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thephantomessoftheopera · 3 years ago

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Notes on Gaston Leroux’s “The Phantom of the Opera” - Chapter 13: “Apollo’s Lyre”

Image of the Apollo statue on the rooftop of the Palais Garnier from Wikimedia Commons

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The chapter “Apollo’s Lyre” constitutes the basis for the “rooftop scene” between Raoul and Christine in the ALW version, but in the book, it is really all about Erik. It’s quite possibly the most important chapter in the novel because we meet our title hero face-to-face for the first time, and because Erik overhearing Christine‘s plan to escape provides a turning-point for the plot.

The symbol of Apollo's Lyre is not only present in the Apollo statue on the highest point of the rooftop (that Erik is supposedly clinging to here), but also adorns the chandelier both in the Palais Garnier and in the original production of the musical.

At the end of the preceding chapter, Raoul had vowed to take Christine away, but she is still at war with herself about the idea. She wants to leave because she is afraid, but at the same time, warns Raoul that he will probably need to force her to leave since she isn’t emotionally ready to let go:

““But if I refuse to go with you when the time comes for you to take me away, you must make me go!” [...] she spoke these words with a forcefulness that seemed to be directed against herself.”

Every time Raoul offers to take her away right then and there, Christine refuses with an excuse of why it’s not possible to leave just now. Yet she is afraid that the next time she goes to Erik, she may never leave again. Erik seems to make her feel very deeply - but too much feeling can be very terrifying, especially if it’s a wild ride on that emotional rollercoaster of ecstasy, horror, pity, despair and passion that he sends her on. It’s no wonder she rationally wants to get out before it consumes her, and yet is afraid of losing it.

While she begins telling Raoul the whole story from her perspective, they repeatedly think they hear sighs, but still remain in the same place. This is a bit odd, considering how they kept running around before, but now, Christine insists that they stay, which is a bit curious. It is possible that she thought they were safe - but considering her general unwillingness to leave, I think it is even possible that she might be subconsciously sabotaging her own escape plan.

When Christine speaks about how she first met Erik, it becomes clear that masquerading as the Angel of Music was not initially Erik‘s idea. When Christine heard Erik in her dressing-room for the first time three months ago, he sang and spoke to her like a real man, except that he had this beautiful angelic voice and was hiding in the passage behind her room, so that he could not be seen. The first person to suggest that he might indeed be the Angel of Music is Mama Valerius, who prompts Christine to ask Erik if he is the Angel her father had sent for her. Erik jumps at the opportunity presented to him and confirms that her assumption is correct, and asks if she will let him teach her. She consents, and together they make amazing progress, developing both Christine’s technique and her inspiration to hitherto unknown heights.

One day, Christine sees Raoul at the Opera, and eagerly tells Erik about it. I bet he bitterly cursed himself then for passing himself off as an Angel, leaving enough space in Christine’s heart for a real man. But his threats to leave cause her to despair and to try to ignore Raoul - also because a marriage to him would be out of her reach anyway. Now it’s Erik’s turn to whine and accuse Christine of being in love with Raoul in the same way we’ve seen Raoul do before. But just like with Raoul, she won’t have that and even challenges Erik that she will ask Raoul to accompany her to Perros. According to her, Erik’s jealous reaction made her realize that she loved Raoul. I wonder if madly jealous Raoul also made her realize that she might possibly be just a little bit in love with two very different men?

Subconsciously, she seems to kind of know already that Erik is not really an angel, because when the chandelier falls, she is half-mad with panic and terribly afraid that it may have killed “the Voice” (and it would be a bit difficult to kill a heavenly being even if you dropped a chandelier on it). She also admits that then, Raoul and Erik were both “the equal halves of her heart” (and I think they still are, beneath all the complications that have arisen in the meantime). She runs to her dressing-room because that is where she is most likely to find “the Voice”, and when she hears the sounds of Erik singing and playing the “Resurrection of Lazarus” on his violin, she follows his voice through the mirror without being able to say how exactly she disappeared through it. She suddenly finds herself being gripped by a man in a black cloak and a full-face mask and tries to fight back, but then faints. When she wakes, she is resting on the ground near a fountain, and Erik is gently tending to her, but doesn’t reply to her questions so as not to give himself away as “the Voice”. Christine recognizes César the horse, and realizes that even though she never believed in the ghost, she had heard the rumours about him stealing the horse.

Erik takes Christine to the house by the lake, first on César’s back (that’s what he needed the horse for, after all) and then in the famous boat (which is rowed in the novel). She is no longer terrified, but feels strangely peaceful - an effect which she attributes to the possibility of having been drugged, even though she admits that at the same time, she was still in full possession of her senses.

“Lake Averne”, the name of the lake under the Opera House, is a play on words as well as meaning. First, “lac averne” is almost the same as “la caverne”, which means “the cavern”. There is also a real lake named “Lago d’Averno” in Italy, and in Roman mythology, that lake is one of the entrances to the Underworld. This fits with the fact that Erik also bears characteristics of Charon, the ferryman to the Underworld, whose name can be literally translated as “with glowing eyes”. The iconic boat ride certainly resembles the passage into the Hades, which is even alluded to in the novel.

The water tank below the Palais Garnier. Image from atlasobscura.com

Let’s stay in the Underworld for a moment. “The Phantom of the Opera” can also be seen as a variation on the story of Hades and Persephone (Christine’s ship in “Love Never Dies” is not called “Persephone” for nothing). Hades, the god of the Underworld, fell in love with the young and beautiful Persephone and wanted to marry her, but as the goddess of spring, she wasn’t willing to abandon the world above and go to live in the Underworld. Therefore Hades abducted her, she finally consented to marry him and became queen of the Underworld. Due to the intervention of her infuriated mother Demeter, it was finally decided that she would divide her time between living on earth for some months every year and living in the Underworld for the rest of the time.

When they arrive, Erik sets a confused Christine down in his brightly lit drawing-room, which has been decorated with an enormous amount of golden baskets full of flowers. It is not quite clear where all the flowers come from, so I guess he bought them all for her. With a salary of 20,000 francs, he could probably afford the luxury of spending so much on flower decorations… He tells her that she is in no danger, as long as she doesn’t touch his mask. When Christine realizes that the Voice is not an angel, she starts crying. Erik then kneels down in front of her and proceeds to tell her without further ado who he is, begs her to forgive him, and lays his heart at her feet. He confesses how much he loves her, and how wrong his actions were, but that he did everything out of love for her. It seems that Erik was rather anxious to reveal the truth that he is not really the Angel of Music and end his deception, but at the same time, was waiting for an opportunity that would allow him to explain everything without the risk of her running away from him forever. Keep in mind that he took on the role of the Angel of Music for just a couple of months, not years as it is commonly assumed.

Christine then stands up to demand her freedom, and is taken aback when he actually concedes it to her, telling her that she is free to leave. But after all, she does not leave because he starts to play the harp and sing for her. The piece he is singing here is the “Canzone del Salice” from Rossini’s “Otello”, in which Desdemona laments the cruelty of love. It is often assumed that the „Otello“ Leroux is referencing here is the more famous “Otello” by Verdi, but that one didn’t premiere until 1887, while the story is definitely set before 1886. Furthermore, Rossini’s version of the “willow song” is the only one that starts with a harp solo. The song is included in the playlist, listen to it here:

https://open.spotify.com/track/25ILZhCIWIRjJVK8SqDWzn?si=U5EPiO_ySBOlIy5XvI1BGw&dl_branch=1

The next morning, Christine awakes on the couch in „her“ bedroom (aka the “Louis-Philippe room”) where Erik must have carried her after she had fallen asleep. When she can‘t get out, she suffers a fit of hysterics, although it seems that she has simply been unable to locate the door set within the wall. Erik has been out shopping for her, which is a rather cute scene when he comes back with all the boxes for her while she yells at him. He calmly tells her to get ready for lunch, and she slams the door in his face so she can take a bath in peace. She places a pair of scissors within reach so that she could kill herself if Erik “stopped behaving like an honourable man”. Her concern is understandable, being alone with the man who is madly in love with her, however it is important to note that Erik never physically forces himself on her throughout the story.

Remarkably, Erik’s house had both hot and cold running water, something that was still very rare then, which suggests that he actually lived in better hygienic conditions than most people at that time, and that he was a skilled engineer.

When she finally joins him, he tells her that she does not need to be afraid, and that all he asks for is that she will spend 5 days with him. After that, he hopes that she will come back to see “poor Erik” from time to time, shedding a few tears beneath his black mask as he speaks. He serves Christine lunch in the drawing-room, consisting of crayfish, chicken wings and Tokay wine, but he himself does again not eat or drink. From their conversation, we learn that Erik has taken on his name “by chance”, whatever that means. The meaning of the name is “sole ruler” which is quite fitting for him.

When Christine has finished eating, Erik invites her to see his room, and she doesn’t hesitate as she instinctively trusts him. Apparently Erik has a very gothic taste as far as room decorating goes, and all this also plays heavily into the death symbolism of his character. Erik sleeping in a coffin is reminiscent of vampire stories, especially because it seems to be a choice and not a necessity. There is also an organ with the score of “Don Juan Triumphant” on it, written in Erik’s customary red ink(?). Erik tells her that he started composing it 20 years ago. Christine asks him to play her something from his “Don Juan”, but Erik refuses because “some music is so formidable that it consumes everyone who approaches it”. It is quite significant that the “sing for me” motif is absent from the novel version, in contrast to the ALW version where it is very strong. Erik, in the novel, has no plans for Christine to sing any of his music. He wants her companionship and her love, and he wants to sing together with her and lose himself in their shared passion for music, but he definitely does not see her as an instrument of sorts. He did help advance her career, but not with the intention of having her perform his work.

Erik makes it clear that his own music is very different from Mozart’s „Don Giovanni“ and from “opera music” in general. “Don Juan Triumphant” can be seen as an allusion to Lord Byron’s epic poem “Don Juan” (in which, incidentally, Don Juan is sold as a slave to the sultana of Constantinople).

He sits down at the piano and starts singing the duet from “Otello” with Christine. There is of course more than one duet in “Otello”, but this one is most likely “Non arrestare il colpo/Notte per me funesta” from Act III (here: https://open.spotify.com/track/151M60b3qxzqKLDFwIVuUB?si=WX4TDWCeQVmIChqd6u7CyQ&dl_branch=1 and here: https://open.spotify.com/track/2Ep1OncGZCNR9yFevG6Pb6?si=QzG2JztuQ42MDoiVrLAaew&dl_branch=1 ) In this scene, Othello accuses Desdemona of betraying him, while she tries to convince him that she is innocent. She realizes that she has fallen victim to Iago’s plot, but Othello does not believe her and stabs her. This opera, for once, is in Italian, while most of the other pieces that appear in the “Phantom” are sung in French.

The unmasking in the novel happens while Christine is swept up in the passion of her duet with Erik. She “stepped closer to him, attracted and fascinated, enticed by the idea of dying at the center of such passion. But before dying [she] wanted to see his face…”

It’s not like she is sneaking up to him out of pure curiosity, but rather reacting to an instinctive wish to pull away the barrier between them. The scene is even more tragic because with a normal face, the passionate mood that Christine was in would have potentially led to her kissing him. But sadly, his face is anything but normal, so Christine recoils in horror instead. Erik’s reaction to the unmasking is violent and horrific as he goes mad with rage at her, even hurting his own face with her fingernails - an expression of his self-loathing. Throughout the scene, Christine seems fixated on the horror of his face more than his behaviour, though. Ashamed of himself, Erik crawls out of the room and shuts himself up in his bedroom.

“Apollo’s Lyre” by Annie Stegg Gerard

Erik’s appearance as described in the novel is indeed bordering the realm of the fantastic and supernatural. He is so stuffed with death symbolism that it is hard to take everything literally. Christine’s description makes it rather hard to see him as “real” because he seems to look like something straight out of a nightmare.

It is important to note that Erik is not just run-of-the-mill ugly, but that he is very clearly associated with death in many ways - from sleeping in a coffin and having funeral-style decor in his room to actually looking like a „living corpse“. Erik and Christine can be seen as a literal expression of the artistic topos „death and the maiden“, which especially towards the end of the 19th century associated death very strongly with the erotic (see https://eclecticlight.co/2020/01/05/paintings-for-our-time-death-and-the-maiden/ for a very good overview of the motif). Death here is usually represented as either a skeleton or corpse, or as an angel - which is very much in line with Leroux’s Erik.

”Girl and Death” by Edvard Munch

Combined with the fact that Erik‘s music creates feelings of passion, rapture and ecstasy in Christine, it is not a big stretch to conclude that Erik is associated not only with death, but also with sexuality. The duality of sex as both a life-creating and life-threatening force was acutely perceived by the people of that period. Love and death are connected, and both are represented in Erik‘s character. ALW‘s musical adaptation recognized this strongly erotic undercurrent in the story and translated it very aptly into songs such as „Music of the night“ or „Point of no return“. The way in which Christine describes her lessons with Erik - that they “awakened an ardent, voracious, and sublime life” in her, and made her live in a “kind of ecstatic dream” can also be interpreted as her romantic awakening, with all the frightening emotional chaos attached to it.

Raoul, on the other hand, is more associated with purity and propriety - which is reflected in how he views Christine, and the standards that she must conform to in his opinion.

Before seeing Erik’s face, Christine admits that she *would* have come back, but that now, she would never return because “you don’t go back into a grave with a corpse that loves you”. Note how she switches from the first person to the impersonal “you” in this sentence - “you” might not do that, but we already know she did in fact go back more than once. And she is still able to see something of the angel in him because he does not take advantage of the situation, but leaves her alone, turning to his music again.

And then, “music has the power to abolish everything in the outside world except its sounds, which go straight to the heart”. Erik starts playing the finale of “Don Juan Triumphant” where “ugliness, lifted on the wings of love, had dared to look beauty in the face”. Through the music, Christine can glimpse into the depths of Erik’s heart and soul, feel his torment and suffering, and is overwhelmed with compassion.

Once again, she is the one to tear down the wall between them. She pushes open the door to Erik’s room and asks him to show his face, sincerely thinking that she can handle it - but it turns out, she really isn’t quite able to when there’s no music between them. But she manages to put on a brave facade and lie to him about being able to look at him without horror. She despises herself for her lies, but then she also does what she must in order to be set free. Erik takes her for walks along the shore of the underground lake, and for carriage rides to the Bois de Boulogne (that’s where they ran into Raoul in Chapter 9). After two weeks, Erik finally trusts her so much that he is willing to set her free (with conditions, of course). It’s really heartbreaking when she mentions how he dared to try to make her look at him even when he wasn’t singing, like a “timid dog”. At this point, he is in her power just as much as she is in his.

When she finally leaves, she is moved more by his tears than by his threats, and his pain is what gets her to come back in the first place: “Those sobs attached me to him more strongly than I thought when I said good-bye to him.” Part of why she is afraid to leave is that she fears it will kill him if she leaves him.

At the end of the chapter, Raoul asks the fateful question that sums up the tragedy of Erik and Christine:

“You’re afraid, but do you love me? If Erik were handsome, would you love me?” “Why tempt fate, Raoul? Why ask about things that I keep hidden at the back of my mind, like sins?”

Christine’s reply along the lines of “Don‘t ask” was cut from the de Mattos translation. It clearly evidences that Christine has conflicted feelings for Erik that go beyond only horror or pity, and that she prefers to suppress them so she doesn't have to deal with them. The statement also shows that if Erik had not been cursed with his face, then things might have looked very different for him and Christine. Attentive readers of de Mattos might nevertheless notice that her next line „If I did not love you, I would not give you my lips“ evades addressing the „what ifs“ Raoul posed, but it still makes her appear less conflicted than she really is. Christine’s heart is a pretty deep ocean of secrets, and at the back of her mind, there seem to be quite a few things that she is unwilling to admit to herself, as Raoul suspected before:

“You obviously love him, and your fear, your terror - all that is still love, of the most exciting kind! The kind you don’t admit to yourself.”

I haven‘t really counted, but this must be like the fifth time that Raoul insists on his suspicion that Christine is in love with Erik, and he just can‘t get a „no“ out of her. That “no” is given very directly though when he asks her if she hates him. She kisses Raoul to prove that she loves him, at the same time telling him that the kiss is just a one-time thing („for the first and last time“). Then “the night is torn apart”, and the last thing they see is a pair of glowing eyes looking down on them from Apollo’s lyre - which are clearly Erik’s, who has overheard the entire conversation…

Image from wikipedia

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#phantom of the opera #leroux phantom #lerouxreadingguide #gaston leroux #erik x christine #erik the phantom #erik in love #christine daae #the phantom of the opera #opera ghost #apollo‘s lyre #leroux #the phantom #raoul de chagny #poto

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honalele · 4 years ago

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For Blood

The dull sound of rain and thunder kept Techno awake. He stared up at the cave’s ceiling from his cot and counted the amount of times the water droplets fell from its cracks. He held a pocket knife in his right hand and rolled it between his fingers in heavy contemplation, trying to keep the voices in his head calm and quiet. However he couldn’t help but catch the whispers of a few distinct voices that had been with him for as long as he’d known blood.

Danger. Escape. Run.

He knew they were speaking about the raid on Saint Charity’s tomorrow. It had been pushed back a couple times this week, but Captain Peirce said that tomorrow morning was the official day. It would be simple. Sneak into town, attack the withers, save the village. They’d done it over a thousand times before, but something about the night was causing the voices in Techno’s head to go berserk.

He twisted the pocket knife and gave it a toss, but before he could catch it himself a hand from out the shadows intercepted it. Techno looked to his right to see his friend’s smile glowing in the shadows of the den.

“Can’t sleep?” Phil asked with a knowing smile. Techno paused, then threw his legs over the side of the cot and gave Phil some room to sit down next to him. Phil pulled his wings in and took the seat. “What’s wrong?” He sighed. Techno wasn’t too sure how to voice his concerns. There was no reason for him to be worried about tomorrow. Their company had delt with many wither hoards before. Each soldier had memorized their fighting patterns and the stats on villager casualties had been going down for weeks. Still, he couldn’t brush off the feeling that something was wrong.

Blood for the Blood god.

A child’s voice rose above the rest. The voice of a small boy that had been stuck with Techno for as long as he could remember. He was becoming louder and more thirsty for fresh blood. Human blood. With Phil’s help, Techno managed to keep the voices quieter than they’d been in years, but during the past few weeks, they’d been growing noisy and difficult to ignore.

“It’s the rain. It’s keeping me up.” He said. Phil let out a snort.

“Afraid of a little thunderstorm are we?” He shouldered Techno playfully. Techno grinned in response and turned his gaze to the cave floor. In all honesty, Phil should’ve been more worried about the rain than Techno considering he couldn’t fly in it. Then again, the guy was like a one man army on his own, so a bit of bad weather wasn’t going to stop him from doing what needed to be done.

Techno also knew that Phil wasn’t one to prod. From the day they first met at the Eastern front, they had a connection. Phil actually saved Techno from being discharged where he would have been sent back home and hung for his crimes. Luckily, the “Angel of Death” held a decent amount of authority when it came to influencing the general’s decisions. Techno would always remember the first thing Phil ever said to him.

“Never in the thousands of years I’ve been alive have I seen a reflection such as yours.”

From that day on, the two became inseparable. They understood each other in ways that few people could. They were both outcasts. Phil belonged to a rare and elusive class known as elytra. A nation that had crumbled centuries ago. The few that survived were either hunted down and killed, or captured and used as weapons in the King’s army. While he was technically immortal, Phil was lucky to have survived for as long as he did. As for Techno, the military was his last resort. He was born cursed.

Blood for the Blood god.

“You know, I gave Will a pocket knife like this one. Before we were separated.” Phil said, interrupting Techno’s thoughts. Techno turned to see Phil looking at the pocket knife with a soft and sentimental expression on his face. “I told him that if I wasn’t going to be there to protect him, he’d have to do it himself.” His voice was low and quiet as he flipped the knife open, looking deeply into its reflective surface.

Phil often spoke highly of his son Wilbur. The guy was leading some sort of revolution in the Dream Kingdom. A project he called “L’Manburg”. Phil would sometimes share the letters they sent to one another with Techno, but recently the messenger crows were coming back empty handed.

“Have you heard from him at all this week?” Techno asked. Phil shook his head.

“Not since he wrote to me about his new project, Pogtopia. He sounded so optimistic, but it’s been weeks since I last heard from him. I’m beginning to worry…” Phil’s voice trailed off and his brows furrowed with worry. He was silent for a few moments before closing the knife and handing it back to Techno. “I’m sure he’s just busy leading his countries.” Phil was usually hard to read, but he had a huge blind spot when it came to his son. Techno took it upon himself to make sure that no one ever took advantage of that blind spot.

Techno fiddled with the knife for a bit. He glanced at Phil who reached up and tucked a piece of his blonde hair behind his ear revealing a small brown feather that was tied into a braid. Techno lowered his gaze and thought about his next words carefully.

“You’ve already told me the pocket knife story and it doesn’t end with your last words to Will. It ends with that feather in your hair.” Phil shot Techno a look of warning. Techno knew it was a sensitive topic, but he persisted. “You told him to protect himself, and that’s what he did. Those wings that he sent you all those years ago, they were proof of your son’s strength. Wilbur is capable of handling anything the world throws at him. I believe he’ll write again soon, and the crows will sing when he does.” Phil’s gaze melted into sentiment, and even though Techno could see the uncertainty in his eyes, Phil nodded in agreement.

The two fell into silence for a while longer before Phil patted Techno’s shoulder and suggested that they both get some sleep before the raid. Techno nodded and watched as Phil walked back to his cot. Techno looked up at the ceiling of the cave once again. It was still raining and thundering outside. He reckoned it was only a few hours before the raid. A voice from the back of his mind rose just above the waterfall of water droplets outside,

No mercy.

Techno silently got up from the cot. He turned around and knelt so that his elbows were rested on the bed. He pulled a medallion out from under his shirt. It was engraved with the symbols of the gods. One side was etched with a pyre, the symbol for life. The other, a skull, the symbol for death. It was his only token from home. Techno rubbed the medallion between his fingers before letting it hang from his neck and lifting his hands up towards the sky to pray for sleep. Phil wasn’t the religious type, but Techno strongly believed in the works of ancient gods. They came through for him more often than not, and for a man living his life on the run, he needed as much help as he could get.

As Techno went over the prayer in his mind, the voices started to fade into a distant echo along with the flooding rains. His senses grew intimate with the near surroundings, allowing his mind to settle in the comfortable darkness of the cave. After the prayer was finished he stuffed the medallion back under his shirt and quietly climbed into bed. He pulled himself under the covers and focused on the warmth and security that the old sheets brought him. He closed his eyes and was finally able to drift into a deep dreamless sleep.

…

“… bastards we have… get up mongrels.” The noise of the Captain’s voice fell in and out of Techno’s mind as he slowly woke up. Then, his eyes snapped open at a clash of thunder and sound of rushing rain. It was still incredibly dark and he could see from the entrance of the cave that the moon was far from setting.

Techno forced himself to sit upright. He spotted the Captain three cots down ripping the blankets off some poor sap’s bed.

“Children, the lot of you. Up.” His voice was like nails on a chalk board, giving Techno a head ache. He was almost worse than the voices that already occupied Techno’s mind.

Techno glanced in the direction of Phil’s cot. Phil was putting his boots on and also watching the Captain’s display of morning furry. Phil turned to Techno and smiled. They shared a moment of silent amusement from across the room before continuing to prepare for the raid.

“Those skeletons aren’t going to slaughter themselves. You’d all better be at your posts within the hour.” The Captain fixed the cuff of his jacket before turning to leave. Techno noticed how the man side-eyed Phil, but it was only for a split second before he left the cave. Techno wondered what interest the Captain had in one of his oldest and most loyal soldiers. However, he decided that it must’ve just been his imagination and put the odd gesture out of his mind as he slid on his heavy-weighted chest plate.

The group left the cave in cautious pairs. No one wanted to give away the location of the entire fleet, so going in pairs was the stealthiest and most strategic move.

“Ya ready?” Phil asked in a much too cheerful tone. Techno finished tying his sword’s sheath to his belt and nodded. The two of them headed out of the cave and into the waterlogged fields of the Eastern front. The dark morning was made even darker with rainclouds covering almost every inch of a still starred sky. The mud was heavy and wet under his boots. Techno felt the sinking squish with every step. Perhaps instead of sleep, he should have prayed for better weather.

It wasn’t too long into their journey that the village of Saint Charity’s started coming into view. Though the heavy rain made it difficult to see, Techno sensed an eerie silence around the village, as if a witch had come and enchanted it with a mystical sleeping spell. He would have dismissed it for the lingering’s of a fearful evacuation, but something felt out of the ordinary about the place.

“Be careful now.” Phil spoke just loud enough for Techno to hear him over the downpour. “The wither skeletons could be anywhere.” Techno nodded and fell in step with Phil as they closed in on the first building at the edge of Saint Charity’s.

It was a shabby little stable that was barely even attached to the main road. There was only one horse tied up to a post that stood underneath a depressingly drooped awning. It looked like it was asleep, so Techno and Phil made sure not to disturb it as they snuck past and onto the main road into town.

The deeper they ventured into the village, the more houses there were, each bigger than the last. They’d eventually make it to the heart of Saint Charity’s where they spotted a large water fountain dressed in alters of soul sand. Techno and Phil shared a worried glance. They’d come across villages in the past that had taken on an almost cult-like belief in the so called “godliness” of withers. Some would even go as far as using alters to summon “the supreme”. Unlike the state, those people didn’t see these creatures as dangerous weapons. Instead they viewed the wither species as something celestial, given to earth by the gods.

Phil and Techno kept moving through the creepy abandoned streets of Saint Charity’s. There were no signs of life, nothing human, nor wither. The only sounds they heard besides the cascade of rain was the occasional slam of a pair of shutters from somewhere off in the distance.

“This is getting a bit creepy.” Phil commented. Techno remained silent and tried his best to take in his water-soaked surroundings.

Suddenly Techno caught a whiff of something stale, almost metallic. He shifted his gaze towards the ground which was a mixture of cobblestone and mud, but he noticed that there were quite a few dark puddles that speckled the area. Techno bent down and dipped his fingers into one. It was blood. Human blood.

Blood for the Blood god!

The voices in his head started to scream. He could hear Phil asking him what was wrong, but his friend was quickly becoming muffled and distant.

Human sacrifice! No mercy! Let us have blood!

The voices were cheering as loud as a stadium. Techno pulled his hands up to his ears and begged them to stop. He could already feel the blood rushing and pumping through his veins as the memories of those children in the orphanage came rushing back.

You can never go back! Blood god needs blood!

They shouted in chorus, as loud as a bell bouncing around the inside of his mind. They infected his thoughts and bit his brain like snakes and spiders. Their venom seeped into his mind causing him to go blind and deaf to all of his surroundings. Everything was red and hot. Techno himself was rage filled. He hadn’t felt motivation like this in years.

Blood for the Blood god! Blood for the Blood god! Kill! Kill! Kill!

Suddenly his back was slammed against a wall and his throat was being crushed. Techno’s vision faded from blood red to a grey reality. Phil was holding him against a wall. His sword was unsheathed and so was Techno’s. They were both breathing heavily and Phil’s right cheek was bleeding from a fresh cut. Techno dropped his sword and clung to the hand that was clenching his neck.

“Phil-” was the only word he could manage. Phil’s furious gaze was unwavering.

“You said it was under control.” He said through gritted teeth. Techno looked down at the sword and then back at Phil. He did have it under control. He’d been around human blood before and was able to keep the voices down. Why now? Why was it happening again now?

The fire in Phil’s eyes shrunk to a smaller flame, but his grip on Techno’s neck tightened. He quickly leaned into Techno’s right ear and whispered, don’t attack me again, before letting him go. Techno allowed for his knees to buckle as he gulped down the humid air. He wasn’t sure of what he did, but if it gave away their location or threatened Phil in any way, Phil had every right to be this upset.

As Techno reached for his sword, he heard shouting from a few houses down. Despite the sudden tension between the two of them, Phil gestured for Techno to stay close, and together they made their way towards the screaming.

When they came up to the house, Phil tried to open the door, but it was locked. Without hesitation he broke the door down and headed inside with Techno on his heels. They quickly took in the scene. There were six wither skeletons. Four of them were running rampant while the other two tormented a women who was hiding for her life inside a closet with it’s door nearly ripped to shreds.

Phil pulled a knife from his belt and threw it straight into the back of the first wither’s head, then sprinted forward and took on the second one with his sword. Techno took this as a sign to go after the other four on his own, or at least distract them long enough for Phil’s assistance. He raced to one side of the room and sliced a skull off the first wither he came into contact with. It’s glossy tar-like eye sockets faded into empty black pools as it tumbled to the floor. The other three hissed at him violently. Techno plunged his sword into the exposed ribcage of the one to his right and kicked the one coming to his left. He tried to pull his sword out of the skeleton on his right, but it was jammed. The fourth skeleton was coming straight for him, so he decided to abandon the sword and shove his full bodyweight onto the menacing creature. It bit at his arm, but his armor kept it from puncturing his skin. He threw the beast off him and ran into the kitchen. He picked up one of the chairs and threw it at the wither with so much force that it broke on impact, leaving the skeleton in a hissing mess on the floor.

Techno reach for his short sword with one hand, and pulled out his pocket knife with the other as one of the remaining withers collected itself and came charging towards him. Techno caught it by the throat with his short sword and shoved it up against a nearby pantry. He stabbed its skull with his pocket knife and watched as the life drained out of its eye sockets along with one final hissing breath.

Then, searing pain exploded from his back side, causing him to drop his weapons. Techno turned to see one of the withers blasting its hot ash on him. He tried blocking it from his face with his arm, but the smoldering black dust tore at his armor and burned the tips of his ears. He tried reaching for his weapons, but couldn’t manage under the creature’s broiling breath. Suddenly, an arrow from the living room zipped into the wither’s skull. Its breath of hot ash died with a searing hiss and its towering body of black bones crumbled to the floor. Techno turned to see Phil in the living room standing over two more dead withers, his eyes bright with the excitement of death and war.

There was one final wither left. The one Techno had tried to stabbed in the heart. Phil was about to shoot the pitiful creature as it rolled on the floor in agony, but Techno ran out in front of it and put a hand up to Phil’s loaded bow. He turned to the creature and kicked it over so that its ribcage was exposed. The wither hissed at him and tried to breathe hot ash in defense, but it was far too wounded, and the ash fell out of its jaw like black foamy sand.

Techno reached down and pulled his sword out of its ribcage in one mighty heave. Then, he leaned in closely and spotted from within the thicket of ribs, a black heart, bleeding purple from the small cut he made earlier. Now that he had clear aim, Techno shoved his sword back into the skeleton and properly stabbed its heart. The wither coughed and hissed, and the light died from its skull just like it had the others. Then the creature went still. Techno pulled his sword from its chest and sheathed it as the wither’s body dissolved into a waterfall of dust before his eyes.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white cotton pouch he’d made from an old shirt. He bent over to the pile of black dust and sifted through it until he found the wither’s skull, completely undamaged. He placed it in the pouch and then stood up and tied it to his belt before turning around to see Phil helping the woman and her child out of the closet.

The child must’ve been no more than ten years old. Her light brown hair was mangled and she clung a small teddy bear close to her chest. She spotted Techno, her eyes wide and gawking. She shuffled close to the mother and clung tightly to her leg.

“Do you know what happened here?” Phil asked the mother in a soft tone. He made sure to only speak just above a whisper. “Everyone in this village should have been evacuated and yet here you are, and there are puddles of human blood outside.” He said quietly.

“I don’t know. We were here, and there was screaming outside, and they came in, and I don’t know.” The woman was on the brink of tears.

“Please, you must know something, anything?” Phil’s voice remained gentle and quiet.

“I’m sorry. We hid as soon as we heard them.” The woman pulled her child in close and leaned forward to whisper something to Phil that Techno could just barely make out. “My husband was out there.” The room went silent as quiet tears fell from the woman’s face. Techno watched as Phil looked down at the child and then crouched so that he was at her eyelevel.

“You were very brave. How old are you?” Phil asked, and the girl silently held out eight fingers. “Eight? That’s a big number.” Phil said in feign shock. The girl squeezed her bear and pointed at Phil’s wings. Phil smiled. “Do you like them?” He asked. The girl let go of her mother’s leg for a moment and stepped forward. She slowly reached out and gently stroked Phil’s right wing. Techno noticed Phil trying his best to remain as still as possible, probably an attempt to avoid startling the girl. When she’d finished petting his wings, the girl smiled brightly and then ran back to her mother. Phil tipped his helmet to her and stood up to face the mother again.

Techno was glad that Phil was here to talk to the villagers. He’d seen the way people looked at Phil, as if he were an angel sent from the heavens to save them from the hellish withers. But for Techno, it didn’t matter what he did or who he saved, people always flinched when he walked by. They didn’t even try to hide their fear from him, children especially. As Techno passed the group and headed to the kitchen to gather his weapons, the little girl gawked at him again, not with the look of amazement and wonder she’d given Phil, but also not with a look of blatant fear. She looked at him with intrigue which was a first. It through him off.

Techno looked away and gathered his belongings. The pocket knife was lodged deep in the wither’s skull. He had to pull extra hard to get it out. Black sand flowed out of the wound and onto the floor. Techno looked into the reflective surface of the knife and was met with the harsh stare of his own monstrous red eyes staring back at him. He quickly closed it and shoved it into the palm of his hand.

When he looked back over at the mother and daughter, they were finishing up their conversation with Phil. He got up and walked over to them.

“…that’s why I think you’ll be safe here. Withers refuse to go near dead things, especially if the dead things in question are its own kind.” Techno came into earshot as Phil explained. Phil gave him an apologetic glance. He knew that Techno didn’t enjoy speaking to villagers for longer than they needed to.

“Anyway, we’d better get going.” Phil said. Then he reached for the woman’s shoulder in consolation and urged her to stay safe before leaving. Techno paused before following. He looked to the woman who’s expression was defensive and carrying subtle tones of horror. Then he looked down at the child whose expression hadn’t changed at all. He decided to copy what Phil had done and crouch down so that he was at her eye level.

She had such a young face of pure mind and imaginative thought. Blood so untainted, the gods could feed off it for months.

Blood for the Blood god.

The child’s voice whispered in his brain. Techno snapped open the blade of his pocket knife. He sensed the mother’s muscles tense, but the child remained still. A little girl whose father was out there, dead, or worse. Techno looked into the reflection of the blade one final time before closing it and handing it to the girl.

“For protection.” He said. The girl’s wide eyes stayed on Techno’s face as she carefully set her teddy bear on the floor near her feet. Then, she looked at the gift and cautiously took it into her small hands. Techno prayed that she would never have to use it. He looked up at the mother whose expression had changed from fear to plain confusion. Perhaps she wasn’t sure what to make of the creature before her. Was he a man, or just another exploitable weapon of the King’s army? Techno stood, and left the house without another word.

…

“Took you long enough.” Techno nearly jumped at Phil’s voice. He turned around to see his friend leaned up against the front of the house. Phil was giving him that horrible sympathetic smile.

“She needs it.”

“She’s eight.”

“And Will was how old in that story?” Techno smiled as Phil chuckled.

“Well, at least you’re admitting that you copied me back there.” Phil said with a sarcastic smirk. Techno looked down at the ground and smiled. This is how their friendship was. They kept each other in check when things got ugly, but they’d always have hope for one another. Phil was the only home that Techno had ever known. He was only good thing to come out of enlisting.

Danger. Quick. Leave.

Techno lifted his head and looked off to the center of town. The voices were telling him that something was wrong. They tried telling him last night, but he didn’t listen. He was beginning to believe them.

“We’ve been following the hoard of withers closely. Charting their movements and predicting their attacks. This village should’ve been on the evac list.” He said.

“It is weird. I wouldn’t be surprised if Captain douche fucked it up though. I have about as much trust in that man as I have in god.” Under any other circumstance, Techno would have at least snorted at the joke, but he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that something bad was about to happen. Phil shifted from his relaxed position on the side of the house.

“Come on. It’s bad to stand in one place for too long, especially in a downpour like this.” He said as he walked past Techno and headed into the center of town. Techno hesitated before following. He looked down at the mud soaked cobblestone path.

Run. Danger. Run!

Techno pushed the voices aside. If they were in some sort of danger, he needed to stay with Phil. They were meant to protect each other. He quickly caught up with his friend and together they fell in step. He noticed Phil eyeing Techno’s pouch.

“You shouldn’t have to go through all that trouble, and for what? Brownie points?” Phil said.

“I need the brownie points, you of all people should know that.” Techno replied.

“Yeah, but you still shouldn’t have to.” Techno wasn’t too sure he believed that. He’d done terrible things. He ran away from the consequences. He saved his tail and was now living with all of the guilt. Besides, his past made him reek of desperation. One false step and he could be court-martialed and killed.

You will die.

Techno shivered at the voice. It knew him too well. It knew his deepest secret and darkest fear. The fear that kept him up at night. The fear that motivated him to become a warrior in the first place. The fear of those dark angelic wings willing to carry him to the afterworld. Getting ‘brownie points’ was the least of his worries.

“It doesn’t matter.” Techno brushed off Phil’s statements. “You could help if you wanted you know? You’re a great shot.” He said, changing the subject. Phil snickered.

“Are you saying that I’m such a good shot, I could aim for the heart of a wither, one of the hardest shots in the history of combat, and make it?” Phil said in a greatly exaggerated tone of arrogance.

“No, you’re right. No one’s that good a shot.”

“Really?” Phil asked. Techno stopped walking and Phil stopped with him. Techno watched as Phil pulled his own white cotton pouch out from the cover of his wing and tossed it to Techno.

“There were seven withers total. This one was hiding in the bathroom. Shot it from behind.” He said pridefully. Techno could hardly believe it. He wanted to thank Phil, but he was at a loss for words. As he stood there in shock, Phil casually nodded towards the creepy water fountain at the center of town.

“Let’s see if we can get a whole set, shall we?” He said with a malicious grin before running off in that direction. Techno doubted that they’d find anything, but if the raid was a bust and the only withers left were stragglers, he didn’t see the harm in taking time to collect one more wither skulls.

He tied the second pouch to his belt and raced after Phil towards the fountain. It seemed like they were the only ones in the area, and despite the blood on the ground, there were no bodies. It wasn’t Techno’s job to play detective, but a part of him wished he could investigate Saint Charity’s further to figure out what had actually happened.

The fountain was even bigger up close. The base of it had to be at least eight feet tall. The sides of it were painted with odd creatures and strange words, each contributing to some sort of violent scene. One of the paintings showed a man stabbing an animal that resembled a cat, then underneath it was a strange word, written in a language Techno couldn’t understand.

⍀⟒⎐⟟⎐⟒.

The next image below was of the same man walking his cat on a leash. Perhaps Techno was reading it backwards.

“This village is so weird.” Phil mumbled uncomfortably at the graphic image of the cat being stabbed to death. Techno nodded in agreement, but kept the fact that he’d stabbed a cat before to himself.

After a bit of sightseeing, the two started searching the ground for abandoned wither skulls. They walked all the way around the fountain, but came up empty-handed. Then, Phil climbed up onto one of the alters.

“What are you doing?” Techno asked.

“Getting a better look.” Phil said as he peeked over the side of the fountain. “Oh my god.” Phil’s face darkened and his eyes grew serious.

“What is it?” Techno called from the ground.

“I, uh, I found another wither skull.” Phil replied, his voice strained. Then, he pulled whatever he’d found floating in the fountain to its edge. “Look out.” He warned as a person fell to the ground. It was a man, dressed in robes like some sort of monk or priest. He was dead. His entire body was limp, and he smelled of piss and wounded flesh. The man wore a cord that went around his waist and was tied into a knot on his side. The wither skull was tied at the end of the cord and dangled just below the religious man’s knee.

Phil climbed down from the alter and placed the priest so that he was facing the sky. The man’s face was bloody and there was something sticking out of his eye.

Blood for the Blood god.

The voices whispered to Techno, but he was far too confused to pay them any mind.

“See this?” Phil said, pointing to the thing sticking out of the dead man’s eye. “That’s a piece of arrow. The rest must’ve snapped off when he fell from the top of the fountain I suppose.”

“What do you mean?” Techno asked. Phil looked up and pointed to the top of the fountain.

“There’s an alter up there.” He said, then turned around and nodded to one of the nearby houses. “Someone could’ve easily shot him from that roof.” Techno looked from the house to the alter on the fountain. It was possible.

“Why would someone shoot him?” He asked, but Phil had no time to respond as an arrow zipped six inches past his face and into the side of the fountain. Phil and Techno turned to see Captain Peirce along with a group of about thirty soldiers, standing before them, armed and on the offense.

“Because harboring weapons of mass destruction is considered treason.” The Captain called. Phil raised his hands up in surrender and slowly stood from his crouched position by the dead man. Techno was about to do the same, but decided to wait for an explanation.

“What is this?” Phil asked.

“King’s orders.” The Captain responded and fired another shot. He was either firing warning shots, or the heavy rain was ruining his aim. Based on the Captain’s scowl, Techno assumed the latter.

“What have I done?”

“I’m only taking orders elytra.” Peirce shouted over the roaring thunder. “But if you really must know, there are certain things you’ve forced your hand on.” The Captain flashed a quick glance at Techno before swiftly returning his focus onto Phil. “Such an unbalance of authority in the camps cannot exist. Besides, you and your kin have made your use, and now you must die.” Techno flinched at the Captain’s final statement.

You must die.

He fought the urge to jump up and rip the Captain apart with his bare hands. That bastard had it coming. He knew that Phil was the most powerful asset of the battalion, and yet he chose to do something as stupid as pull an arrow on him. Then Phil took a step forward.

“Stay where you are.” The Captain warned, but Phil kept moving. Techno watched as he slowly made his way to a nearby alter.

“Don’t I get a trial?” Phil asked.

“I suggest you yield.” The Captain responded in a firm tone and fired another failed shot.

Techno stayed near the body. None of the soldiers seemed to have an eye on him. He watched as Phil casually hopped up on the alter as if he were choosing to sit there with his arms in the air.

“Please Captain, don’t make me beg for my life. Doing so will only incur my wrath upon you.” It was difficult to make out the Captain’s face what with the dark morning sky and dreadful downpour, but Techno swore he saw the man smile.

“What wrath? You’re out numbered, bird.”

Techno finally understood what Phil was doing. He’d been stalling for time. Techno looked down at the wither skull attached to the Priest’s robes. He cautiously reached for it and undid the knots. Somehow, Phil had made him completely invisible to the other soldiers.

With all three wither skulls in hand, Techno slowly started making his way to the back side of the fountain. Once he was out of sight, he took each of the skulls and placed them gently on the soul-sand alter. A horrible hissing noise erupted as he placed the final skull. Techno quickly backed away and watched as a tornado of soul sand and dark ash tore through the air and spun around the wither skulls.

Techno had seen these kinds of withers summoned before, but he’d never done it himself or been so up close. Muffled voices of confusion and concern floated around the town center as the shrieking wither came to life before him. It was big, and much more frightening to look at than the ordinary wither skeletons. Its ribcage was mangled with an overabundance of bones that connected to a singular spine. Its ability to fly made up for its lack of limbs. Two of the wither skulls had been pressed and warped into the creature’s broad shoulders, and the third sat on its neck. Its body emitted a hot purple light from every pore and instead of plain dark pools of tar, each set of eyes glowed the ominous color.

Techno backed up and watched as the massive creature slowly turned around and came upon the small army. It made a horrifying screaming noise and the started blasting vast amounts of hot ash out of each of its three skulls.

“Stand your ground! Don’t-” the Captain was cut off by the wither’s attack. Techno watched as he pulled up his shield and tried to shout orders, but the other soldiers had already descended into panic.

Techno searched the chaos, trying to find Phil, but he failed to concentrate as he watched all of the soldiers, men whom he’d fought alongside for many months, some for years, being burned to death in front of his eyes.

Join. Kill. Blood for the Blood god.

Techno stumbled back as the voices attempted to take over his mind. He needed to find Phil.

Blood!

The voices only came back with a more vicious attack. All had joined in. His head was full of the noise, just like it had been that day back at the orphanage. All those years ago. He’d only been a child, but that was no excuse. Not for him. Because it happened again, and again; and it would’ve kept happening if he hadn’t joined the military. It would keep happening if he didn’t find Phil.

Blood god!

Techno placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and took a step forward as he felt himself get lost in the wave of a thousand voices. No one had seen him yet, they were all still busy fighting the wither. Very few of them would survive. Though men sodden in sin weren’t the gods’ preferred sacrifice, their blood would taste just as sweet. Techno let the voices boil over in his mind and unsheathed his sword. He gave into the anger that had been rotting deep in his belly for far too long. His muscles tensed in hot furry as he started making his way towards his first victim, the Captain himself.

Then, someone took his hand from behind. Techno twisted around and pulled his sword up to the man’s neck. It was Phil. His eyes were steady and his grip remained firm on Techno’s hand.

“Not now.” He said. Techno fought the fire inside, but his blade stayed on Phil’s neck. He could cut it open in one smooth movement and watch the blood flow like a red river down Phil’s chest. He would watch the pyre dim from his friend’s eyes and his body become cold and blue in a breathless death.

Conquer death. Kill the angel.

Techno remained still with his sword held on Phil’s neck. A glimpse of fear crossed Phil’s gaze that made Techno want to go for the kill, but it was gone in a blink and replaced with a warm and steady stare. Phil was no Angel of Death. He was a skilled fighter, a caring father, and a good friend. Techno fought hard to take the sword down, but eventually he was able to overcome the wave of voices and pull it away, placing it back in its sheath.

Phil didn’t waste any time. He quickly took Techno by the hand and lead him back into the shadows of a dark alley, away from the hectic sounds of death. The voices in Techno’s mind screamed in protest, but he forced them down and tried to focus on what needed to be done.

“Follow me.” Phil whispered, and the two of them raced into a maze of dark streets and black alleyways. They sprinted through the mud and rain, taking lefts and rights, trying to find the quickest way out of town. Then Techno started to recognize some of the houses. Phil was leading him back the way they’d come.

Run! Run! Run!

The voices screamed in Techno’s mind, and for once he agreed. Neither Phil, nor Techno could go back to the base. It was too dangerous. Techno wasn’t sure if Phil had a plan, but he trusted his old friend enough to continue following him.

As the two escaped the village and entered out onto the main road, Techno noticed the small stable from before. He smiled to himself as they ran. Phil planned for them to take the horse and outrun the tropes. They could be able to find another nearby village for supplies and then go from there.

As they came up to the stable, Techno looked for a saddle, but all he found was a dusty tarp. He accidentally startled the horse awake when he tossed it onto its back. He untied the horse’s lead and brought it out from under the awning. Phil helped boost Techno on first, then Techno lent out a hand to help Phil, but Phil didn’t take it.

“I can’t go with you.” He said shaking his head.

“What?”

“I’ll only slow you down.”

“Phil, they are going kill you.” Techno replied. “If you’re staying, I’m staying.”

“No.” Phil grabbed Techno’s hand and placed something inside. “They will kill us both. This is your way out.” Phil said. Techno couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After everything they’d been through.

“You need to come with me.” Techno insisted. Phil shook his head and tightened his grasp on Techno’s hand.

“No, you need to find Will.” Techno was taken aback by the sudden mention of Will. “They’re not going to kill me, not yet. But you are not going to get another opportunity like this. I can make them think you’re dead.” Phil’s tone was intense and his eyes were desperate. There was no reason for Phil to be this confident. He had to be keeping something from Techno. “Trust me.” Phil pleaded. Techno held Phil’s gaze. He couldn’t abandon him. Phil had been his best friend, his only friend for years. He was all Techno had. He was Techno’s home. Techno couldn’t let this be the last time they ever saw each other, but as he stared into the pleading eyes of the only man he trusted, he had faith that it wouldn’t be.

Techno swallowed the emotion lumping in his throat. He reached under his chest plate and tugged the medallion out from underneath. He pulled it over his head and handed it to Phil who took it carefully into his free hand. Phil let the skull and the pyre spin in the rain as it dangle from his fingertips. He knew how important it was to Techno.

“For protection.” Techno said. Phil’s eyes softened for a moment before growing serious again. “You can give it back to me when we see each other again, in L’Manburg.” Techno prompted. Phil placed the medallion around his neck and gripped it tightly. He nodded silently to Techno, his eyes bloodshot from holding back tears. Techno gave Phil’s hand one final squeeze before letting go. What Phil had given him was one of Will’s letters. Techno made sure that it was put safely away in his belt before commanding the horse forward, then he turned one last time and pointed at the medallion.

“I better get that back.” He said, and then galloped away, shoving the guilt and worry down with the cheering voices.

…

Status Report Full Report Eastern Front: Company #008 Company arrived in Saint Chastity’s at an estimated time of 0400hrs led by troop Captain Edgar Peirce. Company was attacked by class 1A wither. Company contained a total of 119 soldiers. Company left Saint Chastity’s with a total of fifty-six soldiers presuming a death toll of sixty-three. Eleven identifiable bodies, eleven unidentifiable bodies, forty-one missing bodies presumed burned to ash. No witnesses.

Presumed dead: Captain Edgar Peirce, Lieutenant Tate Tapia, Sargent Aran Curran, Privet Brogan Spencer, Privet Bryce Carson, Kyran Nichols, Reo Bone, Brendan Lin, Laith Dunkley, Kris Garner, Daryl Bowes, Vincenzo Montgomery, Shaan Ward, Presley Olson, Harlee Derrick, Winston Schmitt, Kohen Ewing, Cai Thomas, Andy Stott, Denny Harmon, Ammar Strickland, Charles Muntz, Mike Rudd, Luka Kaur, Technoblade, Paolo Laing, Joe Berg, Russell Chan, Peter Frazier, Torin Kelly, Martyn Collins, Harlow Bowers, Buddy Guerrero, Kiki Trejo, Timur Stewart, Jack Glover, Evan Marsden, Olly Avery, Amir Russo, Raj Miles, Eddy Moreno, Thomas Webster, Shelly Franco, Yaseen Acevedo, Seren Mclellan, Kynan Ferguson, Roma Park, Nola Mcgowan, Eesa Williams, Wasim Mcfarlane, Leon Randall, Joe Mama, Kit Holding, Gordon Ramsey, Pawel Bostock, Sylvester Nixon, Karl Simons, Shayne Mckinney, Aneurin Mckenzie, Robson Myers, Michael Finche, Sam Osborn, Philza Minecraft.

…

My dearest Will,

I’m not even sure you still read these.

I’ve sent someone to you. Perhaps he can help with whatever’s been keeping you from my letters. It’s my friend Technoblade. Yes, “the blade” as Tommy once wrote me, (thank you for restricting his writing privileges by the way).

I wanted to make sure that you received this letter before hearing the false news that Techno and I are dead. It was the only way out of the military, and if I can be honest with you, I didn’t expect to make it. I asked Techno to trust me, but I didn’t even trust myself. I thought I was going to die. I thought that sending Techno to you was the last thing I’d ever do. I’ve wanted for you two to meet for so long and I couldn’t risk Techno’s life with the bounty on mine.

Somehow, I made it. I did terrible things to get myself here, but I made it. And I’m coming to see you. I can’t wait to meet all of your friends and tour L’Manburg and Pogtopia. I’m sure you’ve done a wonderful job.

Please write back soon.

With love, Phil

#dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #technoblade #technoblade fanfiction #philza #philza minecraft #philza fanfiction #philza minecraft fanfic #long post #dream smp headcannon #wilbur soot #wilbur mcyt #emerald twt #emerald duo #dream smp angst #minecraft fanfiction #mcyt fanfiction #long reads #longpost

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love-and-monsters · 4 years ago

Text

Siren Song

M monster X F human, 4,660 words

I initially had other plans for the story I was posting today, but inspiration really struck for this one, and I decided to write it as an early birthday gift to both myself and this blog! My birthday’s tomorrow and this blog turned three last week! Thanks everyone who follows me, it’s really nice to have so many people appreciating this little space with me.

Anyway, this story involves a mysterious siren calling to you at night. But is he friend or foe? And can he really give you what you desire?

There was something singing in the depths of the castle.

You had been in the castle for only a few days. It was a job, a fairly unique job and one you took with no small amount of pride. The castle was undergoing restoration and you, along with several other people, had been called in to carefully restore different aspects of the castle.

You were repairing the beautifully embroidered tapestries that hung throughout the castle. For a couple of days, it had even been nice. The work was interesting, there were other craftspeople around the castle to talk to, and the pay was decent. Admittedly, the castle was warm (it was the middle of summer and there was obviously no air conditioning) but other than that, it was overall a great stroke of fortune that you’d gotten this job.

And then the singing had started.

At first, you’d thought it was something you were just dreaming about. You’d wake in the morning with the last notes echoing in your mind and the fading remnants of music-filled dreams. Exhaustion had followed you throughout the day, like your sleep had been restless. No matter how early you went to bed, you woke with a foggy head.

And then the sleepwalking started.

It started small, though that hadn’t really been that much less concerning. You’d woken up standing across your room, staring at a wall. For a time, you’d chalked it up to the stress of a new job and a new location and hadn’t told anyone.

But the longer you stayed in the castle, the worse it became. You started waking up in the hall. In other rooms. Waking up became a slower and more difficult process. You would become aware that you were up and out of bed, but the soothing, wordless singing that surrounded you prompted you to keep dreamily moving forward. There was usually a full minute of gradual awakening before you grew aware enough to stop yourself.

It really started to worry you when you woke up in a part of the castle you didn’t recognize. Technically, there were no areas that were off limits, but there were places that you just didn’t regularly go in the course of your job. And the dank, slightly moldy basement was one of them. There had been a moment of awful, gut-wrenching panic when you realized that you were in pitch-blackness, so dark that there was no difference between closing your eyes and opening them. Panic had seized you for a moment and you’d turned, fumbling in blind panic, and sprinted from the basement.

In hindsight, bolting down a damp stone hallway in pitch blackness wasn’t the smartest move you could have made. Really, it was lucky you didn’t slip and break a leg, or worse. After you got through your bolt of panic, you’d calmed enough to slow down and, a few seconds later, you’d come across the stairs. They’d led up out of a trapdoor and into a part of the castle you’d recognized.

It was relieving that you had found your way back, but the experience had rattled you. At the dinner you and some of your coworkers shared, you told them your problem.

“Dude,” said Monica, who was focused in furniture restoration, “that’s fucked up.”

“I know.” You slumped back, picking listlessly at your food. “I have no idea why it’s happening.”

Bennet, who was reorganizing the castle library, shrugged. “I heard that sometimes you can sleepwalk if you’re in an unusual location and really stressed. Are you really stressed?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t feel that stressed out.”

“It’s a big responsibility,” Cory said. You’d worked with him a couple times, restoring some of the old clothing in the castle. “Maybe you’re more stressed than you realize?”

“How can I be that stressed without realizing it?” you asked. “Look, I don’t know why it’s happening, I just want it to stop.”

“There’s a doctor in town,” Bennet said helpfully. “I got the number of the office when we got here. I don’t know how soon you can get an appointment, but it’s something.”

“Thanks,” you said. “Send me the number.”

“And,” Monica added, “we can keep an eye out for you, if you want. If we see you wandering around, we’ll wake you up.”

Admittedly, you didn’t have a lot of hope in that solution. Everyone was usually asleep when you were wandering around. But you smiled at her anyway. “Thanks. That’d be nice.”

“Could you move something in front of your door?” Cory suggested. “A big piece of furniture? Maybe if it’s hard to get out of your room, you’ll at least stay put.”

You shrugged. “I can try, I guess.”

There was a wardrobe in your room that you managed to pull in front of the door before bed. It was difficult enough to move that you figured you’d wake up before you managed to actually get out of the room. It was only a temporary solution, but given that the doctor’s office couldn’t even see you until next week, you didn’t have much of a choice.

You felt more secure as you got into bed, but there was still a nervous twist in your stomach as you got into bed.

Dimly, you were aware that you were moving. It felt like you were floating under the surface of a black lake, bobbing peacefully. Distantly, you could hear wordless song. It was mournful, but beautiful and utterly heart-wrenching. You moved toward it, the haunting sound of it tugging at your chest.

A voice whispered in the back of your mind. Shhh, it murmured. Come to me. It’s all right. Shhh.

The voice was soft and soothing, but you could feel that something was wrong. You weren’t supposed to be here. Where were you? Relax, the voice murmured. Just relax. It’s all right.

No, this wasn’t right. This wasn’t right! Panic surged through you and you blinked your eyes open, jerking out of your stupor. The voice started to speak, but as you woke, it grew faint and garbled before vanishing entirely.

You were in the basement again. The walls were still damp and stone, with a slightly fuzzy substance on them you really hoped was moss. You could hear water flowing from somewhere nearby. Behind you was completely dark, but in front of you, there was a faint bluish glow.

You had no idea where you were, but you were reluctant to head back into the gloom behind you. Hesitantly, you started forward into the faint glow.

The noise of running water got louder as you headed toward the light. The hall ended, stretching out into a long, perpendicular tunnel. A river ran through it, with only a thin bit of solid ground on either side. The walls were covered with some kind of glowing lichen. It would have been beautiful, if you had known where you were.

There was a loud splash from nearby. Your head snapped toward the sound, but all you saw was something slender and dark slipping under the surface. Worry tightened around your stomach and you started backing toward the hall.

One of your feet landed in a puddle of water and you felt your balance shift. You whirled your arms frantically, but you overbalanced and slammed down on the ground, hard. Nothing was broken, but something was definitely bruised and the wind had been knocked out of you. Groaning, you pushed yourself up.

Something was watching you from the water. You could see the upper half of its head poking up above the surface, dark eyes focused on you. It moved toward the edge of the water, shape growing clearer as it approached.

You were pretty sure you were still asleep. You didn’t feel asleep. You felt achy and cold and terrified. But there was no way you could be awake. Because the thing that was watching you from the water was a merman.

He had dark skin, but a sort of bluish-black rather than the brownish black of human skin. His tail swished through the water behind him, sleek and black. A long fin ran down the top of his tail, spreading into the long, surprisingly delicate-looking fin at the end of his tail. One of his hands slipped out of the water and you saw that it had short, sharp claws and webbing spread between each finger. His hair was long and, at closer inspection, probably not actual hair. It looked like the long, thin tentacles of a jellyfish, and you could see them twitching slightly in the water.

A thrill somewhere between excitement and terror passed through your stomach. You could feel your breath coming in shallow, quiet gasps. The merman looked at you for a moment, apparently sizing you up, then hummed a few notes.

The noise was ringing and bell-like, resonating in the hollow of your chest. “You were the person I heard singing,” you said, almost whispering. “You drew me here, didn’t you? It was your voice I heard in my head.”

The merman smiled. His teeth were all needle-sharp. Your breath caught in your chest. In a single, smooth motion, he placed both his hands on the edge of the stone side and heaved himself up out of the water.

You barely had time to register what you were doing before you were on your feet and fleeing down the hall.

You weren’t entirely sure how you managed to get out of the basement. It was a blur of skidding around turns and running down twisting halls. Eventually, you found a doorway and bolted up it into the castle.

When you got back to your room, you saw the wardrobe shoved haphazardly off to the side. Apparently, moving it aside had failed to wake you after all. Or perhaps you’d been awake the whole time and just been under some sort of spell. Either way, it didn’t seem like there was anything you could do to stop yourself from leaving your room.

You spent the rest of the day trying to think of a new plan. Just leaving was, technically, a solution, but it was one that made you sort of nervous. If you ditched this project, your employers would almost certainly trash you to others in the community, and embroidery restoration was niche enough that if you failed this job, you would probably never work again in the field.

Admittedly, weighing that against the possibility of dying and being eaten shouldn’t have been much of a contest, but you’d spent practically your entire life trying to get a job in a field you were passionate about. The fact that you were going to have to run from it because of some weird creature skulking in the basement of the castle was frustrating. You attempted to pack your bags several times, only for sour disappointment to stop you.

By the time evening rolled around, you had a different plan.

This thing was trying to draw you in for some reason. You were going to make it regret that.

The kitchen had a whole bunch of knives, because you were expected to make your own food. You took one of the smaller ones, wrapped it in some cloth that you stitched together in a sort of makeshift sheath, and returned to your room.

You’d always woken up around the same time at night. Tucking the sheath around your waist with another piece of cloth, you grabbed your phone and set an alarm for about 3 A.M. You weren’t sure if it was going to entirely wake you up, but it was something. Maybe it would at least be loud enough to shock you out of it.

Even with all that, you didn’t feel comfortable sleeping. You sat on your bed, legs tucked underneath you, staring out the window. The moon rose, nearly full, over the trees in the distance. The moments ticked slowly by. Drowsiness lapped at you, threatening to pull you under. Your blinks grew longer. Your thoughts slowed. You were so tired. You could feel your body falling asleep around you, drifting between sleep and wakefulness.

There was music coming from somewhere. Beautiful, wordless singing that rang like a bell. It was full of longing and desperation and a deep, endless sorrow. It drew you inexorably. You were moving before you even realized what was happening.

A distant part of your mind recognized that this, regardless of the knife, was a bad idea. But you couldn’t stop. The music pulled you in and dulled your conscious mind until all that was left was the desire to go toward that beautiful song.

Down the halls, through a partially-hidden passage, and into the basement. Your mind came and went like waves on a shore. A few times, you nearly woke up entirely, but then a swell of notes would push your thoughts back into sleep.

The deeper you got into the basement, the harder you fought against it. One of your hands slipped to the knife at your waist. Even with your hand on the knife, you were nervous. The song slowed your movements significantly. There was a solid chance you wouldn’t be able to actually use the knife before he got to you.

The sound of water grew louder and you stepped into the glowing blue hall. In the middle of the water. His mouth was open and from it issued the song that was ringing in your head. It was almost a physical presence this close, a weight you could feel wrapping around you.

A voice whispered in the back of your mind. Welcome back. Come to me. Join me.

You felt yourself kneel next to the water, bending over the edge. He swam up to you, pulling himself out of the water. One of his hands came up and cradled your cheek and chin. His skin was cool and smooth and his claws pricked against your skin like needles. The way he was holding your head made you feel like he was seconds from kissing you.

The song was still there, but it was fainter. Your will was seeping back into your limbs. Your fingers tightened on the knife and, in one swift motion, you pulled it out and pressed the tip of it to his throat.

He froze. The song stopped entirely and your head cleared. The knife pressed a little more firmly against his neck. “Let me go.”

He made an odd clicking noise in the back of his throat. I think I could say the same to you, no?

You’d heard the voice before, but this was the first time you really registered it as coming from him. It was almost as musical as his song, though it echoed exclusively in your head, not in your ears.

“If you don’t let go of me,” you said in a tense voice, “I will cut your throat right now.”

The hand against your face slipped away. You sat back. He eased his head back from your knife, then turned and plunged sinuously into the water.

He swam a short distance away, then poked his head up again to watch you. When he saw that you hadn’t left, he emerged further, watching you with clear interest. You stared back at him. There was a part of you that wanted to run, to get away from this obviously dangerous creature. But a larger part of you felt you had the upper hand, at least temporarily, and you wanted to end this. “You keep calling me here. Why?”

He plunged under the water, tail rippling after him. For a moment, you thought he had simply left, then his head broke the surface. There have not been people living in my castle for many years.

“Your castle?” you repeated, unable to keep incredulity out of your voice.

He moved closer with a powerful stroke of his tail. My castle. It is my home. My territory. He rolled onto his back, revealing a slim, muscular torso.

“Are you drawing us down here to get rid of us?” you asked. Your hand tightened on your knife handle. The merman looked at you, then plunged under the surface. If you focused you eyes very carefully, you could just barely see him swimming, long, powerful tail flexing and twisting like an eel’s.

Abruptly, he sprang from the water in front of you. With his hands splayed on the stone, heaving his upper body above the waves, he was taller than your kneeling form. You could see the individual filaments of his hair. The sharp, oddly pretty structure of his bones. The intelligent gleam in his dark eyes.

You are an interesting human. Such desires… Are you unique in your kind?

“What are you talking about?”

The merman slouched back into the water, still watching you carefully. I am a siren, my dear. We can sense your deepest desires and dreams.

“You’re psychic?” you asked, with cautious skepticism. The siren made a clicking noise again. You were pretty sure it was him laughing.

To an extent. I can sense your desires. They guide my song, help draw you in. He eyeballed you from the water, expression inscrutable. You are of interest to me.

“In what way?” you asked. The siren lifted his head close to yours. You hesitated. You weren’t sure how fast he could move and if he could get his teeth into your throat before you could swing the blade. Slowly, you pulled the blade forward. If he was going to try and take you out, he would come with you.

He didn’t seem to notice. I have seen many humans in my time here, though few stay for long. Human desires are often similar to one another. Accomplishment. Affection. Admiration. Simple things at their base. But yours… He squinted at you, tail swishing back and forth. You differ.

You sort of wished that was more surprising to you. But you were aware that you were somewhat different from other people. You were a loner. You preferred being in nature, separate from people. Sometimes, you felt something pulse through your veins, something wild, and you wanted more than anything to slip into the trees and shed your skin and be one with the world around you.

The siren’s eyelids fluttered and he tilted his head back. Yes. That desire. It’s unusual. It… intrigues me.

“And that’s why you called me down here?” you asked. The siren pulled himself closer to the shore, folding his elbows over the stone lip.

I saw your dreams for days. And I found them… attractive. Shimmering, pearly lights glowed along his side for a moment in a striking display. I have been here for a long time. But I have not had a companion. I have been wishing for another to hunt with. To be with. His hand moved out of the water and caught your face, holding it. The tips of his claws scratched lightly along your cheek, sending a pleasant tingling through your body. Your breath caught. I can sense your desire even now. I can sense your longing.

You sucked in a short breath. His face was so close to yours. He was handsome, oddly enough. And the sensual sound of his voice in your head was attractive. “How do I know you’re not going to draw me into the water and kill me?”

One of his hands struck out, seizing your wrist. The knife twisted from your grip. His body surged out of the water, other hand seizing your shoulder. His weight against you made it hard to move. But more than that, you were aware of his mouth at your throat.

His lips brushed your skin. You froze. For a moment, his lips worked at your throat, like he was nibbling without teeth. You felt yourself tremble.

If I wanted to kill you, I would have. You could not stop me. I could rip your throat out, pull you under and drown you. He pulled back. But I have no desire to do so. I wish for a companion. And in you, I sense a kindred spirit. One who belongs to the fierceness of the waves and the hunt. This is what you desire, is it not? A release from the restrictive human life? You need not worry about the minutia humans fret over. You can be free.

Desire welled inside you. You pressed your lips together, trying to keep your good sense in charge. “I can’t just… I can’t just decide that. I need time to think.”

Of course. Think on it. I will sing again tomorrow night. Come to me with your decision. With that, he turned and vanished into the water.

You seized the knife and stood. There was already no sign of him. With apprehension and desire fighting in the hollow of your chest, you turned and left the water.

Luckily, you remembered the way out. You climbed out of the basement and sat against the wall. Your legs were trembling. Already, what you had just experienced seemed unreal. But it had been real. You were sure of it.

“Hey, are you okay?” You looked up. Monica was peering down at you, concern written over her face. “Were you sleepwalking?”

“Yes,” you said. “Pretty much.” Monica offered you a hand and you took it, letting her haul you to your feet. You leaned on her a little bit as you headed back up to your room.

Monica walked with you all the way back to your room. “Are you sure you’re doing okay?” she asked you, looking cautiously into your face. You nodded. “You’ve got a doctor’s appointment about this, right? It’s probably not good to be wandering around the castle all the time. It’s not the safest place ever.”

You glanced up at her. “Can I ask you something that’s maybe a little weird?”

She nodded, sitting on your bed next to you. “What’s up?”

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s… okay, I know there’s not a lot of details here, but if you suddenly got this opportunity to do something you’ve always kind of wanted to do, but it was something you didn’t really have any experience with and it also means you have to leave everything you know behind, what would you do?”

Monica blinked at you. “Woah. That’s a lot. Did you get a new job offer or something?”

“Uh,” you said. “Yeah, I guess it’s something like that.”

Monica sat down on the bed next to you. “I mean, we don’t know each other that well, so I don’t think I can totally tell you what to do here. But I mean, maybe you should think about what you really want. If this is something that you really want, even if it means you’re giving up a lot, maybe that means something. If you think it’s really worth going, even if you’re losing a lot, I think you should at least go for it.”

“Even if it means leaving everything behind? And knowing you might never get any of it back?” you said cautiously.

Monica thought for a moment, tilting her head back. “Hm. That’s a really big decision. You can’t try it out for a little bit, see how it goes?” You shook your head. “Well… Like I said, I can’t tell you what to do. But I kind of think that maybe… if it’s something you really want, something you think you might never have another shot at, you should go for it. I mean, I think it’s better to regret a shot you did take than a shot you didn’t, right? You’ll never spend your life wondering what could have happened if you didn’t take it.”

You nodded. “Thank you.” She smiled and stood up, sensing that the conversation was over.

“No problem. I’ll see you later.”

You stayed in your room most of the day, fussing with your belonging. There wasn’t much in the way of things you could actually bring underwater, but you weren’t overly attached to most of it anyway. You hadn’t spoken to your living family in years, and the few objects you owned from them weren’t things you were all that inclined to keep.

The only thing left to do was to wait for night.

It was approaching midnight when you heard the singing echo through the castle again. There was no need to fight it this time. You let the music overwhelm your mind and followed it down into the basement.

The siren was there, waiting for you when you stepped into the glowing hall. He dipped his head slightly at you, eyes gleaming. I wasn’t sure you were going to show up. But I am glad you did.

You knelt next to the water. “You were right. I want to be… something else. I don’t think I belong in this world.”

No. You were built like me. For the swiftness and precision of the hunt. For the simple pleasure of moving with the current. For a life without the overcomplicated structure of humanity. He bobbed closer to you, stretching a hand up out of the water. You reached down to take it. His scaled skin was cool against yours. He tugged at your arm, gently but insistently pulling you toward the water.

“Hold on.” You stripped down to your underwear and carefully slipped into the water. It was a cold shock and you shuddered. The siren swam around you. His tail fins brushed against your bare legs and you felt his hand trail down your back.

Relax. His voice was soothing, echoing through every corner of your brain. Shh. Go under and I will help you.

He pulled at you abruptly and you sank under the water. It was too dark too see. You could only feel him swimming around you. His mouth pressed abruptly to your neck and you felt a thrill of fear. For a moment, you were sure he had lied, that he was going to tear out your throat and kill you.

His teeth, needle-sharp, sank into your neck. Something cold flowed from him into your veins. Your head spun. His voice echoed through your mind, musical as his song. Shh. Don’t fight. Sleep now.

There was no fighting it. You sank into oblivion.

You grew slowly aware of the world around you. Your eyes flickered, trying to open. Shh. No need to struggle. Let it happen.

You tried to move your legs, but they felt wrong. They were long, oddly long, and wouldn’t move separately. As you grew more aware of your body, you realized they weren’t legs anymore. It was a tail. A long, powerful tail.

You looked down at yourself. Not only could you see, but you could see fairly well in the dark water. Your entire body felt like powerful, corded muscle. Your mouth was full of teeth and you were super aware of the way the water shifted around you.

Awake, so soon? You are tough, aren’t you? You shifted to look at the siren and stopped. Beautiful iridescent lines and stripes ran along his body. It was beautiful. You couldn’t stop staring. The siren gave a clicking laugh. Like what you see?

I didn’t notice that when I was human, you said. Speaking was almost instinctive, as easy as pushing the words toward him.

No, I don’t think humans can see very well. He reached out, resting his hand on your hips. Were they still considered hips if you had a tail? You are striking yourself. He lowered his head, pressing your foreheads together. I was about to show you how to hunt. But perhaps that can wait for a bit.

We have time, you agreed. You wondered if he could feel what desires you had now. The motion of his mouth against your neck suggested that he could.

#exophilia #siren #merman #monster boyfriend #monster lover #merman boyfriend #siren boyfriend #siren lover #merman lover #mermaid #MXF

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missjosie27 · 4 years ago

Text

Year 3 Part 10- Defending

Hello, everyone.

Welcome back to another chapter. As we last left off, Barnaby officially joined David's side and we get to see some of the ramifications of that today. Wonder what poor Merula thinks of that XD

Elora Dunn I made a Hufflepuff in this version as opposed to Gryffindor. Seemed redundant with a character like Ben already in that house.

Also in this chapter I will feature a small cameo from Chester Davies. My character is a Gryffindor so of course we don't see him that much but I head cannoned him to show up at some point so I hope I did him justice. It is a small bit of filler in here today but as with everything in my story, it's all about the small details and development. Two more to go for Year 3! Enjoy!

If it were any other Slytherin, the new addition to the cursebreaking squad might have been quite awkward. With Barnaby the fit was so seamless, it was though he’d already known everyone for years. Despite his reputation as being one of the toughest kids in school with a penchant for dueling, winning him over revealed a key aspect of his character: that in reality he was just a big softie.

Barnaby loved to duel and learn new spells, his physical strength was immense (as evidenced by being able to lift Rowan off the ground using one hand with ease) and he was already quite tall for his age. But he also carried many other previously unknown attributes, the first of which was that he had a way with animals. He took particular interests in bowtruckles and nifflers, being the only person who knew how to tame them. Professor Kettleburn was so impressed, he made him a full time protege in handling more dangerous creatures such as hippogriffs and even the invisible thestrals.

He also loved to eat and would consume so much food in one sitting that one of the prefects at the Hufflepuff table actually had to ask him to save some for the first years. But above all else, Barnaby Lee at his core was a kind person and despite not being academically inclined, had a simple way of expressing things that put a problem into perspective. Perhaps most telling was that he never truly desired to hurt anyone and would defend those he cared about with vigor.

He explained all of this to Penny in Herbology, who giggled at some of the stories.

“Honestly, I’m actually really glad you introduced him to us the other night, even if he consumed half the food on the table,” she laughed. “I know most people think he’s slow, but he’s so sweet. Chiara went redder than a strawberry when he complimented her necklace.”

The aforementioned girl proceeded to flush the same color.

“I did not!” she protested.

David rolled his eyes as he tended to his dried nettles.

“That’s just because you girls think he’s handsome.”

Penny gave him a playful swat on the head.

“It is not...okay maybe a little.”

David clutched his hands together in a girly, romantic gesture and began speaking in a mock feminine tone.

“Oh Barnaby Lee, he’s ever so dreamy with his green eyes and enormous jaw!”

That earned him a triple swat, this time from Penny, Tonks, and Chiara.

“Focus on your dried nettles, dears!” Professor Sprout called out spotting the mischief from her place at the center of the table.

“Sorry, Professor!” David called out and he added some water to his pot.

“He’s handsome don’t get me wrong, but he’s not my type,” Tonks commented.

“What is your type?”

The pink haired witch shrugged.

“Don’t know really. Haven’t thought about it much.”

“I know Penny and Chiara have been thinking about Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop,” David joked as he falsely gagged, while ducking another swipe from a giggling Penny. “Anyway, the point is, Barnaby is a good bloke. And he’s dead useful to have around.”

“I’m surprised you of all people have accepted someone from Slytherin so readily,” Rowan teased him, coming up behind him to borrow some soil.

“Hey I’m a pretty easy going bloke, I can admit when I’m wrong.”

“Except when it comes to Slytherin apparently,” Tonks teased, which earned her a splat of dung on her robes.

Despite the jokes, the more David was able to get to know Barnaby the more he could feel his animosity slip away. In fact, he almost didn’t mind when the Slytherins became the favorites to win the Quidditch Cup after trouncing Hufflepuff 400-70, the key word being ‘almost’. But there was a practical side to it as well. Upon learning her former minion switched sides, Merula was beside herself with rage and began embarking on a campaign to make both of their lives as difficult as possible. Her taunting became subdued but she constantly attempted to blow up his cauldron in potions, put a flobberworm down the back of his pants, and tried hexing him on more than one occasion in the corridors. It was a mark of frustration; she was no closer to finding the vault but the constant attempts at sabotage began to wear thin.

“You need to learn how to properly defend yourself,” Barnaby told him one day after potions class, a session in which Merula caused the fire underneath his cauldron to flare, which singed off his eyebrows.

“I already know how to defend myself, I’ve beaten Merula in every proper duel we’ve had,” he argued keeping his head down, trying not to let passerbys witness his eyebrow less state.

“Most duels aren’t ‘proper’, Dave. Especially not if Merula is the one starting them. It’s better to be prepared for all kinds of ways people will try to attack you.”

“How come she leaves you alone?” he bemoaned.

“Oh, she doesn’t,” Barnaby admitted. “First she yelled at me and told me I was a traitor so I don’t sit with her anymore. Then she somehow snuck into my dorm and put bulbadox powder into my sheets. I was itching for days after that...”

“-that’s good to know-”

“But you still have a lot to learn. Especially defense.”

“Bill Weasley taught me a few things,” David offered.

“Did he?” Barnaby asked with wonder. “I’ve always heard the Weasley family loved the color orange. Don’t know much about their dueling, though.”

“Er right...well Bill’s definitely talented there’s no doubt about that. Perhaps we could work together on improving.”

Barnaby puffed up his chest with pride.

“If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to fight and teach others how to do it. Also I’ve always wanted to duel a fifth year!”

“We’ll get a spar going soon, mate,” David promised. “In the meantime, I need Madam Pomfrey to regrow my bloody eyebrows.”

It turned out to be solid advice. Though his offensive prowess was high, especially for his age, it turned out the third year Gryffindor did not know much about spells that would protect him from harm as well as cause it. This became apparent when both Bill and Barnaby bested him by simply using shield charms to block whatever he cast. In an effort to improve and become more versatile, he began learning defensive strategies and the application of the shield charm itself. The burly Slytherin also warned him that Merula and Ismelda were constantly studying in the library and by the fireside in an effort to gain an edge when the inevitable rematch occurred.

With Merula Snyde, it’s more like a never ending rematch

However, what he didn’t know was all of this was about to come in handy in a most unexpected way.

----------------------------------------------------

It all happened quite suddenly and quite by accident.

On an average Saturday morning in early April, David was walking back from his brother’s room after another planning session with Tulip when he noticed Argus Filch prowling along the usual route past the Transfiguration classroom. Though he technically wasn’t doing anything wrong, he still didn't want the caretaker to cast a suspicious eye towards him anywhere near the secret location. So he took a detour through the gardens instead.

Inside the viaduct architecture, he was idly wondering to himself how close Rowan was to breaking the final bit of code inside his brother’s notebook (as well as how pretty Penny looked in her new jumper dress and spring boots) when he noticed something peculiar and also a bit disturbing. Over by the large tree where some the older students liked to hang out, he noticed five of them were standing over a smaller, terrified looking girl who was practically trembling with fear.

Part of himself told him that it wasn’t his business and it was best not to get involved. But the sense of justice, always strong in his persona, prevailed and he made an abrupt perpendicular cut across the grass and towards the commotion. As he drew closer he could hear the dialogue, which only served to feed his temper.

“...didn’t mean to. Please, I don’t want to fight.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you nosed into an area that you don’t belong in,” one of the lead bullies said harshly.

“B-but it’s not your area,” the little girl argued. “It’s for everyone who goes to Hogwarts!”

By now, David had a better look. The girl in question was a first year Hufflepuff who definitely fit the part of someone traditionally ‘uncool’. Thick glasses, short, copper colored brown hair, an oversized sweater to couple with several books clutched in her small hands. There were five who were currently bullying the poor first year, three boys and two girls, at least half of which were from Slytherin and the other two appeared to be Ravenclaw. The leader was a sixth year he recognized as Hadrian Flint, a member of a prominent family of the same name, a brown haired, freckle faced boy with poor teeth and an upward nose that reeked of arrogance. Also present was Ismelda Murk for some reason, who looked as though she happened upon the scene and was along for whatever kicks she could find.

“Just beat it, kid,” one of the Ravenclaws said. “This is our spot. Don’t make us do this the hard way.”

“And besides, Hogwarts doesn’t belong to people like you,” Flint told her nastily while his Slytherin companion nodded in agreement.

“And who would that be exactly?”

His unannounced presence caused Hadrian to spin around and face his challenger. His face immediately became a pronounced sneer.

“Get lost, Gryffindor. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Don’t be shy, Flint. Let the whole world know what you were about to say. I’m sure it will be most enlightening.”

Flint took a step forward but was soon informed by his companion who exactly this Gryffindor was with a whisper to the ear.

“Ahh...the cursebreaker. Well how bout I cut you a deal since I’m feeling right generous today. You go back to your curses and I’ll go back to this curse. Sound fair?”

“She didn’t have any idea this spot is where the older students hang out. Let her go.”

Though Hadrian was taller, David was not about to back down. He knew the reason he was picking on this poor girl and despite being outnumbered was not about to let her become the victim of a borderline torture session like Diana Blishwick the previous year.

“Mudbloods like her don’t deserve anything except learning their place,” Ismelda spoke now, a vicious gleam forming in her cold, gray eyes.

“Shut your hole, Izzy. I’m not even sure what you’re doing here but I do know that Merula’s boots need polishing. Give them some extra shine, will ya?”

Ismelda pulled out her wand in retaliation for the remark but Flint told her off in equally harsh fashion.

“Stow it you greasy giraffe neck. Honestly you could be Snape’s daughter with that hair.”

David might have laughed had the older Slytherin not been as equally reprehensible. The Ravenclaw girl and boy (which were evidently a couple) didn’t seem as perturbed anymore, but the rest of the group was hellbent on doing something awful to the muggle born Hufflepuff.

“Last chance. Leave or you suffer just as she does,” Flint told him menacingly. Again, David did not back down, instead he crossed over and put the much smaller girl behind him.

“Don’t make any sudden movements,” he told her. “And stay behind me. What’s your name?”

“Elora...Elora Dunn,” came the frightened reply.

“Well, Elora...brace yourself.”

He turned his attention back to Flint, Ismelda, and the other three students that were there. The Ravenclaws did nothing but the other two Slytherins withdrew their wands and Ismelda’s evil smirk grew wider.

“Have it your way then,” the tall Slytherin shrugged. “Immobilus! ”

“Protego! ”

It was his first attempt at using the spell in an actual battle and the results were quite effective. An invisible, reflective shield formed in front of himself and Elora Dunn, causing the spell to ricochet and deflect right back at its owner, freezing his body in place. Within seconds, Hadrian Flint toppled over in a heap on the grass.

It was a victory but a short lived one as the other two Slytherins readied their wands while David still guarded the first year girl. Given his narrow position and the fact that he was protecting someone else he doubted he could fend off two more opponents at the same time. Thankfully, it was not required as suddenly a prefect arrived at the scene, recognizing him to be Chester Davies, who was also head boy.

“Enough! You will stop this now!”

The Ravenclaw couple hadn’t drawn their wands in the first place, but Ismelda did not comply, sending a common cold hex towards David which missed, though the other Slytherin did heed the order.

“I said that’s enough! Five points from Slytherin!” Chester shouted, pointing directly at the third year Slytherin, who reluctantly relented, her pale expression now extremely sour.

“What in Merlin’s name is happening here?” he continued to inquire. “Dueling is forbidden.”

His gaze settled on David and he knew the time to explain was now. He had never interacted with Chester before though there was a chance he knew of his cursebreaking exploits. Either way it was best to act quickly.

“I didn’t start whatever you witnessed,” he told him. “Flint and his goons were attempting to harm Elora here.”

The first year Hufflepuff peeked out from behind his back at long last.

“It’s true. He defended me when I thought I was about to be hexed. They called me a uh…”

The poor thing, David thought sadly. She clearly had not heard that word used against her yet. Anger flared within him knowing it wouldn’t be the last.

He mouthed the word ‘mudblood’ to the Head Boy, who’s face reeled in horror. Chester Davies, known for his mellow, taciturn demeanor then unleashed quiet fury, first on the Ravenclaw couple.

“But we didn’t do anything!” the fifth year boy protested.

“You still threatened her,” Chester said coldly. “And by standing by and allowing the other three to do harm you have disgraced yourself.”

“The little brat wouldn’t leave!” the girl shouted back.

But that only served to further their scolding

“You claim to be part of our house and yet have the wit and foresight of a damp rag. I will be reporting this to Professor Flitwick and I will recommend detention for a week. Five points from Ravenclaw.”

Chester then took the time to reluctantly unfreeze Hadrian Flint, who immediately leapt to his feet and tried to spin a tale.

“You all saw it! He attacked me!”

“Stuff it, Flint,” the Ravenclaw immediately shut down. “I saw you cast the first spell and I know the word this one used to describe Miss Dunn,” she said, indicating Ismelda, who looked as though she wanted nothing more than to kill everyone present. “Rest assured, McGonagall will be informed as will Professor Snape.”

Furious and belligerent, Flint spat on the ground, uttering, “Blood traitor.”

David thought Chester might blow a gasket (he knew he would have) but instead he coolly regarded him as though he were simply another stone inside the Hogwarts walls.

“Better a blood traitor than what you are, Flint. Now get out of here.”

The tall, lanky Slytherin heeded her this time and shuffled away with his companion. Ismelda had seemingly skulked off as well.

“I’ll handle these two,” Chester told him, as he too ordered his housemates away. “You see to it that the first year gets back to the Hufflepuff common room. You did a good thing today.”

Admiration increased for the Head Boy as David nodded and looked over to Elora, giving a kind look.

“Come on, let’s go.”

As they walked back towards kitchens, he noticed Elora fidgeting as though she wanted to say something. Eventually, she mustered up the courage.

“Um...what’s your name?”

“David,” he replied simply.

“Thank you, David for saving me back there. I wish I was brave like you.”

He stopped just before they reached the barrels leading to the Hufflepuff common room and knelt down to make proper eye level contact with her.

“Elora, you’re already brave. At no point in time did you move when those gits asked you too. There wasn’t a braver person today in all of Hogwarts.”

She beamed so much David thought she might shed tears over the books she was carrying. Then, her face became puzzled.

“What was that name that girl called me?” came the innocent but horrifying question.

David sighed, he’d hoped it wouldn’t come to him having to explain something like that. But he wasn’t going to pull punches either. Someone like Elora needed to know the intentions of people such as Flint, Ismelda, and others.

“You come from a family with no magical background. Therefore some that do think you aren’t as good as they are,” he said sadly.

“But why?”

Therein lay the crux of the issue: why . Truth was, he could give many reasons why but none of them could adequately explain prejudice. It was something you lived through, but nothing about it was logical.

“It’s complicated,” came his reply. “Just know this: you are just as worthy to study magic as anyone else here. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise….also learning a few jinxes wouldn’t hurt either.”

“Can you teach me?”

Though he was a bit surprised, the innocent eyed look of this first year softened the dubiousness of his answer.

“Sure thing. We can find the time.”

Elora nodded and suddenly gave him a big hug, unexpectedly throwing off his balance.

“Ack! He...thanks kid.”

The first year tapped second barrel from the bottom in a distinct rhythm and skipped her way inside, but David didn’t immediately leave leave the area. He paused, willing himself not to drive himself into a fury over what just occurred.

Not all Slytherins are bad

David thought of Barnaby and how he was able to persuade him to change sides and the difference it made in his character. Or the eccentric Liz Tuttle helping him with potions ingredients. Then he thought of people like Ammon Lucian, Hadrian Flint, Ayla Yaxley, and Ismelda Murk and the pit of black vengeance returned, bubbling like tar ready to consume all who became entrapped in it.

As if to punctuate the conflict, Merula Snyde popped into his mind as did Liz Tuttle’s words regarding her

“Merula’s not all bad…well she’s mostly bad. But I know for a fact she’s had a hard life and she’s not always what she seems.”

He shook his head. What did she mean by that? He knew Merula’s parents were locked up in Azkaban but by all accounts she lived like a queen in Hertfordshire in the Snyde Manor. At no point in time had she ever apologized or bothered to show there was anything lurking beneath except vicious arrogance and deceit.

So why was there pain in her lavender eyes every time he beat her in a duel? Why was she so obsessed? What was it about him and his brother that Merula couldn’t let go?

David pushed those thoughts aside for now, having little time or patience to figure out the psychological ramifications of the house of snakes. There was homework to finish and another vault to find and break its curse.

If it took a few Slytherins, whether enemies or friends, to get there he would do so.

-----------------------------------------

David never expected much to come of his deeds the previous Saturday. As far as he was concerned, the act of aiding Elora suited him just fine. They’d even scheduled a time to meet where he could show her a few spells. Come Monday, however, that changed.

While at breakfast with Ben, Charlie, and Jae (the latter of whom was chugging multiple goblets of milk on a bet) he was called to the head table by Professor McGonagall.

“David Grant!” she called out. “Please step forward.”

By this time, he temporarily forgot about what had happened and assumed whatever his head of house wanted was nothing good. Usually when they talked outside of class it was due to some trouble he’d been up to or the cursed vaults...oftentimes both.

“Yes, Professor?” he asked as he reached her place at the faculty chair.

“It has come to my attention that you were involved in an altercation last weekend involving a first year student and five others.”

David felt his heart quicken. Was she really about to punish him for doing the right thing?

“Yes...I was.”

But he need not have worried, for in the next moment she gave him a rare smile.

“Do not worry yourself, Mr. Grant. I know you were attempting to protect Miss Dunn from those who sought to make her feel unwelcome and unwanted.”

Her nostrils flared showing a subtle moment of anger before it vanished and she continued.

“Your actions are to be commended. Twenty points to Gryffindor for your courage and defense of those younger than yourself.”

Fear instantly turned to immense happiness as he reciprocated the smile.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“You are welcome. And do tell Mr. Kim that he will likely vomit if he continues in his high consumption of milk. I do not want a mess in the Great Hall nor in my classroom when it occurs today.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I expect nothing less from one of my best Transfiguration students.”

He was sent on his way feeling considerably proud of himself for getting the normally strict and reserved Professor McGonagall to show not only a positive emotion but pride in him. And there was more yet to come. Before he could retake his seat, another familiar face confronted him, this time in the person of Angelica Cole.

“I heard what happened as well, David.”

“In case you were wondering, I earned twenty house points out of it so by your standards I should be showered with roses, am I right?”

Angelica rolled her eyes but her mouth twisted upwards in a smile all the same.

“Incorrigible as ever. But I want to echo McGonagall’s sentiments. Chester told me everything and what you did is precisely what our house is supposed to entail: courage, protecting those who cannot protect themselves.”

She paused before continuing.

“When we first met I thought you were going to be another troublemaker. But I was wrong. And I want to apologize.”

David was surprised, not necessarily by the apology (he and Angelica had gotten on fine this year) but the sentiment she was showing. There was a heavy amount of emotion in her eyes and an acute sense of something bigger at stake.

“Angelica, are you alright?”

“Do you know why I’m saying these things?” she asked him point blank.

“Because I’m just so naturally charming?”

“Because I’m leaving,” Angelica corrected, ignoring his joke. “I have less than two months left at Hogwarts before I graduate. And whether you realize it or not, you’re rising in seniority. David, I want you to take my place after I’m gone.”

He blinked a couple of times, hardly daring to believe his ears.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I know it isn’t coming for at least two more years. But before I leave Hogwarts I’m going to recommend to Professor McGonagall that you be made prefect when your time comes. Through everything there is a quality you have that stands out: leadership.”

David couldn’t help but remain shocked at the ringing endorsement but there it was. He had gone from pain in the arse to leadership material in the span of two years. Nevertheless, he thanked his prefect sincerely.

“Angelica...this means a great deal. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Thank yourself,” she said smiling. “I told you at the beginning of the year that you were worth more than wisecracks and being Jacob Grant’s younger brother. You’ve earned that distinction and much more.”

The conversation ended as the seventh year was forced to quell a potential food fight at the end of the Gryffindor table and David rejoined his group but with positive thoughts to enjoy for once.

“What happened with McGonagall and Angelica?” Charlie asked. “You certainly seem pleased.”

“I dunno mate, they’ve appeared to take a liking to me all of a sudden.”

“Everyone likes you, Dave,” Ben reminded him.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Ben. But even my popularity has limitations. In particular with a brown haired, deriding, boot wearing, Slytherin girl.”

“Wouldn’t worry about her so much,” Jae replied, by now having stopped chugging milk though he still sported a white mustache as a result. “She ain’t exactly popular among her own house anymore. Most people find her insulting and cruel.”

“She can sit on a pin for all I care,” David shrugged. “Maybe I’m just becoming a little more mature.”

“That’s hilarious,” Charlie laughed.

“So is your bloody snoring even though it keeps me up at night.”

They continued to banter like this for the rest of breakfast when Rowan happened on the scene and right away everyone could tell he had stumbled upon something quite important just by the look in his eye.

“Rowan, you’re just in time to see whether or not Jae can light a fire from his wand with a fart."

But the joke either didn’t register or it paled in comparison to the news

“I need to speak to you,” he said directly to David. “Alone.”

Shrugging but also silently recognizing that something big was going on he played it off as though it were nothing to avoid arousing suspicion.

“Alright then. Lead the way.”

As careful and inconspicuously as they could, Rowan and David exited the Great Hall and into a private column within the corridor. Upon making sure no one was watching, the former of the two boys pulled out a familiar, leatherback, brown notebook.

“I did it,” he whispered. “I finally managed to match the half page to another message in the book and decipher it.”

This was indeed wonderful news and David could hardly wait to hear it. Excitement pulsed through his veins, barely being able to contain it.

“Rowan that’s amazing! Go on! What does it day?”

Proudly and pompously flipping to the correct page, Rowan read the information aloud but also in a hushed tone so no one would hear them.

“‘The entrance is the Restricted Section of the library. That is the source of the fear and the vault itself.’ ”

David ran a hand through his hair, ecstatic but also mentally kicking himself. Of all the places they looked, the one place they forgot was the restricted section?

“I know that look,” Rowan told him seriously. “Don’t beat yourself up. None of us here had any idea where the entrance was, even with your brother’s notes. But it doesn’t matter now.”

Drive and passion drove David to new levels of happiness and determination. They had managed to navigate through all manner of blockages, dead ends, and run arounds only to finally come through in the end. They knew where the vault was and now it was time.

“Time to break into this latest cursed vault,” he spoke aloud.

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raywritesthings · 5 years ago

Text

Torch Song

My Writing Fandom: Arrow, DCU Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Circe, Thea Queen, Felicity Smoak, John Diggle, Barry Allen, John Constantine, Mari McCabe Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: When Circe decides to put Team Arrow in its place for daring to stop a sorcerer like Damien Darhk, Laurel must reveal something long-hidden about herself to restore Oliver to his rightful form.

None of them had seen it coming. Of course, none of them were all that knowledgeable about magic-users they hadn’t personally met, so it was hard to prepare for a sorceress out of mythology.

Laurel wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t an assumed name on the part of the self-styled supposed Circe. But that didn’t matter much when her powers were the same as in the book and she’d chosen to demonstrate them on Oliver.

“Think you’re clever enough to defeat a sorcerer? Try fighting your way out of this.” The unknown woman had cackled before zapping their teammate with a jet of light. They’d all watched in horror as Oliver had shrunk, the bow falling to the ground and arrows spilling from the quiver as a pig tripped over the shafts, oinking and squealing with distress.

Thea had screamed and launched herself at Circe, who had disappeared in a blinding flash before the smaller archer could make contact. Laurel had been more concerned with stopping the newly transformed Oliver from running blindly down the alley.

“Ollie? Ollie, if you’re in there, just calm down,” she’d tried. It had been impossible to know if he could understand the words, but he slowed to a stop in front of her long enough for John to heave him up into his arms.

They’d brought him back to the base and immediately began calling around to their friends to see if anyone might know some way to undo the damage. Laurel was currently on the phone with Vixen, though it wasn’t sounding promising.

“My speciality is connecting with the spirit of an animal, not literally changing into the animal. Much less changing another person. And the research I’ve done into magic so far hasn’t extended to the Mediterranean. I’m sorry, Laurel, I wish I could help.”

“That’s okay. I had to try.”

The elevator dinged just as she hung up, and Laurel was shocked to see Felicity stride into the room, the first time since she’d quit the team a few weeks prior.

“Where is he? I have got to see this. Oh!” Felicity drew up short upon spotting the pig who was currently penned in via strategically placed chairs and very unhappy about it. “This is such a Spirited Away moment right now. I can’t even tell if it’s him.” She spun around to face them. “So what did he do to get cursed by a witch?”

“Nothing,” Thea replies with a hand on her hip. “That lady showed up and cursed him out of nowhere. How do you even know about it?”

“I called her,” said John. “We need Constantine’s number, so I thought she could get it off Oliver’s phone.”

“We don’t need his phone,” Laurel countered. “He gave me his number on a card when he was here.”

Felicity’s eyebrows raised in interest. “And did you call him?”

“Haven’t needed to. Until now.” Laurel went for her purse, digging around in it until she located the card. She smoothed out the corners and dialed the number, waiting as it rang.

“Hello?”

“John? It’s Laurel Lance. We met last fall.”

“Laurel, love! Not that I’m not happy to hear a birdsong right now, but I’m headed into a tricky bit of work. Can we make this quick?”

“Okay.” She drew in a breath and said in one go, “Oliver’s been turned into a pig by a woman who claims to be Circe for being able to beat Darhk.”

Constantine let out a low whistle. “Circe, eh? She’s impulsive like that.”

“Then she’s real?” Laurel asked in bewilderment. It was hard to imagine that a character from a story — one of the few novels Oliver had ever read in school, ironically enough — could be a real, breathing person. And still alive, no less.

“Yeah, but listen, she’s in it for the ego, really. You lot stopped Darhk, and she must have felt a bit threatened, right? Wants you to ‘know your place’,” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

That seemed to fit with the woman’s behavior.

“You’re going to have to appeal to her sense of vanity,” he continued.

“How do we do that?”

“There’s a club she frequents. I’ll send you the address. Take Oliver there and beg her to change him back. She’s the only one who can, stuff like that. She may want something from you in return, though make sure of what it is before you agree to it. That ought to satisfy her.”

“Okay,” she replied. Laurel knew it would have been a lot to expect him to drop everything and come help — assuming her could even break the curse — but she was not enthusiastic about going back to the sorceress who had done this to Oliver.

“Good luck, love. And give Oliver a scratch behind the ears for me.”

“Goodbye, John,” she said, ignoring the request before hanging up. “He says we have to ask Circe to undo it.”

“Why would she?” John asked.

Laurel sighed. “Apparently, it will prove to her that she’s more powerful than us and calm her down.” Her phone buzzed with a text. The Amphitheatre. “Constantine just sent me the address of the club she frequents. It’s on Mykonos, so we’re going to have to take some days off.” She could always call in a couple personal days. She hadn’t used any yet this year and was unlikely to later.

“How are we going to transport Oliver?” Thea asked, and they all frowned. None of them were exactly familiar with the procedure of getting a farm animal cleared for travel.

“Barry could just run us,” Felicity pointed out. He’d want to help out.”

Laurel grimaced. She’d been hoping to avoid involving Team Flash. They made light of things at the best of times, which was good, but would Oliver see it as making fun of him? She could tell he valued that role of mentor to Barry and didn’t want him to feel embarrassed around the other hero after this. But it was the quickest way to get him back.

Felicity was already calling besides. “Barry, we could really use your help right now. It’s about Oliver.”

Fast enough, the Flash was in their base. “What’s going on, guys? And uhh, what’s with the pig?”

“Oliver’s the pig,” Felicity explained, and Laurel couldn’t help noting she seemed happy to say so. She rubbed her temples; now was a bad time for the two of them to be on the rocks.

Barry whirled back around to gape at the enclosure of chairs. “What happened to him?”

Oliver made a sort of squealing noise, and Laurel couldn’t tell if that was meant to be in answer or if he was simply agitated by Barry’s fast movements. There was little way of knowing just how cognizant of everything he was, though she could only hope for his sake that it wasn’t all that much.

“This witch named Circe cursed him, and we gotta go talk to her,” Thea added. “Laurel’s got the address.”

To his credit, Barry took all this information in stride with only a few more shocked looks here and there. “Okay. How many people are going?”

All of them raised their hands, even Felicity. “I mean, I can’t pass up meeting the actual Circe,” she defended.

“Digg, you first, then Oliver?” At John’s nod, Barry and he were gone in the blink of an eye. With another zip of electricity, Oliver disappeared from the makeshift pig pen. When Barry next returned, he paused with his hands on his knees.

“I think he’s heavier as the pig,” he wheezed.

“Well, I should be much lighter,” Felicity remarked, walking up to him. Barry scooped her up, and they were gone.

“Have you ever traveled via speedster?” Laurel asked Thea in the ensuing silence, unable to help a bit of nerves.

“Once. It was disorienting, but awesome.” That was all Thea got to say before she, too was whisked away.

Laurel replaced her mask over her eyes and shook out her wrists, trying to feel ready.

The next thing she knew, there were arms at her back and under her knees as everything blurred together. Laurel squeezed her eyes shut until she felt herself placed back on her feet.

They stood outside what counted as the stage door to the Amphitheater. John struggled to hold Oliver in order to keep him from running off again while Thea patted the pig’s head in an effort to try and calm him.

“Thanks, Barry,” Laurel said. “You don’t have to stay if you need to get back.”

“You’re sure?” When she nodded, he returned it. “Alright, call if you need me.” With that, he was off.

Felicity looked around from where she’d been peeking through the stage door. “Wait, did Barry just go? How do we get back?”

“A plane? He’s got a whole city to protect by himself,” Laurel pointed out. “And I’m not sure putting him up against Circe is going to make it look like we’re begging.” She might be more likely to see a metahuman as a threat, and then who knew what she’d turn the rest of them into?

Laurel joined Felicity at the stage door, easing it open more. “We can do this, Felicity. The whole team.” It would probably do Oliver some good to know Felicity had come all this way with them. He’d been struggling to stay positive since the breakup, but maybe this predicament he’d been put in would draw the two exes back together. Laurel could only hope for that much for him.

She held the door open for the others, then followed them through the backstage area, following the sounds of singing.

“Circe’s back in town!”

Thunderous applause sounded from out in the house, and they heard the sorceress speak. “Thank you! Oh, my adoring public!”

Thea glanced back at her with a disgusted look Laurel felt herself. Before she could respond in kind, they heard their quarry exit the stage for the side of the wings they were waiting at the edge of. Circe’s eyebrows raised as she stopped short at the sight of them. “Well, that was fast.”

“We want him back,” John answered plainly.

“Please,” Laurel stressed. “We didn’t mean any offense to the magical... world? by stopping Darhk. He came to our city and was hurting our people. We did what we had to, and it was very difficult. We wouldn’t want to fight anyone with that skill, or better, under ordinary circumstances.”

Circe appraised her, though her eyes narrowed as she locked gazes with Felicity. “I don’t remember you.”

“I don’t do any fighting,” Felicity said quickly. “Just here for moral support and to, um, see you! Wow, you’re really… real.”

“None of us can do magic, so you’re the only one who can help us,” Thea continued in the wake of the awkward pause their friend’s rambling had caused. “So will you?”

Circe hummed in thought. “No, I don’t think I will. Not with just that.”

Laurel opened her mouth, ready with another appeal, hands already clasped together, when the woman held up a hand.

“Convince me why I should bother restoring him. What do you stand to lose, here? What place does he hold in your heart? I want to be moved to tears. I want — a performance.” The sorceress gestured up on stage.

“We have to sing about Ol— uh, Green Arrow?” Thea asked skeptically.

“Oh don’t worry. The microphone’s enchanted. It will take your thoughts and feelings and put them to the right music. I’ll even allow you to decide amongst yourselves whose solo debut this will be.”

“Like a magic karaoke? Weird.” Thea shrugged and made to step forward. John, however, shook his head since his arms were too full of pig to reach out. He motioned them all to retreat into a sort of huddle, Oliver’s hooves jutting out into the middle of it while he squirmed around.

“Thea can’t be the one who does it. If this magic is about pulling the truth out of her, she might let slip that Oliver’s her brother, and we don’t know who these people all talk to,” he pointed out in undertone. “It could get back to Ruve, and that makes her anti-vigilante task force's job that much easier.”

Thea grimaced but seemed to acknowledge the point. As one, their group looked to Felicity. She backed up a step.

“Oh no. No way.”

“But Felicity—”

“I have terrible stage fright. And besides! I don’t really have the best feelings about Oliver, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You can’t want him to stay a pig forever,” John said.

“No, but I also can’t really think of anything flattering enough to make a sorceress change him back. I mean, I’m more likely to get up there and sing ‘I Will Survive’ at this point.”

“Felicity, come on.”

As John and Felicity continued to argue, Laurel watched Oliver’s anxious eyes, still blue despite the transformation. He seemed to sense the tense atmosphere, even if he couldn’t know they were fighting over his very fate. How could they be this close and not be ready and able to get him back? He would do it for any one of them, she knew that in her bones. No matter what it cost him. She couldn’t worry about what it might cost her.

“Why don’t you do it?”

“I’m the only one strong enough to hold him.”

“Well give him a tranq dart or have her make a cage or something, I am not—”

“I’ll do it.” Laurel felt just as surprised as the others looked to hear the words come out of her mouth. But she couldn’t exactly take them back. “We need Oliver, and he needs to have this spell broken.”

Thea bit her lip and looked about to say something, so Laurel pulled away from their group and stepped back towards Circe. “I’ll sing.”

A wide smile broke out on the sorceress’ face. “Excellent. Of course, we want you in something a little more suited to the stage.” She snapped her fingers, and Laurel felt a sort of strange rush energy as her jacket, undershirt and pants were suddenly replaced by a strapless floor-length evening gown in all black. Her fingerless gloves remained, though the fishnet pattern extended to her upper arms.

“I’ve left the mask,” Circe said before she had even finished bringing a hand to her face to check it was still securely in place.

“Where exactly are my real clothes?”

“It’s an illusion, my dear. It will lift once you’ve upheld your end of the bargain.”

Right, she still had to sing. Laurel exchanged brief, worried glances with John and Thea, the latter of whom still looked like she was holding back from saying something. Something Laurel had a feeling Thea had been suspecting for some time. It didn’t matter; her suspicions were about to be confirmed one way or the other.

Circe’s hand pressed against her back as she guided Laurel out of the wings with her. Right away, a spotlight hit them and she resisted the impulse to shield her eyes as she was guided towards center stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Circe said, her voice somehow magically amplified. “A special songbird all the way from the West Coast of the United States. The mysterious, melodious Black Canary!”

A smattering of applause rose from the audience. She hoped she wasn’t blushing. At least no one seemed to question the mask.

As soon as she stepped up to the mic, Laurel felt a powerful wave of something wash over her as an unseen orchestra — perhaps no one was playing, perhaps it was all magic — started up with a swell of mournful notes. Laurel didn’t know how she knew when to come in. It was as Circe had said. She just did.

“He doesn’t say the things he should. He acts the way he thinks he should.” She closed her eyes, feeling herself being pulled into the music, for lack of a better word. Into the truth of this song. “But all the same… I’ll play this game his way.

As long as he needs me.” Laurel could feel a slight shake to her voice as she sang. “Oh yes, he does need me. In spite of what you see, I’m sure that he needs me.”

It was everything she had ever felt these last few years. The weariness, the doubt, the bone-deep certainty that, nevertheless, she had to continue on.

Laurel teared up when the word finally came falling off her lips. “The love I feel inside. The love I have to hide. The hell—” She nearly felt choked. “—I’ve got my pride! As long as he needs me!”

She didn’t dare look at the others. It was easier facing the audience, backlit by the spotlight on her and making them indistinct. There was going to be no coming back from this when it was all said and done. The team would all know her secret, even if Oliver didn’t. And how long could that feasibly last?

She was the Black Canary, but she was singing her swan song.

---

Oliver didn’t know what had happened to him. One minute they’d been patrolling the streets when a woman in a green dress had appeared out of nowhere, declaring him an upstart for daring to defeat a sorcerer like Damien Darhk, and the next minute — well, the woman in green was still there, but the streets were gone. Instead, he found himself on hands and knees in the wings of some sort of theater as an orchestra played under a woman’s singing.

He felt John’s hands pull him up and he was crushed in an embrace for a moment. “Good to have you back, man.”

Someone reached for his hand, and as he squeezed back automatically he could tell it was Thea’s. Over John’s shoulder, he saw Felicity watching him for a moment before looking down. When had she joined them?

“What just happened?” He asked. Some time had clearly passed. But what had he been doing? What had his team done to get him back?

“Shh!” The very sorceress who had cursed him hissed at them, eyes never quite leaving the stage. And the more he paid attention, the more it occurred to him — was that Laurel’s voice?

Oliver felt drawn towards the edge of the wings, mouth falling open as he took in the sight of Laurel in her mask and a beautiful dress, standing before a sea of strangers.

“I miss him so much, when he is gone,” she sang, a delicate sweetness in her voice that was at odds with the tortured look on her face. “But when he’s near me, I carry on… The love I feel inside. The love I have to hide. The hell—” He saw her struggling. “I’ve got my pride! As long as he needs me!”

“What is happening?” He demanded in a low tone. Who was making her do this? And why?

“Payment for reversing my little spell on you,” the sorceress answered just as softly. “I asked them to demonstrate just why they wanted you back. Needed you, even,” she added, her eyes sparkling.

Oliver’s head whipped back to look at the others. John’s gaze, the little he could make of it from behind his friend’s helmet, was lowered and somber. Felicity’s head shook side-to-side sadly, though the tips of her ears had turned very pink. Tears leaked from under Thea’s domino mask as her lips pressed tight together.

His fists clenched as he turned back to the woman who had started all of this. “You undid the spell. She can stop now.”

But the sorceress extended an arm across his path before he could march out onto the stage. “I undid it so you could listen,” she explained as though he were a child. Then she let out a dreamy sigh. “After all, it’d be a shame to waste such a torch song.”

Laurel’s torch song. Laurel had been carrying a torch all these years… for him? His breath caught and a lump rose in his throat.

“If you are lonely, then you will know,” Laurel’s voice came out soft, then slowly grew. “When someone needs you, you love them so…” She carried the note through, her head raising with defiance in the set of her jaw. Strong to the end. “I won’t betray his trust, though people say I must. I’ve got to be. True. Just…” the music faded out for a breath, and it was into that silence that she declared, “As long as He! Needs! Me!”

The music rose, flooding his ears. Laurel held the note until she couldn’t, until her legs — which he could only guess had been trembling for some time — gave out from under her, and she landed on her knees.

Oliver rushed forward without thought, distantly hearing a door slam behind him somewhere. He reached Laurel’s side and pulled her up, her eyes widening at the sight of him. “Ollie?”

There was so much, too much that he wanted to ask, but all that came out as he looked into her eyes was, “I’m sorry.” How could he have been so blind?

“Thank you, thank you all!” The sorceress declared, standing near the floor lights. She snapped her fingers, and Laurel was suddenly wearing her Black Canary suit again.

This seemed to jolt her, for she ripped out of his hold and bolted off the stage. Oliver hurried to follow, just catching up with Thea and John on their way out.

“Laurel!” His sister was calling.

“Felicity already left, now this,” John muttered under his breath. He cast a look Oliver’s way as he drew up beside the other man. “What are we gonna do, Oliver?”

He didn’t have an answer. His mind was still racing. Felicity had shown up when he’d fallen prey to a curse, but she was leaving now. Laurel had confessed to feelings he hadn’t thought she possibly still held and now seemed terrified to be in the same room as him. What had he done?

Felicity was nowhere to be seen when he exited out into a back alley where Thea stood, one arm around Laurel and their heads bent close together.

“Where exactly are we?” He asked.

“On an island off of Greece. Long story. Look, we gotta figure out which way Felicity went.”

Scarcely had John finished speaking, when a trail of lightning announced Barry’s arrival.

“Hey, you’re you again!”

“You’re here,” Oliver replied, thrown by the sudden appearance.

“Oh, well Felicity called for the ride back, so I figured I’d double back here to get the rest of you. Glad they broke your pig curse.”

“Pig curse?”

“Never mind, Oliver. Barry, you gotta get him back to the base to catch Felicity,” John said, adding in an undertone, “Thea and I’ll talk to Laurel.”

Oliver looked up in alarm. “Wait—”

But his surroundings were whisked away as he felt himself carried over land and sea, only for it all to come crashing back into solid, jarring shape. A crackle of electricity and Barry was gone again, leaving Oliver to notice Felicity waiting at the elevator.

“I—” He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Was she upset? And why? Oliver couldn’t begin to wonder when Laurel’s stricken look and voice were the only thoughts in his head. “I’m sorry if this has made things more difficult,” he decided on lamely.

“We broke up and realized we couldn’t work on a team together, Oliver. Things can’t get more difficult,” she stated bluntly. “I thought there was something wrong with me. After all, Laurel could still work with you, right?” She laughed, but it wasn’t a funny one. “Now we both know why.”

“I didn’t know.” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t known.

“Of course you didn’t. No one in their right mind would ever want someone to know they still had feelings for them after they broke their heart. Just… just try to be empathetic with her, alright? I would want to die if I were in Laurel’s shoes right now.”

He swallowed heavily. Was that really how Laurel would feel?

The elevator doors opened, and Felicity stepped inside. “For the record, you weren’t a very cute pig.” Then they closed, and Oliver could only watch the lights signify that it rose up to the ground floor and let her out.

He slowly wandered back towards the conference table and sat, resting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. It didn’t seem as though the others were coming back for a while. Probably consoling Laurel. Something in him ached.

Why had he been forced back here to try and rehash something that had already fallen apart? Felicity had walked out on him twice now, had he really needed a third time? He just felt hollow when it came to the end of his engagement. There was nothing left to feel. Not when his oldest friendship might be on the line half a world away, depending on how badly Laurel’s secret being exposed affected her.

Laurel… Laurel had always been there when he needed her. Because he needed her, he realized now with bitter irony. He had asked her all those years ago at Tommy’s grave, and she had never disappointed him. No matter how many times he’d disappointed her in return. He didn’t know how it could be that she could love such a man like him. A man of the island.

Beneath the shock, beneath the sudden rush of regret, there was a quiet awe beginning to grow. Laurel loved him. Him, Oliver Queen. She had seen the man he was plain as day, had fought him, been hurt by him and called him out on all his lies and hypocrisies. Yet she loved him still.

A strange sound left him, a stifled sob. His shoulders shook, and Oliver found himself crying in a way he rarely let happen. He could count the times on one hand since he’d gotten back, perhaps even since the island. Usually they were times of extreme grief, but that wasn’t what this was. There was a sense of loss, yes, but only of time. Time was something he could make up for.

He was wiping his cheeks dry when John at last appeared in the base, Barry presumably going back for their remaining teammates. “You alright, man?”

“Fine.” Oliver stood. “How’s Laurel?”

“Calmer. Look, you might wanna just take a walk round the block for a bit till Thea can get her home.”

“I need to talk to her.” No more putting it off, no more running away.

“You were supposed to be talking to Felicity,” his friend reminded him.

“John, I let her go.” It was what she had asked of him last month, and he knew that it had truly been the right call. Maybe he’d known it for a while, but it had taken tonight for it to finally sink in.

With another whoosh of electricity and wind, Thea stood in the base. “What are you still doing here?”

“Says he needs to talk to Laurel.”

“She doesn’t want a scene,” Thea said with a severe look that came straight from their mother.

“It’s not going to be a scene,” he insisted. “But I can’t just ignore what happened.”

Barry zipped into being with Laurel in his arms. He set her down on the floor and looked around. “Okay, all back. Everything okay? Is there anything…?”

“Go home and rest, Barry. And thank you,” Oliver told him. His friend nodded, but Oliver reached out and clasped his shoulder before he could depart. “Not a word to the others,” he added in a low voice.

Barry’s head bobbed up and down quickly a couple times. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Then he was gone.

Laurel was gone, too, disappearing back into the changing stalls. Oliver headed that way as well.

“I think we should talk,” he called out.

“There’s nothing to say.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“Exactly.”

He could hear things being thrown around, could picture her kicking her boots off out of some potent mix of anger and shame. Oliver sighed.

“Laurel, please?”

There was silence.

“Give me a minute,” was her request. Oliver nodded to himself and went back to the main area, passing John on his way to change as well.

Thea stood by the conference table looking worried. He wanted to tell her it was going to be okay and the realizations he’d had about himself and his feelings — but this was something Laurel needed to hear first. She was owed that.

Laurel slowly made her way towards them in her civilian clothes, hands flexing with nerves.

“Go ahead and change,” Oliver asked his sister, before indicating the side room with a tilt of his head. Laurel nodded and followed him.

“If we are actually talking about what happened, I just want to make clear that it doesn’t change anything,” Laurel said right away the moment they were alone. “My feelings are just that. They’re not some declaration of intent.”

He knew what was on her mind; Tommy, and the way things had ended between the three of them. He could appreciate the irony of their roles being flipped now, and the irony, too, that they always seemed to end up back here.

“I understand,” he said out loud. “If you don’t want to address it, we don’t have to.”

“Okay,” Laurel said with clear relief.

“I was thinking we could address my feelings.”

She fixed him with a look, and he only very narrowly kept a straight face. Slowly, he began walking towards her, closing the gap between them.

“I feel grateful for what you did to help me. I feel angry and sad that you were forced to reveal something about yourself you’d kept secret. And—” he drew up to her at last, watching Laurel watch him with an intensity in her gaze. “—I feel lucky, selfishly lucky, to know how you feel about me.”

“Ollie…” She stared up at him in disbelief.

He nodded. “It’s still gonna take me some time to heal from what happened with Felicity. I know I shouldn’t rush that. But Felicity and I, we began because I had thought I’d lost my chance with the first woman I ever loved. I had no idea that wasn’t true.”

“What are you saying?” She asked, barely above a whisper. He thought of the way she had poured herself out in that song and how her voice had been a very force. He wanted to give her that strength back.

“I’m saying that you are a part of me, and I will always need you. And if you can just give me some time…”

She reached out and touched his cheek. “Whatever you need.”

Oliver placed his hand over hers, then turned his face into it, ghosting his lips over her palm. He heard her suck in a breath, and he lowered their hands before pulling her gently into a hug.

Laurel rested there in his arms, head tucked under his chin, and he never wanted her to leave. All the reasons he had ever left ran through his head, and they all sounded pointless now.

“We’ll figure this out. I promise,” he murmured, and her arms shifted up his back a little. Then they slowly drew apart.

Laurel was smiling now, softly, and his heart felt full the way it had as he’d listened to her sing.

“You know, I never realized you had such a good voice,” he remarked, and grinned when Laurel ducked her head with a breathy laugh.

“I think it may have been the magic.”

“I don’t buy it.”

A throat clearing softly had them both looking up. Thea stood at the edge of the archway. “Is it okay?”

“It’s gonna be,” he said while Laurel nodded.

She walked over to join Thea. “Let’s call it a night.”

Thea seemed to take some assurance from whatever she saw in Laurel’s expression, for she relaxed and actually smiled in his direction. “Sure. Night, Ollie.”

“Goodnight,” he told them both.

Laurel exchanged a last, long look with him, and they left the base. With John having departed on his own it seemed, Oliver was left alone to change and to get ready for sleep. Yet it hardly felt as lonely as the other nights since he had moved down here.

He had people in his life who loved him. Friends, family, and Laurel. Always Laurel, who was both of the former categories in her own way and yet so much more.

She was home, and he was finally on his way back there.

#lauriver #laurel lance #oliver queen #laurel x oliver #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing

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autumnpawtribe · 6 years ago

Text

The Naming

((Preface: one, this is SERIOUSLY long. This RP took place on January 26 of this year. I know, I am slow to post things, you may make fun of me for it. A special thanks to @seilune, @varianwrynn, @zynros and the multitude of others who came to celebrate))

Janaret sat on the wall, watching out on the road. His troll mate's brothers sat with him, watching as well. He spoke in Zandalari , playing with a peice of grass and waiting on the visitors.

Rythyren flapped, carrying his companion to their destination with a huff of frosty breath. "Do you still have Mox'tilek? I know she cannot keep up with me.." "Your little one is fine, I assure you..." Ryleyth hummed thoughtfully, ears twitching, and cradling the little whelp in his arms. When they landed , Rythyren was quick to shift, revealing both dragon and the magister were clad in similair attire. The dragon in a silken robe of blue and white, with a cloak that ended in scale like designs of pearlescent white. Ryleyth was quick to give the sleeping whelp back to her father, adjusting his own robes. The magister was wearing crimson and gold, flowing, with a cloak that sported phoenix feathers along the bottom hem. Meanwhile, Zul'Jaryn was never far from Kit'raka, and elsewhere, Draigarth was not far from Lowenthal.

Janaret smiled, recognizing the dragon he had recently met. He was in full Zandlari Prelate regalia, holding his weapon up high next to him as he watched and waited.

Sam arrives via gryphon, flying low, lazy circles over the gathering party to ensure he's in the right spot before landing nearby. The bird, small and white, follows him after he dismounts, pressing her beak into his neck, his hand, his shoulder--anything, really, in hopes of a treat. He laughs at her softly, scritching her neck and adjusting his dark travelling cloak. His armor, where it shows through at hands and collar and feet, is silver, ceremonial, polished to a high sheen: nothing like anything he ever wore at the Cove. His distinctive blue-crested helm sits on the pommel of his saddle. His eyes seek out Ryleyth, never a difficult task given the other man's distinctive wardrobe, and he makes his way in that direction--still with the gryphon at his side.

A portal tore through the air out of nowhere, leaving behind a shimmering shower of arcane dust that sparkled across the ground. Out from the other side stepped the mage who had spawned it, all adorned in fine Pandaren silks in shades of blues and golds, and various trinkets of Zandalari jewelry. In tow was his husband, the ranger Draigarth, who he smiled upon before turning to Janaret. "I believe I landed us in the right place..."

Rythyren seemed thoroughly distracted as he approached the trolls, offering a bright smile towards the prelate, Stepping forwards with snoozing whelp draped over his forearm. Ryleyth seemed somewhat distant, his arms folded over his chest after he had handed the young one off, his golden gaze shifting here and there, for faces he recognized, which were surprisingly few. When one in particular started his way, however, he froze, and his ears slowly perked, mouthing the name without actually speaking. Draigarth stumbled a bit on entry. Portals had never been his forte.. Adjusting chainmail with a soft grunt. "Looks like it.. Don't think there's many groupings of trolls in Hillsbrad.. I.. think?"

A loud Kodo was heard marching in, a young adult was apon its back. Hitching the beast to the ground, he'd hop off, lifting a cigar from his side, half tempted to smoke to avoid the awkward conversations he'd endure. eh.. He'll be fine. "Hau, tauren for hello." He'd smile to the group that were there. "Right place, I hope for damn sure." He'd grit his teeth. harmfull memories. but also good ones as well. It was time to barry the axe.(edited)

The troll that awaited the guests sat on the wall of the rundown keep, another male troll next to him laughing as he told jokes in Zandali. He was dressed very simply not formally; black shirt, leather pants, shoeless as his people tended to be. On his face was a line of blue pigment, just under his left eye, bright red hair braided down his back just past his shoulders. His staff was a long gnarled stick covered in flowers and mushrooms, both living and in full bloom. The druid smiled around tusks that stood straight up and angled out a bit. His amber eyes glowed in the setting sunlight. As he rose, he called attention to himself and spread his long arms wide as he stood tall. The second male, standing up next to the druid, was dressed in the traditional clothing of a wandering grandmaster monk and wearing his smile proudly, face clean of all but a matching orange stripe of paint under his right eye. He was as Red-haired as his companion, both with matching deep amber eyes. The pair were definitely siblings, though the monk seemed to have a few years on the druid. Next to them sat a Zandalari, standing in full regalia as the druid spoke.

“Welcome, Guests of mah bruddah Vol’raka an’ ‘is mate, Xiao Chun. Ah be called Jura. Dis be ouah bruddah, Venyabi and Janaret, Vol’raka and Xiao’s mate. We ‘ere ta guide ja ta da ritual site. Aftah da namin’, ja all welcome ta stay, eat, sing an’ dance ef ja feel da desirah, an’ make new friends mebe? Come should ja be followin’ en peace.”

A large fel bird, green and purple in plumage, flew in from high above, circling the area before letting out a great cry before landing and flapping its wings. "There there, girl" the man said before hopping off the bird and patting her side. The great bird flapped again and took off into the sky to either perch or hunt somewhere, who knew. Zyn was dressed in his finer clothes, an ornate black leather vest with silver inlay over a black satin long sleeved shirt. Form fitting black slacks tucked into black leather boots with ornate silver inlay. His eyepatch, normally just a leather one, was also custom made (by him) of black leather with a silver inlay...lots of silver inlay.

With that, Jura shifted to a great, pale stag. Feathers and bones dangled from a thick leather collar of sorts that lay over his shoulders at the base of a furred neck. Turning his antlered head to the group, he began walking toward the sea on the southern coast of the region. The monk moved to float upon a cloud of chi, beckoning those assembled as Janaret called upon a golden direhorn.

An odd-looking spiked rock moved slightly, shaking as dirt and brush fell away from its base to reveal a shell of some kind. An ankylodon wearing a silver torc rose from the earth to follow the group, eying many of them warily... perhaps even hungrily? It was hard to tell, but it seemed to slowly improve in its mood as it walked behind the group.

The group would come upon the cliffside, the sun not quite setting in the west and the sounds of the Great Sea not far away. There were torches around the area, tables set with food and drink set apart a little from a ritual circle closer to the cliffside. There were several figures, mostly troll, and a few orcs in the circle as final preparations were made by an orcish girl. Two small troll boys were playing among the tables, the older, red-crowned boy of about four chasing a green-haired barely toddler as he crawled around. A pale haired troll woman was off to the side caring for two other small trolls, one of them squealing loudly.

Tal flew in separately from his mate, likely so they could have enough room for the children they were bringing. Anyone who might babysit was already here, so the entire family showed up, split between the backs of their two drakes. Tal's recognizable and rather massive black nether drake flew down carefully before landing and allowing its passengers to climb down. Cradled in each arm, Tal held a bundled Balore and Luna, the older Kal'dorei girl known as Ely for short, around six years of age, also climbed down; though she stuck incredibly close to Tal, nearly clinging to his leg. He offered a smile to those gathered and then spotted a few faces he did not expect to see. He immediately stared down Sam and Kagtu, his blindfold folding inward on its ever so slightly as he narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if they were friend or foe. Surely friend, since they were here. He shook himself of the worry and moved to stand beside his fiance, looking to pass him one of the twins and smile at Vynnie who was surely beside them now as well. "There is a nice crowd here, this will be a wonderful ceremony I can already feel it." He said as he began to follow along and gaze out over the cliffside as they came upon it.

As they walk, Sam heads over to Ryleyth's side quickly, the gryphon aiding in clearing a path through the crowd, but then slows down considerably. By the flush on his face, he seems not quite certain of what to say, and settles for something neutral: "It's a beautiful location, isn't it?"

Lowenthal glanced around at the gathering crowd, curiosity glinting in a green gaze. He wasn't completely seasoned on the traditions of trolls nor pandaren, and it was easy to see his interest was piqued. Looking around for familiar faces, he made sure to wave at Rythyren, and made a mental note to meet with the dragon as well as Vol'raka at some point after the ceremony.

Kagtu tagged along, lifting both of his hands into his pocket. He'd look conflicted, being here. Along with some of the people here as well, but the past is the past, and it'd be better to look to the future. with a deep sigh, he'd look back to Tal. "..Hey." He'd say softly. yet weakly. like he was afraid to say anything else. "Didn't know you turned babysitter." He'd tease.

Vyn had ridden with his dad and had hopped off Melody with the man, but where Zyn was dressed like a proper noble (though he wasn't one), Vyn was awkwardly dressed in black slacks tucked into simple leather boots and a loose fitting black cotton shirt. He did, however, have a couple of ribbons tied to his horns thanks to his little sister Ely. "Dad...who're all these people?" he asked while standing between his two fathers and taking his baby sister in his arms.

Amongst the few orcs present, one massive male seemed incongruous with the rest- a 7 foot wall of toned muscle, clad in hide pants and a set of ornate engineer's goggles was rushing about, taking turns between hanging around a short orc woman and fussing over one of the troll babies nearby. Spotting this, the dino-thing that followed the group let out a low rumbling noise... was it laughing?

The druid called Jura spoke and letting his voice carry, addressing the gathering. “Come, stand around da circle. We ask ja not step en til et be time ta speak. At da end, da Farseeah gonna ask ef ja wish ta say a few words ta mah baby niece an introduce jaself ta ‘er. Ef ja not want ja children seein’ some tings what be a lil scary fer em. Best leave em wit mah mate, Zaita ovah dere.” Another troll walked up to join the brothers and Aret, his own visage painted in white and green, bright orange atop, spiked, but cut at his neck and the simple robes of a druid covering his body. He seemed to want to disappear into the crowd and sat next to his kin. He spoke in his native tongue, looking at the crowd for a moment longer. “Fi riva difus Deh so yeyewata honnah dim fus dim cyaa fus deh'yo cyaa chaKa deh craaweh.”

((Tsal: “So many elves. Not my favorite people, but the one with the silver-white hair isn’t bad looking.”))

Draigarth stuck close to his husband, amused by the sparkle that had been absent in his eyes for a little while hence. He seemed pleased enough to follow along for now, though he was clearly close enough, that the predator within him would read as possessive of the Cryomancer.. at least, for a fellow predator. Rythyren smiled cheerily, nodding to Lowenthal when he noticed his adopted son. Rocking the sleeping whelp from side to side, he picked a place to settle out of the way, waiting and watching, himself. He settled off to one side with a curious expression as they were told where to settle. Ryleyth offered a weak smile, tense, as if he feared all the worst reasons for the paladin to be before him. "Y-Yes.. Yes it is... H.. How have you been?" Zul'Jaryn shifted on his feet, adjusting his garb, which consisted of traditional attire, bones and feathers hanging from robes and headdress clearly styled for the Loa he followed. Bwonsamdi.

Tal offered him a small, slightly tentative smile when Kag spoke. However, when he mentioned babysitter, Tal broke into a grin and chuckled. "Is it considered babysitting if they are your own children? Hm... I never considered." He said with a shrug. "I think you met Balore and Luna." He looked back to the sheepish Kaldorei behind him now and wrapped his free arm around her to pull her forward with a quiet nervous whimper from the girl. "This is Elysara, we call her Ely. We adopted her after Teldrassil..." He murmured the words in Orcish, glad the girl couldn't speak it well just yet, knowing that it made her upset to think about it. It was then they were called to stand around the circle, moving to guide Ely to follow him as he stood where he was indicated to so he could bear witness to the ceremony.

Lowenthal glanced at the source of the Zandalari words, and then raised a brow, looking around. Now was his chance to socialize, perhaps. "And who would that be?" he said, smiling as he pronounced the foreign words carefully.

Seilune materialized at the designated spot in a faint, amethyst dust of arcane, remnants of the magic lingering on her tulle gown as she sauntered over to the gathered group. A glowing, lilac gaze slowly swept across the woman's surroundings, taking in the spectacular sight of the cliffside view of the Great Sea, and a soft, blissful sigh escaped between her lips. "Greetings, everyone," the woman spoke with eloquence, bowing deeply to the band of faces that were both familiar and foreign to her. "A beautiful locale indeed. Most fitting for such a joyous occasion. I thank you for the humble invitation, I have not attended a ceremony of this kind before."

Kagtu moved with Tal. odd considering he was a demon hunter. The human paused. face twisting with guilt. he'd switch to Orcish as well. "..We should-" Once more, he'd pause. thinking about the past. His face showed it. Kagtu waved to the two kids. he'd look up to Tal. Guilt cleaving his face in two. "..I'm glad your out." He'd look around, using his right hand to point to the group. "To this band of misfits. family, even, if I am bold to call it that." He'd say with a hit of heart in his voice.

Zyn gave a wave to Kagtu with a grin before moving over with Tal when they were all motioned, Vyn following his parents and probably remaining silent for the remainder of the ceremony.

The altar was not fancy. It was a simple flat stone, propped up on three other stones to keep it off the ground. A piece of leather, crossed with sky-blue silk, woven with tiny silver phoenices covered and kept the stone’s occupant clear of smudge or damage. On the altar lay a simple, but heavily bound book. The leather did not look like it came from an animal. The pages covered in drawings and runes that could be seen from a few feet away. It was a focal point for the troll family gathered around to welcome a new soul to their lives. This book was their guide to the rite they sought to complete that evening.

A female troll farseer stood at the small stone altar, clad in simple leather robes, but with items and adornments that she only pulled out for very special occasions. Traditional pigments graced her cheeks and nose, blue, red and gold over face, arms and neck where her clothing did not cover sky-blue skin. Red and blue axebeak feathers and golden beads were woven into the shaman’s straight thin braids as she looked to her right and left, gold hoop earrings jingling from her ears.

To the shaman’s right was a tall, well built and fierce looking troll woman, standing in a simple brown linen cloth skirt and short top, forearms covered with bone and iron bracers. The warrior woman was painted in blue and red as well, a collared, golden-scaled raptor standing quietly at her side. The woman, her violet hair pinned and braided behind her ear on one side and shaved on the other to show off the golden hoops in her ears, gave the well trained beast an occasional scratch on the chin.

On the Farseer’s left, a small half-orc mag’har girl stood with an obsidian knife and stone bowl, a small smile on her face. She was painted just as the other two, her hair braided simply in comparison and tucked behind her ears. She did not wear golden earrings, but iron as her own people. Her own robes tied at the waist by a leather strap decorated with bone beads and laced up with a black strap of leather at her chest like a bodice. The bowl she held was old, rough and not at all ornate, but it radiated with magic for those who could sense such things. It was well used, and passed down along this family’s line. The runes upon it denoted it as Zandalari in origin.

Tsal blushed, looked at the elven mage and just grinned.

"Home," Sam says to Ryleyth in a low voice as the ceremony begins, "and glad of it. One of the others followed me and took up work there as well--I had thought to offer the same to you but...I understand if you don't wish to leave whomever you've found a place with now. Still, you're welcome to come visit whenever you'd like." It's awkward; he doesn't want it to be but it is, and the fears that he'd abandoned Ryleyth there echo in his voice.

Lowenthal chuckled, but seemed to take that for an answer and went back to minding his own business. He observed the altar, then whispered to Draigarth. "I wonder what they meant when they mentioned things that may not be safe for children... I am not familiar with these ceremonies."

"Ah guess et be rude fer meh to stay like dis for de ceremony," grumbled out the dino-thing as it began to be enveloped in a halo of green energy. Standing upright, the Zandalari druid strode off to one side, examining the wrapping around a 3 foot parcel nestled safely away from the group.

Across from the druid, stood a giant of a troll and his very small pandaren mate. The troll stood upright and was dressed in a soft gray leather kilt slung low on his hips, held up and fastened with a darker gray leather strap and small silver medallion that resembled a Rush’kah mask on his hip. His face was free of its usual warpaint, but his shoulders were coated in blood-red pigment. The line of what did not look like paint crossed from his right shoulder to just below his left pectoral muscle, where a new looking tattoo in the shape of a tiny gray troll handprint lay just in the palm of the pandaren paw print already on the left side of his chest. His hair, green and gold down to just above his ankles, was not braided. He had it bound with leather in places to keep it from flying everywhere as the evening had a bit of wind from the nearby cliff face.

The unusually small Pandaren wore something as equally traditional as that of his mate, but starkly different from the Trollish design of the others. Wrapped around his form were silks of a deep crimson with brilliant threads of gold designs inlaid into the fabric. It was a traditional Pandaren kimono, draping along his form until it was cinched in the middle with a matching crimson silk belt tied loosely at his waist. It didn’t seem to fit him just right, and the aged look of it would imply it likely wasn’t made for him and instead was passed down from someone else; perhaps a woman, given certain folds in the material that would likely be made to compensate for breasts where this Pandaren obviously had none. His hair that was usually tied up in a loose topknot of sorts was instead tied back in a tight bun with ornate Pandaren chopsticks poking out of the brightly colored locks; the chopsticks having matching intricate gold-leaf designs on them to compliment the kimono. In the Pandaren’s arms, was a snugly swaddled and slightly fussy baby troll, with light blue-gray skin and the bigger male’s green and gold hair, with a dusting of sapphire blue. Amber eyes looked around, not focused, but following the face of her pandaren father who held her in a sling over his shoulder and chest. The fabric, a deep green, was embroidered with intricate cloud serpents and lined with black and white rabbit fur to keep her warm.

Intrigued by the ceremony and the prospect of learning more about Troll culture, the ambassador approached the alter a touch closer, just enough to get a take a closer look but distant enough to not disturb. Seilune bowed her head to the two Trolls respectively in greeting, the woman's gaze lingering on the young Mag'har girl as a grin spread across her visage from ear to ear. "Beautiful braids," she spoke, gesturing to the hairstyle with a single, slender finger. The trail of her gaze continued to the alter itself, closely inspecting the necessary tools with a slow nod of the head, a brow lofting in curiosity at the Zandali runes etched intricately into the stone. With the flick of a wrist, a floating tome and accompanying ivory quill conjured from a puff of arcane, the writing utensil scratching away at an open page to recreate the runes she saw.

In the middle of the circle as all saw it, was a stack of dry wood that stood about three feet tall, with small parcels of herbs tied up and tossed in regular intervals around the base. The circle was cast with white salt, a bag from the Echo isles leaning against the stone altar. She spoke first in Zandali, then switched to Orcish. “Lok'dan honnah reespek sca tor Wha fus Deh atuad iman fus'obeah Wha im ting cyaa is difus weh cyaa ju”

((Kit : Welcome, nieces, nephews, brother and kin. May the Loa bless this gathering. May no harm come to those who join us.))

“Ah welcome ja, all who come ta dis place ta welcome new life. Ef ja ‘ere, ja welcome ta da fa’das of dis child. Ef ja mean harm, leave dis ritual, for when da spirits be comin’ da loa will be sought fer blessin’s an da family of da lil girl who be named taday. Dem what mean harm will face da consequences of dey actions. Ah be called Kit’raka, and ah welcome ja ta da namin’ ceremony en da way of ouah family.”

Kag looked over to were Sam, Ryley and the other guy that he met in Dalaran. He'd was tempted, The young adult desided to move his way to behind the Elf. He'd didn't bother nodding to Sam. More or less wanting to make sure nothing was pulled. "Hau." He'd reply dryly. and his gaze was put back to the Ritual. looking back at it once more. Hopefully this wouldn't be.. bloodly.(edited)

Hands clasped neatly before her as the ceremony began, Seilune's eyes snapping to Kit'raka as she began to speak. She listened closely, nodding with a soft smile on her painted lips, the tome floating idly at her side still being documented with the sights and sounds the woman was experiencing so that she may reference later. The last thing she ever wanted was to appear hostile, her eyes widening a touch at the mention of harm being inflicted , idly looking to the others who were gathered at her sides. "I wish for prosperity for ba, papa, and child," she assured with a nod. "No hostility will come from my hands, and I hope none comes at all this day."

Zyn took Balore from Tal so his fiance could focus on Ely while watching Kit, he understood some of what she was saying in Zandali, enough to put it together. Vyn on the other-hand was completely lost on the troll language, poor boy.

Rythyren's attention went from the trolls, some of which caught his interest more than others, to the ceremony as a whole, quiet, even as his little one awoke, and he pulled out something small and soft for her to chew on, a crimson colored object that smelled faintly of blood, and emanated frost. Ryleyth seemed to relax slightly. "A-ah.. I had.. thought you.. were.. s-still with them.. It.. It is good to know that you are back where you wished to be..." He swallowed hard, before looking down at his hands. "I.. I have not... been... With.. them for several weeks now.. I.. I was.. forced to leave.. by Kou.." "I don't know.. certain there are .. some form of rituals they do not wish children seeing.. Not sure what though.." Came Draigarth's response with a chuckle. Zul'jaryn was settling off to one side, watching the proceedings as he shifted a small leather satchel in his hand.

The warrior troll and mag’har woman knelt on either side of the shaman, each with knees tucked under themselves and forearms on the winter grass beneath them. Their heads touched the ground as the druid lay down on his belly. Xiao and Vol’raka did not kneel, but both bowed their heads in reverence as Kit’raka spoke. The element of air seemed to toss her braids up playfully as her arms raised. Wordlessly, the farseer seemed to call fire to lick and begin to consume the wood, the bundles of herbs slowly beginning to burn. The sweet smell of shaman’s smoke filled the area and those that inhaled the fragrance and were affected by the shaman’s grasses, would see three ephemeral forms standing next to the parents and now sleeping infant. For those who may react negatively to certain ‘intoxicants’, even the Shaman variety, it seemed there was another bundle of herbs smoking as well. These were of Pandaren origin, smelling of the sweet calming scents known to many as the tranquility incense that many Pandaren leave lit on long journeys. It brought peace of mind, calm, serenity, and most of all would help keep people prone to paranoia from certain smokes, Shaman or otherwise, from reacting negatively and panicking. “We call ta ja, spirits who come bearin’ witness ta da namin’ of dis girl. Come ta give ja blessin’s ta dis one of ja blood. Cyaa Uptfeel cyaa Craaweh Cyaa difus weh weh yu iyaz dim nehjo difus smadda ting skam Difus weh yudo sca nehjo difus deh'yo”

((Kit : Come, Mothers, come fathers. Come those who are at rest, but guide their family from afar. Those who once, and still, grant wisdom.)) Kit gave the Shal'dorei a small smile of acknowledgement, looking to the rest of the circle of people and nodding to those she may know, which were not many.

Lowenthal tilted his head, deeply inhaling the sweet smoke that mingled with the air. It certainly brought the tranquility it promised, balancing out the effects that the shaman's smoke brought. Blinking, the mage rubbed his eyes, wondering if anyone else could see what he was suddenly seeing.

The smell hit his mind like a truck. fingers wrapping around his face. as he'd breath the smell in. "What.." He'd say softly, as he'd look back up to the Ritual, some of his paranoia was eased, The young adult looked around. he'd look to his hands. giveing a small smile. smelt like home, sweet home. Kagtu lifted his gaze once more, over to Seilune, He'd only say one thing, "Arcwine Lady!" He'd wave happly, oh man. he loved that time he tasted Arcwine.. Oh, right, the Ritual. he'd dart back. breathing heavly. calmer, more.. at peace with himself for the moment.

"For those who ain sure of what ya be seein, yes ja be seein dem," said the druid who joined the circle after he finished his inspection.

Tal smirked as he saw the smoke forming, taking a deeeeeep inhale to let some of the smoke take effect. However, he didn't think of the fact that Ely was standing right beside him. The little girl did a little sway and tugged at Tal's pants, speaking in Darnassian in a low murmur. "Papa I feel funny..." Tal looked down and bit his lip to bite back a chuckle. "Zyn, I think our little Ely just got high for the first time. Here I thought I would be the one to do it." He scooped the girl up into his arms and brought her over to Jura's mate, speaking in Zandali. "I made the mistake of not thinking about the smoke, she may be a bit anxious due to separation anxiety, but she should be alright. Jura mentioned you could watch her?" He said in a hushed tone, not wanting to distract from the ceremony.

A mirroring smile pulled at the woman's lips at the sign of acknowledgment, idly looking to Xiao and Vol'raka as Kit'raka continued to speak in Zandali. Being one who did not partake in many substances other than arcwine, the intoxicants within the fumes began to take effect on Seilune almost immediately. Her eyes fluttered shut as the fragrance sifted through her nostrils, a blissful smile pulling on her lips as a sense of calm and relief washed over her body. Upon hearing Kagtu's, her eyes snapped open, the woman nearly jumping out of her skin as she looked to him with surprise. "Oh! Hello, Kagtu!" She said, laughing awkwardly. "Please, Seilune will suffice."

Upon seeing the herbs and smelling the scent, Zyn looked to Tal before frowning and glancing over to Vyn. "Hey, take the kids te the babysitter over there fer me, aight?" With a nod, Vyn took his baby brother before nodding to Ely to follow...hopefully she followed as he moved through the crowd to keep the babies at least from getting high...they were hungry enough on a regular basis as it was.

Those influenced by the smoke would see the spirits that came most clearly. One was a Zandalari woman, the bearing and demeanor of a matriarch in her power. Her violet hair was spiked up and falling in braids over shoulders and back. On her neck was a high golden collar, long ears graced with large hooped earrings, and deep amber eyes that matched the trolls who stood around the circle of whom she was ascendant. Her clothes were in black and dark blue, a simple dress that clung to her form loosely with an obsidian bat hanging from a leather strap around her waist. The spirit bore no accent as she spoke, her words the native language of the listener.

“I, Azu’lana, come to greet my great granddaughter.” The spectre grinned at Shu'kilo, looking around at the ones gathered to see the girl.

A smaller male, Darkspear from his look and build, materialized. Green-skinned, he was clad in white and black, the colors of his order. The mask he wore was that of the visage of the Loa of graves that he had served in life. He did not pull the mask away, his balding head covered with feathers protruding from the mask. He wore no other adornments, but his voice was full of mirth and a bit of snark as his words mimicked the Zandalari woman’s.

“I, Un’lai, come to greet my granddaughter.”

Lowenthal's eyes widened and he nudged Draigarth, speaking in a loud, awed whisper. "A ghost..."

A small pandaren woman manifested, starkly similar to the red-furred Pandaren holding Tiny, materialized. Red fur just like Xiao, long flowing hair that was tied up into a bun with chopsticks holding it in place much like Xiao was wearing. She was actually wearing the same kimono Xiao was wearing, except it was clearly made for her and the unusual folds in Xiao’s now made sense as they were filled out by the Pandaren woman’s natural curves on her upper half where Xiao had none, being a male. She looked at those gathered before looking directly at Xiao and smiling with a brightness that carried to her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was like a melody on the wind, feminine and gentle, rich with the love and warmth of a mother.

"De honored ded, I hear you have dem too."

When the voice of Mei Ling rang out, Xiao’s eyes nearly popped out of his head with how wide they opened. It was a good thing Tiny was cradled in the sling because Xiao’s head whipped around to look at her in shock and disbelief as his hands came up to his mouth and cupped over it as he gasped. “Mama…?” He whispered, his eyes glistening. When he pulled his hands away, he was smiling wide, a single tear trailing down his cheek now as he composed himself for the ritual, though not breaking eye contact with the spirit of his mother for several moments before looking forward to Kit’raka again as he needed to focus on the ritual.

Draigarth smiled softly and nodded. "So it would seem... Yes.. I.. I have spoken to my mother before... Thanks to a very kind shaman."

Azu'lana, the first spirit pointed at Shu'kilo. "We speak Latah, Shiftah."

All that were around the salt circle stood once more, waiting patiently.

The cryomancer fell silent, looking as though he were deep in thought -- wondering why it had never occurred to him before to reach out to his own deceased kin.

When the ghosts began appearing Zyn just raised a brow before nodding and giving them all a grin, "neat". It wasn't the first time he'd seen the ghosts of others ancestors...man Xiao looked like his mom. She was cute!

Kagtu /really/ wanted to speak back to Seilune, but now wasn't the time, he'd give a salute to the Elf, then back to the Ritual. "Holy fel.. those are the spirits.." He'd saw with awe. the tauren /were/ right. Should- no. don't. the Wolfmane are your own kin. your blood, you are no human. These thoughts were pushed away as Kag gained a smile, As he said, Just like a family.

As the phantasmal apparitions manifested from the fumes' psychedelic influence, Seilune's attention was stolen by them, her eyes widening to the size of saucers in intrigue and a touch of fear. The scratching of the quill against the tome quickened, the pages turning at a rapid pace as the woman's thoughts were being recorded. "Oh Stars..." She muttered quietly to herself, a hand lifting to her mouth as she noticed Vol'raka and Xiao overwhelmed with emotion at seeing their ancestors.

“We welcome ja spirits. May da Loa ja serve…” Kit’raka smiled with a bow of her head. “Or Ja Celestials as et be… Guide dis child.” She turned her head up to the sky, arms raised to shoulder height and palms out before she let her head drop in reverence. Lifting her head to gaze at the fire, her voice rang out, singing her words in lyrical Zandali. “Gonk, Riva fu fus Worl, Icense fu fus Yudo. Ju caang wha deh fus oondasta fu iman siame fu siare. Ir dim iyaz quashi iman t'ief is iman difus weh cyaa is ackee iman dim skam Ting siame skam godehsi deh riva sca ju weh whutless is wha worl deh weh or'manley. Iresh’ka, Vahari. Quick as ja can. No sufferin’.”

((Kit: “Gonk, Lord of the Pack, Master of the Hunt. We thank you for the offering of this child of yours. He has been chosen this night to feed those who come to greet this new life. Your child will provide for many and we are grateful to you both for his sacrifice."))

The troll and orc nodded, Reshka standing with knife and bowl in hand. Vahari spoke softly to the raptor, the golden tinted animal almost cooing as she quickly snapped its neck. One hand on the back of the beast’s head and one on the muzzle made quick work of it. She held the animal in her arms as it attempted to slump to the ground. She stood behind the raptor’s head as the mag’har waited a moment before slicing into the dead reptile’s neck and letting blood pool into the bowl. With great care, she left the bowl on the altar and helped the troll woman carry the beast away, their task done.

Lowenthal couldn't help but flinch at the sound of bones snapping. "Ah... so that's what they meant..." He crinkled his nose at the sight of the pooling blood, but continued to watch, curious nonetheless.

"Mmm, can smell its blood" Zyn mused, but he didn't seem to say much else, focusing on the ceremony rather than the hunger starting to build from the scent.

The human watched as the blood pulled down into the bowl. figured, he'd asume some blood would be needed. The young adult gave a soft twitch. as the crack of bones were heard. yet.. he was dull, giveing a dull yet amused face watching this.. tribal practice. In a way, he felt pride, his inner animal pleased for the ritual, even if he wasn't a Troll or Pandaran. His blood was calm, not raging. good thing he took a pill before he got here.

Janaret stood back with Jura, Venya and Tsal, watching Hari and Reshka take the raptor away, murmuring a small prayer to Gonk out of thanks. The Three brothers watched, quietly, bending their heads as well, both Tsal and Jura Druids of the Master of the Hunt.

Like a siren beckoning the tides, the rhythmic uttering of Zandali that Kit'raka spoke lulled Seilune to its melodic effect, the woman swaying from side to side idly in her intoxication. Being an elf who followed not patron deity or religion, the mention of Loas and Celestials held not personal meaning to her, but she could appreciate the sentimental value behind the presence and offering. In her trance, she barely reacted to the grisly sound of bones snapping, her pearlescent brows merely flicking as the kill was made.

Xiao carefully removed the sling from his form and cradled Tiny in his arms before carefully passing her off to Vol’raka. He looped the sling over his mate’s neck for him as his mate held onto their daughter and then moved to the front of the circle before the altar, standing in front of the woman, his mate, and the spirits. He cleared his throat and spoke out to those gathered. “We would like to sincerely thank you for coming to our daughter’s naming ritual. I know some of you may affectionately know her as ‘Tiny’, but after today she will be granted her true name in front of all of those that matter to our little family. As some of you saw, there is a little bit of blood involved, but for those of you who might be squeamish, the worst of it should be over.” He said with a reassuring smile to those gathered. “Once we prepare the ritual and our daughter is named, we will have words from those who wish to speak them, any of you who wish to introduce yourselves to our daughter before the spirits of her ancestors. Once we finish with the formalities of the ritual, there will be a traditional meal served to honor this ceremony that I hope you all will be happy to stay for.” He looked back toward the working Trolls behind him and saw they had just about finished up and smiled back toward those gathered. “With our little greeting out of the way, it’s time to get to what you all came here for. Without further delay, I will pass this back my mate’s lovely family.” With that, he offered a small little bow of his head before making his way back beside Vol and smiling at his mate, hoping he did well for their daughter.

Zul'jaryn watched them as well, a softness in skull paint framed eyes as he watched the Raptor's sacrifice, before returning his gaze forwards, unblinking, or so it would appear.

Kit turned her head to smile at Zul'jaryn, Medi and Tir, their sons, having broken away from Zaita and sitting quietly next to their father.

Seilune smiled to Xiao fondly as he removed the sling from his body, the woman nearly squealing in excitement as Tiny was procured from the cloth and handed to her mother. She nodded slowly as he made his speech, bowing her head in turn to him as he returned the floor to Vol'raka and their kin.(edited)

Ryleyth had settled somewhat stiffly next to Sam, his ears twitching slightly. Somewhat embarrassed, and cautious, it would seem, a bit awkward, but it didn't seem to be directed at any one person, moreso if others grew too close to the effeminate mage. Rythyren, on the other hand, was all up as close as he could get, a soft chuckle escaping him as Mox'tilek bobbed lazilly out of his grasp, having to snatch her up again. "Not right now little rose... After the ceremony.. you can't cuddle yet.." The little whelp let out a soft chirrup of disappointment, looking towards her friend's bundle. Draigarth frowned slightly, letting out a low murr as the Raptor was sacrificed, somewhere between curiosity and something more primal, like the Felidae within had been upset it couldn't join the kill, an urge he suppressed, in respect for his companions. Zul'jaryn's unblinking stare softened once more, as he briefly brushed a hand across each of the boy's backs, and offered a nod towards Kit.

Reshka, the mag’har girl, came back with a large basket of bones, stripped of most of their meat and sinew. She was not quite covered with blood, but her arms and parts of her chest were the crimson of the drying fluid. She placed the bones in the fire, the smell of the flesh that was left becoming charred filling the air. The smell was a bit strange between that and the shaman’s smoke that still lingered, but not unpleasant. At the bottom of her bundle, she pulled out the sacrificial beast’s head, moving to place it before the altar. The jaw was removed, only the golden-scaled skin covering the bones, and glassy green eyes staring into the crowd.

Vol’raka walked up to the shaman, tiny troll in his arms snuggled in her fur-lined blanket and the big troll waving Xiao over to them. Kit’raka dipped her fingers into the bowl of raptor’s blood and spoke to each father in turn. The infant was between them as they faced each other, Kit positioned at the child’s feet, the assembly only able to see the top of her head once the sling was pulled away. The hunter knelt so that the child and he were more at eye level with her pandaren father and the shaman as she performed her rites. The woman’s blue finger, coated in blood, ran from between the male troll’s eyes up above to his hairline, leaving two lines of blood again on the hunter’s left cheek. “Vol’raka Raptahblood, dis be ja daughtah?”

The towering Darkspear nodded, smiling around his tusks as he looked down at the child and then to his aunt then mate. “Dis be mah daughtah, Ah claim er as mine by blood. She be ouahs.” The tiny infant took the opportunity to whine and wiggle before settling back down again.

Turning to the pandaren monk, she left a similar mark on Xiao’s forehead, fur only lightly coated in blood. She touched his right cheek, leaving two small marks of raptor blood on that side, marking him in the exact opposite from his mate. “Xiao Chun Autumnpaw, dis be ja daughtah?”

Xiao smiled widely despite the blood, seeming to take it better than most would anticipate given how fussy he could get about the condition of his fur. He nodded happily and stared down at his daughter with such love in his eyes. “This is my daughter, our daughter. She may not be mine by blood, but by spirit, love, and a bond I know will never break, I claim her with all of my soul.” He looked down at Tiny and took the opportunity to lean down ever so slightly and give her a little kiss on her forehead, eliciting a happy little squeal from the girl as her Ba’s fur tickled her face ever so slightly.

Shukilo forced a smile as he watched the ceremony, stealing glances towards the babysitter's group of young ones now and then. The druid seemed both happy and profoundly sad, and after a bit of time passed, he mumbled something and had to turn away for a moment, as if hiding something.

The presence of dried blood on the girl took Seilune aback a tad, much more so than watching the earlier raptor kill. It was certainly unlike any practices performed in Suramar involving children. In her youth, she had attended parties with cakes and sweet treats, and children were covered with streamers and confetti. But this contrast to the customs to which she was accustomed only intrigued her further, the woman watching closely as the bowl of blood was brought forward for the ceremony. As the scent of bones and raptor flesh blended into the fumes of the smoke, the woman's nose twitched slightly, trying to identify its properties but soon discovered she was unable to. Part of her felt she should be slightly disgusted, given that she was aware of the grisly remains that were laid before her, but yet the rather pleasantness of the smell prohibited her to be. She smiled with fondness at the parents' combined words and expression of love for their daughter, the woman's gaze lingering on Tiny.

Kit’raka dipped her fingers in the blood again, looking down with a smile at her great niece. “Xiao Chun, Vol’raka. What name ja give dis child? Da one ja claim by blood and spirit.”

Xiao’s smile turned into a grin as he looked to Vol, biting his lip in anticipation before happily speaking out. “We bestow upon our daughter the name of Tarja Tian Autumnpaw.” He was practically beaming, the epitome of pride and joy as he stood beside his mate and gazed down at their daughter.

Kagtu struggled to get to his feet, he'd start clapping. living the place up. "Tarja!" He'd lift a fist up. "Tarja! Tarja! Tarja!" He'd chant. man, was he going to remember this? Though.. he sounded full of pride, for someone he only met once.

Tarja Tian Autumnpaw, he liked it! Zyn also decided to join Kagtu in chanting "Tarja! Traja! Tarja!", full of his uncle pride.

Lowenthal merely grinned widely, clearly happy for the two parents and sharing their pride. He began to applaud in tandem with the chanting.

Tal smiled happily as he watched the beautiful ceremony before him, but when Kagtu... and then his own mate began chanting, he just facepalmed and broke into a giggle. He slowly shook his head, just grinning. "Ohhhh gods..." He didn't seem embarrassed in any way, simply incredibly amused.

"Tarja? Oh, what a beautiful name," she commented, nodding with approval. The woman looked to her left and right as the chanting began, a pale brow lofting in confusion. Was this customary at a naming ceremony? She hadn't the slightest clue, and thus she chose to stay quiet, smiling in soft amusement.

There was an audible smack as Draigarth facepalmed. Cheering? "I.. do not know if that is.. entirely.. appropriate?" The pridelord sighed. Rythyren blinked, while Ryleyth muttered. "Kag..." Zul'Jaryn spoke, a low rumble escaping that skull visage. "Calm jaself an Listen.. we ainna done yet boy."

Kit gave the human teen a look then her employer...and went back to working her magics. Medi and Tir looked up at their mother and then to Zul'Jaryn, confused. With a nod and using her thumb, the farseer gave the tiny girl a small brush of blood on her forehead and lines on both sides of her face to mimic her parents. The girl didn’t seem to like the fluid on her face very much letting everyone know her disapproval with a soft cry.

“An’ who ja dedicate ja child to, be et Celestial, Loa or Spirit.” Vol’raka straightened his back, smiling as Tarja wiggled in his arms, still upset at the blood on her face. “She be dedicated ta da Spirit of da Old Shadowhuntah, Vol’jin Darkspeah.”

Kagtu paused. looking like a fish out of water. he'd slowly stop, and chuckle. Muttering a sorry under his breath, but damn, didn't he feel alive today.

Kit nodded, Vol’raka still kneeling down to be at eye level with his mate and aunt. The woman’s voice rang out to the assembled crowd, hands in welcome and looking toward the blue tiger druid. The old troll shifted, gray-haired and Amani in looks, walked forward toward Kit, Vol’raka and Xiao with a blue candle and small box in hand. Kit resumed speaking as she looked to her brother. “En ouah family, dere be traditions. Dis one, da ritual of namin’ passed down fer da generations dat stem from da Zandalari, da people of mah mothah. Fer a male child, a bone rattle be blessed and presented by da fa’da. A female child be gifted two paiahs of golden earrings on ‘er namin’ day. Da first be fer ‘er childhood. Da second be fer when she an adult. Dis traditionally given by da ma’da. Dis a child wit more den one fa’da. Today, dey give ‘er da gift of er earrings.”

The old male druid stood next to the shaman, holding the candle and box, opening it and holding it out to the pandaren. In the box was a silver needle, an ornate golden Pandaren-styled dagger, and two pairs of earrings. Both matched save for size, golden and inlaid on the inside of the hoop with deep green jade. Kit pulled out the needle and spoke, her voice clear and even.

“Xiao Chun, nephew, et be ja place ta complete dis task.” Holding out the long needle and held the candle above the now fussy baby who seemed to know something was going on. “Dis needle be da one what pierced da ears of her ancestahs, aunties, cousins, an’ morah. Et be mah hope dat da same be said fer ja grandchildren, one day.”

Volraka held Tarja as still as he could as he looked toward Xiao, smiling seriously and giving a nod.

Zyn didn't seem ashamed at the chanting, just giving a grin up to Kit as they continued on. He had to admit, the whole ceremony was really interesting to watch!

Xiao offered a small smile and spoke toward those gathered. “I suppose since this is traditionally done by the mother, it makes sense for me to do it, hm? I am not going to be so idealistic as to think we do not all know who is the man and who is the woman in this relationship.” He said with a small chuckle before looking a bit more serious again. He murmured something in Zandali now to Tiny, though loud enough for those gathered to hear if they were listening hard enough and spoke the language. Though it was a bit stilted due to Xiao being a novice with the language, it was still coherent enough to make sense; having likely been coached by his mate. “Godehsi fu flimeff zutopong fus yudo skam ir ting cyaa J craaweh”

((Xiao: “Forgive me, dearest daughter, the pain will be over soon, I promise.”))

After he spoke, he reached for the simple yet beautiful small Pandaren blade and took a small inhale. He closed his eyes and brought the blade to the furred flesh of his palm, biting back a wince as blood slowly dripped down from his hand onto the ground. He let out a breathy sigh and reached for the needle now and carefully held the tip over the lit flame of the candle. After letting the heat sterilize the needle for a few moments, he pulled it away and placed his other hand behind the small earlobe of their daughter. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and let a bright teal energy form around the hand behind her ear, the distinctive essence of Chi gathering around him as he channeled it into their daughter. As he did, he gave a small squeeze in the cartilage of her ear, triggering some small pressure points to numb some of the pain that would soon come. He pulled his hand away now to hold the needle with the unbloodied hand and squeeze his cut hand over the tip. Another wince came with the squeeze as blood dripped out from his hand and coated the tip of the needle thoroughly.(edited)

He switched hands and put the needle between the fingers of the bloodied hand, though making sure to keep the blood from the actual part of the needle he was gripping so it wasn’t slippery, and continued to prepare. With that same hand now, he brought it back to her ear and let the mists gather in preparation before separating his fingers to leave room for the needle. In a split second, he moved the blood-soaked tip of the needle forward with lighting precision and pierced it through the sensitive flesh of their daughter’s earlobe. Immediately an ear splitting cry broke the silence as she still felt pain, even if it was lessened. However, the cry quickly began to dull to a fussy whimpering and whining as Xiao’s mists filled the wound as quickly as it formed. He made sure not to heal it completely, instead simply sealing the flesh back together where the blood was coming from but making sure not to close the actual hole and instead simply cause the flesh to seal itself shut around the needle without adhering to the metal. Once he had healed it enough to slow the bleeding but not so much as to make the needle be stuck, he pulled it back out seamlessly and finished the healing so that only a bit of pink was visible inside of the fresh piercing. He carefully took one of the gold earrings and slid them through the piercing, eliciting another whimper from Tiny before it settled in place and no longer bothered her as the metal stopped moving against the freshly healed flesh. Soon after he repeated the process on the other ear, mirroring his actions perfectly. Heat, numb, coat the needle in his blood, pre-heal, pierce, more screaming, seal the wound, remove needle, insert earring, and one last touch of healing on both and it was done.

While Tiny still fussed a bit, the second touch of healing and soothing mists seemed to be enough to soothe the infant as her fussing slowed mere squirming and unhappily babbling as Xiao nodded to Kit upon being satisfied with his healing job on them, offering their daughter an apologetic smile after. “Now you will always be mine not only in spirit… but in blood as well. Our beautiful little Tarja.”

Ryleyth winced. He did not envy her the pain of that piercing, his own hand briefly going to the delicate amethyst studs he yet wore. and his were far smaller than troll jewelry. He yet fidgeted where he stood, seeming to attempt to avoid touching anyone. Rythyren was wincing, holding a squirming whelp who didn't understand what her friend's cries meant, only that she was in pain, going so far as to feebly scratch at her father's arms. He hushed her softly in draconic, reassuring the small violet creature that everything was alright. Draigarth, too, winced, the memory of a few recent piercings leaving him with sympathy pain, though he was sporting a warm smile at the family that showed before him. Zul'jaryn seemed to be concentrating now, his swirling eyes of blue and amber closing for a moment as he recalled the words and actions he would have to commence soon.

Lowenthal empathized with the small girl; the sound of a baby's cry made his heart ache, and briefly he wondered how Calam was doing back at home before he continued to concentrate on the events.

Kagtu felt a frown, but didn't say anything, wasn't his rules. besides, ear piercing were bad ass. he thinks.

Illustrations of the objects being used for the naming ceremony were scribed into the floating tome while Seilune watched the process closely, her eyes widening and gut twisting a touch upon seeing the procurement of the Pandaren dagger. She acknowledged Kit's words with a nod, knowing that the piercing of a female child's ears was custom for these ceremony, but yet she couldn't fight the grimace that appeared on her countenance. The woman reeled at Tarja's crying, looking to the child with a sympathetic look, the sounds of her wailing making the Shal'dorei's heart ache.

It seemed the tiny troll baby getting her ears pierced didn't bother him, though her crying made him want to calm the poor child. He also wondered how his four kids were doing, though once he looked back and saw Vyn helping with the babysitting of all the kids he knew they were all fine. Poor boy.

When the deed was done, the girl no longer fussing and her pain healed by the skills of her experienced mist weaver father, Kit waved to have them stand to the side as they passed their daughter to the shaman. She bounced the little girl in her arms, smiling at her great niece. “Child, da spirits gonna smile on ja, da be mah sincere wish.” “Xiao Chun, Vol’raka. Who Ja choose ta guard an’ guide should da Loa take ja before she can care fer ‘erself?” Vahari and Reshka came back at this point, the raptor butchered and ready, both clear of blood and clothing changed to simple half shirts and kilts. Reshka moved to stand next to Dumbuss and watch him work, Hari moving to wrap an arm around Shukilo.

Xiao spoke up again now after Vol nodded at him, looking out in the crowd toward those he called the names of. “There are four people we trust with the life of our daughter. There are many we consider close friends, family even, but these four are ones we would trust not only with her life, but even ours if push came to shove. The woman who raised the man I love so much. Kit’raka, daughter of the Redwalker, and her mate Zul'jaryn. The other two are… well, they are my closest friends and they very well may be Vol’s as well.” He said with a smile now. “They are kind, caring, protective, and parents in their own right. Talrethriel and Zynros. Between those four, caring for our daughter if anything ever happened to us… I would have no fear for Tarja’s fate. With your collective knowledge; Darkspear, Frostmane, Thalassian, and all of the worldly knowledge you each have between you. I trust you will raise her well in our absence, Celestials and Loa willing that never happens, but Vol’raka and I instill that trust in all four of you."

With a nod, the farseer called forth the three males that were to be spiritparents to the girl. “Talethriel Shadethorn, Zul’jaryn Frostfirah, Zynros Shadestriker. Ah be called as well. Ah be acceptin’ dis task ta raise Tarja Tian Autumnpaw en da old ways of da Zandalari an Darkspeah, an da edicts of da celestials. Ja accept dis task? Et will be ja charge da rest of ja days an’ er’s."

Tal comes forward as he is called, grinning widely with happiness and a bit of pride at being granted such a honored position in the little girl’s life. He opened his arms as Kit offered Tarja and carefully cradled her against his chest. He was only wearing a kilt, formal at that, but simply a kilt all the same. As such, Tarja felt the warmth of exposed flesh and warmed right up to him, making happy little babbling noises as babies do while the large Sin’dorei held onto her. “I accept the honorable task of raising Tarja Tian Autumnpaw to the very best of my abilities, should the day ever come. While I am neither Darkspear nor Pandaren, I will do my best to teach her the ways of her people, if the time ever comes. Thank you, you two… really. It means a lot.” His smile was warm, his words heartfelt and genuine. He was truly honored. After leaning his head down to give Tarja a little kiss on the forehead, he carefully passed her to the man on his left who happened to be Zul’jaryn.

Taking the child gingerly from the elf, he offered the demon touched fellow a slight nod, before looking down at her. The elemental mage was wearing his finest ceremonial attire, which was to say a full length kilt, beaded halter and thick headdress that rested over his head and about his shoulders. The caster leaned down, smirking slightly. "Lil Tarja be a strong'n.. dis da bones be tellin me.. She be a fightah.. an one ah would be happeh ta teach all o' what ah know, should dere ever be a need. My eyes be seein many a ting. Ah be raised in tha old ways by a darkspear ma'da an ah be trainin her da way ah was trained, should it eva come ta pass. Till Bwonsamdi be takin us all, ya have ma word." Gently, he offered her then to Zynros with a slight nod, his hand once more falling to the leather pouch at his side.

Stepping up to the front, Zyn eyed the crowd, nervous a little bit but just nodded before turning to the tiny troll baby. She wasn’t his, but he already loved her like family. “So uh, I’ve never done this before...I mean ye haven’t either, so here goes.” Clearing his throat, he glanced around and eyed Vol and Xiao before looking back to Tarja. “I, Zynros Shadestriker, accepts the role’a bein’ one’a ye god fathers. I promise te protect ye like me own, te sit ye when ye dads need’a do stuff, te spoil ye like the proud uncle that I am.” He also had a gift for her, his own blessings of sorts (even though the gift of blessings wasn’t happening yet). Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny little braided leather bracelet, carefully putting it around her wrist. “This’s more fer ye parents than fer ye, but with this bracelet, ye dads will always know ye safe.” After he put the tiny bracelet around her wrist, he would hand her back to Vol’raka.

Vol grinned, taking Tarja back as she made noises, she liked looking at the new people. "Ja lil one, ja gonna meet everyone who wantin' ta do so, en a bit." Kit nodded, beckoning each of the three forward to place a line of blood under their right eyes. She brushed a line under her own right eye to match the others. “Ah name us all fouah ta be da guardian’s of dis lil troll. Ja be obliged ta fulfil ja oath ta dese mons an da babe.” She nodded a dismissal to the elves, turning to her own mate, Zul’jaryn. “Ja who be called Uncle ta Vol’raka. Ja been asked ta roll da bones. Ja tell us da fortune of dis girl. What da Loa speak?”

The mage, blue eyes shining a bit in the lowering light, came forward. The book that rested on the altar was set aside a little as the big male moved to kneel on the outer side of the altar. Zul'jaryn knelt and pulled out a bag made of leather. The leather strap, where usually tied with a knot, was held shut by what looked to be a tooth, small and sharp, like that of a young raptor. His hand came out with a pile of what looked to be large chips of bone, dark runes cut into the white polished pieces. He studied the ossein fragments quietly for a moment, a finger scratching his chin as he speaks. One ear twitched, causing the chiming sound of one his chains, marks of Bwonsamdi’s claim on him. It caused one earring to clatter as he ducked his head, looking closely at the three that came first to his sight.

"Da first be As Or Os. Action, Thought, Inspirin' Enthusiasm. Et brin wisdom and favah da intellectual. She gonna go through a time where ever'tin' be about Talking, discussin'. Time be comin' where knowledge be necessary, more den we all be knowin. Tarja be needin' ta listen tadem what be know ta be wise an' informed en da ways of da world. She do dis, et be a positive fer all involved. Patience gonna be a powahful ting fer dis lil life.

Da second be Is. She gonna need ta learn ta stand back. Sometime et be where et best ta not take action. Too many tings get en da way." His hand waves from side to side, as if sweeping things from before his vision. "Things will be troubled, en many ways. En dat time, et be a time ta wait, ta watch. She gonna know when et time ta take action, ef she listen ta wisdom of 'er own an othas."

He moved his finger to a third bone, smiling. "Ger Or Gar, da third. Transition. Heraldin' da end of dark times. Ever'ting happen en ets own times. She gonna have ta learn ta adapt. Be a willow, not a mighty tree. Da reward be worth et when she able ta do dis. Adapt an' be calm when tings be gettin' crazy. En' da end, She gonna use dem skills ta do great tings en da name of 'er people. One day, she gonna help bring change. Othas be involved, but she gonna be one what help wit da change." "May one day, lil Tarja, ja help right da wrongs. Be kind ef ja gotta impose ja will. Bein' a good person be hardah den ja tink, but ja loa, ja spirit reward en dey time."

“Now, dis be da time fer blessin’s. From da Fa’das, da spirits, da guardians, and Ja. Ja what be ‘ere considered family en some way ta dis new family. Et be time fer ja ta speak should ja wish. Et not be required of da family, but et mebe nice fer a lil hello da ‘er? Come wit’in da circle, be careful of er’ head when she given ta ja fer ‘er blessin’s. Some of ja be from otha traditions an’ faiths. En dis place, dem blessin’s welcome and wanted.” Kit chuckled softly as she stood to the side with Zul’jaryn, their own sons sitting remarkably quietly next to them, but just inside of the circle with their parents.

Vol moved to take Tarja back from his Aunt, sitting on his haunches, pulling Xiao to stand next to him.

“Mah Tarja. Daughtah. Ah, Ja Papa Vol'raka and ja Ba Xiao Chun, choose and gift ja da name Tarja Tian. Ah declare myself to be one who will teach you the old ways of da Loa, Zandalari an da Darkspeah. We be helpin’ ta guide ja path and care fer ja until ja ready ta do fer jaself. As we be settin’ ouah foot upon dis path wit’ ja, we be promisin’, ta Loa an’ Celestials both, dat we be givin’ ja what knowledge we be possessin’ and hope dem what witness dis be doin’ da same.

Wit raptor's blood we grant ja courage, wisdom, patience an’ strength of will. Wit dese virtues, may ja fight for ja Loa, protect dem what be ja’s an’ be successful en ja walk en dis world an othas.” The troll mon passed her to her Ba, smiling down at Xiao Chun as he kissed both his daughter and mate on their foreheads.

Janaret smiled from the side, looking at his little family, grinning proudly.

While his mate was holding Tarja, Xiao picked up a nearby sealed box and carefully opened it, setting each of the seemingly mundane objects in four distinct places. One East, one North, one West, and one South. Upon finishing his preparation, Xiao took Tarja back from his mate and gazed down at her, such love in his eyes as he spoke. “I, your Ba, Xiao Chun, declare myself to be one of the ways of Pandaria. Even as Troll blood courses through you, you will be just as Pandaren as those who are furred head to toe. I promise to teach you in your Ba's ways, to pass along our ancestral knowledge and show you how to live your life to its fullest, under the Celestials and Loa both." He smiled down at the relics he had placed and continued. "With these four relics of the August Celestials, a tuft of fur from Niuzao, a shed scale of Yu'Lon, a broken claw of Xuen, and a lost feather of Chi-Ji, we grant you the fortitude of the Black Ox, the foresight of the Jade Serpent, the agility of the White Tiger, and the mindfulness to keep your hope burning as bright as the Red Crane against all odds."

Azul’ana did not take the babe, but her spirit moved to stand before Xiao Chun as he held the child in his arms. “Great granddaughter. Great things will come from you, equally great things expected. There will be happiness and tragedy, wonders and pitfalls. None here can nor should shield you from that adversity, for because of it you will grow like a flower in sand. Never forget to grow.”

With that she moved to float behind the altar.

The beautiful kimono-clad Pandaren spirit moved forward to stand before her son and her granddaughter, smiling down at them now. As she spoke now, more than her simple announcing of her presence before, those gathered would hear where Xiao got the melodic undertone to his voice. Mei Ling had a voice that sounded like music on the wind, sweet and rich, gentle and soothing to the ears. The smile on her face carried to her words, making the harmonious notes of her words that much more euphonic. “My dear granddaughter, while I may not be living and breathing beside you, I will always be there to watch over you…” She paused to look at Xiao, her eyes sparkling with joy. “... and you.” She then looked to Vol. “All of you, in this beautiful family. Your life will be filled with more love and compassion than you will know what to do with and I know that you will become an amazing woman with an even more incredible soul. The Celestials smile upon this one… and your life will reflect that. Never forget that you have the love and support of those in the realm of the living and beyond. Your mama Mei will always watch over you.” Her smile only widened now as she stared down at the baby girl for a moment before offering one last lingering look toward her son only for him to return it with a grin of sheer joy as she moved back to stand behind the altar. Xiao didn’t even hide the tears that were streaming down his face. He was too happy to care.

The masked spirit came forward, smiling down at his youngest granddaughter. “There were ones before you, there will be others after you. Forget about none of them. All will have something to teach you. You will have something to teach them. Lessons come in many ways, granddaughter. Teach and Learn. And, don’t forget to laugh.” His spirit moved to stand behind the altar, all three watching.

Tal came forward now, Xiao smiling at him and offering his daughter over to the Illidari carefully. Tal cradled her against his chest again, more happy babbling coming from her at the unusual warmth of his skin against her. He couldn’t help but to chuckle a bit. “You beautiful little girl… you are truly lucky to have such a loving family. No matter the strife, no matter what mess life may throw at you… I know that you will always have this entire village of loving people to hold you up and make you strong enough to face anything. I am more than honored to be part of that village, to be able to be part of your little family as one of your spiritfathers. Whether you need, no matter the time, no matter the place… I will always be there, all you need to do is call. Celestials, Loa, and whatever other Pantheon may be looking… this one is special… and I know they know it. You are going to have an important life, little one. You deserve it.” With that, he smiled and carefully passed her off to Kit as she came up next.

Kit came forward, holding Tarja yet again in her arms. Her words were in Orcish, soft and sung as a lullaby would be to her own two sons. “Da loa keep ja safe, Ja heart guarded from harm, ja blood strong. One day ja grow ta fight fer what ja believe en. Dat could be da path of da motha, da path of da warriah, da path of da healin’ crone. Whatevah et be, little Tarja, we all ‘ere ta help ja.” She said a few more words in Zandali that caused Vol’raka to give her a look and the Spirit that was once Un’lai cough. “Deh'yo dim J skam difus wha fu yu so han smadda fu ir smadda fu fu Iyaz Deh deh yahsoda worl m t'ief ting fu deh fus'obeah Wha skam deh ackee fi fus craaweh fu ting.”

"Tarja, ja gonna go on ta great tings. Ah be a creature of da Loa of graves. One day we all gonna meet 'em eat at 'is table. Dat inevitiable. When ja go, make sure ja sent many before ja."

Zyn took baby Tarja into his arms to hold her close to himself, smiling down to her. "Tiny...Tarja. I'm not as good with words as ye Uncle Tal, but I as I said before, ye part'a me family an' that means ye under the protection of Shadestriker. May the Shadows ever be beneath ye, give ye a place te hide if ye need it, give ye safe haven from dangers that may lurk. An' know that when ye be old enough, if ye wantin', I'll teach ye how te be one with the shadows." Leaning in, he kissed the girl on the forehead before handing her over to Kit with a nod.

Rythyren perked his ears, listening, thankful that when Tarja had stopped crying. After a moment, he spoke softly, with a smile. "If.. I may?... I have you lovely gentleman but a short time, however I find myself fond of you, if for nothing else than you have given someone very dear to me a new friend, and I think, perhaps, lifelong, if she has anything to say about it. As you may be aware, I hide little about what I am.. I am yet young, my youngest, however, has an eternity ahead of her." Mox'tilek perked up, before squeeking out softly. "Can I be with Tarja now?" Her snoot wiggled and a tiny serpentine tongue blepped out from where she rested in her father's arms. The entire display made Ryleyth giggle, if a bit hesitantly. The delicate magister, crossed his arms over his chest as he did so, his head down and his ears back, a flush to his cheeks. Draigarth was amused as well, though he wrapped an arm around Lowenthal, clearly something on his mind, but he wasn't talking, as he glanced sideways at his beloved.

Kit wandered to Zyn, standing next to him. "Now fer all da assmebled, et be ja time ta say hello, ef ja wantin'. Step up an be speakin' ja words as ja be seein' fit. An ja can aftah everyone who wants ta has held er, lil ting." Kit now waited for whomever came up to hold her and speak.

Tal watched everything play out, grinning at the little whelpling and her incredibly adorable display. However, his gaze remained on Ryleyth the longest. Seeing the man giggle, show any sign of happiness at all really, it was something that made the Illidari incredibly happy to witness again.

Shukilo shifted from foot to foot, looking to Vahari for guidance."If et be de time for meh to speak, ah ave a gift for de family o de babe. De Loa I revere bade me make dis for jah, and ah know bettah dan ta disabeh de masta of shapes." Striding over, he collected the large hide-wrapped parcel and carried to rest before the family. Slowly he unwrapped the package, revealing a stone plinth much like the ones seen for the fallen in Pandaria. Almost three feet tall, its sloping rectangular form was topped by a silver-and-steel bowl for incense, and its base was almost a foot wide and nearly square. engraved on all four sides of it was a modified version of the Darkspear spear-and-shield that would take a moment to Identify. At the foot of the front was a metal weapon bracket, empty as Shukilo unwrapped a beautiful stone and silver mockup of of a specific glaive, of which no other quite like it had been known to exist. Reverently, he placed it in the bracket, and then stepped back and proclaimed "By order of Gonk, de master of shapes, ah shrine ta da fallen chieftain o' de Darkspear ta watch over ya home."

Vol bowed, looking to his sister and his brother-in-law of a sort. "Ah be tankin' ja, Dis be a blessin' on mah family, Shu'kilo, an ja too, Sistah."

Lowenthal smiled at his beloved. What do you think, love? Quite touching... I almost wish we had given Calam something like this. He communicated to his husband via thought, and through their link he wondered what the ranger was thinking.

Seilune stepped forward as the invitation for others to come forward and given their blessings to Tarja was made, the woman gingerly taking the child and cradling her in her arms as she spoke broadly. “Friends and family of this beautiful child, I am Lady Seilune Astrande. I thank all of you for the humble invitation to bear witness to Tarja’s naming ceremony, as well as for being welcoming of me. I have no tutelary deity that I follow. In fact, many of my people have abandoned the religion of old over the span of ten thousand years. But with that being said, I bestow best wishes and tidings onto Xiao, Vol’raka, Tarja, and all of you gathered here today. May this child always walk an illuminated path, one that is paved with success and strength, and that each and every one of us can give her the love and help that she needs to fulfill her goals and wishes.” A lilac gaze swept slowly to the child, resting on her cheerful visage before fluttering shut. The Shal’dorei pressed her nailed thumb upon the child’s forehead, and as she did so, the sound of soft Shalassian could be heard emitting from between the woman’s lips. “E’rath omnas…” Intricate, leyline tattoos inscribed across her periwinkle skin shifted to an amethyst hue as she muttered the incantation, a prismatic barrier of arcane engulfing Tarja’s form before becoming invisible. “I have placed a shield upon the child, one that is invisible to the naked eye to protect her from any and all that could, Titans forbid, attempt to do her harm.” Before passing Tarja to the next person who wished to speak, Seilune conjured a leyblossom with a quick flick of her wrist, carefully tucking the efflorescent flower behind the child’s pointed ear. “Erana-dora isil.”

Vol smiled, Tarja making a happy little newborn noise at the flower. "Ah tank ja, Lady Astrande."

Reshka came forward, taking Tarja and bouncing her a little. “I’m your cousin, Reshka. I hope that anything I teach you will at least be positive. I hope you have a far easier time keeping your temper than I ever have. You should know that you have a great big family who loves you and will help guide you. There will be punishments, and rewards. Life’s not easy, Tarja. The family who you choose as yours will help you through.”

Draigarth smiled softly. It would have been nice, yes... but... perhaps.. He glanced towards Rythyren, thoughtfully for a moment, before glancing back to Lowenthal. Perhaps... ah.. nevermind.... this is hardly the time.. He responded in kind.

Lowenthal lifted a brow, looking concerned. If you say so... but would you tell me later?

Xiao remained silent, watching the ceremony with a proud smile... but then Seilune's magical display made his eyes widen a bit and an impressed look crossed his features. The conjured flower caught his attention the most, grinning widely and having to resist from reaching out to touch it. "It is beautiful, and so is that gesture. Thank you, really."

It's nothing bad my love, I promise.. just.. ideas... He blushed , ducking his head and offering another smile.

Sam steps forth and takes the baby, uncapping a tiny bottle of scented oil and anointing each cheek with a little. "I offer to you two gifts: the ferocity of Goldrinn, and the peace of the Light. May your heart always know the balance between them, and may you never lack for the courage to do what you feel is right." He kisses her forehead to seal the blessing, and passes her on.

Tsal, the orange-haired brother of Vol’raka smiled as he held the youngest of his niece. “Ah be ja Uncle Tsal. Ah not got much ta say, but May da Eart’motha guide ja en er wisdom.”

The cryomancer looked rather relieved, and smiled. "As long as you are untroubled... I think I will go congratulate the parents and meet the baby." He planted a kiss on the ranger's forehead, and stepped away into the gathering, waiting his turn patiently to meet the youngling.

Dumbuss got up and walked up the the young one, smiling wide with a box in hand. Opening it slowly, he addressed the babe as he handed an ornate mechanical raptor in Zandalari styling To Vol. "Dumbuss bring companion thingy for little one. Give to papas for now. will be fun for you when are allowed to play with later. Will help protect too. Dumbuss is with Reshka, you ever need Dumbuss, Dumbuss will smash things for you."

Reshka grinned. "Awww its cute! Dumbuss, no smashing one elf with other elf..."

"Well.. I mean.. Can't argue with the outcome of last time.." Jested Draigarth with a low chuckle.

Lowenthal glanced over at the mag'har woman. "Ah, that story certainly has made its rounds, hasn't it..."

"They are mated.. I'm certain he bragged about it.." Draigarth smirked.(edited)

The little Mag'har smiled. "Oh Runda and Harken have even been regaled of THAT Exploit!"

Lowenthal exclaimed. "The only one allowed to smash Draigarth here is me."

"LOWEN!" Now the pridelord was blushing.

Dumbuss spoke. "Need help 'frostypants'?"

The cryomancer grinned devilishly, but the gesture was countered by an innocent grin.

A bright redhaired male came forward, “Ah be Ja Uncle Jura. Ah hope ja like mangoes.” He gave a chuckle as he held the tiny sleepy child. “Ja got two good fa’das. Ja got all dese people ‘ere ta see ja. May ja one day find ja place an’ ja footin’. An' et sound like ja got an interestin' otha side da family as et be.."

Rythyren cleared his throat, covering mox'tilek's head. "PLEASE...."

Xiao made a quiet 'Oooh' as he saw the raptor, deciding to hold it for his mate for now. It was his curiosity that got the better of him as he found a little dial to turn and promptly began to turn it and set it down to see what it actually did.

"Of course not!" The mage let out a harrumph, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder.

Janaret: “Tarja, Ah am Janaret. A am new to your family, and newer to your life than you are. Ah am welcomed by your fathers as theirs, welcomed as a new love in their life. They welcome me as father to you as well. I hope to be a good one, a good member of your family, So Zutopong."

Zyn moved from the group crowding around the baby over to his own kids on the far side with the babysitter and Vyn to check up on them all as well as bring Luna and Balore and Ely back over now that the scent was gone. "Hey, Tarja, why don'tcha meet ye cousins? This's Luna an' Balore." Holding a baby in each arm, he held them up to the troll baby and whoever was holding her.

As the raptor was set down, it whirred and clicked, its eyes flashing red, then yellow, then green and finally to blue. Looking around, it cocked its head one way, then the other, and let loose a tiny roar as it scampered around through peoples feet.

Lowenthal peered over shoulders in order to see the child, letting out a soft "aww".

Hari held Tarja up to see the babies, the infant very interested in looking at EVERYTHING. “Ah be Ja Auntie Vahari. Bwonsamdi guide ja. May all da Loa smile. Make sure da firah en ja belly nevah go out. Fight fer et.”

Vol laughed, kneeling down and looking at the raptor. "Can ja make em.. full size?"

"... Oh Celestials, wait come back!" Xiao said as he hurriedly tried to scamper after the construct, looking to snatch it up and try to turn it off.

“Ah be ja Uncle Venyabi. Not seen ya before this day, little one. Mah blessin’ be simple. Ef all ja can save en dis world be one, be sure et be jaself. Nevah set jaself on firah ta keep anyone warm. Remembah othas, but not forget jaself.” The othre redhaired male grinned down at the girl before He and Tsal dragged Jura off. They would be found by the fire, drinking beer and roasting pieces of raptor and Tsal inspecting the hide.

Dumbuss nodded once, then looked thoughtful. "Expensive, need to keep light. Would need lots of special metals and would want actual hide from large dinos."

A moment into the mad scramble after the raptor, it was floating above the pandaren's head, shrouded in a glow that bordered violet and a firey orange, as Ryleyth's hand held outstretched, golden eyes glowing as he concentrated on holding it still. "Missing something?"

"Ja an Ah gonna talk latah, Cousin." Vol nodded at Dumbuss and Reshka smirking.

"I didn't necessarily prepare a fancy speech or anything, but could I hold her for a moment?"

Hari handed Tarja over, letting Lowen hold the wiggling infant.

Xiao hadn't even noticed it was off the ground until he heard the whirring of the gears above his head and looked up. He chuckled and reached up for it, smiling as he recognized that hue of magic. He looked over to Ryleyth and nodded. "Thank you, yes. I did not realize how fast that little thing could run." He looked to Dumbuss now. "This is nicely made, Tarja will love it. I am more intrigued with it than I should be as well, but some things can't be helped, hm?" He said with a playful little glint in his eyes before he finally turned the knob the other way to cease its whirring and running.

Ever so carefully, the mage took her into his arms and held her close. As he stared down at her, he could only think of one thing: don't make her cold, don't make her cold... He smiled, cooing softly. "Hello there, pretty lady... look at how lucky you are, surrounded by love and warmth."

Rythyren smirked slightly, padding forwards a bit, before murmuring quietly to Vol'raka. "I.. did bring you something as well..." He paused for a moment, before offering a small package. "This... may help.. when her teeth begin to press farther..." The small semi-squishy object looked like a leather pouch, shaped to look like a Zandalari mask, cool to the touch, clearly enchanted.

Vol reached out to take the pouch. "Dis bet bettah den booze on 'er gums."

Lowenthal rocked the child gently, beginning to regret having not brought a gift. After mulling it over a few moments, his eyes lit up with an idea. Balancing Tarja in one arm, he used his other hand to conjure something made of ice -- it was a small rattle, the handle shaped like an icicle. He let the baby observe it. "This is enchanted so that the cold will not bother her, but it is very delicate. If it breaks, I can make a new one without issue."

Tal waited for Lowen to finish his greeting before heading over. "May I?" He asked kindly once he finished, taking the little bundle into his arms now. “Perfect little Tarja… I am your uncle Talrethriel, one of your spirit fathers. Whenever you need help, support, advice on men even… who knows maybe you will like the Shimmerweed as much as two of your spirit fathers do.” He said with a small chuckle now. “You already have my heart even so soon after your birth. I always told Zyn children were hit and miss for me, but our beautiful twins, our wonderful Elysara, and now you… you all are a wonderful exception to that rule. I could not love any of you more if I tried and I look forward to getting to know you for the rest of your life.” He gave her a playful little boop on the nose and smiled before passing her off to the next person.

After Tal finished his speech, an unfamiliar form to almost everyone would appear near the back. An older, grizzled Pandaren with the more traditional black and white fur, spotted with bits of grey edging on the black, observed from the shadows. He was dressed in full Shado-pan formal wear, his full uniform with the low-brim hat, a large glaive strapped to his back with an ornate dragon acting as the head with the blade coming out of its mouth. He cleared his throat and stepped forward from the shadows now, speaking in an even more accented Orcish than Xiao did. “I… would like to introduce myself.” He said tentatively, staring at Xiao. Xiao’s mouth just about fell open, gaping slightly as he stared at the older man. “I-... ah… yes, please.” He said quietly, gesturing for Tal to hand Tarja over to the mysterious Pandaren. Tal seemed uncertain, but he nodded and brought the small girl over to the Pandaren as he moved to the front of the group of onlookers who had either already given their speech or were waiting to do so. The Pandaren took the child and held her against his chest, the cool leather seeming to not bother her much. He cleared his throat and spoke up. “Tarja… I am your grandfather, Lin Xuen Autumnpaw.” He a took hard swallow and offered a small smile, looking almost a bit choked up yet slightly conflicted. “I… have made my share of mistakes in life, with your father. I… look to fix those with you.” His speech was stilted as he spoke, odd pauses here and there as he tried to find the right words in Orcish without anything coming out wrong. “I may have had trouble coming to terms with… what your father chooses to do with his life, in truth, I still do. You… my granddaughter, are far too important and far too precious to let any of that get in the way of me meeting you. I am sure your fathers and I will have a long discussion after this, but right now all that matters is you and that you know… your Yeye.”(edited)

He smiled now, looking up to Xiao. “Thank you, for… inviting me.” He bowed his head slightly before offering the little girl back to her Ba. “I… am honored to meet my granddaughter.” Xiao looked like he had just seen Vol’jin come back to life, do a little dance, and then shapeshift into one of the Celestials. The shock was apparent on his features. It was only upon Tarja being given back that he snapped out of it and took her into his arms. He took a slow inhale and nodded at his father, offering a tentative smile. “I am glad you could make it. Shocked, but… glad.” It was only then the spirit of Mei Ling let out a scoffing chuckle, giving her husband all kinds of side-eye. “He knew he better come or I would go and haunt his Shado-pan tiger everyday to the point of it bucking him off every time he tried to ride it had he not.” She spoke rather hurriedly in Pandaren now, fluent and exotic, the tone pointed. “Nǐ zhīdào wǒ bùnéng xiāngxìn nǐ děngle zhème jiǔ cái jiēshòu nǐ wéiyī de érzi. Suǒyǒu zhè yīqiè dōu shì wèile nǐ yúchǔn de chuántǒng, méiyǒu rén guānxīn. Nǐ hěn xìngyùn, wǒ bùnéng dǎ nǐ yúchǔn de móhú de tóu…” Xiao had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing, the noise still escaping him as his father paled before chuckling a bit as well. “I forgot how feisty your mother is.” He murmured to Xiao before the ginger-furred male nodded back. “So did I. I have not heard one of those berratings in a very long time.” After a shared smile, Lin cleared his throat and looked at those gathered. “I will go back to the crowd, I… will see you after, I would guess.” With that, he turned back to the crowd and snuck back into the shadows of it to let the introductions continue as he watched silently.(edited)

Vol just kinda.. blinked, looked down at his furred mate, looked at the spirit again and spoke. "Dunno Pandaren... but.. she mad." Janaret smirked, nodding. "His mother is.. displeased."

Vol’raka stood, Xiao in front of him, their daughter in the Pandaren’s arms and a bottle of goats milk being devoured by the tiny creature. He spoke first in Zandali to his family.

“J ju cyaa is caang wha J iyaz honnah iman bwoyar ting oondasta Fidong sca Craaweh iman bwoyar ting reespek deh wha Ju wha deh ir ackee fu ting wehnehjo J iyaz difus Worl Noh saakes ju dim skam riva or'manley riva siame fu fus duti Ju iman tor han wassa wehnehjo honnah wassa Tor han worl J iyaz cyaa Wha sca Duti skam iman difus han smadda wassa deh difus han whutless J craaW Caang wha deh wehnehjo fu fu wi'mek quashi is cyaa is iman dim.”

((Vol: I, we, want to thank you. I know coming here caused some conflict. Zulana and Alashzu have caused some trouble for you. We may not be close as some families. I know since Mama Azu passed, we all just.. scattered like seeds in the wind. We have our own lives, families, people, loves. Our own ways. I know soon Kit and Hari will have their own naming rites for their own children. I just… Thank you for thinking of me highly enough to come to this one))

His words changed to Orcish, the words far less well pronounced, but carrying. “Tank ja, ones who may not be blood, but be family. Ah be raised wit da teachin’s of Family ja be born ta an’ family ja choose. Ah happy ta call all dat come taday family of mah choosin’. We be happy ta see ja here and hope ja consider us a small part of ja family too. Now..” Blue hands clapped together softly, even that upsetting his apparently hungry daughter. “Tarja be awake at leas’. Xiao be havin’ dinnah prepared ef ja wanna eat. Meet new frien’s, dance round da fiah. Ef ja curious, Da Raptah, be name of Tigah. He feed ja dis evenin’. But der Rice an’ vegetables fer dem what not like etin’ raptah.”

When everyone did make it over to the food, they would find that alongside the raptor was a medley of Pandaren vegetables as well as freshly steamed rice. The rice had a very unique flavor, jasmine most prominently but there was something more exotic and slightly bitter. To those with a trained palate, they would be able to identify it as being Golden Lotus, the rice apparently having been steeped in the sacred Pandaren herb to bless the meal before being flavored with jasmine for taste. It was all masterfully made, the raptor counterbalancing the delicate flavors of the Pandaren cuisine with the wonderfully biting spices of Darkspear cooking. All in all, it would be delicious all around!

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pollyestergivens · 6 years ago

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Part 3: Nancy Drew & The Vanishing Set Designer

The Importance of Cohesive, Believable Game Worlds

A wall of text series on how Nancy Drew games largely lost their charm--this time with pictures!

Boasting more than 30 titles released over the course of nearly 20 years, it’s obvious why the Nancy Drew series has experienced changes in graphics. Thanks to never-ending advancements in PCs and artists who continue to hone their craft, the games moved ever closer to an ultra-realistic ideal.

Improved textures and dynamic character animations were some of the most noticeable and appreciated changes that helped to further immerse the player and create a beautiful game world. That said, a convincing game world does not require the latest and greatest graphics--it only requires cohesion. The most realistic graphics in the world are nothing without a skillful designer behind the scenes, setting the stage and making everything feel “right.” Unfortunately, that designer seemed to vanish with increasing regularity as time went on.

Empty Spaces

HER has never had a AAA budget, and that comes with certain limitations. One of the most obvious is the amount of characters that Nancy is able to interact with in each game. Since creating, animating, and voicing characters takes quite a bit of time, there are rarely more than five. This can create some challenges when it comes to creating a game world which feels lively and believable.

Some locations, like the abandoned Thornton Hall or the soon-to-be B&B in Message in a Haunted Mansion need no excuse for their limited cast, but others require a bit of explaining.

Sometimes, a story-driven explanation is given for how sparsely populated a location is. For example, in Secret of the Scarlet Hand, the museum is currently closed to visitors, just like the park in The Haunted Carousel. But other times, a few tricks are needed to seal the deal--and not every game had some up its sleeve.

The Good:

Danger on Deception Island did a good job of making the Hot Kettle Cafe, an otherwise sparsely occupied establishment, feel as if a group of bustling customers were just out of view through the use of sound effects.

Dishes are clinking, people are chatting and laughing, but only Holt and Jenna are ever seen. Yet, the simple addition of those sound effects and a little sign saying the other part of the cafe was occupied helped the player suspend their disbelief.

Perhaps even more impressive, Danger by Design managed to make a public park feel fairly believable through the use of cleverly obscured vendors, street and nature noises, a pesky squirrel, and a suspect visiting at one point.

This location, coupled with the choice to have Nancy immediately appear behind the parfait counter at Cafe Kiki against the sound of chatting customers, allows the game developers to avoid making Paris feel underpopulated even though there are only a handful of NPCs.

The Bad:

Unfortunately, The Phantom of Venice did not succeed in presenting Venice as well as DAN presented Paris. Though the Ca’ itself was beautiful and the musical score was, as usual, wonderful, the vast majority of the locations felt completely and utterly dead.

No amount of heels clicking on the pavement, people occasionally shouting Italian phrases, or flocks of pigeons landing briefly was going to make these locations--which are visited many times throughout the game--feel real.

The game designers chose to set many of the clickable buildings further back, revealing large swathes of empty streets and public squares, rather than having Nancy appear at the front door like she does in many other games.

While I can see they were clearly trying to showcase the unique architecture of Venice, it simply results in a mostly “off” feeling game world since one would expect lots of people to be roaming around.

The Silent Spy--with its basically empty train station--and Shadow at the Water’s Edge--with its barren urban environments--suffer from this problem as well, along with the game I love to hate: The Shattered Medallion.

Even though MED makes a ridiculous attempt at explaining why Sonny Joon is the only member of staff present and conveniently gets rid of the vast majority of the competitors within the first act of the game, it still utterly fails at making the player feel as if they are participating in a game show. Frankly, with the constraints put upon HER by their budget and game engine, I simply cannot imagine how they could have successfully pulled off an authentic game show experience, but the lack of competing teams was far from the only issue with MED.

The Great Outdoors

The trouble with any game world is that there almost always must be a boundary--a limit to where the player can go. Except for games that feature randomly generated locations, players can expect to--sometimes literally--hit a wall at some point. The trick is to make it seem as if there is no wall.

Outdoor locations can make pulling off such a feat difficult, because as the depth of field is increases, more and more objects are required to fill all that space. However, it is by no means impossible, and HER has marvelously pulled it off many times.

The Good:

Ghost Dogs of Moon Lake was the first game to truly offer an outdoor experience. While previous games like Treasure in the Royal Tower and Secret of the Scarlet Hand had walled gardens, DOG gave the player an expansive forest to explore during the day and night.

This game succeeds at giving the player a sense of actually being deep within a dense forest by using layers upon layers of 3D trees. No matter where you look inside the thicket, you never seem to see a “wall.”

Not only that, but allowing the player to wander in the woods rather than having every location be accessible by a jump map--like the motor boat map--makes the game world feel very large, though some players may find backtracking to be annoying over time.

Another contribution to that sense of realism, much like the Hot Kettle trick, is the use of environmental sounds and critters. Songbirds singing in the trees, the famous chirping worms of Pennsylvania, and other woodland noises play almost constantly in the background as Nancy’s feet crunch upon earth and fallen leaves.

The DOG designers also used a limited, cohesive color palette of muted, earthy tones not only in the forest but also throughout the cabin, speakeasy, and ranger station.

The result? A game which, though it may not rival the likes of Skyrim in detail or variety, feels thoroughly cohesive and drips with atmosphere.

Similar success--though on a smaller scale--was achieved by the forest in The Captive Curse, which was full of sounds, had misty depth of field and gave the player a true sense of being lost in a dark, potentially sinister place.

The Bad:

The Shattered Medallion, on the other hand, is one of the worst offenders of a poorly designed outdoor world. Given that this game was almost entirely set outside, HER certainly had a challenge on their hands, but they failed miserably.

Contrast this forest scene with the one from DOG or CAP. Those trees are almost definitely 2D photographs pasted in a row, allowing for almost no depth of field, and it’s the same story for the mountains.

Using 2D assets is not necessarily a no-no, but here they make the actual 3D models--the silver flower stations and the puzzle palace--look wildly out of place.

The same thing is happening in this other half-ass location from MED. A strange collage of photographs with a few oddly lit 3D models pasted on top makes for a very “wrong” feeling scene.

Indeed, almost every outdoor location in MED has this very weird feeling of being on a Hollywood set--like the backdrops could fall down at any moment and reveal the whole thing to be a farce--and it’s made only worse by the almost complete lack of background noise. Admittedly, I have never been to New Zealand--perhaps it really is deathly quiet--but this game could have greatly benefited from some consistent sounds of nature to liven-up its otherwise lifeless locations.

On top of all that, this game seems to have no color scheme of which to speak nor does it feel expansive. A jump map is used extensively for traversing the landscape, with many outdoor locations only allowing the player to take a mere handful of steps in any given direction.

The result? A game which simply feels “wrong” in nearly every conceivable way.

By no means is MED the only offender, though. Similar depth of field issues--though not as egregious--were present in Secret of the Old Clock, and as far as cohesion goes, I think we should all take a moment of silence for this travesty:

All I can say is, whoever approved that design was just...wrong.

The Jump Map

Jump maps can be great time-savers when going back and forth is a key gameplay element, and the Nancy Drew games certainly involve a lot of back and forth. Sometimes they save a player a lot of headache, but sometimes they break immersion--particularly when they attempt to stand in as a cheap substitute for an expansive, believable game world.

The Good:

Danger on Deception Island is one of many games which features a jump map for key locations.

What makes this map work is simple: each location is fairly large and immersive in its own right, and there is presumably little to be gained by forcing the player to click one million times down the actual road to each place.

That said, while the player may jump from the lighthouse to the Hot Kettle with the click of a button, copious amounts of kayaking, exploring beaches and the enormous tunnel system keep the game from seeming too constrained. The player feels as if they really have explored Deception Island, rather than feeling as if they have simply visited a few buildings.

The jump map in DOG, SSH, STFD and various other titles work for the same reasons--the forest, Beech Hill museum, and WWB studio respectively seem so large that jumping around to smaller, more limited locations doesn’t actually feel very limiting at all. Plus, the art style used for the map can often add to the immersion, like the subway and train maps.

The Bad:

Though its map certainly looks plausibly like an amusement park flyer, The Haunted Carousel was the first game with a jump map that truly felt like a limitation.

Though there are double the “clickable” locations on CAR’s map in comparison to DDI’s, there simply isn’t much to explore in CAR’s locations. Indeed, the park feels very tiny, and I can’t say I truly felt like I “saw” Captain’s Cove. Perhaps if even one location had allowed for more open exploration, the game wouldn’t have felt so limited.

In the same way that mini-games and repetitive tasks can serve to artificially lengthen or beef up a game, jump maps can attempt to artificially expand a game world. Sadly, there are even more cheap tricks deployed in service of this goal.

Third Person Perspective

Secret of the Old Clock was the first game to transform the jump map into a driving simulator, and this mechanic was met with mixed reception--it seemed like players either loved it or hated it for various reasons. Regardless of opinion, this game mechanic always introduces a risk: the style of the game changes.

No longer is the player immersed in a first-person, beautifully rendered 3D world--they are now dropped into third-person on a stylized, top-down map. The effect is simple: the player is very aware they are playing a video game.

The Creature of Kapu Cave, The White Wolf of Icicle Creek, The Phantom of Venice, and The Haunting of Castle Malloy all featured variations of this third-person mechanic, and many games afterwards incorporated some form of the driving simulator to varying degrees of success, but Ransom of the Seven Ships went absolutely wild with it all.

From sailing around, to scuba diving, to rock climbing, to digging holes, to driving the golf cart around the island--the player was constantly yanked from the first-person, 3D-rendered game world and thrust into what were essentially 2D mini-games. While the color scheme was consistent, the art style varied greatly, making the game feel much less cohesive than many of its counterparts.

While RAN certainly felt like a very large game in terms of terrain--complete with copious amounts of agonizing back-tracking--it really lacked immersion. Indeed, there is no real sense of urgency like that in The Final Scene--despite it being Bess who has been kidnapped--and the focus is constantly taken off of the mystery at hand and onto figuring out how to drive correctly or sail that godforsaken boat.

A Matter of Preference

Ultimately, I think the Nancy Drew games evolved along something of a sliding scale. In the beginning, the aim was to put the player into Nancy Drew’s shoes, but this aim slowly and steadily shifted towards that of simply creating a game. And the truth is, there is nothing wrong with either aim; it’s all about what experience you’re looking to have.

When I first started playing the Nancy Drew series, I was looking for a mystery-solving simulator and I couldn’t get enough. I’ve played a lot of other detective games, but the ND games were really something special, so when they stopped delivering the same type of product, I really felt like something great had been lost.

Again, there is nothing wrong with game-y games, but there is something to be said about games that try to provide an authentic experience. It’s not every day that an ordinary person gets to solve a mystery--a mystery that seems so plausible that you feel a real sense of accomplishment when you unravel all its threads.

I missed that in so many of the later games, and I think that’s a shame.

Read Part 1: Nancy Drew & The Curse of the Pointless Task & Part 2: Nancy Drew & The Case of the Missing Realism

#clue crew #nancy drew #her interactive #last one i promise

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toxoiddiamond · 6 years ago

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T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Oliver Raphael Belmont Nicknames: Ollie. His grandmother used to call him “Songbird” when he was growing up because he was always singing. Age: 33 Birthday: July 29th Zodiac Sign: Leo Birthplace: Marseille, France Current Location: Berlin, Maryland Speaks: English and French, both of which he spoke growing up and so he is fluent in both. Dominant Hand: Right Education: Bachelor of Music in Vocal Arts from Juilliard Occupation: Professional singer, mainly in Broadway shows but he has performed in a lot of smaller shows as well. Vehicle: Right now he doesn’t have one, but he plans on getting one soon. Worldly Possessions: Proudly displayed on his mantel is a Tony award he won a few years back for Best Featured Actor in a Musical (he played Freddy in My Fair Lady). It is surrounded by a few other, more minor awards. Those are his only notable posessions, honestly. Pet(s): He’s never had a pet. He doesn’t mind animals, but he’s a bit uncomfortable around them since he’s never really interacted with them.

A P P E A R A N C E Height: 6'0" Hair: Sandy blond/light brown, varies between being short and super well groomed, or being longer and more unruly, with some waviness. Currently it is in its longer state. Facial Hair: He prefers to have some facial hair, and usually only shaves if it’s required for work. He never has a full beard or anything, but he’s gotta have some scruff or he looks too young. Eye Colour: Steel gray Skin Tone: He loves the outdoors, so he has a bit of a tan going. However, he is careful about protecting his skin with sunscreen, moisturizers, etc, so he isn’t super tan. Clothing: Maybe they’re nude Distinguishing Marks: When he smiles, his eyes crinkle up a bunch in the corners and it is very adorable. He also has a tattoo on his ribcage of a very colorful little bird, done in sort of a watercolor style. Face Claim: Aaron Tveit

H E A L T H Physical Health: Overall, not bad. He takes pretty good care of himself, enjoys exercising, generally eats healthy (but still indulges in some guilty pleasures now and then), etc. But toward the end of the run of the last show he was in, he began to have some problems with his voice, and found out he had nodules on his vocal cords. This meant he needed to take some time off to rest his voice, or else he would end up doing permanent damage. He’s had the past year and a half off, just doing voice therapy and some occasional vocal exercises, and has made nearly a full recovery. Physical Abilities/Limitations: Obviously, he is an amazing singer, with a lot of range and power behind his voice. He’s not insanely famous or anything, but he is quite well-known in the Broadway/musical theater community and has had a couple of leading roles. Even after having time off and having to rest his voice a lot of the time, his voice is still lovely and is gradually returning to its full strength. Addictions: The spotlight. Singing. Being on stage. Although he’s liked having some time off and being able to just rest and be back in the small town he lived in as a teenager, he is really itching to get back out there and perform again. Allergies: Latex, and also bee/wasp stings. Mental Health: He has some issues related to his past and how he grew up. He deals with anxiety, which he started taking medication for in his late twenties when the pressure of his career began to weigh on him. The meds have really helped him be able to cope, though he still has anxiety attacks on occasion and sometimes gets nervous and paranoid over seemingly small things.

H I S T O R Y Job History: He didn’t have a proper job until he moved to New York– before then he just helped out and volunteered at various town events, performed in a lot of small local shows, high school plays, etc. Once he moved to New York, he was lucky enough to have a full scholarship to Juilliard which meant tuition wasn’t a worry for him, so he just worked part time at Jamba Juice to cover his other expenses until he graduated and started getting regular work. Now that he’s had some time off, he has done a few odd jobs around town, mostly just to help out where help is needed. He already has plenty of money to last him for a while, but he likes feeling useful. Fondest Memories: He has a lot of fond memories with his grandma, his teenage years in Berlin, etc. His first few actual Broadway shows. Receiving any of the awards he’s gotten, especially his Tony, which he really didn’t think he was going to win. Worst Experiences: Various terrible experiences with his emotionally abusive father, ending with his father leaving to be with another woman when Ollie was eleven. His mother constantly being drunk and blaming him for his father leaving them, then finally ditching Ollie with his grandma in Maryland before promptly dropping off the face of the earth. His grandma passing away of a sudden heart attack about five years ago.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: If he’s doing any sort of press event or a meet and greet or anything like that, then Ollie makes a point of sounding much more confident and outgoing than he actually is. But in his personal life and in more casual situations he is a lot more soft-spoken and reserved– not necessarily shy, but a bit withdrawn, preferring to let others talk or to keep the conversation superficial. Accent: American when he speaks English, French when he speaks French. Usual Curse Words: Often mutters “merde” to himself if the situation calls for it. He will also say “damn” and “shit” on occasion but generally keeps his language somewhat clean. You know, for his wholesome image.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: ISFP-A Sense of Humor: If he’s in the right mood and around the right people, Ollie can be a very fun person– not a huge dork or anything, but easy to make laugh and fond of (gently) teasing the people he likes best. But a lot of the time he is unfortunately far too serious for his own good, far more serious than he would like to be. It’s difficult for him to let go and lighten up. Habits: If there is a song playing that he knows, he can’t help but sing along. Runs both hands through his hair a lot, especially when it’s long. Fears/Phobias: Ollie has a huge fear of being abandoned/forgotten, which leads him to push people away and avoid forming deep attachments as a defense mechanism. But unfortunately he also has a fear of being alone and unloved, which makes him want to let people in, but then he’s afraid of them leaving him, so it’s just a vicious cycle. Strengths: Ollie is very good at making conversation, making a good first impression and projecting an air of warmth that makes people feel at ease– all things that are useful in his line of work, and leads to him being quite popular wherever he goes. He is always willing to help anyone in need, whether it’s helping someone run lines for a show or doing random manual labor around town. Since he’s been home, he’s spent a considerable amount of his time helping people out, doing odd jobs or accompanying his elderly neighbor to the store and helping him carry his groceries back. Flaws: Ollie’s biggest flaw is probably the fact that he often sees himself as being above other people. Not as if he deserves more than others do, but that he tends to assume he is smarter than most others, or that he knows better than others do. This can lead to him being condescending, although he doesn’t always mean to be. He is also emotionally unavailable. In spite of being a friendly, kind person, Ollie has a hard time making deeper connections and opening up to people. He has a lot of walls built up around him, and the only time those come down is when he’s performing. Hopes/Desires: All of his hopes and desires revolve around his career at the moment. He just wants to be able to have a long singing career, be in lots of shows, etc., and he doesn't particularly care about getting any awards (though he wouldn't complain if he did). Secretly, he also wants to be in a relationship and maybe even get married someday, but he hasn't allowed himself to get his hopes up for that. Self-Esteem: It's not terrible but it's not great either. As confident as he is in himself, and as highly as he thinks of himself in certain regards, he is very unsure of himself a lot of the time and is insecure when it comes to friendships or relationships of any kind. Religion: He wants to believe in a higher power, but he doesn’t really. It just doesn’t seem possible to him.

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: Ollie generally sleeps either on his back, or on his right side with one leg stretched out in front of him. Boxers or Briefs?: He has both, as well as several pairs of boxer-briefs, and just wears whatever he feels like that day. Day or Night?: When he’s working then he generally prefers nighttime, as that’s when the majority of the performances take place. But since he’s been back home he’s preferred daytime, since there’s more to do in the daytime. Top or Bottom?: He’s honestly more of a bottom, but he has been in relationships where he topped the majority of the time. He’s fine with both, but prefers to bottom. Partying or Relaxing?: Although Ollie enjoys the atmosphere of parties and doesn’t generally have a bad time at them, he’s more of the relaxing type and kinda likes being a hermit.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Ollie is a friendly person, but he’s not particularly close to anyone. He’s much too guarded to allow anyone closer than arm’s length. But he has a lot of friends in New York who are always up for a good time, and he is very well known and loved back at home in Berlin, having lived there since he was thirteen. Relationship History: Ollie has been in several relationships, all of which ended for the same reason– he is too cold, too emotionally unavailable, too guarded. It’s depressing for him because he’s always felt that he’s trying his best to open up, but it’s apparently not enough. He’s sort of given up hope on ever finding someone who will understand him, or who can at least be patient with him. Sexual Partners: Around ten or so. Thoughts About Sex: He thinks sex is okay, but honestly, he’s never really had any mind-blowing experiences or anything. This is probably due to the fact that he has a hard time actually letting go and allowing himself to just enjoy it. Even when he’s been in relationships, he’s preferred masturbating because it’s more satisfying for him.

P A R E N T S & G R A N D M O T H E R Name(s): Giulia and Marceau Belmont, Berenice Lambert (maternal grandmother) Occupation(s): He has no idea what his father is doing now. Last he heard from his mom, she was in school to become a drug counselor. His grandmother wrote mystery novels with very punny names– not bestsellers or anything, but she did alright for herself and had some dedicated fans. Religion: His parents didn’t practice religion at all, and his grandmother only went to the local Christian church to socialize. She never forced Ollie to go with her if he didn’t feel like it, though he started going more often once he was asked to be part of the choir. Quality of Relationship With Ollie: Ollie hasn’t seen his father since he was eleven, and doesn’t care to see him ever again. His mother got back in contact with him just after he turned eighteen, told him she was trying to turn over a new leaf and that she wanted to apologize for everything she had done to hurt him. Their relationship is still very strained, but Ollie doesn’t mind seeing her now and then, since he can see that she’s making an effort. His relationship with his grandma was fantastic, though, and she was more of a mother to him than his actual mother. Living/Deceased: His parents are both still alive, but his grandmother passed away.

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: Right now he lives in his grandmother’s old house, which she left to him when she passed away. He hasn’t changed anything in the house– he’s kept all her furniture and everything exactly the way she left it. In New York, he has a fairly nice apartment, done up in a sort of modern, minimalist style. Honestly, as much as he likes his apartment, he likes his grandma’s house just a liiittle bit more.

#character: oliver belmont #ship: dallas/oliver #character sheet

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raymookie · 7 years ago

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My life in Japan...so far.

“Are you Chinese?” I was asked this question by a preschooler last month. She then began reciting her mother’s license plate number as another kid played in my hair. Later that day, I went for a run, and as I passed by the park I noticed a baseball team having practice. Everyone started screaming, “Raymon-sensei! Hellooo!”. Celeb status or nahh?? This has been my life so far in a nutshell.

Recently, it dawned on me that this is the first time I am living alone. It is also my first full time job and it’s incredible. Granted it’s only been a few months, I don’t mind it at all. The adults in my life never highlighted the joys of growing old. Independence, freedom, a salary… So now that I’m rich, I go shopping every weekend at chic boutiques in Tokyo. The more expensive things are, the more I desire them actually. Here is a list of things I’ve bought so far with my rich ass:

Richie Rich’s shopping list

New drawers, laundry detergent, rubber gloves, various cleaning products, dishware, bed + sheets and blanket, orthopedic pillow, towels, thermals, broom, heater, student loan payments, credit card payments...

Not what you expected is it. Granted you have to handle business as an adult, the joys of being free far exceed the tediousness of dealing with responsibilities. Earning a decent living wage has also been nice.

at the wine festival a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t understand what was going on but it looked cool.

shake shake potato killing the game. He had been talking about the school festival all year because he was so excited to perform.

My first month of school

I don’t even know where to begin, honestly. The kids here have made this experience what it is. They’re the reason for all of this after all. They call me Raymon-sensei, a title I don’t feel like I deserve but I’ve accepted it. Teachers used to be like gods in Japan but there has been a decline in the level of respect given to them (likewise in the U.S. in my opinion). However, they are still highly respected here compared to the U.S. We could learn a thing or two from Japan in this regard.

They begin class with a greeting. One kid gets up and walks to the front of class then says:

1. Tachimashou - Stand up

2. Kiwotsuke - Fix your posture

3. Korekara eigo no jugyou wo hijimemasu - Let’s start English class

4. Onegaishimasu - Please do me this favor

The first time it happened I was like “What the the hell...?” because the kid shouted it, haha. And the rest of the class stood at full attention. Imagine a 7 year old yelling “Stand!...Fix your posture!...” and the rest of the class actually snapping at attention, taking him seriously and following directions. It was so militaristic I thought they all might drop down and do 20 push-ups. It was very impressive to see a group of first graders doing this and with such confidence and authority. Yes, the kids are adorable...all of them. Even the bad ones. Because compared to some of the kids I’ve worked with in the U.S., they’d still be considered good.

A lot of people in Japan know some English but they are so afraid of making mistakes they refuse to speak. This a big problem at the Jr. High I’m working at. I’ve been brainstorming solutions to how to fix this. The more I learn Japanese, they more open up to me and get more comfortable speaking English with me. That has worked the best so far but I can’t imagine they’d maintain that confidence level with strangers. There are several kids who love speaking to me who are probably ENFPs just like me. I am thankful to them because sometimes it can be frustrating trying to teach English to kids who don’t see the use in it and who are too shy to speak. The days I work at the elementary schools school (Tuesdays and Thursdays) are actually enjoyable though. The elementary school kids are very responsive and try to communicate with me in and outside of the classroom. They teach me words in Japanese and I teach them words in English. Also, I just began bringing my ukulele to class too and we’ve been jammin and learning English at the same time. It’s hella kawaii (cute).

School festival shenanigans. Can you tell what’s going on?

Recently I started cleaning the school with the students and I’ve grown a lot closer with them since. It’s not required that I clean with them but the other teachers do and every student has to. I read on someone’s blog that once they began cleaning with the students their relationship with them instantly improved. It’s actually worked! Along with learning Japanese, this has helped me tremendously. They’re on very strict schedules so this (and lunch time) is the only time I really get to interact with them outside of class. I find that I actually clean my apartment more now which is cool.

Every Monday I play ukulele and sing with a student named Karen. She has down-syndrome but she is still very functional and participates in most activities at the Jr. High. We are practicing the ABCs right now! A couple of weeks ago we quizzed her on the alphabet. I would sing out different letters and she had to point to which one I was saying. It was too much for my soul yall… Keep at it Karen!

the women of Kawakami Jr. High.

class jump rope contest at the school festival.

student presentations at the school festival.

My ride or die, Shiho-sensei

I have a mom in every country I’ve lived in and Japan is no exception. I promise you I don’t plan it, it just happens. There is my actual mom, Sabrina, my best friend’s mom, Michelle, Alejandra in Argentina, Martinha in Brazil, and now Shiho in Japan. I just vibe with moms, I don’t know why. Maybe it’s my cheeks. And then once they find out I like to eat they can’t resist their motherly urges to care for me. None of them can replace my mom though obviously but I love them love them yes I do! Shiho is my mom in Japan. She is a badass and we both like to break the rules a little so we have that in common :P I say this because she broke Japanese tradition and married a foreigner, haha. She was twenty-one and studying abroad in Australia when she met her husband to be. He is a finance professor at a university and for more than twenty years she was working at the Japanese consulate in Australia. She’s lived in Brisbane, Australia for 30 years so she has a slight Australian accent. It’s also kind of Japanese. Either way, it’s very cute. She’s also a little fashionista like my actual mom. Yesterday she basically told me how she would always swag out in Australia but she can’t stunt on these hoes in our town because everyone dresses so casually here. I mean...that’s what she wanted to say but she’s so polite, lol. She’s been in Kawakami for the past seven years taking care of her mom and she misses her family. Her husband is visiting right now so it’s nice to see her happy. He’s leaving tomorrow and I just convinced our boss to let her leave early. She was going to stay after work to help some students with their speeches! I was like noooo Shiho-sensei, not today. Go home to yo man. This was very small in comparison to all the things she does for me - takes me shopping, lots of translation, gives me a ride to work, etc. but I’m finding more and more ways I’m able to help out. We got each others backs. Love you Shiho-sensei!

Black in Japan

I want to make it clear that I am living in a village of about 3900 people, it is one of the richest villages in Japan, and I am as happy go lucky as they come. Take into consideration the different factors that may be at play i.e. gender, location; and don’t make generalizations about every black person’s experience in Japan. There is an opinion section in the Japan Times titled Black Eye which I have found very helpful in understanding my experience as an African-American in Japan.

I absolutely love it here. Japanese people are so respectable & kind. There are many critiques to be made about Japanese culture but I don’t wish to highlight them right now. The good certainly outweighs the bad though. My only wish is that I had spoke Japanese before coming to Japan. I think it would be impossible to live here without speaking the language unless you have a translator. There aren’t many fluent English speakers in Japan, let alone in the countryside, so it can be quite difficult to make friends. But from my experience, if they see that you are trying they will meet you halfway! There have been so many people I’ve met who I thought were indifferent or simply uninterested in me until I said something to them in Japanese. Their faces lit up when they realized I was trying. Our conversations are like a potluck - they bring their bit of English and I bring my bit of Japanese and WHAM. Friendship. I’m cheesy, I know, but that’s really how it’s been.

Most people here are absolutely fascinated by black people. I don’t usually mind the attention but sometimes I just want to blend in. Most all of my interactions with Japanese people are positive but there have been a couple of times where I felt uncomfortable. Once was with a group of high school girls who pretended to get scared when they saw me, but their was a ringleader and I could tell the other girls were just following her. She was rotten though. But there have been a few times when I turned a corner and actually scared people though so maybe her shock was legit. The second time was with a student's mom at the grocery store who kept saying “interesting” and “funny” in Japanese. Usually those comments wouldn’t bother me but the way she said it and how she was staring at me, like I was some rare pokemon. But thinking back on the few times I’ve seen them at the grocery store, she might have been flirting. Her daugher also gives me the eyes all the time! Have you ever had to avoid a Jr. High school girl? Talk about awkward...No, no, no cougar and cub. Not today or ever…

“Are you Chinese?” “Do you have a perm?” “Do you have any treasure?” “Why do you want to be a teacher?” “Raymon-sensei you are handsome like me”

These are some questions and comments I’ve received from the kids here, lol. Many laughs to be had every day.

My interactions with the elementary kids are by far the best. The most notable experience was when I visited the preschool & kindergarten with Shiho-sensei. In each class we visited, the kids froze. They had no idea who or what I was, what I was doing there, or what they should do. We walked past a preschool class that had just begun eating lunch. I said, “Helloooo” in a big voice like I do at every school I visit. “Haroo...”, they began in unison, their heads turning slowly until they froze in shock. Their spoons hung mid air and their eyes widened. It was like a scene from a movie, I swear! I laughed so hard. One girl got up and ran to her teacher in the back of the class. Moments like these I have to fight the urge to start screaming and acting like a monster like I’d do with my nephews but I don’t want to traumatize these kids.

I am the first American many of them have ever met, and certainly the first black person. It only takes one brave kid to give me a high five to put the rest of them at ease, or If they see me interacting with their teacher they realize I’m OK. After that, they want to hold my hand, touch my hair, ask a million questions, gesture for me to pick them up, haha. Just fascinated kids! The best part about Japan is that most people have this childlike curiosity about foreigners. Well, some foreigners. I can only speak on behalf of black people. I know some Asians from different countries have very different experiences.. I think Japanese people may have some expectations of me because of my nationality but not because of myrace. They ask me about cheeseburgers & baseball. “American” stuff. I know in bigger cities like Tokyo and Yokohama it is different because there are more black people there from around the world. Because of their various interactions with black people living there, they may have developed certain stereotypes. Last weekend I was in Tokyo this group of Japanese guys came up to me asking if I had any weed. They didn’t go up to the group of Japanese people who were close by which makes me wonder what stereotypes exist in metropolitan areas. Something like this would never happen in a small town in Japan, I am certain. My first reaction was obviously, “What the hell? Because I’m black?” I had to check myself though because I was sitting on a curb outside of a club in a section of Tokyo known for it’s nightlife. I don’t know what goes on there. Maybe the Jamaicans are giving us a bad rep :P haha, jk. RASTA MAAAAHHNN.

Shibuya, Tokyo.

Once while in the gym I noticed a group of guys enter. There are only a handful of us in my village who workout regularly so any newcomers stick out. I’m a local, ayyyyeeeee. At this point, I just expect everyone to gawk at me. The only people who pay me no mind are older Japanese people oddly enough. They mind their own business, clearly, haha. The newcomers stared as I expected. They were not dressed to work out so I assumed that one of them maybe saw me and told his friends to come along and take a look at the gaijin (foreigner). They watched me warm down and stretch for 15 minutes. I finished my workout and I left. One of them left right after me so I slowed down giving him the chance to address me if he had the courage. It took him until we reached the bottom of the stairs to finally try and flag me down. He said something in Japanese I didn’t understand. He tried using gestures to ask me for a photo. I already knew what he wanted before he asked, haha. His friends soon came downstairs. Apparently they were trailing close behind.

I have decided that I don’t mind if people want to take a photo as long as they want to be in the photo with me. If they just want a photo of me I’m not having it...I’m not a monkey in a zoo. This has only happened a couple of times, like below in the next picture. People usually want to take a photo with me and they always tell me how cool I am, haha. I am not bragging or making this up, just trying to describe my experience as accurately as possible. “You are very cool!” “You are nice guy!” I’ve heard these two phrases so many times. I take meeting new people very seriously because I am often the first African-American they are meeting. I mean I’m still myself - a clown - but I’m always conscious that I am probably the first black person they’re meeting ever. I don’t want to damage what could be a newfound interest in another culture. After we took the picture, they were grinning like kids in a candy shop. They were pointing at my muscles and wanting to shake my hand. “Dekaaaaa!” (big, or big as hell depending on how they say it) haha. I hear this and “Ooookii” (also meaning big) very often. They were so happy I couldn’t help but smile.

this woman thought she was slick. I caught her recording us so I started taking pictures of her. She got all awkward afterwards, haha.

In Japan, people acknowledge my humanity before considering the color of my skin. This is most apparent at the grocery store in my town (our social hub). There are a lot of migrant workers here from all over Asia working on the farms. They stare in awe every time they see me and I’ve been here for a few months now. The Japanese people here hardly pay me any mind unless we are interacting with each other. (Reminder, take into consideration the different factors that might be in play. This is specifically in regards to my village and the people here). It is so refreshing and it absolutely astounds me that most people have lived their entire lives being acknowledged this way: as a human first; as an equal. I am constantly reminded of the “uniqueness” of the African-American experience. I feel like I’m being restored which seems strange to say, but I would have to devote an entire different blog post to elaborate on this.

I would venture to say that Japanese people are not racist towards African-Americans, they are simply unaware of who we are. I have been reading a lot of articles from other African-Americans in Japan to better understand my experience. Most of us are saying the same thing more or less from what I’ve read. We don’t feel discriminated against by Japanese people & almost any interaction which could be perceived as hostile or negative could be explained by their ignorance of who we are. I’ve noticed that it is only in the bigger cities where they have had more interaction with foreigners that people may be stereotyped. Japan is no exception when it comes to American media consumption but it consumes far less than the rest of the world. Japan is it’s own country. However, the aspects of American culture that Japan consumes is shaped by black culture in the United States which is why I think it is important that Japanese people learn a thing or two about black culture. Music, dance, and fashion predominately are all areas heavily influenced by black culture. We just had our first school festival at Kawakami Jr. High and the kids were dressed in hoodies, baggie pants, nikes, and doing the nae-nae. A lot of Japanese people don’t see the need in learning about different cultures since they have everything they need in Japan and often don’t plan to leave, but Japanese culture is still influenced by outside entities and knowing more about the world around them can only help.

This is only my opinion based on the few months that I have been in Japan. My favorite part about being here oddly enough is that most people don’t know anything about black Americans. It is a lot better than being stereotyped, believe me. This statement is based off of the questions they ask and don’t ask & the comments they make and don’t make. Very few people have asked me if I play basketball. Instead, I’ve been asked what sports I like. No one has asked me if I like rap or hip-hop. Instead, I’ve been asked what music I like. No one has ever followed me in a store, questioned me when I lost a train ticket or receipt, or talked down to me (from my knowledge). They actually have really high expectations for me. I have grown so much in the few months I’ve been here and I am extremely appreciative of the people in my town who have supported me during this time. They’ve went above and beyond to make sure I’m comfortable here. I lowkey feel like the stars have aligned for me on this leg of my journey. I have never felt this comfortable, creative, and inspired by the world around me. With that being said, this has also been the most difficult cultural transition I have ever experienced. So many miscommunications, bouts of loneliness, and difficulties with language acquisition. These last few months have had many extremes but because of my past experiences I am confident that it will only get better. Patience is a virtue.

Over and out,

Raymookie Banzo

Helen is a real one. She took me to get pancakes, to a wine festival, and then to Tokyo. Byyyyeeeeeeee

The vice-principal at my Jr. High. He is my dad in Kawakami. No but forreal he’s the realest. He helps me with so much stuff although he’s the busiest person at our school. I really look up to this guy. Thank you for everything Kitazawa-sensei! And the two awkard munchkins on the side. The awkward Jr. High phase is x2 in Japan, lol.

Yamanashi Prefecture.

Go karts in Tokyo! Next time it’s going down.

BLACK PEOPLE MAKING RIBS IN JAPAN! Yall...I was so happy.

Helen thought she was a photographer, lol. This was fresh thooo.

#blog #blogger #japan #nagano #kawakami #blackinjapan #black in japan #nihon #nomad #expat #travel #blacktravel #blacktravelfeed #usa

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1310miles · 5 years ago

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Thirty three

The St. George Marathon had long been on my “must-do” list for many reasons. First, it’s one of the most scenic marathons in the country. Second, it is notoriously fast due to its net altitude loss. And third, I needed a race in Utah.

I signed up in the spring and trained through the summer for the race. During training, I really concentrated on speed work, particularly the runs that I was supposed to do at race pace. In the past, I would slack on those runs and not put the effort forward to run fast. This season, I really pushed even when it was difficult. I surprised myself when it wasn’t overwhelmingly hard to run 10 miles at my Boston Qualifying pace (8:20). I was feeling very good going into the race, and in the back of my mind, felt that a BQ was within my reach.

The course for St. George begins 26.2 miles north of the city. I was up very early to catch a shuttle from the hotel to the next bus area that would then take runners to the start line. The loading was pretty efficient, but I was early. I assume as the morning went on things may have gotten a little more frantic as runners wanted to be sure not to be left behind.

I sat up at the front of the bus and tried to sleep a little. It was interesting to listen to the drivers on the c.b. radios. They were mostly volunteers, and some of them weren’t too sure how to get to the location of the start. I was glad to hear my driver confidently giving directions. These roads were pitch dark, steep and twisting.

When we arrived at the start camp, we were generously given gloves and a heat sheet. I was already wearing three shirts, a stocking cap, and pants. And I was freezing. We were up 6,000 feet and the wind was blowing through the mountains unrelentingly. My watch said it was 44 degrees, but it felt a lot colder. Race officials were prepared though. Extending for about 200 yards, they had set up bonfires every 10 yards or so. And they began lighting them. It was a sight to behold. Camps of strangers began to huddle around each bonfire, though not too close because the whipping wind made the safe area pretty far out.

And speaking of my watch, I was already irritated. After I had run my two mile shake out the day before, I guess I hadn’t seated it properly on the charger, and when I looked at it on the bus, the battery was only at 65%. There was no possible way it was going to last me the whole race at that point. I’ve had such trouble with watches, but this was user error and it made me even more mad. I decided to start it up and see how far it would get me, but I knew it wouldn’t be much.

I sat huddled next to a fire until the last possible moment, made my way to the portopotty and then got into the starting corral. I had taken off my leggings and the heat sheet, but I was sure I needed to start with all the rest of my layers. It was still completely dark and not warming up at all. The countdown came and the race started. I started up my watch as I crossed the tracking pad, with little hope that I would get any good info from it.

The announcer asked runners not to keep their heat sheets on them in the starting corral because they would be a trip hazard when the race started. Boy, were they right. Those things whipped in the wind and wrapped around legs. I only saw a couple, but it was definitely dangerous. Of course, also dangerous were the usual people who had positioned irresponsibly in the in the corral who were walking right away, and those who were darting in and out to get in front of them.

For the first hour or so, I was really cold. I kept thinking I would warm up, and though the sun did rise as I was hitting mile 4, it didn’t come up over the mountain to produce any direct light. I had thrown out my gloves too early and my right hand (farthest away from the sun) was distractingly cold. However, I was running great! I knew the first seven miles would be a gradual downhill, so I ran fast to put some minutes in the bank. As I always do, I was ignoring the rule of going out slowly, but with the downhill it felt like I would be making more of an effort if I put on the brakes.

I hovered around the 3:35 pace group through these miles. As we approached mile 7 and the first stretch of uphill, I casually joined onto them. The two leaders were young guys, and they introduced themselves at this point to take our minds off the impending hill. A discussion began about the hills in the race, and one woman was a real bummer when she listed all the hills and how difficult they were and how once you get to the top of this one at mile 7 it’s just the beginning. I quietly made the suggestion that she refrain from continuing the conversation, and slowly pulled away.

Miles 7 through 11 were an arduous uphill. Coming into that stretch, my per mile pace was 8:00. I told myself that if I got to an average 9:00 per mile by mile 11, I would still be able to make up the time to get back to my BQ. Amazingly, my pace didn’t fall by that much! I really had been training on hills so maybe it was all paying off. I continued to blaze through miles despite the slightly slower pace. By mile 11 I was at 8:20 average per mile, which is my BQ pace! And I knew some major downhills were coming, so I was feeling really confident.

The landscape was really beautiful. We were running on a highway, but it was carved into mountains and along canyons, not a house or person in sight. Most of it was rock, some beautiful red, and sections were grasses and deserts. The sun behind the mountains to the east was particularly amazing as it cast a rainbow in the sky before it crested.

I hit halfway and felt amazing. The miles were going by faster than I’ve ever experienced. Obviously, that’s because I was running faster than I ever have, but I wouldn’t have expected this. On my typical races, I am a tourist. I’m running along enjoying the scenery. Sometimes I’m bored and have to sing songs in my head, or list the Cubs’ starting lineup. In this race, I never had a thought in my head other than about my time, the course, or my form. Tragic, because if I had been going slower, I would have enjoyed the views more!

The most epic moment of the course was at mile 15. I was still screaming along, when we rounded a bend and there was a road sign stating the angle of the downhill would be 6+%. I took a deep breath and went forward. It was almost all I could do to not roll head over heels. It was so steep that some people were actually walking. I continued my general practice of trying to relax my entire body when going downhill. I think it was really conserving my energy throughout the race, and it was also really exciting to feel this pull of gravity without fighting it. I had to take a picture here too, because it was undoubtedly the most beautiful part of the race.

Miles 16 through 18 were supposed to even out flat, so I had to refocus and start working some different muscles again. Brett was planning to meet me around mile 16 so that was going to be a good boost. The race had sent info out to say that spectating this race would be difficult because it was going down just one highway, which was closed, and that very few roads could meet up. The only official spot they could recommend was in a state park, at mile 16. Parking would be limited, so you could buy parking in advance for $7, which I did, and prepped Brett on directions. The best laid plans though. As he has found in so many races, there was just no way to cross the race route and get to this parking lot. And if he had, he would be stuck there all day. Try as he might, he had to bail on that vantage point and find a new one.

Of course, I didn’t know this, so as I passed through this section, I was scanning everywhere to see Brett. He wasn’t anywhere, and the crowd started to thin, and I thought “oh no, he just missed seeing me and now he won’t know where I am.” This is wrong, because he was tracking me on his phone, but my marathon brain had a panic moment, and in that moment, I decided to call him. Very unusual, as I don’t think I’ve ever made a phone call while running a marathon, and also, I was running faster than ever so I don’t know how I had the physical coordination. I may have been slightly affected by the altitude. Nonetheless, I called his number and told him that I missed him at 16. He said he was a little bit down the road, and he would see me soon.

With that I hung up and started looking for him again. At this point I was also really fed up with carrying my phone. I was using an accessory that tucked into my shorts and clasped with a magnet to hold my phone and my Gu packets. It usually works ok, but that day, I just couldn’t get the magnet to grab and the whole thing kept slipping down my shorts. Way down. It was very distracting and uncomfortable. I spent so much time fishing for that thing and trying to reclasp it. Again, very difficult when running 8 minute miles.

Finally around mile 17 I see Brett on the sidelines waving and smiling. As I take another step toward him, he seems to be looking down, and grabbing something on the ground. I see him talking to someone, and he looks stressed. From that distance, it looked like he was reaching into his bag on the ground, and asking someone to help him find something inside. I thought to myself “I don’t need anything from the bag! Don’t worry about it!” But as I get close enough and begin to pass him, I see that he is holding up aa woman who is unconscious! I made a wide eyed look at him, and he looked at me disappointingly, and I shouted “it’s ok!” and I ran along. I was sad that we didn’t get to share good vibes, but I was proud that he was there to help this woman. Turns out, she was just spectating the race next to him, when all of a sudden she just sank down to the ground. That’s what he was reaching for. Her husband and Brett lifted her up and she was out cold. There was aa police officer right there that took over for Brett, and she did finally come to. No idea why that happened to her though.

Brett looked around and saw they didn’t need him, so he quickly put a plan together to speed down the road and see me again. It was much less dramatic this time and a great boost! I was dying to know the story though!

At mile 18 we were hit with a pretty daunting uphill. To this point and through it, I never walked. Not even at the water stations. This may actually be the first marathon that I can say that for. The hill was difficult, but it almost felt good on my legs which had been so abused by the downhills.

By this time, I was approaching an hour remaining for me to hit my Boston Qualifying time of 3:40. I really wanted to give myself some cushion and finish at 3:38 though. And I was running just fast enough. In fact, I was running ahead of the 3:35 pace group, and I started thinking I may actually be able to beat 3:30.

My legs were screaming for mercy. Unlike other races, I wasn’t mentally tired, or even physically exhausted. It was more like I was in pain. Every step felt a little like being hit by a car. It started to get in my head, and I began surrendering to the negative. I do this thing where I put a really awful grimace on my face so that spectators can see how unhappy I am. It’s silly to do this, and really only uses up energy, but for some reason it’s what I do when I’m mad that I’m running.

It was getting hot as I came into mile 23 and reached the city of St. George, and I was crabby, but starting to feel like the end was near. Those last three miles can seem really long though. My time was looking great, and slowly it began to occur to me that if I could maintain, I would definitely beat my BQ. The distraction of the city and the spectators offset some of the pain.

A great thing the race did was put a mile marker at 25.2. Near the end, that last 0.2 miles really starts to nag at you because you know you won’t be done at mile 26. With this mile marker I could really believe that I only had one mile to go, and that I was going to get my Boston Qualifier. I started to cry, sob actually. It felt so amazing. As I was about to turn to the final stretch, I saw Brett again on the sidelines! I was crying and so happy about my BQ, but he totally confused me that he didn’t seem overly excited and didn’t even say anything about my pace. I couldn’t figure it out…but later he explained that he never knows my pace because he doesn’t use the race trackers and doesn’t know what time I start. Ha! After all these races I learned something!

Pulling through to the finish line and I see my time in the 3:32’s. I slowed ever so slightly so I could cross the line of my 33rd marathon in 3:33. It was amazing. I was so happy, but of course no one around me had any idea what I had just accomplished: qualifying for Boston with 7 minutes to spare and beating my personal best of 3:48.

However, I didn’t know for sure…because literally as I crossed the finish line and stopped my watch, it died! Amazingly, the watch kept my time for the entire race with starting at 65% battery. Of course, I knew I had gotten the 3:33 but without my watch confirming it, I felt a little like I had dreamed it. A text came through on my phone from Elissa, who had been tracking me online, and she said, “did you just qualify for Boston?” I texted her back and asked for my official time, and when she said 3:33:08 I just cried. I texted Brett and said, “I just qualified for Boston” and he was like “what?” And I was like “OMG you didn’t know…”. He said he was crying and so happy for me, but also trying to figure out how to come find me at the finish line. In the meanwhile, I was texting everyone with so much pride. I couldn’t believe it…my life’s running goal was finally accomplished.

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sapphiraice · 7 years ago

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1-100!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tell me everything >;3c

/dies

Under the cut because 100 is a lot.

1. What is your middle name? Rose. I was named for my maternal grandma.

2. How old are you? 20. I keep wanting to say 21 because of how close my birthday is lol

3. When is your birthday? September 25th

4. What is your zodiac sign? Libra

5. What is your favorite color? sapphire blue (or blues in general)

6. What’s your lucky number? 13? My favorite number’s four, so I guess four.

7. Do you have any pets? A male dog named Teddy.

8. Where are you from? North Dakota, in the USA :3

9. How tall are you? 5′6″

10. What shoe size are you? 9 wide, although most shoe stores don’t carry wide, so I wear 9 ½.

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 5, but I’m thinking of getting rid of a couple.

12. What was your last dream about? I dreamed that my family was having a reunion and everyone was telling me that I don’t matter and my problems were nothing and I haven’t been through anything that should qualify me for the various issues that I have. They all sat around a table eating food and I had to sit on the floor next to the table and cry. Coincidentally, I woke up crying.

13. What talents do you have? Being a consistent failure. I pick up animal body language very quickly. I tend to learn most things fairly quickly.

14. Are you psychic in any way? My mom thinks I am because it makes her feel good about herself for having made me. When I was little I did a tarot card reading that predicted my mom’s various financial statuses and my cousin getting an abusive boyfriend, I suppose.

15. Favorite song? I usually can’t decide these things, as they’re very ‘in-the-moment’. I like the songs from Three Days Grace from before they changed lead singers pretty consistently.

16. Favorite movie? Kiki’s Delivery Service. I will never not want to see that movie.

17. Who would be your ideal partner? Like someone I know? Not sure. For qualities, I could try to name a few, but I’ll just go with someone who is willing to work through my paranoia until I realize that they actually do care about me and I don’t have to maintain some kind of air of perfection to avoid abandonment.

18. Do you want children? No. Never.

19. Do you want a church wedding? Depends who I’m getting married to.

20. Are you religious? I was raised Lutheran, and would like to find a church eventually if possible.

21. Have you ever been to the hospital? Aside from regular checkups, I’ve been there for two surgeries, an allergy test, and the emergency room for my foot.

22. Have you ever gotten in trouble with the law? Not exactly. My aunt let me borrow her car, and a policeman pulled up to me in the college parking lot to inform me that the tags were seven years out of date, the car insurance/title was different than the license plate, and the license plate itself was the wrong one (which is a pretty bad felony). I explained my situation and instead of arresting me he believed me (thank goodness) and told me to just not drive the car anymore.

23. Have you ever met any celebrities? No, but my mom cleaned a set for a film featuring Shia LaBeouf. Close enough for me.

24. Baths or showers? Showers. Having to lay in my own dirty bath water makes me feel like I didn’t actually get clean.

25. What color socks are you wearing? Dark gray knee-highs with 3 white stripes at the top.

26. Have you ever been famous? Depends on the scale of fame. In my school I was generally well known for being intelligent, in my county I had a brief moment of fame for making it to the state Spelling Bee, etc.

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? No.

28. What type of music do you like? I’m not picky. I have a soft spot for musical soundtracks, rock/metal, and classical instrument covers of various genres.

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? No but I want to.

30. How many pillows do you sleep with? Two and a bunch of stuffed animals.

31. What position do you usually sleep in? On my back or sides. Occasionally my legs & arms will take on various awkward-looking positions.

32. How big is your house? I currently live in a one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment.

33. What do you typically have for breakfast? Nothing, or toast with peanut butter and honey.

34. Have you ever fired a gun? Multiple guns, multiple times.

35. Have you ever tried archery? My bow and arrows are in the closet.

36. Favorite clean word? Defenestration.

37. Favorite swear word? I typically don’t swear. Maybe silly variations on traditional swears? Like mcfuckin

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? Close to 48 hours.

39. Do you have any scars? I have 4 scars.

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? If I have, they’re still very much a secret.

41. Are you a good liar? Yes, but it takes effort that I’m not willing to make.

42. Are you a good judge of character? I can be, but I’m not infallible.

43. Can you do any other accents than your own? No.

44. Do you have a strong accent? Not particularly, although people from other areas can probably pick up on it.

45. What is your favorite accent? *ahem* South Korean. >.> followed closely by Irish, although I don’t recall the exact dialect.

46. What is your personality type? If you mean MBTI, I’m most likely an INXP (I waffle between the T and F pretty frequently).

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? I don’t do expensive, but I have an old prom dress that I never wear that technically qualifies.

48. Can you curl your tongue? No.

49. Are you an innie or an outie? innie

50. Left or right handed? right

51. Are you scared of spiders? No but they have startled me on occasion.

52. Favorite food? Blueberries and pumpkin (and all their variants).

53. Favorite foreign food? I’m only counting foreign food as what I’ve eaten in foreign countries. I don’t know what it’s called, but in Greece I had this awesome hotdish/lasagna-type thing. I had gotten the non-vegetarian version, and I was able to try the vegetarian version, and they were both great!

54. Are you a clean or messy person? messy 100%

55. Most used phrase? “at this point”, or some other phrase that’s more of a local colloquialism (I asked my sister and she said “owo”)

56. Most used word? It’s probably “hecc” at this point. *stares* (omg I didn’t even realized I said ‘at this point’ lol)

57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 15 minutes to an hour and a half

58. Do you have much of an ego? No.

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? No matter how hard I try to just suck, I always end up biting them.

60. Do you talk to yourself? Yeah.

61. Do you sing to yourself? I used to.

62. Are you a good singer? My voice is too weak for me to carry a tune consistently.

63. Biggest fear? Abandonment or failure

64. Are you a gossip? I’ll listen but I won’t participate unless I have a reasonable explanation to add.

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? I don’t remember any dramas I may have watched.

66. Do you like long or short hair? I like the ways I can style long hair.

67. Can you name all 50 states of America? Given enough time and motivation.

68. Favorite school subject? Science

69. Extrovert or introvert? Introvert

70. Have you ever been scuba diving? No but I want to.

71. What makes you nervous? Social situations, mostly

72. Are you scared of the dark? I’m not afraid of the dark, but only what it could be hiding.

73. Do you correct people when they make a mistake? I used to do that a lot, but now it’s a bit rarer or I’ll do it in a joking way.

74. Are you ticklish? No one has found my ticklish spots.

75. Have you ever started a rumor? No.

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? Junior high class vice president.

77. Have you ever drank underage? I’ve sipped beer (nasty), champagne, a white wine, and maybe a few other things.

78. Have you ever done drugs? No and I don’t want to.

79. Who was your first real crush? A boy in the same high school grade as me.

80. How many piercings do you have? Two; one on each ear lobe

81. Can you roll your Rs? No. It makes speaking Spanish difficult.

82. How fast can you type? I’m inconsistent so it varies from 65-75 wpm.

83. How fast can you run? Average to below average speed, maybe.

84. What color is your hair? Used to be blue. It’s a dark blonde now.

85. What color are your eyes? Blue, although they’ve been known to change shades or look gray or green.

86. What are you allergic to? All deciduous trees/pollen, all non-fruit-bearing plants, all non-fruit-bearing bushes, horses, cows, maybe some other farm animals, cats, pollen, dust, hay fever, ceclor/cefaclor.

87. Do you keep a journal? I used to. I still have it, and plan to start it up again soon.

88. What do your parents do? My dad is dead, my mom runs a cleaning business.

89. Do you like your age? Sure? I don’t dislike it.

90. What makes you angry? Anything/anyone who is/has threatened people I care about. People who abuse animals.

91. Do you like your own name? Yep

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? No.

93. Do you want a boy or a girl for a child? No.

94. What are your strengths? Do I have any? I can’t think of any right now.

95. What are your weaknesses? My fear of abandonment makes me a jealous person. I have crippling insecurity. I can’t resist sugary foods. I lose motivation quickly. I’m indecisive. etc

96. How did you get your name? My mom came across it and was pretty much like “Oh, that’s cool. If I give birth to a daughter I’ll name her this.”

97. Were your ancestors royalty? I read that at least 70% of the American population containing West European DNA is related to one of the kings of England, so probably.

98. Do you have any scars? This is a repeat question, so I’ll say their locations. One’s on my left shin, another’s on the back of my left hand, a third’s on my left wrist, and the fourth’s on my left thumb. While inspecting my left thumb I found a fifth scar that I forgot to mention, so there’s also that. :/

99. Color of your bedspread? Blue

100. Color of your room? White (boring, but it is an apartment)

#Ask Meme Answers #casualpastelgay #man that was a lot

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norihisahyuga-archived · 8 years ago

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Paths Cross Again

Minami Kaori/Inada Mizuho Battle Royale 2000~ words. Sfw.

Kaori and Mizuho part ways in high school and find themselves meeting once again under strange circumstances on one fateful day. Another installment of that goddamn soulmate AU everyone refuses to take out of my hands. Non-Program modern day AU.

There are reasons the two of them fall out in high school, a difference of opinions and personalities neither of them try to make a bridge between because they grow into such vastly different people. Kaori feels bad about it when she thinks back on it now, in the middle of one of her college classes, out with some of her friends, or just trying to unwind after a long study session. Inevitably, something catches her eye and reminds her of Mizuho Inada.

It wasn’t that Kaori had ever stopped liking her. For all of the time she had known Mizuho, she had been nothing less than one of the most fascinating people in the world. And as much as Kaori wanted to remain friends with her, it became… Difficult. Mizuho was eccentric, and though Kaori had enjoyed spending time with her, those eccentricities made it more difficult as time passed. She hadn’t been able to keep up with the cogs turning in Mizuho’s mind.

Older now, and a little bit wiser, she doesn’t blame her younger self as much as she once did. High school is a difficult experience for most of the teenagers who make their way through it, and with her self-image issues and her insecurities already plaguing her, it doesn’t surprise her now that trying to keep up with Mizuho had proven difficult for her.

They lost touch in high school and did not speak much outside of it, and between final exams and university, it had been years since Kaori had seen her former best friend. But even now, she hasn’t really forgotten about her, hasn’t been able to shake the memory of the girl who had been her constant company despite the obvious differences between the two of them.

On a day like today, especially: Valentine’s Day. It’s become somewhat of an interesting tradition for the people who have found their soulmates, who give each other gifts in many hues as a sign that the two of them can see those colors. Kaori can occasionally see the differences in the shades of gray that her vision gives her, but otherwise she has no way of knowing what anything looks like. She’d never found her special someone before leaving high school.

Truth be told, she was always a little jealous of the people who had found their other halves. Noriko Nakagawa, for instance, who had all of her soulmates before she graduated, and girls like Takako Chigusa and Haruka Tanizawa who never even really tried but just got lucky in one way or another. Not that Kaori had tried; she’d been too shy, too afraid to do so.

She still has the fingerless gloves she’d worn through much of school, ones where the mitten-part that would cover her fingers folded over the back of her hands so she could use her fingers as needed but so she could also stop any skin to skin contact should she so desire. When she could hardly look at herself in the mirror each morning, the idea of finding her soulmate was more than a little repulsive to her. She had spent years so certain that her soulmate would turn her down as soon as they were united that she was afraid to find that person period.

Sighing, Kaori pushes herself up from her desk and excuses herself from class. Her thoughts are too heavy for her to pay any more attention.

Mizuho Inada isn’t paying much attention where she’s going.

It’s become a habit for her to take walks with no clear destination in mind, a chance for her to unwind after a long day at work, and the flower shop she works at has been busy all day as people come in to purchase flower arrangements for the people they love the most. It’s something Mizuho herself isn’t allowed to participate in as she can’t see the colors of the flowers and therefore has no idea how to match the colors together. The most she can do is maintenance around the shop, and she does it to the best of her ability.

Ahuza Mazda has been curiously silent, unable to answer the questions she has asked of late. Every time she brushes by a couple on the street, every time she hears someone mention a color, or a particular shade, she has the same simple question each time: Is she ever going to find the person meant for her?

Of course, logically speaking, she knows the likelihood of this is slim to begin with, and she knows that warriors would do better without anything left behind them to hold them back. She knows she has to push on in this world alone by and large because she has to fight, and if she had someone waiting on her, she might not put her all into her battles. How could she ever live with herself if she allowed herself to slack off in her real world mission?

“It is what it is,” she sing-songs to herself, checking the street both ways before daring to cross to the other side. “Some people are meant to find their other half. Some are not.”

She knows that she could always make more of a concentrated effort to meet her other half, knows that there are meets regularly scheduled in the community center for people to come and just to shake hands, just to see. None of it has ever appealed to her, and she has always thought that when the time was right, she would meet the person she was destined to meet. If she never meets them, then so be it. There is no reason to rush fate.

The afternoon is a chilly one, but nothing that her sweater can’t stand up against. The cool breeze is rather pleasant, a nice change to the warm interior of the flower shop, a necessity to keep the blooms alive during the colder months. It’s not bad during the coldest parts of winter but it can become unbearable when it’s only just chilly outside, and Mizuho had been sweating enough to be forced to strip down to a tank top to deal with the heat.

Now, though, she feels revitalized by the chill and adopts a bounce to her step, smiling softly to herself as she goes. It’s not been a bad day. It might even be a good day if they can close up on time and head home when they’re actually supposed to.

When she crosses another street, she can see more couples holding hands, can see people hurrying past with flowers and chocolate and cards in hand to give the people they love. Without any malice, she wishes them all luck because she knows just as well as anyone that finding that special someone is an important and often life-changing moment for everyone.

Kaori drops her books off at her room and decides on a walk, not sure where she’s going but enjoying the nice day just the same. Valentine’s Day is one of the most anticipated holidays in the country at this point, a symbol of people celebrating their love for one another and for those lucky enough to have found their soulmate, their eternal love. Distantly, she wonders what her old classmates are up to today.

Some of them, she could see doing something extravagant, and that might be easier with, say, five people’s worth of money to pool together instead of just two. No doubt Shinji Mimura would know how to do something romantic. But she can’t see someone like Mitsuko Souma enjoying romance of any kind, and hadn’t she ran from Takako Chigusa to begin with?

Shaking her head at herself, chuckling softly, Kaori fixes her mind on finding a location to head toward. A hot cup of coffee would be nice if nothing else, and she happens to know the perfect cafe near her. After checking around to make sure she knows exactly where she’s going, she adjusts her course and heads off once again.

It strikes her that it’s odd to remember her classmates so often, most of them who she hasn’t seen since she graduated from high school. Only two people that she knows— Yuko Sakaki and Satomi Noda— attend the same university as she does and she doesn’t talk to them very much.

And Mizuho, well… She has no idea what happened to her.

As soon as her thoughts begin wandering, she loses track of her surroundings, a common enough issue she’s been having especially since coming to university. She bumps shoulders with a few people and doesn’t think much of it, as it happens often enough and everyone is wrapped up in their own worlds, too busy to notice her brushing past.

It’s only when she collides with someone directly and they both go sprawling out on the sidewalk that she realizes she should have been paying attention to where she was going.

When Mizuho bumps into the girl and hits the pavement, the last thing she expects to open her eyes to see is a familiar face with a halo of bright blue sky and white wispy clouds.

It takes her a full moment for her to notice that the world is suffused with color; she’s dazed from the impact and the back of her head stings a little, but when she touches it with uncertain fingers, there is no blood on her hands and her hair isn’t damp with it. She’s more relieved than anything because she’d had a mild head injury last year and knows from experience that they bleed a lot and that the sight can be more frightening than the injury itself.

There might be a bump to put ice on when she returns to the shop, and her boss will be worried more than she should be, but otherwise, Mizuho is fine, and she thanks Ahura Mazda for being there to no doubt cushion her fall. Otherwise, she might have a serious injury now.

Of course Ahura Mazda had saved her, though. She is one of the only warriors of light left.

“Are you okay?” The girl kneeling next to her on the sidewalk asks. Her glasses are falling down her nose, her eyes wide and worried as she looks Mizuho up and down. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you like that. Are you all right?”

Mizuho blinks at her, then looks around the city, both dazzled and alarmed at the explosions of color filling the streets, bleeding into everything. “Can you see all of this, too?”

“See all of what?” The girl blinks at her, then looks around, and her eyes widen further as it finally seems to settle in what she’s seeing. Shocked at the thought Mizuho might have been hurt, she hadn’t noticed when her vision changed at all. “O-oh. I can!”

“That’s amazing.” Mizuho smiles slowly at the thought, and thanks Ahura Mazda again for this fortune. She had been without a partner for her entire life, and then on Valentine’s Day, she had just happened to run into her? It seems impossible, but Mizuho knows better. “My name is Mizuho Inada. I should introduce myself, now that we have reason to get acquainted.”

The girl’s eyes widen further, her hands fluttering to her mouth. “I… Mizuho Inada? Did you graduate from Shiroiwa High School?”

“I did, yes.” Mizuho cocks her head to the side, and then it registers. “Kaori?”

Once she speaks the familiar name aloud, the girl in front of her suddenly seems much more familiar; she’s grown into herself, changed enough that Mizuho had been unable to place a name with her face even if she had looked familiar. It also makes her uncertain. She and Kaori had once been good friends, but Mizuho had had a rough patch during high school and the two of them had not spoken for the rest of their years together. She had gotten better, had gotten help when she needed it, but by then she was a graduate and they were no longer in contact.

“Yes, that’s me.” Kaori Minami smiles tentatively at her, and Mizuho searches her eyes for anything negative, anything that might lead her to believe Kaori is unhappy about this. “I… I never would have guessed. I feel so stupid. You were right here the whole time.”

Mizuho gives her a one-shoulder shrug. “The street seems like not the best place to discuss this.”

“That’s true. I was just going to go for coffee. If you want…” Kaori trails off, then clears her throat and finds her voice. “You can come with me if you want.”

Chuckling softly, Mizuho allows her former best friend— her soul mate— to help her up off of the pavement. “All right. Let’s get coffee, then.”

#battle royale #mizuho inada #kaori minami #*f: mine #*f: br #*f: mizuho #*f: kaori #*f: soulmate au

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elevenhoursinfront-blog · 8 years ago

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February 23rd 2017

Steve’s alarm went off at 0500. Not that I heard. In fact, I didn’t even hear him get down from his bed or getting ready for work. I must’ve been dead to the world. My alarm was on for 0900 but I was woken up at 0800. The German girls got in at 0400 and their alarm went off for 13 WHOLE MINUTES before they even realised it was going off. That doesn’t sound too long but an alarm ring is roughly 3 seconds long before it repeats itself. I wanted to cry. When one of the girls turned it off, Josh shouted “FINALLY!” from his bed. That’s how bad it was. I’m glad it wasn’t just me who was annoyed with it.

I said hello to our new roommates from yesterday - I’m fairly sure they’re British but they were just leaving as I got up so there was no introduction as such. The German girls were packing up their stuff and Josh just got back from breakfast, he had to check out by 1000 also. I went down to breakfast. It felt weird going down on my own. I did leave the room singing “One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do” - Josh laughed. I only had Weetabix. I wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. I will add that their Weetabix here is pretty nasty. Good job I borrowed those sweeteners from Starbucks.

It was roughly 0930 when I finished my breakfast. I had an interview at 1100 but I still didn’t know the address. The guy was meant to text the address over to me yesterday but he didn’t. I did text for it last night but still no reply. I rang him and he answered straight away (he was really grumpy, definitely in a bad mood). I apologised straight away for bothering him again and asked for the location for the interview. He just kept on saying “Hello? Hello? HELLO?”. He could definitely hear me. He hung up on me after the third hello, so I got the hint. No interview. I went back to bed. I said goodbye to Josh although it wasn’t goodbye. He was only going across the street and hopefully he’ll be back to Mad Monkey as soon as possible. When he got to his room, he text me to say he could see our window. I went to the window and waved - he waved back. I received my first texts from Steve around 1200. He got to work at 0600 when he was meant to start at 0700. He wanted to leave earlier to make sure he found the right location but his timings were still very wrong. It was only 2 train stops and 1 bus stop until he got to the right place. A coffee shop was opening as he jumped off the bus so he sat there and had a drink. He started to look around for the construction site. He asked a few people who didn’t know where he needed to be. Eventually, someone told him to go into an office where he was working. He was told he would be finishing around 1530. An 8 hour day is good. Sometimes construction work can be for 4-5 hours only. This means for one day’s work, he will be bringing home $200. He got a half an hour break for lunch at 1200. Steve still managed to forget to fill up his bottle of water and take a fork with him. Both of which were on the list I made him. Typical Steven.

I spoke to a couple of my friends before they went to sleep. It was roughly midnight back at home. It was 1130 before I realised that I had to do something with my day. I showered and got ready. I got ready for… Nothing. I had no idea what to do. I knew I had to get a job but I was actually feeling pretty sorry for myself. I hated being on my own. Steve and I had spent every day together since January 4th. It was weird not having him around. Don’t get me wrong - I love having space from each other especially on the days I want to ring his neck, but it was just odd. The worst part was being in a new country that I didn’t know so well.

Two new roommates walked through the door. Two girls… From Canada. Jess and Steph. They’re really nice. They’ve just been travelling Southeast Asia. I’m so jealous. Steve and I want to do that so badly. They’re in Australia for one month but have only booked two nights at Mad Monkey. They may extend if they like it and if there’s space. They’re gorgeous and so petite. Complex coming… I went to the travel agency that allows us free internet use and paid for printing. It’s 50c a sheet to print which is really expensive. I was going to find a library but the one in Kings Cross is shut so I would’ve had to pay the price in travel anyway. I printed a few of my CV’s off and put them into my folder. This actually took almost two hours. It would’ve taken a hell of a lot longer if it wasn’t for Steve’s Uncle Sean. He changed my CV into a PDF form so I can now print using the computers here. Savior Sean!

It was 1400 and I started to feel peckish. I went back to the hostel and made some lunch. The famous turkey mince and salad, of course! It was nice having lunch in the afternoon. There wasn’t many people around either which is always a bonus when it comes to the kitchen. There were two new people in the kitchen that seemed nice enough. I spoke to them whilst I cooked, both from England. The girl would not shut up though so I was secretly hoping she wasn’t put into our room. There was one empty bed left.

I went back to my room to apply for more jobs. Applying online was better and more economical… I could also do this properly now thanks to Uncle Sean and his PDF file. I had a massive headache for an unknown reason. I had drank water with my lunch and I wasn’t in the sun for more than 10 minutes. Strange. I put my hoody on and got into the covers. Not because I was tired, but because the aircon works too well. I’m not moaning, I’m just explaining…

Steve woke me up at 1630 when he got in from work. It appears, I may have fallen asleep whilst applying for jobs. Exciting stuff and all that… His first words were “Busy day?”. Sarcastic much! I was so excited to hear about his day but the first thing he did was eat his lunch. He’ll definitely remember his fork tomorrow! He received a text before he got in asking him to work again tomorrow which is brilliant. He spent the day working with 4 other labourers - 3 with the agency Steve is with. One English, one Irish, one Scottish and one from New Zealand. 3 are staying in Kings Cross also but different hostels across the road. He was based underground making a new car park (I think, I’ve probably got this wrong. He always tells me I don’t listen to him). The car park is going to be beneath shops which will be beneath flats. Today was a hot day roughly 30 degrees but underground it’s even hotter. Steve said they were all dripping wet from sweat. He was constantly bending down which meant the sweat was falling onto his glasses and he couldn’t see. He should get contacts but I don’t know whether he will be able to put them in and take them out. Something to try when we get home I guess. He had to mix cement and put the cement onto the wall with his hands… Weird right? He didn’t understand either but just got on with it. He was using Cango which is a Jackhammer to break up the concrete. General bits and bobs too like sweeping up and filling the skips with rubbish. He said it was good and he wasn’t really moaning which is a first. A good first day if you ask me. He jumped into the shower and got changed.

I was really jealous that Steve was working. I love to work. I love to be busy and have things to do. I felt like a spare part today. I knew Steve would find work first doing construction but I also thought I might’ve had friends by now, too. Steve fancied chocolate and asked if we could go to the shops… This was only going to end one way - an argument. And it did. It was my fault to be honest but I only mean well. Steve got a basket and filled it up with two massive bars of Dairy Milk, Ice Cream and Jelly Babies. I asked him to put the Ice Cream and one chocolate bar back. We had no freezer for the ice cream and he had to have his dinner first so there was no point. It would just melt. Steve began to sulk like a 3 year old down the isle. Literally, even his feet and bottom lip were going! I’m trying ever so hard to eat healthy and to get Steve to eat healthy but he has no will power. It’s difficult for me to stay on track when he’s eating like that. His metabolism is very different to mine. Dairy Milk is stupidly expensive here so that was another reason I asked him to put it back. He only wanted one chocolate bar and it turned into a basket full of snacks. Steve spends his life with champagne taste with cider money. He got his own way of course because he is an adult and he can do what he likes. He will be the first to come running to me when his bank balance is 50c and he has put on another stone! I’m only trying to look out for him.

I had dinner on my own - not because of the “argument”, but because Steve had ice cream for dinner. That’s all he wanted. I made pesto pasta with salad. I was feeling pretty low. Homesick most likely. I made Steve bolognese to take to work for lunch and put it in the fridge. I came upstairs and chilled out for a little while. I spoke to Steph and Johnny about their days whilst Steve was flicking through his phone. Just to add, Steve didn’t even manage his Dairy Milk bars or Jelly Babies… He is famous for the ‘eyes bigger than your belly’ situation. I ended the night in tears. A lot of tears in fact. And it appears I’m crying again whilst typing this… Bugger. This is where my Dad would call me a tart. I think I’m a little home sick. It didn’t help being on my own for the whole day and knowing I have to do the same again tomorrow. I’m not even able to speak to friends or family during the day when I am alone because it’s the middle of the night. Stupid time difference. Anyway, I need to man up. I’m just tired and it doesn’t help that I’m not losing any weight either. This really affects me, a lot more than it should do.

Tomorrow is another day though, another page in the book, another blog. I plan on waking up (without a 13 minute alarm), handing out my CV’s and going to the gym. We’ll see what happens.

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burndownthehousetonight · 8 years ago

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((I just finished up an RP with @tinyredartist! It finished a lot quicker than I expected, but we were both updating fairly rapidly, so I guess I shouldn’t be TOO surprised. Anyways, just a mostly serious little story about Manic and Aria being turds :D Hope you enjoy!))

It wasn’t a long drive away from his house, that ‘felecidades’ place, or whatever it was called. It was maybe an hour from where he lived, nothing he couldn’t manage. And his concern wasn’t regarding the bar itself not usually hosting musical acts. He didn’t need good acoustics to play well, his music was good enough on it’s own, and from what he’d seen, all of the other musicians they called in to play back-up for him were very talented.

No, his concern came from the streets he drove down. He was certain he’d been here before, many moons before with Scourge. It was strange, returning to a place he didn’t even know he remembered, even if it was only in vague splashes.

He parked his van in front of the bar, stepping out with his guitar. There were a couple scarce buildings he could almost swear he would remember, but there was one he was certain he hadn’t seen before. Thankfully, it was the bar he was entering, “Dasvidania.” In spite of the comfortable location, the vague familiarity filled him with a dread he couldn’t shake.

Inside the bar, a stage was set upon against a back wall, providing all seated patrons with a view. A crocodile, a bat and a cheetah looked to be setting up and a tiger was messing around with wires that connected to a speaker. Behind the bar, a red panda took inventory with a clipboard, reorganizing bottles and such.

Oddly enough, Aria seemed to be the only one who noticed the musician enter, perking up from where she had ducked behind a table to clean a spill. She tossed the wet rag away and with surprising force, pounded on the counter of the bar. The sound itself shook the bottles on the wall a bit. It was almost as if she was knocking… Maybe someone was upstairs? There was a second floor to the place after all, but no visible staircase.

“Hi Manic! The boss will be down in just a second. Here, lemme show you where you can store your guitar case.” The short female motioned for the other to follow her towards the stage. Manic's initial shock at a stranger knowing his name quickly melted as soon as he realized who she was. "Alright, sweet, uh... Aria," he said, reading her name tag. The walk to where the rest of the instrument cases had been left wasn't long, and in a fluid motion, he slipped the guitar strap around his neck. The tiger instinctively searched around for the right wire as he saw Manic pull out one more instrument that needed to be set up. Manic walked on stage, giving a greeting and some kind of hand motion to greet each of his temporary backup. The tiger plugged him in, and spoke about if they practiced certain songs and technical details, nothing that sounded too interesting. He turned around on the stage... and looked around. There was no sign of a boss anywhere. The next time Aria walked by, he motioned her over. "Uh... lemme guess, he's the same guy I talked to on the phone?" He joked, careful to make sure he wasn't nearby. "His voice really gritty and kind of muppet-y?" “You’re good to go.” The tiger patted Manic on the shoulder.

“Kyle! Keyboard is acting up! ” The cheetah called and the male started cursing under his breath as he walked off.

Arias ears perked as Manic waved her down, bouncing up onstage to provide assistance. She seemed confused for a few seconds at his statement until something clicked and she giggled. “Our boss is a lady. And she was losing her voice when she called you which is why she sounded masculine. She should be coming right about now.”

Suddenly the wall that the red panda was doing inventory on swung open to reveal a hidden staircase and a bat. She made her way over to the stage and looked up at the two of them.

“You must be Manic I assume? ” The bat had a thick Russian accent, and her demeanor was cold. What a stark contrast to the bubbly girl who stood beside him. Manic silently decided to keep the muppet voice comment to himself. "Yeah, in the flesh." He said, holding his arm out for a handshake. "I just got here, like, a few minutes ago, nice to meet you." She hadn't said anything else to him, but just from the way she stood, it felt like he had already done several things wrong and disgraced her bloodline for generations to come. But she wasn't berating him, and she accepted the greeting. He had a tendency to come across people who gave off those vibes. "Alright, so this band says they've got all of the sheet music I sent down," he explained. "Uh, I know we already went over the set list, but do you want us to make any more changes? You said there are gonna be a lot of people tonight, I just wanna be sure." She looked at the hand, clearly thinking a handshake was below her. Regardless she briefly shook his hand.

“I have no specific criteria at this time. You’d be best to run through your act before the people arrive. Aria, call me when the guests show up.” Without a goodbye to Manic she returned to the upstairs.

“Don’t be too offended if she’s rather cold. She’s not a people person. The first guests will be arriving at 8, so you have time to run though your songs. Need anything else? ” The red head asked, eager to help out where she could.

She had another lightbulb moment. “Oh! Do you have business cards or CDs? We could always sell those at the bar. Boss would take a bit of the money but it would be some extra cash and exposure for you! ” Manic laughed. "You read my mind. Yeah, just lemme hop outta here real quick, I have a whole stack of them in my van. Just a sec." Without specifying what 'them' referred to, Manic hurried out the door, returning after maybe a minute with a stack of CDs, even in custom printed jewel cases. He put them down on the bar. "Yeah, don't worry about any fee or whatever, that's just normal. Hey, thanks, mate." He gave her a nod and a smirk before heading back to the stage. Manic jumped back on stage, speaking with some of the people he was going to be playing with as he tuned his guitar. "Alright, you guys think we should try 'Here's Your Card' to start sound test? I think... ..." With a few nods, the four got into their positions, the tiger at the soundboard as they got ready for their practice number. What started as a mostly imbalanced set of volumes soon balanced out into a mid tempo rock song with a large amount of emphasis on the rhythm guitar. It had a surprisingly smooth groove to it. Manic had turned around to face the other band members, the four exchanging glances and nods to indicate small changes of some kind or another. Aria took the CDs when he handed them over and put them behind the counter, safe from drink spillage. She inspected the case, reading any song titles and looking for a price to put on them. She made note to ask Manic what he was asking for them. She sat next to the tiger as he worked, foot tapping to the beat.

People on the street stopped to listen to the tune, several really enjoying them.

Aria got up and put a sign on the door, a generic poster that one would usually fill out with the name of the bad and the details of times and such. Below the text, she added that CDs were available for purchase inside.

The set eventually finished and the small audience clapped, clearly having enjoyed the music.

“Hey Manic, before we open I wanted to ask, how much do I charge for one of those CDs? ” Manic was surprised by the clapping. He gave a grin and a wave to the small audience passing by, before Aria came up and asked her question. "Oh, shoot, I, uh..." He scratched the back of his head. "Usually, it just depends on how fancy a place I'm playing at. How about, like... fifteen bucks? That sounds good." There was a beat, before he interrupted himself. "Oh, right! You know these guys are their own band, right?" He pointed his thumb at the other people he was practicing with. "I think they've got some CDs of their own. That right?" He called back. "Yep, one sec." The crocodile responded, walking towards where the instrument cases were kept. As they waited, Manic leaned towards Aria with a mischievous smile. "Okay, so I'm not drinking now, but I gotta ask for after the show. What's the girliest, frilliest drink y'all've got? I live for those messes." “Yeah. They play for us all the time.” She answered his question and took an arm full of CDs from the crocodile. They charged more for their CDs, probably because they had to pay vocalists, so Aria put up a sign that CDs were $20. The custom cases - labeled as “deluxe custom artwork"- would go for more.

Aria seemed giddy at his question. "Oh, I love making those drinks! They’re so much fun! And don’t worry, I’ll whip up something special for ya. Any flavor requests? ”

For how talented Manic was as a musician, Aria was just as good with her alcohol. After all, it had been 13 years of seeing drinks mixed daily, she just came up with them on the fly. And for this particular consumer, she was thinking of tinting the drink green and selling it as a one night special. "Honestly, as long as I can't taste the alcohol, I'm gonna love it," Manic confessed. "It just- The more ridiculous it looks and tastes, the better, you get me?" He stood up, saying one more thing before turning back to the band. "And don't lemme get drunk before the show," he joked. Sound check wasn't just another soundcheck for them, it was making sure they had certain harmonies and more difficult sections down pat. It seemed like Manic was humming along instead of actually singing - 'gotta leave the big reveal for the show', he'd tell the other members. It was easy to tell from the keyboard setting and the basslines that Manic's music was very 80s inspired, a strange contrast to the more traditional garage rock songs his accompanying band typically played. There was an odd harmony between the two styles played, that shouldn't have worked as it did. The sign on the door was flipped over to 'open.' Manic looked at his phone. Sure enough, an hour had already passed, and they're more than gone overboard with their soundcheck. Of course, they still had an hour left before their set, but it was still a shock. "Alright, I'mma just grab a water," Manic said to his other band members before hopping off the stage, over towards Aria. As she reached to grab him a water, he spoke quietly. "You sure these are the right people?" Manic asked. The bar crowd looked rough, to say the least. Aria mock saluted the green hedgehog, starting to mix up a cocktail or two. She tested out her own drinks and made notes until she perfected the specialty. Now if only she could think of a name for it on the specials board. She settled for the title of one of Manics albums and wrote it on the board. She mixed her boss a drink, shaking the components to the beat before serving it.

When asked, Aria set the glass on the counter and nodded. "Yup. This is the usual crowd.” Someone ordered the new special and she mixed it for them quickly, doing a few party tricks like flipping bottles and balancing some on her nose. Manic stood where he was for a moment, sipping his water as he watched Aria pull off her multitude of impressive tricks. She eventually ended the display with a bright green drink. According to the sign behind her, it was named... "Over◆Drive?" Manic asked, clearly a little flattered. "Ah, man, you didn't have to name it that." He was actually blushing a little. "Man, I'm gonna look like such a diva, ain't I?" He asked, certainly not broken up about the idea. He kept watching the crowds. Maybe he was spoiled on playing bars in his home city, because he wasn't expecting this crowd. He wasn't going to complain, but the last times he'd ever been to really sleazy bars were years ago. It was oddly comfortable. In a filthy, unsafe kind of way, but still comfortable. He'd been to many bars like this before, although he'd never played one like this. He turned back towards the stage, and all of the band members had walked off, clearly waiting until it was closer to their set time to worry about final details. So he sat down where he was. "Hey, you mind if I ask you something kind of stupid?" He couldn't help but ask. "So like, why's there a secret superhero staircase behind the bar? Why not, like, a normal staircase? Is she secretly a superhero or summat?" "We have a motto here. Divas sell drinks. Trust me this one has been going faster than I can make them, which is fast.”

As she mixed another signature drink, she scanned the bar. The crowd was a mix of couples, alcoholics, college kids from frats and sororities, and several people who seemed just as nervous as him. Aria tucked the tip from a patron away as she listened to Manics question. It made her laugh, and several patrons smiled and laughed too. Drunk off their asses.

“No silly. She lives upstairs. It’s dangerous to have an open stairway so only the tenders and the boss have keys. You couldn’t pay me to go up there, but I could if I had to, which I do.” "Okay, if you say so," he teased. "You stick with your answer, I'll stick with mine." Manic just sat back as he watched around the bar, spotting the other band members in their little clique at a table near the stage. As more and more people arrived for the night, Manic began growing more at ease. Maybe those rougher faces simply came in early? Yeah, this was more the kind of crowd he was used to. He carried on at the bar for a bit, cracking a few dumb jokes and having one drink - very light, just so it wouldn't mess with his playing, of course. He would head to the stage or talk with the band members here and there to pass the time, but there was something off. Nothing he could place, but something very slightly off. Not as a bad premonition, but more a vague discomfort he couldn't quite place. Maybe- No, it wasn't his nerves. He was used to this, he could do this. So then, what was he getting nervous about? Aria and the other staff seemed to feel that nervousness too. Everything was on edge and the girl’s eyes darted around the crowd. No one unusual, just far more packed than she’d ever seen it.

"Word spreads fast. This is a huge crowd for this place. The boss even had to call in bouncers.” She motioned to two rhinos at the door, guarding it. When Manic left to go chat with his temporary band mates, Aria snuck a shot of vodka for herself.

Soon it was time for the band to start playing. Aria pulled out a little stool and sat down to watch the opening song. Giving the musicians a thumbs up for encouragement. Manic gave her a nod as he saw the thumbs up. He tapped the mic three times, before speaking. "What's up, everybody? I'm Manic Automatic, this is my first time playing here, and these dudes behind me are The Fourth Degree." One of them made a 'whoo!' in response to hearing their band's name called. "Alright, let's skip all this talking nonsense!" He started with a simple riff from the rhythm guitar, minimal instrumentation as he put focus on his vocals. "Go get our epitaths engraved And we'll explore this whole new age Brick and mortar turned to gold Under butchered steel and atomic roads" It was no wonder Manic didn't sing while practicing earlier. It was clear that, while his guitar playing was fairly good, his vocal skills were where most of his training went. It was penetrating and distinct, not to mention powerful. He sang through strange descriptions of a decrepit, yet oddly romanticized time as he seemed to give his body entirely to the rhythm. The bar was pumping with the music and the crowd responded well to it. A few less than sober people dancing around. For Aria it was lovely to listen to as she mixed drinks to the beat. His voice was wonderful. The CDs sold out like hot cakes and several people were put on a waiting list. It was a lot of money being thrown at her. Quite frankly, she felt like a stripper.

A friend of hers came in, taking a seat behind her, invisible to Manic. His green quills long and pulled back in a ponytail. He ordered a signature drink and gulped it down fast. The music was good and he tapped his foot to the beat. It was an interesting show for Manic to perform. It was clear that the band who was playing wasn't just another set of musician. There was a kind of unspoken bond between the three, and Manic was having fun trying to find a fay to fit into that rhythm the three held together. The night and show drew on, cycling through various songs from the two bands. Loving lyrics and angsty chords, from pop to rock and anywhere between... ...Explosive sounds and subtle vocals, whole swathes of emotions and subjects... It was easy to watch the energy flow through Manic more and more as they played. Performances always ended too soon for him, but they could never be long enough for his tastes. He couldn't help it. He was a born performer. But as with all shows, he found himself belting out his final number, letting out every syllable with all of his newfound excitement. The end of the number brought the crowd, Aria included, to a standing ovation for the group. Several people hooted and hollered. Aria clapped, happy that her new friend had been so well received. As Manic and the band started to go offstage, Aria started mixing drinks for the four, on the house of course.

“That was awesome Manic! You have such a great voice! And boys you were excellent! Now you all need to go get more CDs if you have them, cause I’ve got a back order list longer than I am tall!” A bit of a joke, seeing as she was barely up to the green hedgehogs chin, and the shortest person in the room. Manic was about to thank her when she brought up the CDs. "Wha-Back order, seriously?" Manic said, surprised by how good the reception was. He shared a surprised glance with the crocodile, and the two immediately darted out to grab more CDs. Manic wasn't prepared for much of a backorder, but he did have some CDs on hand, just in case the merch table were to run out. He huddled them in his arms and walked back in to a few more cheers and excited shouts. He plopped them down on the bar again, not really sure what else to do with them. And by the time he'd come back, his drink was finished. "Aw, man, dude, you're amazing." He said, picking up the drink happily and slurping down something that was surprisingly well crafted for something Manic drank. He was used to just burst of strong flavor, not subtlety or any assemblence of competence. The pleasant surprise was plainly visible on his face. Aria had more money thrown at her in the exchange for a CD and looked over at Manic and Scourge, laughing. The money jar had filled and the bar had emptied a fair amount, more like a normal night now. Aria was still cracking out drinks, lining up rainbow shots for a few guests.

“She is very talented. She’s been doing this since before we met. Very few people can create something this good on the spot. ” Scourge turned to look at Manic as he spoke and tapped the bar. Aria slid him another drink. The drink slid down the bar, but Manic didn't react as it passed his hands. He hadn't noticed the green hedgehog before. It was another Scourge, no doubt. All he could do was stare. He remembered... he remembered ANOTHER night at this bar. It wasn't a special night, it wasn't even that good of a night. Him and his old boyfriend went out for some drinks, chatted a bit, there was nothing of note that happened, but he remembered it in a disturbing amount of detail. The texture of the bartop, the flavor, the way he spoke. For some bizarre reason, seeing a Scourge triggered a perfectly bland memory that carried years of damage simply by existing. His glare was far too long and horrified. He stared at Scourge, before his glare drifted further, as though he was staring straight through Scourge and towards infinity. Scourges ears twitched, at first confused and then dismissive. Making an assumption about the horrified look. “Yeah yeah, evil bad guy, my alternate wronged you in some way, you hate my guts etc etc etc. Save it kiddo. I’ve heard all that jazz before.” Another swing of the drink.

Aria noticed Manic next, walking over and waving her hand in front of his eyes. “Manic? Maaaaanic? Anyone in there? ” The concern in her voice was evident. The strange voices swirled through his mind, until he finally pulled away from petrification, yet never leaving terror. "S-Sorry, dude," Manic said, fumbling his way out of his seat. He was nowhere near as collected as he'd acted on stage. Hell, nowhere near as collected as he acted moments before. "I just... I just remembered something I've gotta do." Neither of them bought this for a moment, but Manic was gone. Straight out the bar entrance, towards his van, but not inside. He leaned against the door opposite the bar entrance, both hands cupped over his mouth as he breathed heavily. He'd met Scourges before. And this one was right, he usually hated their guts. Seeing one in a specific location like this was different. Seeing one in such a place to make him remember his old boyfriend was completely different. He was still reeling, and wasn't sure when it was going to stop. He stood for much longer than he thought he did, still wondering what to do... and then he heard footsteps. There were plenty of footsteps he heard that evening, but these ones were definitely coming right towards him. Funny, they didn't sound like men's boots... In his daze, he didn’t hear Aria call after him, or call for the other bartender to take over as she ducked out of the bar. No one else saw them, but Scourge was filled with guilt. He ordered a bottle of the strong stuff and chugged it. If he didn’t hate himself before he sure did now.

The footsteps belonged to Aria, her heels clicking as they met concrete. She called out again, having switched from her bubbly personality to a more maternal mode. She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder gently. “Manic? Manic Honey are you okay? ” Manic was shocked when he saw Aria, but quickly calmed down. He did his best to put on a nervous smile and gave a few nervous laughs, failing to convince either of them. "Yeah, I'll be fine," he said, turning down his energy for once. "I just... I wasn't expecting to see a Scourge here." He put his hand on his forehead and laughed. "I just don't- we never get along that well, trust me." He sighed and relaxed his shoulders. "Hey, I get this is gonna be- this is gonna be a really dumb question." She looked way too young to have worked at this bar that far back, and she wouldn't remember one of countless guests having one of countless private conversations. "Do you remember... like, have you met any other Scourges at this place before?" "I understand, but you’re not fine Manic. You should sit down. I can ask him to leave if you’d like.” Ahe kept close in case he dropped like a stone, and sat him down next to her on the curb.

Aria shook her head. “It’s not a dumb question. We get very few here, not including that guy. Most get kicked out for being too grabby or rough… If you’re looking for a specific one I can probably remember them if you tell me something about who they were with or what unique features they have.” He was relieved to hear her mention the other Scourges. "Nah, this is his bar, isn't it?" He looked down at the pavement. "I ain't gonna ask someone to leave for just.. existing!" He said, letting out a more genuine laugh this time. "He just reminded me of someone else I know." He rested his chin on the back of his hand. "But this one I mean wasn't really grabby or anything, he would have been calmer. I would've been with him, and I kind of stopped him from beating up most people. He had this bit of wire wrapped around like a ring, and he was actually pretty good at singing?" He looked back at the curb, and started messing around with his hands. "This is a really long shot, but... If you saw him recently... like, this last year recently, he would have been-" He twirled his hands around, thinking of the right words. "His hands were kind of- He wouldn't have had two of his fingers." "If you’re sure. ” The laugh made her feel better. Manic seemed to be returning to somewhat normalcy. As he explained she scrunched her nose up in thought. “Hmm… I think I remember you two… You were sitting at that table at the front right? I’m sorry Manic. He doesn’t sound like any of the ones walking through here. Was he your boyfriend?” All the clues and subtle hints he was dropping lead to that logical conclusion. She gently pasted him on the shoulder to comfort him. Manic didn't say anything, he simply smiled. "Yeah," he said nostalgically. "I know there are tons of Scourge's, but most of em are just asses. But he was different. Very, very different..." He tilted his head to look at Aria. She seemed surprisingly calm in spite of everything he just did. "Who are you?" It was asked as though they'd never met before. "I mean, you're fun, you're kind, you're good at your job... That's rare to find," he said. He still didn't know what to think of that other Scourge, but he knew that he was fine with this young woman. "Or is that just a bartender's job?" She smiled as he recounted his memories of his lover. Quite frankly she could listen to people talk about their loved ones all day. That sparkle in their eyes gave her a glimpse into their thoughts. The question was met with confusion until he elaborated.

"Well… I don’t… I don’t know for sure. But for a brief synopsis I’m just a deeply traumatized overachiever who cares and drinks far too much.” Manic grinned and slapped her on the back. "Ain't we all," Manic said, genuinely enjoying himself once more. "Trust me, if anyone's gonna get what that's like, it's Manic the hergherg." He didn't get up from his spot, comfortable sitting on some filthy curb. "I didn't even remember this place, it was so long ago. I guess seeing a Scourge just..." He looked down. "I wasn't expecting anything like that. Tonight's been a great night, I didn't think a Scourge would show up out of nowhere like that." He faced Aria. "So, is he one of the terrible Scourges?" He asked, half joking. When Manic said hergherg it got her laughing, covering her mouth. The laugh dozes down as he resumed talking and she propped her arm up on her leg to hold her head up.

"Life does surprise us sometimes… And the only terrible thing he’s really done is making shitty puns. A crime in and of itself.” "If that's a crime, I'm like public enemy numbers one through ten over here." He smarmed out of his mouth. "Ah, well, at least you don't have to-" He laughed to himself. "Y'all already know what Scourges do, I don't need to explain it. You've already dealt with all that!" Manic looked behind him, back towards the bar. Then he started to stand up. "I think I've gotta head back, I haven't really- I still need to thank those guys for playing with me. Besides, I've got a technicolor drink to drown in." The implication of why he actually wanted to head back were obvious, even if he didn't want to say it out loud. "Sure we can go in. Feeling better?” Aria got up herself and offered Manic a hand to get up.

Aria and Manic made their way through the small crowd of people and Aria returned to back of the counter. Scourge was red faced from the alcohol, but seemed to be more put together than some of the other patrons. “Hey man… I’m sorry. What I said was rude.” Manic still wasn't sure what to make of Scourge. He drank from his glass while looking at him, then away, then back at him. Yeah, he was certainly gruff, but not quite AS gruff. He didn't have acres of scars and damaged skin like some of the truly awful ones. He'd met enough Scourges to know he should have kept his distance. But instead, he approached the situation by faking some kind of casual behavior and using his old fallback - stupid, out of place humor. "You sure you're a Scourge?" He joked, putting his glass down on the counter and smiling nervously. "Shouldn't you be cussing me out for that or punching me in the face? Probably both?" Through his nerves, his tone made it clear not a single word he was saying was serious. Scourge chuckled and smirked at the other. "Nah. Unlike those other guys I don’t usually punch people for no reason.”

He motioned that the seat next to him was open for Manic to sit down and Aria kept an eye on them both, for Manics sake.

“You’re a good musician, by the way.” Manic trepedatiously sat next to Scourge, but feeling a little more comfortable as they went. "Thanks, mate," he said, pointing his thumb behind his back as the side of the stage. "But I can't take all the credit, those guys are some awesome musicians." Aria was darting her eyes over from time to time, and Manic had just started to notice. Was this simple curiosity, or was it for his protection? He took another gulp of his drink, which he was beginning to really enjoy. "Sorry about freaking out like that." He laughed a bit. He'd gotten to the point where he was barely calm enough to act convincingly calm. "Don't exactly have a great record with Scourges, you kind of got that exactly right." He breathed deep. Aria was more than nice, and clearly level headed. If she could trust this Scourge... "Don’t worry about freaking out. At least you didn’t hit me. I had a dude shank me once because he thought I was someone else. Not pleasant.” He caught Arias glances over at them and chuckled. “You’ve awoken Mama Bear. She’s gonna be checking up on you to make sure you’re okay all night.”

From across the bar there were the sound of tables and chairs being moved. And some yelling. Arias attention was drawn away from the two. Manic turned towards the back of the bar. It seemed like the bat who was playing with him earlier was getting into a pretty heated argument with some guy who'd had far too many. "I'll just deal with that as it comes," Manic said as he turned back towards the bar. He had to be extra cautious here that this wasn't some kind of ruse, but he was at least... enjoying himself. It was only a little, though still genuine enjoyment. "You think I don't know about getting messed up for doing nothing?" He gave a smile, a badly chipped tooth clearly visible. "But I don't really hang out around people with too many shivs." He quickly held his chin between two fingers, like he was thinking. "I guess that would be any number of shivs." He was as comfortable as he was going to get. He felt like he could relax around him, but there was still a thin film of dread suffocating their encounter. Why was he enjoying this at all? "Ouch. That looks like it hurt. And you’re right, any positive number of shivs on a person is bad. ” he winced a bit as he imagined the pain the poor kid must have felt. Having finished his drink he turned to see Aria's attention drawn by the fight. She had to stand on a box to see over the crowd, straining.

“Ten bucks says Aria jumps the bar to get those two separated,” he wagered to no one in particular and one of the other patrons slapped down a ten. Manic turned back to look at the large crowd of people standing around the quickly escalating fight. He couldn't hear much of what was being said, but they were definitely passionate enough about whatever it was to get to screaming. "I think they said something about him," Manic joked. "Some kind of hothead, or summat? Guess I ain't too surprised." He immediately was surprised as the sound of a bottle shattering, followed by a chorus of 'ooohs' in all exclamations, ranging from deeply concerned to excited. He couldn't hear exactly what either of them were saying, but he heard someone yell, 'bring it!' Judging by the chanting of the crowd, it was unfortunately too late to stop any kind of a fight. Manic clutched at his drink in grim interest. And over the bar counter Aria went, jumping into the crowd and squeezing her way to the fight itself, security not too far behind. The boys lost sight of her. Scourge collected his money and smirked.

A bottle was smashed and someone got hit with a chair. The band member, nursing a bloody nose, got to the bar and received an iced tag to help clean the blood. The grunts from a struggle could still be heard. As well as a scream.

Scourge was up in a second, moving towards and into the crowd. Leaving Manic behind to follow if he pleased. Manic looked over at the bat nursing his wounds, and then at Scourge making his way through the crowd towards the fight. He hesitated for a moment, before jumping out of his chair. "Wait, Scourge!" He couldn't hear him yell that over the noise of the bar, so Manic would have to keep him out of the danger zone by force. He rushed towards Scourge, which wasn't an easy feat. He had to keep track of him specifically through the crowds of people, and somehow ignore the sounds of bodies being thrown around and the sound of wood smacking against flesh. But he found his way towards Scourge, who was watching on at one particular struggle. It appears that the drunken man who was yelling at the bat had not only punched his adversary, but was now being waylaid on by the crocodile. Scourge seemed to be enjoying the show for the few moments he'd seen it before Manic rushed up to try and stop him from getting beaten up, and before the cheetah and aria simultaneously pulled him away from the struggle. "Holy-!" It was all Manic could say, both in shock to what was happening, and in shock of the fact he was trying to stop a Scourge from being hurt. Aria dragged Manic's ass back to a chair and left the cheetah to keep him out of danger. Looking for a quick solution, she grabbed a the chalkboard menu and motioned for Manic to cover his ears.

She extended her claws, three identical steal blades extending from the space between her knuckles. Bracing herself, she scraped them along the chalkboard in an ear splitting screech. Most of the fighters stopped to cover their ears. The bats in the room wincing in pain. Even the brute and crocodile were holding their heads.

Scourge took the opportunity to knock the drunk man out and once it was safe, Aria stopped. People shot a lot of death glares at air and their former opponents. Many just flipped their chairs right way round and went back to drinking.

Aria was quick to put the chalkboard down and put her hands and claws under hot water, extremely uncomfortable. Scourge walked up to Manic. “You okay?” Manic simply stared at Scourge, but this time, it wasn't a terrified glare. It was entirely, completely confused. Emotions melded with inebriation in perfect time to keep Manic baffled for a strangely long time. "Y-yeah, dude," he finally uttered. He watched Scourge as he sat down, still trying to think clearly. For once, after the fighting had ceased, Manic was the one who wasn't dealing with some kind of an injury. Aria was nursing her hands under the tap, Scourge wiping a bit of blood off of his jacket.Manic just took another long sip from his drink, nearing the bottom of the glass as he watched Scourge. "Dude, you barely know me. Why are you asking if I'm fine?" Scourge sipped at his drink, ears twitching slightly as he listened to the others question. He answered with a shrug.

“I thought you got hit cause there’s a little blood on your cheek. Besides it’s common decency.” He tapped the side of his face to indicate where some blood had hit Manic and gave him a paper towel.

Aria finished hurting her wounds and went over to the boys, claws still out and skin rubbed red. “You two okay?” "Yeah, I think we're good," Manic said, trying to shake off the last shreds of confusion. "What were they even fighting about, anyways?" The band had warned him many times that their bassist tended to get all political, but Manic didn't listen. And now here he was, still holding his large ears from the sound of the chalkboard and nursing a bloody, hopefully not broken nose. "That blade thing was sweet, though. I-" This was the first time he looked at her hands, noticing her red skin. "Dude, are you sure YOU'RE alright!? Look at your hands, they look like they got burnt!" The crocodile was checking his band mates nose, scolding him quietly. All the bat could do was whimper as the croc poked and prodded at his nose.

Aria glanced over there, upset with herself. “I feel bad for putting that guy in pain…. And let’s just say some slurs were thrown.” she glanced down at her hands and giggled. “I’m fine. Hot water plus scrubbing makes the area red and the skin is tender so I can’t put these back in for a bit. And I’m glad you think this is cool.” Aria beamed at him, seemingly prideful

Of course she briefly left to go give the bat a shot of the hard alcohol so he wouldn’t feel pain as the crocodile set his nose. "If you say so," Manic said still a little skeptical as Aria walked back to help the bat stop squirming in pain. When she was out of earshot, Manic faced Scourge again. "S-She's got wolverine claws?" He said, in disbelief. "I thought she was just a nice chick. Hm." He took the last swig of his drink, letting the news sink in. "You think you'd be used to people having special powers the billionth time you see some special power, and then someone comes in who can summon lasers and keytar solos from nowhere. It's all kind of weird." He kept a close eye on the bat getting his nose tended to. By the looks of it, his nose was barely broken, maybe just fractured. Still, it wasn't anything he'd want to deal with himself. Finally thinking he had a moment where no one was listening, he turned towards Scourge again, putting on a nervous grin. "Hey, if I ever say anything really stupid or prejudiced about you being a Scourge or anything, don't be afraid to break my own nose," he said, half joking. "Trust me, it's gonna happen at some point." He stuck out his tongue in a joking grin, trying to lighten the mood a bit in the tense post-brawl atmosphere. Scourge raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about lasers but Aria isn’t just claws. She’s got all sorts of tricks. Her brother too, except he’s an asshole. But you didn’t here that from me,” he whispered.

Aria meanwhile was cleaning the claws off with a rag, like one would polish a metal surface. She also mixed herself another signature drink.

Scourge shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Most of the time they’re true and I’m just an exception. Doesn’t bug me… Not to be up in your business and all, but I’m sorry if my alternate hurt you.” Manic laughed lightly. "What're you apologizing for? It ain't like Scourge's are a hive mind, you didn't do anything." He gave Scourge a firm slap on the back. "You're fine, dude." The moment was just a bit too chummy for him to be completely comfortable. But for a few moments, he stopped thinking about the fact he was talking to a Scourge. No, he wasn't another Scourge, just Scourge. They weren't a hive mind, and he knew that. He had to try and change the way he thought about them. "Besides, the ones who've 'hurt' me have more just been vaguely dickish." He grinned. "Now, you wanna find a hivemind of assholes, look for a Finitevus. If you can find the ones that don't, like, eat babies or anything, and you screw with them? Their reactions are priceless." “Yeah well I feel guilty- ” The slap cut of his sentence with a quiet yelp of pain. Not like the slap was hard, but like the area was sensitive.

“Yeah uh… Could you not do that maybe?” He sounded out of breath. From the little bit of his jacket that was undone, Manic thought he saw a white shirt. Upon closer inspection they were white bandages, wrapping around the others torso. Looks like manic had hit an injury.

Oops. "Holy- Oh my gosh, dude, I'm so sorry!" He said, leaning away from Scourge a bit. "I didn't mean to! You alright?" He clearly wasn't too concerned about it. Maybe it had been there for a while, and wasn't sensitive enough to be too worrying. Maybe he'd had so much to drink that he couldn't feel too much pain. "Aagh, god!" The same clearly couldn't be said for the bassist, who seemed to just finish having his nose set in place and bandaged. "Hold on a moment, I'mma make sure he isn't too messed up," He said, standing up. He couldn't help but ask a slightly awkward question. "Uh, you think you'll need anything for your back?" “Yeah yeah, I’m fine. It’s an old wound with a bad infection, that’s all. I’ll be fine.” Scourge motioned for Manic to go check on the bassist. Aria gave him a shot of the hard stuff as well.

The bat whimpered, evidently in a lot of pain. The crocodile seemed angry but concerned. The cheetah had been busy making sure the drunk guy stayed down, but walked over at about the same time as Manic.

“Dante. What the hell happened? ” The cheetah asked, leaning on the bar. The bat looked away. Ashamed of himself.

“He called me the f word. I’m sorry guys, I know I shouldn’t have gotten angry…” His ears flicked down and the crocodile patted his shoulder.

“No apology needed. Frankly it’s not that idiots business who you’re with.” "Well, why's he still in here?" Manic spoke up out of nowhere, catching most of their attention. It seemed finding out what happened was finally enough to get him invested. "He punched you in the face and he's being an ass. Hell, isn't being drunk good enough normally-" He sighed. "I guess you can't really toss some unconscious dude outside. Maybe we just go all 'Weekend at Bernies,' give him some sunglasses and hope no one notices?" He joked desperately, mostly out of instinct. "Maybe roll him downhill on a gurney, bet on how far he goes?" He stopped with the references and looked up at Dante. Bat noses weren't known for being small, so the swelling was very obvious. "You want us to call a doctor, or summat?" “I for one like that plan, lets go with that,” Aria insisted and the crocodile shook his head, causing her to pout. “No, we would just get in trouble. Aria maybe you should wrap him home?”

She placed a bag of ice on Dante’s nose. “I can’t do it when he’s unconscious. He needs to be actively thinking.”

Scourge got up and winced as he walked over. “Dante can go to the hospital in an ambulance and I’ll call the cops to take this idiot out to the cells for a day or two.”

“What do you guys think? Dante? Manic?” Aria asked the other two boys. Manic shrugged. "Sounds pretty ace to me, but uh, ambulance bills are kind of huge." He turned towards the cheetah who was mostly sitting back and watching as everyone else spoke. "Could you drive him over, Detour? We can keep an eye on that drunk dude 'til the cops get here." The cheetah nodded. "Great, dude," Manic said. "Y'all just call us if something goes wrong, you have my number. You probably have most of our numbers." Manic and the crocodile turned to face the unconscious swan, drunk, slightly bruise, and propped up in a booth. "You really had a go at him, didn't you?" He turned back towards the bar, making a smug grin that slowly turned towards silly. "Well, we're sending someone down a hill on a gurney, and I'm not half drunk enough to do that yet," he joked. The bigger male laughed. “As much as I would like to I can’t afford to get sued.” From the background Aria made a small noise of disappointment. She walked over to the two.

“Can we at least draw dicks on his face? Or call an ambulance for him so he has to pay for it?” She suggested, clearly wanting to get some revenge. "We're calling the cops on him, I think we've already-" He could see the disappointment on her face. "Alright, fine. You can draw a donger or twelve." Manic, Scourge, and the guitarist faced the bar as they left Aria to her mischievous nonsense, occasionally taking peaks behind their backs. "Trust me, if I was up there, I wouldn't've stopped at just bruising him, but I guess he's a swan." He shook his head. "I mean, you guys ever piss off a wild swan? I don't wanna know what it's like fighting an anthro one." Aria, of course, used her artistic skill for evil. Drawing an almost life like dick on the swans head and face where he wouldn’t be able to see it until someone told him.

Scourge shook his head “Nah man. Canadian geese are devils. It’s like all the evil in Canadian people just drains into those hell birds.” When he turned to check on arias progress he scoffed.

“I swear… This kid’s an artist in all the wrong ways”

Aria's ears perked and she called out to Scourge. “Nothing says revenge like photorealistic dicks!” The proclamation caught the attention of a few confused bar goers with no context for what she just pronounced. Manic turned around and stared at the face, more than impressed with the level of realism achieved with permanent marker and spite. "Wh-" Manic uttered as Aria walked back. "How often do you do that to people? That is- That is not your first time drawing a pingas on someone's face." He looked back again for just a moment. "I mean, it's real impressive..." He faced Aria again. "Actually, I had this barber once who was a real good artist, and all he drew was women in real not safe for babby poses, you get me? I always wanted to sneak in and slap, like, really unflattering photos of people's heads over all of them." "Back up, you have a barber?" Manic turned to face the crocodile with a look of joking disdain. He made a mock sassy head motion just to have his ridiculous hair click together. “I’m an artist in my spare time and I see far too many dicks on a daily basis. And by far too many I mean any at all. Eventually I just started drawing them on passed out assholes. It’s a very handy skill when you get unwanted dick pics. Just a few scribbles and boom, I’ve already drawn a dick with a better future”

Scourge and Aria looked equally confused at the barber comment but shrugged it off.

“I mostly paint landscapes and still lifes though. But my sketches of people are getting better.” "No joke," Manic said with interest. He had to stop himself from jokingly asking any of the usual question that annoyed artists. "You're using your power well. Michaelangelo would be proud. He's an art boy, right?" The sirens could just barely be heard coming down the street. A few of the previous brawlers straightened their backs or brushed their hair back at the noise. Manic turned his head towards the swan one more time. "Uh, you think we should wipe that mess off before they come in to get him?" He didn't need to hear a 'no' to know the answer. Besides, he didn't really want to, either. “Yes. Michelangelo is an art boy.” Aria laughed and scourge stepped up to do the talking.

The cops came in and Scourge explained the situation, the fight and such. He left out the dick drawing details but since one of the cops called Aria by name in greeting, it was pretty obvious they knew it was her.

“Okay. We can’t charge him until he wakes up so we’ll just take him down to the station for his own safety. How's the kid who got punched looking?” The female cop asked the bartender.

“Iced his nose. A minor fracture at best but someone drove him to the hospital.” "I mean, a nose is kind of half of a bats face, so minor's all relative." The crocodile punches Manic in the arm. Manic knew it wasn't the nicest thing to say and grinning sheepishly. They watched as the two cops picked up the swan by his shoulders, and lead him out of the bar in a subconscious drunken walk cycle that more resembled a jelly-boned hobble through a pool of slime than any kind of normal leg movement. "Hm... Hey, Aria, how much alcohol's actually in that special drink, anyways?" He said, just a little bit tipsy. "You think I could handle one more and still drive home without committing ten crimes and starting two international incidents?" Aria thought about it seriously. “Not sure. I’m gonna err on the safe side and say you shouldn’t be driving at all tonight. But we can check!”

Aria pulled a breathalyzer out from a small shelf and washed the mouth piece. Offering it to manic.

Scourge paid his friend and got up. “Imma head home too. Nice meet you Manic. Bye Aria.” The Green male tossed a wrap ring and it opened in front of him. Manic seemed shocked to see him open a warp ring so casually. "Wait, I thought-! You sure, dude, zone hopping can get you in some real deep trouble." The glare told him that he already knew this. They all already knew this. "Uh... Alright, dude, see you later." Manic was still in shock for a brief moment, before pushing the breathalyzer back towards the two. "Don't worry, mate, I've- I've driven much more messed up than this." He was still a little confused, it seemed. "Hey, I'm gonna have to drive down a bunch more CDs, right? Either of you think you'd want to hang out sometime?"

“Lazy fucker. He lives like 2 minutes from here if he uses his speed. Why he warps, I’ll never know.” aria rolled her eyes and looked back concerned at Manic.

“Lemme see your eyes.” She inspected the other for signs of blatant intoxication and sighed. “Alright. You’re good to drive. But be careful… And yeah, I think hanging out would be fun! ”

The croc nodded as well. “I agree. The boys and I had more fun playing with you than with any other singer. Let us know anytime you need backup instrumentals” "Alright, sweet!" Manic said, reaching around for something to write on. He eventually decided on some napkins on the counter, pulling a marker out of his vest and scribbling down his phone number. "I'll probably drive up, like, saturday, so if you wanna do something stupid or find any hospital gurneys, y'all let me know!" He gave the rhythm guitarist a fist bump and a two-finger salute to Aria as he started the walk over to grab his guitar and case. It was kind of bittersweet that the night was ending, but it was a great night. His shows scarcely went this far above his expectations, he made some new friends, and now had a band he could call up if he ever wanted to jam with a group for once. As he drove back down the city streets, he couldn't help but keep thinking about Scourge. Not just the one he met at the bar, but his old Scourge. He didn't even remember this bar, and now he had vivid memories of two different fun nights with two completely different Scourges. He didn't have the first idea how different these Scourges actually were, but he would find out eventually. All he had to do was hope that getting chummy with Scourge wouldn't end up being a terrible mistake. He could only hope that the little scribble he put at the bottom of his note for Aria wouldn't come to bite him in the ass; "Tell Scourge the same thing I told you two."

#TinyRedArtist #Show's Over #Makin' Mischief #There's A Melody Playing

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