resembled my own. I had flour on my hands and arms which I was able to see the sunlight pouring in from the small opening in the stone wall that resembled a window without glass. I quickly retired the bonnet on top of my head that kept my hair out of my face and got back to collecting plates void of stew and mutton as well as empty mugs. I then gathered my pitchers and refilled patron's ale for them. I found myself slowly losing my conscious, questioning thoughts, and settling into what felt to be daily life.

"Fetch some more bread for me, Mia, we are beginning to run low." Mother called for me.

“Of course.” I snagged my large basket and made my way out into the streets of rugged cobblestone and dirt. I couldn't keep mother waiting, so I hurried myself to the bakers when I bumped into someone who was coming out. "P-Pardon me." I lowered my head in apology and saw my handkerchief on the ground. Another hand plucked it from its place and brushed it off. Looking up, I saw a tall man so dignified in appearance it took my breath away. His long, deep brown hair was equal to that of an angel, smooth and straight. His suit looked as if he had just come from the tailor, without a single speck of dust. He tipped his top hat and bowed slightly.

“My apologies, my lady.” He held out my handkerchief for me and I took it with shaking hands. In fact, they were shaking so much, I accidentally brushed his hand lightly. Our eyes met and his shone kindly, like brilliant emeralds. “You have come here for bread?” He asked, a voice dark and rich like night itself.

"I have sir," I said quietly. He stood there for a moment before reaching his hand out behind my ear.

"Such sweetness," He touched a strand of my hair, allowing it to flow through his fingers and land gently on my shoulder. "Like a delicate flower, tormented by hard frost. Won't you come with me? You'll find no more bread at this bakery. I have some at my home, however, that I can give you." He said with a soft smile. I found myself nodding as if entranced by his offer. It would certainly help mother to get bread, after all. He held out an arm, which I took and was led to a stunning carriage, led by the purest of white horses. We climbed in and the coachman took us away. "Your name, my lady?" He asked.

"Mia," I answered as I looked away slightly, embarrassed by my own disheveled looks. As if he knew what I was thinking, he carefully pulled my cheek back so I was facing him once more.

“A most beautiful name for a young woman such as yourself. Do not be afraid to look at me, you have nothing to be shameful for, and everything to be envied for.” His sultry look made my heart almost stop. He looked pleased with my speechlessness and before I knew it, the carriage stopped. "Come to Mia, inside with me if you please." He offered me a handout and I took it. I gasped when I saw the magnificent castle that laid out before me.

“This is the castle in the white forest! You, Sir, am I to believe you are the lord of the castle?!” I said, completely in shock. He chuckled, a sound like bells.

“I am, I am the Count.” He said. I grew even more self-conscious before he took my hand and led me inside the huge castle doors. “Your family must work diligently in the village, do they not?” He suddenly asked.

"Yes, Sir. Though I may say, it is barely enough. So I make myself busy in our tavern so that Mother does not have to pay another worker." I explained 

“It is a pity that a beauty such as yourself must put yourself through such hardship. Do tell me, Mia, you have not pledged yourself to a gentleman yet, have you?” He asked. My cheeks felt warm.

"Certainly not Sir," I said sheepishly. He flashed a brilliant smile as if a spark had been lit in his mind.

"Most excellent! Please, for a lady such as yourself, I wish to do so much more than providing you with bread."

“M-My lord, please, I do not wish to trouble you any more than I may have already…” I humbly protested.

“Fear not, dear Mia, for I have decided already. You no longer will need to worry for your family. I shall send money immediately, so that they may live luxuriously from now until the end of their days.”

“Sir Count, please, you are far too kind.” I felt myself tearing up.

“In return, won’t you please hear a request?” He asked.

"Anything, my lord," I said earnestly.

“Please stay here with me.” He asked.

“Oh, but, what of my family?” I hesitated 

“They shall be informed, even if it only for a few days, please stay, my lovely flower.”

“…Alright, it is the least that I can do to secure the wellbeing of my family. I shall happily stay with you.” I smiled.

“Joyous news indeed! My butler will show you to your room, where you will find a gown worthy of you Mia. Please meet me in the ballroom, for we will celebrate!” He practically floated away before I could say anything further. An elderly man showed me to a spectacular room, with a balcony and huge wardrobe, as well as an elegant bed with fine silk sheets. I could hardly believe it was real. A few maids came in, as they were some of the most beautiful women I had ever seen 

“My lady, we are here to assist you.” One said.

“Allow us to help.” The other smiled. I nodded and was placed in a ball gown that fit as if it was meant for me. My hair and makeup were done by the maids, after which they handed me a beautiful hand mirror. "You are equal to a goddess, my lady." One maid said.

"Thank you so very much!" I said as I looked into the mirror. I delicately sat it down on the bed and proceeded to meet with the Count. He was dressed in another charming suit, and once he saw me, he strolled over to me and bowed.

“You look so lovely, please honor me with a dance?” He asked. I smiled and curtseyed clumsily, and took his hand. We spun and waltzed with ease.

“Sir, you have no wife to call your own?” I asked. His eyes seemed to have a touch of sadness as I asked.

“Once I did. She passed on. I have been alone here for a long time Mia. But that has changed now.” His eyes trailed from my eyes down as he leaned in, whispering in my ear. “I now can change that, you will stay here and I can take care of you, forever.” He said smoothly 

“My, lord?” He looked into my eyes, and my heart stopped when I saw his green eyes were now the color of rubies, and his smile revealed two sharpened canine teeth.