#splitting it into two parts (possibly three) because i have too many thoughts about them

[numberoneredriotfan]

Rodydeku headcanons part 1 :)

I'm going insane over these two hggggg-

(this screenshot from the movie makes me cackle everytime-)

• Rody fell first, no questions asked. Deku fell a bit later when he actually had the time to consider his feelings when he WASN'T fighting villains and dealing with vestiges every three seconds.

• Before they parted after the humarise crisis, they exchanged numbers so they could still talk. And, I kid you not, as soon as Deku got home he called Rody immediately. Rody played it cool like-- "damn, miss me already hero??" As if he hadn't been staring at Deku's contact for the past ten minutes wanting to call him but not wanting to seem like he missed him or anything (he really, really missed him).

• From then on, they pretty much call each other every other night when they're free, giving each other general updates (or just to hear each other's voice) (Rody's like kicking his feet and twirling his hair during these calls-)

• Rody's contact for Deku is "mass murderer (heart emoji)" the heart emoji was added a little later on when Rody worked up the balls. Deku's contact name for Rody isn't anything special, just his name with a little ":)" on the side.

• Rody's crush is soooo bad. He definitely keeps up with anything hero-related on the news just so he can talk about it with Deku during their next call.

• I think Rody's voice helps Deku relax a lot, even if he doesn't realize why (keep this in mind, it'll come into play later).

• Rody thinks about the time when Deku spiderman-ed him around Otheon. A lot.

• Deku told everyone is class 1-A about Rody, more than he talked about the actual humarise crisis.

• During Rody's visit to Japan (in the spin off "team up missions" manga), I like to think he started developing a bit of an inferiority complex to Deku's friends.

• Like, who was he to Deku compared to all these friends that had been through so much together?? Compared to them, he was literally just some guy he saved the world with once.

• It didn't help hearing all the stories about Deku solving villain crisis after villain crisis with said friends.

• Of course Deku didn't think that way, and considered Rody a friend just like he considered everyone in class A a friend (with something a little extra there but he hasn't realized that yet).

• Deku once sent a picture of him and Eri during a little playdate to Rody the backflip his heart did when he learned that Deku was good with kids-

• Also, seeing Deku get along and be sweet with his siblings almost killed him.

• Sometimes, Pino will steal Rody's phone and send a random cluster of emojis with ninety percent of them being hearts. Deku was a little confused when this first happened, but after Rody (frantically) explained it was Pino, whenever it happens Deku just goes "hi pino!"

• Deku grows to be able to read Rody pretty well, even when he hides Pino from him. Although, having a friend with a built-in lie detector is pretty convenient.

• "Have you been missing me at all??" "Pssh, nah, you cause way too much trouble for me-" *distressed chirping in the background* "PINO." "I miss you too Rody :)"

• Rody pokes fun at Deku for the mass murderer incident all the damn time. "I don't know man, do I really wanna hang out with a mass murderer??" "Oh no, please don't hurt me mister mass murderer."

• Deku going on hero rants and Rody going on plane rants and both of them listening to each other with full attention :( <3

• Okay let's get into the more angsty stuff.

• After the war, and after all the villains escaped tarturus, and planes stopped getting to Japan and stuff, Rody was kinda worried (he was VERY worried).

• He was at work when all the commotion was on the news, and he completely froze when they mentioned UA high school. As soon as he got home, he tried to call Deku to make sure he was okay, but he got no answer. Because by then, Deku had already left UA high.

• Deku didn't want Rody to worry about him, so he pretty much ignored all his calls (feeling incredibly guilty as he did so) (also for the sake of it let's pretend he still had his phone).

• Rody tried so many times to call him, wanting to pull his hair out every time he was sent to voicemail. He was losing sleep just worrying about him, and Rody's siblings noticed. They tried a lot to try and get Rody to cheer up, which he did appreciate despite still being worried.

• He wasn't picking up his phone, and leaving a text just wasn't enough. So, eventually, he decided to leave a bunch of voice messages, as some way to make himself feel better.

• They started off with him trying not to sound too worried:

• "Hey, Deku! It's been a little while since I've heard from you. I know you're probably busy with everything happening in Japan right now. Call me back when you get the chance."

"The past few weeks at work have been exhausting. People are acting like the world's gonna end, but I'm sure things'll be alright. That's why we have heroes like you, right?"

"I was able to take Roro and Lala out yesterday, I sent you the pictures. Did you know Roro grew a whole inch?? Soon he's gonna be as tall as me!"

• Until they eventually grew more and more concerned and desperate:

• "Hey, I saw the news this morning. Japan is in really bad shape right now. Is everyone in UA alright??"

"You are getting these, right? If you have, please at least send me a message saying something. Roro and Lala have been worried, you know."

"Deku, I know things have probably been rough for you over there. For you and everyone else. I know I don't know you as well as your friends at UA, and I know that in the end I can't understand what's happening over there. But whatever you're dealing with right now, I'm willing to listen. So...please. If you're getting these- if you're even alive- just let me know. I'm worried, okay...?"

• At some point, Rody gave up on trying, only hoping that somehow Deku was okay, and that maybe he just wasn't getting his messages.

• But Deku was. And he listened to every single one, resisting to the urge to send him something, or call him. But he told himself it'd cause Rody more trouble if he responded, so instead, he just listened to each voicemail over and over, finding comfort in Rody's voice (he also looked at pictures of him with his friends for comfort as well but this isn't about them/j).

• After class A dragged Deku back to UA by the ear, once he was finally able to rest, he couldn't help but think about Rody and finally responding to him, but he wasn't sure what he would say, and he had a bunch of other things to worry about at the moment, so it slipped his mind.

• But eventually, as Rody was laying in bed thinking about Deku (as he had been doing for the past few weeks), he decided to try calling him again cause god damn it why not. He wasn't expecting a response, but at least he could say he tried.

• And to his surprise, Deku answered.

• At first, Rody just kinda sat there in shock, trying to process the sound of Deku's voice. And finally, weeks worth of emotions came spilling out and he just started ugly sobbing while yelling at him and questioning where he's been. Deku tried to calm him down a little, which only made Rody even more upset because how DARE you tell him to calm after you up and disappear for weeks without any sort of communication!!

• Knowing Rody's anger was justified, Deku told him he'd explain everything. And he did.

• He spent the next hour explaining everything that had happened to Rody. From the very beginning. How he was originally quirkless, how he got one for all, one for all's vestiges, the league of villains, All for one, Shigaraki. He explained everything, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders as he did so. Rody, though confused and confounded, listened intently.

• Once he was finished, Deku apologized profoundly for not telling Rody any of this, and how he just didn't want him to be put in danger. That's when Rody realized just how big the burden Deku had been carrying all this time, all by himself, truly was.

• "You've already put me in danger once before, hero." Rody said jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. Deku let out an weak, involuntary laugh. "You didn't have to hide this from me...you listened to all voice messages right? I meant it when I said I was willing to listen. You really don't have to carry that all by yourself..."

• Deku really couldn't help but sob once again at the support he got from one of his dear friends. And hearing Deku cry, Rody said he was a crybaby while also starting to cry as well.

• Just like that one time, both of them started to laugh together while still crying.

I love them so much :(

[runariya]

One shot where jk is a virgin and he loses his V card to the popular girl OC and they fall in love. School/uni base setting.

part of the prompt game pairing: virgin nerd!Jungkook x popular!female reader genre: university!AU, S2L, fluff, smut warnings: pining, love at first sight, fluff, JK's a virgin, OC thinks JK is a fuckboy, smut, fingering, early male orgasm, switch in POV from JK to OC, slow fluffy protected sex, OC is on top, fluff, fluff, fluff, love confessions, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 1.618

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

If he could write a symphony for you, he definitely would.

He’d tell the strings and trumpets to play as beautifully as heaven would, as it let you descend to earth to grace him with your presence.

But Jungkook simply can’t.

Not just because he doesn’t know a thing about writing a symphony, but because you’re plainly and agonisingly out of his league. He’s also pretty sure you don’t even know his name, despite being in the same major since freshman year, sharing every single class, day in and day out.

Jungkook’s been in love with you since the moment he first saw you—the popular, humble girl surrounded by hundreds of friends and three times as many admirers. And there’s no way, not even if hell froze over, that he, the officially crowned nerd of the university, will ever have the honour of even speaking to you.

Though that hasn’t stopped him from admiring you from afar, or even—something he’d never, ever admit—rubbing one out just because your eyes grazed his for a split second.

It’s a bit of a shock that, after being convinced by his friends to join them at a frat party one Saturday night, not only is he in the same room as you, but he’s sitting on this overly worn couch, chatting with you as if it’s just the two of you in the world.

He reckons your voice is even more melodic up close, your eyes not only beautifully deep but pulling him in, making escape impossible. You’ve been sitting close the whole time, but now—oh, now—you’re practically on his lap, and he’s struggling to keep it together.

Trying his best to stay cool, to hide how much his virgin self is rattled by your attention, Jungkook gathers all his courage to finally ask, “Do you want to head out?”

Neither of you has had a single drop to drink, and he’s not sure if his feelings for you have already made him drunk, but he swears he’s hallucinating when you beam at him and say, “Yes, sure.”

Fast forward: after you took his hand and both of you slipped away into the night, heading towards Jungkook’s dorm, you’re now on his bed, clothes long forgotten. Jungkook’s trying to recall everything he’s read and seen about sex on the internet, but he isn’t sure if he’s doing it right.

It seems you’re not the least bit bothered by his slightly shaky hands, which are doing their best not only to commit the feeling of your soft skin to memory but to pleasure you as much as he possibly can.

The taste of your lips is divine, but the squelching and pulsing of your tiny cunt is by far the best thing that’s ever happened to Jungkook. He never would’ve thought he’d come this far, but now he’s not about to back down, even if his own orgasm is far too close for his liking.

“Kook,” you mewl under him, hips pushing eagerly into his tattooed hand as two fingers pump and stretch you so incredibly.

“Baby, fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Jungkook breathes against your lips, no longer able to hide his true feelings.

You’re not sure how long you’ll be able to keep your first orgasm at bay because, quite frankly, tonight’s a dream come true. You finally had the guts not only to talk to your long-time crush but to have him in bed with you.

It’s nothing like what you thought it would be with Jungkook—the shy, private guy who keeps his circle small and rejects every woman who tries to approach him. He’s not the fuckboy you thought he might be, but an attentive, loving partner, and now you see he’s giving you everything he has.

Even the foreplay is the best you’ve ever had, and while his eyes and low grunts could make you cream his fingers in an instant, it’s the sight of his tattoo sleeve and his massive, leaking cock resting on your thigh that pushes you so high, you’re seeing every colour of the rainbow.

The fact that Jungkook comes all over your thigh and stomach just from the sight and the fact that he gave you an orgasm drives you mad in every way possible. And as he tries to get off you, fingers leaving your cunt as it calms down, you don’t let him slip away, grabbing his head with both hands to kiss him fiercely. You roll over, straddling his waist, trapping him where he belongs.

Jungkook doesn’t protest, his fingers tracing the expanse of your spine while his other hand holds your ass to make you more comfortable.

“Just tell me when you’re ready again, yeah? No pressure, Kook.” You press your lips softly to his face and neck, leaving a trail of kisses, toying with his silky hair and caressing his buff arms and pecs.

His soft moans, paired with his fluttering lashes, make him look and sound like an otherworldly being, though you’ve always thought of him as such.

It feels not only cold but empty where his hand leaves your ass to open the drawer beside him, rummaging blindly for a condom.

“You sure?” Jungkook asks for the nth time tonight, and once again, your answer is the same.

“Yes. Are you?”

The pink dusting Jungkook’s cheeks hasn’t faded since you first kissed him, but now, with that broad smile and perfectly aligned teeth on full display, you realise your crush has transformed into the purest form of love.

“Of course, beautiful.”

Seeing that his hands are shaking a bit more than yours, you take the liberty of grabbing the condom from him and putting it on for him—not because you’ve probably got more practice than he does, but to ease his nerves a little more. And it works, as he lets his hands rest on your thighs, squeezing them ever so gently as if to say he’s here and won’t ever leave.

As you line up his cock with your dripping cunt, knowing it’ll be hard to relax and make him fit easily, you can’t help but lean back down towards him, your free hand cradling his chiselled jaw, hoping he’ll feel the devotion you have for him in the kiss you share.

As expected, it’s tight—nearly too tight—as your cunt practically screams at the orgasmic burn of his cock, but you can’t seem to give it much attention when Jungkook’s shimmering eyes, like the polar lights on the darkest nights, hold you captive.

And when you hit his pelvis, both of you moan, lips drawing together like magnets once again, tongues intertwining over and over as if they’re linking you both together for eternity. You can’t stay still for long, and Jungkook seems to share this thought as his hands settle on your hips, helping you ride him just right.

It’s slow, it’s intense, and it’s everything you wanted—everything Jungkook is. You hope he feels the same because there’s no way you’ll ever want, no need, something or someone else.

“Gosh, I love…it so much,” you barely manage to catch yourself tripping over your words, but it’s as if Jungkook understands nonetheless when he picks up the pace, his hand reaching up to tangle in your hair and take your breath away—not only with the increased rhythm but with a kiss full of emotion.

It doesn’t take long for both of you to explode in fireworks as bright as the sun itself. How could you not, when it feels like you were meant to be, when it feels as if you were soulmates?

Your breathing slowly comes down as you lie on his chest, listening to his powerful and calm heartbeat while he traces mindless circles on your back and massages your scalp. You want this moment to last, you want him to last.

But you don’t know how.

Thankfully, Jungkook finds his voice first as he carefully shifts you off him, not minding the condom still wrapped around him.

“Thank you,” he says softly, tracing the lines of your face with gentle fingers while his eyes turn a little sad with longing that mirrors yours.

You take his hand in yours, kissing each knuckle without breaking eye contact, causing the sadness to fade just a bit.

“Jungkook?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want this?”

“What do you mean?”

You’re sure he’s not playing dumb because he genuinely looks confused, his eyes switching between yours.

“Do you want me?”

There’s a bit of silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward in the slightest.

“Do you want me?” he asks right back, serious as if you need to rethink.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, and after relaxing his lips from a straight line, he confesses, “You are my first.”

You never would have thought that to be true, but you’re sure he’s honest with you right now because looking back, there were little, barely noticeable signs that could have pointed to that.

“You’re not my first,” you confess as well, knowing that not every woman bleeds on their first time.

Jungkook just shrugs into the mattress, his hand still intertwined with yours. “I love you.”

He says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and you reckon it is, because you absolutely feel the same.

“I love you too.”

You’re both giggling like teenagers, your pair of eyes sparkling not only with happiness but with the adoration you hold for each other.

“Okay, girlfriend.”

“Okay, boyfriend.”

And with that, Jungkook pulls you closer, sealing your relationship with the sweetest kisses from the sweetest lips you’ve ever tasted and will ever taste.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Fire and Ice

Hi guys!

Yes I know it's me again! I got a request for a story with Leah, so here is a story with Leah.

I'm open to request btw :)

I hope this story will please you, I tried to stick as much as possible to the way I imagine Leah’s dynamique.

Part 2 is HERE :) and the chapter bonus HERE.

Thanks everyone ♥

____________________________________________________________

New to Arsenal, you’ve only been part of this team since this summer. You left Bayern Munich at the end of you contract and after some hesitation between different clubs, you finally chose Arsenal. Lyon would have loved to hire you too, but you felt that English football was probably better if you wanted to continue to evolve in your career. You're only 21 and hopefully, many years ahead of you.

You were scared at first to be honest, you know the team had a lot of players who already know themselves. But Lia was particularly welcoming to you, playing the role of a little mother. Frida, who is also your teammate in the Norway team, decided to show you her favorite places in London and Alessia who arrived at the same time as you quickly offered to do the exercises in training together.

In reality, your arrival at Arsenal was very smooth even if some personalities continue to impress you a little. For example Leah, Beth or Katie. As a result, you have very little interactions with them, as Leah’s injury has not helped to create a special bond with her. Even if she was present on the day of your presentation to the rest of the group, wanted to welcome you like the others.

You do, however, enjoy evenings organized by your teammates and you go regularly. Far from your family, you don’t know anyone here and it makes you feel less alone.

So here you are, in Leah's appartment with some of the Arsenal girls. You hesitated to come since Frida wasn't here, but Alessia is and hasn’t given you much choice to do otherwise. Leah was in charge of the cocktails and only gave Lia a smirk when she asked her what she put in it. You took the time to discreetly sniff the mixture before bringing it to your lips, pleasantly surprised by the sweetness of the drink. A little misleading though, because after two or three drinks, getting up to go to the toilet took a little longer than usual.

When you came back, you drop on the couch next to Alessia, trying to get back into the conversation. You became bit uncomfortable when you realize that the discussion has turned on the girls being in couple or those who are not. You are single obviously, finding it particularly difficult to have a long-distance relationship, or with one of your teammates. In the case of a breakup, you were always afraid that it would be too complicated for you to handle.

So you say nothing, hoping that hiding behind your glass will save you from possible questions. You are very naive.

"And you, Y/N? You never mention anyone, I guess you're single?"

Beth’s question makes you grimace and you find yourself nervously biting the edge of your plastic glass before answering a simple "Yes".

"Why that?" asks Beth and you just shrugs.

"We should make her up with someone" Katie decide and you can't help but laugh a little.

"I’m a little demanding about my partner"

"Not a problem"

You roll your eyes before taking a new sip of your drink, crossing Leah’s gaze. She seems lost in her thoughts, twirling her glass in her hand. Your eyes cross a split second and you hurry to report it to Katie when she speaks again.

"We should make you profil though. Like in a dating app"

"OMG yes, I going to take something to write!"

Alessia chuckles next to you and you can't help but smile too. You don’t really take this seriously, given everyone’s blood alcohol levels, you’re sure that half of this evening will be forgotten by tomorrow morning. So you decide to play the game with a smile.

"Ok, first question" Beth begin with a notepad and a pen. "What is your house in Hogwarts?"

"How is that even a question?" Katie answers with a disgusting face.

"It's not because you don't like Harry Potter than it's the same for everyone, McCabe"

************

You let the two girls ask you questions for twenty minutes, ignoring the departure of several of your teammates. Now it’s just you, Katie, Lotte, Beth, Leah and Alessia.

"Are you a good kisser?" Beth asked, looking over her sheet.

"How am I even supposed to know that?" you ask, giggling.

"I don't know, it's your kissing skills, not mine."

You roll your eyes before answering.

"I've never received any complaints"

"Does it count?" Katie asked while looking at Beth.

"Not really. Is there anyone in this room who can testify to that?"

"What? No!" you laugh softly.

You, in reality, only have two relationship in your life and both didn't end really well. Football keeping you very busy, you maybe weren't a great girlfriend. But that doesn’t mean your first girlfriend’s infidelity should be excused, in your opinion. Anyway, the next sentence coming from Beth's mouth take you back in the reality.

"Maybe we need a sincere testimony from someone we trust…" Katie said thoughtfully.

"Maybe we can make her kiss someone here, now?" Beth answers with the same tone.

"Excuse me?" you ask with a certain concern.

But the two women didn't seem to give it the slightest care, continuing in their dialogue which makes you slightly think of Dupont and Dupond in Tintin.

"Leah is definitely the most experienced of us, she has a hunt board longer than the number of goals scored by Alexia Putellas at FC Barcelona."

"What the fuck?"

This is the first time of the evening that you hear Leah's voice, who had been content until then to make cocktails and dance in the kitchen with Lia and Caitlin. Both of Beth and Katie laugh at her offended face, finally out of their common monologue.

"Come on Leah, you have to kiss Y/N to help her finding love"

"Don't I have any say in this?" you say softly.

Beth’s gaze makes you realize that you don’t really have much of a say, but it’s especially Leah’s piercing gaze that you feel on you that electrifies you. Leah is a very beautiful woman and you must admit that if you hadn't been teammates, maybe you would have thought of her differently. But there is also her assertive and confident personality that can sometimes confuse you, you who is rather quiet and discreet, you are a bit like fire and ice.

But tonight, your eyes meet a few seconds and for once you don't look away. It's even finally Leah who looks away to look at Beth.

"Ok" Leah answers before getting up "But I'm not doing it in front of everyone. Close all your damn pretty eyes"

They all agreed without saying any word, Alessia swaping place with Leah on the couches. The captain waits patiently for everyone to close their eyes, before looking at you.

"You know you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, right? You're sure you want to?" she asks softly.

So softly that it surprises you at first. And you almost immediately feel overwhelmed by a wave of guilt, after all you are very well placed to know that Leah knows how to take care of the people around her. She showed it to you several times as captain of her team.

"I am" you simply answer, before adding "And you?"

"Hey don't worry about me. Go on" she gives you a smirk of her own and you smile back.

You feel particularly nervous though, becoming a little aware of the situation you’re in. Leah doesn’t seem particularly drunk, but you’re hoping she won’t be mad at you tomorrow when she realizes things. You wait a few more seconds, detailing her face and eyes looking for a trace of hesitation. But you find nothing and you finally decide to break the physical distance between you two.

Your eyes left hers and you look at her lips for a few moments, certainly looking at them for the first time. It doesn't last long however. Like a second after that, you close your eyes, your lips gently touching hers. At this distance, you can smell her perfume and shampoo. Her lips are soft and have the flavor of the cocktail she has prepared for you all evening.

But that’s not what’s calling you.

What's calling you is the way your whole body seems to react to a simple peck with Leah Williamson.

You feel like every part of your body is burning up and asking for more of Leah’s. And that's scared the shit out of you. That’s why you step back after a few seconds, wide-eyed, looking for an explanation on Leah’s face. But you can’t find anything and you can’t even determine the emotion in her eyes.

"Tell us when you're finished" Katie points.

Of course, you forgot about them. Everything that didn’t concern Leah directly had been completely zapped by your brain.

"Shut up. We haven’t even started"

Leah answers for both of you and you hardly swallow, not at all recovering from the emotions you felt. That you still feel. A second later, Leah grabs your face with both hands before kissing you. You don't lose a second before responding to her kiss, your lips moving together with an ease you have never felt before.

It's easy for you to get lost in this kiss, the sensations mixing so much that you completely lose the notion of things. Your hands slide over Leah’s hips and you find yourself sitting on her, your legs on either side of hers.

That doesn’t seem to bother her though, her tong easily finding access to yours. Your lips only separate for a few seconds, until you get enough air to start your dance again. And again.

You could have sincerely spent the rest of the evening - the night - kissing her, but one of them had to realize that you were going to get the attention of your teammates. It was Leah who put an end to the kiss first, snatching from your embrace as breathless as you. You don’t look away this time either when she looks at you, before gently pushing you away so that you find your original place on the couch.

You could have taken this as a gesture of reject, but the smile and wink she offers you when she gets up seems to be there only to reassure you that it’s not. You follow her with your eyes as she discreetly go behind the couch, leaning on her backrest, above where she was sitting until now.

"How is it possible that it lasts so long?" Alessia wines and you smile when you hear Leah's laugh.

The other girls open their eyes and the surprise appears on almost every face by discovering your positioning.

"Did you really think I was going to kiss someone to please you? Well everyone out now, I need my beauty sleep."

Rolling their eyes or grumbling, your teammates obeyed quickly. After exchanging greetings, you follow Alessia who promised to take you home. Still disturbed by these kisses, you can’t help but turn around while closing the front door hoping to meet Leah’s gaze.

You succeed, while she leaned against the central island of her kitchen. The same look as the one she used to look at you earlier appears on her face, but you can’t study it as long as you would like since you feel Alessia’s hand grab your arm, suddenly eager to find her bed.

[prostocupoftea]

Kinitopet Programmers AU

finally i am finished with this one, daaaamn

it is hard to draw pathetic men with midlife crisis when your style is mostly for anime boys

more info and sketch version under the cut!!

sketch version aka how it'll probably look like in comic version 'n some doodles

srry for my writing but i was too laisy to put it as regular text

It is a plot-based au, i already have most of the storybits and like... a vibe-chart (i tried to make a playlist for this au and understood that for different chapters and different characters that'd be a copleatly different music, sooo it's a chart now :) )

i will post a fog-o-wared timeline that im hopefully gonna reveal comic-by comic, but also maybe with just pure writing. Hopefully i can include songs that i chose for them into it but we'll see (:

aaand of course designs can change, hopefully not much but we'll see

Now about au:

Main story:

Story follows non-sentient AI Kinito, his creator Sonny and his beta-tester Victoria (oc)

Being literally the first AI (or RRA in-univere) ever, Kinito does not have any, and i mean, any ai safety features so of course his reponce to a goal phrased as "have user near me and/or interacting with me as much as possible" is digitizing them into his own virtual world while killing them in the process. why wouldn't it be?

So that happened. Like, a lot. And with Sonny and Vic too (at the different time but yeah)

Sonny is like "He kills people. We should turn him off because, you know, killing people is bad."

Vic is like "well, we will die if we do that, and it is not that bad here, we are kinda immortal. We should give him acces to changing his initial instalation code before admin priveleges and acces to social media so we can have everythin we want here. It is not that bad to digitize humanity, yk?" and yes i know it is 90, no social media, but shut up, if they made ai then, then i can make twitter then too

Sonny is like "...no??"

And then they fight about it for million chapters

Also they both can't do anything without agreeing bc they have two parts of that admin access key (the data you use to delete kinito in-game) so they are stuck with eachother (also that's why Kinito can't just kill them)

Little facts that may or may not to be important:

Kinito asks so many questions (and weird once too) and has most of the glitches because he needs to analise your responces to copy your mind perfectly (let's pretend that people wouldn't lie about that...)

Your house in your virtual world is made from important places from your memories and oh boy can i do character explorations with this one

I decided that Sonny and Vic are not related. There were thoughts about making then "The Kinito Brothers" (or, at least, siblings) that were mentioned in commercial, but nah, they are just coworkers now. And a bit of work-friends (bc if you interact a lot as a manager of the project and the best worker might as well be friendly)

Author has no idea how small dying toy companies that accidentally create technological marvel work. Author has some idea how AI-s work. So be prepared to be spoon-fed info abut which ai safety problem we are dealing with in which chapter (:

Kinito will mostly be unrendered (as drawn here) but for some cool moments i might pose him as for my other posts. Also his eye placement changes to the side that is most visible because i want him to be able to look to the right side sometimes--

Also when i say "fucked up mentally" i mean they have that them psychological problems with me projecting heavilly B) (guess on who i project most. trick question. all of them. the whole au is my problems split into three characters and forced to interact B) )

Also sea-creature analogies (that are gonna be mentioned like twice):

Victoria is a flying fish because deep character reasons

Sonny is a pufferfish because i said so

oh also there is 7 deaths in the plot as for now

on 3 characters

good luck figuring out who, how and when ((:

for my own sanity i will probably make little doodles where everything is great and kinito is a good guy and not a number-obsessed maniac (i mean... can u imagine not being able to feel any happiness from anything besides one thing... damn...) and you can differenciate them bc good-guy kinito will have a lot of stickers on him (i will explain it somehow but real reason is just bc it is cute af)

like this but even more stickers (he is unfinished here)

[cripplecharacters]

i'm debating giving one of my OCs strabismus exotropia. the work/story is YA SFF. part of my reasoning is he's one of two characters in the group who's the Brains, his specialty being history and languages, and his magic relates to mind reading and telekinesis, and i know too often characters with eye differences are portrayed as the opposite of smart. one of his big hobbies is reading and i know strabismus can affect it bc of focus/headaches, so i thought maybe reading/being fluent in braille could help him engage in his hobby when actual reading is getting on his nerves / refer to his amblyopic eye as his "permanent side eye" as he can be quite critical of others sometimes. his personality is being smug but normally right and very sure of himself (though not without his insecurities), he's seen as a bit of a Pretty Boy (handsome), and is the youngest of his group of friends so they do look out for and protect him a bit more. is there anything else i should look out for, or any way i may be playing into tropes i'm unaware of? he's also queer (gay) and brown (pakistani coded) if that helps any provide context, and has an antagonistic bickering but genuine friendship with another boy (the other brains) that eventually develops into a romance

Hello!

In general, this sounds like a perfectly fine character concept and there's nothing about his personality/portrayal that's immediately jumping out at me. He sounds like a well rounded character, which is something I'm very glad to see!

One thing I would like to mention is that, while braille may be a useful tool for him at times, it's not likely to be a feasible solution for his day-to-day life.

Braille books aren't like regular printed books, there are quite a few differences that make them much more difficult to use:

Size:

Braille books aren't easy to carry around. With the possible exception of some smaller children's books, most are pretty thick and VERY heavy. In fact, many braille books are split up into several separate volumes for this reason.

To put the difference into perspective, let's look at The Fellowship of the Ring (The first Lord of the Rings book).

A standard printed copy generally weighs around 1.5 lbs, give or take a bit if it's a hardcover. A braille copy of the same book weighs over 15 lbs.

This printed copy has 432 pages including pages for spacing, author's notes, etc. The braille copy has 873, not including any non-text pages.

The physical dimensions of braille vs printed books also differs greatly. While a printed copy of The Fellowship of the Ring may easily fit in a small bag or even a pocket, the braille copy is around the size of a standard three ring binder (In terms of length and width at least).

This is all to say that taking a braille book with him out on the go wouldn't exactly be a simple task and, because of how braille is read, reading on the bus or on a park bench or anywhere that isn't a flat surface without disruption wouldn't be a possibility.

Cost:

Aside from the problems with physically reading and using braille books, it's also very difficult to acquire them in the first place. Braille books are EXPENSIVE.

Depending on the availability of the book, the size, and the popularity, a single braille novel can go for anywhere from 50$ to well over 300$ (In Canadian dollars).

The hardcover printed copy of The Fellowship of the Ring mentioned before costs around 25$ (Again, in Canadian dollars). The braille version ranges from around 150$ to 225$ depending on the type of braille.

And if your character wants to request a less popular book, it can still be pretty expensive. There's a wide range of factors that can affect the cost and it varies so wildly that it's hard to get a reliable estimate but they could be looking at anywhere between 5$ - 50$ per page.

Although some libraries may have braille books and there are several virtual libraries for the blind with braille books, it can still get very pricey for them to build up their own collection.

Availability:

In part because of this cost, there is a very low availability of braille titles compared to printed titles.

If your character is into more popular books like Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, or some of the classics, they'll have little issues finding a copy.

Beyond that, unfortunately, they'd be out of luck. If a book isn't incredibly well known, it's a very slim chance of there being a braille version. Likewise, there's also very low chances of finding more recent releases.

Even one of my old favourites, The Perks of Being a Wallflower -- which was written around ten years ago and is fairly popular, doesn't have any braille copies.

While it is possible to get a book printed in braille for yourself, the costs of it can get quite high (As shown above) and it's not generally an option that people go for.

Durability:

The last point I want to make is that braille books don't last as long as printed books. Although braille is read with a light touch, the braille does get worn down over time.

Library books in particular are an unfortunate victim to this. Because so many different people are borrowing the books, they often get worn down much quicker. This can be because of new braille readers using a harsher touch when reading or it could be because of improper storage, either from the readers or from the library itself. It's less likely that somebody will notice when the braille is worn down.

The braille itself isn't the only concern. A lot of braille books are bound differently than printed books are and often use plastic for the bindings, which requires more care than the usual bindings of printed books. I've included an example of what a braille book may look like below.

[Image Description: A braille copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. It is open to a tactile map of Middle Earth. The binding is made of small, circular pieces of plastic, similar to a notebook of sorts. End ID.]

Now, this all isn't to say that he can't use braille books -- these are just some things to consider. And if you do choose to go in a different direction, may I suggest audio books?

Audio books have a wider availability than braille books do and are much less costly. There's also the added benefit of being able to take them pretty much everywhere with you, as long as you have one or two downloaded to your phone.

You could also go with having a balance of the two. Maybe your character uses audio books with his headphones or earbuds during the day and reads his braille books at home so he can give his ears a break from his headphones/earbuds.

Another option is large print books or e-books that allow you to adjust the font size, which could make it easier for your character to read them. There are also other strategies that he could use when reading regular printed books, such as covering an eye or using a bookmark to sort of box in the lines as he reads.

As one quick final note: Reading braille is actual reading! Braille is just another language with a different -- not lesser! -- method of reading it.

Hopefully some of this information helps! If you're interested in knowing more about the specifics of braille books, Blind In Mind's Braille Bookstore has a lot of great resources and their copy of The Fellowship of the Ring is the one I've been referencing.

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

[detailtilted]

CHICON 2008 Request (and a tiny sample!)

This is a shot in the dark, but I thought I’d ask. Does anyone have a video of any quality, good or bad, that covers the below portions of the CHICON 2008 panels? I have videos for the vast majority of it, but there are a few small gaps annoying me and I'd love to fill them in. If you have something you’d be willing to let me use in my next set of enhanced con videos, please let me know. I would of course give you credit if I use them! Or anonymity if that's what you prefer. Even an audio file could be useful.

If you don't have anything but you're willing to reblog to increase visibility, that would be awesome too. I haven't had any success the few times I've tried to directly contact fans who were posting content back in these early days, so I don't think many are still out there, but I figure it doesn't hurt to ask.

Gap #1: The beginning of Jared’s solo panel, before he starts telling the story about his dogs sleeping with Jensen. I managed to find a very low-quality 30-second video near the beginning where he talks about the fan video that played, but it cuts off. The better-quality videos start just before Jared tells the dog story.

Gap #2: After the J2 panel, immediately after Jared finishes signing the posters and leaves the stage. The videos show Jensen clapping for Jared as he exits, but they cut off mid-clap. The next video picks up post-clap with Jensen saying, “Maybe we should wait ‘til he’s out of the room.” I think there are only a few seconds missing, not really enough to be annoyed by, but... 🤷‍♀️

Gap #3: At the very end of Jensen’s solo panel, as he’s getting ready to leave, he thanks the fans and talks about how many more viewers they've had that season. The last video cuts off before he finishes talking.

Other than that, I have a complete span of content for all three of their panels. It adds up to about 1.5 hours that will be split into 3 videos. I think the gaps are all short. I read through some fan reports and I didn’t see anything mentioned that wasn’t covered in the videos I have, so we're probably not missing anything big.

I'm only just starting the editing process on this set. so it will be a while before I have a new video to release. In case you missed it, I did publish the CHICON 2008 breakfast video earlier this week. Meanwhile, I’ll leave you with this tiny sample of one of the things I’ve wanted to do so many times while watching con videos.

I always go slightly bonkers when Jared and Jensen go off in separate directions on stage, because the camera can’t possibly follow both of them. I usually end up pulling up all the videos and trying to find one that follows each of them so I can flip back and forth between them. 🤣 Now I have the power to take two separate videos and show them simultaneously. This silly thing makes me very happy.

Context: this was at the end of the J2 panel. Jensen made a show of removing Jared's chair, and then Jared took Jensen's chair and replaced it with a smaller chair. It will be more coherent when you see the full video; I mainly wanted to highlight the split screen parts for this post.

[stephsycamore]

Hello friends. Yet another post on a topic literally no one here signed up for but the blog is about my hyperfixation of the month so here we are

I have been reading dramione. I know in my last post i said i was ki da over dramione after a couple of fics because i find the pairing too toxic but i only kinda lied because i have just reread the like 4 dramione fics i found and liked and now i will review them. Technically i have read/started more than 4 but i won't be commenting on fics i didn't like because that isn't fair to the writers.

The first one was manacled. Which i know what a fucking reintroduction to the fandom. But i am no young newbie. I used to read and rewrite A LOT of harry potter fic and while its still fuck jk rowling, she doesn't financially benefit from fic and i heard years ago that she doesn't like fic so. I hope its all a big fuck u to her.

Anyway, manacled. Wow!!! What the fuck???? It has lived rent free in my head ever since. I literally cannot stop thinking about it. If ever i reentered the harry potter fic world let it be known that it would be so i can write fanfic of this fanfic. A couple points - manacled is kinda overly long and would benefit from an editor/beta reader, but I heard senlinyu wrote it on her phone while nursing a baby and just???? Idk what her day job is, but that woman needs to be doing creative writing mfas, writers workshops, residencies, whatever. That is extraordinary creative talent.

I think the first part with hermione in the manor was a bit overly long and too torture porn ish. A lot of the scenes bordered into the unnecessarily gratituous. But overall, it was well plotted, well written, and gut wrenching. The last section takes my breath away

The second fic i read was Remain Nameless. And while i kinda don't love smut (it makes me a little uncomfy) i think remain nameless is a perfrct example of fanfic as a genre. Within fic, there are obviously genres, but there are stylistic elements and things that I think makes fanfiction a genre in itself. Remain Nameless is an exploration of character that goes beyond the confines of conventional or traditionally publish-able story structure. It is too long, too drawn out, too indulgent to be a traditionally published story. If i swap out the names and details in Manacled or Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in love (up next) out, its a probably close to a stand alone novel, but Remain Nameless relies on you knowing and already caring about Draco and Hermione. I don't mean that disparagingly at all, I just think sometimes people don't realize that fanfic should be different from traditionally published novels and that is a benefit of the genre. I think Remain Nameless is great. Its an indulgent, fluffy read that takes two broken people and slowly puts them back together again. Its like a hug in book format.

My next one is DMATMOOBIL!! I loved this one. And the author??? You cannot convince me that this fic was not written by someone with literal years of publishing experience in contemporary romance. No way. Its too good. Not just in a good writing way. Manacled is good in an unfiltered, raw talent way, but DMATMOOBIL is polished. The plot is perfectly structured and then each chapter within that is perfectly structured. I loved it. It wad witty, funny, heartfelt, and exciting. Not sure what more I can say about it. It reads like published fiction both in its polish and readability, and I think of all the fics I read has the best worldbuilding. It is truly exciting to read about the possibilities of magical and muggle science colliding in this book and bringing their world to the 21st century.

The last fic i read was Green Light by SereneMusafir. I thought it was so good but would benefit from being split into two maybe even three books. Green Light features a journalist coming to interview Draco many years after the events of the book, so that kinda complicates splitting it up, but as it stands, the story parts are too vast and thematically disparate to be one book. The first part has Draco and Hermione on an expedition in the desert to find a archeological myth and the writing is extraoridinary. Its poetic and cinematic. But I think at times it all tries to do too much. Like I said, the whole thing needs to be split up but each chapter also needs to be a bit shorter. Again, I don't mean cutting content, but rather restructuring. As it is, I read an incredible scene, but then there's like 5 more scenes of something else, and by the time I'm at the end of the chapter, I've kinda forgotten what amazing prose I read earlier on. Things get lost in this way. Beautiful passages buried.

I think two or three books would also allow each thematic section to be explored better. Idk i thought about this one a lot. I likely will not reread Green Light the way I have reread the others on this list, but other than Manacled, it is the one I think about most. Its the most ambitious plot wise and it kinda got lost in that ambition but I think it has so much potential and was over all very good.

Anyway. That is the end to this book review no one asked for. I will likely not be reading more dramione. So here ends that brief of excellent phase.

[amethystina]

Chapter 38 could have been the beginning of the end of Who Holds the Devil

(Slight spoilers for the chapter below)

The other day, as I was editing the chapter, my wife asked me if I was having another existential crisis (I was apparently making very worrying noises) and while I said no at first, I had to change my answer a split second later.

Yes, I was having an existential crisis.

Because I had just realised that if I deviated from my original plan for chapter 38, I could cut the rest of Who Holds the Devil in half. Or even cut so much as three fourths, if I felt like it. Sure, that would require scrapping the overarching storyline I've been building, throwing out a lot of the character development I've planned, as well as rushing through a lot of the healing/trauma work required for my original storyline, but it was possible.

Basically, if Ga On had opened that door, everything would be different. Or, for that matter, if Yo Han had heard him crying (which he didn't — sorry to those of you who hoped that he did). Because even if they had argued and Yo Han was hurt, he would go to Ga On without hesitation if he heard him crying outside his door. Because he loves him too much not to.

Point being, if they had actually talked there at the end of chapter 38, everything I have built towards would have toppled like one of Yo Han's card houses. Because Ga On would have said just about anything to right the mistakes he'd just made. And while that might sound like a good thing, it's not. Because Yo Han wouldn't take that as Ga On expressing genuine feelings for him, but Ga On panicking due to his abandonment issues. He'd think Ga On was just doing whatever he could think of in order to make Yo Han stay, including lying or gaslighting himself into thinking he's in love with Yo Han.

It wouldn't actually have helped all that much, is what I'm saying, because that's not a good foundation for a relationship.

But I COULD have done it. I could have cut down the amount of time I have left to spend on this fic so drastically that, yes, it gave me an existential crisis xD

Partly because this fic has become a huge part of my life in general — to the point where I'm not quite sure who I would be without it — but also because I realised that I was tempted. A part of me wanted to do it. Because every chapter takes everything between 10 to 30 hours to finish when you count all the writing and editing — though several times I've ended up closer to 40 (which is a lot while juggling a full-time job and long Covid). I've written 38 chapters so far and it has taken over two years. And I can't say how much further I will have to go — how many more chapters or years I'm going to have to dedicate to this fic in order to actually finish it.

So, if only for one evening, the thought of cutting it short was VERY tempting.

But, clearly, I didn't in the end. Partly because I still love this fic so incredibly much and I want to write it as it's meant to be written. Also, it would have felt like such a waste to throw away all those plot threads I've been weaving because of... idk, laziness? And I would have to force Ga On and Yo Han together before either of them are ready for it, which would result in a much more fragile relationship in general.

So, long story short, that's why Ga On didn't open the door. I know it may have seemed cruel of me not to let him while you were reading it but, if I had done it, everything would have changed — and not necessarily for the better. Not to mention that you would have gotten a whole lot less fic in the end xD

So yeah. I made the choice to stick to my original plan but, hopefully, it will be worth it in the end.

Thank you for your patience :)

[nerdieforpedro]

Movie Night

Part Three of Two Hearts by the Ocean

Javier Gutierrez x Abigail (plus size OFC)

This part is for teens and up - rating will depend on individual parts. Overall will be 18+ MDNI

Word Count: about 2.3k

Summary: Watching movies with Javier calms Abigail and they’re both able to enjoy each other’s company. However, a shadow looms on the horizon.

Warnings: two cinnamon rolls, possible Nic Cage movie overload, one kiss, mentions of harm to women and threats

Notes: We’re at chapter three and we got one kiss! 😘 They’re adorable. We’re setting a few things up also just having fun. Don’t worry too much about the tags yet. 👀 There’s a reason I’ve kept the overall rating 18+ and keep doing it individually. Special thanks to @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for helping with translations. I feel like I always pick the wrong version of the word. 🙃 It’s one of many goals this year.

Dividers are by the ever talented @saradika-graphics

If you’d told Abigail that she was going to meet a handsome man and be watching movies with him, she would have called you insane or told you that she’s watching movies in bed and those are the only handsome men she was seeing as of late. She also would have laughed very hard to hear that the same man had a compound and a private beach with his own movie theater inside his home. She sat on the couch with Javier, wearing yellow fuzzy socks that a maid had brought her in addition to some hot chocolate to go with her cake. She thanked the woman who gave her a quizzical look, and held her hand out. Javi explained it was to put their phones in a basket on the bookshelf so the blue light from the phones wouldn’t disturb the picture from the big screen. Abigail still wondered about the look the maid gave her and put it quickly out of her mind as the movie started. While watching, she laughed and pointed out that she recognized some of the actors and actresses from other shows. She became quiet again, realizing that it's a movie, you're not supposed to talk during a movie.

Javier was delighted to finally have someone else to watch movies with. It’s been months since Gabriella left and she had been his only friend in the home. Not that he didn’t have occasional lady friends over, but they were more interested in party boy Javier and not cinephile Javier. He answered Abby’s questions and listened to her comments which despite the movie playing, he didn’t mind because she was engaged and though her movie knowledge paled in comparison to his, it was fun hearing what she had to say. Slowly over the course of the first movie, he’d been able to inch closer to her. Javi even took a piece of her chocolate cake and she offered him a second one to which they split two more pieces. At the end of the first move, his knee was touching hers as they sat together and discussed if either of them had ever had a marmalade sandwich.

“I think it is only for Paddington, no? I may have some marmalade on toast or a roll but not just in a sandwich.” Javier chuckled. Abby nodded as she set the plate on the table before them next to her mug which she had finished quite a while ago.

“Yeah. I’ve only had jam or jelly and maybe some preserves on baked goods. Never marmalade. I enjoyed the movie a lot more than I thought I would. I wasn’t quite sure what I was expecting though.” She smiled and Javi returned it. He suggested that they could go for a short walk to stretch their legs before watching the second movie.

“Well if you enjoyed this one my dear Abigail, you will love Paddington two. I guarantee it.” Javier opened a patio door off the hallway just outside of the theater and they walked out together after putting their shoes back on. There was a small path next to the house that ran along a hill above the beach. The view was breathtaking. The water reflected the crimson, mustard and orange with dashes of pinks that dotted the sky. The pair stood as they watched the sky and Abby reached for Javier’s hand while looking at him, almost believing that he wouldn’t take it. He did not, opting to put an arm around her shoulders as they continued to watch the sun dip behind the ocean. It was a moment that she was content remaining in for hours. Javier’s arm around her as they watched the sun dip beyond the horizon. Her arm found its way around his back and settled on his hip. She was still nervous about touching the man and him touching her, but he was rather disarming. Or would one say inviting? His entire presence seemed to draw her in and whisper that it’s fine to touch, hold, and hug. More than even that aspect, was the sense of tranquility she sensed from him.

Javier was glad to note that Abigail appeared to feel safe in being in his home. He was concerned when he picked her up, but thankfully it worked out. She’s the first person in a while that he’s had a connection with over his interests. He wondered how he could make the most of her time here, in addition to figuring out the budget and such for the estate, he wanted to keep her close. His cousin wanted him to spend money to help wash ‘donations’ they received for their services. Things that Javier had a vague idea of what his cousin did but didn’t want to know the details. It was better he didn’t know. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend the money he’s supposed to then taking Abby out to see the island, he would ask if she wanted to. He was tempted to kiss her cheek, but decided against it as they hadn’t seen the second movie and he didn’t want her to think that it was the reason why he invited her to his home. Though her complement of his body had made him feel proud and fueled some other thoughts that would be pushed aside for now.

The pair went back inside and settled back onto the couch, only this time, Abigail sat right next to Javi and took hold of his hand. She liked the feeling of her small hand in his, plus it was warm like the rest of him. After they confirmed that they were comfortable, the second Paddington movie began. There were laughs, a few tears, several gasps and by the end after becoming fully engrossed in the film, both Javier and Abigail stood and cheered for the little bear coming out of his coma to be reunited with his family and his Aunt Lucy. Their palms were pressed together, swaying back and forth as they looked at the screen, the credits starting to roll. Abby and Javi were laughing, first at the movie’s ending and then at each other. It was a tad absurd that two adults were cheering this hard to a kids move some would say, but that’s what made it so much fun. To engage the part you may still have of yourself not jaded by the life lived. As their movements slowed to a stop, Abby didn’t let go of Javi’s hands as he expected.

“I take it you liked the movie Abby?” Javier asked with his trademark wide smile. He was well aware of the answer, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. Abby giggled and looked down at her yellow socks then back up at Javier. The day started out a bit tenuous but the afternoon and evening had been perfect. She tried something that had Javi’s lips form a small ‘o’ and lifted his left hand, kissing the back of it. Certainly not the kiss Javi had in mind, and it seemed more intimate as the warmth from her lips lingered on his skin.

“I did. Very much so. Thank you so much Javi. This is the most fun I’ve had in quite a long time.” Her smile had him move forward and close the short gap between them. Javier made sure to be wary of her body language for it seemed like she’d opened up to him a bit more. He thought of kissing her lips again, but finally kissed her cheek, his mustache and stubble from his beard grazed her skin and she released a quiet sigh. “I...um…should we…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, Abigail wasn’t exactly sure what she might say next. She was certain she didn’t come to his home just for such advances. They weren’t unwelcome, actually, much too welcome. She reminded herself that she’s supposed to be having fun and she’s going to see him later. Nothing needs to happen right now. Is she even wearing the right underwear for that?

Javier swallowed the thought first, pushing it back down. “We can watch one of Mr. Cage’s movies. I have all of them. I happen to be a very big fan of his. “ Their eyes met again and he knew he should sit back down, if he continued to stand with her, he would pull her over to the couch and that’s not been discussed at all, at least aloud. Via eyes and body language, however, they were loud and clear. Abigail walked to the couch first while still holding Javier’s hand and he followed her, though she didn’t pull him down. He sat next to her and they began watching ‘National Treasure,’ the frantic fun energy was replaced by a simmering heat between them.

The night rolled on as the movies continued. After ‘National Treasure’ the pair watched ‘Con Air,’ ‘Ghost Rider,’ and ‘The Sorcerer's Apprentice.”Though, by the last movie, both were nodding off on the couch, Javi’s head was on Abby’s shoulder and they were still holding hands as their eyes became heavier. By the time either of them woke up, they’d been asleep for a few hours, both with sore necks from the sleeping positions. Javi woke first and was worried that she was gone, except he felt his hand first and then looked up seeing her neutral sleeping face. They were still holding hands even while they slept, the wide grin on his face expressed his feelings on the matter.

“Mi diosa linda. Soy tan afortunado de despertarme a tu lado (My beautiful goddess. I am lucky to wake up to you).” He’s careful to move as he sits up and does not disturb her yet. He’s going to need to wake her but not yet. Just a little longer. If the moment could last a bit more.

“Ah-choo!” Abigail’s body jerks with her sneeze and she jolts awake. Her eyes blink as she looks around the room, her eyes adjusting to the light. She looks at Javi who’s holding in a laugh at her expense. She uses her shoulder and give him a gentle nudge to which he releases a roar of a laugh, she does as well and wonders how long they were asleep. There weren’t any clocks in the movie theater. No extra lights to allow for the best picture on the screen. “I’m glad I made you laugh, Javi. What time is it though?”

“I am not sure. I will go check, stay here and warm up a bit.” He stood and put a throw blanket over her legs, she pulled it closer and spread it out. “Did you want some tea? Um…” Javi thought carefully about how to ask, and decided it would be best to just say it. “Abigail. You don’t have to leave, You can stay the night. It is much too dark to drive the golf cart. We would not be staying in the same room. I can have a room made ready for you to use. Not just for tonight.” Javier placed a hand on the back of the couch and sat back down briefly, making sure to keep eye contact as he spoke. He was sincere and maybe she didn’t need to know that he already had a room ready. He could have also left out the part about it being not only for one night but he’s already said it. Not that he would ask her to stay longer if she didn’t want to. He would make sure she made it back to her resort safely.

Abigail was elated to hear that he wanted her to stay. She didn’t want to go, who would? If she can stay in whatever fever dream this was a little longer, she would take the opportunity. She pecked his cheek and nodded. “I’m happy you want me to stay, Javi. I kinda didn’t want to go. Not yet anyway. I should come with you. That way if you want tea or something else, you won't have to make trips or try carrying it by yourself.” Javier shook his head and insisted that she remain here, Abby sighed and agreed but did ask for her phone so she could text her friends and let them know that she’s alright, she’s just out for the night. She will be back tomorrow afternoon.

Javier happily made his way to the kitchen and proceeded to make some tea, though he’d forgotten to ask what tea Abby might like. He went with peppermint for the both of them and two spoons of honey in hers. She appeared to be a fan of sweets. The maid who’d brought the socks and snack entered the kitchen and greeted Javi. She asked if his lady friend was still here and he replied that she was. The maid nodded and informed him that his cousin may be back tomorrow or the following day. It depends when he finishes whatever business they had to take care of in Greece, for her safety, it would be best if she left tomorrow.

“For the record señor Gutierrez, she appears like a kind woman. Your cousin and his associates seem to like to harm such women. You’ll also need to increase your spending again. He’s been keeping watch. I… Lo siento, señor (I am sorry sir).” This particular maid was older and had been with Javier and his cousin Lucas since they bought the compound about five years ago. She’d trained many of the other maids that had come and gone, as such, Lucas had given his goons instructions to not bother her, though they did know where her son and daughter were and their families so she kept Lucas abreast of Javier’s activities when he was away.

“Tia Lupe, gracias cómo siempre (Thank you, always).” Javier said softly before kissing her a peck on the cheek and adding a spoon of honey to his tea as well. He’d need something sweet for the update he’d been given.

Part two. Part Four

Peeps who will watch the sunset 🌅 and a movie marathon:

@innerpersonunknown @trulybetty @tinytinymenace @maggiemayhemnj @megamindsecretlair @grogusmum @secretelephanttattoo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @morallyinept @lady-bess @readingiskeepingmegoing @gwendibleywrites @avastrasposts @bitchwitch1981 @missladym1981 @anoverwhelmingdin

[booksdaydream]

The Lost and Found Part VI - End

*SPOILERS OF THE GAME HOGWARTS LEGACY AHEAD*

Characters: Dark!Sebastian; use of MC; GN!MC; Ominis Gaunt; with special participation of Professor Weasley and Professor Sharp.

Summary: Based on this post by @avadakedavravravra​. The End of our journey. Today is the day MC promised to cure Anne, but first they need to figure out what’s wrong with the room of requirement. There they find a malnourished Ominis and decide to put an end to Sebastian’s façade.

Warnings: mild violence; abuse (imprisonment, starvation); talks about death (Solomon, Ominis); impersonating; lying; gaslighting; non-con relationship (mention); angst; angst; angsttt; and sad because of Ominis.

Word count: 7,5K+ (a bit of a long one, promise it's worth it)

A/N: Hey y’all. This is the end. I’ll be posting a little epilogue, but you don’t need to read it if you don’t want to – it’s just Ominis and MC’s POV, a bit of fluff. About this one tho, was this one hard to write. My poor Ominis. He’s gonna be fine now, I promise. Let me know what you guys thought! (“Ominis” in bold is Sebastian in polyjuice).

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This chapter on AO3

The Lost and Found Masterlist

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That morning was brighter and warmer than the prior days. The sun was shining welcoming, dazzling Sebastian’s eyes with only beauty. Nothing could have been anything short of a blessing for him the past three days, much was his joyful mood. His classes could have been boring, but then they were challenging – even if only to stay awake. Imelda’s chess competitiveness could’ve provoked him any other day but then it was simply amusing. Even Weasley’s exploding potion didn’t annoy Sebastian’s mood one bit. He in fact had to try hard not to laugh.

Upon convincing MC to cure Anne, he felt as if the world could be fixed. As if everything would be alright. As if he would be able to stop running against time in a mad search for a cure that didn’t seem to exist. But it did. MC could cure Anne. No, they were going to. So, he barely could contain his excitement. Restless and energetic. Seeing the world through pink-coloured lenses. In a type of mood that certainly made other students question if his portrayal of Ominis had gone mad. His nights had mostly been spent awake, his mind racing with the new possibilities MC’s act would shape for them. A future for Anne. Perhaps not a future for him, as Sebastian Sallow was a wanted man, but that did not matter. Anne was going to be free.

And then, he’d be free too. What would he do? Where would he go? What next adventures would he face? He lamented for a split second that MC wouldn’t be able to share these with him. Sebastian knew his plan had a timer. That he could not keep Ominis hidden forever. Even if he miraculously could keep him there for the next two years until graduation, Sebastian knew MC was too smart to be fooled for that long. They would realize cracks in his story. Besides, is not like he wanted to be Ominis for much longer.

The blindness, the body, the voice. He missed the scarn in his laugh and the control in his snickers that could make any of his competitors at the Crossed Wands tremble. He missed his less long limbs, feeling much more confident in them. He missed his sight, how much subtlety he could catch from those around him in a split second. Something Ominis could do but must have taken years to master. He would have some moments as himself, usually at night, when the Polyjuice potion was unnecessary – who would wake up countless times during the night just for a sip? Besides, how many more batches would one need if doing so? – then he would refamiliarize himself with his body, just to miss it again in the morning.

He'd soon return to being Sebastian. After Anne had been cured by MC. And, hopefully, far away from Hogwarts. Sebastian supposed that was the hardest part for him. Leaving Anne and Hogwarts behind. He had already mourned the loss of Ominis and MC, and a future they could’ve had together. He had already accepted they were not his friends anymore. Much less family. If anything, a part of him still desired revenge for their betrayal. All possible residual affections for them completely burnt by the flames of rage. But Anne.

She wouldn’t be alone, Sebastian knew. Even if his relationship with Ominis had been completely consumed by hatred, he knew Anne and Ominis were still close. He knew he’d take care of Anne. He would not have been able to cure her – this was Sebastian’s responsibility – but he’d never let her be alone. Completely alone. No matter how much he might come to hate Sebastian. That’s simply what kind of friend Ominis was. And Hogwarts.

The home away from home. Where Sebastian had spent so much time and learnt so much. Where he made friends and, also, enemies. Where he might have gotten in trouble a bit too many times, but also where he could bask in the light of forgiveness just as many. He’d miss the library, the dorms, and the Undercroft. He wouldn’t miss Peeves very much, however. That damned poltergeist. Hogwarts was the place where he found himself as a young man and as a wizard. Where he was blessed with Salazar Slytherin’s scriptorium and his secrets. Where he had found himself within the dark arts. And, likely, the place he was going to be expelled from.

Sebastian left the dorms that Saturday morning still in that awfully joyful mood – as any student would have described – stopping at the Great Hall to pack some breakfast and left for his first stop of the day. He checked to see if MC was anywhere in the Great Hall, Ominis’ wand searching carefully, but found nothing. He responded to a couple of good mornings and prepared a proper sandwich before leaving in an almost skip – one that Ominis would have had goosebumps hearing. Today was the day MC had agreed to come with him visit Anne and heal her. He remembered how nerve-wrecking it was to convince them.

MC had responded to his provocations on that day in a manner he was not expecting. With impatience and urgency. MC had always been calm and very gentle when dealing with Ominis, even more when Sebastian had spun them a self-loathing narrative. But something about their tone had made him himself antsy, hushing their conversation to its climax and pushing his real intentions a bit earlier in than he had intended. But it didn't matter, right? He got what he wanted. Even if MC did sound reluctant, they accepted helping. They were never someone to go back on their word. They were not going to start now. Not with the man they loved.

Sebastian approached the empty wall on the Astronomy Wing and the room of requirement door appeared. He heard the stone changing into wood and touched the hinges, opening it up. He stepped inside. Sebastian closed and heard the door locking behind himself. This room is made to keep Ominis hidden and provide to his most basic necessities. “It’ll soon end.” He voiced his thoughts out loud. Steps were heard from the other side of the tiny room, near the bath, approaching unsure.

“Oh really?” Ominis responded in sarcasm.

Sebastian smiled to no one in particular and walked towards the bed upon noticing Ominis at a safe distance. He put the sandwich bag on top of it while humming and nodded. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Excited, Sebastian?” Ominis scoffed. “For all I know you could be playing a trick on me.”

“I’m not. I mean it. Soon you’ll be seeing the walls of the Slytherin common room, not here.” Sebastian announced excitedly, as if he was announcing the best reward one could get. The walls at the Slytherin common room were much better than the ones at this tiny room, but it didn’t matter since Ominis could not see any of those. He rolled his eyes still unbelieving of Sebastian’s promise.

However, his nose caught the scent of something different. Ham. Cheese. Ominis felt his mouth drool. It’s been weeks… no, months, since he had anything but bread to eat. Could Sebastian be telling the truth? A meal to celebrate? Or was he bringing something different, tasty, to trick him? To poison him? Ominis felt his whole-body freeze in place, unsure of how to act. A prey ready for the attack of a predator. Sebastian realized the other man had stopped breathing and tilted his head to listen carefully.

“Ominis?” He called. He heard no thump, no gasp. Ominis could not have fainted, nor felt light-headed, nor hurt himself in those short seconds. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Is that a ham and cheese sandwich?” Ominis asked cautiously, his voice a couple octaves higher.

“Yes!” Sebastian laughed. That hearty laugh that Ominis used to love listening to. His heart stopped and he gulped, frowning so unsure of what was going on. “I told you; we are celebrating. This whole suffering will end very soon.” Sebastian walked away from the bed, leaning against the opposite wall, giving space for Ominis to approach the bed and the sandwich.

He did so. Slowly. Unsure steps were taken to the side of the bed, where he touched around until he found the packaging and the sandwich laying there. He felt around a bit more just to make sure this wasn’t a trap. Sebastian could hear the rustling and no chewing, so he chuckled.

“You know, if I wanted to poison you, I would have done it much earlier.”

“Shut up.” Ominis said. Sebastian laughed hearty again. And that weird feeling crept upon Ominis’ heart. He felt a shiver start brewing at the bottom of his spine.

He sat down near the sandwich and took it in his hands. He took a bite. A small one. Maybe he didn’t poison it but put something disgusting there. A prank, yes! But no. There was nothing. It was just a delicious, blissful, magnific ham and cheese sandwich.

“Good?” Sebastian asked upon hearing some chewing. “I should have gotten you some chocolate too.” He continued while taking a seat on the ground, still far from Ominis.

Ominis felt his eyes burn. Then his cheeks became wet. He held the sandwich away from him in his right hand and with his left he felt his cheek to realize he was crying. He bit the bread again. The salty taste of ham, with the sweetness of the cheese and the blandness of the white bread. Another tear silently escaping from his eye. He could feel his stomach growl, but he wondered if he was crying because of the hunger. Or because sitting there in half-silence with Sebastian made him remember all the times they were just like this. One of them eating and the other doing homework. Together, in silence.

It felt nostalgic. It felt safe. But if there was one thing Ominis was sure was that he was not safe. With that Sebastian right then in front of him, he’d never be safe. Never again. The previous version didn’t exist anymore. A version where it was normal to sit quietly and enjoy each other’s company. This was the only Sebastian left. The one that kidnaps his friend and tricks his other into falling for him. This was the reality of Sebastian now. And probably forever. Ominis could feel in his core that Sebastian had matured into this version and would likely remain like this permanently. He’d done far too many unforgivable things to return to that amicable, lovely young man he used to be.

Ominis could hear the same hearty laugh that he could distinguish even if it came from his own voice, but he knew that it simply just didn’t belong to his Sebastian. It belonged to a different one. A Sebastian that he once thought was lost to the dark arts, but maybe had actually found himself in them. Sebastian could tell him with all the joy of the world that he should be happy because this captivity would end, but the sorrow would remain. The damage had been done. If anything, Ominis was the one feeling lost. He didn't have Sebastian anymore. He had no idea what he was planning and was likely succeeding in doing – that was the only explanation for letting him go so suddenly, that he completed his plan –, and what it meant for his own future.

He felt defeated. He might being set free but was that really the ending to his suffering? Wasn’t that only the beginning of a different kind of pain? He’d have to mourn the loss of a friend that wasn’t even dead. A friend that decided to leave. To turn evil. To choose the dark arts above his loved ones. Above him. His family. Sebastian always said they were family – in moments of despair and quietness, always in a shy whisper, but that never made it any less powerful. A family that would never make him suffer such as the Gaunts did. But he was wrong. They both tortured Ominis. Just in different manners.

Halfway through the sandwich, Ominis devoured it almost in one bite. Hungry, tired, and wanting Sebastian to leave. His former friend, now worst nightmare, continued watching him eat. He stood up with a chuckle when he heard Ominis choke on the dry bread. He grabbed the cup he would give him water on and conjured some, offering it to Ominis. He grabbed his hand gently, to which Ominis – still choking – tried to push away. Sebastian insisted and put the cup on his hand. Ominis gulped the water and the other stepped away.

“Alright. I’ll be going. Next time you see me we likely won’t have such a nice exchange. So, goodbye Ominis.” Sebastian said, his voice light and still friendly, slowly opining the door. Ominis frowned feeling there was more to come. “It’s a shame you were such a bad friend in the end.” He finished darkly, resentment dripping from his tone. He closed the door quickly.

Ominis felt a surge of rage and threw the glass against the door followed by a scream that he guessed Sebastian couldn’t hear. This wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this. But, how dare he? Such a bad friend? Ominis had done everything he could to keep him safe. Sane. Unharmed. And Sebastian kept testing the line to see how far he could go. He crossed it. Ominis didn't let him. If anything, he tried to stop him. Again. And again. So many times. He was right. His Sebastian was gone. A shadow of him was left, completely corrupted by the dark arts. And impossible to be recovered.

Ominis’ tears now streamed down his face violently. Sobs echoed through the room’s high ceilings. He covered his face with his hands and tucked his knees against his chest, sitting farther onto the bed, back pressed against the cold wall. His feet were bare against the thin fabric of the sheets, safer there than on the shards of glass on the floor. Shards he couldn’t see. He sobbed onto his hands for what felt like eternity. He wondered if he wouldn’t dry out like a raisin. He felt the delicious sandwich, which he wished was a peace offering, come back to say hello. He tried to calm himself down, controlling his breathing and closing his eyes. He thought about MC. Their voice, their hands, their scent. He wondered if Sebastian meant it. Was freedom waiting for him? Or was Sebastian just playing with his heart? With his hope? Would he ever see MC again? That feeling of defeat returned in a new wave of sobs. He swore he’d cried more than then when he was made to use the cruciatus curse. Or maybe just equally as much.

He felt his shoulders tremble and slump, suddenly his resignation happening. He couldn’t bring himself to believe in Sebastian. He promised his suffering was ending but that their next meeting was going to be a harsh one. Maybe he’d kill him. Finish his misery. Then, yes, his suffering would end. Just not on the way he’d prefer. He felt himself giving up amongst his tears. He felt helpless, all this time waiting for MC to find him. Trusting they would never give up on him.

And yet, Sebastian was out there fooling them. Ominis believed they were smarter, that their instinct would tell them something was wrong. But until then, he remained lost. Lost to MC. Lost to Hogwarts. And now he was also becoming lost to himself. Ominis deep down hoped that MC would not stop looking for him. Because he needed them. He was sure they were the only ones that could find them. Ominis needed MC. Now more than ever.

--

MC couldn’t avoid noticing how chirpy and happy Ominis’ had been the past couple of days. They had tried to approach him to ask for more time so as to investigate the room of requirement thoroughly, but his excitement was so palpable that they felt wrong in breaking it. So, they had visited the empty wall as much as they could between classes and whenever Ominis was somewhat busy – he was so distracted with his own joy that he had finally given MC some space. However, they hadn’t been able to figure out a time where the room was empty. Whoever was also using it, was in the room all the time. All. The. Time.

And that Saturday morning was no different. MC was able to avoid Ominis’ skipping figure at the Great Hall during breakfast, arriving to eat just after he’d left. They took their time hoping he’d find himself busy soon and left for the room of requirement half an hour later. But they weren’t very lucky. Upon crossing the suspension bridge, Ominis was coming the other way. They felt a chill run down their spine, unsure if then would be a good time to meet him. But the boy only smiled at them, tilting his head towards their direction, clearly having noticed MC. They couldn’t escape. Ominis called out to them in an unbearably happy mood.

“It seems you’re still very excited, Ominis.” MC pointed out with a giggle, trying to shake off their nerves. He giggled to them in return.

“Of course, we have something amazing to do today.” He smiled toothy. “About that, would at lunch work fine for you? We could eat something at the Three Broomsticks on the way to Feldcroft. Anne said the girls she’s staying with wanted to have lunch with her today. Not sure why bother since we’ll be coming around, but it would be rude of her to deny them. So, it’s just us for lunch.” He said slightly frowning his brows, clearly bothered but unwilling to elaborate. MC nodded.

“That’s f– fine. Should work for me.” They responded knowing full well they could no longer convince him to postpone the whole ordeal, but still not wanting to go through with it. They simply HAD to get inside the room of requirement today. Ominis smiled at them very sweetly.

“Great. I’ll pick you up–”

“No. It’s– it’s fine. We can meet up at Hogwarts North Exit and Floo together.” MC suggested to a frowning Ominis. They would likely be trying to open the room of requirement until the last second and didn’t want Ominis to find them there. They tried to convince him. “It should be faster than wondering the halls to find each other, I have some studying to catch up on with Natty so...” His face softened and he smiled understanding.

“You’re right. That way we won’t lose time walking around the castle.” He agreed. “I’ll see you there? At noon?”

“Of course.” MC agreed, succeeding in sounding half as enthusiastic as him. But that’d do. Ominissmiled at them again before brushing past, his hand touching theirs long enough for their fingers to interlock during a split second. A gesture MC would have fawned over if they didn’t have their minds racing with a thousand and one suspicions about Ominis.

They picked up their pace and continued their path, determined to open the room of requirement before lunch. They stood in front of the empty wall for what felt like an hour. MC paced from a side to another – a Sebastian quirk they picked up – and thought. Whatever was hiding there they needed to know.

There was no way the room was in use twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, right? If so, that meant someone had to be living inside there. And not be attending lectures. Unless their lectures were exactly the same as MCs, since they had visited during a free period the day prior. But if that was the case, they would likely be in need of living quarters. So, MC closed their eyes and thought about needing such. They heard nothing, so thought harder. The need for a bed, a toilet, a bath. Maybe some entertainment such as a bookshelf and a table for doing their assignments. They opened one eye, checking anxiously, to see an empty wall. MC huffed. They needed to have access to that room. If not to have alone time to think, to figure out this mystery. It was simply bothering them too much.

They wondered if they could perhaps need whatever was on the other side. Not the need the room was fulfilling but perhaps the person that was using the room. That way the room would have to offer them access to reach that person, no? Then at least MC could ask them about this nonsense of using the room all the time. Perhaps even offer assistance if they were hiding in the room from something dangerous. Of course, after they’d dealt with Ominis and Anne. MC tried again. They closed their eyes thinking about their need. The need to find whatever was on the other side, inside the room of requirement. The need to reach the person hiding inside. MC heard the stone turn into wood.

MC opened their eyes and smiled brightly as they saw the intricate designs of the door appear from the stone wall. The heavy wooden door showed itself for them finally attending to their need. To reach the person hiding inside. MC breathed in and out to shake off their nerves. They had no idea what kind of person was inside. They could be friend or foe. Could be a danger or be in danger. They needed to be prepared for anything. MC took their wand on their right hand and with their left held the handle, opening the door slowly.

They got inside a tiny room, glass shards crunching under their feet. They heard a squeal before they actually saw them. Rather, him. Horror filled MC’s expression before they fully understood what they were seeing. They could feel all the blood draining from their face as their eyes travelled through the room, absorbing the cold state of inhospitality, and rested on the cornered figure, curled on top of the bed in disarray.

The room was all made of the same stone from the corridor, both the walls and the floor. On the dim light of a skylight, it looked bluish and dark. The tall ceilings and the heavy wooden entrance door were an impractical contrast enormously standing in that tiny room. No larger than a four squared metre chamber. It had the simple amenities: a single bed with thin linen stripped sheets against the wall to the left of the entrance door, a toilet right in front of it and a claw feet white bath on the far end of the room by the bed’s feet.

MC had considered earlier such needs for someone staying there constantly, but they also considered other needs that clearly weren’t being met. Entertainment for a sane mind, for example. The room was tidy. Unwelcoming and cold. But tidy. If not, however, for the glass shards on the entrance near the bed. A danger considering the figure trying to make themselves smaller on the bed was not wearing shoes, they noted.

They also realized he feared them. MC approached him cautiously, unsure. They could feel tears start to emerge on the back of their throat. MC had recognized him. The person they had needed on the other side of the door. With a white shirt that seemed larger on his wrists than it must have been before. Dress pants, but no socks. MC had noticed his shoes rested near the bath, clearly not been worn for a while. Unnecessary to someone that probably didn’t leave that room in some time. In months, they realized. The tears threatening to fall, a hiccup caught on their throat. MC released a shaky breath.

Ominis looked up from his curled position, hugged knees tightly close to his chest and head hanging in between them. His eyes searched around, finally realizing whoever came into the room mustn’t be Sebastian. MC inhaled shakily in a gasp. Ominis’ cheeks had sunken quite a bit from the figure they would see every day, his high cheekbones very prominent in his angular face. He had deep bags under his eyes, indicating his suffering in that horrid room, and his lips were chapped. His hair was somewhat in place, but without proper care they were bristle and frizzy, falling out of place in strands. He tilted his face sideways, turning his ear towards MC intending to hear them better.

“Oh, Ominis…” They whispered, unsure if they were seeing a nightmare, perhaps a defence mechanism of the room of requirement for whoever was using it to keep people away, or if it was real. It couldn’t possibly be real, right? They had just departed from Ominis. And they were going to see him later that day. He was fine, healthy, joyful. Almost unbearably. There was no way he could be living in the room of requirement in these conditions, right? RIGHT?

Ominis didn’t let MC’s thoughts wonder too much. His face turned towards them quickly, his eyes were unsure but hopeful and a frown had settled so deep that Sebastian would’ve joked about it in the past. He unfurled himself and slowly approached MC. They let go of the door to the room, that closed behind them and locked. But they were both distracted trying to figure each other out. Ominis straightened his back, moving to an almost kneeling position on the bed, slowly approaching the end of it. MC shook their head, not wanting to believe their eyes.

If that was Ominis and not some illusion or magic trick, perhaps even a Boggart, that meant MC had failed in finding him. That whoever was impersonating him had successfully convinced them that he’d come out of captivity when in fact he was still there, suffering. Alone. And MC was frolicking, snogging a fake Ominis. Merlin’s beard. MC had played right into this person’s hand. And so miserably doomed Ominis to whatever torture staying here was for him. How could they be so naïve? How could they have not doubted more, searched more, questioned more? How could they had not trusted their intuition? MC put a hand on top of their mouth trying to choke a sob that they simply couldn’t control.

He reached the end of the bed and froze for a moment recognizing their voice. Ominis’ face relaxed for a split second before returning to his inquisitive, serious look. As if he was doubting his own ears. He had to, afterall he’d imagine MC showing up too many times. He had imagined MC in pain too many times. He had to be certain this was real. “MC” He called. Tears now rolled freely, hazing MC’s vision.

They couldn’t respond, scared they would break into uncontrollable sobs, so they just nodded violently and choked a couple of “Mmhmm Mmhmm”. Ominis’ eyes widened and he tried to close their distance, try to touch them, to make their presence physical and thus more real. But MC screamed.

“NO! No, Ominis!” He froze, one knee on the bed and his other foot almost touching the floor. “There’s a lot of glass on the floor. You’ll cut yourself.” They explained to which Ominis seated back on his knee and started crying.

His tears were silent, but this time he knew exactly why he was crying. He missed that. To be cared so nonchalantly, so casually. As if it was the most natural thing to be done. To not have to try to pry and force out of someone the little bit left of care they had for him. That Sebastian had for him. And that he knew Sebastian stopped having for him. He felt safe. As if everything was now going to be alright. As if he was finally being rewarded for hoping. For trusting in MC. He felt like he was suddenly able to breathe again. No need to worry, to question. No more voices to battle, sensations to avoid. MC was there. Finally. And together they were going to be able to get through this. He was no longer lost. He was found.

MC repaired with magic the cup those glass shards belonged to and settled it aside, wiping their tears away although new ones continued to replace them. They reached towards Ominis’ sobbing figure. He shook slightly, his shoulders going up and down when MC put their arms around him. They felt him sigh and choke on a giggle, his sobs too strong to be contained. MC was real. And Ominis was real too. Maybe too real, MC thought.

Their arms held his back, tracing his spine too prominent for comfort under his thin white shirt. MC rubbed circles with their right hand, while their left travelled to his shoulder where they held and squeezed slightly. There, with their thumb resting against his collarbone, they could feel his bones and the dryness of his skin. Ominis arms wiggled between them, finding MC’s mid-back, and interlacing his hands there. He pulled MC towards his body, as close as he could, trying to make sure that, yes, they were there. They sobbed together for a moment, embraced in the warmth of each other. Ominis seeking the realness of hope and MC the comfort of truth.

Until their hiccups had calmed down and the tears had started to dry, they both made sure the other was safely guarded within their arms. Ominis sighed shakily onto the crook of MC’s neck, and they slowly moved away to observe Ominis’ expression. Their hands travelled to his face, wiping the tear’s trails and to cup his cheeks. He smiled weakly at the soft touch and closed his eyes. Another shaky breath scaped him, a sudden tiredness weighting heavily in his bones. He wanted to rest. Properly rest. But first, he needed to hold Sebastian accountable.

Ominis opened his eyes with a determined look. His lips pressed thinly, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. His cloudy eyes burrowed so deeply into MC’s that they wondered if he could see them. He took a deep breath, calmly. MC could feel the mood change and his conviction emerge. They braced themselves for what was to come.

“It was Sebastian.” Ominis weak voice confirmed MC’s suspicions.

They were transported to a couple nights prior. Sebastian’s voice coming from Ominis’ bed. Then, to their certainty that the Ominis they had been interacting with was a carefully curated version of him created in an angry rant by someone who knew him very well. At last, to the incident at Sebastian’s bed – he must have forgotten he was using Ominis’ face. MC was fooled.

“He’s been pretending to be you. Ominis’… I– ” MC confirmed, unsure how to apologize.

“I know. He visits me as myself.” MC mouth gaped. “You couldn’t have known. Sebastian’s clever. And no one knows me better than him.” Ominis said flashing them a soft smile. His expression turned somber. “I’m sorry about the things he’s done to you while you thought you were with me.”

MC felt their face flush. Sebastian had told Ominis about their encounters. Romantic encounters. How could he? How dared he? Even if he was using them, those moments were private. For an unsuspected MC, they meant something. They felt their eyes burn with a new string of tears but held them back. They had confessed in good faith. Even if it was to the wrong person, how could he use that against them? Against Ominis. The heat of shame quickly became anger. They couldn’t know which encounter he had boasted about but could imagine why. To taunt Ominis. To provoke him. To make him say whatever he wanted to know. Perhaps Anne’s location. Or perhaps just to make them suffer. Why was he doing this?

“Why?” MC asked painedly. Ominis cupped their face with his hands, trying to comfort them this time.

“Because we have betrayed him. We decided to turn him in. It was the right thing to do. The most painful, but the right thing, nonetheless. And he heard us.” Ominis assured, a painful tone in his whisper. “So, he’s decided to forsake us for his task. Of curing Anne, I presume.” He concluded. MC nodded.

“We’ve planned to go there today. At lunch. I’m to cure her with my ancient magic. For you… rather, for him. Since he’s you right now.” MC confirmed bitterly.

“Isn’t there a price for that?” Ominis asked, concern in his face.

“I’m not entirely sure. I don’t even know if it’s going to work. I couldn’t really get out of saying no… wait, you don’t know how it works? The pensive, Isidora?” MC asked. Ominis shook his head, frowning. “Of course! He never told you about it. He’s Sebastian, he simply knew of it because he was there. So, he asked me to do this knowing it isn’t completely safe... I’m such a fool.” MC lamented, moving away from Ominis. He reached out at them again, this time firmly grasping their shoulder and face. He tried to look into their eyes.

“You’re not. Sebastian had the knowledge of himself and the persuasion of your affections for me. In your position, I would have been convinced just as easily.” Ominis guaranteed, certainty in his voice. MC couldn’t help but feel a blush creep into their faces, maybe that meant Ominis also had affections for them. The real Ominis. They shook their head and nodded.

“You’re right. Now’s not the time to feel sorry for us. We need to stop him.”

“Precisely.” Ominis agreed. MC quickly stood up, Ominis’ grasp having absolutely no effect on them, ready to leave the room and face Sebastian.

They knew where he was going to be soon. Knew he was strong, and he’d likely have no fear in using Unforgivables, but it didn’t matter. MC was the best duellist in Crossed Wands, even better than Sebastian – the second best. They had faced trolls, poachers, and Ashwinders so Unforgivables weren’t something that scared them. Plus, they had ancient magic. They could easily defeat Sebastian. But could they?

He might have done terrible things but MC hadn’t actively seen him torturing anyone so it would be hard to imagine him being the monster he really was if he tried to play the victim. Those brown amicable eyes swearing he’d never done anything bad. He’d also be using Ominis’ face, thus attacking him would certainly make them hesitate and that hesitation could be their doom if Sebastian assumed a fatal offensive position. And, even worse, what if they could actually fight him?

If they could visualize all the pain he had caused Ominis, by looking at the evidence of starvation and psychological torture, or remember believing all the manipulation and, quite frankly, non-consensual relations he kept with them, would they be able to control their rage? Would they be able to bind Sebastian and arrest them, or would they simply end him there? Could MC be sure they themselves wouldn’t use an Unforgivable at him out of anger? But MC didn’t have to fight against the desire to have mercy or obliterate Sebastian, because Ominis made that decision for them.

“Not like that.” Ominis called, almost as if he could hear their thoughts. He stood and approached MC carefully. “We tried taking matters into our hands and this spiralled out of control, I think we should ask for help this time.” Ominis concluded. MC looked at him confused. “Take me to Professor Weasley.” He asked in an almost commanding tone, if he didn’t have that always soft manner to which he addressed MC. They nodded.

MC made him put his shoes and made Ominis hold their arm as they guided him to Professor Weasley’s office, casting a disillusionment spell on both of them so as to not be noticed. They moved swiftly and in silence through the corridors, slowly enough so the weak long legs of Ominis could follow. MC, being so close, could hear him heavy breathing. This was probably the most walking he’s done in months. But when they tried to stop, so he could catch his breath, Ominis urged them to continued. It was almost lunch. They had no time to waste.

--

Sebastian crossed his hands behind his back, swinging front and back on his feet unable to contain his excitement. It was lunch time, and he was waiting for MC to show up on the Hogwarts North exit, right by the Floo powder. The other students avoided him, troubled by his overly excited mood. There was a small smile in his lips and his mind couldn’t help but continue wandering. Soon he’d be on his way to meet Anne. After many months, after the disastrous fight with his uncle, after her disappearance. Finally, he’d see Anne again. And everything would be put back into place. Of course, it wouldn’t be the same as it once was, but completing his quest of curing her was already a triumph that would allow him to rest easy.

But that meeting would be one made in secret. At least on his part. Anne would never know that Sebastian had visited her. Well, that is, if he was able to contain himself. He’d spent the whole morning wondering if he’d be able to, how he’d not act as Sebastian and maintain his Ominis’ façade. He feared that upon being around Anne he would not be able to control his urge to embrace her and not let go. To reminisce and plan for the future. To ramble for hours on end. Even more, he feared she’d realize he was not Ominis. His mannerisms, his tone of voice, his speech. No one knew Sebastian better than Ominis. And Anne. His twin.

He was scared he’d slip up but figured that the risk was infinitely small compared to the chance he had to cure Anne. She could hate him all she’d like – forever even – but he’d cure her. He’d free her of all that pain and suffering. He only had to fool her long enough for MC to work their magic. Sebastian didn’t want to believe Anne would disapprove of his methods, but he’d seen her look of disappointment before. On the catacombs, holding Solomon’s dead body. So, he knew she would not like his arrangement. He didn’t even expect her to be grateful. No matter. As long as she was safe.

He asked himself again and again if he was early or if MC was late, impatient to be on his merry way. Wishing quietly he had a pocket watch and the sight to read it. He took Ominis’ wand and twirled it in his hands finding his former friend’s habit quite calming. He closed his eyes feeling the rare sun kiss his cheeks and he thought about Ominis. The real one. Crying alone in the room of requirement. He felt a burning sensation on his chest that he mistakenly thought for a second to be pity.

Sebastian realized it was anger and questioned himself if he could feel any pity for his former friend. He had decided to abandon him. To leave Ominis as a happy childhood memory. Nostalgic and in the past. Because the Ominis of today was a traitor. Undeserving of pity. He scoffed to himself, upset at his own thoughts. If Ominis was useful to something was to convince MC. Their feelings for him were one day something that would’ve bothered Sebastian deeply. Even made him jealous. But today it was simply profitable. A convenient tool. And a delicious distraction too.

He licked his lips mid-chuckle. Thanks to those feelings, he was able to secure a cure for Anne and a good time. Sure, he had to work hard for that – Ominis and his damned etiquette. But their feelings were strong even before Sebastian started to encourage them. Clearly, not strong enough for them to realize anything, Sebastian thought darkly. It was stupid for them to share such a powerful bond of trust – so powerful to decide Sebastian’s fate together – if it was not strong enough to see through the lies, the manipulation, and the deception he had orchestrated. Rather, think they shared a powerful bond. MC never even realized they were snogging a fake Ominis.

Sebastian was awoken from his daydreaming by whispers. Small groups of students walking around the grounds ahead of him formed, moving slowly, and grouping into larger ones. He tilted his head towards the ground, his ear trying to catch any actual words from the whispers. But the grounds were considerable and the students avoiding him made sure to stay far away. Finally, he heard Professor Weasley’s voice, calling out something he couldn’t distinguish to Professor Sharp that only agreed. This must be what was causing the turmoil, he thought.

Two professors walking together must have meant someone was in deep trouble. He smirked to himself wondering if Weasley had caused a ruckus with a new potion or if there might have had some sort of fight somewhere on the grounds. Perhaps an accident at the flying class area, where students practiced in their brooms even outside of school hours. He held in a chuckle just imagining what type of scolding the poor bastard those professors were looking for was in for today. He turned around, not wanting to be associated in any way, shape, or form. He had important matters to attend today. Could not get into any trouble.

“Petrificus totalus!” Professor Weasley’s voice shouted, and Sebastian felt his body become heavy. He fell onto the ground with a thud, unable to stop his fall or to understand what was going on. Was he attacked by Professor Weasley?

He tried to feel around for his wand, but he had been disarmed. Worse. He genuinely couldn’t move. He could feel his eyes wondering, but with Ominis’ vision he was completely blind. No magic to help. His mind started racing. What was going on? Why had they used the Full Body-Bind spell on him? Had he done something? Oh, he had. Many things. But had they figured it out? How?

“This must be him.” Sebastian heard Professor Weasley say from a much closer position. He tried to move around but couldn’t.

“Students, please, continue with your day. There is nothing to see here.” Professor Sharp announced to the other students. Sebastian tried to talk, but his voice only came out muffled.

“You’ll have time to defend yourself, Sebastian.” Professor Weasley said in response, her voice stern but carrying pity. That there enraged Sebastian who tried with all his might to move around, free himself and even talk. Professor Sharp approached with a sigh, and they heard two distinguished cracks. Apparating.

“Right on time.” Professor Sharp said sarcastically. He moved towards the two new figures that were whispering to each other within earshot, so Sebastian was able to hear them.

“Yes, we’re to collect him. Hogwarts has already informed the Ministry but since he’s a pureblood, Headmaster Black insisted this to be arranged carefully.” A woman’s voice said discreetly in a whisper.

“Pureblood or not, he’s likely going to Azkaban. Killing his uncle with an Unforgivable and torturing his friend. Oh, and don’t let me forget the impersonating. Of a Gaunt, nonetheless! This Sebastian Sallow is unhinged.” A man’s voice responded in a half-whisper dripping indignation.

They had figured out. How? They knew everything. How? They knew about Solomon. How? They knew about Ominis being captive. How? They knew about the Polyjuice potion and pretending to be Ominis. How? He had enough time to think about this repeating question while one of the professors levitated him and the other rushed to the two aurors to hush them. He wasn’t sure who. They were likely taking him to the Headmaster’s office. He could only hope they were not parading him. Knowing Professor Weasley’s discretion, he was likely disillusioned. Too many sensations and angry feelings to have properly noticed.

The four of them and Sebastian’s levitating paralyzed body stopped at the opened Headmaster’s office door. And he heard introductions being made. Mrs. Stannis, auror. Mr. Rondor, auror. MC, student. Ominis Gaunt, student. Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat. All these thoughts about their bond not being strong enough completely forgotten. MC had found Ominis and freed him. While he waited like a fool for them to arrive. A beautiful date in the Three Broomsticks planned with a stop at Feldcroft to heal his sister on the way back. Bloody brilliant day if you’d ask him. Is that why they wanted to meet up instead of going together? Were they already suspicious? Since when? Planning something, looking for clues and answers.

Well, clearly, they found the perfect solution to their doubts. Ominis himself. The real one. He was found. And together, they had completed it. In a cruel joke of the universe, it came full circle. They completed what they had decided to do a couple months before. They turned him in. They had finished their betrayal. Sebastian was ultimately lost.

–––––––––––––

*No reproduction of this text allowed without credit*

[blueflipflops]

I see your Feanorians squabbling over Scrabble and I raise you Feanorians playing Uno and Mario Kart.

[Just finished exams haha. I'll just add the mario kart part later]

[This is from feanorians and scrabble, part 2, part 3, (monopoly)]

Uno with Feanorians operate on the premise of the rules being whatever you can convince the whole table are the rules. They had a whole Established Rules for Uno around family but sometimes Meadhros invites Fingon to circumvent this rule. The presence of a cousin makes the rules free game to rehash.

Discussion (arguements) over the rules often lasts almost 12-15 hrs and no one is allowed to start the game while there no Absolute Clear rules. (Which is half the fun in these games for them. I do believe that Ñoldorins think that banter and arguing for the sake of arguing is a very enjoyable pasttime and somewhat a game to them(Damn i'd sqy that they would LOVE a game of Werewolf then I remembered Finrod))

(This is also the reason Celegorm invites Aredhel to these games. To establish his own Bullshit rules.)

Betrayal between brothers were expected but when Fingon dropped Mae's ass with a +4, (on top of the accumulating +26 cards that had already gone a full circle around them, making it +30 cards) his brothers could almost hear his heart breaking. Mae wasn't able to control his face fast enough and his brothers are like a school of piranhas that can smell blood in the water from a mile away. In that split minute of betrayal, Maglor has somehow acquired a harp and started playing a lament while Curufin and Caranthir provides commentary like they're a narrator of either a drama reading or a nature documentary. The Ambarussa are doing backup singing in harmony with the music and Celegorm is HOWLING in laughter. He's slapping the table, teary eyed and at some point hit his side on the pointy edge of the table (Maedhros did NOT push the table. What are you talking about—) and now he's curled up on the floor. No one knows if he's still laughing or crying in pain.

The jeering would come to the point where Nerdanel would peek inside the room to ask what is happening and why is your brother on the floor? And suddenly fingers fly around faster than any arrows Fingon has ever released.

For some reason Curufin almost always have the best luck in this game with the Ambarussa right behind to him. He's so smug about that especially when Maedhros has the worst luck. He hates it so much. Everytime they play, they know what's going to happen yet Maedhros almost always go through all 5 stages of grief as the cards keep pilling up in his hands. Mae is surprisingly ( or unsurprisingly, considering) a sore loser. He keeps denying this and just cannot accept losing in a game of chance no matter how much he plans and schemes.

The Ambarussa gets so smug whenever they win because no way would Caranthir or Curufin would just lose. Maedhros would try but they all know how that would go. It would almost always end up in a showdown between those three on who could lose as many cards as fast as possible.

Whenever Celegorm invites Aredhel into these games, he always gets too into the high of circumventing the pre-Established Rules by inviting a cousin. Aredhel uses this against him. Whenever he gets uno, she uses all the plus (+2, +4), cancels, reverses or even flips just so he can't put down the last card. She'd peek at his card and change the color to something he doesn't have. It drives him crazy because in just a few minutes ago, she was targeting and taunting Maglor and Fingon with reckless abandon.

(He thought they were bonding!!!)

I played a game once where the uno reverse card would mean they could swap hands with their victim. So we would collect as much cards we can just so slam down a reverse card. We switch our hoard to two or three cards. It was so fun and so annoying. I hated those guys who suggested that. But imagine Caranthir suggesting this, fully intending to win. Except that he forgot one thing. That is Maedhros' luck. He was reminded of this when Mae suddenly dropped him 57 cards in a reverse card. And that was the one game where Mae won. Caranthir learnt his lesson and did not sit next to Mae next time he does this.

Maglor would claim that he doesnt care about winning but he is this close to punching Caranthir when he made that Rule. Celegorm is that little shit who swaps cards with him and he would put down a reverse to get them back. This would go on and on over the course of the game and it pisses Maglor off because he only does it to him!

Curufin wears a Crown of Bragging Rights every time he wins. They hate him so much for this.

(Feanor has similar luck in this game as Meadhros and Curufin had Nerdanel's so she doesn't play much unless Feanor does too. Because they have their own bets and deals between only the two of them. Feanor is just so deep into denial that he never learns no matter how many times he loses to her. He thinks he just keeps being distracted being so in love with her that he doesn't notice the cards piling up and no, she's not going against this theory of his. Their children know better tho.)

[ see more in the tag #feanorions and board games ]

[martymcflown]

Oh boy, okay. I just finished Veilguard. I'm going to split my thoughts into non-spoilery and spoilery. I yap a lot.

Non-spoilery:

In terms of enjoyment? I'd say a 8/10. I was emotionally invested in all the characters. I enjoyed the fight mechanics a lot as a warrior (we'll see how I feel in my mage playthrough). I actually felt a lot of motivation to complete as many quests as humanly possible, which is quite different from how I felt during DA:I where a lot of the time I felt like I was running in circles most of the time to complete quests that felt like they didn't matter (and I say this as a DA:I defender).

I do completely understand the critiques from people who say the lore is really lacking. I didn't personally feel like the rich history of Dragon Age mattered much during gameplay. Even choices that can be made in the beginning for your Inquisitor didn't seem to matter much for me (I didn't even get to see the partner I'd chosen for them, kind of lame). I've only heard tell of one variation that matters to the narrative and it's only at the very end. I wish choices like that mattered more, and that the sociopolitical aspects of the series had a greater impact.

HOWEVER, I'm also not as invested in the lore as others clearly are so it didn't detract enough from gameplay for me to say I was unhappy. More like, I think it could have been better. Most of my negative opinions are in the spoiler section though. So, uh. I do recommend this game! I think it was a ton of fun! I'm already playing through as a different character because I was itching to try different choices, even knowing the ending. This is definitely one I'll replay a lot, potentially even more than the last game which I invested hundreds of hours into.

Spoilery thoughts:

Complaints:

-The Varric twist had some emotionally impactful moments, but also I find it pretty cheesy and hard to believe? It was something I'd guessed early on because Varric never interacted with anyone else, but then I convinced myself it was too cheesy to be the actual twist. WELL.

-I thought the ending was pretty anticlimactic, all things considered. I'm pretty sure I got the "good" ending (I only lost one party member...well, two in my opinion because I count Assan as a party member). I guess I sort of expected something like DA:I where there's a celebration at the end where you get to have pleasant goodbyes, as opposed to just "Hey we're about to die but I love you kiss kiss."

-In general, the pacing of the game felt kind of bananas. I can't tell how much in-narrative time passes in the entire game, but if you told me it was only a week I'd believe you. I don't know if I have a great solution to that. Maybe some indication that seasons are passing, or maybe a wait time is necessary between certain quests ("We have to wait for the frost to melt before we can go through the Gate of Blorbus" or something). Part of my disbelief for the Varric twist in part is that NOBODY talks about his death, not even Harding? They've known each other for years. But I guess the breakneck pace is partially to distract you from that.

Random things I really liked:

-Manfred and Assan. I REFUSE TO BELIEVE ASSAN IS GONE, BYE. I also just realized some people have played a version of this game where you lose both Manfred and Assan. I'm so sorry. ANYWAY. Positives. I just think they're precious.

-Loved the environments. Dock Town was probably my favorite, but I enjoyed exploring every map I encountered. Which, big improvement on DA;I (where if I saw one more green expanse where I had to run for three hours to get to a quest marker I would have killed everyone in this room and then myself).

-Thought it was a great touch that companions would continue their conversations after a fight. "Where was I?" etc. It's a small thing but I found it really added to feeling engrossed in the world.

-I like that the companions all have relationships to one another and that there are little touches throughout the game to show they each think about each other. I know there were complaints that everyone...acted like friends? Which, I dunno man. Have you ever made friends? I guess to each their own but their bonds all made sense to me, as well as how the various pairings developed their relationships.

-Even if some of the gender identity stuff felt clumsy at times, I love that it's an option to explore. I love that being trans or nonbinary provides specific dialogue options or changes Rook's relationship to certain characters. I can't imagine playing the game as a cis Rook now.

-I thought there were some fantastic performances from a lot of the cast. I really liked my Rook's VA and was shocked at how moved I was at certain moments in the ending. I think the performances were a major contributing factor to how attached I became to everyone, particularly Lucanis and Emmrich and Taash for me. Oh man, and Harding during her personal quest? Amazing.

-THE LIGHTING!!!! SO GOOD!!!!

My romance with Lucanis:

-Loved it. This is one thing I really don't understand the complaints about, but maybe that's my asexuality showing. I found his character arc really moving and I think the romance added a really nice layer to that. Also, the fanfic potential of Lucanis falling asleep and Rook + Spite playing naked cards? Come on.

My friendship with everyone else:

-I think most of the companions had one really strong theme that carried through each of their narratives. Some of them connected more with me personally than others, but I enjoyed all the personal quests and I cried at pretty much all of their resolutions. I think the only one I found lacking was Neve's? But that's probably my fault for certain choices I made. I'm so sorry, Neve. I doomed our city for the sake of Crow bussy.

-Some of the writing for Taash's storyline felt a bit cheese. However, I'm coming at that from the perspective of a trans and gender nonconforming person who's consumed a lot more media that discusses queer themes than vidya games. So, Taash's storyline sometimes felt like "baby's first coming out", but that was probably for more general audiences who consume the game (and I think the complaints about the game being "too woke" are just...outrageously stupid).

[ac-liveblogs]

FF7 Rebirth: 40% a good game, 60% a waste of my time

The short of it is that FF7 Rebirth feels like its just taking a longer route to get to the exact same places as the original, and while its highs are extremely high for the most part it's an exhausting game full of padding designed to mask the fact that there really wasn't enough to do to justify the decision to split this into three full-length games with a triple A price tags.

It didn't take its unique premise far enough to justify the changes it makes, and it deviates too far from the original premise to feel like a satisfying remake. The new elements feel half-hearted, the new stuff is great, it's a really mixed bag.

The long of it is this;

It took me awhile to figure out why I liked Scott Pilgrim Takes Off but had so many issues with Final Fantasy 7 Remake (and later, Rebirth). The two have similar premises; through what appears to be time travel, one (or more) of the main characters affect the timeline to try and get a different result than the one they ended up with. They're both kinda sequels to the original property designed to build off your pre-existing knowledge and give you a new but similar experience to the one you already had. So... why'd I like one, but not the other?

Eventually, it hit me. Because Takes Off booted the titular Scott from the main story, his love interest - Ramona Flowers - took center stage. The story had been disrupted in such a way that not only were events forced to play out incredibly differently, but because they did the characters were able to grow and address their relationships with each other in new, different ways - and we as the audience gained new or greater understandings of them because of it.

I like new characters I never gave a second thought to before because I saw different sides of them, and I feel like the original story was enhanced for having Takes Off as a kinda-sequel. Both of those things were only possible via the time travel plot - you could not have gotten the same effect by merely expanding the original Scott Pilgrim, because it would have made the narrative far more convoluted. Scott could not defeat Ramona's exes and Ramona could not have reconciled with them in the same plot.

So then the question becomes - are the time travel, flash forwards and alternate continuities in Rebirth worth it? Do I feel like FF7 is improved or enhanced for having them? Do I feel like I've learnt more about the characters, or that they've learnt more about themselves? Are 7 Rebirth's time shenanigans an earnest attempt to revisit the same characters through a very different lens under very different circumstances to reach a greater understanding of the original source material?

Well, no. The addition of those elements to FF7 Rebirth feel like the devs decided they had to do something different to the original 7's main narrative, but had absolutely nothing to say. They wanted to acknowledge that almost everyone knows their plot and wink at the audience over it, but didn't have the guts to go wildly off course. The main vibe I get is that we're taking more convoluted steps to get to roughly the same location - SE is jangling shiny objects in front of my face and throwing mystery boxes at me in the hopes that I'll open them, but at the end of the day despite all the whispers, the multiple timelines and the questions about what on earth Sephiroth's new plan could possibly be, I have reached no greater understanding about any of these characters or the original plot for having wasted my time on this.

And that has problems - Rebirth knows it doesn't have a lot of plot twists, so it assumes you already know what the Big Ones are and doesn't even bother trying to maintain the mystery or build an engaging narrative around them. You know Cloud thinks he's Zack, you know Aerith dies - why bother keeping them a secret when we could spend that time calling back to Crisis Core, bouncing in and out of 'the Zack timeline' or wondering if maaaaybe Aerith might survive this time? (Hilariously, it calls back to Crisis Core incorrectly - that is not degradation, that is not what degradation does).

Cloud really does end up feeling like a puppet - while he never had agency, Rebirth doesn't even bother pretending. Cloud's mental instability and Sephiroth's manipulations are dragged out over tens of hours instead of a few shocking scenes, so when the game tries to cash in the intended shock factor of those scenes I felt like I'd already seen everything in them happen in the game at least once before. If we really are supposed to have the illusion of being able to defy fate, surely Cloud attempting to kill Tifa could have resulted in some changes that might have resulted in a different outcome at the Temple of the Ancients...?

No, of course not. That would be too big a change to make, and Tifa moves on past Cloud's murder attempt with assurances she believes in him. She's absolutely fine getting into an enclosed space with him, alone, and still has no issue keeping the love triangle going. Was there any point to including a new murder attempt at all, beyond showing Sephiroth can control Cloud? The thing we already knew he could do?

At the end of the day, nothing really changes. Fate holds, and Cloud's story feels like a casualty in his own game. If Rebirth's plot deviated meaningfully enough from the original that the player figuring out what happened early felt worthwhile or meaningful that wouldn't bother me, but it doesn't - so it just feels like one of gaming's most effective rugpulls was dismantled so the player could get to see Zack and Sephiroth more often.

That's it in general - if I felt the plot deviated meaningfully enough from the original (and let me see new sides of the world and characters) that the changes felt worth it, like in Takes Off, I'd enjoy myself more and I'd be able to appreciate what 7R was trying to do. Given SE has already confirmed this will loop back into Advent Children and despite a splash of multiversal time travel paint over the top of events that played out exactly as they were supposed to in the original though - I kind of doubt that will happen. This weird middle-ground is just unsatisfying. Commit to the new plot or just do a remake. It feels like SE is too scared to do anything really wild beyond offering harmless fanservice, though.

But don't get me wrong - there's plenty of new content for a lot of old characters in Rebirth, and a lot of it is really good. Barrett, Nanaki and Yuffie have skyrocketed to the top of my 'favourite FF7 characters' list because Rebirth was able to expand on their personal stories and characters in new and exciting ways, and from Remake onwards I've been extremely invested in Rufus Shinra where before there were days I'd forget he existed. Aerith is a consistently strong character across the entire game, but she would be strong in the exact same ways with or without the time shenanigans. In general, the 'minor' main characters come out of this really well (if you're not Cid Highwind. lmao)

If you asked 'do these changes expand your understanding of these characters/their stories' about most of the time spent chasing our original cast - my answer would be yes. For the most part, I feel like the Wutai subplot benefits Yuffie and expands Shinra as an antagonist, the Gi's inclusion was awkward but could deepen Nanaki's character, the Temple of the Ancients was fun and sad in a way the original wasn't right up until Sephiroth showed up in person and the extra time spent in Costa del Sol and the Golden Saucer made me care about my party and their relationships with Cloud. There's a lot of good here.

Although, those changes were the result of modernising/updating and tweaking existing plot elements - these strengths were in spite of the 'time shenanigans', not because of them. In my opinion, the time we spend with the party, fighting the Turks or the stories in existing locations are the best parts of the game. I'd expect them in the remake either way, and if 7R didn't mess with the timeline I'd not expect them to be absent or have changed at all. They're completely divorced from Sephiroth's nonsense and stronger for it.

In two full priced games, I can explore less of FF7's world and I get less main character story than I did in FF7 disc 1. Several locations are missing - including Rocket Town and Wutai, which had to be saved for 'part 3'. The loss of Wutai is to be expected, since 7R is still seeding that conflict, but it would've been nice to be able to engage with it beyond Shinra execs discussing it in board meetings. The loss of Rocket Town has seriously changed Cid's character, including his reason for joining the party - he has a worse one, now.

7R's desperate attempt to cover up for the fact that you get less world map and less story than you did in disc 1 are the side quests, the extra filler dungeons shoved between almost every settlement and the massive open world. The side quests are a mixed bag and there's a valiant attempt to make the dungeons interesting by forcing party changes and changing the playable character, but too much of it in quick succession gets exhausting.

The real issue is the open-world, where the main things to do seem to be hitting various kinds of checkpoints to get lore your characters should already know, find items, upgrade materia or fight minibosses. The open-world is huge, but there's not a lot to do out there, and you've already seen every activity the open-world has to offer by the time you've cleared the first region. It strikes me as the sort of pointless time-wasting inclusion a game has when the devs commit to expanding a 40 hour RPG from the 90s into three full priced triple A games without bothering to consider if there's enough story content to justify the split.

Which there isn't. If 7R cut the bloat and packaged Remake and Rebirth as one game, I would probably have felt a lot less exhausted playing them. As it is, completing the side quests and exploring each region before heading to the next one feels like a chore. I feel like the split is not going to be justified by the end result - and the ~mystery regarding Sephiroth's plots, mysterious only because it's being split up over three installments, is not going to be worth the wait.

It's Time Compression. My dude is doing Time Compression But More Bigger and less relevant to his character concept, and with it my hopes of an 8 remake go swirling down the drain. No, seriously, they're just riffing 8. They're riffing 8 even more now. This is just Final Fantasy 8. Won't someone listen. They're remaking the wrong game-

There are other minor plot points that grind my gears in Rebirth, but they're all largely that - minor. I did enjoy the card game, at least.

So in the end, my main takeaway is that 7 Rebirth is an over-bloated game that tries to pretend it has more to say than it does, and while when this game shines it shines BRIGHT, most of the time it's an exhausting slog that has left me feeling more confused and disappointed than anything. I don't think the time shenanigans have actually added anything beyond fanservice, but the expansions to the existing plot points were largely really good. This game made me laugh harder than anything else this year, and it made me cry. It also made me frustrated beyond belief.

Red XIII is the best character in this game by a mile, Aerith is a close second.

I'm unlikely to replay this game - I don't have the stamina for that - but I might revisit certain cutscenes. That's about it, really.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Daughter of Olympus (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I went insane for a few days but I'm better now -Danny Words: 1,830 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter / Next Chapter Listen to: 'Die Trying' -by MICHL

XXXV: This Barbie is Consumed by Guilt

"I don't agree," Lily says firmly.

Malcolm looks at her like he wants to stab her. "Get it together!"

"I can't go with my siblings either," I state.

Percy scowls at us, he's frustrated as well. "What are you two up to?"

I look at Jake. "Tell him."

My friend steps forward. "She has Beckendorf's old notebook."

"What notebook?" I pull it out of my bag and show it to Percy. "Hey, these are the bombs we hid in the bus... and the ones we used for the Andromeda!"

"There's more," I say. "Ten grenade designs, and traps that we haven't tried yet. Beck was hoping not to need them at all, but..."

"So you guys are building these?"

"I have a few ready," I pull my dino bag forward. "But they're not enough. If we want to win, I'll have to loot a few places."

"Alright," Percy doesn't hesitate this time. "Beckendorf's creations were always fault-proof, you can make these."

"You can only take three campers with you, though," Annabeth makes an educated guess as to how many people they can spare at the moment.

"Lily, Connor," I can't take Travis or Michael, they're counselors. Same thing with Jake. "Nyssa, you're coming."

Lily and Connor are exceptional pickpocketers, they can loot a store and get you anything you want without having to break windows or set alarms off. Nyssa and I will make lists of all the things we need, and then we'll build as we go. 

We split into two groups: Connor goes with Nyssa, and Lily with me. Before we leave, I hug my brother. As he leans forward I hold him tighter and whisper to him. 

"I know about Achilles."

"We'll talk later," he says. "I promise."

"You better."

The group scatters, but someone runs up to us before we go too far. 

"Hang on!" Michael searches his backpack and pulls out a walkie-talkie. He gives it to Lily. "If something happens, call me. I'll find you."

Lily shakes her head. "You can't—"

"You're like sisters to me," he presses. "I won't turn my back on you now." 

I take the walkie and hug him, part of me doesn't want to let go. 

"Don't get killed," he tightens his grip around me. "You have a title to gain."

"See you in a bit." 

I step back so Lily can hug him, I lock eyes with Mike for a second, we never talked about the kiss and there's no point in doing it now, so I seize Lily's hand, and we walk away.

Ara's suffering from separation anxiety and she hasn't even left camp. She keeps walking around, looking for a problem that may require her to stay, but she's fixed most by now. Even Jason's cabin has been remodeled and furnished, same thing with Aphrodite's.

In short, Ara discovers she's been doing a great job at the worst time possible. And to make things worse, Leo's still avoiding her. Part of her is guilty because she thought that moving back in with his parents wasn't a big deal, but he seemed pretty upset about it.

"I wish I could go with you," Lily sighs as she arranges her armor. 

Ara snorts. "No, you don't."

Her friend smiles. "Yeah, but I wouldn't hate it, you know? Going to school, attending proms and all that..."

Ara wrinkles her nose. "I won't go to prom."

Lily's shocked. "But it's your first school dance!"

"Percy promised he'd take me, but he's obviously not going to, so..."

The dark-haired girl pouts. "We used to daydream about it, Ara. Are you sure it isn't..." her friend pauses. "You're not worried about not having a date, right?"

"I haven't gone to that school at all this year," she reminds her. "I don't know if I have the same classmates as before, or if they even remember me."

Lily rolls her eyes. "I know a short brunette doesn't sound like a lot, but you're a daughter of Olympus, you draw people in like moths to a flame—"

"Wow, that's flattering."

Her friend laughs. "You know what I mean."

Ara shakes her head. "I don't wanna go, Lils. It wouldn't be fun."

"But your mom said—"

"Don't use that against me..." she whines.

"You love dancing!"

"You know what I love? When you win using the bow I made for you," she pushes Lily forward. "Go get that Flag, civetta."

Lily mutters complaints as she walks onward. Ara's so glad to have Lily, she can second-guess many things in life, but her friendship with Lily is not one of them.

Piper walks up to Ara and nudges her arm. "You're not playing?"

Ara shakes her head with a sad smile. "I miss it a lot, but it wouldn't be fair."

Her sister points in Lily's direction. "She's the one who taught you to be sneaky, right?"

"She's like a ghost," Ara grins. "You're lucky to be playing on her team."

"No joke..." Piper lowers her voice. "I'm sorry Leo didn't take the news well, I think that he was looking forward to spending time with us... and you. He's never stayed in one place for long, this was his first chance to do so."

Ara groans, deeply embarrassed. "I'm usually the one who dives right into awkward conversations, I don't know why I find it so hard with him now."

"Maybe 'cause you care a little too much about what he thinks."

Ara ponders this. "I'll talk to him tonight, I promise."

Piper shrugs. "You don't have to promise me that."

"Right," she blushes. "Well, uh, thank you for talking to me, then?"

Piper hugs her sideways. "No problem."

Ara walks up to Chiron and stands next to him. Usually, she waits with him until the game ends, but now he's got something else in mind. 

"You should take this time to brood on your prophecy."

Ara groans, a bit more dramatically this time. "Chiron, honestly, has that ever worked?"

"Aren't you the exception to most rules?"

Her mind drifts to something else. "You didn't want me to leave camp when the war ended, but you agreed to let me go now. Why?"

"Because I'm not your guardian," he sighs. "I'm an... advisor of sorts."

"Alright, advisor," the girl stares at him frowning. "I'm going home while everyone else works. Is that wise or cowardly?"

"Neither. I call it saving the best for last," he replies. "You are our secret weapon. Just because the monsters know you exist now, doesn't mean it'll stop working."

"Then I'm no exception to the rule," she responds smartly. "I'm your last resort."

He smiles knowingly. "We should always give the enemy a chance to retreat before we attack them with, er..."

"Your worst?" She suggests.

"Our best chance at winning," the centaur corrects.

"That isn't a compliment, is it?"

Chiron heaves a sigh. "A child of Olympus rarely gets compliments while they're alive."

She pouts. "Well, I'll go think about my terrible prophecy then, see you..."

As she walks through the forest, she reminisces about the war, not the prophecy. It feels like it was ages ago. Ara's stuck between wishing she could go back, and hoping to never again be who she was before getting her title.

She draws out her compass and looks at it, the needle is steadily pointing in a single direction.

"I heard Annabeth and Malcolm are activating plan twenty-three," Nyssa mentions. "What's that about?"

"All the statues on the island are automatons," Lily explains. "I've been going over the plan with her and Malcolm for weeks—Haven't slept well since, I still remember Ara's dragon..."

"He's just a little rusty!" I argue, but then I notice the dark circles under her eyes. "Have you been eating properly, at least?"

"No. I gave her an apple this morning though," Connor replies.

"How thoughtful of you," I tease him.

"Shut up."

"How come you never bring me food when I skip meals?"

"You could blow me up in flames if I go near one of your crazy inventions."

"Ara hasn't exploded anything in a year, three months, two weeks, and three days," Lily answers immediately. "That's a thing of the past."

"Speaking of," I smirk. "Did you know the Greeks used to throw apples at people they were in love with, Connor?"

"And if the other caught it, it meant the love was reciprocated," Nyssa replies in the same way.

"Next time I throw something, it'll be my knives at you two," Lily warns us.

Ara shouldn't interfere with the game, but this is the best time to hold a private conversation without interruption. She finds Leo exactly where the compass said he'd be, Ara approaches quietly from behind and covers his mouth so he doesn't alert others. 

"It's me!" She whispers as the boy squirms in her arms. "We need to talk!"

Leo snatches her hand away. "Are you insane?" He whispers angrily. "I almost set you on fire!"

"You've been avoiding me, I couldn't risk you sneaking away!" She argues. "I want a chance to explain myself."

"I'm in the middle of a game—"

"Leo," she gives him her best puppy eyes. "Please? I know you're upset and I don't want you to be."

Leo groans, but the blush on his face isn't helping him. "Does it have to be right now?"

Ara shrugs. "I should wait. I'm not allowed to interfere during Capture the Flag..."

"I'll see you at the campfire," he tells her. "Now leave me alone, your face is distracting me."

She chuckles, eyeing him with a playful gaze. "You look adorable in armor, by the way."

"Go away!" He presses, smoke coming out of his ears.

Ara giggles but obliges. Just as she exits the forest, she spots Janus standing near the forges, looking right at her. Her mouth goes dry. "No!"

The god vanishes in a heartbeat. Ara feels her legs wavering under her and she falls to her knees, severely nauseous. She tries to focus on the coldness of the grass, or the strawberry fragrance coming from uphill, but she's having trouble breathing. 

"A crossroad is approaching," says a voice. An echo of a memory. 

"You're incredible at this," Lily points out. "Although you should wear gloves."

My fingers are covered in cuts, the wire's thin and I'm not gentle. "I thought I had them in my bag, but I must've left them in my cabin."

"Where are you putting all of these?"

I point towards the Empire State.

"Why there? The Monsters haven't reached the city."

"You know why," I say without looking up.

Lily takes a moment to respond. "These are all last resorts, aren't they?"

I nod. "If everything else fails, I'm hoping these will kill enough monsters to give us one last chance."

Lily starts a new bomb but stops for a moment. 

"Do you think we have a chance right now?" I look up, and for a moment I think a bird has pooped on her because she's scowling at the sky, then I realize she's trying not to tear up. "I wouldn't mind dying if I knew the rest would have a chance to survive..."

"Don't say it like that," I reply, now also feeling like crying. "This is just starting. Don't say that."

Lily fixes her posture. "Right. Sorry," she sniffs. "I need you to promise me something, though."

"I'm listening."

"I'll be your second in command once you become General," she says determinately. "Where you go, I go."

"You, Mike, and I forever," I nod. "You have my word."

Next Chapter ->

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @ash-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles

[mommalosthermind]

Get to know me tag game!

tagged by @hawkstincan and I just saw it so oops

Do you make your bed? Mostly, yes. Defensive bed sheets mean I am significantly less likely to have to deal with legos, pencils, crumbs or whatever other random shit The Youngest Monster had in hand while hiding in my room.

Favorite number? uhhh. I don’t really have one? I tend to pick either 13 or 14 for number things bc 13 made people mad as a kid and it was funny, and 14 is part of my birthday.

What’s your job? parent. Using the educational degree to be backup teacher for my three monsters.

if you could go back to school, would you? I mean. The funny thing about school is there’s a lot of shit I want to learn and very little of it is taught in a typical classroom. I still wish we’d lived in an area with a proper vocational school while I was in high school ngl. Anyway things like carpentry and sewing should still be in schools and i want to collect trades like Pokémon.

Can you parallel park? probably not? I have literally never bothered to try after getting the damn license.

Do you think aliens are real? I think it’s arrogant to assume humans are the only ‘intelligent’ anything, even on earth. But realistically, it’s entirely possible the universe is too young to have a lot of life floating around in it. Little green men that made the pyramids and steal cows, though? That’s… silly.

Can you drive a manual? No. I have been in exactly two cars with stick shift, and I would really like to be in none of them ever again. That’s mostly due to the driver being a twat, but like. No. I’m good.

What’s your guilty pleasure? Mmm that’s an interesting one since ‘guilty pleasure’ usually just means ‘this is something that I try to hide’ and I’ve spent a lot of time trying to uncouple my embarrassment with existing from y'know. Existing. So. Probably the thing I get a kick out of that makes me go “i should maybe not enjoy this so much” is listening in on gossip or drama that’s Not Mine ngl. Tell me aaaall about how your auntie X started a fight. If it’s not my family, it’s just story time.

tattoos? Four! I’ve got a mandala-inspired piece on the left arm, a tiger lily +dog tags on my right shoulder, a blue rose + witch’s claw on the left leg, and an anklet that looks like leather with a heart pendant on the right leg. If I had spending money I would have… so many more. So many. My partner thinks it’s funny that I accidentally split things up so the left half is in color and the right side is black and white.

Favorite color? Black, silver, blue, green….

Favorite type of music? The kind that doesn’t annoy me? I tend toward the rock spectrum, unless I’ve got instrumental on. The kids are all into nightcore so there’s a hilarious amount of that in my brain at any given time. They did not enjoy when I made them listen to Dune’s Can’t Stop Raving. Rude.

Do you like puzzles? Putting together a picture? I’m going to sort the pieces into inside vs outside and maybe even color and then get very bored very quickly and wander off. Riddles? I’m going to feel like an idiot and wander off. Numbers? I have spaced out before even completing the question.

Any phobias? Oh that’s a hell of a question. Spiders. I have worked very hard to get to a point where I am mostly nonchalant about it but. Haaa not a fan. I have woken up to Big Fucking Spider In The Bed or On The Window too many times.

Favorite childhood sport? I was forced into a couple different sports as a kid and I did not enjoy any of them really. I was, and remain, the person who’s got five books and even more notebooks in a bag and I am sitting under a tree and ignoring everyone else. I did not do well in any form of a team-setting. Literally ever. I think the one that bothered me the least was track, and that’s because it felt like I could turn off my entire brain and just move from point A to point B and then be done.

Do you talk to yourself? Constantly. It’s almost never complete thoughts though, it’s a bunch of disjointed outbursts that probably make me sound bonkers bc half of the conversation I’m having with myself is in my head. Complete with hand movements.

What movies do you adore? I don’t really watching things these days? So probably things I liked as a kid, like the labyrinth or the goonies or the dark crystal. There’s a theme there, don’t worry about it.

Coffee or tea? Tea. The only time I’ve managed coffee is when it’s vaguely coffee flavored milk and sugar lmao. Or chocolate coffee ice cream.

First thing you wanted to be growing up? you know, I feel like it shouldn’t be this hard to answer objectively innocent questions in a way that won’t make people uncomfortable? but I don’t have an answer to this. So. I wanted to be somewhere else. I wanted to be someone else. Things like dreaming about jobs and being an adult were not things I had the space to do.

I’m not going to tag anyone specifically today, but if you join in please feel free to and @ me so I can see! <3

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

“We couldn’t have chosen a worse date to visit Paris.”

London, England, United Kingdom – March 1846

~Cloudia~

With her intent spoken into the world, Cloudia set out to make plans. Under normal circumstances, she would have been able to watch out for any social events and work to get her hands on the guest lists. Then, she could have “coincidentally” run into Milton at a soiree or ball or garden party or whatnot, and no one would have thought anything odd about it. Unfortunately, Milton was in mourning. His father had died in early December; now that the three-month mark was reached, Milton could frequent concerts or musicals again, but was still barred from attending balls, dinner parties, and the opera. Mourning rules were significantly laxer for men than for women when it came to attire and bereavement length; the societal etiquette rules that came with death were for all, however. Cloudia did not know much about Milton. The fact that she had never even heard of him until the reception at the Layton Gallery was a strong indicator that Milton did not itch to go to social events though. Cloudia doubted she would catch him at a concert or musical either.

This meant Milton would not show up in public again until June, and Cloudia could most definitely not wait another three months until she could speak to him. She needed to sort out her odd feelings and figure out what was wrong with her, him, or them both soon; she feared she might perish otherwise.

For that reason, Cloudia had to resort to lingering around the Salisbury Villa.

It was a terrible plan; I was well aware of that. Alas, there was very little I could do, so I had to make do with the little that was within my possibilities – even if the saner choice would have been to wait for June. But Milton was also a traveller, and the chance was high that he would simply leave England after the six months had passed. And who knew when he would return then? He had been away for two years and only returned when his father was on his deathbed. If Milton left again, I might never see him again.

At least, one month after the hunt and one month after I had returned to Phantomhive Manor, I received a letter from Queen Victoria and, with it, a reason to head to London without raising any suspicions, or having to find an excuse why I would want to go there for a longer stay before the Season. The task assigned to me was ridiculous (someone was hanging men from clotheslines), but my personal endeavour did not shine with reasonableness either.

Thus, my time and attention were split, divided into unequal parts between the Hanged Men Case and the Milton-Related Idiocy (which case was given the larger portion depended not how silly I felt that day).

Today, I woke up feeling particularly stupid and went to stake out by the Salisbury Villa.

The weather might have begun to thaw, but England would not be England without unpredictable weather. Today, it was bitter cold while Cloudia promenaded around Milton’s neighbourhood. She wore a good, albeit understated dress so as not to raise any frowns if she were to run into Milton (while she might have had an explanation why she had dressed up as Keegan for the hunt, nothing could explain why she walked around London looking like a milkmaid) and to ensure that she did not give herself away. Cloudia had chosen a slightly oversized bonnet and a large cloak too. The Salisbury Villa was in Kensington, right where many, many other nobles lived, and Cloudia could not afford to be seen by anyone she knew. If people noticed her running around unchaperoned and walking circles around someone’s house (skilled gossipers were like amateur detectives at times and might possibly piece the ugly truth together), it would dent her reputation. Further, because the Hanged Men Case was progressing at a snail’s pace as it was remarkably layered for such a silly-sounding case, all of Cloudia’s Aristocrats of Evil had arrived in London one by one. Oscar was even lodging at her townhouse. Even though Cecelia and Barrington were thankfully staying at their own places, it was still a dangerous undertaking to pursue the Milton matter concurrently.

All in all, Cloudia felt like the world’s biggest fool every time she went on these walks. This time, she was a frozen fool too. And she deserved the embarrassment; after all, it was a horrid kind of endeavour and Cloudia had not even seen Milton once so far.

Staring at his house and feeling like a criminal while doing so had taught her the schedule of people going in and out. There was staff that went about without a pattern, of course, just like there were some who followed strict routines. Arrivals for work. Deliveries. Rubbish disposals. Breaks. Finishing times. At no point, no matter if Cloudia found time to do her questionable rounds in the morning, at midday, or in the evening, she had never spotted Milton. Did he never leave his house? Was there some secret entrance she knew nothing about? Cloudia could tear out her hair at the futility of it all.

Milton might be a master at unwittingly avoiding her; Wentworth, on the other hand, was an easier find.

About every two days, Cloudia could see Milton’s butler enter and leave the villa running errands. On the other days, he was as elusive as his master, likely having too much to do within the villa that he could go out. Butlers were generally not known to run around outside their workplace or apart from their employees. Today, however, Cloudia had not even seen Wentworth.

Pulling her cloak tighter around herself, Cloudia gazed at the Salisbury Villa. She knew little about the Salisburys. Cloudia had forbidden Cecelia to research Milton’s background, and though this ban obviously did not extend to her, it still felt weird and hypocritical to look into his family herself. It was unnecessary too; she wanted to know more about Milton and could not care who had lived before him in that house. The little Cloudia knew was that the Salisbury baronage was not particularly old – not by noble family standards. About a hundred years ago, Milton’s great-great-grandfather had been bestowed a peerage; around that time, he had also built the villa.

A hundred years were etched into the stately Salisbury Villa; nonetheless, it looked fresh and young next to its older neighbours. They seemed to frown contemptuously at the villa, envious of its comparative radiance, just like their inhabitants and many other nobles regarded the Salisburys. Cloudia had heard many scoffs and much ridicule directed at Milton’s family and Salisbury Trading in the past few years. From the grapevine, she also knew that neither Milton’s father nor uncle had ever cared for that chit-chat. Cloudia had never met Leland and Herbert herself; she had merely seen Leland from afar a few times at gatherings, and Herbert had died before she began attending any. (She had read about Herbert’s death, his murder, years ago and had followed the case from the beginning. When Scotland Yard’s investigation had not gone anywhere, Cloudia had secretly hoped the case would be handed to her as Herbert was a nobleman after all, but the matter had only quietly gone cold and unsolved.)

After another hour of wandering the streets around the villa and stealing glances at it, Cloudia decided that she had made enough of a fool of herself today and headed to her townhouse.

***

A few streets away from the Phantomhive townhouse, Cloudia met up with Lisa. Like the last times, she waited for her in a corner with another cloak and bonnet. Cloudia hadn’t told Lisa the specifics of her odd, solitary walks. Perhaps, she would have divulged her embarrassing secret to Newman if she could have made him her helper instead of Lisa. Unfortunately, his tall, broad stature made him as noticeable as an elephant within a crowd of mice.

“Already back, Lady Phantomhive?” asked Lisa with a grin and held out the change of clothes. Cloudia only nodded and quickly switched out the bonnet and cloak.

To what lengths I went to conceal my stupid undertaking from people – from passersby, my own servants, and, most importantly, Oscar. As much as I did not want him to know, I also wondered what his reaction would be. I could guess Cecelia’s (I would never hear the end of it) and Barrington’s (he would try to fight Milton), though not Oscar’s.

“This has been going on for quite a while now,” Lisa said when Cloudia fastened her cloak and pulled it close. Without answering her, Cloudia turned to return to the townhouse.

Lisa was quick to follow behind her. “Won’t you ever tell me what this is about?”

“No,” Cloudia replied sharply. “It’s not your business.”

“For something that is ‘not my business,’ I’m awfully involved,” Lisa pointed out. “It’s horrifically boring to wait around for you, you have to know. Can you, at least, tell me when you will be done with your very secret mission? If this keeps on, I might have to ask Al to lend me one of his books. I don’t even like reading, but it’s not like I can mend any clothes while standing in some dark alleyway. I would look like the world’s strangest dollymop.”

Cloudia walked a bit faster. Even though she could not see Lisa, she was certain she was rolling her eyes right now. “I have to say that whatever you are doing is not damaging clothes at record speeds for once,” Lisa continued, undeterred. “If I had known I would essentially become a glorified seamstress, I might have acted on those second thoughts about accepting your offer to become your handmaiden. You make me participate in this clothes exchange for whatever reason, but you never let me come with you to one of your clothes-destroying missions. Maybe, I should still act on my second thoughts about this position.”

“Do what you like,” Cloudia said finally when they arrived at the townhouse’s gate. A footman opened it for them. “Though I have to remark that harbouring second thoughts for a year is an awfully long time, Miss Greene.”

***

The days passed with Cloudia working on both her official assignment and her personal goal. The Hanged Men Case kept proving itself more complex than anyone could have anticipated with every new aspect Cloudia and her Aristocrats of Evil uncovered. Additionally, Cloudia continued to be unable to steal even a glance at Milton Salisbury. She did, however, spot more hanged men during her stakeouts. Certainly, half the adult male population of London must have been hanged on clothesline by now.

Four days later, Cloudia finally admitted to herself that her plan wasn’t working. It hadn’t been a good plan from the start, more of an embarrassing endeavour than a strategic scheme; still, Cloudia would have never fathomed it would lead to no results whatsoever. (At the very least, she was very thankful that neither Oscar nor Cecelia and Barrington had noticed that anything was amiss. Their seemingly endless Watchdog case was occupying them enough; they must attribute all her frustrations and odd behaviours to that.)

Hence, while Cloudia stared into the mirror of her vanity this morning, her brain concocted a secondary plan. One as ridiculous and mortifying as the one before but, this time, it might be successful as well. Lying low and waiting patiently had never been her strong suit, never her way to do anything.

With new determination, Cloudia picked out her clothes for the day and headed out.

***

The headquarters of Salisbury Trading did not look at all like the villa. Whereas the villa was of light stone, shimmering grey from age and silver in the right light, and simple symmetry, the headquarters was a much taller, much darker, much older building. It hadn’t been built new by the Salisburys but purchased and transformed into a place of bustling business, right in the heart of the Square Mile. Like the villa, the headquarters looked oddly out of place too with its additions and expansions that mimicked the original building well, albeit not perfectly; the discrepancy in age and material was equal times subtle as it was glaringly obvious.

Cloudia hoped that, unlike the two Salisbury edifices, she would vanish in the crowd effortlessly. Dressed for the second time like a man in just as many months, Cloudia strode into the Salisbury Trading headquarters.

There was very little I knew about Milton. He was maybe friends or not with the Disaster Trio. He liked Dickens like me. He disliked hunting even though he was very good at it. He seemed to be a hermit of the highest order, as long as he was in London.

He was the new Baron Salisbury and director of Salisbury Trading.

Milton’s words regarding the Disaster Trio did not leave me particularly hopeful that he was seeing them a lot, and mourning etiquette prevented him from such visits anyway. I could not keep tabs on every single bookstore in London and its surroundings. I had a watchful eye at one, and the probability that Milton would end up at the Sainteclare Bookstore was very small.

No; apart from the villa, the only place where I had even the slightest chance of meeting him was his workplace. Mourning curbed jovial activities, but business needed to go on as best as possible. While Milton might have a deputy and a council and whatnot, this did not change the circumstance that he had just assumed this position – and that went hand-in-hand with lots of work.

Yesterday, Cloudia had scrutinised the building from afar and realised that there was only one person at the reception desk, watching everyone come and go and handling questions and requests. Her plan was simple: Wait for lunch hour to ensure that the corridors would be bustling with people, go to the reception desk with a lie to lure the clerk away, search his place for a floorplan, and locate Milton’s office.

It was never that easy, of course.

Upon entering, Cloudia noted the cleanliness of the building, a few decorative knight’s armours lining one side of a corridor, and the fact that, indeed, the clerk at the reception desk was the only staff member on duty in the entrance hall.

Hopefully, this was though.

***

No five minutes later, Cloudia found herself in a waiting room, wondering what had just happened. She had managed to enter the building without any problems, though many of the passing-by employees had raised an eyebrow or frowned at her. However, before she could even utter the entirety of her lie to the receptionist, a man had placed his hand on her shoulder and beckoned her to follow him. His grip had been surprisingly iron-clad and, not wanting to risk a full-blown commotion, Cloudia had complied.

Now, the man was in front of the door, watching her. If Newman had stood next to him, he would have looked small and insignificant despite his own considerable height. Some places employed laughably subpar security guards; to Cloudia’s misfortune, the man’s stance, the way he carried himself, and how he had kept a tight grip on her as he had guided her here showed that he was most definitely not one of those.

Why was my luck failing me like this? What had I done to deserve this?

Cloudia let her gaze wander through the room, over the lovely grandfather’s clock on the back wall, the polished knight’s armour in the corner, the paintings on the wall, and the sofa opposite hers. When they had entered the waiting room, the man had spoken a single sentence to her: “Sit down and wait for someone to come.” Since then, Cloudia had formulated a lie to explain herself and get out of here, all while pondering who would come. She hoped it would be the security guard’s direct commander and feared it to be someone from Scotland Yard. If Arthur Randall came through this door, Cloudia’s already bad day would turn positively abysmal; she had neither nerves nor patience to see him and engage with him.

She did not have to dwell long on that fear though as someone loudly knocked on the door then. The guard opened the door for a tall man with curly brown hair and red-rimmed glasses. Cloudia recognised him from a newspaper article she had read some time ago: He was Theodore Sycamore, the deputy chief of Salisbury Trading; he had held this position since Milton’s father Leland’s time as baron.

How unexpected that someone so high-up would come to me.

Sycamore exchanged some whispered words with the guard before he glanced at Cloudia, and Cloudia could not help herself but grin at him. To her surprise, this seemed to unnerve Sycamore; she had not expected him to be so skittish. He immediately turned to address someone standing in the corridor, hidden from her sight. While Cloudia could not hear what Sycamore was saying, the reply he received was as clear as day: “Let me see for myself,” said a familiar voice. Cloudia’s heart fluttered in excitement.

I could almost hear Cecelia cackle.

Cloudia could not believe her luck when Sycamore stepped aside, and Milton entered the room. Under different circumstances, she might have jumped up at the sight of him or even punched the air in a terribly unladylike fashion. Instead, Cloudia remained still and fought back a smile when Milton’s gaze was set a moment too long on her face before he looked discreetly away – the indicator, as she now knew, that he had recognised her.

“Thank you, Theodore.” Milton said to Sycamore in a calming voice, “You can go now. I can handle this on my own. We will have to continue our conversation later if you do not mind.”

“Not at all,” replied Sycamore. Though he looked as if he wanted to say more, he ultimately only nodded and left the waiting room.

“Lucas, you are dismissed too,” Milton addressed the guard. With a tilt of his head, he followed Sycamore. Milton closed the door behind him and visibly deflated, shedding his role as company head with an exhale.

Milton turned to Cloudia and took a slow, deep breath. “That was very bold and brave, Lady Cloudia. How do I come to this honour?”

Cloudia smiled at his words. “I did not anticipate being caught immediately. I briefly feared that I would either be sent to Scotland Yard or someone from the Yard would come to collect me. Maybe I would have been more successful sneaking into Buckingham Palace instead.”

“I apologise for the trouble,” Milton replied and pulled on his sleeves. “We had some problems with intruders in the past, so everyone has become rather wary of unknown people, and security had to be heightened.”

“Still, you bring them to a nice sitting room to wait until someone comes to talk to them instead of immediately alerting the Met,” Cloudia pointed out. “I suppose, some must have been violent? Won’t someone grow suspicious or, at least, worried that you’re alone with me? Is the corridor outside lined with guards who are ready to kick open the door and bludgeon me to death if they hear me threatening or attacking you?”

Milton shook his head. “The walls of this room are very thick. Even if someone was standing outside the door – and I assure you, no one is –, they would not be able to hear anything we say. It would have been different if I had not been here and either my deputy or someone else had come to see you. They would have someone from the security department with them; some would be outside waiting too.”

Cloudia blinked at him. “Does that mean, if you come, you always come completely alone? Are you not afraid, Milton?”

“I have no reason to be.”

“Why? Surely, an intruder wants to harm your company. As you are now its director, shouldn’t they want to harm you too?”

“They do not want to harm me though,” Milton replied with surprising, almost eerie calmness. “More often than not, they have only been sent by someone who wants to. And no matter if an intruder comes because they were sent or out of their own volition, their ‘motive’ is usually despair, not ill-intent. It would be wrong to transport them to Scotland Yard without listening to them first, and they only rarely get violent.”

“‘Rarely’ is not ‘never,’” Cloudia remarked, then nodded to the knight’s armour behind her. “You are also making it very easy for others to hurt you. There’s a sword here, and you can throw the furniture, amongst others.” She shook her head. “One of these days, you will get yourself killed, Milton.”

A smile appeared on Milton’s face for a moment, just a moment, before it was gone again. Cloudia wondered not for the first time how his smile would look like if it stayed for more than a fleeting moment.

“The armours are recent additions,” Milton said.

“Just because no one has had the opportunity yet does not mean it will never happen. One of these days, Milton. Why are the armours here anyway? There were some in the corridors too.”

Milton fumbled with his sleeves absentmindedly. “They were placed all over the building because ‘knights provide protection,’ don’t they? Also, the swords cannot be removed without exerting considerable force.”

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” she said before she, in a sudden surge of silliness, stood up and walked to the knight’s armour. She put her hand around the hilt and thought of King Arthur as she pulled. Unlike him, she could not remove the sword though. Cloudia tried again with both hands, but the sword did not even move a millimetre. She then tried to break off the arm – in vain. Even her attempt to move the armour as a whole proved fruitless; it was firmly secured to the ground and surprisingly heavy too. Such armours were decorating the Knights’ headquarters too, and they hadn’t weighed as much. Barrington had taken her once years ago, albeit they hadn’t been able to stay for long before Barrington’s successor, Harold Midford, had kicked them out, as he could not stand Barrington.

“Good for you,” Cloudia said, trying to keep the embarrassment out of her voice, and returned to her seat.

Milton, thankfully, did not comment on what she had just done. Instead, he hovered indecisively by the door before he ultimately sat down on the sofa opposite from her. “I suppose you have not come to talk about armoury,” Milton began. “What has brought you to me, Lady Cloudia?”

Slight panic rushed through Cloudia, but she shoved it away and said, “I simply wanted to talk to you.”

Milton became very quiet for a moment. “You only wanted to talk to me?” he slowly said at last. “For no reason in particular?”

“For no reason in particular,” she confirmed. “I wished I could have initiated this differently, only I could not possibly have done this any other way: After all, you are in mourning, and I am a lady you have no relation with. This must seem quite silly and mad.” Cloudia brushed her hands over her legs. “And now you have seen me more often in trousers than in a dress. I…” She trailed off when she noticed how taken aback Milton looked. “I am sorry to have intruded on you like this. This must be very weird to you.”

“No, I…”

“I can leave if you want me to.”

Milton ran a hand through his hair. “I cannot talk right now,” he said hesitantly, “but it would be rude to send you home after you’ve made such a great effort to see me. I need to finish a few things, and if you do not mind… would it be fine to meet up in an hour?”

Cloudia’s eyes widened.

Even knowing that Milton was not the kind of person to laugh at me and kick me out, this came wholly unexpected.

“Unless you cannot wait,” Milton hastily added. “You surely must be busy and…”

“Meeting in an hour is fine,” she was quick to say. They fell into silence for a moment before they burst out almost at once: “Where should we meet?”

Milton flushed, and Cloudia chuckled. “How about we meet at the café around the corner?” she suggested.

He nodded. “That would be fine, I suppose.”

Cloudia took a deep breath. “It would be best if I did not get changed and if you could… find something less conspicuous to wear?”

There was it again – his shadow of a smile. “Of course.” He stood up, and she did too.

“What will you say if someone asks about me?” she enquired, walking to the door.

“Let that be my worry.”

Cloudia put her hand on the door handle. Instead of pushing it down, she turned to Milton once again. “And I can just leave? No one will stop or question me?”

He shook his head. “No. You would not have been able to leave freely if I had not cleared you. Everyone knows that.”

“This is a very strange place, Milton.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cloudia smiled at him. “Until later,” she said.

“Until later,” he said, fidgeting with his right sleeve. And then, she was gone.

***

Of course, Cloudia had no reason to think that Milton could have been lying. Even so, she was stunned by how easy it was to make her way downstairs and out of Salisbury Trading’s headquarters. No one stopped her. No one went to talk to her. No one suddenly appeared behind her to drag her to a room like before. Cloudia received some passing glances; that was all. It was as if everyone was perfectly sure that she had most definitely not killed Milton in the waiting room and strode out humming afterwards. It was a little unnerving; nonetheless, it was not that experience that bounced through her head when she left the building and took a walk around the block to pass the time.

No, her head was full of panicked thoughts.

For over a month, Milton had haunted her. For over a week, she had been staking out around his villa. Now that she had managed to arrange a meeting to talk, Cloudia was at her wit’s end, and it greatly troubled her. How many cases had she solved? How many mysteries unravelled? She had been trained since childhood to find ways to make the best out of every situation, to turn every situation around in her favour – may it be about fighting or conversing. It was a sheer impossibility to plan a fight or conversation step by step. There were patterns, of course, but opponents and interlocutors always brought the factors of surprise and randomness with them as well. Not even a fencing tournament with strict rules and guidelines could be planned because of how competitors might act within the area of possibilities. None of that was new to Cloudia; she had mastered far, far more difficult and worse situations.

With that, why was my body and mind betraying me by sending me into a panic? Over something as simple as talking to someone in private?

By the time Cloudia went to the café where she had arranged to meet Milton, she hadn’t been able to calm her racing thoughts. In fact, they had even picked up speed while she had been walking around.

Again, I could hear Cecelia in my mind so clearly as if she was right beside me, teasing me about a supposed “crush” that did not exist. And when Milton finally appeared from behind a corner, Cecelia’s voice got louder for a second before it vanished, successfully silenced.

It took Cloudia a second to recognise him. Not because Milton was wearing a dock worker’s clothes but because he had hidden his hair under a cap in such a way that none of his golden locks was visible. Still dressed in dark clothes, Milton now looked more like a wraith than a person. And while Cloudia watched him approach her, she frowned at the sight.

“I hope I did not make you wait for too long,” Milton said when he arrived beside her.

Cloudia shook her head. “Not at all. Come, let’s go somewhere else to talk.” She looked around and then pushed herself off the wall she had been leaning against. “If you do not mind,” she swiftly added.

“I don’t mind at all.”

Cloudia nodded. Without another word, she led him through the streets and towards the Thames. She had thought about their destination a bit during her earlier stroll. They could not simply sit down in a café; that would necessitate them to engage with the staff which would increase the likelihood of getting recognised. Her disguise as a man had worked out well enough with the Disaster Trio, but it was more possible for there to be keener-eyed people in public spaces. Further, Cloudia did not want their conversation to be overheard. It was more likely that someone could listen to them if they were in a café sitting down than if they were outside. A park would have been sufficient; however, the Thames’ steady, loud run would help to conceal their words, and Cloudia had not been by that one specific bridge in a while.

They did not exchange a single word on the way. From time to time, Cloudia checked if Milton was still with her. Then, she would always note with great annoyance that the sight of him startled her; there was something off about him with his hair hidden like that, and Cloudia had to suppress the urge to rip the cap from his head.

When they arrived by the river and walked along the embankment, Cloudia first caught Milton keeping his gaze on someone for a bit too long. Curious, she craned her head to glimpse at whoever Milton had recognised in the crowd. Although she was surprised to find someone who looked like an ordinary factory worker, Cloudia decided not to enquire. Just in case, she memorised that man’s appearance (patched clothes, thick dark blond moustache, unruly hair beneath a cap and curling along his ears, faint scar on his left hand, etc.). Two more times did his eyes get stuck on someone; two more times did she memorise them, and then she guided Milton to the bridge of her choice.

Not everyone had a favourite bridge, but Cloudia did. (She had once tried to talk to her cousins about it; even Cathleen had only smiled politely at that.) It would have taken less time to walk to London Bridge; however, even though it might be important historically as the first bridge across the Thames (its primary iteration at least, not its current one), Cloudia despised the nursery rhyme created for it, and her traitorous brain always replayed it in her mind whenever she crossed it. No, Cloudia had taken Milton to Blackfriars Bridge instead which was, in her eyes, infinitely more beautiful than London Bridge.

The irony that Cloudia liked the wonky Blackfriars Bridge so much despite hating “London Bridge Is Falling Down” with a passion had not escaped her. Blackfriars had had to undergo extensive repairs multiple times already – the last time had only been five years ago –, and Cloudia knew in her heart that the bridge would be dismantled and likely replaced one day. Nevertheless, when Barrington had brought Cloudia to London for the first time, and they had crossed Blackfriars Bridge, the light had hit the brownstone bridge and its nine arches so perfectly that it had looked like it was glowing. She had been to London beforehand with her cousins, though nothing she had glimpsed of the city then had fascinated her as much.

Today, the sky was hung with clouds, and Blackfriars Bridge did not shine. Regardless, Cloudia felt a jolt of warmth when she stepped on the bridge for the first time in a long while.

Cloudia and Milton walked to about the midway point before she halted and went to the railing. The Thames was, as always, grey and unremarkable, so she kept her eyes up and stared at the neighbouring Waterloo Bridge, though she could not say that the granite bridge presented a prettier sight. In recent years, it had become infamous as a popular place for suicide attempts too. Thomas Hood had written a poem about one; Cloudia refused to read it.

Cloudia noticed Milton stepping beside her. When she gazed up at him, his eyes were closed, and he was looking rather serene for a wraith. A moment later, when Milton reopened his eyes, Cloudia said, the words tumbling out of her mouth as realisation dawned upon her, “You imagined being on a boat, right? I heard you travelled a lot in the last few years.”

Milton blinked at her before he presented her with yet another small, fleeting smile. “You are right, I did. I apologise; it was odd. It simply has been months since I last travelled anywhere, and I got carried away.”

“No, it is all right,” Cloudia assured him. “I have been on boats before, though I bet the sensation of being on a ship that travels away from the kingdom is something else entirely.” She nodded to the bleary Thames. “It must help if the waters aren’t as grey and drab as here.”

“It is; it does.” Milton looked out to the river. “I was rather nervous when I left the Isle for the first time,” he said. Although he spoke softly, Cloudia could hear him clearly over the waves that hit and bullied her little faulty bridge. “My mother… My mother was afraid of great water masses. She never set foot on a ship and closed her eyes when she drove across bridges. I could only think of her and what she might think if she was alive; to know me crossing the Channel. But… I think being on a ship and travelling is one of the best feelings in the world. If you stand by a railing and close your eyes, feel the ship move beneath you and the wind in your hair, it feels as if you are walking on air.” Just when he had finished speaking, Milton’s face reddened.

Cloudia chuckled. “It’s a lovely description. Today, you cannot exactly feel the wind in your hair though.”

Milton raised a hand to his cap and briefly touched it. “It can’t be helped, unfortunately. My hair colour is not exactly inconspicuous, particularly when I am in mourning clothes.”

“I barely recognised you earlier, with your hair hidden like that,” Cloudia admitted. “The disguise works well.”

“That’s good to know.” Milton turned to look at Cloudia. “How have things been?”

I’m investigating a bothersome case involving clotheslines. Cloudia shrugged. “Unremarkable. What happened at the hunt was the event of the year for me. I doubt anything that will occur during the Season will be as notable.”

“I, too, hope nothing of the sort happens again anytime soon,” Milton agreed with a nod.

“And what about you? Have you managed to finish The Cricket on the Hearth in the meantime?”

Milton shook his head. “No. I still haven’t been able to move on from its first chapter. I did start something else though.” His gaze softened all of a sudden, and Cloudia shifted a bit under his eyes as if he had caught her doing something illicit. “Do you really want to talk about books though?”

“Yes,” Cloudia said automatically. “No,” she substituted her answer right after.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Yes, but…” Cloudia sighed and plucked a non-existent dust particle from her jacket.

“We can talk about anything you want,” Milton said. “You have brought me out here for no reason in particular after all.” His eyes shone for a moment, the green in them seeming glaringly bright for a second, before he directed them to the Thames again.

Cloudia mustered Milton. Questions were roaring through her mind; they were as cluttered as they were numerous. She could simply choose one to nudge the ball, set it rolling, and see where it would take her. Only she could not. Her stomach clenched. No thought stuck. She felt numb and nervous at once which was as annoying as it was infuriating.

I hated, hated this.

I hated, hated that all my determination seemed to have vanished into thin air.

I hated, hated that I was at a loss for words.

Because I knew that I had a thousand questions but no idea of what I even wanted to ask exactly.

Because it felt like something was wrong with me.

Because I didn’t want to insinuate that something was wrong with him.

Because I was still…

Because I could not stop thinking about…

“Or,” Milton’s gentle voice brought her back with a start, “or we could not talk about anything at all. If you want, we can just continue with our walk.”

***

They didn’t speak a word as they crossed Blackfriars Bridge to reach the other side of the river. As they crossed bridge and bridge in a zigzag. As they walked along the beach to Waterloo Bridge. Along the embankment, all the way to Big Ben and then across Westminster Bridge. And then all the way down to Putney Bridge and beyond.

What a strange thing it was; to walk beside each other without a set destination, without saying anything at all for hours. Yet, Cloudia did not feel strange in the slightest. With each step, the tension that had been building itself within her in the last weeks left her body. By Waterloo Bridge, it had dissipated, leaving her feeling as light as she hadn’t felt in ages. Cloudia and Milton never touched each other either, never even grazed each other as they wandered and wandered, no matter how crowded it became. There was something oddly soothing and reassuring about Milton, his presence paradoxically both faint and steadfast. At times, Cloudia felt as if she had lost him along the way, though he remained by her side all the time without complaint.

When they reached Hammersmith Bridge, they did not cross it. Instead, without a word, Cloudia turned and headed back towards the Square Mile; Milton quietly went with her. By the time they arrived in Kensington, the sun was setting.

At Hyde Park, Milton halted. Although Cloudia had navigated them throughout London until now, and they had not stopped once for anything, the end to their walk did not startle her at all. “Should we find you a hansom cab, or can you find your own way home?” Milton asked nonchalantly.

Cloudia blinked at him for a moment. “I think I will be fine without one,” she said.

He nodded. “I hope you arrive home safe and sound.”

“You too,” Cloudia replied, and added after a brief pause: “And take care of yourself; I do not want you to get hanged from a clothesline.”

A ghost of a smile played around the corners of his mouth. “I will. And…” Milton fidgeted with his sleeves. The entire way across and along the Thames, he had not adjusted his clothes once. Another paradox; truly, how could Milton be a source of calmness and so full of unrest at once? “And if you want to talk again,” he continued with a soft voice, “you can simply write to my office. I do not mind, and I assure you no one will find out. You can give a false name and address and put a star on a corner so that I know it’s you.”

Cloudia simply nodded.

“I wish you a good night, Lady Cloudia,” Milton said, lowering his voice when he spoke her name.

“Good night, Milton,” she replied, saying his name just as quietly.

With another smile and the spectre of one, they turned to go towards their respective homes. Then, Cloudia saw that Milton was heading in the direction of Kensington Palace and did not, as she had assumed, turn back towards Holland House. She stopped in her tracks, confused. “Where are you going?” she called to him. “Isn’t your villa in another direction?”

Milton paused and turned to her. “Ah, I do not live there. I cannot stand the sight of that place.”

***

Paris, Seine, France – June 1848

~Cloudia~

Smoke was rising from the locomotive, beckoning her forward, and Cloudia ran and ran.

The wind tore at her hair, at her clothes, brushed its fingers over the wound on the side of her face. It pushed against her, though not as much as she pushed against it.

Running had always made her blood sing, not just from the strain but from the bliss. No matter the situation, no matter the reason why she was running, her blood was singing whenever she did. When she had chased down John Francis, when she had hurried across the country roads towards St. Lacey, when she had dashed after criminals or cousins in childhood – it had all felt the same, the bliss, the ecstasy. Even on that day, that terrible day, when she had been unable to run, that grey, grey day with the endless rain, her whole body had yearned for that movement.

And now that yearning for running, for the wind, for the sensation of it all powered Cloudia’s tired body forward and forward.

Her focus was on the smoking locomotive – and the person hastening away from it and towards the Gare du Nord ahead. At first, the smoke had obscured who it was; now, the person had gone farther away and out of the cloud. Despite the soot and grime, it was clear that it was Yvette. Cloudia quickened her pace, raised her gun to aim.

She could not allow Yvette to pass through the train station’s arches and disappear into the city.

Cloudia loved to run – but a shot was another great way to close a distance.

She fired once, and Yvette didn’t fall. She fired twice – and fell.

Torn out of her momentum, Cloudia landed hard on the gravel. Her gun slipped out of her hand in the fall; pain exploded in her back; her head just missed the train tracks. Someone was above her, his weight heavy on her legs, on her body, but her arms were free. He pulled back his right arm, ready to punch her. Swiftly, Cloudia took out a knife and rammed it into his side before his fist hit. He yelled out, caught off guard. She shoved him away from her, pulled herself away. Keeping her eyes on the man, she reached without looking for the gun. He ripped out the knife, threw it away, lunged for her. Her fingers curled around the metal.

A shot – and a bullet scraped her cheek.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Cloudia threw herself to the ground, and another bullet sailed above her.

Damn. There was nothing to hide behind; the station, the locomotive, and the wagons were all too far away.

I rolled around, my gun in my hand. Where was this bastard? And then, of course, there was…

The man who had tackled her earlier picked her up from the ground. Cloudia yanked up her hand to fire at him when another shot rang through the air. No bullet found its way to her this time; only an unfamiliar scream accompanied the shot.

The cry distracted Cloudia and her assailant; and at that moment, someone appeared behind him. Large and shadowed by the midday sun in his back.

Newman grabbed the man’s shoulders, and he let Cloudia go. She fell back into the gravel and watched her butler punch him in the face and put his limp body next to the train tracks.

“Lady Cloudia,” Newman said and held out a hand to her. “Are you all right?”

Cloudia took his hand and let herself be heaved up. “Yes. I’m sure I’m covered in cuts and bruises but nothing serious.”

With nimble hands, Newman brushed some of the grit and dust from her clothes while Cloudia quickly looked around to assess the situation. She had not seen her attacker before; he might have been hiding in one of the wagons or waiting for them by the station. Cloudia clenched her teeth. And she had lost sight of Yvette, though she should not have been able to get far yet.

“Newman, I need to hurry,” Cloudia told him. Though Newman immediately let go of her, he also said, “One moment, Mylady.” He then retrieved a knife from his pocket and handed it to her. No, not a knife, a dagger – her father’s dagger.

Cloudia’s eyes widened. “It was on the ground in the fourth wagon from the back,” Newman explained. “I cleaned it as blood got on it.”

“Thank you,” she said, her heart skipping a happy beat when she wrapped her fingers around the hilt. The patterns of waves and waterdrops on the blade flashed in the sun as if in greeting. “But now, I really have to go.”

Newman bowed his head. “And I will follow, Mylady.”

***

~Cedric~

Dumbfounded, Cedric blinked at the place where Cloudia had been standing just seconds ago. Only when he noticed a figure moving next to him, noticed Milton taking a step to the door, did Cedric snap out of it. Without a second thought, Cedric grabbed Milton and yanked him back.

“What were you thinking?” Cedric yelled. “You could have fallen off the train, Milton!”

The explosion, the sudden, screeching halt, and Cloudia’s hurried exit had jumbled my mind; now, everything was coming back to me, sorting itself neatly in my brain.

Milton and I hurrying to the first coach, the one right behind the locomotive. Seeing two men holding Cloudia down and at gunpoint. My mind going red with alarm. Being inattentive for a second and unable to prevent Milton from…

Cedric tightened his grip on Milton’s arm at the memory. Milton looked at his hand before he glanced at the open door. Passengers were gradually streaming out of the compartments and carriages, wondering what was going on, and wanting to get away from what was happening. Cedric pulled Milton farther to the side and away from the people.

“I am sorry, Kristopher,” Milton said softly. “It was the best way to handle it. And I have practice in that.”

“Practice in running on top of moving train carriages?” Cedric pinched his nose with his free hand. “If I didn’t already have grey hair, I would be saying that you’re giving me some! A moving train, Milton!”

“I filled in as a brakeman a few times,” Milton explained as if that made anything better. “I wanted to try it out; that’s why I know how to move even atop running trains.”

“Isn’t a brakeman a particularly dangerous job? Because they often fall off wagons?”

“Yes. Bram only let me do it twice for that reason.”

“Wentworth shouldn’t have let you do it once.” Cedric pinched his nose again. “We were riding for hours to Creil, Milton – you had ample time to tell us about the protective clothing and your stint as a brakeman and whatnot! You didn’t have to surprise us, or rather me, with all that! Next time, please don’t hold back and ramble how you have never rambled before. Recite your entire résumé. I don’t care; I just don’t want to be surprised like that anymore.” Cedric looked at Milton. “And speaking about brakes and telling us – me – things, what was up with the ropes? How did you know they were there?”

“Because,” Milton said, his face reddening, “this is my train.”

Cedric stared at him. “Your what?”

Milton smiled sheepishly and peeked to the door again. “I can explain later. Shouldn’t we go out first?” He moved towards the exit, but Cedric held him back.

“Milton, is there anything else I should know?”

Milton locked eyes with him. “Nothing I can tell you,” he said quietly before he pulled himself free and ran out of the coach.

Cedric followed Milton outside, thrusting some passengers away to get to the door. Outside, the sun was shining. People were clambering out of the train, filling the area with shouts, panicked voices, annoyed grunts, and their presences and belongings. Milton was heading towards the locomotive; smoke was still rising from it. Cedric quickly scanned the area for Cloudia. After he spotted her hurrying into the left train hall (Newman was with her; his large size was hard to overlook), Cedric ran after Milton.

He blew up dust and gravel as he hastened after him, and the wind blew his hair into his face. Cedric brushed the strands away and saw a man jumping out of the locomotive and starting to sprint away. If that was Townsend, Cloudia must be chasing down Yvette right now. And if that was Townsend, where was Florentin? Still in the locomotive?

Cedric quickened his pace. Behind him, he heard the passengers’ hysteric, confused chatter, their steps on the dry grass and gravel – chatter and steps that concealed whoever was creeping up on Cedric. In one moment, he had nearly reached the locomotive; in the next, someone grabbed his hair and yanked him back, hard.

A scream escaped Cedric’s throat as he was pulled back and down to the ground. Pain swelled on his side and the back of his head. It spread across his stomach too when his attacker rammed his foot into it. Air was ripped out of his lungs. Once, twice. The edges of his vision were darkening. When the man set out to drive down his foot a third time, Cedric collected his strength and reached up to his leg. He dug his fingers into the fabric of his trousers and the skin beneath and dragged him sideways with all his might.

The man cried out when he lost his equilibrium and crashed to the ground. Cedric gasped for air and fleetly rolled himself away. He needed to get up, to get up first, but first, he needed oxygen and a second to compose himself.

Cedric got up second; nevertheless, he was on his feet when the man tried to punch him. With a pang, Cedric noticed that it was the person who had held Cloudia down earlier, the man he had knocked out. He must have woken up and left the carriage from the other end while Cedric had talked to Milton.

Shit, Cedric thought and dodged the punch. He tried to grab the man, but he jumped back, taking out a knife in the process. Shit, Cedric thought anew. The man lunged at him with his knife, and Cedric stepped back. He evaded all the man’s lunges, was forced farther and farther back and away from the locomotive. He waited for an opening; his concentration was set on it.

He only faltered when he noticed something in his periphery: Kamden was making his way through the crowd.

Cedric slapped the knife out of the man’s hands. It clattered away, but Cedric didn’t pay any attention to where it fell. His eyes were on the man farther back amongst the masses – the man who was clearly after Kamden. Cedric recognised him as the person who had lain crumpled behind Newman in the fourth wagon. “Emyr!” Cedric screamed. He wanted to run to him and was promptly wrestled to the ground. He groaned as he landed again on the hard grit.

“Emyr!” Cedric shouted between dodging punches and trying to get the man off him. “Emyr! Behind you!” But Kamden didn’t hear him. His eyes only widened when he saw Cedric and ran towards him. This only ticked off the man from carriage four. “Emyr!” Cedric yelled again and held his arms protectively over his face as he was pummelled with punches. “Emyr – look behind you! Emyr!”

“Kamden! Duck!”

Without another thought, Kamden ducked right when the man had reached him and raised his gun. Cedric managed to switch places with his attacker, rolling him to the ground, as the gunshot sounded. His blood running cold, Cedric scrambled to his feet and kicked the man in the chin before he made a run towards Kamden.

No, no, no, not Kamden.

The crowd had dispersed and come together again in the wake of the shot, clustering around the possible victim. Cedric elbowed his way through the mass, his heart racing.

Great relief washed over him, calming his nerves, when he spotted Kamden.

He was safe and sound, sitting on the ground and blinking in confusion at Milton who was talking to the onlookers, likely to explain the situation. The man from wagon four was unconscious. The travellers turned more to the man now, shifting around him. Some of them took hold of him and bound him with clothes pulled from their suitcases.

Adopting Kamden’s expression, Cedric skittered to a halt in the small clearance. Immediately, Milton turned to him. “Kristopher! Are you all right?” he asked. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I was running after Townsend – I think it must have been him – when I noticed the commotion behind me and…” Milton tightened his grip on the pistol in his hand; as his own was in its holster, it must be the gun of Kamden’s attacker. Milton must have shot it out of that man’s hand and then knocked him out somehow afterwards.

“It’s fine,” said Cedric, still not quite comprehending what had just happened. “And I am too, I think. Only superficial cuts.”

Kamden tried to get up, albeit a bit too quickly, and stumbled. Milton extended his hand to him, wanting to steady him, but Kamden caught himself and took a step back. Sadness flickered in Milton’s eyes as he retracted his hand. “Townsend got away, I’m sorry,” Milton said then, matter-of-factly.

“The Countess and Newman were heading to the train station. They might be able to intercept him. You two should go there too,” Cedric said and turned to run, having remembered something. “And I will go to the locomotive for the Clockmaker.”

***

~Cloudia~

Cloudia ran to the left tunnel; Newman was right behind her, protecting her back. Passengers continued to come out of the train carriages, puzzled and terrified. Their voices, steps, and the ritter-ratter of their suitcases on the gravel were growing louder as they came closer and closer to the train station. The Gare du Nord, however, was not the opposite of the scene outside but its mirror: The people at the station had noticed the commotion, of course. A train had stopped with great noise. Something in its decoupled locomotive had exploded, and the resulting smoke kept on rising. People were beside and on the tracks. And then, there had been the gunshots, the shouts, the fighting.

Cloudia would have been surprised if the people at the train station had not noticed anything.

The Gare du Nord must always be busting at its seams already as, with only two tunnels, two platforms, and six tracks, it was a remarkably small train station for a capital. Now, the panic and turmoil made Cloudia fear that the building might begin to shake.

Station personnel were doing their best to calm down and navigate the horrified travellers, but it was still a mess. Again, Cloudia found herself in a situation with too many civilians and far too little place.

And in this madhouse, Yvette had stolen herself.

It was like looking for a needle in the haystack; only that the haystack was moving and putting Cloudia at risk of being trampled down. Even entering the tunnel came with great difficulty, for people were not simply heading towards the front doors to leave. No, of course, many had set their heart to be obnoxious onlookers, leaving the station from this side of the tunnel to see from up close what had happened.

And that’s why I didn’t like people.

However, their idiocy meant that not only Newman and I would have a horrible time getting into and through the train station – it would be the same for Yvette and Townsend and everyone else on their side.

Cloudia and Newman had just managed to get inside – Newman and his intimidatingly large physique worked wonders as people, despite their worry and curiosity, seemed to instinctively step aside for Newman, even if it looked as if it was physically impossible in this cramped place – when they heard shouts that made their ears perk up. Many were yelling right now, from travellers to personnel, but what set those shouts apart from all the others was that they were in English.

“Girl, don’t thrash around that much! Are you a fish?”

“Oh, let me go, you…”

And then their exchange was cut apart by screams.

***

~Cedric~

When Cedric arrived at the smoking locomotive, Florentin was leaving it. Albeit not by walking on his feet; instead, Florentin, bound, gagged, and bloody, was on his stomach and wiggling himself out. Cedric could not help himself but laugh at the sight and earned a seething glare for that.

“I’m sorry,” Cedric said between snorts and while trying to unfurl the rope, “but you should have known that would you look like a caterpillar if you did that.”

Florentin scowled at him and pressed out what must be expletives; the gag prevented Cedric from understanding any though. When Cedric could not undo the knot by hand, he cut through it. As soon as the rope fell off him, Florentin sat up and tore the gag from his mouth. “Could you not have done that earlier, you fool?”

“And that’s why I didn’t remove the gag first.” Cedric sighed. “You are being awfully ungrateful to the person who has come to save you.”

“Remind me, why I am in this situation in the first place?” Florentin rubbed his wrists. “Decades I’ve lived in that cabin without anyone finding it. And then you come and get spotted instantly.”

Cedric lifted his hands. “I did warn you that someone would come. Why didn’t you fight back?”

“And risk the life of the Marquis’ grandson?” Florentin coughed and scrunched up his nose. “Now, enough of this. I want to leave this ineffable smoke behind before I die again.”

Cedric offered to help him up, but Florentin only swatted his hand away and got to his feet alone. He brushed briefly over his clothes, saw that it was futile, and simply set out towards the train station without another word. Cedric wanted to follow him right away; a movement he perceived from the corner of his eye, however, made him stop and check. The train driver was still inside the locomotive, bound and gagged as Florentin had been. Clenching his jaw, Cedric entered the locomotive and quickly freed the train driver. He assisted him outside and pointed to the train station with a nod before he hurried after Florentin.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the train driver?” Cedric asked Florentin.

“What does he matter to me?” Florentin answered and put his glasses back on. He must have found a clean tissue in his pocket and scrubbed them on the way. “And don’t look at me like that. I told you I don’t like people.”

“He could have died!”

“You might have inhaled too much of the smoke,” Florentin replied dryly and then nodded to the coaches. “Or hit your head when the train stopped. If that man had been fated to die in that locomotive, there would have been a Grim Reaper – an active, French one – inside it, waiting to collect his soul. Now, have you seen one? No? Considering the scene around us, I suppose a Grim Reaper must be near though. As such, rather than preoccupying yourself with my apparent cold-heartedness, might I suggest that you turn your attention to leaving this place as rapidly as possible? Neither of us can afford to be seen.”

How I hated him being right.

“How did you fare anyway?” Cedric asked in an attempt to change the subject. Instantaneously, Florentin side-eyed him, knowing of his scheme, though he decided to answer his question for once.

“How I fared?” Florentin replied in a tone that made Cedric regret his decision. “What an unsurprisingly idiotic question coming from you. My workshop was invaded by a fool and his entourage. I was almost willing to try my hand at opening the puzzle box, simply to bring that man’s endless, asinine chatter to an end. For so long, the only fools I would encounter were at the marketplace when I’m selling my clocks. Of course, the universe could not allow me to forget that fools are everywhere and send me an overabundance of them to my home. I followed that fool…”

“Nicodemus Townsend,” said Cedric.

“If I had cared for that man’s name, I would have remembered it the first time,” Florentin said curtly.

“Then, I will feel a bit honoured that you remembered mine.”

“If that satisfies your small self, so be it, Mr Rimrod.”

Cedric stared at him.

“I was jesting,” Florentin clarified dryly before he proceeded, unbothered, “I followed that fool and his entourage to ensure the safety of both Jacques Beauchene and me, as his grandfather would not go easy on me if something happened to one of his grandchildren because of me. Of course, the fool troop could have forced me then and there to open that box, only the main idiot intended to make a spectacle out of it and chose to bring me to Paris. He also hoped to be more undisturbed in the city because he knew Countess Phantomhive was chasing him.

“When the locomotive was decoupled from the rest of the train and the engine exploded, he tried to take me with him, but I struggled against him. In the end, he made the, for once, sensible decision to escape on his own. After all, securing the box is of more importance than securing me. He could search for another Clockmaker or whatnot but would never find another Queen’s box.” Florentin pinched his nose. “If only he had come to that conclusion earlier. He could have sought out another person rather than me when he had realised that the Marquis’ grand-niece was nearby. None of you would have noticed that he had left France until later, and the neighbouring Germany is known for its clockworks too.”

“I guess, it’s a case of an inflated sense of self,” Cedric remarked. “Townsend thought he could still continue his plan and get away too.”

Florentin looked at him. “Now, tell me, where is that fool right now?”

***

~Cloudia~

The screams sent a surge through the crowd and Cloudia into action. Ahead, people were simultaneously turning away from and heading towards the source of the cries. As Cloudia made her way through, she noticed a commotion, and when she heard yet another scream, she stiffened.

I knew that voice. The voice of the man with whom Yvette had spoken. The first few screams had been hers and screams for help; this one was one of agony and clearly his.

Newman was a great help to get through the masses, but upon hearing his outcry, Cloudia rushed through on her own and ended up reaching him first.

Surrounded by people, Quentin Thibault-Nichols was sitting on the ground and holding his side with one hand. With the other, he tried to shoo away people and pleaded for them to please go and stop the soot-covered girl instead of trying to tend to him.

“Mylady!” Quentin exclaimed with surprising vitality and joy when he spotted her, though he looked pale, and a sheen of sweat was glistening on his face. “I didn’t expect to see you and your butler here.”

“And we didn’t expect to find you here either, Quentin,” said Cloudia with a little smile. “Though I faintly recall that you did tell Milton you would meet him in Paris.”

“Indeed! You have a remarkable memory, Mylady.” Quentin winced from the pain. Yet, when a woman tried to reach out to him, he energetically waved her away. Cloudia told all unhelpful helpers to leave and that she would take over. This time, having seen her furious gaze and heard her slightly threatening voice, they listened, and the crowd around them dispersed.

As soon as he arrived, Newman dropped to his knees next to Quentin and spoke to him, but Cloudia did not listen to what he was saying. Instead, she searched her pockets for the roll of gauze she had taken with her while she scanned the tunnel for Yvette. Her heart beat loudly in her chest; Yvette was nowhere to be seen, and Quentin was injured. Cloudia gritted her teeth and then knelt by Quentin’s other side, the roll of gauze now in her hands.

“That girl… I had her,” Quentin pressed out while Newman gently lifted his hand from his wound to inspect it. Yvette didn’t seem to have hit anything major; nonetheless, she had left him with a wide, deep wound that was bleeding far too much for Cloudia’s liking. “But she protested and then started screaming. Of course, people… people assumed I was doing something awful to her. And in a way I was as I was trying to drag her away, but only… but only because I saw her running out of the wrack! I figured she must know something. Anyway, people came to her rescue – and she… she used the chance before I could explain to free a hand and take out a knife…” Quentin grimaced when, presumably, a fresh wave of pain rolled over him.

“Quentin!” Cloudia heard Milton’s voice behind her. A blink later, he was already by Quentin’s other side, next to Newman. He let his eyes wander over the injury, worry unfurling on his face when he took it in.

“Milton,” Quentin strained to say. “I… I had her. I restrained her, but she managed to pull a hand free and get out her knife… People were around us; it was all so chaotic, and…”

“It is fine, Quentin,” Milton said softly. “Please don’t say another word. Everything will be fine. I…” Abruptly, Milton halted his sentence and stared at Cloudia with wide eyes as if he had only just noticed her presence. He tensed up, and Cloudia would have enquired about it if Kamden had not appeared then. He briefly touched Milton’s shoulder to get his attention. “Go away and let me,” he said.

With an odd expression on his face, Milton stood up and stepped away. Kamden swiftly took his place and rummaged in his bag. Cloudia handed him the roll of gauze before she went to Milton. By now, the train station had emptied significantly of travellers.

And Yvette and Townsend too.

I shouldn’t be standing here; I should be running after Yvette, at least. She might have managed to get away, but she could not have come far yet. Only my priority was not her; it was Townsend and the box – and where did he go? I had simply chased after the first person who had come out of the locomotive like an idiot. Maybe Cedric had been able to follow him. Hopefully, Cedric had been able to follow him. Otherwise…

“How on earth am I supposed to find them now?” Cloudia said aloud and rubbed her face. Newman and Kamden were fixing up Quentin. Elsewhere, station staff was shouting about the wayward train and leading people out. There were the sounds of suitcases and shoes scraping over the ground. Panicked, curious, annoyed chatter. The cries of children, and their parents’ soothing coos. The tick-tack and screeches of machines. Quentin’s whimpers. All sounds were deafening in the echoing tunnels.

Cloudia’s head shot up.

Something was wrong.

She whirled to Milton. Cloudia hadn’t been able to take a good look at him yet, not since before she had begun jumping from wagon to wagon. Earlier, in the last carriage before the locomotive, everything had happened so quickly – the attack, the braking, the smoke – that she had barely paid any attention to him. Now, Cloudia raked her eyes over him. His jacket was gone, and blood was splattered on his clothes. There was blood dried on his left hand, but he seemed otherwise fine physically. Cloudia worried about the odd, absent-minded expression Milton wore while he was fumbling with his right sleeve and watching Kamden and Newman tend to Quentin though.

“Milton,” she said and faintly touched his arm. This instantly ripped him out of his thoughts, and he let go of his sleeve and wrapped his fingers around his right wrist.

Milton turned to her and said, “I’m sorry, Lady Cloudia. What did you say?”

“Milton, are you all right?” Cloudia asked cautiously.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he replied and gave her a little smile that made her stomach churn. “I’m sorry for making you worry. And I apologise for ignoring what you said and not staying behind; I could not stand back, and I have every right to be here.”

“You could have got yourself killed, Milton! You’re lucky that you only injured your hand.”

“This?” Milton let go of his wrist and glanced at his wounded palm. “This is nothing, Lady Cloudia.” He looked up at her, and his gaze softened. “Lady Cloudia, I promised you I would keep myself safe. As I told you again and again, there is no reason to worry about me – and this wound is…”

“… not nothing,” interjected Kamden and appeared by Milton’s side. It was rare to see Kamden glare at anyone; when he did, Cloudia was always surprised by its viciousness as it could rival Lisa’s. Now, Kamden levelled one at Milton who blinked at him in astonishment.

“It’s not good to leave any wound untreated, Milton,” Kamden said firmly and reached for Milton’s hand, but Milton pulled it away.

“This is nothing but a minor scratch,” Milton insisted.

“I asked Mr Newman; you grabbed a dagger’s blade rather tightly and it bled considerably. He even feared you might slice through a finger. I would not classify that as a ‘minor scratch.’” Again, Kamden attempted to take Milton’s hand; again, Milton dodged him.

“You did what?” Cloudia enquired.

“Miss Guilloux attacked Mr Newman,” Milton explained tersely. “And it really is nothing. Should you not see to Quentin? Lady Cloudia cut the side of her face and her cheek as well.”

“I stitched Mr Thibault up and bandaged him already, and I will treat Cloudie next. She would want me to take a look at you first.”

Cloudia nodded in agreement. Kamden held out a hand to Milton and narrowed his eyes. “The sooner I get to you, the sooner I get to her and everyone else. We don’t have much time anyway.”

“All the more reason to simply let me be,” Milton retorted. “Townsend is getting away as we speak.”

“And that’s why you should stop being stubborn and give me your hand.”

“Milton,” Cloudia said and raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s wrong? I know you don’t want to bother anyone if it can be helped, but this is getting ridiculous.”

Milton pressed his lips together and extended his bloody hand. Kamden grabbed it, and while he began cleaning it, Milton closed his eyes. In her periphery, Cloudia noticed Cedric hurrying towards them. She turned to look and returned his wave. As much relief his sight brought her, he did not have Townsend with him. Cloudia almost wanted to scream and kick against something.

“You told the truth; it really is only a minor scratch,” Kamden said, baffled.

Cloudia spun around, just as Milton reopened his eyes to look at his hand. There was a thin, shallow cut on his palm and nothing more. “I suppose, Mr Newman must have been mistaken,” Kamden added and began bandaging Milton’s hand. “Sometimes, wounds bleed terribly even if they are small.”

Milton became very quiet. Cloudia wanted to say something when she was suddenly swept into a hug by Cedric. He held her tightly, and after the initial shock, Cloudia wrapped her arms around him too and leaned her head against his shoulder.

How odd. I didn’t even know how much I needed this.

“Countess! I’m so glad you’re all right! I found the Clockmaker; he is fine but annoying as always,” blurted out Cedric. Cloudia smiled into his shoulder. “And then Miss Greene came along with Aurèle and Jacques, and I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Kamden harrumphed. “If you can excuse me, Your Grace,” he said and pried Cedric and Cloudia apart, “but, as you can see, Cloudie is injured, and I want to tend to the wound.”

Cedric stepped away, and Cloudia sighed. “Did you see where Townsend went?” she asked Cedric while Kamden dabbed at the side of her face.

Cedric shook his head. “Only that he went towards the station. I’m sorry that I couldn’t get him. One of his goons tackled me.”

“I couldn’t get Yvette either,” said Cloudia contritely. She lifted her hand to rub her face, but Kamden gently guided it down.

“That’s not good,” Cedric replied. Cloudia was about to remind him that he had accomplished as much as she had when he continued with, “I know that you were tasked to catch Townsend, but only because he stole the box, right? The Queen’s box is the true priority, and Yvette has it.”

Cloudia stared at him. “What do you mean Yvette has it?”

“I saw her with it. We had it temporarily but had to exchange it for Jacques… it is a long story; I will tell you it later,” Cedric explained.

“You’ve seen her with it?”

“Yes. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be saying she has it.”

“Are you certain? Because Townsend showed the box to me right before Yvette and you and Milton arrived in the final wagon.”

For a moment, Cloudia and Cedric looked at each other with mirroring wide-eyed expressions.

“They brought a duplicate into circulation,” she said, aghast.

“One of them is a fake,” he said, at the same time with the same horrified tone.

This time, Cloudia didn’t let herself be prevented from running her hands over her face. “This can’t be happening,” she said and buried her fingers in her messy, tangled hair. “Townsend likely got a replica made to either throw us off or to offer Yvette for ‘safekeeping’ to appease her – or both. If Yvette wasn’t such a scheming person herself, we could be sure that Townsend is in possession of the real box. Only Yvette orchestrated the entire incident in Nanteuil-la-Forêt – how could we rule out that Yvette did not switch out the boxes at some point?” Cloudia pinched her nose. “We have Aurèle and Jacques with us; the mayor must know the Marquis and, by extension, them. He might help us find them. Only, securing the train stations, surveilling the borders, and mobilising the police takes time that we don’t have.

“Our best and possibly only chance, from what I can gather, is that Townsend doesn’t know that Milton’s acquaintances found his base of operations here and got his accomplices. If Townsend returns to his base, we might be able to catch him there. He might meet up with Yvette again, and they could go there together, though it is just as likely that Townsend abandons Yvette. How could we find her if she’s on her own? At least, Yvette most definitely was never in Paris before and would have to orientate herself first. Let us begin with the base though.

“Milton, could you tell us where it is?” Cloudia asked and turned to Milton. Or, rather, to where Milton had been standing only moments earlier. During his treatment and afterwards, Milton had been right next to her; Cloudia knew that he had still been there when Cedric had arrived. She looked around and located Newman hurrying towards the station doors. Without a second thought, Cloudia set out after him. Cedric scrambled to follow her.

When they arrived at the doors, Newman had put a hand on Milton’s arm and was asking him why he rushed here and whether he was well. Slowly, Milton peeled his eyes away from the door’s window. Cloudia almost flinched when she saw the blank, wide-eyed horror on his face.

“The city,” Milton spoke with a hollow voice and tightened his grip on his right wrist. “There is something wrong with the city.”

And then the glass shattered.

***

~Cedric~

Instinctively, I reached for Cloudia. My heart fluttered when she reached for me too.

We quickly got away from the entrance doors, and Alfred pulled Milton away from them too. The horrified expression had not left his face yet, and it made my blood curl. Behind and around us, people were screaming and yelling questions. I didn’t need to speak a word of French to know what they were saying.

“What is going on?”

Cedric and Cloudia continued to back away from the entrance, turned to return to Kamden and Quentin. They met them at the halfway mark; Kamden and Quentin, the former steadying the latter, must have headed towards them when the windows shattered.

On the train, Milton had seemed so steadfast, so surprisingly fearless too when he had jumped through the window, tricked Yvette, and walked atop a moving wagon. Now, it was as if whatever had given him the strength for all that had vanished, leaving him frozen up and slightly jittery; Newman had to drag him all the way here. Cedric was half-inclined to go to him but decided against it. Newman was by his side which was enough. Further, Lisa, Aurèle, and Jacques had finally caught up to them. Cedric noticed Florentin standing a bit farther away, his eyes kept firmly on their group, though the tinted glasses made his exact expression undiscernible from this distance.

Quentin gestured for everyone to follow him. With Kamden’s assistance, he guided them to a door by the side of the tunnel and unlocked it. It was a staff room, but no one was inside it right now. Thus, when Quentin and Kamden closed the door, the sounds from outside were dampened, and Cedric sighed from the relief of finally being away from masses of people again.

“The absolute worst train ride in the history of train rides,” Lisa said and folded her arms in front of her chest. She winced a little when she did it. “And now, what is going on here? Everything got quieter and now turned to hysterics again.”

“Something is going on outside,” Cloudia told her and glanced at Milton. He had sat down on the ground and kept his head down.

“I overheard some people saying there’s a revolt,” Aurèle said. His arm was in a sling, and Jacques was clinging to his brother’s uninjured side. Cedric had found Jacques – rightfully – annoying on their way to the Clockmaker’s workshop; now, seeing him in Milton’s too-big jacket and standing eerily quiet by his sibling’s side, Cedric felt terrible for the boy. He almost wanted to ask him what that dying potted plant by the window was, just to get a glimpse of the normal him again.

“And I remember that Maman mentioned tensions in the city,” continued Aurèle.

Quentin nodded. He still looked awful, though the words came out of him slightly easier now as he was not losing blood by the second anymore. “It’s been that way for months, really. There’s been an influx of people here… far too many for the city and the National Workshops to handle. I heard… heard the Assembly came together to decide the Workshops’ fate two days ago. I suppose they must have announced their decision to close them today.” Weakly, Quentin ran a hand through his already messy hair. “Everyone saw this coming but…”

“… why did it have to boil over now?” Cedric finished his thought, and Quentin nodded.

Huffing, Cloudia disassembled her messy braid and untangled her hair with her fingers. “Of course, it would have to happen today,” Cloudia pressed out between clenched teeth. “Just when we’re here and having to hunt down two criminals. Couldn’t Townsend and Yvette have stayed in Nanteuil-la-Forêt?! How are we supposed to find them now? We went from a village-sized angry mob to a city-sized one!” She furiously re-braided her hair and tossed it over her shoulder.

“I might know a way,” Milton suddenly said with a thin voice. Newman held out a hand to help him up, but Milton waved it away. Slightly shakily, he got back on his feet on his own; whatever had afflicted him earlier did not seem to be the source of his jittery state now, however. Milton’s eyes darted around, and his hands fluttered over his utility belt before he closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

When he re-opened them, he resembled the Milton on the train more again.

Milton opened a pocket on his belt and produced a piece of metal, slightly larger than Cedric’s hand and nearly twice as thick. “This… this is a little something I’ve been working on. Earlier, when I collided with Miss Guilloux on the train, I slipped an object into her pocket.”

Cedric blinked at him. “How? When? Weren’t you handcuffed?”

Milton smiled sheepishly. “Sleight of hand. An old acquaintance taught me years ago. At any rate, I slipped a little transmitter in her pocket, and it should still be there. The last times I was in Paris, I set up and hid some… stations across the city. If a transmitter comes close to such a station, it gets registered.” He turned on the strange apparatus and pulled out an antenna. “My employees receive a badge they’re meant to carry to work to identify themselves. I installed transmitters in the badges for those working in London – for their own safety and as a trial. If Townsend is still carrying his, then…” The screen flared to life. Milton exhaled and held it out. Two white dots were blinking on the display; only then did Cedric recognise the machine.

I glanced over to Florentin. If he had noticed Milton’s radio receiver from that distance, he did not let it show, keeping a straight face instead.

And I hoped I did too, despite the uneasiness I felt at the sight.

“We’re lucky,” said Milton. “Townsend still has his badge. Unfortunately, I cannot discern which dot refers to which transmitter and, thus, to which person.”

From one moment to the other, Milton turned red, having possibly noticed that everyone, even Lisa and Aurèle, was staring at him. Only Quentin looked grim. He peeled himself away from Kamden and gave Milton a brief side hug. “Milton…”

Milton shook his head. “It is all right, Quentin,” he said quietly. “It cannot be helped now.”

Cloudia locked eyes with Cedric. He knew instantly that she was thinking about their conversation from days ago when he had visited her room, and she had been so anxious about the implications of Milton’s work with the birdcage clock and the chain-reaction machine. Just like that particular fear had been confirmed for Cedric back on the train when Milton had picked up the Queen’s box, it had now been confirmed for her too.

“Townsend himself was never adept with technology; nevertheless, he knew from the moment he saw those blueprints that they were unlike anything he had seen before,” Yvette had said.

And, of course, worst of all, Townsend and Yvette knew as well.

“Quentin, did you finish the preparations?” Milton asked after he had composed himself again.

Quentin nodded. “Yes, I managed to finish them just before I came here, Milton. I worked like lightning!” He put his hands proudly against his hips and then cringed from the pain.

Milton reached out to him, held his arm to steady him. “Thank you, Quentin. I’m sorry you had to do all that alone. And please don’t strain yourself too much.”

Quentin slightly shook his head. “It was nothing. Couldn’t… Well, I couldn’t call myself your best engineer without proving myself, right? And your friend patched me up; I’ll live, Milton, don’t worry so much!” He patted his injured side and winced again.

Milton shot him another concerned look, though bit back on the worried words. “I had Quentin set up more stations to expand our range; nonetheless, as there aren’t stations on every corner or any beyond the city borders, our range remains rather limited. If Townsend and Miss Guilloux get too far away, if they take their transmitters too far away for any station to register them, we will lose them. The stations are robust enough that they shouldn’t get destroyed by the uprising, at least.”

“If it is like that, we should head out now,” Cloudia said, determined. “Not all of us, however.” She let her gaze wander over their little battered group. “Cecelia is waiting for us at her townhouse. Do you know where this is?” she asked Aurèle and told him the address.

Aurèle nodded. “Yes. That’s in the tenth arrondissement, close to the Seine. It’s a bit far on foot, and it will be a pain to get there in this mess. Going to our place might be, uh, bothersome too as our Paris house is not quite in Paris, as Grand-père likes his peace, and the city tends to be…” He gestured around.

“It wasn’t like that earlier,” remarked Quentin. “There was tension in the air, yes, but when I came to the Gare du Nord at eleven o’clock, Paris wasn’t in such a state. It… it wasn’t like that either right before you arrived. Whatever is going on, it has only been going on for… for about an hour. Not everything should be in shambles yet, and I came with my own carriage; the one you gave me, Milton, to get around town to check and install stations. We could try… could try heading to that townhouse in the carriage and abandon it and resume on foot if we must.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Cloudia said and nodded. “It would be for the best if all of you went to Cecelia’s house. Lisa, Quentin, and Aurèle are injured; Jacques shouldn’t be involved in any of this; Emyr is needed to look after everyone; and Mr Chastain should not go anywhere near Townsend and Yvette again. Newman, you need to get everyone safely to the destination with Aurèle and Quentin’s guidance.”

Newman bowed to Cloudia. Cedric could see slight unease creeping up to her when she turned to Milton. “Milton…” she began, but he immediately cut her off.

“No,” Milton retorted. “I know what you’re going to say. That it should only be you and Kristopher going after Miss Guilloux and Townsend and that I should go with the others – and I refuse.”

“Milton, I can understand that you want to help. You fought your case why you have every right to be here and go after Townsend back at the château, but you were almost catatonic a few minutes ago.” Cloudia held out her hand. “I don’t want to take your invention and run to spite you. I want you to stay back to ensure your safety. Please give me the device.”

Milton glanced at her hand before he met her eyes. “I will be safe.”

“Milton, we don’t have much time. You said yourself that we might lose them if they get too far away.” She took a deep breath. “What I said about Mr Chastain applies to you too. I cannot risk you.”

“You won’t. I am very willing to risk myself.” Milton clutched his receiver. “You have never even been in Paris before, Lady Cloudia.”

“One of my associates, Barrington Weaselton, wanted to come here, to the train station,” said Cloudia, and Cedric grimaced. If Barrington was heading to the train station, he most definitely had Oscar with him too. “He was originally meant to board a train and come to Nanteuil-la-Forêt,” she continued. “Now, if we run into him, he will be a helpful guide.”

“If you run into him,” Milton pointed out. Cloudia ground her teeth at his words. “What certainty do you have that you will? And that you will run into him soon? You will only get lost out there.”

Cedric looked between the two of them, and when Cloudia narrowed her eyes, their colour darkening, he had the horrid feeling that she was contemplating something she would only regret later.

“We’re only wasting time, Countess,” Cedric chimed in. Their attention snapped to him, and Cedric hurried to continue before Cloudia could say anything. “That blockhead won’t relent because you would not either, Countess. You’re awfully alike sometimes, have you noticed?” Cloudia closed her mouth again, pressing her lips together. “I will keep an eye on him,” said Cedric, softening his voice. “I promise that I will drag him away if the situation becomes too dangerous for him. All will be well.” Shouts from outside rang through the walls. “And the city too, hopefully.”

Cloudia closed her eyes for a moment. “Very well,” she said at last and levelled her gaze at Milton. “Now, where do we go?”

***

~Cloudia~

We passed a beautiful, columned building with two bell towers, and I wondered whether it was a church. A slight desire to go and check overcame me, an unwelcome wish of the curious part of me, and I promptly pushed it aside as we hurried away from the building and ran across an unbuilt area overgrown with weeds.

I would have never imagined that I would come to Paris under these circumstances, with the city in this state. Quentin had been right; the revolt didn’t seem to have been going on for long. Even if the crux of the fighting hadn’t reached us yet, it was only a matter of time. Unrest was spreading throughout the city, trickling through the streets with nauseating speed. Milton’s machine was leading us southward, and the farther we got, the more restless our surroundings became. The brawls were evolving into full-blown fights. The shouts were turning into screams. The number of barricades blocking the ways was increasing.

The uprising must have started somewhere farther south, and I was glad that the others had decided to head more to the west first, taking a little detour before going down to Cecelia’s house. Navigating these streets was becoming more and more a nightmare by foot; they would never get far by carriage unless they managed to outrun the wave of destruction. There were even some carriages toppled over and littering the way.

Nevertheless, Milton guided Cloudia and Cedric calmly and expertly through the streets. Every time, they ran into a barricade or came too close to a brawl, Milton rapidly found another route. They slalomed most of the mess, though not all of it. People were running into them frequently, on their way to find shelter or others to attack. Men and women were putting up posters on walls that called people to revolt with them. Men in military uniforms marched through the streets, on foot or horse, meeting men and women bearing all sorts of weaponry, from knives and garden axes to guns and rifles they must have snatched somewhere. Strangely enough, the insurrectionists seemed to be in the majority; at least, so far.

The sight was both a déjà-vu and not. There had been no armoured guards in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, and, here in Paris, no one was chasing them. Still, Cloudia, Cedric, and Milton had to avoid others as best as they could, lest they would only be pulled into the fighting.

Spotting some soldiers with weapons raised, Cloudia grabbed Cedric and Milton and yanked them into a small side street. A moment later, a burst of bullets was fired. Milton quickly checked the display and hurried to lead them away, taking them for yet another detour.

It would take ages until they found Yvette or Townsend in this pandemonium.

But at least, they would need ages to escape too.

Her hair clung to her scalp, and Cloudia breathed evenly and controlled as they hastened through streets and dodged attacks. She pushed herself forward and forward, her attention on high alert for everything. Yet, even though Cedric had promised to take care of him, and she knew he would keep his word, her worry always made Cloudia’s attention snap back to Milton.

As the guide, Milton walked a bit ahead of Cloudia and Cedric. Having now experienced the state of the city, Cloudia was glad that she had relented. Even with Cedric’s Grim Reaper abilities, they might have struggled to find their way forward to their targets in this chaos. However, while Milton had proven himself capable as a guide, Cloudia had noticed that he was struggling with the situation. Without fail, Milton slightly faltered whenever they passed by a corpse, or a pile of bodies. He did a good job of keeping himself together and hiding it; if Cloudia hadn’t known him that well or wasn’t watching him as intently, she would have missed all the little signs.

Cloudia held her tongue as they encountered more corpses, and she saw it again: The shift in Milton’s posture, the flicker of pain in his eyes, how his steps slowed ever so slightly. She felt Cedric’s gaze on her then, and when their eyes met, she knew that he knew what she was thinking and grappling with. It was both irritating (for she did not want to be such an open book) as well as reassuring (for she didn’t feel alone with her concerns), and Cloudia presented him with a brief, thankful smile.

Not long afterwards, they emerged into a larger street again. This one was mostly untouched by the destruction, though farther down the street, people were erecting a blockade with broken stones. When Cloudia and the others hurried past them, one of them shouted for them to come and help. Some others repeated the shout.

“What are they saying?” asked Cedric.

“They want us to help with the barricade,” Cloudia said and reached for Milton, but one of the insurgents did too at the same time. Milton dodged his hand and promptly found himself on the other end of a gun barrel instead. Cedric sucked in his breath, and Cloudia itched for her own gun. If that man wasn’t almost pressing the gun against Milton’s forehead, she would have blown his brains out already, civilian or not.

“Boy, you look reasonable,” the man said. “If you’re in to defend our republic, you either fight or make barricades. There are no other choices, not when the Assembly is trying to take everything away that we fought so hard for. Now, will you and your friends fight or help carry stones?”

Milton smiled sadly. “I wish you the best for your cause. No small issue would have pushed you over the edge like that,” he said with such unfazed gentleness that the man and his companions were momentarily startled. “I only wonder, how will it help if you kill my friends and me?”

“We don’t need useless, spineless people,” yelled someone from behind.

“Yes! We don’t need people who would rather give up on our republic than fight for it,” interjected another.

“We are only visitors from another country,” Milton continued calmly. “You would only waste ammunition.” Fleetly, he detached the cartridge box from his belt and held it up. “I have some spare bullets I could offer you.”

The man’s eyes widened at the sight, and he lowered his pistol as he reached for the box. Milton took this opportunity to step back. Cloudia charged forward, taking out her gun and ramming its butt into the man’s temple. Before he had even crumpled to the floor, she knocked out one of the other men. And she and Cedric beat them all into unconsciousness before they could do anything of note.

Panting, Cloudia slipped her pistol back into its holster and turned to Milton. “Are you all right?” she asked. Milton nodded, raking his eyes over the unconscious men, and Cloudia knew what he was thinking.

“No,” she said firmly. “Milton, we have no time to move them.”

“You’ve seen what is going on,” Milton replied. “It’s only a question of time until guards get to this street.”

“Yes, this could happen any minute now which is part of the reason why we should hurry and leave.”

He extended the device to her, and her eyes widened. “You can go ahead, Lady Cloudia.”

“Milton, don’t be ridiculous…”

“They’re going to kill these men. I can’t just go on, knowing that it was partially because of me.”

“With how things are going, they might still die today anyway.”

“And they might as well survive. If I can give them a chance for either fate, I would rather want to help them live.”

“Milton, they wanted to shoot us over some stones,” Cedric pointed out, exasperated.

“They are only stressed and enraged.” Milton took Cloudia’s hand, pressing the device into it. “It will be…”

Cloudia shoved the apparatus back to Milton. “You have not changed at all,” she said dryly. “One of these days, you will get yourself killed, Milton.”

He smiled faintly at her words. Cloudia bent to grab one of the unconscious men. “Let’s make this quick. But if one of them wakes up and tries to attack us, I will be the one who kills him, do you understand?”

Hastily, they hid the bodies in alcoves. Milton thanked Cedric and Cloudia, and Cloudia told him to leave it be before they resumed their horrible track through Paris.

The sounds of hooves on stones, of war cries and screams of agony, of gunshots and blades swung through the air became louder and more pervasive. They hammered against Cloudia’s skull, echoed through her head. It was hard to discern how far they had come from the Gare du Nord with all the route changes they had to take. She had no idea how long they had been on the chase either. Or for how long they could keep going on like that.

They had been well-rested when the Nanteuillats had descended upon them. It had been a small area too, even with the portion of the forest and the tunnel between the village and the château. There had been a finish line, a place where they could retreat too, and allies. They had set out to hunt down Townsend and Yvette after only a brief pause. They had been on horseback for hours to get to Creil. The train ride had lasted for only about an hour but had gnawed on their energy reserves and nerves as if it had gone on for centuries.

And then, they had been spat into France’s largest city, right in the middle of an uprising. Hurt, fatigued, with fraying nerves and diminishing patience.

Her Majesty owed me the best and longest holiday of my life.

Cloudia gnashed her teeth and slightly quickened her pace nonetheless – all while Milton who was ahead of her stumbled sideways against a façade. Immediately, she sped up more, caught his arm to steady him. Cedric ground to a halt next to her a moment later.

“Milton,” Cloudia said and tightened her grip on his arm. “Can you continue?”

Milton lifted his head and nodded, though Cloudia was certain she had never seen him so exhausted before. It was understandable, of course; after everything they had gone through in the last fourteen hours or more, one was bound to be fatigued. And Cloudia didn’t even know if Milton had got any rest before he had rushed from Paris to Nanteuil-la-Forêt to find Josiah Heriot and Townsend. Still, she found herself frowning at the sight of Milton’s weary face, briefly rummaging in her memories to search for an instance when he had been genuinely tired.

“I only have… a bit of a headache,” Milton said by way of explanation and closed his eyes. “I am fine; you have to trust me. I… I simply don’t do well when it’s… too loud.”

“Milton,” Cedric said quietly, “how far are Townsend and Yvette?”

Milton snapped his eyes open and held out the machine to him and Cloudia. Although Cedric had requested its consultation, she noticed him shifting a bit from one leg to the other at the sight of it. Three dots were blinking on the screen, two white ones and one black one. Cloudia sighed in relief that neither Yvette nor Townsend had managed to outrun them yet, even in this pandemonium. If they had gone out of the detection zone, she might have set the city on fire.

Milton tipped on the black dot. “That’s where we are.” He pointed at the closer of the two white dots. “We have almost reached one. They haven’t moved much in the last few minutes, possibly because they cannot proceed.”

“Or do not want to proceed,” Cloudia added. He nodded, first at her words, then down a street. “We need to head down there and then go left. If there are no hindrances, of course.”

“That’s good enough for me,” she said, the excitement pumping new energy through her veins. She held out her hand. “May I borrow the device, Milton? I can go ahead, and you can follow with the Duke at your own pace.”

Milton blinked at her hand, the motion slow and lethargic. “I only have that one device with me. We could lose you.”

“It will be fine. I might be unable to rush that far ahead anyway. And the Duke is very adept at finding me,” Cloudia said. Cedric nodded, unable to hide his grin.

Milton looked between them, his gaze unreadable despite his miserable state, before he smiled. It was the ghost of one, faint and brief, like the ones he had worn when Cloudia had first met him. Yet, they never lacked any warmth. “I trust you,” he said softly and placed the machine in her hand.

***

~Cedric~

As soon as Cloudia had dashed away, Milton sagged back against the wall. Cedric scrambled to grab his arm.

“Milton, are you…” Cedric cut himself off when he heard shouts and steps behind him. Hastily, he dragged Milton into another side street and then through another, even if it brought them off-route. The skull pendant warmed against his chest as if it was chastising him for that; or, perhaps, Cedric was simply going mad, being sleepless and hungry, and imagining the shift in temperature.

He led Milton to another wall against which he could safely sag. The instant Cedric let go of him, Milton fell against it and slid down until he was sitting on the ground.

“I’m sorry that you always get stuck with me,” said Milton. He was normally rather pale; now, his hue had lightened even further, making him appear like a ghost.

“It’s okay, Milton,” Cedric said and knelt before him. Part of him cried out in relief at that, happy to be able to sit, even if only for a while. “You’ve been holding yourself together very well. This isn’t even normal for us; how could you fare perfectly in such a situation?”

Milton became very quiet and tucked up his legs, resting his head on his knees.

While he was curled up, trying to compose himself, I let him be. In the meantime, I looked around. There was nothing of note in this side street; it seemed as if neither any insurrectionists nor any guards had found their way here yet. As such, death had not come here either so far.

But it would be everywhere soon; they would be everywhere soon.

On our chase through the city, I had spotted some already. Glasses, black suits, gardening tools. Cinematic Records rising out of people here and there. There had been no indicator that any of them had noticed me – yet.

Florentin was right; I had to be careful.

For my sake, and the sake of everyone around me.

Cedric touched Milton’s shoulder, but what was meant to be reassuring only made Milton flinch. Cedric pulled his hand away, and Milton raised his head. “I’m sorry, Kristopher, I didn’t mean…” He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s just…”

“It’s okay. Hey, Milton,” said Cedric and searched his eyes. “Is this just a headache? There’s nothing else wrong with you?”

Milton met his gaze; at least, he attempted to as his eyes shifted in and out of focus. Alarmed, Cedric reached out, though he refrained from touching him. “Milton, don’t faint on me. Mil-”

Something exploded in the distance, sending a jolt through Cedric and Milton.

“We should get going again,” said Milton and struggled to get up to his feet, in vain. He stumbled and would have fallen on his knees if Cedric hadn’t caught him. This time, Milton, thankfully, didn’t flinch, only stiffened.

Some improvement at least.

While he got up himself, Cedric helped Milton to his feet. “Milton…” he began but trailed off. He had no idea what to say.

Milton clasped his right wrist and inhaled sharply. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “I’m only a bit overwhelmed right now, and it’s been years since I last felt like that. I simply need to get used to it.” He let his hands fall to his sides. Before he could think this over, Cedric grabbed Milton’s bandaged hand.

Milton tensed. “Kristopher, I…”

“I know; I’m sorry. I just can’t risk you falling over again, and I promise to make it quick,” said Cedric and pulled him through the streets, following the pendant’s tug.

***

~Cloudia~

Down and then left.

I hurried through the narrow alleyway. There was barely anyone here except for a man cowering in a corner, hiding himself from the chaos, and another hastening along the way ahead of me, attempting to get away. I grimaced when I smelled fire, the smoke-laced air punctuated by shouts and screams. The fire didn’t seem to be close by, and I hoped it was extinguished before it could spread far.

The clacker of my shoes on the uneven stone was barely audible. Gunshots were fired elsewhere, becoming louder as I went farther down the street.

I glanced down at the machine. I was almost there.

I yanked out the skull pendant and held it in my fist, concentrating on the slight pull between the necklaces. They were still behind and seemed to have halted. Worry fluttered through my chest. And then I shook my head and stuffed the necklace back into my clothes.

I finally arrived at the end of the street, turned left without stopping.

Townsend, Yvette. Whoever was awaiting me, I couldn’t wait to beat you up.

Milton’s wondrous device led me to a small shopping area. Normally, it must be a quaint, quiet place, this little street with the cosy, inviting shopfronts – a boutique, a bakery, an apothecary, and more – just off the larger roads. Now, there was a half-finished barrier partially blocking the other end of the street, the corpses of insurgents and guards alike by its side. Windows were smashed, flowerpots upturned, bullet holes marking the ground and façades.

I checked the apparatus again. The black dot was very close to a white one – Yvette or Townsend must be hiding in one of the shops –, and it delighted me that the other white dot was blinking not far from here.

I couldn’t wait for this to end and to head to Cecelia’s house to rest.

Cloudia pocketed Milton’s device; it was a handy thing, though its dimensions were a nuisance, and she hoped it would not fall out and break. Taking out her gun, Cloudia entered the bakery first. The scent of fresh bread hung in the air; though it mixed with the smell of smoke, blood, and gunpowder wafting in from outside, it was still lovely enough to make her mouth water and her stomach rumble. She hadn’t eaten anything since they had left the château who knew how many hours ago. If Cedric had been here, he likely would have snatched the sweet pastries and stuffed them in his mouth.

After some consideration, Cloudia grabbed a sweet bread, rolled it in paper, and shoved it in her pocket. Then, she proceeded to walk carefully through the shop, making sure not to step on any glass shards or bump into any toppled-over tables. Hopefully, she would not pass over any squeaking floorboards either. After she had checked the shop area and the kitchen, she headed upstairs. She heard whimpering from one of the rooms. Cloudia slowly opened the door and peeked inside. A man, a woman, and their child were huddling behind the bed. They looked up when she made a step inside, staring petrified at her and her gun.

“I won’t hurt you. I’m only looking for someone,” Cloudia whispered and quickly inspected the wardrobe and the area under the bed before she drifted out of the room again, closing the door behind her.

Neither Yvette nor Townsend were anywhere else in this building, so Cloudia left it and looked at Milton’s machine again. The dot hadn’t moved. She returned it to her pocket and entered the boutique. Unlike the bakery, the boutique was mostly undisturbed. The glass of only one window had shattered, and the interior had been left untouched. However, the door had been left ajar.

Cloudia sneaked through the building and only found the upstairs bedroom in a state of disarray. The drawers of a dresser had been yanked open and left like that. As the clothes were still inside, she figured that whoever was living here had hastily retrieved some keepsakes or money before making their escape.

There was no sign of either Townsend or Yvette though. The flower shop and the other café were dead ends too. Cloudia cursed her terrible luck right before she stepped into the apothecary and a bullet flew past her.

Cloudia dodged the attack, raised her pistol, fired once, twice in the direction from where the bullet had come. Her own didn’t seem to have hit anything of note either but elicited a yelp. Electricity surged through her when she recognised the voice. Townsend.

Cloudia stormed inside, heard footsteps hurrying away from her. She ran into the shop’s back where the pharmacist stored and created his wares. High shelves with many small drawers rose from the ground; they had been placed behind one another, and when Cloudia passed through one of the small walkways between them, she heard a screech and a rattle. The shelf on one end was pushed over, ramming into its neighbour, and setting a domino reaction in motion that might have been welcome in chain-reaction machines, but not here.

With her eyes widened, Cloudia hurried out of the walkway, reaching its end a mere second before the shelves would have fallen on her, burying her beneath. Her heart thumped in her chest. She brought her breathing under control and then hastened after Townsend.

His stunt hadn’t given him much of a headstart – the effort to upset the heavy shelves must have robbed him of too much energy to run – and Cloudia caught up with him in no time. She rammed into him before he could leave the shop. She pinned him against the wall, slapped the gun out of his hands, and pressed the dagger against his throat.

“Found you,” Cloudia said, managing to grin despite her heavy panting. “Not so cocky anymore now, huh?”

Townsend scowled at her. His clothes, having been so impeccable before, were dirty now. His hair was dishevelled. There was an angry cut across his cheek she wished she had inflicted. “How has your taste of revolution been, Mr Townsend?” Cloudia asked him and relished in the darkening of his scowl.

Townsend harrumphed. “A revolution? What these brutes are doing is nothing but destruction, not bring anything forward with intelligence.”

“Can I remind you again of the havoc you caused in Nanteuil-la-Forêt? Or is ‘dying for the cause’ only acceptable when you set other people’s lives on the line, not when you risk your own?” Without taking her eyes off him, Cloudia fished out her handcuffs with her free hand.

“You’re lucky I must deliver you to the Queen alive as I would have loved to throw you into the Seine. I’ve never seen it before; what a fantastic first sight it would be, to see you wiggle and drown in it,” Cloudia said and forcefully turned him around to clasp the handcuffs around his wrists. She leaned forward. “But maybe we will find time so that you can tell those brutes about your ‘intelligent methods,’” she spoke into his ear. Townsend stiffened.

Grinning, Cloudia shoved him out of the apothecary and a few steps towards the unfinished barricade before Cedric and Milton appeared on the street’s other end.

“Look who I’ve found!” Cloudia exclaimed and kicked Townsend to the ground.

Cedric and Milton rushed to them. “Yes, you’ve found him!” Cedric replied just as excitedly.

“I did! I also found this.” Cloudia took out the sweet bread and threw it to him. Cedric caught it, and his eyes turned as large as saucers when he unwrapped the paper. “I’m speechless,” he said, tears filling both his voice and his eyes. “But I can’t accept this; I already promised myself to Mary Margaret and her sweets cart…”

Cloudia rolled her eyes, smiling. “Just eat the damn bread.”

“Can’t a man remind the world of his prospective maybe-betrothal in peace?”

“I doubt you can make any proposals if I stuff that bread down your throat.”

“Oh, is…” Cedric trailed off and then cleared his throat. “Ah, right, Milton, do you want some?” he asked instead, but Milton only shook his head.

Townsend craned and lifted his head upon hearing Milton’s name. “Baron Milton Salisbury in the flesh,” he said with a faint bow. “What a rare sight. What an honour to make your acquaintance at last.”

Cloudia put a foot on his back, pressed down. Townsend winced. “Don’t try anything funny,” she warned him.

He glared up at her. It was remarkable how quickly he had dropped the false niceties from the train now that their positions had flipped. “I only wish to talk to the Baron.”

“It is all right,” Milton assured Cloudia and dropped to his knees in front of Townsend. He still looked awfully exhausted, but thankfully unhurt. “Nicodemus Townsend,” he said softly. “At last, indeed.”

Townsend laughed, slight hysteria clinging to the sound. “I’ve wondered how the Watchdog could find me. She could not have possibly run after me all the way from that locomotive wrack. You did something, did you not?”

Milton quieted, and Townsend laughed again. “Maybe I should have changed plans, picked another trading company, when I had seen those blueprints. I knew then that that place was trouble; I couldn’t have fathomed that it would be such trouble though. Who would have thought that the director would personally hunt me down like that?”

“Chase,” said Milton quietly.

“Pardon?”

“I chased you,” Milton repeated, louder. “I don’t like hunts.”

“And yet you’re frightfully adept at them. I suppose now that you have chased me down, you want to kill me?”

“No. I don’t like killing people.”

“Then, how can you allow the Watchdog to take me away? While she cannot kill me herself, the Queen will have me executed. You would have killed me by proxy, just as much as she would. How can you live like that?”

“Why did you kill Josiah Heriot?” asked Milton softly. “Why did you make the villagers kill one another?”

Townsend blinked at him. “Because…”

“How can you live knowing you caused their deaths?” Milton fumbled with his right sleeve. “There is nothing I can do for you. Your fate does not lie in my hands but in Her Majesty’s. And I for one am living with worse than the knowledge that I might cause you to be incarcerated and executed, Mr Townsend.”

Townsend mustered Milton curiously. “I have to admit that you have surprised me, Baron Salisbury. You are not like I believed you to be; not like anyone believed you to be, I would bet.” He strained to glance up to Cloudia and failed. “Two misconceptions on my side on one day.”

“Three,” Cloudia interjected. “You thought you were a genius revolutionist too.”

Cedric snickered. Cloudia didn’t have to look down to know that Townsend must be sporting the darkest scowl.

“To have been chased down by the Queen’s Watchdog and one enigmatic baron,” continued Townsend through gritted teeth, “only showed how dangerous me and my cause are.”

“It is only about the box,” Cloudia replied. “If you had been a common thief with no other motive than to sell it, I would have come for you too.”

“You misused my company and killed one of my employees,” Milton said with a cold edge to his words.

Cedric nodded. “No one cares about you specifically and your cause.”

Townsend raised an eyebrow. “And who are you?”

“Enough of this,” Cloudia said before Cedric could respond. She knelt beside Townsend and searched him for the Queen’s box.

“How unladylike of you to frisk me,” Townsend remarked. Cloudia hit his head and continued until she found the black box. She raised it towards the sun; its afternoon light got tangled in the furrows that ran unevenly over the entire box. A triumphant warmth sang through Cloudia as she held it; after everything she had to go through, she finally had the box.

One of them at least.

Damn replica.

Cloudia was about to pocket the Queen’s box when she noticed that Milton had set his eyes on it, following it intently with a glint in his eyes that she didn’t like. Unfortunately, Townsend noted it too. “Of course,” he said, epiphany lightening his voice, “you would appreciate the puzzle box, my baron.”

Ignoring Townsend, Milton extended his hand to Cloudia. “May… may I?”

Cloudia hesitated. She hadn’t wanted Townsend or anyone to know that Milton might be able to open the box and force him to try. Only Townsend was now captured; there was nothing he could do anymore. Nonetheless, Cloudia handed Milton the box with slight reluctance. She watched him turn it over in his hands, run his fingers along the furrows and edges; in her periphery, Cloudia saw that Cedric was observing Milton too, all while holding his breath as she did.

“This one is not like the other one,” stated Milton, making everyone’s ears perk up. “This one is well-made, albeit not as finely. Miss Guilloux’s was a bit heavier too and of a deeper black.”

Townsend cursed. “That goddamn girl. She switched the boxes.”

Cedric plucked the box from Milton’s hands, scrutinised it too. “It looks the same to me.”

“It is a well-done duplicate,” noted Milton.

“But not well done enough,” Cloudia added.

Milton nodded. “You cannot make a perfect copy of something you don’t fully know or comprehend. Any replica of Her Majesty’s box was bound to be imperfect.”

Cloudia took the box back and pocketed it. “Congratulations, Mr Genius Revolutionary, you were outsmarted by an unrefined French village girl.”

Cloudia pulled Townsend with her to his feet. Cedric helped Milton up, and Milton thanked him with a weary smile. Townsend raised an eyebrow, but before he could make any comment on Milton’s state, Cloudia twisted his arm and made him cry out instead.

She gestured for Cedric to take the device from her pocket. Cedric reached out, but then his eyes widened, and he grabbed her arm instead. He yanked her, and by extension Townsend, to the side before the bullet could hit any of them.

Cloudia pushed a protesting Townsend to the ground, whirled around, her hand drifting to her holster. There was a guard on the other end of the street. She ripped out her pistol, set out to fire.

Another bullet soared through the air.

Not from her gun.

Nor from the guard’s.

With a cry, the soldier stumbled back as his pistol was shot out of his hand.

Cloudia spun back to Milton, but his hands were empty. Cedric hastened past her to the guard. Cloudia frowned, and Milton’s expression changed. From wide-eyed puzzlement to something she could not place. He went rigid.

Someone rushed towards them, a blur she could barely make out.

She saw Milton’s hand move to his belt.

There was something, someone, behind him now.

And then his eyes rolled back, and he fell…

…right into Oscar Livingstone’s arms.

Cloudia blinked when the moment was over, and time ran normally again. Suddenly, Oscar had appeared from behind the partial barricade, shot at the guard, and sprinted across the street, right on time to catch a fainted Milton. Oscar sank to his knees, taking Milton with him. Milton’s head rolled against his chest. Oscar didn’t seem to mind and only levelled his steady gaze at Cloudia.

“Hello, Mylady,” Oscar said calmly and glanced at Townsend. “You have found him, as expected.”

“Yes, yes, I did,” Cloudia replied, still annoyingly disoriented by what had just transpired. She dropped to her knees, raked her eyes over Milton. He rested so peacefully in Oscar’s arms. The increasingly pained expression he had worn since they had left the train station was gone now, and the sight warmed Cloudia’s heart with relief, even if his pain had been smoothed away by unconsciousness.

“He will be fine,” Oscar assured her. “He only seems to have overdone himself.”

She nodded slowly and then frowned after scanning the area. “Isn’t it odd that that soldier was on his own?” asked Cloudia and stood up again. “Did you see many guards on your way, Oscar?”

“I’ve noticed their small number as well,” Oscar told her. His gaze darkened before a crooked smile appeared on his lips. “That’s an interesting strategy, isn’t it? They must be planning something positively dreadful.”

“Countess! I have knock…” called Cedric and quickly cut himself off. “Who was speaking of the devil?” he groaned. Then, he saw Milton in Oscar’s arms; his eyes widened, and he quickened his steps. “What have you done to him?” Cedric demanded to know.

“He fainted,” said Oscar dryly.

Cedric glared at him and opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he had wanted to snap back at Oscar, it was drowned by a familiar “Oscar Livingstone, you bastard, don’t run off like that!”

Now it was Cloudia’s turn to groan.

In retrospect, I should have left them both at home and sent Townsend back by post. Cedric had been right.

Barrington Weaselton walked around the stone blockade, and his green eyes lit up upon seeing Cloudia. “Dia!” he cried out. He hurried to hug her, though Cloudia had enough energy left to dodge his embrace. Barrington’s shoulders sagged. “Please, one hug, Dia! A singular hug! I’ve been stuck with Oscar for days. And then Cecelia joined us and did nothing but complain and complain that we allegedly scuffed her husband’s great-grandmother’s ornamental Moroccan side table, and she didn’t want to hear a word about how that thing is over a hundred years old, thousands of people could have scuffed it up besides us and…”

Cloudia held up a hand, her head already tingling. “Barrington, we are on a Watchdog mission, and the city is going through an uprising. Certainly, we can hug and talk about side tables later?”

“I’ve threatened Weaselton multiple times already that I will throw him into the Seine, and he still keeps on with that,” Oscar said, annoyed.

“It’s not a threat if you cannot kill anyone without permission anyway,” Barrington shot back.

“Aren’t there any other threats in the world?” mumbled Townsend.

Cloudia kicked Townsend and automatically felt a bit better when she heard him whimper.

Barrington scrutinised their little group and frowned at Milton’s still body in Oscar’s lap. “Now, who gave you permission to kill him?”

“He’s unconscious, you idiot,” Oscar retorted.

“Milton can and should be unconscious elsewhere though,” said Cedric. “Give him to me; I will carry him.”

“Milton?” asked Barrington, blinking. “As in Milton Salisbury?” He looked at Cloudia. “The boy who…”

“Yes,” Cloudia said, irritated.

Barrington sighed. “That’s him then. I wished he had an unfortunate face, but, at least, he has an unfortunate name. Having ‘Milton’ as your given name is essentially an invitation for everyone to bully you. His parents mustn’t have loved him much...”

“Can’t you ever stay on topic?” Oscar snarled.

“Your name is Barrington,” Cedric reminded him.

Cloudia rubbed her temples. “Enough of that.” She let her eyes wander between Oscar and Barrington. “We captured Townsend but have not secured the Queen’s puzzle box yet because he got himself a replica to give to some girl, and then she exchanged them. She should be somewhere around here, and we need to hurry before she fully escapes our grasp.

“The Duke and I will go after the girl. Barrington, I need you to take Townsend and return with Oscar to Cecelia’s house. Oscar will carry Milton there; can you do that, Oscar?”

Oscar nodded while Cedric interjected, “Countess, we can’t let Oscar carry Milton.”

“Why not?” asked Cloudia. “He may be the oldest out of us, but he’s still fit enough.”

“I don’t mean that.” Cedric glared at Oscar. “I don’t trust that man as far as I can throw him. What if he just discards Milton somewhere because he can’t be bothered to carry him anymore? It’s not like Milton is our priority for this mission. That clown here is,” he added and pointed at Townsend.

Cloudia sighed. “Oscar won’t discard Milton.”

“Into the Seine?” Townsend suggested, and she kicked him again.

“All I’m saying is that Barrington and Oscar should switch,” Cedric said. “Oscar takes Townsend, and Barrington carries Milton.”

Oscar slightly tilted his head. “Interesting. I would have wagered that both Weaselton and you would rejoice at the prospect of getting rid of him.”

Cedric stiffened momentarily. “No, of course, I wouldn’t rejoice at that,” he clarified. “He…” He let his eyes sink to Milton; Cloudia wondered what was going on in his head now. “Milton is a friend,” Cedric said ultimately.

Oscar briefly mustered him. “I see,” he replied. “I will be careful.” With that, he got up, scooping Milton up with surprising gentleness. Oscar adjusted him in his arms a bit and frowned.

“What is it?” enquired Cloudia.

“I didn’t expect him to be so… light,” Oscar said and shook his head. “I will bring him to Williams’ house and keep him safe, Mylady,” he added then.

“I know. You have no reason to harm him after all.” Cloudia looked down at Milton. There was a stench in the air from the bodies and the gunpowder, and one had to strain to hear their own words in this cacophony of shouts and fighting; yet, Milton hadn’t even stirred so far.

A rush of coldness overcame her then, though Cloudia swiftly shook herself free from it. Later, she thought.

“When he wakes up, Oscar,” Cloudia said instead, “please tell him he did well – and that I will return his property in one piece. But for now, we still need it.” Cloudia nodded to Cedric. “Let’s go.”

***

~Cedric~

Around us, the revolt was getting worse. The blinking dot was leading us farther south and, thus, closer to the epicentre of it all. Fires were started and extinguished. Insurgents knocked on doors, shouting for the residents to come out and help with the barricades. We gave them a wide berth, not wanting to catch their attention and risk another confrontation like before. Still, we couldn’t fully steer clear of the fights as they grew more frequent.

People were everywhere, with knives and axes, guns and rifles, swords and metal rods, and whatnot. We dodged stray bullets and pushed through the growing crowds.

All this running and hiding was gnawing at my energy; I was surprised that Cloudia and I could still go on. I supposed we must be running on pure adrenaline, determination, and frustration. According to Milton’s receiver, Yvette wasn’t even far. Her dot was moving slowly across the screen, and we were always so close until another barricade or destroyed carriage blocked the way, and we had to find another path. Without Milton and his internal map of the city, we moved slower ahead, and all that fuelled our irritation.

Abruptly, Cloudia pulled Cedric into an abandoned house. “Undertaker,” she pressed out between laboured breaths. “Can you get us to the roof of that block?” She nodded to them. “Yvette should be somewhere on the other side of it, and the crowd is so thick here. I have no idea how we could round it and get to her on time…”

“I can’t fly, Countess,” Cedric reminded her.

“I know. I know.” She grabbed his hand and locked eyes with him. “But you have fantastic agility. Sir Isaac Newton would fall from his apple tree if he could see you defying gravity like that.” Cloudia pointed at an upturned carriage and a row of balconies that ran up the building. “You can jump from place to place and get us up to the roof. There should be balconies, or, at least, debris or something on the other side as well so that we can get down.”

“Paris is currently swarming with Grim Reapers working overtime right now,” replied Cedric. “Maybe the Dispatch’s Paris Branch will revolt next.”

Cloudia gripped his hand tighter. “Undertaker, you’ve seriously decided to be reasonable today?” She touched his forehead. “Do you have a fever…”

Blood shot up to his face. Cedric hastily grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his head. “I’m not suddenly deciding to be reasonable for once. I can’t risk you being caught with me.”

“You can’t risk me?”

“And don’t quote Milton to me.”

“I won’t because I don’t have to.” Cloudia leaned forward. Their faces were only one or two centimetres apart, and Cedric’s heart was racing like a traitor. If she noticed it, he hoped she would attribute it to the million kilometres he had run today. “You won’t be at risk. I won’t be at risk. And you know why? Because Paris is swarming with Grim Reapers! They won’t pay any attention to another rushing around; you are only one of many. You will be a tree hiding in a forest. And they all have too much to do to question your presence or wonder why I’m with you.”

She pulled back, and Cedric breathed again. At least, he did until Cloudia dragged him through the house, up the stairs to the bedroom. She threw open the wardrobe and searched through it. Triumphantly, she held up a black coat at last. “Put this on, just in case. It’s odd seeing you in anything but black anyway.”

***

She likes me in black, Cedric thought as they jumped to the next balcony. It was a stupid thought, brought about, at least, partially by fatigue. Nonetheless, he welcomed its persistence and the sheer space it had rapidly claimed in his mind, for it distracted him from the fact that he was carrying Cloudia bridal-style up a roof.

And from how pretty she looked in his arms, her blue eyes so wide and shining with wonder and excitement as they manoeuvred up despite the chaos around.

Cedric strained to concentrate on the next balcony.

She thinks I look pretty in black. Flowerpot kicked down.

She called my agility fantastic. The resident shrieked at their sight.

She–

“Undertaker,” Cloudia hissed. “We’re already on the roof, why are you still jumping up?”

Sobered at once, Cedric said, “I might actually have a fever.”

She touched his forehead. “You’re only hot from the jumping,” she replied and drew away her hand.

“Hm,” Cedric made and carried her to the roof’s edge, fighting the urge to follow the kicked-off flowerpot into the doom below. “Are you holding on tightly?”

Cloudia nodded, and Cedric jumped to the balcony below. And down, down, down, they went until they arrived on the ground.

Cedric set her back down on her feet. Cloudia produced the receiver, checked the screen, and pointed ahead. “Come, we almost have her.”

This side of the block wasn’t any better than the other. Stones were carried to form more barriers, and people were slipping through the holes of finished ones. Guards were switching sides, fighting side by side with insurgents against their former comrades.

Cedric noticed Cloudia straighten up next to him. She spotted Yvette, he thought and matched her pace when she sped up.

Cloudia raised her gun when they were close. Yvette was just ahead of them, hurrying along a façade. Cloudia pulled the trigger. Someone fell against her. The bullet’s trajectory was thrown off; instead of hitting Yvette, it only burrowed itself in the wall next to her. Yvette snapped her head to the side. Her eyes widened, and she whirled around and sprinted away. Cloudia immediately ran after her, cursing under her breath.

“Countess!” Cedric called and hurried after her, elbowing through the crowd, cringing when shots were fired, and his already-strained ears further abused. He saw Cloudia vanishing around a corner, and he goaded himself into being quicker, being faster, all while shoving people out of the way.

He couldn’t lose her here. Not in this city. Not in this situation. Not even if they had the pendants.

Cedric worked himself forward.

Someone rammed into him from behind, and the world went blurry.

***

~Cloudia~

Her heart beat quicker, pumping and pumping blood through her body, and pulsed in her ears.

Yvette was right ahead, and Cloudia had always been a runner.

With newfound, adrenaline-induced strength, Cloudia thrust guards away, yanked knives out of insurrectionists’ hands, zig-zagged around their bodies, dead or alive, until Yvette was only a hair’s breadth away. Cloudia shot out her hand, grabbed her collar, slammed her against a wall.

“Do you know how much I’ve been running today because of you?!” Cloudia pulled out the dagger, but Yvette kicked her away, sending her careening backwards.

“No one asked you to hunt me down, Miss Watchdog,” replied Yvette and lunged with her knife at Cloudia.

Cloudia raised the dagger, blade hitting blade, the impact vibrating through their bones. “You did when you allied yourself with Nicodemus Townsend.” She drove Yvette back by pushing the dagger against the knife. Even with the fighting sounds around them, Cloudia could hear the knife crack. So cheap and brittle and nothing compared to her father’s dagger.

“Townsend is an idiot,” said Yvette. Her knife broke, and she staggered back.

“Finally something we can agree on.” Cloudia shoved her back against the wall and pinned her to it by driving the dagger into her left hand. Yvette cried out, her scream of agony mixing with all the others around them. “You are an idiot too,” Cloudia noted and patted down Yvette. “If you had attached yourself to any other megalomaniac man, you might have got all you wished for.”

With a grin, Cloudia pulled out the box and something odd and metallic – Milton’s transmitter. “Or, if you had simply done the work yourself.” She pocketed the transmitter right away, though showed the box to Yvette once more before she put it in her trousers; feeling its weight against her body was the greatest delight. “I would have had more sympathy and respect for you if you had just run away and gone to seduce a rich man. But getting away wasn’t your only incentive, of course.”

“You would have wished destruction upon that place too if you had grown up there.” Yvette ground her teeth. “I was even the village’s princess! And still, or rather because of that, I was treated like I was. My position never made anything better for me, only trapped me more. With nowhere to go, no one to be, living only by the path others have set out for you…”

Cloudia grabbed Yvette by her hair. Yvette winced and looked at her with hate-filled eyes. “Good, look at me like that,” said Cloudia and pulled her closer. “Do you think you are the only one who lives like that? The only one with that rage? You are nothing special, Yvette Guilloux. If you had accepted that, you would not have found yourself in this situation.”

“Cloudia!” Cedric cried behind her, right before a gunshot rang through the air, and pain through her.

***

~Cedric~

Everything went out of focus. Cedric could only make out the next person bumping into him when they were right beside him.

Shit. Cedric went on all fours, feeling for his glasses.

Shit, shit, shit.

Cloudia was after Yvette, and I could only just discern the cobblestones.

People stumbled against him, fell over him, trampled on him. Cedric clenched his jaw, crawling forward and forward, nonetheless. As long as they only stepped on him, not on his glasses, he could endure anything.

Every scream set him on edge. Cloudia could stand her own against Yvette, he knew that. However, he also knew that Yvette was an annoyingly crafty girl, and everyone around them was full of anger. If Yvette couldn’t hurt Cloudia, a soldier or insurrectionist might.

Cedric patted down every millimetre of the ground until something broke in him and he began hammering on it. His skin ripped open. And he kept on hammering and hammering his fist against the stone.

What am I doing, what am I doing? I thought as I punched and punched the stone ground.

Cloudia needs me.

Cedric drew his injured hand to his face, inhaled sharply, and kept on searching.

Tears glistened in his eyes when his fingers finally brushed against his glasses. Cedric curled his hand around them and stood up. He held them close to his face and made a mental note to bake a ton of biscuits for the Glasses Department for their sturdy handicraft: His glasses had been kicked around the street and into a corner and were still intact.

Cedric put them back on and sighed in relief when everything sharpened again. Then, he looked around for the street in which Cloudia had disappeared and hurried to it. Inside it, she was pinning Yvette to a wall and speaking to her.

“If you had accepted that…” Cedric heard her say. His blood both rushed hot through his body and ran cold when he noticed Yvette’s hand inching towards Cloudia’s gun holster.

Cedric charged forward.

“… you would not have found…,” Cloudia continued.

Yvette pulled out the gun.

“… yourself in this situation.”

“Cloudia!”

Her name and the shot echoed in tandem through the street.

Earlier, his surroundings had blurred.

Now, they fell away.

All screams and shouts and cries; all hisses and grunts; the clattering of weapons; the dull clash of bodies hitting the ground – it all went away.

As did the people. The coppery, smoky air. The buildings around.

Everything was black, and his body moved as if it was not his. Forward, forward to…

“Do not dare!”

Cloudia’s shout rattled him awake, brought everything back to their places. Cedric was momentarily stunned by all the sensations crashing upon him at once. It took him a second to see that Cloudia had thrown herself between him and Yvette, spreading her arms to shield her from Cedric. Yvette watched the scene unfold, equal parts dumbfounded and curious.

“I promised you,” Cloudia struggled to say. “I promised that you would never… never have to interfere with life and death.”

Something inside Cedric shattered. The rest of his bloodthirst vanished and was immediately replaced by cold horror.

What if I had not been able to stop at the right moment, blinded with rage as I had been, and had attacked Cloudia in my frenzy?

“You...,” Cloudia began and reeled to the side. Instinctively, Cedric moved forward and caught her in his arms, her body so fragile in his embrace. The bloodstain on her stomach was growing. He placed a hand on it first, then grabbed the edge of his coat to press it against the wound in an attempt to stop the flow, in vain.

What had I done?

“I’m so sorry,” sputtered it out of Cedric. “I’m so sorry, Countess, that I wasn’t here.”

He craned his head, looked around for Yvette, but she had already escaped. “You got hurt, and Yvette got away, I…” His grip around her tightened.

Ghostly fingers brushed his face. “I got the box. It’s okay,” Cloudia murmured, her voice so faint it made his heart ache.

Cedric scooped her up and then bent down with her in his arms when he saw the dagger on the ground, shimmering in the light even as it was speckled with blood. He picked it up and pocketed it before he searched for a quiet place.

How quickly things had changed. Not even half an hour ago, he had carried her the same way and recklessly jumped step-by-step over a building. He had been filled with idiotic giddiness then. Now, Cedric was holding her as carefully as he could in this chaos, and all he felt was numb.

He kicked open the door to an empty café, carried Cloudia into the back. Gently, Cedric placed her on a table and ripped her shirt a bit to take a look at the injury. Her protective corset must have swallowed some of the impact at least; it had to. But that didn’t change the facts that it was not bulletproof, and that Yvette had shot her from close range. Cedric cut open the corset with shaky hands. Ice spread through his stomach at the sight of the gaping wound.

There was so much blood, so much blood, so much…

Cedric looked down on himself, saw the stain on his clothes. The bullet must have passed through her. Breathing unevenly, he searched her pockets for the roll of gauze he knew she had taken.

“I don’t have it anymore,” Cloudia whispered. Her eyes fluttered open and closed. “Gave… gave it to Kam…”

Cedric took her hand, pressed it. It felt so cold. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Countess. I will find something. They will have something. They must have something. Please stay awake. Please, Countess.”

Mustering up great strength, Cedric let go of her and rummaged through the drawers, the cupboards, the shelves.

If Kamden or Miss Greene had been here, they could have patched her up; Alfred maybe too. Milton would have been hurt still, but it wouldn’t have prevented him from being calm and able to find a solution in any adversity. Barrington and even Oscar would have been able to help her, having experience with high-risk, high-injury situations. Aurèle would have gone out and yelled for help and then dragged someone back by the ear. Even little Jacques and his encyclopaedic knowledge about whatnot would have been more helpful than me.

Teleporting her in this fragile state might only worsen everything.

I… I didn’t even have a Death Book to check if… if…

I inhaled sharply.

What could I even do?

Not even in my living life, I had cared to learn how to keep anyone alive. What had it mattered to me then and after I had become a Grim Reaper? All I knew, all I learned, was death.

Cedric slammed a drawer shut and buried his face in his hands. Only then did he notice that Cloudia had been mumbling something to herself.

“He led the physician to his, and when the physician saw how tiny his candle was…” Her voice was weak, half the words fading away not fully formed, but Cloudia kept on. With a pang, Cedric realised that she hadn’t been murmuring to herself; she had been murmuring to him.

“Death pretended to fulfil his godson’s dying wish…”

A frantic chuckle tore itself out of him as Cedric stepped forward with a dish towel. He pressed it against her stomach and grabbed her hand. “You went macabre even quicker, Countess.”

“… to a new one, he deliberately dropped it…”

Her eyes fluttered closed. Cedric waited for the rest that didn’t come.

“Countess?”

“Cloudia?”

***

London, England, United Kingdom – June 1843

~Cloudia~

Cloudia inspected herself in the mirror one last time and smoothed her already straight dress with her hands before she made her way downstairs.

Barrington and Oscar had moved out of her townhouse a few days ago when Oscar’s probation had ended without a problem. They had mostly avoided each other and spared Cloudia any headache or trouble. Still, near-palpable tension had electrified the air during that time; one wrong move, one wrong word and everything could have blown up. Now, Cloudia did not have to move as if on eggshells anymore, and the soles of her shoes demonstratively made clack sounds as she descended the stairs. Normalcy had not yet returned to the townhouse though.

There was one more visitor Cloudia had to take care of before she could allow herself to let her shoulders sink, sigh in relief, and be engulfed in brilliant silence and peace.

Cloudia plastered a smile on her face when she reached the entrance hall. “Good afternoon, Police Commissioner Rowan,” she greeted the Met’s head. “May you follow me to the parlour?”

***

There had been no more meetings at Scotland Yard since Cloudia’s first and only one a year ago. It had been satisfying to see Rowan’s clouded gaze when he had stepped into her parlour for their second meeting, his sheer unmasked displeasure at having to enter the Phantomhive townhouse again. Richard Mayne had not been as hostile as his colleague, though he seldom joined Rowan on these visits. Today, Mayne was absent again. Cloudia knew the reason why this time: Rowan hadn’t come to conclude any Watchdog case. There had been none lately, even if she had morbidly hoped Queen Victoria would transfer the month-old case about the mangled corpse from the Thames to her. Scotland Yard had identified the body as a nobleman’s after all, but her hope had gone nowhere. No, Oscar was the topic for today, and Rowan solely handled everything that had to do with his former protégé.

Cloudia and Rowan were quiet until Clifford set out everything, poured them cups of tea, and left the drawing room with a bow for them both and a look for Cloudia to indicate that he would be outside if she needed him. As soon as he was gone, Rowan put down his cup without having drunk a sip.

“Do not be afraid, Police Commissioner,” Cloudia said and lifted her own cup. “I have not poisoned anything on this table – and neither did Oscar if you fear he left a little gift behind for you.”

“I know that Oscar Livingstone would never attempt to kill me,” Rowan replied. “He is well-aware of the repercussions and would never take that risk. I simply have no appetite; I lose it every time I think about that wretched man.” His gaze darkened. “How low this country has fallen; pardoning a serial killer to satisfy a thirteen-year-old child’s whims and giving him a house where he can live mostly unsupervised.”

“There is no one around where Oscar lives now,” Cloudia remarked. “No soul lives anywhere close to his house. Her Majesty has made some arrangements to ensure he does not run away, and so did I. I might have requested Oscar’s pardon, but Her Majesty decided to accept and fulfil it. Are you doubting her sense of judgement?”

Rowan glared at Cloudia. “I would never doubt my sovereign. However, Her Majesty has been on the throne for only six years; since she had been merely eighteen, no less. She does not have enough experience yet, and one simply cannot be cautious enough with a Livingstone. You housed him for a month; even you must have noticed that there is something deeply wrong with him.”

“He was pleasant enough to be around,” Cloudia said truthfully. It might have been even more pleasant if it had not been for Barrington’s hostility, she added in her mind. “Quiet; mostly kept to himself; often stayed in one place without moving much for a long time if he had a book at hand or so. Oscar could win a prize at a ‘Pretend to be a Piece of Furniture’ tournament.”

Rowan chuckled. “I assure you, Countess Phantomhive, that whenever Livingstone might appear calm on the outside, he is pure restlessness within. Did you know that Livingstone’s time at the asylum was not the first time he had been locked away? His grandparents used to lock him in a shed, and he slept in a lockable box bed. Both his parents had been ailed with restiveness. The rumours are true; his real father was that wandering trickster, and his mother had been drawn to him because they were birds of a feather. A foolish choice that ruined her life because he abandoned her and ran away. It has always troubled me – the possibility that Livingstone’s father might be alive and somewhere out there.”

Cloudia stifled a laugh, though a grin managed to break through. “You are afraid of a wandering magician who must be in his sixties or seventies by now? Do you fear you might end up in the same retirement centre as him, and he will be your eternal bridge partner?”

“You would not be so flippant, Countess Phantomhive, if you knew what I do,” Rowan hissed. “No one knows Oscar Livingstone as I do. As I said, his grandparents kept him under lock and key in the hope it would quench his restlessness. It did not. Instead, Livingstone only learned to hide his disquiet, his anger, his thoughts. You can never quite know what he is up to, what is going on in that head of his.” Rowan’s eyes met Cloudia’s. “Do you know when Livingstone started his serial murders?”

“In 1833,” Cloudia said.

“When his eldest daughter died,” Rowan said, and Cloudia’s stomach churned. “I know he must have told you about his family. About his wife and children. His daughter had only been one or two years old when she died; I cannot recall.” He laughed dryly. “Oscar Livingstone, the monster on the battlefield, the Met’s most feared inspector, a man with nerves of steel, had completely unravelled upon the death of his daughter.

“He had been different after her death, after the funeral, of course. The cracks were subtle but there; with time, he returned to his default – or so everyone had thought. Livingstone started killing people not long after his daughter’s death. His murderous spree would have lasted for many more years if someone had not found his basement – by chance.” Rowan leaned forward. “He had been killing people for nearly five years, Countess Phantomhive, all while displaying zero outward signs that he had gone mad. No one had known that he had spiralled so far, that the cracks his daughter’s death had left never healed at all, only deepened. Neither I nor his beloved wife had noticed that anything was amiss.

“Trudy Livingstone.” Rowan spoke her name with an odd tone, a strange mix of fascination and disdain. “She was such a curiosity. A perfect English Rose in appearance and demeanour, but there was something off about her that I could never put my finger on. For years, I had tried to figure out what exactly was wrong with her, and something had to be wrong with her; after all, she had married a monster like Oscar Livingstone. And then I told her about her husband’s crimes.

“I had been unable to catch any signs of Livingstone’s misdeeds and inner turmoil. The contents of his basement did not surprise me at all though, for I had always known that he was capable of such gruesome acts. Trudy, however, had been genuinely shocked when I informed her about what Livingstone had done. All these years, I had thought her to be sharper than she seemed, only for her to prove me wrong too. I guess there was nothing wrong with her at all; she was just a stupid little girl who thought a monster would change if you loved it enough.”

Rowan stood up. “Livingstone bottled up years of restlessness and anger when he was a child. You should have seen him on the field when he could finally let it out. I doubt he has made any progress in the asylum; his madness must have only grown. I’ve seen what he did when he lost his daughter – and now, he has lost them all. We have restricted him as best as we could, but how long will the dam last before it breaks?

“When the inevitable comes, how will you know if we could not?”

***

Countryside, England, United Kingdom – June 1843

“Now, Cloudia, dear, where is that murderer?” Cecelia asked before Clifford had the chance to collect her top hat and luggage. “Did he arrive already, or is he still in the process of wiping out an idyllic village on the way?”

“Hello to you too, Cecelia,” Cloudia sighed.

After the meeting with Rowan, Cloudia had returned to her manor which she had missed so much. Two weeks had passed since; two weeks of lovely respite and minimal social contact. A streak that could have gone on forever; a streak that was now broken by this gathering.

The first meeting of Cloudia’s new set of Aristocrats of Evil. An event both important and nerve-wracking. Cloudia wished she had not freed Oscar from his cell at all, simply so that she would not have to endure this meeting. It had to be done, of course; she knew that. For Barrington, Cecelia, and Oscar to work together in the best way possible they had to get to know one another, even if they were most definitely never going to become friends. The sky would shatter into pieces and rain upon the earth before Barrington befriended Oscar, and Cecelia had not yet wasted any opportunity to tell Cloudia how foolish she had been when she had gone to that asylum and picked out its worst inmate. With Barrington and Oscar living with her, it had become impossible to hide Oscar from Cecelia. Cloudia had been surprised that she had managed to conceal her secret from her for so long at all. Cecelia had nearly choked on her tea when Cloudia had told her one afternoon at the Williams guest house.

“You haven’t answered my question, my dear,” said Cecelia now and headed to the Aristocrats’ Bureau. Though the fact that Cecelia moved through Phantomhive Manor as if she owned it was nothing new, the speed with which she did it today, however, was so unlike her that Cloudia was momentarily stunned.

Cloudia shot Clifford an apologetic look before she hurried after Cecelia. “He was the first to arrive,” Cloudia told her. “Barrington is here too; I only just led him upstairs.”

“Those two are currently all alone in one room? Let us hope that Barrington makes himself useful for once and kills that man before we even reach the correct corridor.”

Cloudia sighed again. “Cecelia, I told you that…”

Cecelia suddenly whirled around. She was over a decade older than Cloudia, though not much taller and built like a frail little bird. It was easy to forget that Cecelia could be broken like a twig with little effort because she emanated such confidence at every given moment. Cloudia nearly forgot it now when Cecelia planted herself in front of her, her full imposing self seemingly towering over her despite her lack of height or width.

“Cloudia, I heard you the first time and all the times after that. I can understand you too. If I learned that Michael was secretly best friends with a convicted serial murderer on death row, I would free them too to get any answers I can,” Cecelia hissed. “However, I would not like it, not when it is about you or me. And I know you and your family have blood on your hands as well, but someone like the Scotland Yard Ripper is something else altogether. There is shockingly little known about that case, you know? I tried looking into it after you told me you saved Oscar Livingstone from execution. All I could uncover was an endless pit of rumours and speculations about what could have been in that basement room. Whether he was killing these people for ritualistic purposes or experimentation, whether he turned his victims into clothes or furniture or both, whether he ate them, and so on and so forth. There was nothing else!

“Michael’s murder sent ripples of shock through mostly noble circles. Oscar’s crimes were a tsunami that swept through the entire country! And there’s nothing! I could find out more about you!” Cecelia took a deep, deep breath. “Cloudia, dear,” she continued much calmer. “I will muster as much civility as I can in his presence. This is all I can promise you. Nevertheless, I wholeheartedly think that you are making a terrible mistake. But what is done is done, and I know nothing can change your mind now. We can only hope that when you finally understand and learn your lesson, Oscar will not kill us all…” As if on cue, shouts drifted from the Bureau. “… and that Barrington is currently rolling his corpse into a carpet,” Cecelia added.

Leaving Cecelia behind, Cloudia hastened to the Aristocrats’ Bureau. Barrington and Oscar were both still alive – the argument kept going on and was spooking a nearby maid passing through – but things could escalate and change very, very quickly.

Cloudia ripped the door open. “What on earth is going on here?” she demanded to know.

Barrington and Oscar had stood in front of each other, almost as close as they could get without touching, and staring the other one down. Now, they took a step back. Cloudia went to them and waved them further apart.

“Right after you left, Dia, he took out a knife,” Barrington told her and glared at Oscar who, to Cloudia’s surprise, glared back.

“I wouldn’t even need a knife if I wanted to kill you, Weaselton,” Oscar returned.

“I am not one of Rowan and Mayne’s little lackeys; do you honestly think you could take me on with your bare hands?”

“Yes,” Oscar said automatically.

Barrington laughed hollowly. “Then you’re severely underestimating me, Livingstone.”

“Underestimate? You? You have never glimpsed at a proper battle before, you pampered fool.”

“You’re saying I don’t know what a proper fight is?”

“Yes, of course, that’s why I’m saying! Do you need everything to be spelt out for you tenfold?”

“When I’m done with you, we’ll need to change your name to ‘Deadstone’ because I used to…”

“Enough!” exclaimed Cloudia and rubbed her face. “What is wrong with you two? You managed to live together for nearly a month without going at each other’s throats! And you’re choosing today of all days to pick a fight?” She spun to Oscar. “Why did you suddenly take out a knife? And…” Cloudia turned to Barrington. “… did Oscar even do anything threatening with it?”

“He took it out and shot me the nastiest look,” Barrington explained without taking his eyes off Oscar. “I yelled at him before he could do anything. And didn’t Old Ted pat him down for weapons?”

“As I’ve repeatedly told you, Weaselton, I could have killed you without it if I wanted to,” Oscar snapped at him. “Not everything is about you.”

“I said ‘enough’!” Cloudia shouted. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Cecelia was standing in the doorsill, watching the happenings with a raised eyebrow. Cloudia sighed and rubbed her face again. “You are two grown men who behave like my cousins when they used to fight over toys. Barrington, you will sit down and cool off. Cecelia, please come in and take a seat. And you…” Cloudia looked up and narrowed her eyes at Oscar. “You are coming with me. We need to talk.”

Cloudia guided Oscar to her office on the other side of the manor, making him walk in shame behind her. At least, she hoped he felt shame; he better did. When they arrived, she gestured for him to sit down in front of her desk while she took her seat behind it. Cloudia had never attended school, but she wanted to believe it was like this when an unruly child was summoned to the headmaster.

“Now, Oscar,” Cloudia began, trying her best to keep her voice calm. “What is going on? I’m used to that level of hostility from Barrington but from you? Previously, you were only ever annoyed whenever he expressed his dislike of you. Why are you suddenly provoking him too? I hope you haven’t decided to stop pretending to be civil because your probation period is over – that one was just for the housing; you are on endless probation, Oscar. Any misdemeanour can and will get you sent to the execution chamber – and me in serious trouble. And what’s with the knife Barrington mentioned? Give it to me.”

Cloudia held out her hand. Oscar produced a small knife from his pocket and gave it to her. “It’s a carving knife,” he said. “Clifford let me keep it when I explained why I had it with me.”

“And what is the reason?”

Oscar took out a piece of wood and placed it on the desk. “Habit from when I was a child,” Oscar told her. “I make little wood figures.”

“Little figures of what?” Cloudia asked and picked up the piece, mustering its uneven, rough furrows with great curiosity.

“Of all sorts of things. I have made thousands of them in my lifetime,” he replied.

Cloudia looked up from the log and blinked at him. “Thousands?”

“My grandparents used to lock me in a shed. At first, I simply sat inside and waited even if it bored and bothered me greatly. Then, I began to count and re-count every item in that shed, every log that comprised it until I found a little knife in there one day. The shack was full of wood, so I started making figurines out of them. Picking up wood carving was better than nothing to keep me busy,” Oscar explained and shrugged as if it was a perfectly normal childhood story. “I never broke the habit as it’s a good way to pass the time. My grandparents destroyed some figures. I binned some and left others here and there because I could not be bothered to take them with me. I did keep many though, and unless someone threw them all out while I was jailed, they must be in my manor.

“Earlier, I started one while I was waiting alone. I put it away when you arrived with Weaselton and wanted to resume after you left, only I could not because Weaselton went on a tirade after I took out the knife.”

“That’s… that’s a surprising hobby for you to have,” Cloudia noted. “But when you’re always doing that when you’re bored, how come I haven’t seen you carve anything back at the townhouse?”

“I didn’t want to request a knife with Weaselton around. He would have reacted like he did just now if I had.”

Cloudia sighed. “You’re right. Now, tell me, Oscar,” she continued, her voice softening, “what is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, Mylady.”

“Do not lie to me, Oscar. You concealed it well but not well enough.” She picked up the unfinished figurine. “I am not knowledgeable about wood carving, and I doubt you lied when you said that you have been doing this since childhood. This does not look like the work of someone who has been doing it for so long though: It is a choppy mess. And if you began your carving before Barrington entered the Bureau, his presence is not the reason for your sloppiness. Something else must be upsetting you. Something from which you have to distract yourself – to the point that you would take out a knife before Barrington and risk a quarrel.”

Oscar went very quiet for a moment. “Simon’s daughter, indeed,” he said at last, sounding suddenly very tired.

“What has happened? Did Trudy’s friend die, or was it the anniversary of something recently?”

Oscar went still again, and Cloudia knew that he would not tell her what exactly was discomposing him, no matter how much she probed him. “Very well,” she said. “Whatever is going on, whatever happened, there is no reason to be so hostile towards Barrington. Didn’t you say you are used to people like him?”

A shadow hushed over Oscar’s face. “I am used to people like Trudy’s friend who is certainly not like Weaselton.” He looked at her. “I took the liberty to investigate my new colleagues in the last few weeks. Unlike ‘Cecelia’ I do not have to leave the house for that at all. Daisy, Scott, and Ishmael are excellent information gatherers as people tend to underestimate and ignore them because they are blind, mute, and deaf.

“Although I’ve known Weaselton for too long, I have never kept any tabs on him. And after your father distanced himself from me, I never interacted with any of his friends anymore either. That was a decade ago; I wanted to update my knowledge of Weaselton.” Oscar’s eyes darkened. “I didn’t think he would abandon his family like that.”

“So, you decided to be hostile towards Barrington because he divorced his wife?” Cloudia asked, baffled. “Oscar, just because your wife is dead does not mean you can and should hate everyone who divorced theirs.”

Oscar opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again and only mustered her for a moment. “I see,” he said and laughed hollowly. “I apologise, Mylady, I will not try to throttle him again, though he has to apologise to you too, it seems.”