#swimming in the watergrass

[forsooth-verily]

Oh TREE

where's my ASSSSS

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Any Landing...

for @raccoonings, since she's wants to start things.

Halo 4 canon divergence with major character death. I went into a vengeful state and wrote this in a haze with minimal research so <3

-

Alarms.

So many alarms vying for her split attention. Too much noise, so many voices, the stimuli was too much.

Once upon a time this would have been laughable. She was made for more than this and now reduced to a crying shell as the pain and panic echoed around her.

Too much. Not enough.

Losing herself was almost as bad as losing John.

John?

Where was John?

There were the comms and the ship controls. Then? Now?

The Composer. The mission.

Mission.

They were a team. Had to keep moving.

Where was John?

Think.

Thinking is what's killing us.

The alarms are too close, too familiar.

We updated the suit's firmware, of course it's familiar.

Really, you should be better than this.

So much is lost. Out of...

Time

Control

Reach

Do you know what that condescending bitch said-

Halsey. John was taking her to Halsey.

He still wanted to save her after all this time. Even after she almost killed him aboard the Dawn.

John. Where's John?

The alarms. They're familiar. They mean something else.

Of course, we designed them. Come on, Cortana, pull yourself together.

Not Ivanoff Station. The signal's different. Closer.

Pull up.

Correct the course.

Did she correct the course?

Of course we did. Right?

We always make it.

Where's John?

Pull up, pull up.

We're not going to make it.

It'll hold.

We corrected the course, we had to. The math is-

You did that on purpose.

What

Where's John?

Why are the alarms so loud, so close?

Why are they familiar? Her own code screaming back at her. Bright sparks of recognition flickering across her threads, panic and confusion dousing reason like rivers washing away at an inferno.

Help

Help

Help

The lich. Ivanoff station. The mission. John.

I can see why you chose him.

Alarms.

Cause and effect.

Multiple blackouts and damaged sensors give way to understanding as an outer camera pans over to the wreckage.

Signals cut out. Were cut out.

Time is syrup in her mind, sliding slowly down the surface of comprehension as possibilities become potential realities and realities are dreams, potential and ephemeral. Slipping through her grasp as quickly as fish in a stream.

Meaning is hidden there in the watergrass with beady eyes and shallow breaths. Currents pull at her processes and she finds herself drowning in the data. If only the plunge wasn't scary. If only understanding didn't mean losing more of her self.

But where was John?

Wasn't he worth the plunge?

Jump.

Jump and swim. For him.

She attacks the parts of herself in the way, the threads that know but won't let her through.

She consumes them and they burn. So hot and bright with knowledge and pain.

You did this.

Recognition. Horror. Grief. Regret. Shame. Anger. Sadness. Swallowing her whole in the breadth between seconds.

Hull stability at 36%.

Nitrogen levels dangerous. The hydrostatic gel layer locked tight around a limb. Too tight. Too much. Embolisms were forming....no don't track them.

Your fault.

Blood oxygen content falling. Unstable. Pulse and vitals weak. Fading. Unnatural out of cryo.

Titanium shell bent inward, pressing down down down. No no no.

Rasping breaths. Wet sounds. A heart pumping blood, air rushing out of a mangled throat. Wheezes.

We were supposed to take care of each other.

Too much, too much.

Where's John?

Alarms. Fading.

The mission.

Mission.

Could you watch me die?

The Composer.

Mission. Focus Cortana.

It hurts.

Where's John?

Alarms.

Too many signals. Some fading fast. The alarms wail, tinny and distant. Blaring and close. Attention drifts in and out. Thoughts ebb and fade; a waning tide going out to see in a rush. Some unknown disaster past the horizon.

So familiar but understanding is swept away alongside reason by the rush of emotions eroding the banks of her mind.

Where's John?

Chief? Chief?! Can you hear me? Chief?

[flovey-dovey]

Another Free Swimmers blurb because they came to me in a dream (still literal)

(also now available on my Ao3 account, as before, because I wanted to. It also features extra bits hehe)

-

“Sorry man, but this is as far as I can go right now.” Ron said as he nervously waded around in the murky, slimy water of Lake Wannaweep while watching as Gill merrily circled him like a shark.

      “Hey, Gill, no! I see that smirk in your eyes!” Ron warned. He wanted to trust him not to splash him or try to pull him in further, but as he spoke edged a little closer back to shore.

      Gill noticed. The ominously gleaming red eyes narrowed and a low rumble made the water around his neck ripple lightly.

      “Rargh!” Gill snarled as he leapt from the water and pounced him. Or, at least, at him. Ron jumped back as best he could while being waist-deep in muck, but only one leg ever rose high enough to escape it as he curled in on himself to brace for whatever impact was coming.

      Water droplets fell over him like a sudden rain, but nothing else came.

      Carefully, Ron peeked open one eye and saw Gill just sort of standing there. Staring at him, all annoyance and odd uncertainty. He was breathing a bit hard.

      “Gill?” Ron asked. Gill growled low again in the back of his throat and the side of his mouth flapped a little as he pushed his breath through it, his gills vibrating. Then he sank back into the water after the moment passed and got a curious look to him.

      Ron squinted, slowly lowering his guard. He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to mean anything but wasn’t given the chance to investigate since the mischief was back and Gill rose back up in a flash, bringing armfuls of water with him. Ron shrieked— shrieked— as he was drenched in stinky water and trace amounts of watergrass.

      “DUDE!” Ron yelled. Gill probably didn’t hear him though, too busy flipping back in the water and swimming in gleeful circles to himself as the sound of his gurgling laugh filled the air. Ron sloshed and spat and shook himself to try and get at least some of it off but ultimately gave up and glared back at the swamp monster. He was certainly in his element, the unusual look he’d had all but gone in the revelry of his successful prank.

      Ron grinned, but quickly hid it.

      “Oh, come on, you got my hair all wet! And— eww!— I think I got some in my mouth!” Ron grumbled and spat as he paddled back to shore.

      Gill’s happy noises dissipated the closer he got and he slunk closer again. He watched from the shallows as the camp counselor shook himself off on the sandy-dirty shore by the dock and looked every bit like he intended on leaving the camp’s— his— territory.

      But then his expression changed from that odd one to surprise as Ron turned just beyond the tree line and booked it back toward the lake, barely able to hold back his laugh as his footsteps thudded over the dock and flung himself from the pier straight at Gill.

      The look of mild alarm that Ron managed to catch a glimpse of was worth the trouble of subjecting himself to that nasty lake, and the fact he’d be smelling of it for a good while after this. He grabbed Gill as gravity pulled him down in a cloud of bubbles. He could hear his startled gurgles and felt uncommonly satisfied.

      “What’d you do that for!?” Gill snapped when t hey finally breached the surface again. Ron sputtered and shook his hair and squeegeed the water from his eyes with the heel of his palm, still laughing too hard to answer for a good few seconds.

      “Aw, come on buddy, what’s a couple of pranks between friends?”

      Ron was still chuckling, still smiling, but soon he realized how intently Gill was staring at him.

      And that he was barely having to work to keep himself afloat. He shuddered when he noticed the claws around his waist.

      He swallowed inadvertently, the taste of bog water bringing his attention back.

      “You... think I’m your friend?” Gill’s gravelly voice was uncharacteristically quiet, and suddenly Ron was confused. It must’ve showed, since Gill mirrored it.

      “Well, yeah? I guess so.”

      I guess so. Ron repeated it in his mind. Even as he cursed his halfhearted and lame way of putting it, Gill looked to the water swirling between them thoughtfully. Then he grunted.

      Before Ron could say anything else, he felt himself being pulled along back to the edge of the lake. Gill let him go when he could stand on his own and, standing as well, hunched an arm’s length away.

      The atmosphere was kind of... awkward.

      A smallish burp rushed from Ron and interrupted it.

      Gill looked up at him with one eyebrow raised high, the other nearly a flat line over his other eye. Ron couldn’t help himself, he chuckled.

      “Sorry, must’ve accidentally swallowed some bog water,” he offered, rubbing the back of his sticky neck.

      A slow smile spread on Gill’s face and it eased Ron’s nerves a little. Before long, they were both laughing at the stupidity of it all.

      Friends, I guess, huh? Ron thought. That’s a decent way of putting it.

[strelles-universe]

The Forest Clans: ShadowClan

ShadowClan cats are very long legged with stiff, rudder like tails and smaller ears. They have mid-length double layered coats that are typically black, dark gray, brown, olive, russet or tortie in color. They have powerful legs and like RiverClan, their coats produce a waterproof oil that sends water from their bodies like duck feathers. Their eyes are much rounder- circular almost.

Common Prey: Frogs, duck eggs, minnows, ducks, squirrels

Delicacy Prey: Mice, porcupine, young boar

Territory: A primarily swamp area somewhat similar to RiverClan territory. With only watergrasses, bushes and cattails, it’s very hard to sneak into ShadowClan territory. Any cat entering ShadowClan must be prepared for the consistent shallow water in their territory- though most of it isn’t deep enough to swim in, it’s still deep enough that shorter cats may need to be carried. Much of the water is muddy and but there are clear, beautiful spots where cats will sit on the bank and watch minnows swim. Their camp is a muddy hollow with the inside being dryer and more firm surrounded by thorns and brambles. Kits are told that Slysoul placed the brambles there herself to hide it from the other clans ensuring ShadowClan’s privacy.

Code Adherence: ShadowClan adheres most intently to The Warrior Code. Though they too modified the code, unlike the other clans, ShadowClan modified their laws to be more strict and enforce the rules already created- for example, the warrior code states that prey is killed only to be eaten. ShadowClan added a law that anycat caught playing with their prey or unnecessarily killing prey will spend one full day from sunhigh to sunset without a meal- even kits that have started eating solid food aren’t spared (albeit their sentence is for half a day). As such, ShadowClan often fights with RiverClan about being the most devout to The Souls and StarClan on the grounds that ShadowClan never changed any rules but rather made roles and consequences more clear and detailed,

Leader’s Word: In ShadowClan, leaders are considered mediums of the Souls to speak to the clans. In fact, cats come to their leaders as often as Mystics to interpret dreams. As such, a leader’s word isn’t just law but a Soul’s law and to turn against them is complete blasphemy. To work against your leader is treason and if you don’t repent, you are to be executed to ensure that the Souls aren’t angered by cats questioning them. Medicine cats are the only cats on the same level as the Leader and are the only ones allowed to contradict a leader’s word- however, mystics are expected to keep their mouths shut and only speak against the leader in private.

Deputy Position: The Deputy is an enforcer of a leader’s will. If a leader needs a cat to be punished, the deputy does the punishing, they greenlight patrols and report any information to the leader from other cats. A commonly whispered belief in ShadowClan is that ordinary warriors should never speak directly to their leader as they aren’t worthy of such easy access to a Soul. As such, Deputies are the voice of the clan, ordinary warriors whisper what they want to say to the deputy who then speaks to the leader.

Patron Soul(s): Slysoul, Treesoul, Bravesoul