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grey-gazania · 11 months ago

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I'm sorry someone bombarded you with bitchy comments 😭. While my To Read list is lengthy and continually lengthier (actually I think something of yours with her is on it), I'd like to hear more about Ianneth-Fingon-Maedhros if you want to talk about them.

@polutrope

It wasn't really upsetting, just annoying and honestly a little bit funny. This guy left comments on all six chapters of By Love or at Least Free Will, every time I updated the story, just objecting to the entire premise of the story and ranting about how Elves have incorruptible pure souls and are immune to lust. I was sorely tempted to respond with this quote from "Laws & Customs Among the Eldar":

Even when in after days, as the histories reveal, many of the Eldar in Middle-earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them.

'Seldom' is not the same thing as 'never', and furthermore, I don't think lust is even a major theme of my story. It's more about conflicting obligations and unruly hearts.

In the end I deleted the comments without responding, because I have a personal policy of not engaging with people who are acting in bad faith. But I have to assume that this guy has no actual hobbies if he spends his time hate-reading entire stories instead of just...closing the window and moving on with his life. Maybe take up crochet, bro? Or volunteer at a soup kitchen? Watch a TV show that you like? Grow some tomatoes? Do something that will be more fulfilling than typing long screeds on AO3. I promise it will make you a happier person.

Anyway. On to the actual topic of your ask! As you've probably noticed, I am very fond of Russingon. However, I am also very fond of Fingon as Gil-galad's father. At first I balanced these two ideas by keeping my Russingon ideas and my Fingon-father-of-Gil-galad ideas in two separate universes, but then I started really fleshing out Gil-galad's mother, and it made me think some thoughts. To repeat something I said to @cuarthol in a comment on AO3:

...half the genesis of Ianneth was seeing so many stories (in multiple fandoms, not just Tolkien) where the woman is written out of a canon or semi-canon couple to make room for a popular M/M ship instead, without the female character being treated with any respect. I decided that the female perspective on that situation would be a nice change of pace and interesting to write.

I'm not trying to point fingers -- I'll readily admit that I have my male faves just like the next gal and that it's fun to make them kiss -- but the wives and girlfriends don't get a lot of love in fandom, do they? And it doesn't help that the legendarium in general tends to be a bit of a sausage fest. So I decided that Fingon would have a wife and be in love with Maedhros. But instead of focusing just on the forbidden love, I was going to focus on the wife's feelings, too.

Ianneth ("bridge-woman") is one of the Northern Sindar, from the community that lives around Lake Mithrim. She's the daughter of Annael (yes, that Annael), whom I've imagined to be one of the more influential leaders among the Northern Sindar, and particularly among the Elves of Mithrim.

Her betrothal to Fingon starts as a political arrangement. Fingolfin loves Fingon dearly, of course, but he's also been hinting for a while now that Fingon really needs to settle down and start having kids so that there will be a strong line of heirs should Fingolfin die. After all, Argon's dead, and Turgon and Aredhel abruptly fucked off to god-knows-where some three hundred years ago and haven't been seen nor heard from since. Your dad needs some grandsons, Fingon, and this also seems like a ripe opportunity to strengthen the Noldor's alliance with the Northern Sindar.

I don't think political marriage is unknown among the Elves of Beleriand. (For one example in the text, see Celegorm trying to marry Luthien to force Doriath into an alliance.) And the quote I drew the title of the aforementioned Fingon/Ianneth story from, also found in "Laws and Customs Among the Eldar," is:

The Eldar wedded only once in life, and for love or at the least by free will upon either part.

Free will could easily mean, "Are we in love? No. But I'll still marry you, for the good of our peoples, and I'll bring some of Dad's soldiers along with me." That sort of thing happened all the time among real-world nobility, so I see no reason why it can't happen among Elven nobility in Beleriand, too.

At any rate, Fingolfin arranges for Fingon to meet the daughters of some of the more powerful leaders of the Northern Sindar, and he's hint-hint-hinting that Fingon really needs to pick one of them to be his wife. Fingon, having been in love with Maedhros since they were young in Valinor, is not exactly keen on this plan. But he goes along with it anyway because he is a dutiful son, he knows that his father is right about needing to strengthen the line of succession, and he also knows that revealing his (quite taboo!) relationship with Maedhros to his father would probably break Fingolfin's heart.

It takes Fingon a while to decide who to court, but he picks Ianneth because he likes her sense of humor; she has the guts to gently tease him at their first meeting, which he finds quite charming. He doesn't think he can love anyone besides Maedhros, but he does look at Ianneth and think, "This is a woman I could grow to care for and whose companionship I think could enjoy."

The trouble begins when, over the course of their courtship, Fingon starts falling in love with Ianneth without falling out of love with Maedhros. And he doesn't know what to do about this. He can't call off the marriage, and he doesn't want to break things off with Maedhros, so he decides to just...keep the whole thing with Maedhros a secret and marry Ianneth anyway. It's not a good decision, but really, are there any options here that won't end with someone getting hurt? I don't think so.

So we have Ianneth, blissfully ignorant of her husband's infidelity (for now); Fingon, in love with two people at once and feeling horribly guilty about it, but unwilling to pick one partner over the other; and Maedhros, resigned to the situation but still hurting because Fingon is no longer his alone.

Maedhros' feelings are complicated by the fact that, once he meets her, he finds that likes Ianneth. It would be easier, he thinks, if he could write her off as just a political necessity for Fingon, but it turns out that she's charming and intelligent and kind, and he can understand why Fingon loves her. His feelings soften further once Ereiniel is born, because Fingon is so happy being a father, and he loves Fingon, so how can he begrudge him that? There's a line from "Famous Blue Raincoat" by Leonard Cohen that I always think of when I'm getting into Maedhros' head at this point:

And thanks for the trouble you took from [his] eyes. I thought it was there for good, so I never tried.

Things tick along about as smoothly as they can for thirteen years, until, in the aftermath of Fingolfin's death during the Dagor Bragollach, as Fingon prepares to send Ianneth and Ereiniel to the Falas for their safety, Ianneth learns his secret. This is understandably devastating for her, and leaves her wondering if Fingon ever really loved her as she loved him, or if his marriage to her was simply a politically expedient sham.

Add to that the fact that she leaves for the Falas less than ten hours after this revelation and spends most of that ten hours either crying or asleep, as she's too upset to really talk to Fingon about what she's discovered, and it leaves her with this horrible knowledge and all the worst thoughts that come from it gnawing at her nearly a full year until Fingon next comes to Eglarest -- time that she spends as the sole caregiver for her young daughter, among strangers in a foreign city, without her mother or her sister or any of her friends who might have theoretically been able to offer her some emotional support.

Theoretically is a key word there, though, because even if, say, her sister had come to Eglarest, Ianneth isn't sure she'd even be able to tell her. For one thing, she can't help feeling ashamed, because infidelity is very rare among Elves, and she can't help thinking that maybe she failed as a wife somehow, and if she'd done something different, Fingon wouldn't have strayed. Then there's the fact that he's the High King of the Noldor, and if this gets out it could cause a crisis in the Noldorin government and possibly tank the alliance between the House of Fingolfin and the Northern Sindar. Ianneth is a practical woman, and she's of the Northern Sindar -- the people who have been living practically on Morgoth's doorstep for centuries, with no Maia queen's magic girdle to protect them. Their alliance with the Noldor is vital, and she would never want to jeopardize it.

So Ianneth is just...completely alone with this pain. She has no one to turn to, no one who can comfort her. And that pain is central to her story, and a not insignificant part of Ereiniel's story, too.

#polutrope #turns out when you ask me about my ocs i turn into treebeard #ianneth #fingon's wife #fingon #maedhros #gil galad #woman king au #my ocs

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doodle-pops · 1 year ago

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₊‧꒰ა Underrated Character Event Masterlist ໒꒱ ‧₊

˚₊‧꒰ა Fics/Scenarios ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

𑁍 Hate You, Love You, It's The Same Thing — Curufin x reader | 1.3k | fluff |

𑁍 Tales of the Heart Part 2 — Finarfin x mortal!reader | 2.3k | soft angst

𑁍 Hold Me Tight, I'm Fine — Post!Angband Gwindor x reader | 1.8k | angst

𑁍 Can You Still Hear My Heart — Gil Galad x reader | 1.4k | soft angst

𑁍 Promises of Tomorrow, Today — Royal Guard!Beleg x reader | 3.6k | royal guard au, nudity, suggestive themes

𑁍 The Prince My Sister Speaks Of — Rog x reader | fluff | @lamemaster

𑁍 A Conspiring Universe — Curufin x reader | enemies to lovers | @lamemaster

˚₊‧꒰ა Headcanons ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

·⊰ How They Kiss You — fluff | Amrod, Amras, Turgon, Angrod, Aegnor, Gil Galad

·⊰ Princess Treatment — fluff | Amrod, Argon, Angrod, Egalmoth, Gwindor, Thingol, Gil Galad

·⊰ Arguing With Them — fluff | Turgon, Aegnor, Rog, Thingol

⊰ Watching Their S/O Die — Amrod, Argon, Angrod, Rog, Galdor

·⊰ Cuddling Turgon

·⊰ Dating Galdor

·⊰ Rog Having A Crush On Reader

·⊰ Beleg With An Affectionate Reader

·⊰ Beleg Comforting Reader — @animatorweirdo

This content is the work of ©doodle-pops 2023. No permission to repost, upload, translate or plagiarize on any platform. Reblogs are welcomed to show support to content creators. I do not own these characters. All rights to the original creators.

#underratedcharacterevent #curufin x reader #amrod x reader #amras x reader #turgon x reader #argon x reader #finarfin x reader #angrod x reader #aegnor x reader #galdor x reader #rog x reader #egalmoth x reader #thingol x reader #beleg x reader #gwindor x reader #gil galad x reader #reader insert writing event #doodlepops writings ✨

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extraordinaryhistories · 7 months ago

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#16 – 'Jason' (A Sun Came, 1998)

‘Jason’ is the other half of the A Sun Came diptych that begins with ‘The Oracle Said Wander’: two songs that function as vague retellings of classical Greek narratives favoured by Sufjan. ‘The Oracle Said Wander’ centres itself around Cadmus, but ‘Jason’ takes as its subject the Argonaut of the same name, whose quest for the Golden Fleece is an enduring staple of Greek mythology that finds adaptation and re-adaptation today.

This tale needs little introduction compared to that of Cadmus, and the song benefits from it, because ‘Jason’, despite the glut of words present across its six minutes, remains wilfully obtuse. Motifs from the tale are present: there is mention of an Argon, of brave knights, and of the dragon guarding the fleece. But the rest remains glibly indirect. It seems to be written as an ode of sorts, Sufjan being front and centre of the hero’s cheer squad; the core refrain is ‘Jason, you’re the only one / Jason, like a steady son,’ placing the narrator at a remove from the thrust of the plot. This will soon become an incredibly important feature of Sufjan’s storytelling manner. Sufjan almost never places himself in the narratorial perspective of his subjects. He has intimate knowledge of them, but he remains ever deferential, always the supportive bystander but never the centre itself. It’s what gives his lyrics their charming humility. (And also what makes it all the more astoundingly subversive in the rare occasions when, on a song like ‘Saturn’, he speaks to you with all the horror-inspiring authority of God himself. But that’s for a later entry.)

This aside, not much else can be divined from these lyrics. ‘Jason’ is a song about Jason, news at 11.

The musical elements of ‘Jason’ are of greater repute. This song is A Sun Came’s last rock offering, and as such, one of the last true ‘heavy’ songs – in the 90s guitar-and-drum freakout sense – on a Sufjan album. Perhaps the very last, depending on how one defines the style. Any definition of heaviness would certainly encompass ‘Jason’, anchored around a charging, drum machine-led beat and a three-chord guitar line that keeps climbing up and up and up, like Hercules ascending a great mountain. It never quite peaks; it gets around 80% there and then decides to turn back, content with its progress (and likely mindful of its length – this song is six minutes, largely consisting of the same motif, ‘you’re the only one’ repeating in chorus for a good portion of the track’s duration.)

We also get multiple of Sufjan’s vocal styles here, some of which would largely be consigned to the past following this album. Whisper-sung Sufjan appears in the sunny, optimistic ‘you’re the only one’ hook, but is at points overpowered by screaming, distorted Sufjan, singing countermelodies over the hook and creating a hodgepodge of vocal noise that never really jells in the way that (I assume) Sufjan intended to. But it certainly creates a great racket along the way. When the guitar fades out towards the end, all that’s left is the vocal, the motorik drum groove and an abundance of odd keyboard detritus that one never quite registers during the main portion of the song. It’s a dense song – this much it succeeds at. It ain’t no ‘Demetrius’.

I always thought that ‘Jason’ would work very well as a live track, aided by a smoother, more tasteful arrangement. I’m confident that the noise it creates could whip up a fervour from a crowd. It never did get that treatment, unfortunately. Or not unfortunately. It’s not really so important.

#music #sufjan stevens #sufjan #folk music #ancient greece #greek mythology #but really really obtusely

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canis-or-cannotis-lycaon · 2 years ago

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Faete Night

TIMING: June 12th LOCATION: Gael's car in front of Beau's House PARTIES: Beau (@mayihaveyournameplease) and Gael (@lithium-argon-wo-l-f SUMMARY: Thinking Beau is being stood up on a date, Gael offers to be his backup. They never leave the car. CONTENT WARNINGS: None

Someone wanted to go on a date with him. Beau! Someone had sent him an anonymous little love letter saying that they would be around at six today to pick him up for a date. It was like having a secret admirer. A little love, tucked away just for him. Check yes or no. Oh boy had Beau checked yes. Now he was standing outside of his house, dressed firmly in shades of blue. Gael, of course, had seen the anonymous ask and must have been jealous. Don’t wear red. Of course not! Red would be saved for his little Gaerlic clove. Their date at the Codfather had been dream worthy. Beau had shown up dressed in red, the color of passion, and Gael had been handsome as ever. They had talked and talked and talked for forty-five minutes until the check was handed to them and went their separate ways.

Beau had those charming memories to hold on to as he stood outside in the humid night air as he waited. Six forty-five, where was his date? Seven rolled around and Beau was starting to think this might have been a prank. Would someone trick him? Someone didn’t actually want to admire him? Beau started to wonder if he should give up and go inside. Perhaps his parents had been right. He did have an unlovable air about him. The person probably just saw his ‘I’m kraft single and ready to mingle’ quip online and wanted to catfish him. Beau was not cheesed about that. Or as Gael would say ‘Cheesed is something bad.’ Which would mean, Beau was cheesed about this. _______________________

He shouldn’t be doing this. Gael shouldn’t have been doing this, what was he doing? He had gone on that ‘date’ with Beau before, to the Codfather, with Beau wearing as much red as he could possibly fit onto his body, and much to his surprise, it didn’t go terribly. Sure, he had asked some of the questions he wanted to ask, receiving no satisfactory answers but most of the evening was full of Beau excitedly regaling his tales at the BMV. And that was fine by the man; he wasn’t a hypocrite and he really did like hearing about what other people found their passions in… even if it was because Beau probably did to other people what he did to Gael. In any case, despite all these shortcomings, Gael didn’t sit right with the knowledge that Beau had received an anonymous message pertaining to a date, having a strong feeling that no date was going to be arriving for the man. Beau was much but Beau also seemed to… Gael wasn’t sure, he seemed genuine. Maybe he was being a fool; he certainly felt like one as he pulled up to Beau’s house slowly, seeing the silhouette of the man who stole his name at one point. Sure enough, because he could see the man, he knew he was right. Coming to a stop, he left the car running and put it into park before getting out of his seat and standing next to the car with the door open. “Hola amigo,” Gael greeted Beau, who was wearing blue now - he’d listened when Gael told him not to wear red. “I’m guessing your secret admirer never showed up.” _______________________

Everything could be rationalized right? It wasn’t that he was being stood up, it was that his secret admirer was shy. That had to be it. Beau basically radiated positive energy, handsomeness, he was literally a dream guy. His secret admirer just had to be so super shy. Beau wished he knew who it was, that way he could ask for their name. To keep and to hold forever and ever. Then reassure them that it was okay! Beau was a very nice and cool guy. He would hold their hand and walk them through the date and it would be a happy and fun time. And yet, no one was showing up.

Until a familiar car arrived. A smile pulled across Beau’s features as his little Gaerlic clove pulled up in front of his house. “Was this a trick, my charming little Gaerlic butter spread on a nice thick piece of bread.” Gael was sliding out of his car, leaving the door open and the car in idle. Standing there like the true charming gentleman that he was. Beau wasn’t big on fairy tales, after all he was made of them, but this must have been one of those classic fairy tale moments. God, if only Beau had gotten to keep Gael’s name. That would have made this moment perfect.

Beau let out a fit of giggles.“You could have just asked for a second date, you know I adore spending my time with you.” Beau stepped closer, standing a reasonable distance from the other man. Normally his smile was forced, years of practice keeping it in place when his anger seethed within him. At this moment the smile was the most genuine thing about him. “I should have known you were trying to trick me when you told me not to expect you.” Beau reached out, once again tapping a finger on Gael’s nose. “You’re a tricky one like that. You got me! Then being late? What a great touch. I was almost worried for a second.” _______________________

Then again, Gael was starting to wonder where the line was, when the well of positivity within Beau would start to dry up. He figured Beau probably would’ve thought that it was actually Gael doing some… elaborate hoax in an attempt to get him on a second date– it wasn’t a date. These were outings. He decided to keep the part where Gael thought Beau was being actually tricked to himself and he offered nothing but a subconsciously quirked eyebrow when the other man tapped his nose - he’d long since gotten used to it. “I wouldn’t have asked on anon,” He did say, if only to establish that he wasn’t shy or afraid or anything like that - for some reason, he knew Beau would’ve said yes. He’d found himself with a little leprechaun who gave him attention and while this might not’ve been the healthiest relationship, he did find it… nice that he had found the one person in Wicked’s Rest who exuded more energy than him, allowing him to stop smiling for just a moment and identify as a sleep-deprived chemistry professor. “But I’m here and you’re without your date,” Gael glanced around as though whoever it was that sent the message would’ve popped out of the bushes at any moment. “I was… going to go to the science museum. Would you want to come with me?” He asked slowly. _______________________

“Of course you would.” Beau was using his appeasing voice. The voice that said I’m going to pretend to believe you, but we both know I’m smarter than that. The voice that conveyed in Beau’s brain there was absolutely no doubt that Gael had been too nervous to ask for a second date and he had to do it on anon. Beau’s voice added in the layer of while I know you’re lying, I’m going to play along with you because it's cute, and I accept that you’re a coward. Beau was trying to layer so much connotation into one phrase that only a chorus of people saying it in unison could properly convey everything he was trying to get across with it. Beau was not a chorus of people, but he sure did his best to fit it all in.

“I am here. With my date.” Because was that not what was happening? Was this not the scene in the romcom where the outlook was looking bleak and the handsome protagonist was about to cry into a cake from dairy queen when the heart throb of the story shows up and saves the day? Didn’t this mean they were about to go on the most romantic date to the… science museum? Who took people to dates to the science museum? Confusion coursed over Beau. Okay. He could work with this. “The science museum, so we can learn all about each other, right?” Beau asked, a flutter of his eyelashes accompanying the question. “I would be cheesed to go with you.” But this time, he didn’t need to use cheesed. He was actually pleased. There was no underlying hatred in him in the moment. No need to walk himself to his kitchen and grab a piece of cheese so he could force out the word cheesed in placed of please when dealing with the unfortunate and ungratefuls of the internet.

“Shall we away?” Beau was sliding into Gael’s car before the man could change his mind. He was buckling himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door and staring expectantly at Gael like ‘come on, let’s go have our most beautiful date in the whole world together.’ _______________________

Aaaaand the man had gotten into his car. And said ‘cheesed’ again, though Gael was learning more about the maniac who sat in his passenger seat and part of him was increasingly under the impression that he might’ve meant ‘cheesed’ in both connotations.

Whatever. Gael rolled his eyes to himself, exhaling something in Spanish as he sat back down in his car. As he closed the door and started to fasten his seatbelt, he thought more about whether or not he actually wanted to go to the science museum. Granted, he didn’t think it was what Beau had in mind when the latter thought of a ‘date’ but on the other hand, this WASN’T a date. This was Gael trying to do something to prevent the embarrassment of someone else. But why? It’s not like he figured Beau actually had shame so why was Gael feeling for him?

This relationship wasn’t healthy and this wasn’t the first time Gael thought about it that night. He inhaled deeply, his brow furrowed and he turned to Beau - this wasn’t right. “Hey, I–” Suddenly something caught his vision and his eyes were drawn to something on the shorter man’s head. “Wait, you got something in your–” He instinctively reached forward to remove what looked to be a tightly knotted mass of something in Beau’s short brown hair but as his fingers brushed against it, he immediately caught a texture that was decidedly not a clump of hair. Unless it was. “Are you… wearing horns?”

Beau was in his car, and it smelled like him. Gael’s musk mixed with cedar and leather. Beau’s eyes shifted over towards the other as he wondered what the leather on Gael’s scent was from. Perhaps he was into tying people up. A smile tugged at the edges of Beau’s mouth as he thought about how fun it would be for Gael to tie him up, or for Beau to tie Gael up. Which ever way made Gael happy. Now that they were on good terms. Hadn’t it been silly? Beau being mad at Gael. That had been silly. Of course Beau was going to get his name eventually. He just had to be patient. Gael wasn’t a guile filled man, he just didn’t want to type that silly little accent. Now they had been through so much together. Plus, he held the knowledge of what Gael was deep in his little fae heart. Gael would always need him.

If Beau hadn’t been so lost in the day dream of them, then perhaps he would have realized what Gael was talking about. Something in his hair. He saw those strong hands reach towards him, hands that he wanted nothing more than to hold tight. His smile widened as it came closer, sure that Gael was about to brush a lock of his hair behind his ear before leaning in for a kiss. Beau scooched forward in the seat, ready for the beautiful moment. Instead Gael tugged at his horn. The fantasy shattered around Beau, broken pieces of glass ruining the rose tinted movie in his head, and leaving reality. “Wearing? Can’t leave home without them.” Beau let out a deep chuckle. “Haha. They come built in.” He reached a hand and tugged at one, to show it wasn’t going anywhere. “Probably because of how horny I am. Haha. Get it? Cause I have horns? And I would sleep with you right now if you asked.” _______________________

“What do you mean they–” Gael blinked and his sentence reached a dead stop as the rest of what Beau said sunk in. Did… He leaned back in his own seat slightly and his eyes pointed up at a furrowed brow as though they were trying to solve an impossible logic problem just out of his peripheral vision.

Okay so Beau just straight up said that he’d sleep with him.

Gael shook his head after a long few moments of contemplation, more confused and caught off-guard than anything and he scoffed with mild frustration. “Alright, one thing at a time.” He held his hands out as though to indicate to slow down. “So you can’t… grow horns because you’re horny, that’s not how it works. Also what the hell, you have horns just grafted onto you? Was it a surgical thing, like when those people pay thousands of dollars to look like snakes?” He was drawing a lot of attention to the horns, almost as though trying to avoid having to unpack what Beau said about sleeping with him and he didn’t want to think about the last time he offered to have a one-night stand with someone.

He reached forward again, his head tilting with curiosity and Gael gently tapped on one of them again. It… FELT real. Beau didn’t seem like the type to lie to him. They had to have been an aesthetic choice, right? “Also you don’t want to sleep with me. I’m… not great.” He said lamely though how untruthful it was was anyone’s guess, at least for right now. _______________________

“One thing at a time?” Beau questioned. “So we are going to sleep together after this conversation?” Excitement. Fairy tale romances were true, and they were happening right now to the most deserving fairy - fae -in all the realm. “Then why bother going to the science museum at all? We can just stay here.” Beau reopened his door, one foot flopping outside the car until he remembered that there was supposed to be another conversation coming first. The one about his horns. Gael, silly beautiful handsome Gael, wanted to know about his horns. As if Gael wasn’t some sort of supernatural denialist. The man didn’t even believe in werewolves when he was one.

“You’re right, that’s not how it works. I was born with horns. They are part of who I am. I’m a fae.” Beau reached into his pockets and pulled out a handful of glitter confetti he’d been keeping in his pocket and threw it at Gael. Ever since Gael had asked him if he’d glittered him, Beau had gotten the idea. Keep a handful of glitter in your pockets and you’d always have it for the moments you needed it. Could he use his illusions? Probably, but to be honest he sucked at using his illusions. The magic was slippery and it often eluded him. Tangible confetti in his pockets, now that was something he could work with. “One of the fair folk. Can’t you tell by how charming I am?” Beau leaned forward again, a smile and a wink just for Gael. “People may have to pay for these things, but not me. In fact, this isn’t even what I really look like. I have this thing called a glamour.” A glamour was something Beau wasn’t good at. Which is why his tattoos and horns never disappeared while trying to present as human.

As Gael touched his horns and told him about how this wasn’t something Beau would want, Beau reached a hand up and grasped it in his. “You’re shy. I get that. Listen, I don’t care how good you are. I can be good enough for the both of us.” It was as if ash coated his tongue, a bitter taste punishing him for the words. It took everything in Beau not to dry heave out the lie. “All that matters is that the two of us would be together. Wouldn’t that be beautiful.” _______________________

There was already a list of questions that had been forming in Gael’s mind when Beau unceremoniously introduced himself as a fae, the second one Gael had been notified of in as many weeks and they had barely started the conversation. Keeping one of his hands hovering near the supposed fae, he opened his mouth as though to ask one of them when the other man reached into his pocket. “Don’t–”

It was too late. A split second later that took all the time in the world, slowing down before Gael’s very eyes, he was frozen in place with one hand accessible to Beau, the other clenched instinctively as though coiled like a punching glove shoved into a prank box and a look on his face that only could’ve been described as ‘tranquil fury’ as he sat there, in his car opposite the BMV worker, covered in godforsaken glitter once more. From Beau’s pocket. That he just… kept loosely there. His mouth was closed, he didn’t dare move and he pushed every neuron in his brain, every synapse that told him to lean across the seat divider and strangle the man or fae or leprechaun or WHATEVER he was until he saw the light leave his eyes, seeing him off to the afterworld or wherever imps returned when they died. Hell?

He felt like he was in hell. So instead, those synapses and neurons strained and pumped themselves to pay attention to the words coming out of Beau’s mouth. One of the ‘fair folk’. Charming. A glamour. That last one seemed familiar and Gael wondered if that was what Ren showed him that afternoon. Each word Beau said made it increasingly obvious that with the exception of the last part, which held no logical value to him and he just assumed that he’d been poisoned by glitter just now, he was lying. He wasn’t charming, Gael could see how he interacted with other people. He wasn’t fair, he was a short, pseudo-handsome, terrible, fiendish gremlin who just covered the man and the interior of his car in glitter.

Remaining motionless, though he couldn’t keep himself from a small but sharp inhale (bad idea) as Beau dared to clasp Gael’s hand in his, the latter addressed his throwaway comment about– His eyes started to water and he used his other hand to very slowly and carefully open his door. “Can you… excuse me for a moment?” He asked in a murmur, as though afraid that even talking too loud would cause the infestation of sparkles to spread further into the recesses of his vehicle. _______________________

There was a scene in movies when the two love interests meet each other's eyes. Time slows down between the two of them as the outside world becomes a blur of nothing as the two stare at each other, brown eyes meeting hazel eyes. In this movie, glitter caressed the air as lovingly as Beau wanted to caress Gael's face. A vein was popping in Gael's forehead, his throat constricting around words that surely he didn't want to burst out. Perhaps, I love you? Because who wouldn't learn of Beau's faeness and want to profess an undying love for him? Beau blinked his eyes up at Gael as he waited for any reaction from Gael.

Gael was shocked. Beau couldn't blame him. He knew Gael was a supernatural denier coming into this. But could he be excused? From his own car? Where was he going to go? "Sure." Beau let go of Gael's hand without a problem. Then he had an idea. His own little brain blast. Looking away as if he was a coy and demure court lady sitting next to the high king, Beau tucked his hair behind his ear and said. "Before you go, I want you to see the real me."

It had been a while since Beau let his glamour fall. Even in the safety of his own home, he didn't see the point in taking it off. Now all his "humanity" dripped off of him leaving behind a spriggan. Grey bark-like skin replaced the flesh tones, making the swirls of his green tattoos look like patches of moss growing over his body in decorative tattoos. His limbs, while not changing in length, became gangly and knotted instead of round and fleshy. His ears elongated out into points, as his face distorted into something sharp and mischievous.

Beau looked back at Gael, waiting to see whatever reaction the wolf would have toward him. Again with the coyness, he offered a hesitant smile, revealing rows of dagger-sharp teeth, all the better to eat you with, and all that jazz. "Would you paint me like one of your Frenchgirls?" He asked, blinking in a manner that he hoped was seductive. What he didn't consider was to an unfamiliar eye, the kind that didn't expect to see a gremlin man sitting across from them, may only see a creature from hell with sharp teeth waiting to eat them, and long fingers ready to grab them. The horns were no help in the matter, a trademark of the devil himself in human culture. What he didn't consider, was while beauty was in the eye of the beholder, there was nothing conventionally beautiful about this spriggan. Devilishly handsome only if you got rid of the word handsome. Devishly. _______________________

His hand being released, Gael wasn’t going to mention that he was literally just going to get some of the excess glitter off himself outside and come back to punch the other guy in the face (okay that part wasn’t true… yet) and he started to slowly turn when Beau spoke up about wanting the other man to see his ‘real me’. The chemist rolled his red-rimmed eyes, the reason behind their watering clearly not tied behind any deeper emotion that he felt for this utter menace that sat in the passenger seat and he did everything in his power not to give a huffy exhale while he was at it. The professor’s bemused look of inherent irritation, however, slowly slid off his face as the glamour fell from Beau, replacing a human who looked shockingly like Charlie Day (was that the actor? Gael never was strong with actors) to… what he could only describe with cosmic horror as the Devil’s version of Pinocchio. He tensed up, feeling a fresh wave of adrenaline pulse through him, smothering the previous one to smother Beau, and for a moment he simply stared at the plantlike abomination that sat in the seat where Beau the annoying human sat before. And it was a miracle that he couldn't think to actually move until “Beau” smiled, revealing the sharp teeth; no sooner had the “fae” spoke, quoting… Titanic or something (Gael wasn’t paying that much attention to be frank) that quickly, fluidly and with zero words Gael opened his door, started to get out of the car where he accidentally clotheslined himself on his seatbelt, fumbled with the seatbelt, got OUT of the car and shut the door behind him, all the while the damned glitter sprinkling and swirling around like this was something magical and wondrous. _______________________ Now he was outside the car, where he wanted to be five minutes ago. Instead of doing what he was gonna do before ‘the reveal’ however, Gael just stood there, leaning against the ice-blue mini-cooper convertible, his hands pressed to the glass as he coughed out glitter that he inhaled during his completely controlled not-freak out. Okay, he could rationalize this. He didn’t… need the car. He had a book of matches in his pocket, glitter was flammable and if the demon in his car’s biological makeup was how he looked, then he was certainly flammable too. Just… Walk away, covered in glitter, leaving the burning car and creature inside in the otherwise peaceful neighborhood evening. Okay, that wasn’t logical at all. Think Gael, you’re a science professor. He pulled away from the car and started to regain control of his thoughts, the situation, the solutions. He spoke and Beau still sounded like Beau - this was the case with Ren too though while Ren looked like a cute little bug (and Gael actually held fondness for her) Beau looked like a tree spawn with sharp teeth and the impish behavior to match. Glamours, fae deals, promises, the things he recalled Ren telling him about - was that what happened? He had literally given Beau his name at the BMV. Or… there was something in the glitter. The more he thought about that, the more sense it made. Beau didn’t ‘unglamour’ until after throwing shit into his face. And for that matter… Another, smaller thought went through Gael’s head. He was finally losing his mind, wasn’t he. With a sniff, he closed his eyes and held his breath before furiously shaking his clothes free of excess glitter. Afterwards, he approached the car once more and muscled past the horror of seeing so much of it in his seat still but it was fine, whatever, priorities. He opened the door and sat in the seat with a huff, not looking at Beau, instead just staring straight ahead. “You work at the BMV because you take people’s names, don’t you.” He started simple. _______________________

Where were Gael's manners? There was Beau, laying it all bare for the man, revealing his truest self, practically standing naked in front of him and he was trying to get away? Was the shock of his beauty simply too much to bear in the car? Beau watched Gael struggle against the seat belt until he was outside of the car and just standing there. Beau strained his neck trying to see what he was up to. Maybe he was just overwhelmed with emotion that he didn't know how to react. Maybe he just needed a breather? Oh, perhaps he thought Beau was so handsome that he needed to take a breather before he got too excited. Beau laughed to himself. If only he knew what a potent effect his true form would have on Gael. He might have shown it to him on their first date.

Beau remained patient, sitting in the car. Gael sure was taking a bit of time to get himself together. Beau started rustling through the glove box, and then the side. A tidy car. Well, not tidy anymore. Not with all this glitter everywhere. Beau liked it better covered in glitter. A sparkle to the world. Sure, Beau was a spriggan that mostly dealt in hoarding words. Namely names. But just like every other spriggan out there, he had an affinity for the sparkly things in life. Those shiny things that could be collected and put on display. His own home boasted too many useless baubles. None of which he was super emotionally attached to, but still if anything happened to any of his collections he would... Well. It wasn't something he wanted to think about. Not since his names were taken.

Beau started to kick his feet in boredom, waiting until Gael slid back into the driver's seat. As soon as the man entered the car he moved back into a still position. The man didn't look at him. Beau noted that with a little glee. As if looking at him would again make him need to leave the car and take a breather. Beau could understand that, he could also respect that. What Beau didn't like was how quickly Gael came to the right conclusion about why Beau loved his job so much. Beau tilted his head back and forth as he tried to think of the most diplomatic way to answer this. "I can tell you more." Beau began carefully. "But you." He reached a slender, knobby hand out and placed it on Gael's shoulder. "I need you to promise to not tell anyone else about me. There are people in this world who want me dead." There was one specific hunter that was tracking him down. One that he really didn't want to think about.

"Please promise me, give me your word, anything that everything I say now stays between the two of us." _______________________

There was the kicker, the play on words, the dance of deception that Gael wanted to push out of his mind whenever he thought nowadays on ‘fae’ or anything thereof. He recalled that day at the BMV, when Beau asked if he could have his name and Gael had to trade information for it back. He wondered if Beau ever figured out that the whole ‘werewolf’ thing was completely made up. Gael glanced over slowly when Beau’s twiggy, branchlike hand landed on his shoulder and he couldn’t answer immediately either to confirm or deny that request, his brain buzzing as it seemed to threaten to fall into a spiral of where the manipulation would end, how far it would go. EVERYTHING from Beau from that point on, even if they left the car? Or maybe especially after they left the car? That seemed like an excellent way to make sure Gael sounded insane and hell, maybe he was as he sat there like an idiot covered in glitter talking to a sharp-toothed twig demon after making sure he didn’t get stood up on his anonymous date. How should he respond first? Gael wanted to ask for clarification and after a considerable moment of silence between the two, the professor opened his mouth as though to say something, anything when instead, his breath caught in his throat and he turned his head away sharply, pinching his nose shut as he stifled a sneeze from the goddamn GLITTER. The combined actions only helped in swirling the unsure thoughts around in his head but while he didn’t feel any better, he used it as a jumping-off point to actually say something this time. “People want you dead, huh?” He murmured, knuckling his septum. “Can’t imagine why.” He added this under his breath in Spanish, hoping Beau either didn’t know the language or couldn’t decipher what he said well enough to know what he said. “Okay, I have questions.” Gael began, turning to face Beau once more though he felt the action a little challenging. “The first of which is ‘can you put the, uh… glamour back on? Or whatever it’s called?” He asked first. “You’re… creeping me out. That’ll be the first thing - if you don’t take the glamour off around me anymore, I promise I won’t tell anyone else about… this.” He gestured to Beau’s general form, carefully taking the latter’s hand off his shoulder and treating it as though he were picking up something fragile from off the ground. “I mean ‘this’ as in “I won’t tell anyone about your ‘true form’.” His eyes danced for a moment, making sure he didn’t slip up anywhere along the way in his sentence structure. _______________________

As Gael exclaimed that he couldn’t imagine why people wanted Beau dead, Beau felt warmth spread over his chest. His hand pressed against the other man’s arm, as he tilted his head. A smitten smile spreading across his fae features. “I know,” he exclaimed. “It’s beyond me why anyone would want me dead. I’ve done my absolute best to make sure the human world is a beautiful place full of love, life, and happiness.” His own personal love, life, and happiness. Who cared his humans felt any of those things if he was happy. “I knew you would understand the tragedy of it all.”

Then the werewolf who didn’t know he was a werewolf was asking Beau to hide his true self again. Beau let his hand drop down. All that previous warmth vanished as fast as it had come. That kind of outright rejection took him right back to his childhood. Back to the words of his parents, whatever their names had been, telling him that he would never amount to anything. That no one could ever look at an annoying piece of shit like him and think he could be anything other than an annoyance.

Beau worked hard to maintain his composure, forcing his face to stay in its mandatory smile. “Right. Of course.” Beau shifted away from Gael, an action he never thought he would take before. In his mind he was parsing through the statement the other man had made. If he returned to normal, and never revealed himself again, he would never tell anyone about this again. “I will never reveal my fae self to you again,” Beau agreed. “But I need you to say the exact words that you will never tell anyone that I am fae.” The kind of wording Gael had supplied so far left enough loophole room for the other man to claim he could talk about Beau being fae, he just couldn’t describe what he looked like.

There was a moment of realization, as Beau concluded that he should have seen this coming. That man was willing to give away his werewolf secret, of course he didn’t want to know about fae. Beau’s mind searched for all the information he had on Gael, his address and phone number, his job. Oh right. A chemistry professor. He was a man of science. “I don’t think you’re enjoying this.” Beau’s voice was quiet, a lot quieter than it normally was. “I can put my glamour back up and get out of this car and take your memories of this night with me, if you give them to me. All you have to do is say the word.” The ball was in his court. _______________________

…Oops, the gremlin understood Spanish. That honestly hadn’t crossed Gael’s mind as he spoke under his breath but then again, he wondered why he was surprised about that tidbit. What surprised him even more was how Beau seemed to deflate, moving away from him for the first time since the two had interacted, at least in his memory. As Beau told him what he wanted him to say specifically, Gael’s expression softened for just a moment; who was he to tell someone else what they could or couldn’t look like, who they were? Gael himself was unusual and had been very fortunate to not have encountered anyone he’s told about his disorder treat him like he was lesser or a freak. He glanced down at his shimmery clothes, the fine mist of glitter that Beau unceremoniously threw at him. His eyes drifted to the floor of his car, where the stuff probably wasn’t ever going to come out. Gael exhaled as softly as he could, feeling like he’d made a mistake. And he did; he shouldn’t have told Beau that he was creepy or that he wanted him to hide his true form, no matter how irritated he got. Then the fae spoke again, at a level unlike anything before and he might’ve asked Beau to repeat himself if his sharp hearing wasn’t part of who he was now. “I will never tell anyone that you’re a fae.” Gael looked at Beau, his brow furrowed slightly as he felt a small wave of guilt wash over his mind. “I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to say that you were creepy. I’m just…” He faltered, tilting his head back on the headrest and inhaling in a sigh. “I did want to end this night with you taking all of this information.” He admitted. “I still want to know; I’m still curious, but I feel like I’m losing my mind.” He left out the part where he felt like Beau had put something in the glitter. “You’re not creepy. You’re Beau. And I shouldn’t have said that.” _______________________

There were things in life that broke that could not be mended. Things that shattered into pieces so tiny that finding them and repairing the item was a herculean task that a simple Beau could not accomplish. Gael was already apologizing. Gael was already saying those sweet words that every lonely man wanted to hear, but it was too late. His heart had already been shattered. To this man, this gorgeous man, he was a creepy little freak. Beau took a deep breath. One. Two. Three. His smile tugged at his lips, pulling tight across his features. “It’s all gouda. Haha. Like the cheese, because I’m cheesed to be here.” Because the cheese puns meant the prickling behind his eyes didn’t mean anything.

“I think we can call this night done.” The glamour started building itself up. Threads of fae magic weaving over his body and containing him back into the form that everyone knew and loved. Beau slid out of the seat, standing next to the car, hand on the roof as he looked in. “Okay. Say the words. Say you give me your memories of this night.” Beau ignored the last part, the part that he wasn’t creepy. Because he had to tell himself he didn’t care. He had to keep telling himself that he was the perfect male specimen. That it wasn’t his fault he kept losing everything. Everyone else was in the wrong, not him. “Then you can keep your mind, and it’ll all go back to normal.” There was a nice satisfaction in knowing that it would never go back to normal. He’d always be the werewolf that never knew what he was. A sweet taste of revenge for the stabbing feeling in his heart. _______________________

Before Gael knew it or could fully process like he had with Ren, Beau was returning back to the version he recognized, the version that laughed at him at the BMV and didn’t have a concept of personal space. The version that threw glitter in his face. Though he still felt the sting of guilt, perhaps the feeling was a little lessened as he considered the positives that had come from their relationship compared to the negatives. This wasn’t healthy. Gael knew that. And while Beau told him what to say, the literally magical string of words that would supposedly fix this though he didn’t know how, the professor knew in his mind that ‘going back to normal’ wasn’t in the cards for this town. Sure, whatever happened tonight would be forgotten, or at least that’s what Beau seemed to tell him and he believed the man, but he still had the injury, he would still sleepwalk. The man with the horns was now outside his car, as he had been for the past minute at least and Gael leaned forward to regard him. Doubt tugged at his mind. Was this the right choice? “I… give you my memories of tonight from the moment you entered my car to now.” As soon as he said the words, Gael furrowed his brow and he shook his head. He looked around, saw that he was covered in glitter and he groaned to himself before seeing that Beau was outside his car. “What’s wrong, Beau? Are you getting in?” _______________________

The moment the words were said, the magic took effect. The threads of life that fae magic worked in twisted. The thread one of their shared memories of tonight snapped. A ravine created between them. A stolen conquest that Beau had never wanted, weaving itself into the make up of his being. “You’re always so silly, my little Gaerlic clove. That’s what I like about you.” Beau leaned in once more, tapping the man’s nose with his index finger. “We just had the loveliest night I could imagine, just look at all this glitter. As abundant as the fun we had.” Pain seared over him, punishing him for his lie. Beau’s smile strained as he fought through it. “I can’t wait for the next time you come and whisk me off my feet. I hope its just as magical as the night we shared.”

Beau took in the moment. He let himself memorize the face of this Gael to cover the memory of the Gael he’d been moments before. He wanted this face, the face that was interested in spending time with him. The face that didn’t hold tension in his jaw and didn’t ask him to cover his true self up. The same innocent face that didn’t think he was a creepy little freak to sneer at. One that he could have imagined more at. Anger broiled within him. Anger at Gael for not accepting him as he was. Angry that he let himself pretend for a moment that maybe, just maybe, there was an actual connection between the both of them. Something they could both share and enjoy. Anger at himself for not being better, different, acceptable.

“Drive safe.” Beau slammed the door closed, tapped the hood twice and walked back into his home. Later, he would put on a public show. He would pretend to be heart broken and sad that Gael was breaking up with him. He would block the man in and make him believe that it had been all his fault and that he hadn’t been completely blind sided by their online conversation. But the truth was always, after this night, he’d seen it coming. Gael was just another disappointment in a line of them. Another disgusting attempt at connection that had taken from Beau something he didn’t want to give. With Jedidiah it had been his collection of prized names. With Gael it had been his hope that even he could be someone worth caring for.

Beau hated Gael for that. Beau would always hate Gael for that.

#WR Writing #Writing: Faete Night #Writing with: Beau #//I almost feel sad for the little demon

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saratogaroadwrites · 1 year ago

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Tron: Liberation (3/15)

Tron: Liberation | saratogaroad rating: T total wordcount: 106,965 characters: Tron, Beck, Mara, Zed, Paige, Pavel, Tesler, Clu 2, Dyson, Yori, Quorra, Original Siren Character relationships: Tron & Beck, Beck & Mara & Zed, Tron/Yori other tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Continuation, For Want of A Nail warnings: aftermath of torture (Dyson. Just. Dyson.)

The Game has changed. The Revolution has begun. With Tron healed and once more in the fight for the Grid, the war has begun. But Clu will not give up so easily, and this is a war that will be fought in the streets. But it is a war that Beck and Tron intend to win, so long as they can do one thing first:

Survive.

[AU: Fanmade Season 2]

Argon was empty.

Well, that wasn't quite true. The streets were empty, all sane programs huddled away in apartment blocks or their workplaces as Clu's army rode around the city like they owned it. Really, Paige thought to herself as she slowly rode her bike through the streets, they probably did. Hundreds of red-lined soldiers walked and rode the roads with her, some from Tesler's contingent but most were new renders and faces, checking every alley and rooftop as if expecting to find anyone still out and about under the current circumstance. As if any programs would be out under a storm of this size or with this many soldiers around.

She had to hand it to Argon: they knew how to stay alive.

Most of them, anyway. Paige's bike carried her past piles of cubes, blue edged voxels a sickly shade of teal-green in the almost red cast the city was under. She didn't know who those had been before—mechanics like Beck? Medics like she had been? Or anyone just caught in the open?—but she'd seen enough by the time her aimless driving led her to the Plaza. She'd been here only once or twice before, the light of Able's garage keeping even the furthest edge lit. Now it was dim, the energy fire having been put out by the storm that had followed. It was empty now, most of the yellow-lined rubble of the unknown craft having been blown into the harbor with the energy blast that had decimated the only building that had called the area home. The only sign of the battle that had taken place here was scorch damage in the code beneath her feet, the tell-tale pattern of a tank blast telling her that whoever had driven it was an absolutely terrible shot.

Probably one of the mechanics, she thought to herself. They'd had a few contracts with the Occcupation forces. It wouldn't have been outlandish for them to have that kind of hardware on the repair bay. Not that it had helped in the end; she stopped when she found a good vantage point to take in the Garage…or what was left of it. Besides the sheer scope and size of the debris pile, there was hardly anything left to tell there had been a garage here. Piles of white and blue code were still falling, trickling down into the tunnels. It looked unstable, unsteady.

She climbed it anyway, picking her way across the remnants of sixty programs lives. She hadn't known all their names, or even all their faces, but she'd known the count. Known how many were just simple mechanics, knew some of their leader's history—Able had survived Tron City and the Coup only to die out here? Talk about unfair—and knew enough about Beck that the place had seemed…safe. Unnoticeable. They did good work.

Or at least, she'd thought as much. Stopping at the top of the mound, Paige turned on her heel and surveyed the area. It would be scrubbed, no doubt. All traces of insubordination wiped clean after the events of the upcycle. Tesler would likely see to it himself, needing to be cautious with Clu and Dyson in town. Soon enough, there would be nothing left. The storms would eventually wash away whatever couldn't be cleaned, sending it into the Sea. Names would be struck from all rosters, all traces of resistance erased until even memory failed. No one would dare to speak the names of those that had once worked and spent their time here. They would be simply…gone.

Even Beck would be gone. Core lurching, Paige swallowed hard. The thought that Beck—sweet, soft cored Beck—was the Renegade still hadn't settled home. How could a program like that, so very awkward, be the Renegade who was so very confident? It was a double life in more than one respect, and the idea that she hadn't been able to tell sent her spinning. Not only for the fact that he'd spent their entire time together lying to her, but for the fact that he'd turned on her. Betrayed her. Damaged her.

…Hadn't he? She frowned, looking at the code below her feet. Tesler had shown her the disk, had shown her the memory, but she knew better than almost anyone that memories could be modified. And that program hadn't been able to even speak for himself, let alone contradict Tesler and Pavel's claims. How easy would it have been to manipulate him as she had been made to look guilty? How easy would it have been to make it seem like the Renegade—Beck—had set everything up?

Too easy, she realized with a sudden jolt of core-stopping clarity. All it took was a little bug and then…no way to contest it. No way to prove your own innocence. She shuddered, chafing her arms against an internal cold. Beck had been right: her own people had turned against her. She'd known that then but stayed, having no place else to go that wouldn't end in her own deresolution.

No. She'd had a place. He'd offered, but she'd turned him down. She'd been unwilling to face facts, unable to seen an existence as anything but a soldier. Without that, after losing her friends and the medical center, fighting had been all that was left. Fighting for a cause she'd believed in to keep programs safe…only now she knew it was anything but that. And Beck had known all along.

If only she'd listened! If only she'd gone with him!

With a sharp half-scream, she dropped into a crouch. If onlys and could haves were going to eat her core like a swarm of grid bugs! If only she could do something without getting herself derezzed, if only she could help him somehow, if only if only if only! But there was nothing she could do about it now. Soon, he'd be the one gone. Argon would be cleansed, purified, and set back into Occupation territory. Tesler would likely be reassigned to another city, Paige and Pavel with him, and life on the Grid would continue as it had for cycles.

Somehow, the thought didn't make her feel any better. It just made her core lurch even harder. Forcing herself back to her feet—she needed solid ground—and with a shaky sigh, Paige began to pick her way back down the mound of shattered code. Halfway back down, she stopped mid-step. Beneath her feet, something gleamed as lightning flashed overhead, the rain catching the light as it bounced off white code. She crouched down, knees in shattered glass, and picked it up. It was a white baton, scorched and cracked, but somehow still intact. She turned it in her hands, frowning as it pinged her helmet and the contents displayed in a wash across her display. An Encom 786, likely the last of its kind. That it had survived when everything else in the Garage had been destroyed spoke wonders of the durability of old code.

She sighed. Overhead, thunder rumbled. Rain pattered off her helmet. Neither could could hide the sound of a disk revving up, nor the lightning hide the bright flare of a white disk at her neck.

"That's not yours."

Male-designate, tall enough to loom over her, and angry. Paige slowly turned her head to glare at him. His suit was covered in thick black armor, angular helmet pointing down at a blazing white circuit tinged with only the faintest hint of blue. A small "T" formed of four blocks.

The mark of Tron.

Beck? No. Not only was the voice different, Beck was still in custody. That left only one option.

"Tron."

He didn't deny it. He didn't so much as twitch, disk a hot blade at her neck. He probably didn't even blink. She narrowed her eyes but didn't move. He didn't move either, staring her down and holding his disk to her neck. Her hand tightened around the baton. It was a bike, and it would take too long to form if she cracked it open—if it could hold shape at all with how badly it was damaged—to be of any use, and the best she could do with it was throw it at his head and hope he flinched. He kept his gaze on her, badly crackled helmet catching the light of another lightning strike.

"I said, that's not yours." He sounded mad. She almost smirked. "Put it down."

"You want it so badly?" She replied, shifting her weight and her grip. "You can have it!"

And with a single reckless move, Paige threw it. Instinct—he was a fighter; either a soldier or security—had him reaching up to bat the threat away and in that instant she was after him, drawing her disk and charging. The piles of cubes beneath their feet shifted and roiled as their disks clashed, the rain catching on both their helmets as she pushed with all her might. This close, she could see the patched injuries that marred his frame—Grid, he and Beck were a matched set—and see the strain they put on him. She was a medic first, and the size of that gash down his side almost made her grimace.

Almost. The soldier training she'd had kept her stable, kept her standing, and he wavered first. On flat ground, it wouldn't have mattered. On unstable code, it did. He stepped back, put his heel down in the wrong place, and his ankle rolled. She heard him gasp, a tiny sound of shock, and shouldered right into his chest with a sharp cry of rage. They both fell back down the hill, rolling and tumbling across sharp edged cubes that pressed and scraped. Paige impacted the flat ground of the plaza first and bit her lip against the press of her port even as they kept rolling. He finally got his bearings straight and started kicking, kneeing her right in the abdomen. She stumbled back, barely keeping her disk in hand, and he was on her in a nano. She ducked, bobbing and weaving under his strikes until she had to meet him head on in a clash. He was fast. Strong, too. Her arm trembled even with both hands on her disk, trying to hold back his swing. Sparks flew between them, unhindered by the rain, and she narrowed her eyes at him beneath her helmet.

"You fight a lot better than Beck does," She prodded at him, watching the circuit at his throat flare in emotional response. "But you've got to remember something." She shoved with all her might, breaking from the stalemate and ducking under his next swing, "He could never win against me!"

Again, she charged in. This time she came in low, aiming for his jaw, but he leapt aside and came after her again. She stepped back, hopping away from his swings and waiting for an opening. The rain soaked plaza reflected their disks in the light, boots slipping in puddles. Lightning flashed as he chased her, ducking under her disk once more. Even with his broken visor shielding his face, she could still feel the glare he leveled on her.

"He could never beat me, either." He said, and then gave her an almighty shove. She stumbled back with a cry, heel slipping in a puddle until she landed flat on her rear end. Her disk rolled free of her hand; she rolled to get it, narrowly avoiding a disk strike to her dominant arm. She quickly palmed her disk, scrambling back to her feet, and went after him again. Thunder rumbled, the storm high overhead, but she paid it no mind. They were on flat ground again, and she wasn't hurt. He was, and it was starting to show. She charged at him, catching him by the shoulder and sending them both tumbling. To his credit, he got back up and sidestepped around her swing, catching her disk and sending her stumbling with a punch to her jawline. She grunted, caught her footing and raised her disk overhead with a cry—

Lightning struck the sea, close enough that she could feel the heat. With a cry of alarm she threw both arms up, visuals shutting down from the overload of light even as her visor polarized in response. There was no time to react, no time to dodge, as he moved before her visuals could come back online. He crashed into her middle, knocking them both right to the ground. A sightless tumble later and her visuals restored to find the plaza right in her face, her stomach on the ground, and the program with his knees on either side of her abdomen with his disk at her neck once more. She bucked her hips, arched her back but all he did was shift his weight and hold on. A move like that would have dislodged Beck, but he…he clearly was a lot better. Paige swallowed hard, pride stinging, as she realized the only reason she'd even gotten him down here was because he'd stumbled. Either that, a small voice in the back of her processor chimed, or he let her. She wasn't sure what was worse. His disk revved against her neck, the heat activating a warning in her helmet.

"I'm only going to ask you this once," He rasped, and she took some small comfort in knowing she'd at least worn him out, "Where is he?"

She didn't answer, eyes scanning for her disk—ah. There it was. Out of her reach even if she strained for it. With a snarl, she retracted her helmet and glared at him.

"In a cell." She spat, "Where he belongs. Clu and General Dyson had some questions for him, and when they're done, they'll derezz him."

The words were sour on her tongue, catching like bad energy in her throat. She didn't mean them, she realized. It was just another lie. The program's circuits flickered, but whether it was in response to her words or just because of his injuries, she couldn't tell. She kept her glare going but he didn't retreat, disk still at her neck. They were at a stalemate. She narrowed her eyes, watching. If he thought he could wait her out, he had another thing coming. He'd have to derezz her.

Except he wasn't moving his disk. He was staring at her through his cracked visor, the lightning that struck out to sea lighting up the geometric cracks. Slowly, he leaned his weight back.

"Worse. They'll repurpose him." He tilted his head. "Is that what you want?"

Her core lurched. She pressed past it, fisting her hands at her sides. She was a soldier, a loyal soldier in Clu's army. Of course it was what she wanted!

Wasn't it?

"You two corrupt the Grid! All you do is make things worse, just like the ISOs—"

"The ISOs—" he broke in with a yell, "Were created by the Grid. Not Flynn, not another User. The Grid made them, and Clu destroyed them." He shook his head faintly. "There was peace before the Purge. Clu is the one who did all of this—this!" He swept his free hand out, taking in the burning garage and the scorched plaza in a single gesture, the light jets on patrol overhead roaring by as if to punctuate his words. "This is because of him. How is this not corruption?"

Paige opened her mouth…then shut it, teeth audibly clicking. He didn't know Pavel had been the one to order the destruction of the Garage, and yet…the memory came unbidden, a different time and place.

We're free. It's the only reason we're being hunted. Quorra had said. Free to destroy the Grid? Or free to exist in peace, away from Clu's idea of control and perfection? She swallowed hard, turning her face into the puddles on the ground.

"…It doesn't matter." She finally got out, lump in her throat stealing her voice. Beck was going to be gone. She didn't want that. "It's done. He's as good as finished."

"No. He's not."

His weight on her back disappeared. Paige turned quickly, but he was already standing up, picking up the white baton from where it had fallen all the way down here. He turned it over in his hands once, disk still a bright flare against his side, before he cracked it open. The code was damaged, even she could see that, and it flickered as it rezzed. But if there really was one thing to be said about old code, it's that it was steady. Stable. Despite the flickers and the burn damage along the sides of the bike, it held as he lowered himself into the driver's position. Paige rose to her knees, and he looked at her.

"He was willing to risk everything for you once." He said firmly, "I can see now that letting him do that was a mistake."

And then he was gone, taking off to become nothing more than a streak of white light too fast to chase after. Paige stared after his trail, watching as he turned a corner, and then lowered herself back to her knees. Thunder rumbled overhead again, lightning lighting up her reflection in a puddle, the blue energy fire turning her circuits an odd shade of green in the dim light. It was too close to her old medic colors for her comfort, and she closed her eyes. Beck had been willing to risk everything for her? Like what? A two program revolution that was now nothing more than a bad dream? She snorted.

No. No, it was more than that. He'd gone after her, saved her from a lengthy fall. Risked capture and…repurposing. She'd seen soldiers like that, made from the wreckage of other programs. It was a last resort measure, used to save them from virals or damage too extensive to heal, and yet the way he'd said it made it sound like it was destruction, not salvation. Was it? Grid, she just didn't know. She raised both hands to scrub her face, then finally looked up.

There was nothing she could do for Beck. She knew that. To help him escape, even if she could, would be treason. There would be no explaining it away this time, and the entire might of the army would crack down on her like a disk on a gridbug. She'd be destroyed, he'd be destroyed, and it would be over. No, there was nothing she could do to help him this time.

But Argon? She could try to salvage the city. She had to. For the programs that still called it home, and maybe for the ideal Beck had started with, she had to try.

With a steadying breath, Paige pushed herself to her feet.

"No," She said quietly, as if the program was still there to hear her, "It wasn't."

Deep in the bowels of Tesler's ship, the only sign of the storm was the occasional ground-rattling boom of thunder. They were so far down that it was more of a feeling than a sound, rattling through Beck's frame.

Or at least, what was left of him. Every inhale was agony, his systems screaming for cool-down and for sleep with every passing second. Dyson, crouched by his head, smiled faintly.

"Is that all?" He reached down, tilting Beck's head up with two fingers on his chin. Beck groaned softly as the movement pulled on wounds, on the burns the saw had left behind. Dyson had toyed with him, saying that he would make him a mirror of Tron, but in the end had clearly thought differently.

"No," He'd said finally, when all Beck could do was gasp for air, face aching, "I want you to be able to see when we win."

That had been now. This was then. Beck glared through blurry visuals as Dyson tutted, uncaring that he was crouching in a pile of darkened blue cubes.

"Really," He said, "I thought that Tron's apprentice would be stronger than that." He dropped Beck's head back to the ground, ignoring the young program's gasp of pain as he stood up, leaving him curling in on himself with his hands still tied behind his back. "But then, you're certainly no Tron."

Around a mouthful of sour energy and internal coding, Beck hissed through his teeth. He couldn't get words out, couldn't stop heaving for air, but Dyson laughed as if he'd said something funny anyway. The Occupation program stood with his hands behind his back, the very image of calm and controlled.

And why wouldn't he be? It was obvious he'd won, Beck thought to himself. Circuits were dark from cuts slicing across them, and his leg tingled with the limited energy it received from a cut mobility circuit. His hands had gone numb, trapped behind his back, and his shoulders ached. Everything hurt, really. His chest worst of all, where Dyson had almost seemed to try and carve Tron's emblem off of him.

That had been personal. This whole thing had been personal. No wonder the null-unit was so smug. Dyson's scoff echoed through the room.

"And really, you were just fooling yourself if you thought you could be." Dyson bent over, meeting Beck's eyes as the young program managed to tilt his head back and glare, just a little. "The only thing you'll share with him is a fate. Deresolution."

Beck didn't have the energy to retort. Dyson's sneer of a smirk returned, and he stepped away.

"Do try and get some rest," He said, heading for the door. His voice was a mockery of kindness, echoing around the small room just as Beck's screams had before. "You need to be at your best for our…old friend."

And then he was gone, the door whooshing shut and locking behind him. With another groan, Beck closed his eyes. He was alone, finally. Mercifully, quietly, alone.

Alone to derezz in peace.

The thought was quiet, brought on by the pain in his frame. It wasn't entirely inaccurate. Even behind his closed eyes, dozens of warnings continued to pop up, one after the other after the other, faster than he could shut them down. His frame was about ready to just collapse, what energy he had left flickering feebly in his circuits. They threatened to turn off at any second, at any twitch of movement, and his processor was spinning faster than he'd ever heard it.

He was an utter disaster, and he was alone. No back-up, no help, no escape.

Grid. He really was going to derezz here.

…no. No, he couldn't. He wouldn't. Not after everything he'd been through. He couldn't put Mara and Zed through losing another friend, not like they'd lost Bodhi.

He couldn't put Tron through that.

With a pained hiss, Beck rolled his head and opened his eyes. The deep red floor was stable, sturdy, hidden behind warnings but for slivers of color. He closed his eyes again, painfully pushing himself to his knees. His chest pulsed with white hot agony, echoed by his leg and everything else, and all he wanted to do was lay back down and fall into sleep mode, but he couldn't. He needed to get out of here.

The only question was, how? He opened his eyes, staring at the room past all his warnings. It was too much, too many things needing attention that he could do nothing about.

Well. He could do one thing.

He did the stupid thing: he shut it off. The last of his warnings faded out as he turned his internal alarms off, and with them the warning circuitry of pain. It was a dumb move; any program that did what he had just done would miss every warning, working themselves to deresolution or simply falling apart when their frame could no longer handle it. Still, it made it easier to breathe, to think, and Beck let his head drop for a moment. He had to get out of here, but how? Even if he could stand now, the cord his hands were attached to didn't give with tugging. He didn't have his disk, which was floating just out of his reach, and the tool shelf…Beck looked up at it, frowning. Maybe that would work. Dyson had left all his tools behind, including…yes. There it was.

The saw. Innocuous now, turned off as it was, but he knew just how sharp that blade was. His face was tight even without the pain sensors on, and he lurched back to his feet. Cubes—his code—crunched beneath his feet. It didn't hurt, but he could tell that his leg was about ready to cave in and collapse under him. Hopefully it wouldn't just collapse into cubes like it wanted to. Not until he could get out of here, at least.

With slow steps, Beck tugged on the energy cord as far as it would let him go. It strained, glowing brighter, bright enough that if he hadn't turned off his pain sensors, he knew he would feel his wrists burning. But just because he couldn't feel it didn't mean it wasn't happening, and he quickly turned, looking over his shoulder at the tools. His fingers were numb, clumsy, and it took three tries to grab the saw, a core-wrenching half-micro before he could get it on.

The sound of the blade would remain with him for the rest of his runtime. He inhaled hard, the air catching in his throat. His face pulsed, remembering pain that wasn't there anymore, and he turned the blade on the energy cord. He had to look away as sparks flew, energy against energy, bright in the dim light.

For a moment, he wasn't sure this was going to work. He wasn't sure that the cord would snap before it would burn through his wrists-

The cord snapped. The piece around his wrists dropped, the cuffs falling away as their energy supply dropped to nothing. The rest of the cord retracted with a snap, sparking energy on its way, knocking tools off the shelf. Beck quickly leaned back, dropping the saw as he fell to his side. Another rumble of thunder shook the ship, and for a moment he lay still.

"Well," he said quietly to himself, just to fill the silence a moment later "that didn't go so bad."

Even if he still sounded like he'd been gargling raw energy for a milli. All the screaming had done a number on him, but it felt good to no longer be tied to the column. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. Sure, he was still trapped in the room, but now he could defend himself again.

Well. Mostly.

With a quiet sigh, he took his disk from the hovering energy, turning it over in his hands. He stared at the white half for a long moment, brow furrowed, before he brought up his patching protocols. The display practically screamed at him, red with damage and warnings. Leg was nearly out of commission, chest was ready to cave in on itself, wrists were burnt in a way that he didn't want to see, let alone touch…

He was a mess. With a soft snort, Beck patched what he could, blue overtaking the black render of the Renegade's suit even as he docked his disk with a soft click. There was that handled, for the moment, and now he could fight back. That left only the lingering problem of escaping this situation.

He just had to get out of here somehow…but how? There were guards just outside the door, and patches or no patches, he knew he was in no shape to really fight them. Running a hand through his hair—the only thing that wasn't damaged—Beck frowned to himself.

What would Tron do in a situation like this, he wondered. No answer came, and he shook his head. Tron wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. He was more experienced than Beck; he wouldn't have allowed himself to be caught all. Beck's core lurched, shame heating his face. All that training, and he hadn't even been able to fend off Dyson. One program. He'd let his guard down and been captured. Tron never would have let that happen.

If he'd still be Tron to act like himself, the traitorous thought was loud, louder than the thunder. Beck frowned to himself, core lurching. He hadn't been able to think before, but now…his processor spun up, going over every nano of his time in the mobile repurposer. Had he made in time? Hadn't he? Tron had recognized him, had called him his own target, had fought alongside him…he had to be okay.

But then, Cutler had seemed just fine until he'd turned, too. Had known who Beck was, had sought him out and led him right into a trap. It wasn't a leap of logic to think about how programs could keep their memory past a repurposing. It was a terrifying reality, and just the thought of Tron being a sleeper agent against the Uprising made Beck's core lurch. Not just because it had been Tron's worst nightmare, but the idea of fighting his friend sent shivers down Beck's frame. Tron was healed, and had all his combat prowess. They hadn't finished Beck's training.

It was clear to Beck that, if Tron really had been repurposed, the Uprising was finished.

If there were even any of them left to begin with. Grid, that hurt to think about, too. But as much as he hated it, he had to face the facts: more likely than Tron being repurposed, he and the entire crew of the Garage, every last one of his friends, were gone. Derezzed. Nothing more than cubes buried in the rubble of what had once been their home. It hurt to even think about. He had gotten them into this, and now they were gone. Just like Able. If only he'd been able to keep them out, keep it a secret, they would still be around. They'd be safe.

Unable to handle the thought, Beck buried his face in his hands and shoved it into a low priority queue. He couldn't think like that. Not yet. He had to get out of here. That was priority one. With a steadying breath, he lowered his hands and looked back to Dyson's shelf of tools. His core lurched at the thought of using them, but he needed every advantage he could get. If he could just get out of here, get back into Argon, he knew he could find somewhere to hide. The storm would be cover enough, loud as it was. This kind of storm would keep everyone indoors rather than risk over-charging, so there wouldn't be any casualties. Another rumble of thunder rattled the ship, sending tremors through the floor beneath Beck's feet.

Hard tremors. Harder than before. The entire ship seemed to tremble, rocking for a moment and sending Beck to his hands and knees with a cry.

That wasn't thunder! That was an—

[Attention all programs,] The Grid suddenly broke in as the lights flickered once, twice, and then went out. An alarm began to ring, echoing down the halls. [There has been an explosion in the Fuel Containment Unit. Please proceed to your stations and await further instruction.]

An explosion? Beck frowned, pushing himself back to his feet. His leg trembled, threatening to cave beneath him, but he forced himself to take steps towards the door. Underneath the alarm, he could hear footsteps and voices, just outside the doorway. Soldiers, modulated voices clicking in the way that all of the soldiers did, were ordering the guards away from here, to leave the prisoner and report to evacuation. He'd derezz anyway, one soldier shouted, they may as well save their own disks.

Clunking footsteps proved that the guards were in agreement. They quickly faded away, the Grid's message repeating as Beck took a steadying breath and raised a hand to the door. The emergency procedure had unlocked it, and it whooshed open quietly. Beck held his breath, waiting for a guard or soldier to shout…but the only sound was the klaxon overhead and the Grid repeating herself over and over.

If this was luck, he'd take it. Quickly peering down the hall—no red anywhere, and only the emergency lights to see by—Beck slipped out of the cell and moved as fast as his legs would carry him. Tesler's ship was a maze of corridors and doors, and he hadn't been awake to remember the way they'd taken him after his capture, but the hanger was above which meant he had to go up.

He had to go after the soldiers. Wasn't that ironic? Beck made a wry sound to himself, leaning heavily on a staircase railing as he made his way further up, the rain beginning to sound like a roar the closer he got to the surface. Thunder continued to rumble, slowly outpacing the volume of the siren, and he could just make out the flashes of lightning ahead. The storm was massive, wind howling and rain puddling into the hanger through the half open bay doors.

Not that it could do anything about the fire, quickly spreading through the back of the ship. Leaning on a railing, Beck stared. Energy blue flames were licking up the wall, high enough to reach the ceiling of the multi-tiered room, and showed no signs of stopping. Smaller blasts were rattling off as the flames reached grenade stores, programs running to and fro to salvage what they could, moving tanks, sending Recognizers out into the storm rather than have the flames claim, and trying to contain the fire.

Their efforts weren't working. The ship must have been full of fuel for the fire to rage so bright, so hot. He was honestly amazed the whole thing hadn't blown up yet.

But there was no time to waste. Pulling himself away from the sight, Beck turned to the stairs. If he was lucky, he could get out before anyone noticed he was there. It was dark enough that even being in his whites wouldn't really matter. If he was careful and took it slow, planned his route instead of running on ahead, he could make it.

No. He would make it. He just had to—

"Going somewhere?"

Beck whirled around, eyes wide. Dyson strode into sight from the shadows of the corridor Beck had just come down, face cast in odd contrast from the fire and the emergency lights. Beck could still make out his smile. "It's not nice," he said, "for guests to leave without saying goodbye."

"I think," Beck coughed, twitching as another explosion rattled the lower levels. That had sounded bigger than a crate of grenades… "I've overstayed my welcome."

"Nonsense," Dyson replied with another step forward, "We love having you here." He had his hands behind his back again, and a flash of lightning lit his entire face up. That was definitely a sneer, audible in his voice as he said, "You can stay. In fact…" He lowered his hands, tipping his head forward. "I insist."

Beck looked at him, then flicked his eyes to the hangar doors. If he could just make it there—

"Really, Beck." Dyson said, "Stay."

Beck turned back, glaring with every ounce of pain and annoyance he could muster.

"Sorry, but I'm going to be late for curfew."

Spinning on his heel, Beck leapt over the railing and to the level below. It was dumb, reckless, stupid—Tron would have had his disk for making a move like that on a leg that was so badly damaged already, but there was no other option. Another blast rattled the ship as he landed, sending Beck to his hands and knees. He struggled to get up.

"After him!" Dyson shouted from above. Programs spun around from their tasks, and then ran at him, disks kicking to life.

"Seriously!?" Beck groaned to himself, leg barely able to take his weight anymore as he forced himself to his feet. Didn't they have better things to deal with?!

With an awkward twist, Beck snatched his disk from his back as he turned, catching a guard in a stand-off. Dyson leapt down from above as Beck shoved the guard back, quickly throwing himself aside as three of them threw their disks at him in the same moment. If he didn't get out of here soon, he was really going to be derezzed!

Gritting his teeth, Beck grabbed at the railing and threw himself to the ground level, feet slipping in rainwater. He ran forward, heading for the hanger doors, only to skid to a halt as lightning flashed, backlighting a program who stood calmly in the chaos.

Clu was standing in the doorway, between Beck and freedom. He was smiling.

"Oh," Beck hissed, "that's not good."

He turned on his heel, processor spinning a kilometer a second as he tried to think, tried to plan—if he could get a Lightjet he could fly over Clu's head, fly into the city and get away—but before he could even take another step Dyson was there, fist flying right into Beck's face.

The young program cried out as the impact sent him reeling, slipping across a large puddle until he could no longer keep his feet and collapsed, dripping wet. He'd managed to keep his disk in hand, but it did no good. Dyson was too fast, too strong, and in moments he wrenched both of Beck's arms back behind him, holding him down.

"Did you really think," Dyson sneered, his breath hot on Beck's neck, "That we'd just let you walk out of here? That you'd escape?"

Beck grit his teeth, anger spinning in his core. He'd been so close! He could still see the blue of Argon in the distance, the city backlit by lightning flashing over the sea. The storm was leaving. Another blast rose behind him, but it was smaller, a crate of forgotten grenades rather than a Recognizer or tank. They were getting the fire under control.

Everything was under control. Even him. Ahead, Clu strode closer. Dyson reached up, yanking on Beck's hair until the young program was looking up at Clu, who crouched down and tilted his head.

"I can see why Tron chose you," He said, voice a mockery of kindness and sympathy, "But you see, you were never meant for this kind of thing, Beck." He reached down, patting Beck's surely bruised cheek. "You're not a fighter. You're just a mechanic."

Beck snarled. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" He spat out, no longer bothering to hold back his temper. A flash of lightning threw Clu's face into shadow, but he pulled his hand back and stood up.

"Dyson," He said, "Take our friend back to his room. Make sure he's…comfortable, this time."

"Of course, sir. Should I—"

Whatever Dyson was going to suggest died in his throat as Clu suddenly whirled around, yellow-lined robes whipping around his feet as he quickly sidestepped a disk that had been thrown at his head. Dyson leapt to his feet, grabbing at his disk as his leader stumbled back, staring with wide eyes at the hangar doors. Beck raised his head, looking up. Backlit by lightning, a single program stood in the entrance, hand extended to catch his disk as it returned. He didn't say a word, didn't even move, but everyone could make out his circuits in the darkness, what few of them there were. Blue-white in color, spread across heavy armor meant for combat. The only circuit of note burnt in the hollow of the program's throat.

A single, familiar emblem, made from four blue-white blocks. The mark of Tron.

"Tron…" Clu breathed, all control gone from his voice. Tron took a step forward. Clu took a step back.

Beck latched onto the chance with all he had, core spinning up fast with hope returning. Quick as he could, Beck rolled onto his back, slashing at Dyson's legs. The General yelled, stumbling backwards in pain before he fell over. Tron's single step turned into a run, his bright disk carving a path, forcing Clu back. Dozens of soldiers began to press forward, towards Beck and Tron at Clu's yelled order.

Tron was faster, hands under Beck's shoulders as he pulled him up.

"Run!" He shouted, pulling like he wasn't going to wait for Beck to make up his mind about staying or leaving. Not that there was much of a choice to make; with the last of his strength, Beck turned on his heel and ran after his mentor, out the hangar door and into the storm. As they skidded down the ramp, Beck chanced a look over his shoulder. Dozens of red-lined programs were pouring from the ship in hot pursuit, Clu a barely visible speck of gold in their midst. Beck turned back around.

"Tell me you've got a plan!" He shouted on ahead, only to have to scramble to catch a red-lined baton. It turned blue in his grip, and his core screeched to a halt as it registered a lightjet, two-seater and armed to the teeth. As plans went it was a good one, but—Tron slowed down, falling in behind Beck, right in the spot to take the gunner controls when the Lightjet rezzed.

Well, he'd already done a bunch of dumb things this milli. What was one more?

He cracked the baton, watching as the code spilled out around them. Wireframe became solid, the two-seater lifting off the hill and sending them flying out into the city as Tron peppered the ground behind them with shots, buying them time. Beck peered over his shoulder.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"You can thank Paige for that. She told me you'd been captured." Was Tron's reply as his helmet folded in to reveal his frown. "Though she didn't mention you were this badly hurt."

"She didn't see it." Beck swallowed hard, oddly grateful that Paige hadn't had to watch. He couldn't blame her for not coming to his aid. She'd have been stuck with him if she had, and that…he shook his head, turning his eyes back to the city. "Dyson didn't start until after they'd left."

"Dyson did that to you, then?"

Tron's voice could have frozen an energy fire. Beck shivered. It wasn't easy to forget what Tron had almost done to Dyson. Now...well. The longer he could keep those details a secret, the better. He opened his mouth to reply, only to stop as two blurs of red shot past him. The soldiers had found lightjets of their own and were still in pursuit. Beck shook his head, jackknifing towards the tallest towers of Argon.

"Long story," he said quickly, "I'll tell you when we're not about to get shot down!"

Tron's reply was a hail of gunfire launched at their pursuers, and more than one frame rattling explosion followed. One thing had to be said about Tron: he was a good shot. Chancing a look behind him, Beck grit his teeth. Three smoke clouds hovered in the airspace behind them, but at least a dozen more lightjets were still in pursuit despite Tron continuing his assault from the turret. Streaks of light whizzed past them as the soldiers fired in return, and Beck dove to avoid a long stream of the shots as they came too close to taking out the wings. The soldiers kept on them even as he doubled back to the city, Argon's familiar landscape a haven despite their chase. They lost two more jets in the highrises, and another three to Tron's steady shooting, but seven still chased.

It stood to reason one of them would get lucky. Beck yelped as a shot hit the windscreen just above his head, followed by two more to shatter the glass and shower them both with shards. Tron cursed and quickly retaliated, but it was clear they were outnumbered and were soon to be outmaneuvered. Beck looked both ways, saw two jets flanking on either side, and looked forward. If they didn't lose them now, they would—wait.

"How well could they know the area?" Beck called, the wind nearly ripping his words away.

"Not as well as a local!" Tron shouted back, turning his once again helmeted head to peer at Beck. "Why?"

"Trust me!"

He dove, closer to street level. With the soldiers everywhere, Argon was empty of civilians. The tight streets left him putting them nearly vertical, but there was no one to hit. He knew these streets like the back of his hand, and though he grit his teeth in concentration, focusing on nothing but the flight path ahead, he didn't hit anything.

The soldiers still chasing weren't quite as lucky. Two went down in fireballs as they dove too quickly. Another paid for his reluctance by eating laser fire. The remaining four tried to follow from above, tried to wait Beck and Tron out, but they were the targets the moment that Tron had a clear shot.

When Beck brought the jet back up, the skies were once again clear. He sighed, shoulders slumping.

"That's all of them," he said, slowing their speed. Behind him, Tron's frown was audible.

"For now. We need to land and find shelter before they—"

His words were lost as a sudden blast rattled the very air they flew in. Beck jerked his head around to look, watching with wide eyes as Tesler's ship went up into a blast of blue fire, dozens of smaller blasts shaking the hills around it. What had just—oh, no.

"Look out!" Tron shouted, just a moment ahead of the blast wave. Beck clung to the controls with all his wavering strength, trying to keep them upright, but it was no use. The shockwave hit with all the force of the blast itself. Alarms started going off, screens flaring with bright red light and no doubt sending off alarms that Beck just couldn't hear anymore. His frame was rattled, pain echoing down every limb as the jet began to spin. He grit his teeth, trying to wrench control back from the wild force that had sent them spinning, but it was no use.

Low as they were, so close to the city's industrial sector, impact came sharp and swift into the roof of a manufacturing plant.

Shutdown, at last, was mercifully swift.

—

Awareness returned with a distant bang, and cold rain on his face. Everything hurt, from his head to his toes, but Tron slowly opened his eyes. He stared at the storm clouds, still hovering above Argon. Rain. That would put out the fires. The fuel fire from the explosion, caused by the grenades he'd planted as a distraction.

Well. Thank Flynn that at least his plans still worked. With a soft groan, the old program forced himself up to his hands and knees, cubes crunching beneath them. The code was a mix of the building they'd crashed into and the lightjet they'd been flying, with no trace of program code. Obviously, he'd survived, but…where was Beck? Had he been thrown from the craft upon impact? Or had he…

"Beck!" He called out, coughing a moment later. His frame protested, loudly, but he pressed onwards. "Beck, can you hear me?!"

No response. His core went still. Had Beck not made it through? No. No, that couldn't have happened—he looked around wildly, searching for any hint of white—there! Still, unmoving, Beck lay in a heap in the corner. His lines were flickering feebly, patches torn and ragged. Tron's core restarted with a kick to his chest.

"Beck!"

#tron #tron: uprising #tron fic #!fic #fic: tron liberation

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rhythmicmeow · 2 years ago

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TIMING: One of the Full Moons after Hunter's Moon LOCATION: The Commons into the Pines PARTIES: Leticia (@rhythmicmeow) and Gael (@lithium-argon-wo-l-f) SUMMARY: While taking Leticia on an outing to help her relax from the drama online, Gael loses track of the full moon. Neither is helped by the strange appearance of a Black Dog. CONTENT WARNINGS: Violence, teeth (falling out)

Gael had been right, as much as Leticia hated to admit it, getting out of the downtown area and not focusing so much on everything that was going down online did wonders for mood. Plus, she had only made it out this way a few times to talk to the art teachers on occasion and she had never had the chance to pop into the coffee shop. “You know, I heard that one of their drinks is so bad, it could kill you,” she said, sniffing her drink conspiratorially. Suggesting she might have ordered the special that everyone online had told her not to do. She hadn’t—she had simply gotten an iced caramel macchiato, but she had wished she had been more experimental and gone for the forbidden drink.

Walking next to him on the sidewalk toward the common, Leticia rotated her drink in her hand, distracting herself from what she ought to be saying. An apology of some kind, to his face. It was the least he deserved after dealing with her meltdown online the other night. “Gael, listen, the other night,” she started, worrying at her lip before pressing on. “I’m sorry. You were… not the person I was mad at. I shouldn’t have exploded on you like that.” _____ “Is that so?” Gael asked as he sipped on his double-blended vanilla frappe. Fortunately, Leticia had been receptive to the idea that the two of them could just… go out and get some fresh air together, regardless of romantic implication, which Gael internally admitted that he was perhaps too enthusiastic most of the time. Something about–

Okay, he wasn’t gonna think about it right now. He was determined to enjoy himself with Leticia, though his body hurt and he couldn’t shake the feeling that… okay, he wasn’t gonna worry about that either. Quit thinking in circles.Gael was pulled out of his unusually shaped thoughts when he heard his name. He glanced over at her, raising his eyebrows to let her know that he was giving her his attention (and thankfully so).

…She was apologizing? Gael admitted it took him a second to recall what she could’ve possibly wanted to apologize for but when she mentioned the other night he barely let her finish her sentence before he shook his head. “Don’t be, it’s okay.” He assured her lightly, taking another strawful of his thick drink. “Sometimes things can get high energy online and I know how much inanimate objects can mean to people.” He paused. “It’s good to see that you’re feeling better, though.” _____ “Mmhmm.” Leticia nodded her head. “I heard it was like… a punishment for bad customers. Just a rumor though, I can’t imagine any shop would have something like that tucked away on a secret menu. Makes for a good story at least.” Though, considering that Rick Astley had come alive in her store recently, maybe there was a hint of truth to it. The best terrifying tales had a little of that, didn’t they?

She gave him a look when he said don’t be, nothing angry, but on the edge of something. “If you really want me to feel better then you could just say you accept.” But there was no heat in her words, Leticia just wanted him to know that she was sorry, and she looked back on it and genuinely felt bad for yelling at him. She had no reason to direct all that feeling in his direction when he hadn’t even been involved in the initial incident. But Leticia couldn’t claim to be rational at all times.

Chuckling, Leticia looked at him more fully this time, “My friends don’t get it. At least the ones that were there,” she explained. “I’m not actually mad at them either.” Not even Emilio, if she were being honest. “But the cardboard will survive, despite the attempt on his life.” Refocusing on her drink, Leticia took a long sip. The temperature was quickly dropping as the sun started to set. “What about you? Have any embarrassing life drama going on so I don’t feel so bad about myself?” _____ Gael glanced up in brief thought. “I’m calling shenanigans.” He shook his head faintly. “That’s a terrible sales pitch but if it works for them, then more power.” The professor then raised his eyebrows when she stopped and gave him a look and he smiled good-naturedly, holding his other hand up as though to stave off her fury though he knew she was just poking fun. “Okay, okay, I accept your apology.” He paused. “Though you still don’t have to be.” He added under his breath. They continued walking and even though Gael was trying his hardest to push the thoughts of what happened the night before the last and that morning out of his head, if they were even his thoughts and not things that had been injected into him along with whatever knocked him on his ass, he felt something starting to wrestle inside him. He wasn’t sure if it was his conscience, trying to admit that he was guilty of a crime he wasn’t even sure he committed or if it was something else entirely. As Leticia talked, he willed himself to pay attention to her and a small smile crossed his angled jaw though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “At least the cardboard will survive. That’s the important part.” His breath caught in his throat and he hid it behind pretending to choke on his drink when she asked about him and Gael wondered why he was caught off-guard by the question; it wasn’t as though friends didn’t ask about each other but most of the time he figured he didn’t actually have anything pressing on his mind. He was… making a big deal out of nothing. He was being completely obtuse. “Nothing! No embarrassing life drama, anyway.” He lied lightly though as the initial one-word response came out, his brown eyes with their dark circles from last night and the night before cast themselves up and his brow furrowed with what could’ve been called anxiety - he’d completely lost track of what time it was and though he didn’t feel like it was a problem he needed to address usually, after the uncertain thoughts that twisted around in his mind, he wondered if he should’ve even gone outside that day after returning from Monty’s. He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t know if he could, not while he was so uncharacteristically unsure about what was going on. “What… time is it?” Gael asked, trying to keep his tone light and he managed to hide whatever he was feeling under the innocuous delivery of the question. _____ She shrugged her shoulders grinning at him over her drink. “I mean, weirder shit has happened in this town, can’t knock them for following the theme of strange.” Leticia felt some stiffness leave her shoulders when he accepted, only for her nose to wrinkle at the comment under his breath. She wasn’t supposed to hear it, she was sure, but she heard a lot of things that she shouldn’t. It wasn’t the response she had wanted, but… she couldn’t control other people. Couldn’t control everything. So, she shoved the comments down where she couldn’t reach them and focused on the horizon.

As they walked, it was hard not to notice how strange Gael was behaving. Something must have been on his mind to pull him so far away when he was always so present. Leticia watched him carefully, wondering what was going on behind his dark eyes. He bounced back into the conversation easily, and Leticia wondered if she was reading too much into things. Stress, maybe, was helping her project her own inner troubles onto him. (It wasn’t lost on her that she was once again taking an external problem that wasn’t hers and driving it inward.) “Even if he didn’t…” Leticia sighed, her expression still soft. “It is just cardboard.” It felt silly to care about something so deeply, but she did.

He choked and Leticia put a hand on his back, gently patting him, though her brows were arched considering the timing. “Nothing?” She questioned before letting out a short laugh. Not believing him in the slightest, but she didn’t push. Whatever he was going through, if he didn’t want to share. She understood. But he had dealt with her own drama without complaint, the least she could do was offer him an ear if he needed it. And silence, if that was the direction he wanted too. “Alright, alright,” she mused.

Pulling her phone out, she frowned slightly. Another full moon tonight. “Late enough the moon will be out any moment now,” she said, keeping her voice light. She might not have been a wolf herself, but she tended to be more cautious when the full moon was out. “Time flies when you’re having fun, huh?” She offered, nudging him with her elbow gently. _____

The moon? The words stung unpleasantly like the cool night air in Gael’s lungs and he inhaled deeply now that he’d recovered from his awkward choking on his vanilla frappe. He felt his pulse quicken and he was suddenly made more aware that he could hear his heart pounding in his chest, rattling his aching ribcage. It was fine. He traveled in his sleep. That’s all it was. Monty told him that he didn’t do anything wrong a couple of nights ago though for a moment, Gael’s vision lost its focus and he saw the blurred shadow, humanoid in shape. The nightmare, the memory he wasn’t sure was his though the morning after sure felt real as he swam through his soupy pseudo-consciousness. He hadn’t done anything wrong, unless he had. That was the thought that stuck around the most in his mind, even as he heard the explosions of the fireworks last night, loud to his sensitive ears. Blinking himself back to reality, Gael hadn’t realized until he glanced down that he’d squeezed the life out of his cup and that it exploded. The cracked plastic was on the ground, his hands and shirt covered in pleasant-smelling sweet drinks and he cleared his throat as he absently started to pick the newly-created trash off the ground with a laugh. “Oh my god, well NOW I’ve done something embarrassing to make you feel better about yourself.” He made the joke at his expense easily as he straightened up and was able to put the trash into a nearby trashcan as they walked. “I’m really sorry about that, I got… I was…” Gael was in the middle of trying to figure out what explanation or excuse he could come up with when his dark eyes seemed to find something just out of his view, something that he couldn’t see clearly even with his sharp vision and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. “Leticia, do you… feel like we’re being watched?” _____

Leticia huffed a laugh and shook her head. As much as she wished that it had made her feel better about everything tangled in her own life. But reality was often different from what she wanted. Worry was the first reaction she had. Even when they were awkwardly navigating twenty questions at a karaoke bar, he had been present. The broken plastic and the splattered drink that had landed on him and on the ground—something was wrong. She just didn’t know what.

But Gael had said nothing exciting had been going on in his life. Clearly something had, but whatever it was, wasn’t a talking point for him. Maybe he just needed a distraction. Leticia could do that much. So, she pushed the practiced smile to her face and shook her head. “Nah, you’d have to drop it on someone else too, make a huge show of it. Maybe in front of some students next time so they can spread some weird rumors about your coffee habits,” she teased, trying to provide him an easy way out from whatever was on his mind.

Her hand was up, ready to tell him that he didn’t owe her an explanation. If he wanted to talk about it, she’d listen, but he didn’t owe her an explanation for the clouds in his mind. But before she could open her mouth, the next line came. “Being watched?” Leticia questioned. She hadn’t noticed anything, but she also hadn’t opened her mind to the balam tonight. Her control over her own emotions had been questionable at best for the past few weeks, and that usually went hand in hand with a volatile spirit.

She opened the door for the spirit, just enough for the balam to offer some of her power so that she could get a better view of the world around them. The shadows that were starting to darken the streets were suddenly as clear as they were in the day. The smell was what reached her first. Dog. Leticia glanced at Gael, about to ask him if he had a dog after all his talk about preferring cats, when she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

Stiffening, she took a step closer to Gael, her gaze snapping to a spot on the other side of the commons. Far enough that they could likely get away if they started running, but unnerving enough that Leticia was terrified to move. A large black dog sat at attention in what would have been a darkened corner if not for Leticia’s sight. “There,” she whispered to him. “It’s… it’s a dog.” People walked past it, not glancing at the dog. Not realizing the creature that sat just a few feet away from them. And the dog didn’t look at those who passed it either. It just stared. Directly at the two of them. _____ His body tensed; Gael had long since gotten used to the feeling of eyes on him but normally it didn’t set the adrenaline in his brain loose. He was already on edge, the inevitability of something coursing through his veins, the cold sweat that gripped him along with a pulse of unwanted aggression and energy, giving him the wrong impressions and misinterpreted words of others. On those evenings, without knowing why, he felt on edge as though he were about to be pushed into the abyss where he spent the nights. The smell of a dog. Leticia getting closer to him as he himself remained immobile, wondering what was happening and who was watching them. Then her voice in his sharp ears that almost made him want to jump out of his skin and his dark eyes drifted to where she motioned where they fell upon a hound. Or a wolf, he wasn’t sure which as it stood in the darkening path before them, some distance away. Gael wondered for the briefest of moments if he wouldn’t be reacting the way he would had it not been for the specific line of circumstances that led to the two of them standing there at that moment. Gael liked dogs, he wasn’t inherently afraid of them and yet as they stood there and the dog just stared at the two of them, he felt his heart-rate quicken, heard it pick up its pace. Without thinking, he took a deep breath that was sucked in through his mouth as though he’d just surfaced for air after being suffocated underwater. It was a dog, it was just a dog, until it wasn’t and Gael’s vision, through something he couldn’t understand, shifted the dog, cracking, snapping bones in his mind until it stood on two legs and took the form of the humanoid shadow, the one that invaded his mind the past 36 hours. He gulped, his breath growing shaky and shallow and he subconsciously placed his hand on Leticia’s arm. “It’s not a dog.” He whispered. “It’s standing like a man.” _____ Pulling back on her control, Leticia forced herself to look away from the dog and tried to tell herself that the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach was just the coffee she had too late at night. It was just a dog and it wasn’t like the creature could smell the jaguar from this distance, especially since she hadn’t transformed in days. The unease stayed while she tried to sort out her thoughts about what kind of creature stood at a distance like that in the shadows, going mostly unseen by the world around them?

And how exactly did Gael see it too? She had to relinquish some of her mind to make space for the balam’s senses, but Gael was still looking at it. Leticia stared now at the side of his face, wondering if he was like her, wondering if the smell of dog was alluding to a different side of Gael that she ought to have been worried about? Especially tonight. “Gael?” She whispered his name, her hand coming up to his when he took her arm. “What?” Here of all places? Whatever fear had been building up, she had to swallow it if he was right. A werewolf running through a central area like this was sure to stir a lot of noise—she’d just have to explain to her hunter friends why a jaguar was doing the same.

She gave way to the balam once more, small increments of her mind so that she could see the beast again, but it was sitting the same as it had been. It’s eyes locked on them like a warning. “No, it’s not,” she said, trying to ease his worries. “It’s just sitting there. It’s not doing anything.” Which was part of what made it so unnerving. The sitting. The staring. It finally stood, as if to defy her directly. But it was still on all fours. Still looking. “We should go.” Leticia’s voice turned desperate, the dog took a step toward them, its head drifting to one side as it continued to watch. “Now, Gael.” _____ She said it was just sitting there but it wasn’t, it couldn’t have been. Gael shook his head erratically and when it took a step towards them and he heard Leticia’s voice urging him in his head, something allowed his legs to unlock and after stumbling backwards, falling onto the sidewalk and scooting back even though the shadowy figure wasn’t approaching them at nearly the speed that his brain was telling him to, he scrabbled to his feet and it took everything in his power to keep from turning on his heel and bolting, leaving Leticia completely behind. Even though he was terrified of something he didn’t know, multiple things even, he didn’t want to leave her. But at the same time, the fear that surged through Gael’s body, his fight or flight responses, knocked that same part of the brain damage that put things that didn’t exist into his head and he doubled over briefly as he felt his arms blanketed in the familiar, yet alien sensation of being covered in hair. His fingers cracked as they twisted and extended and, holding his pained arms to his stomach as though that would sufficiently hide them, he looked around wildly as his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. “Shit… I need to leave town.” Gael swallowed thickly, virtually feeling everything coming crashing down on him as he cast a quick glance to the moon that was now poking out from behind the buildings. He wanted to protect Leticia, he wanted to run from the spectral dog-turned-man, he needed to get off the streets but he was disoriented. Too many variables. “Don’t follow me.” He turned and gave Leticia a look, one that implied fear and sorrow and he turned to bolt into a nearby alley, one with lights that had long since stopped working. He completely lost track of time, he shouldn’t have been there, SHE shouldn’t have been there. _____ The shift was as rapid as it was sudden, even for Leticia. Gael needed to leave town, as he said, and the scent of dog in the air… wasn’t from the one across the commons, was it? She looked at him, frozen in place as she started to piece together what was happening. The full moon that was starting to rise, the black dog that bid them bad luck. If he knew he shouldn’t have been in town, why had he come out with her?

Guilt and confusion mixed, wondering if he had only done this because he wanted her to feel better and thought they’d wrap up their ‘friend date’ early enough he’d have time to do whatever he needed to do when he shifted. Leticia’s mouth dropped open as he told her not to follow him. Another time, another day, there could have been a joke there about her asking about what kind of rocks she could lick versus what sort of flowers she might eat—she wasn’t a good listener when it came to things about her own well being.

And she was especially bad at it when she was worried about a friend.

A blink and he was gone, but still close. She could still smell him. Leticia took one last look around the commons, her eyes finding the dog once more before she backed up. Whatever that damned creature was, it wasn’t moving any closer. Cursing under her breath, she turned on her heel and ran after Gael, her drink in the trash and her mind only focused on him. He did need to leave down, she just wasn’t so sure he could manage it on his own. Mossthorn forest was nearby and so were the Pines, it was just about keeping him in the right direction.

“You’re not dealing with this shit alone, okay?” Leticia shouted at him as she caught up. She had no idea how much time he had before he lost himself, but he wasn’t going to be alone for it. “Can you make it north? To the Pines?” _____ One thing at a time. Now in the safety of the darkening alley and losing light much faster than he’d have liked, Gael struggled to get his breathing under control as he still kept his disfigured arms tucked close to his abdomen. Normally, when he felt all this energy pulsing through him, he went out for a run which turned into attacking trees until he lost consciousness, sleepwalking through the rest of the night until he inevitably woke up wherever his sleepwalking took him, with the remnants of a dead animal nearby. This time he wasn’t where he needed to be, though and this was the first time since his brain wiring got messed up by that animal attack that Gael was afraid, confronted with this churning sensation in his stomach that something terrible had happened the last time. The way Monty looked at him, the way he said that it wasn’t his fault. How all that day he couldn’t keep anything down, which was also a new concept to him. The stench of blood permeating his senses as he periodically swam through his blurred mind. This WAS all his fault; he went with Leticia despite what happened, pretending like he was allowed to go and enjoy an evening like this out when he could feel something simmering just under his skin. The alley Gael had chosen didn’t seem to have an exit, instead a little pocket for dumpsters and he was glancing up at the wall, his head feeling light as he tried not to hyperventilate when he heard Leticia’s voice behind him. The same spike of fear stabbed at him as he turned his head to regard her with wide eyes. And at first, he didn’t see her, instead seeing the same shadow from the nightmare, a black, blurry outline like something out of focus that whistled like two birds penetrating his skin. He tensed, considering yelling back at the shadow before he shook his head and it was gone, replaced by the woman’s shaded outline. “The Pines?” He repeated stupidly in an exhale, reining his panic in and Gael did what he did best - focus on who he was with. She was close enough again that even at their distance, her scent of flowers, lilac and something he couldn't’ recognize but still focused on. She didn’t leave him even though he told her not to follow and he couldn’t presume to understand why, especially when it was his fault that she was in this mess to begin with but his mind couldn’t control what she’d already seen - he would need to address this later. For now Gael breathed heavily through his mouth and, perhaps despite knowing better, he staggered towards Leticia, keeping his brown eyes on her with the most earnest, pleading expression he could muster on his face. “Can you… point me in that direction?” He asked quietly but urgently, wanting to add that he killed animals and that he didn’t want to hurt her - he’d never forgive himself if he found out he had - but the question he asked had enough trouble coming as it was. Maybe she was like him and Alan, another sleepwalker. Maybe she was more like Ren, someone who could take care of herself despite what Gael would want to do while he was unconscious. Either way, he could only trust that she knew what she was doing and hope that when he would send her a message as soon as he could profusely apologizing that she would respond with anger and rejection instead of not at all. _____ Leticia grabbed Gael’s arm, leaning out of the alley to see how many people were walking past—and how close the others were that were approaching. The dog was still there, standing in the shadows of the building on the other side of the common. The creature’s ears were standing up, and Leticia couldn’t help but wonder if it was trying to listen to their conversation. Was the beast interested in what was happening, or hoping to hear them fail?

His arm felt different. She looked back at him, wishing that her dark eyes didn’t reveal every worry that was left unsaid. It was horrifying to watch, not because he looked like a monster, but because she was watching it happen so slowly—or maybe quickly—it was hard to tell. His expressions were different now, his face and his eyes, she was watching him lose himself in slow motion. Was it rude to watch? Or was it worse to look away? Leticia had never seen this up close before, and watching it felt wrong.

This wasn’t like the balam, he wasn’t surrendering himself to a higher being, he didn’t hold this creature’s soul within his own body, the thing he was becoming wasn’t going to protect him. It wasn’t kind or gentle, it was… Leticia swallowed the word, refusing to place that term on Gael. If there could be good hunters out there, good rangers even, then there was hope for people like them. Stepping closer to him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Keep breathing like that, okay?”

He was like her in many ways. It was a shame she only realized it now, looking at him as the stars started to decorate the sky. He cared deeply for the people around him, and he would never forgive himself if he hurt anyone. Intentionally or not. And she was willing to bet he would have felt the same way she had, holding that stake in the alley—a life was a life. Evil or not, life had… weight. If Leticia could protect him, she would.

Pointing to the path on the Northern side of the commons, they had to cross some very public area, but this was Wicked’s Rest. Anything could be written off as a prank or someone cosplaying. People were eager to dismiss the supernatural, they could use that to their advantage. “We’re going to run,” she whispered to him, trying to keep her tone calm to keep him calm. “You first.” Leticia pulled her hands away and moved to stand behind him, stretching for a moment, readying herself. Gael might have needed her to lead him, but that beast that was threatening to release itself?

It’d be easier to bring it to heel if she was chasing him instead. _____ He was expecting her to recoil from him and he absolutely wouldn’t have blamed her - he kept trying to put himself into her position, what he would do if she was the one struggling with the pain that pulsed through him, the discomfort of his nails digging into his shirt and starting to rip at the material, the soft whimpers that escaped from him every few deep breaths he tried to keep steady. Would Gael have run? Was it even possible to know what he would’ve done?

It wasn’t about what he would’ve done, though. It was about what she was doing right there, right now. Gael felt her hand around his arm and he looked into her eyes for a moment. He was having trouble reading the expression on her face as his vision was starting to swim with tears, though he couldn’t explain what they were from. She didn’t run. She didn’t even seem to flinch, instead taking a step closer, putting a hand on his shoulder in a supportive, comforting gesture that he couldn’t understand as he felt little pieces of his consciousness fade away little by little, threatening to put him to sleep for the night.

Her voice instructed him to keep breathing so he did, sucking inhales through gritted teeth and flared nostrils, exhaling with the strain of pressure on his lungs and he reciprocated with a small, erratic nod to show that he understood what she said. Then she pointed and Gael craned his neck as though he couldn’t see her clearly, his eyes looking past her at the general area where she pointed. It was on the far end of a large swathe of the Commons, which wouldn’t have been a problem if the professor didn’t see several people moving in his blurred, peripheral vision.

“We’re going to run.” Gael repeated, noting the calm in her voice and trying to replicate it though part of him wanted to cower in the shadows and just go to sleep there, not worrying about what would’ve happened once he did. Maybe he’d be apprehended and he’d wake up in a jail cell. Maybe he’d wake up in the hospital after attacking someone and they were much stronger than he was. Maybe he wouldn’t wake up at all. _____ No, staying in the alley wasn’t an option and as she took a step back, telling him to go first and he nodded in agreement - Gael didn’t know what happened once he lost consciousness but at the rate that he apparently proficiently killed animals in his sleep, the thought of what he could do to a human made him physically ill. Lowering his unusually hairy arms, feeling a more steady pulse of pain pulling at his limbs like he was going through a growth spurt, he straightened up for a brief moment before lowering his head. “We’re… going to run.” He repeated, emphasizing what she said and with that in mind, regardless of whether or not she was actually going to run with him or after him, he took off in a sprint as fast as his legs would carry him.

He held onto the belief that she meant what she said as he tore across the pavement, rushing past passers-by and innocents on the sidewalk, in his way. “MOVE!” Gael shouted, his voice coming out as much more of a bark than an actual word of command but it seemed to work; the singular word rang through the air and he didn’t have to worry about running into anyone from that point on.

The same couldn’t be said for himself, however, as a surge of pain through one of his legs seized it up and Gael lost his footing and tripped, crashing to the ground and rolling several feet. “I don’t… have TIME for this–” He growled as he pushed himself onto all fours and glancing up at… “Where is it?” He called to Leticia, dumbly looking for a reference point to where he was supposed to go. Was… Leticia even still behind him?

_____ Her father would have told her to leave this alone. Her mother would have been furious that she was putting herself into a situation where she had a clear and easy out—but she had always been one to ask for forgiveness instead of permission. But this… this is what Leticia needed that night in New York. She needed someone to pull her back from the stage and make sure that she was okay, and stop her from performing. And Gael… he had decided against any better judgment to go out with her on the same night as a full moon because she needed someone. He was an idiot for that, and she’d have a word with him about it later—but right now? He needed her.

And maybe, on some level, that was what she needed too. Gael started running and Leticia gave him a head start, not wanting to be right on him if he transformed. It’d be hard with that kind of proximity to give the balam the distance she’d need to attack. Her stomach turned, thinking about that she might have to fight Gael. And they’d be in forms that neither of them could control. Leticia brought a hand to her chest, watching as Gael ran, and gripped the cross she wore. It had been too long since she had prayed, and longer than that since she had been inside a church.

But if there was ever a time to pray, it was now.

She inhaled deeply and then sprinted after Gael. His posture changed further, the length of his limbs changed and everything looked wrong and broken. She wondered, briefly, what it was like. How much did it hurt? It had to, didn’t it? The twisting form that was taking over Gael wasn’t something that came naturally to humans. The transformation wasn’t a release—it wasn't freeing. But all of these were assumptions that she had from over the years, she had never been friends with a werewolf before, maybe it was different than she imagined.

She had been wrong about hunters. Maybe she was wrong about this too.

Too quickly was Gael screaming at the people around them and then… he was on all fours. Fuck. But he was still going in the right direction. Leticia closed her eyes and took a breath. Each time she let the balam take over, it felt stranger than the last. She had been fighting animals of all sorts of sizes—but each time came with the very real danger of hurting everyone around her. The balam, thus far, seemed to have the same mindset when it came to harm as Leticia did, but with this much excitement around them, could she count on that?

The plan she had in her mind was slowly unraveling as her doubt sunk in.

When Gael paused, the panic snapped to a different level. The words reached her—he was looking for directions. But the balam didn’t hesitate to take over in Leticia’s moment of weakness. She had made eye contact with Gael one last time before the jaguar took her place, her last human thoughts wondering if Gael had even seen her.

The jaguar took a few steps toward Gael, the only smell in the air that she could focus on was wolf. Lowing her body to the ground, she prepared to pounce. A rumbling started in the pit of her stomach and slowly grew louder. Her dark tail flicked from side to side, begging the other to run so that she could give chase.

_____ Still on his knees and trying to get to his feet though the pain that wracked them was growing unbearable, Gael didn’t hear any confirmation from Leticia. He could smell something though, even though the confusion, the trees, the edge of the forest he wasn’t aware he was just outside, the noise, his pain, his senses going wild as they seemed to become inflamed in his neurons.

It smelled like a cat.

Wondering how the hell he could recognize the scent and with his vision fading in and out, he turned uncertainly where he expected to see Leticia only… it wasn’t Leticia. Instead, he was confronted with a giant black cat that had its eyes on him in turn. Gael’s breathing accelerated, abandoning the deep, steady breaths he tried to keep with him as a fresh wave of fear throttled his windpipe, sending adrenaline through his body that was already wracked with tremors and the cracking of bones being misplaced.

He needed to run. Gael tried to move but he couldn’t and instead of launching himself from the ground and sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him, he instead stumbled forward again and fell onto his side, back legs pushing and stretching, scraping his body against the grassy terrain as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he lost consciousness. Bones continued to snap and rearrange, ripping the clothes from his frame like they were paper as he writhed on the ground, an eerie sound of combined human whimpering and doglike whining being wrenched from his altering throat. His face was pulled forward, his teeth falling out as they were replaced with a lengthened jaw with sharp canines. A tail lashed wildly like a worm on a hook before swaying behind him and an animal’s instinct jerked him onto all fours again, his back lurching with the final, snapping remnants of the full moon’s transformation.

Beetle-black claws pulled at the earth and the wolf drew himself to his full height, standing on his hind legs, breathing heavily and panting as bright amber eyes laid themselves on the cat. The stench of dog was potent. But the balam made no moves to leave the area. Her dark eyes traced the body of the shifting human, the process was a fascinating one that the jaguar hadn’t seen for herself. Remaining low to the ground, her tail twitched with each snapping bone, flicking to the beat, as if winding up for a full attack. She had been getting out more and more, and it had been exhilarating. Each time she came forward, there was another challenge. And this time had been no different. What stood before her now and what fell to their four limbs was a challenge that she had never witnessed in person.

_____

Darkness had covered the commons now, the lights that lined the streets and walkways started to light up in a pattern behind the jaguar. But she didn’t need the light to see the wolf that dared cross the line of her territory. The darkness had always been a friend, and as her brown eyes found the wolf’s, there was almost humor in the challenge that she presented. He could see her just as clearly, couldn’t he? But was he on the level that she was? Was he worthy of the scars she would leave on his body?

Either he’d earn the marks of a goddess, or he’d die by her claws. The end result hardly mattered. It was the middle that enticed her.

A low rumbling sounded from the balam’s gut, a warning sound that declared the battle she was about to begin. This place, this town, even these humans that existed within this territory were hers. They were disposable, but only at her convenience, not anyone else’s. Her mouth opened and from it came the sound, much louder now, warning away the other creatures in the area. In their tucked away location, they could be heard but not seen, and the screams of those who were close came and went as the people ran. Smart enough not to step in.

The jaguar pounced. Her claws extended as she leapt into the air, aiming to dig her claws into the wolf’s back. _____ The sound coming from the big cat was entirely unfamiliar to the wolf and he was conflicted - on the one hand, he had this fierce, pained desire to tear through anything and everything. This wasn’t like his normal awakenings where he was sore but found a meal to satiate him; he wanted to sink his teeth into the same flesh that he had previously.

On the other hand, this wasn’t that same type of flesh, he learned that quickly. Additionally, the wolf had no idea what this creature was but he could already tell that it wasn’t a wolf like him and that it was threatening him as it had the low growl rumbling from inside it. The wolf reciprocated with a snarl of his own and as the cat got lower to the ground, he seemed to raise himself higher on his hind legs. He could take it, he’d love to bury his teeth in its flesh, to taste its blood–

But the bravado seemed to fade when the other animal roared, the sound carrying and ringing in the wolf’s ears which instinctively pinned at the sound. Then without any warning the animal leapt at him. He dropped to all fours and hunched his back for a split second as though it was going to deter the cat but obviously that did nothing. Instead, he scrambled forward, attempting to go under it but even then he wasn’t fast enough and he felt a sharp pain, more terrible than anything he’d felt in a long time, puncture his back right where the mottled scar tissue stretched over his spine.

The sound that ruptured from him was high, loud, and a mixture of wolf and human as he screamed, throwing his head back and he became frenzied. Any animalistic reason was abandoned in favor of the incinerating pain that shot through him as the claws were embedded in his back but any other pain was superseded by the pulses that oozed out of his scar tissue. Thrashing, he yelped loudly and threw himself to the ground to scrape the cat off of him.

The second the claws were removed and the beast was off his back, the wolf turned and fled. He didn’t attempt to get a bite or a swipe in, he didn’t want to challenge the creature, he was pushed only by the burning on his back as he ran as fast as his lopsided limbs could carry him, wanting to create as much space between himself and the cat as possible while he whimpered freely, tail tucked between his legs and tongue lolling in the wind.

Tonight was going to be a bad night. _____ Thrown from what would have been her prey, the balam found her balance easily. Her paws dipped in the blood of the wolf. The damage she had inflicted pleased her, but it wasn't lethal. Just a warning - one that a child with any awareness of the space around them would have been able to avoid. The wolf let out a sound of pain that was like music. A choir that praised her skills, even if she had hardly used them. But it was fitting. The music, the howling, all if it, should have been saved, however. She wanted it to mean something when it happened again.

The creature had shifted in her territory. It threatened the lives of her humans. And it still had not paid for the slight she had convicted him of. The jaguar prepared herself for another attack, backing up slowly to give herself more space to get the running start she needed, when the wolf fled. Without hesitation, she gave chase. Running with ease through the forest that she had slowly become familiar with. Each time she was given the opportunity to spread her legs and run, this length of woods had always been her favorite. The sound of people that had no idea she was hiding in the brush? The unsuspecting birds that moved between the town and the forest with ease that carried fries in their own claws were her favorite.

Finding an easy pattern in the trees, the balam could still smell the wolf. But soon... it started to smell like wolf everywhere. It smelled like the hound from before with the fire in its belly, and wolves of a similar nature to the one she had wounded. The forest was very full tonight, and the jaguar had lost her latest pray. Shaking her head in anger, she took a few steps back and then turned towards the nearest scent. The wolf would have been a more impressive foe to beat. Even better if she could have killed it.

But something else would have to do. The jaguar slipped into the underbrush and began her hunt for a different kind of prey. Quietly hoping it would be the wolf she found and she'd have the satisfaction of a true battle, but anything would do.

#wickedswriting #char: gael #gael: fighting like cats and dogs

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