#that poor bumblebee was just minding its business | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sharkbait77 · 4 years ago

Text

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter Two: The Arrival

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Death of a parent, nosy neighbors, irritated feelings, lmk if I missed any

W/C: 3.2k

A/N: Welcome back! First of all, I want to thank each & every one of you that read & enjoyed the Ch.1! Your wonderful comments really set it in stone for me to continue this fic & I really hope I don't disappoint! Anyway, I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks of this one! I'm so nervous!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Taglist Form

Chapter One || Chapter Three

~APRIL EIGHTEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

The days passed, the same as they always do, yet with no word on any boy or man willing to spare the help for the farm. You did your best to think rationally; the majority of the families around town were busy with their own affairs, their own shops and farms. It was only you and Pa, and while the majority of the townspeople were friendly, not a soul seemed to spare a second thought towards the two of you, outside of banding together for Ma’s funeral.

You were preparing to give up, once again, the hope that perhaps there was one – at the very least, one – man who would take pity on you and Pa. The more you reassessed the people of the town, the more it appeared they only ‘cared’ when it suited them, when whatever dilemma you and Pa were faced with was the opportunity for them to engage in hearsay.

Mrs. Williams, for example – although kind and respectful while you stood in front of her – immediately took it upon herself to, not only relay the information that help was needed to every man, woman, and child in town, but indefinitely began to spout words of pity regarding you and Pa. Of course, that got the whole of the town babbling about how awful, how unimaginable, it was to have to endure the tedious season by yourselves. Yet, no one desired to lift a pinky to help.

So, as you enter the town, you aren’t stunned when you hear whispers as you pass. It had been a brief few days prior that you had finally been overlooked, finally was not the cause of their speculations. And now, you grit your teeth with disdain and continue walking through, awaiting the moment you reach the haven of the shop and, hopefully, have a moment to collect your thoughts and set them in the icebox to cool.

One positive outcome of it, you gather, if you were to look on the other side of things, is that you have gained the ability to avert your ears from whatever nonsense the older women gossip about, not concerned so much of what they say, just that it was taking place at all.

However, as you make your way down the dirt road, you realize it isn’t just the typical gossip coming from the elderly ladies, and are even more shocked to learn that you are not the subject of the chatter. The whole town is seemingly buzzing like a hive of bumblebees, a hum carried through the air consisting of ‘Did you see him?’, ‘A visitor’, and ‘What a strange man’.

Even you acknowledge that it must be interesting news for the whole town to be churning with such fervor and animation over it. The town, collectively, has never been so excited about anything since the new sheriff was appointed and you find yourself turning your ears to the conversations to see if you hear anything of importance. Once you realize, though, that you're partaking in the exact avocation you so despise when it's directed toward you, the doors close inside your ears once again and you walk straight to the shop.

After you’ve had time to settle and display all the new wares, the bell rings and you hear behind you the whispers of the older ladies filling the atmosphere, conspiring against whatever – or, whomever – has attracted their attention so.

“Hello, dear!” One of them – Mrs. Foster, who is seen as the lead hen – yells out to you. You take a deep breath, summoning the companionable parts within you to the surface.

“Hello Mrs. Foster,” you greet while turning to face the group.

To her side, Mrs. McKenna and Mrs. Jones, along with her young daughter, Lucille. Lucille Jones must be the closest you have to an acquaintance in town, but her mother keeps her quiet and buried under her wing, grooming her to be exactly the respectable young lady that will surely attract a wealthy husband, therefore paying for luxuries his new mother-in-law would not be able to afford otherwise. That poor fool.

“Have you seen the latest traveler, dear?” Mrs. McKenna asks.

“I have not,” you reply simply. Tis the truth, after all, but something about this mysterious traveler, that has caused such an uproar, makes the curiosity seep into the lining of your veins. Though, you would not engage in their gossip just to find out more.

“He is most strange,” Mrs. Jones adds, answering a question you had not asked.

“To each his own,” you say, feeling the irritation at their simple minds grow in your belly.

Before another moment could be spared for this nonsense, you quickly distract them with your latest concoction: a complexion cream made from eggs, cream, oats, and lavender, a soothing blend that would help hide the blemishes on their faces. Not their consciences, unfortunately, but it excites them no less.

~APRIL NINETEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

You awaken before the sun today, the sky is still a dark cobalt and fading into sapphire behind the hills, indicating the orange ball of light will be presenting itself in moments. You sigh, stumped at the sudden feeling in the pit of your core that today will be unlike the others – somehow. You turn over on your other side, away from the window, in search of another wink of sleep. It is futile, and you accept the call for the day to begin.

You step lightly so as to not disturb Pa sleeping just below your floorboards, and begin washing your face, arms, and legs, dressing in your usual skirts, and meticulously perfecting the knot of your hair. You even go as far as braiding the length of it before pinning it around on the back of your head and the sight of it resembles a flower. You hum; a sincere hum of a song your mother used to sing. You ponder why it entered your head in this moment after not having heard it in over a year.

Once the sun begins to peek its rays across the fields, you step down the ladder softly, keeping your eyes to Pa’s bed on the other side of the rails to ensure you haven’t woken him. Only, he isn’t there. His bed is made with care so you know he hasn’t been resting on it for a while. As soon as your boots are planted on the wooden floors, you turn to face the rest of the house. He is nowhere; not in the kitchenette, not sitting at the table, nor sitting in his armchair in the corner of the house.

Confusion strikes you; he has not risen before you since Ma was still here. You grab the lockbox from the safe and your bonnet off the wooden hook in the wall, tying it around your neck and placing the box in your bag, stringing it over your shoulder before stepping outside. There is still a chill in the air from the night and you shiver slightly before cupping your hands around your mouth.

“Pa?!”

You yell into the air, the heat of your breath visible in front of you as you await an answer that doesn’t come. Your eyebrows wrinkle across your forehead, worry beginning to creep into your bloodstream. You walk down the steps from the house and turn towards the fields. As you look across them, the sun shining bright enough now to help your vision, you don’t see his figure anywhere. You walk towards the barn, cupping your hands around your mouth again to repeat your call.

“Here, child!”

You hear the rasp of your father’s voice respond from within the barn. You will your heart to rest from the fright that rushed through your veins, breathing right again knowing your Pa is well. You walk to the doors of the barn, the sun blinding you briefly before entering and you see Pa standing and chatting with a man.

He stands with a confident, yet humble posture, straight brown pants covering tall legs, suspenders attached at the waist and strapped over a bone-white shirt with a black coat resting across broad shoulders. In his hands, he fiddles with a wide brimmed, brown hat that, as you step closer, you can see has small tears & rips along the outer edges. He turns to look in your direction, a soft and friendly smile underneath a neat mustache, hair sparsely adorning his jaw.

“Daughter, this is Mr. Prospect,” Pa introduces.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Prospect,” you give a small curtsy and bow your head.

“I assure the pleasure is mine, miss,” he replies, bowing his head. “Your father and I were only just discussing the season you will be faced with here. I am most obliged to be suited enough for work and I am at your service.”

You nod along to his words, finding it difficult to search inside your brain and pull something out of it that may continue the conversation. His voice is rich and decadent, finer than the most luxurious chocolate you might have the pleasure of introducing to the buds on your tongue. It sounds as if it comes from deep within his being as opposed to his throat, and you find it very pleasing to your ears.

“Mr. Prospect here will be our new farmhand for the season. He only just arrived moments before you rose,” Pa continues.

“Forgive me, Pa, I did not hear you wake-”

“Do not fret, little one,” he smiles and places a weathered hand gently on your shoulder and you smile in return. “Daughter, please show our new employee the farm; I have yet to do so, but the chickens need feeding now.”

“Yes, Pa.”

Pa exits the barn with a stomping of his boots as his heavy and tired legs carry him, turning the smile on your face into a small frown. You exhale through your nose and turn to the man, noticing a small tuft of white locks at the beginning of his hairline, fading into a rough cut of shaggy, brown hair. You avert your gaze so as not to be impolite with your stare and look into the mahogany irises of his eyes.

“Well, Mr. Prospect, I do apologize for you having to lodge with the cattle,” you say as you gesture to the black and white beasts resting in their stables.

“It is quite alright, miss. I’m sure they will be most interesting to converse with,” he smiles, a soft chuckle escaping his mouth and his jest pulls a giggle from your throat as you smile.

“Just up there –” you point to the ladder leading to a platform above the cows. “– is a bed of hay. It may stick you, but we will provide plenty of blankets to soothe the irritation and keep you warm.”

His gaze meets the platform, exposing his elongated neck and strong jaw, his profile revealing his aquiline nose and you find your gaze fixated on him once again. What an intriguing man. You realize he must be the new traveler the town was so preoccupied with yesterday, but you find nothing strange about him at all. Quite the opposite. He seems to be the purest and gentlest man that has ever passed through this town. He looks back down to you, the soft, good-natured smile reaching his eyes, the same smile on his face from the moment you met.

“Follow me, please.” You lead him out of the barn and to the fields on the other side and he places his hat back on his head as he walks.

“This is the field the corn will grow, and just on the other side of the barn will be the potatoes. I must divulge that it is quite strenuous. I am thankful to you for accepting the work; it will help my Pa and I tremendously.”

“I respectfully deny your thanks; I’m afraid it is I who should be thankful to you and your father for welcoming me with such friendliness,” he replies and you look up into his eyes. Such beautiful orbs, as brown and majestic as the mountains that surround you, the likes of which you’ve never seen.

“This way,” you say, a light tremble in your voice from momentarily having the ground swept from under your feet. You lead him to the house, stepping up the stairs and opening the door. You take a step inside, but the man does not enter, rather staying still on the porch, fiddling with his hat in his hands once again.

“It is quaint; I’m not sure where you are from, Mr. Prospect. Perhaps you are familiar with more lavish dwellings,” he looks around the room as much as he is able from where he stands and smiles.

“Not in the slightest, dear Sunflower. The home you reside in is lovely and most would be envious to have such to call their own,” he says kindly and you smile genuinely in return, a warmth reaching the apples of your cheeks from his endearment.

“You are welcome to our table for meals and coffee, if you’d like. And we have wash basins you are free to use as well.”

“Many thanks, miss. I am very grateful to have been blessed with hospitality such as this.”

You nod your head, lowering it slightly as you walk out and back onto the porch, the man waiting for you to step down into the dirt before he follows suit. You smooth out your dress and turn to look back at him, his eyes having not left you once.

“What is your name?”

“Ezra,” he replies, reaching his hand out to shake yours. You offer your hand politely and return your name, the greeting between you holding firm, yet gentle; his hand is warm and soft, slightly calloused from farm work.

“Ezra,” you repeat, letting each letter of his name roll from the back of your throat, over your tongue and through your teeth. It was as smooth as the butter you had churned this past monotonous week. “What a unique and beautiful name; very pleasing on the tongue.”

He blushes lightly, a small, shy smile forming on his lips as he averts his gaze to his dirt covered boots.

“Did you see the notice at the post?” You ask, smiling fondly at the bashful man in front of you and he faces you again, nodding his answer. “Yes, I assumed so. There was one at the shop, too, but you had not walked in while I was there.”

“Yes, once I saw the notice and inquired about the position, I spent some time familiarizing myself with the town before heading here to see your father. He had been preoccupied yesterday and requested I return early this morning.”

“That’s strange. He didn’t mention it to me,” you ponder. Then again, it wasn’t unusual for Pa to not trouble you with these affairs until it was time to deal with them. “And you only just arrived yesterday, correct?”

“Yes, miss. To be frank, I am slightly unnerved at the commotion my arrival has stirred; it seems the people here are not accustomed to travelers.”

“Unfortunately, no,” you reply with a contrite look on your face. “I apologize for the welcome not being so friendly. Do not take it to heart. I have grown up here and still feel like an outsider,” you add, the sudden remark escaping you naturally. You have a strange feeling that you may be able to open your mind and thoughts to this man who exudes comfort and compassion. Maybe someday.

“Well, Ezra,” you enunciate again. “I’m afraid I must go now. Pa will have you busy with work in no time, I guarantee. If you ever need anything from me and I am not here, our shop is in town, right after the bank. Please do not hesitate to come by and ask.”

Ezra looks at you again, the tender smile that had budded on his unconventionally attractive face blooming into a full fledged, teeth baring grin. The sight of it makes your heart skip a beat, sparking a dull fire in the furnace within your belly that had long been barren, full of the ashes of any past flame that ceased to exist as quickly as it had lit.

At first glance, it may have been easy to overlook his features, but as you gaze at him before you, it is not difficult to see that he is, in fact, very handsome. You smile in return, adjusting your bonnet to sit atop your head and turning on your heels to walk toward the town.

Of course, the people are still buzzing with the recent arrival of Ezra Prospect. Even worse now, word has reached that he is to be your new farmhand. Mrs. Williams, of course, heard from her husband that Mr. Prospect had shown intrigue in the position, and later that night while they ate dinner, Mr. Williams shared the news with his wife. It truly is doubtful that anyone would be able to survive one, single daybreak without having something or someone to talk about.

The main three hens, Mrs. Foster, Mrs. McKenna, and Mrs. Jones all swarm your personal environment before you even make it inside the shop and they are just about bouncing in their heeled boots, awaiting any sort of information you can give them about Mr. Prospect.

“I hear he’s your new farmhand.”

“Is he as strange as he looks?”

“He seems dangerous; best keep your distance, dear.”

They will not stop; one question rolling into the next from each of their beaks. You have a right mind to lay out some feed on the ground for them so as to keep their mouths busy with other matters. The irritation courses through you, a dull tightness forming at the base of your skull.

“What is his name?”

“Perhaps if he did not feel so unwelcome by the whispers of the town, he may be more inclined to tell you himself,” you say harshly before having a moment to think twice.

They gape at you; the audacity, their expressions seem to say. You don’t seem to care for it, though. To have them whisper about you was one thing; you could manage just fine, however bothersome it is. But Mr. Prospect seemed friendly and gentle enough to make you relinquish any passiveness to these women, unwilling to keep cordial when they’re so unpleasant of anyone new introduced to this town. It’s unusual, this feeling. Protective. Over a man you only spoke to for no more than fifteen minutes.

The women scoff under their breaths, very obviously offended by your response and denial of amusing them. They whisper amongst themselves as they walk away, not trying to hide their second glances at you from over their shoulders as they continue down the road. Surely, the word will spread that you did not wish to speak to them about the traveler, and they will conspire on which hen to send next to continue the digging.

You feel some relief, however, knowing now the conversation will be turned back to you instead of Mr. Prospect. He did not deserve to be treated as such during his stay and you would make sure of that.

Chapter One || Chapter Three

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Taglist Form

Tags: @the-ginger-hedge-witch @asta-lily @honeymandos @pascalpanic @aliwritesfic @mandocrasis @hnt-escape @winter-fox-queen @barbossa2319 @sarahjkl82-blog @day-off-inkyoto @pedrocentric @astoryisaloveaffair @ezrasbirdie @danniburgh @foli-vora @lucrezia-thoughts @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamer @quica-quica-quica @meesterblack @amandalovess @hunterofartem1s @pedro4ever @mishasminion360 @wardenparker @librariantothejedi @fan-of-encouragement @javierpinme @writeforfandoms @ew-erin

#ezra x f!reader #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra au #ezra prospect au #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect fanfic #pedro pascal character fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #prospect #prospect fanfiction

83 notes · View notes

dragongirl642 · 5 years ago

Text

Sunstreaker/Sideswipe x human!female!reader (bayverse) part 5

Recap:

Once he was calm, we hurried to collect the Allspark. That humming in my chest, just kept getting stronger and now it was accompanied by a sense of urgency from Starblaze but also this feeling of awesome power.

One thought crossed my mind. 'I got a bad feeling about this.'

-------------------------------------Recap end------------------------------------

I was riding an ATV following the transport units. My speciality is mobile battle. The modified ATV's two sub-automatic machine guns being my best friends in battle. Closely following my cousin's truck, I could clearly see Lennox sat in front of me, through the open back of the vehicle. He was briefing the unit on possible hostiles and giving the oh-so-positive, 'it's better to live to fight another day, than die doing a heroic stunt that gets you killed' kind of speech.

The Allspark and Sam were riding with Bumblebee up ahead. We were heading to Mission City; whilst there it should be easier to contact the copters and get the hell out of the Decepticon's reach. Keller agreed with the idea, so here we were.

Starblaze and the twins sent me encouraging pulses over our bond. 'Wait...I can feel the twins now too...must be a Gaian thing.'

I was busy watching William until I heard the roar of engines ahead. Holding the handlebars of my ATV steady, I twisted to look behind me. A blue Peterbuilt semi-trailer truck with flame decals (Optimus Prime), a silver Modified Pontiac Solstice GXP (Jazz), a black Modified GMC Topkick C4500 (Ironhide) and a Yellow Hummer H2 Search and Rescue SUV (Ratchet) were coming the other way. The songs bursting out of Bee's radio signalling that these were the other Autobots. They passed us and I heard the squeal of tires as they made u-turns at breakneck speed. 'But then again they don't have necks to break in that form'. They began gaining on us from behind.

My ATV's inbuilt radio crackled, orders to fall back and hold the rear; I complied. I slowed and allowed them to pass me. William threw me a thumbs up from the back of his truck, I sent back a small wave. We continued in this formation, Mission city in our sights.

As we joined the main highway, civilian cars either side. I heard metallic clicking behind me. Yet again I twisted to look and wished I hadn't. 'Scrap'. I faced forward and hit the throttle. Shooting forward just in time to avoid the metallic fist that came down were I had been moments before. I powered forward passed the Semi as it transformed into a tall, powerful looking Autobot. 'The red and blue really suit him'. He began skating and turned back to face the threat. I weaved my way through the other Autobots and came up behind Lennox. He looked at me as I jokingly called, "Definitely a Decepticon...get ready to have some fun", as I flicked the switch on my ATV's dash to power up my guns. The blur of motion as the chambers spun and set, hitting home. One recruit went completely white. 'Hope he doesn't throw up...too late...that's gonna be a mess to clean up later'.

We made it to the city. The communication with the Nellis Air Force base lifting spirits; help was on the way. The first transport units sending out fire teams to clear buildings and set up sniper points. The Autobots transformed and we spread out. I parked further up the street with my guns pointed towards the highway. The whine of an F-22 Raptor was heard. 'Thank God they're here...wait that was too quick, something's wrong'. I opened my mouth to call my cousin just as smoke flares were sent up. The Raptor changing course, heading straight for our position. I set my guns, plotting its trajectory. Good thing too...it was a Decepticon. The Black Autobot, Ironhide, called a name; "Starscream". Bumblebee and Ironhide picked up a truck as the jet transformed into a grey Seeler, 'seekey, seekser, oh...seeker I think it was'. Ironhide ordering everyone to "fall back". Starscream shot at them and the resulting explosion almost blinded me. My battle goggles tinting automatically. As the smoke cleared I could see that Bumblebee had been decapitated. Ironhide had been blasted backwards so poor Bee took the brunt of the shot.

Starscream stood over him, ready to give the finishing blow. Ironhide was coming around and the other Autobots were already springing into action, but an idea came to me, 'stupid but brilliant, as they say'.

I gunned the throttle, shooting forward at speed. I opened fire. Bullets distracting the seeker as I did one of those idiotic heroic stunts Lennox was talking about. Using a crushed car as a ramp, I leapt with my ATV, straight for the astonished Starscream. Knuckles white with the effort it took to stay seated as the wheels of my ATV struck his faceplate. I kept the throttle on as they gave him tyre burn. Also sending me into a backwards flip. 'This was not part of the plan'. Starscream fell back and holding his face transformed and flew off while I held on for dear life to my ATV. Thankfully it landed right way up, so I wasn't about to be a (y/n) pancake yet. But the resounding crack upon impact wasn't the most reassuring sound in the world.

Lennox sending me the radio version of an angry face. I just sent him back the radio version of a wink face. 'You gotta have a sense of humour in this job, otherwise I would've gone mad years ago'.

The sounds of battle crashed around me as I gunned the throttle once more. The familiar feeling of adrenaline filled me as I differed to my training, the battlefield becoming a blur.

I was moving, running, ducking through showers of bullets and firing my second sub-automatic machine gun, (I'd taken them off the ATV when it was scrapped by a Decepticon bullet shower). Just as I was about to turn a blast of wind rushed past, accompanied by a figure, 'no make that two'. The silver Autobot, Jazz, was being carried off by Megatron. The huge 'and I mean HUGE' scary looking leader of the Decepticons. Jazz was fighting bravely but I could already tell he was going to die. You would have to be able to fly to rescue him. 'WAIT A MINUTE'.

I ran for the building they were heading towards. Dropping my gun, I performed the transformation sequence as I ran. "Gaian fusion, partner up!" The transformation was quicker this time, maybe because I was in the middle of a battle.

With a powerful downthrust of my wings I was airborne and heading for the two mechs.

"You want a piece of me", I could hear Jazz's taunts. I raised my bow and drew back the string a glowing arrow taking form. It was growing the longer I held the bow taught, but I didn't give it time to grow. I let loose just as Megatron began to reply, "No I want..." The arrow hit his left servo. He yelled in pain and dropped Jazz, grabbing his injured servo with his good hand. On reflex I dived. My fingers finding the grooves in his armour, I took hold, and beat my wings furiously to slow us down. It worked and I deposited him on the floor. Floating before him I gave a quick nod before spotting my cousin over his shoulder.

Mouth agape, all surprised, he was quite the sight. Staring at me like I'd just turned into a 'wait'. The comic picture was broken by the sight of an injured brawl returning to his feet and aiming his gun for Lennox's unprotected back. I swooped forward. Shield at the ready I blocked the incoming fire. Ironhide, Ratchet and Jazz rushing back in to re-engage.

"How?...What?...When?...WHAT?" Lennox was spluttering and gaping like a fish. I composed myself, ready to tell him everything when he honestly surprised me. "You know what, tell me after we don't die" and he ran off.

The blur of battle setting in once more...this time though...I fought using my powers. Slash and parry, let loose a volley of small arrows, block, shield at the ready and begin again.

Startled once more out of my trance, by an almighty crash and the audible cracks of something very important. Glancing over my shoulder, Megatron is standing there, Optimus injured, sitting in a small pile of rubble, leaning against a damaged building and Sam running for his life. All the nearby soldier's radios crackled to life, Lennox's voice sounding from all around. #(y/n)...protect Sam#

I took the order to heart. 'So sweet of him to include me though' I thought, and vaulted over several cars to run beside the teen; along with Ironhide and Ratchet. Sam threw me an incredulous look but kept running. A Decepticon made a swing for him, raising my shield up to block the attack we slid under the blade. We kept running. The pounding in my ears almost drowning out the sound of Starscream engaging our two Autobot protectors.

A thump crashed behind, "Give me the cube boy!" Megatron was chasing us, 'well that's just fragging great now isn't it'. We didn't see the SUV till it was too late. I pushed Sam ahead, he fell and dropped the cube. A wave of power being discharged, hitting me and several machines; bringing them to life and causing general mayhem. While I dropped to a knee in pain. Heat flaring within my chest. The feeling of a sparkbeat began, then failed, then began again.

"Go Sam" I choked out before collapsing.

He ran on, darting into a relatively undamaged building. I lay there, wings twitching and body wracked by painful spasms. Images flashing through my mind, a planet wracked by war, a desperate plan, a secret, a void, "You will do my will"...and a dark voice. "They will never follow you brother". I watched helpless as two vast beings fought. Then the one who spoke last held out a hand, 13 pinpricks of light appeared and formed into, what I recognised, as cybertronians.

"Behold my Primes, they will be your undoing brother unless you turn back from this foolish path, return...please". The last part almost a whisper.

"NEVER!" The dark voice ringing in the void. It hurt.

A flash and the dark voice screamed, in pain and anger...slowly it faded, drifting away, swallowed by the void. I felt that kinder presence turn to me, "What you have seen young one, learn from it. You have felt the power of the Allspark and carry part of it within you, use it wisely." I felt myself being dragged away.

"Wait...what do you mean?" I called but no answer came. I was falling into a dark all-consuming abyss. Then a small spot of light appeared. I recognised it before it spoke. "Come back...partner" Starblaze. I followed and the light grew enveloping me.

I opened my eyes. I was lying on the ground, cheek pressed to the hard asphalt. Just in time to see my cousin perform another one of those heroic stunts'...on a motorcycle no less'.

Blackout fell and I slowly sat up. A headache slowly fading. 'When you're in the middle of a battle, you're not supposed to black out and hope for the best.' Silently berating myself, I stumbled to my feet, a cascading waterfall of dust and rubble falling of my body.

Swaying I summoned my bow. Pulling back the string and taking aim. I could feel the F-22 raptor pilots panicking above as Starscream appeared in their midst. Lennox and the ground forces fired on Megatron, so did the remaining raptors. They were trying to expose his spark, but though he fell back there was still the protective layer of his spark chamber to contend with.

I released the arrow. It struck home, burning through the final protective layer. Megatron howled in pain, Optimus using that moment to strike him. Grappling the two titans almost crushed Sam. I saw Optimus's dermas move but I didn't hear what he said. Nevertheless, Sam thrust his hands upwards, pushing the Allspark into Megatron's spark. Another white hot flare built in my chest and Megatron's spark shone and pulsed erratically. The Allspark burning up. Eventually it went dark and Megatron fell to the road, offline.

I ran over to Lennox, out of the corner of my eye, spotting Sam pick something up from the ground. He looked at me with a smile. I was not prepared to be picked up and spun like some doll by an over energised cousin. 'He's still in a battle high...great' I internally rolled my eyes.

When he put me down, he gave me a look up and down. I cocked my hips, giggled and gave a spin to show off my new look. My wings buffeted his face and he promptly sneezed. 'Who said I don't have a childish side'. The other members of the unit were looking at me in awe. One cheeky lad at the back even wolf-whistled.

"Ok, now I've seen it, is there any way to unsee it" he stated.

I performed the motions while calling "Power down" and with a flash of light I was back in uniform.

I watched as the Autobots and Sam gathered around Prime for a speech. I just smiled and turned back to my cousin. Opening my mouth to speak and finally explain my whole crazy story when I felt a tug within my heart.

Starblaze exuding waves of calm while the twins were frantically asking me whether I was ok. I responded yes and then their alt-modes just rolled, all calm like, out of a nearby alley and transformed.

With panicked yells everyone raised their weapons at the newcomers. "Whoa, hold your fire, hold your fire!" I called running in front of everyone, arms raised in the classic I-am-defending-this-person position. Lennox marched, like two steps, over to me, "Who are these guys?" He then studied me up and down, noting how I was calm and obviously protecting the trio, he rolled his weight onto his back foot and leisurely said, "Friends of yours?"

'How does he stay so calm?' I questioned in my head. I gestured behind me, "This is Starblaze, my Gaian partner and his siblings, the twins, Starocean and Starwave. I'll explain later Cousin..." I put on the most sweet voice I could, "I have something I need to discuss with dear Starblaze here." now I turned to Starblaze, "AND WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN, I'VE BEEN FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE AND YOU'VE BEEN CHILLIN' IN AN ALLEY THIS WHOLE TIME!" I was going into rant mode. "YOU COULD HAVE DECIDED TO HELP AT ANY MOMENT BUT NO..." Starblaze raised a hand for silence, cutting me off mid-rant.

He just looked at me, completely unimpressed, and said, "You're a competent fighter, I said we would come if you were in danger, you weren't. You are still alive are you not?"

'Oh that just takes the cake' I geared up for a real rant, I could feel my face going red as blood rushed to it. Some of the other soldiers, having realised these were friends, wore broad grins on their faces, just waiting for the show to begin.

"Should we run", said Starwave. "Probably" replied his twin and they slowly backed off hands raised, leaving their older brother to face his partner's fury.

Of course they didn't get off that easy,

The Autobots had noticed the new arrivals.

#transformers #fanfiction #autobots #decepticons #megatron #optimus prime #transformers ocs #not my ocs #x reader #transformers bumblebee #transformers jazz #starscream

34 notes · View notes

thanksjro · 5 years ago

Text

Polyhex Wars, Book 1 Part 2: The Timeline for the Robots Being Gay Goes Back Further Than I Thought

Ratchet wakes up from that whole, “mystical passing out” thing to find himself strapped to a table with his head all poked into with wires. Optimus and Prowl are also being subjected to this treatment, but they’re not awake yet.

I guess we all have that one character we just latch onto, don’t we?

Chromedome was there when all three of these guys collapsed, and went to go get help. Ratchet explains that there was black fire and breaking glass and it was all like some god-awful acid trip.

No kidding, doc.

Ratchet seems to think that all that actually happened, but it turns out that it was all in their heads, much like everything else that they’d seen. Chromedome just saw them drop with a flash of light.

Optimus wakes up, and First Aid explains that their mental trips into Limbo are coming closer and closer together, and becoming more violent as a result. There’s a good chance that the next time they have an attack, they’ll be sharing a dreamscape.

Prowl hasn’t woken up. Optimus is worried that he’s stuck in Limbo, and demands that they be put back under to guide him back to the land of the living. First Aid has his reservations, but what is he gonna do, argue with the space pope? Optimus and Ratchet are sent back in with the power of mind-transfer.

Let’s take a quick look at some Chromedome canon before we move on to the next chunk of story, because I want to try and get a feel for why Roberts seems to like him so much.

In the Marvel comics, Chromedome was kind of a reclusive computer nerd, who very much disliked the fact that all his programming skills were only being applied to the war effort as opposed to literally anything else. When Fortress Maximus decided to up and leave, he went along gladly. He ended up getting paired with a very outgoing, vain Nebulan partner named Stylor when the whole Headmaster thing happened. They had their differences, but ultimately were brought together by the common goal of kicking Decepticon ass for the greater good. Comic Chromedome is a relatively nice guy, if a bit cowardly- his final entry in the series was heading for the hills when Unicron showed up, but honestly I can’t really fault him for that.

And then there’s the Headmasters anime. Yeah, Chromedome was an anime protagonist back in the 90’s. Anime Chromedome is a completely different entity than his comic counterpart. His whole thing is that he wants revenge for the murder of his friends at the hands of Sixshot. He’s also a Headmaster- no shit- but it works a little differently, in that he’s the only one involved with the process. Chromedome himself IS the head, and the big body he plugs into is just this sort of inert mecha that he pilots when he wants to be able to reach the higher shelves at the supermarket.

Anime Chromedome is the second-in-command to Fortress Maximus, and he’s a bit of a jackass at times, but he seems to have his heart in the right place. You know, when he isn’t busy beating Decepticons to death. Anime Chromedome goes hard.

Getting back to the story, we return to the scene we left at the end of Part One, with the 40 Autobots having been caught in a trap in Darkmount.

Well that lasted all of five minutes. Poor Grandpa.

This starts a chain reaction, and it isn’t long before all the Autobots are throwing punches. Blaster goes full cowl, taking four guys on at once, and potentially kneeing someone in the nuts so hard they flies up into the air and are promptly exploded by gunfire. Blaster throws a gun to Sights, who is a sniper, and then is right back in the center of the fracas.

Sights is a sniper here, but it looks like the only Sights in Transformers canon is a bird who can turn into a fusion cannon. They probably aren’t the same character, unless there’s something I don’t know about birds.

Sights hauls himself up to a ledge using a grappling hook, and starts picking off Decepticons. Things seem to be turning around for the Autobots at this point, because Sights is the best.

Sights is what some might call a Mary Sue- he’s the best at sniping, rivaling Optimus Prime himself with his accuracy, everyone seems to know him, and he singlehandedly has turned the tide of this fight. As the Autobots escape, he manages to explode a key piece of Decepticon equipment, killing over a dozen enemy troops.

This is an earlier work, if you couldn’t already tell.

We do see some neat transitions in the writing, though.

Ratchet and Optimus have entered Limbo, and are feeling a little manic about the whole thing, especially since the space is just filled with corpses from the Time Wars. Like, it’s a carpet of dead bodies.

Roberts was all about that edge from the get-go, huh?

The two robots start walking, looking for Prowl.

Over with Red Alert on the Celestial, he’s not really feeling the vibe on this spacecraft. Neither is Hot Shot, but neither of them can really pinpoint why exactly that is. Sideswipe points out that Getaway doesn’t have his Nebulan partner with him- for this particular story, we’re going with the take on Getaway as a Powermaster, which means he has a smaller person who plugs into his body to act as a battery, kind of like a reverse parasite.

Comic books are weird.

Toy gimmicks are also weird.

This cues in the Autobots that things might not be on the up and up here. You know, that and the whole “Witterquick” thing. The boys load their weapons, but keep them concealed as they approach not-Blaster, who’s beginning to worry that he’s been caught after all this time. He must have sort flavor of social anxiety, because he’s kept his cool over the video chat for the last few weeks, but the moment Red Alert enters the room, he blows his cover and orders the Decepticons to attack.

Back at Darkmount, it seems we’ve lost a few people, as the count has gone from 40 to 29. The boys are running through the halls, completely clueless as to where to go in order to escape.

Don’t be shocked by the language, this is G1 Silverbolt, not the one who fucks is a complete gentleman to a spider.

I’m still convinced that this Courier guy is evil. You should be tossing him out the window, not looking to him for help.

The Decepticons are gaining. Hound, exasperated, asks as nicely as he can for Silverbolt to try and wake Courier up as they attempt to keep the distance between factions as wide as they can. Laser fire quickly becomes involved, and Swerve and Bumblebee go from the back of the pack to the front. Little fellas can move when they want to.

While Sights does another cool thing with some guns he stole, Courier wakes up and says- with some trouble, since he’s just woken up and still bleeding from that leg wound- that they should jump into the sewers to escape.

That’s all well and good, but if they intend on doing such a thing, they’ll need to put a bit more distance between themselves and their assailants. Everyone starts shooting at the ceiling, attempting to bring it crashing down. Everyone except Sights. No, instead Sights goes on picking off any Decepticon who gets too close for comfort, until they manage to bring the house down.

The strong, silent type, Sights is. Tall, dark, and handsome, too, most likely.

Back in Limbo, Ratchet’s starting to crack.

As if on cue, the ground starts to crack, revealing lava of all things, and the whole scene turns into Dante’s Inferno-flavored Hell. Yeah, proper noun Hell. Optimus and Ratchet are exploded by contact with a downpour of acid rain, then their bodies reconstituted, only to be burned to crispies by the lava. When they wake up from that, they find themselves stuck on a spinning silver plate in the sky, where they have an excellent view of where Prowl’s gotten to- he’s stranded on an asteroid with a big, scary Decepticon, who’s about to complete wreck his shit.

You know, the snark has always been there in Roberts’ writing, but it didn’t really hit its stride until after this piece of work.

Meanwhile, in the sewers, our Autobots aren’t doing so hot. Courier’s probably going to die if they don’t get him medical attention soon. I guess they just didn’t have any sort of medic on the Celestial when it was overtaken, which seems like a massive oversight. Or maybe they’re dead.

We don’t have time to worry about the hiring practices of the Autobots right now though, because a few Decepticons just arrived on the scene.

Well, there goes the token girl character.

Seems like nobody told these ‘Cons to not hit their deep cover operative. There goes several thousand years of Autobot secrets, dumbasses. Soundwave’s going to be so pissed.

The Autobots quickly fall into formation and start defending themselves. Turns out Rev-Tone’s on the scene.

Hi Rev-Tone!

Someone gets shot and proceeds to explode, which causes enough chaos for a Decepticon to load up a missile launcher without being noticed and fire it into the crowd.

Things are looking hopeless, so that means it’s time for Sights to make his Heroic Sacrifice™. Hound begs him to stay, because he can’t bear to lose anyone else.

Unfortunately, the Hound/Sights coffeeshop AU slowburn fit written by Rewind will have to have a fix-it fic tag, because Sights is almost immediately and literally ripped apart by a smattering of Decepticons. Knowing his time is running out, he busts out the big guns.

Oh my god he’s got fucking laser vision.

That isn’t quite enough though, so he initiates self-destruct, thereby saving his fellow Autobots and dying a hero.

You know, if you stack Sights on top of what was left of Quark after the interrogation scene, you make a whole robot. Worst. Duobot. Ever.

Not to worry though, because Wheeljack’s taken the opportunity to be all weird and cryptic, and insinuates that they potentially COULD bring Sights back from the dead. Because of course he can.

We don’t get to find out how that magic’s going to happen though, because it’s time to check in on Optimus and Ratchet.

Things aren’t going great. They crashed the disk, and it turns out that the giant Decepticon threatening Prowl and throwing body parts at him is Galvatron. Optimus leaps into action, attempting to use his magnetic repellence on the enemy.

I guess that’s a thing he has.

It works, but it’s taking a lot out of Optimus, so they need to figure something else out fast. Optimus, ever light on his mental feet, surges the power so that Galvatron explodes. Ratchet goes over to Prowl to see what his deal is, and it’s looking like he’s going to need brain surgery.

“Now back the hell up, Optimus, you’re breathing contaminates all over Prowl’s exposed brain.”

Back on Cybertron, it turns out that things might just be okay after all, as Hound and company have stumbled across the lost city of Subterrainia. Subterrainia did not exist in Transformers canon at the time of this writing, but it would in 2012, when Roberts used his immense power as a hired writer for the franchise to make it so.

Now that they’re in a place that has medical equipment, they can heal their wounded and indulge in a little lore. Trasher provides us with the backstory of this lost city.

Long before the War, Transformers lived on the surface of Cybertron. Then, one day, someone said, what if we didn’t do that? Then they built Subterrainia and lived there instead. Then the War happened and people sort of just forgot that it was there. The end.

That’s literally it.

After that riveting explanation, we check back in with Optimus, who I suppose forgot to put on his patience hat this morning, as he asks Ratchet to hurry up with the life-saving field surgery he’s currently in the middle of. Ratchet calls him out on it, as he should, and Optimus apologizes, going back to worrying about his troops outside of Limbo.

Over on the Celestial, Red Alert’s just had his arm shot off, and there’s a continuity error running amok.

You are supposed to be back at base, mister!

The Autobots are getting their asses kicked, and it’s not hard to see why- a lot of the Decepticons on this spacecraft are heavy hitters. Starscream’s here, the entire Combaticon team, it’s wild.

Then Starscream calls for escape plan 3 to take place, and they just… leave. It’s strange, and it’s sudden, and the Autobots can’t help but agree. Red Alert decides to see what’s on the computer to try and figure out what they’re planning, and ends up setting off the countdown for a bomb. Slapdash yells at him for being an idiot.

Back down in the City of the Mole People, Getaway’s come back from checking out the place, and informs Hound that it’s completely abandoned. He theorizes that the Decepticons killed everyone who lived here, an will probably come looking for them sooner rather than later. That’s all fine though, because Courier’s back and better than ever.

I still don’t trust him.

He says he knows how to get out of Subterrainia- which only chalks up more points against him being a true Autobot- but hold on! What about Sights?

Sights just got Goldbugged. It’s Ammo now.

Roberts will never let a pair of robot titties go unnoticed. I can’t believe that Wheeljack, with the limited time they had, would go and make Ammo this attractive, and then have the audacity to show him off with a dramatic reveal. It was completely unnecessary, but here we are, staring at Ammo’s strong arms and thighs, wishing to be held by Hotbot 9000 over here.

Hound is all about this overhaul. Look at him, getting all flustered.

Ammo as character is present in the IDW run of the comics, but in name only. They are very different creatures, much like the different iterations of Quark. Roberts is very into recycling, and here is no exception.

After Ammo’s debut, the narrative checks in on Autobot City, where things aren’t nearly as sexy; Starscream made a beeline for the place the moment they left the Celestial, and they’re wrecking shop. He’s doing this without orders to do so, by the way. This is just how Starscream wants his Monday to go, I guess. It’s looking pretty grim for the Autobots, and Optimus is still stuck in Limbo. Hopefully he gets back soon.

#transformers #jro #polyhex wars #book one #part two #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing

4 notes · View notes

deathbyvalentine · 5 years ago

Text

Random Prose Prompts

Mattias - Grief

Usually negative feelings were fleeting, like summer storms. He would feel sad for a short time before his mind moved on, flickering onto more important matters like himself or whatever lover was presently occupying him. This was different. This wasn’t going away.

The loss of Sol was like nothing he had experienced. Something ached inside him, like a wound that refused to heal. Like a wound waiting for an infection. It was easy to pretend to have recovered of course, to pretend the mourning had turned to celebrations. Actions were easy to perform. Changing what was roiling on the inside had turned out to be impossible.

Not helped at all of course by the curse that still jolted him out of his skin every few hours, leaving him gasping and shuddering, the confusion of Winter making his head spin. He had been told community would help, surrounding himself with those who loved him the most. The person that loved him the most had been ripped apart by heralds. The person that looked after him, indulged him, kept him. Without him, he felt vulnerable, like his armor had not only been stripped away but had been utterly discarded.

He curled up in his bed, pressing a scarf to his face. He wouldn’t wear it of course, but having it close helped. If he closed his eyes, it almost smelt like he was here. The thought he wasn’t was utterly terrifying, so pretense it was. For however long he could keep it up for.

_____________________________________________

T67 - Selling Out

Oh, she had made a mistake. Once again, she had had several conversations when she felt like her head was full of cotton wool and it had ended badly. As it turned out, Syn was a street punk. A bit different from what she had signed up for. She had no idea what she had signed up for actually. She had followed Syn blindly, wanting to surprise her and now she was probably owned. Probably.

Two groups to prove herself to. The Saints who almost certainly thought of her as a bumbling barbie good for very little and the Syndicate who didn’t even know her, viewing her as disposable. Maybe she was. She didn’t know what she was good for, so it wasn’t exactly like she could pitch her talents forward. She looked good. That was it.

Maybe she should just slide off entirely, go work for one of the Dreamweaver’s brothels. She had dabbled before, but never really committed. But people giving her money because they thought she was pretty seemed like an ideal situation. But it would pull her away from Syn.

Let’s just see how it goes.

_____________________________________

Wayward Road - Bar Fight

Ash smacked the chair leg across the vampire’s face, taking a grim satisfaction at the dull thud and splatter it produced. She loved fighting for many of the same reasons she loved dancing. The exertion, the pushing her body, the rush of chemicals, the catharsis and the ache that could be easily ascribed to a single action. She laughed, panting with exertion, standing over the body before pulling a stake from her belt and stabbing it deep into the monster’s heart.

The bar now fell quiet. She stood up straight, letting the chair leg tumble to the ground. She walked behind the stained ebony, rummaging underneath until she found some cheap and nasty liquor. She poured out a shot, wrinkling her nose as she took it back, burning her throat. It would numb a little of the pain now crackling across her back. The vamp had managed to get the jump on her, just about, and her shoulder blades had paid the price. But it was a win as long as there were no teeth marks in her neck.

Idly, she pulled her phone from her pocket, scrolling through the contacts until she got to Kara. It had been a few weeks since she had last been in London, last crashed on the Valkyrie’s floor. And now there was a weird sensation in her chest. Something soft and gently sad. Something like missing someone. And not like grief. It didn’t hurt.

She ran her thumb over the call button, considering. She didn’t want to seem desperate or weak. She definitely didn’t want to let on that she gave a damn. She wouldn’t call her.

But she would text her.

______________________________________

Black Moon

Constance could have watched her all day. Her movements were fluid, like mercury shifting. Her hips swayed with every step and every step was unerring in its certainty. She had no idea of the age difference between them but it couldn’t just be time that had made the woman into what she was. Constance could never imagine being this self-assured, this sure of her place in the world. She coveted what she could not achieve. Her love was one of both admiration, desire and jealousy. Not unusual for a student and her teacher.

The Priestess flicked her eyes up to her protege’s and smiled. She stood opposite her, the fire crackling high between them. Constance tore a page from the book she held, letting the breeze take it and cast it into the flames, saying the words she had written on the inside of her arm so she would not forget them. The Priestess nodded approving and continued her circuit, passing behind Constance and tracing her fingers across the line of her shoulders as she did so.

When the circle was completed, she took three steps into the center and plunged her hand into the flames. Her skin did not burn, the flames turning electric blue and calming a little, as if anxious creatures being soothed. Her hand found the bottom of the bowl and pressed, covering itself in ash. She withdrew and walked until she was a hair’s breadth away from Constance. She couldn’t help it. She looked down at her lips and watched them curve into a knowing smile even as her cheeks were flushing scarlet. The Priestess brought her hand up and painted the half-moon symbol on her forehead, matching the symbol in her own headdress.

It was done. They were bound together now. For better or for worse.

__________________________________________________

Caterpillars

Aaron lay belly down on the grass, his eyes at leaf level. There was an entire world here, secreted where only feet disturbed their busy work. Their movements stirred only the leaves and grass, in twitches and starts. Ants crawled in seemingly arcane patterns, carrying crumbs or cuttings of leaves. A ladybird perched thoughtfully in the center of a flower, unbothered by the fat bumblebees occasionally alighting on the gently curling petals.

But what fascinated Aaron the most was the caterpillars resting on the stems of the plants. They were green and as thick as his thumb, covered in tiny hairs, giving them a soft almost halo-like outline. When they moved, it was reluctantly, a curve moving through their entire body like a wave. It was hard to believe that one day they would transform into something bearing no resemblance to themselves. Did they know they had changed? Or did they feel the same as they always had, simply airborne? The world became wider to them, infinitely so.

Aaron sat up and pitched backwards, his back landing with a thud onto the soft grass. The sky above him was so blue it made his eyes ache, only the barest traces of clouds interrupting the endless vista. He raised his hand over his head, watching the blue frame and embrace his outline. He was a part of this world, look how it clung to him so.

______________________________________

Where Is It?

Kitty sat impassively in the chair, her flickering eyes the only indication she was paying any attention at all. Occasionally, her tongue would appear to lick away a fresh bead of blood appearing on her split lip. Other than this, she was as still as stone.

The other two however, were flurries of activity. The taller was on his hands and knees, ripping up the carpet with his bare hands, huffs of effort punctuated with low growls of frustration. The shorter was pulling out every drawer in the bureau, turning it upside down and discarding it to the side. He had already turned over the desk, the wardrobe and even the mattress, sending feathers flying into the air and drifting down like snow. This was going to be quite the clean up operation, Kitty thought, more annoyed by this than the aching of her flesh or the rawness of her skin where the ropes had rubbed.

She winced as her favourite mug shattered against the east wall, sending shards spraying across the room. She supposed all in all, she should be fairly thankful her cat had chosen to spend the evening out, seducing his way through the neighbourhood. Typical tom.

There was nothing under the carpets. She would have told them as much if they had bothered to ask but they seemed to have decided early on everything she said was a lie. Usually a wise move, all it had done this time was much prolong an already laborious process. Worst of all, they had worked themselves into quite a bind. They were thieves, they weren’t killers. What to do if they couldn’t find what they came for?

They didn’t have to find out. There was the unmistakable sound of jingling keys, metal against metal. Kitty raised an eyebrow at the two frozen men. They weighed up their options and quick as a flash had reopened the window, using the drain pipe to slide down. In a moment or so, it was only Kitty in a room that looked like an inconsiderate hurricane had torn through it.

Robert stopped dead when he entered, one hand holding keys, the other holding several shopping bags, straining at the plastic. He dropped them, sending some loose oranges rolling across the floor, rushing forward to work at the knots binding her wrists. When she was freed, she stood up instantly, stretching her legs and inspecting her poor skin. “Have we still got that first aid kit?” “Yeah, I’ll go get it.” She sat patiently as Robert shut the door, fetched the kit and began tenderly wrapping up her wrists with gauze and antiseptic. “Did they find it?” “No, we were lucky.” She winced as the cream stung her skin. She was a terrible patient but Robert had gotten used to it over the years and had a lollipop ready to bribe her with. She popped it in her mouth and went over to the shopping bags, still resting near the door. She rummaged through until she found the small packet of dreamies. Over to the still open window she went, rattling the bag and tilting her head, listening for the patter of tiny paws.

It didn’t take too long. Sid skidded in, mewling furiously. Kitty cooed, scooping him up and feeding him a few of the treats. When the purring started furiously, she carefully hooked the small memory stick from his collar, moving it to her back pocket. “Good boy.”

__________________________________________

Alexei and the face at the window

He woke as suddenly as if cold water had been poured on him. For a moment, he just breathed, listening to the sounds of the tiny cottage. From the next room, he could hear the breathing of his parents. Outside, there was only the gentle wind and the forest sounds of twigs snapping, owls calling to one another. He had no idea why he had been awoken. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and as he did so, he saw what was looking in through the window.

He had known for a little while now that he could see ghosts and other things his parents did not. Wisps of colour in the trees, stars behaving oddly, shadows up and wandering away. There was an entire world that pressed onto this one. It was lonely, being the only one that could see it, but it was good too. Like having a secret.

The thing at his window was a ghost. It was pearly and transclucent and had no eyes, just darker substance. It’s mouth was an ‘O’, making it look permanently in a state of surprise. Alexei looked at the dark stain above it’s heart and wondered if it had died like that. He slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the window, pushing the pane up to open it. The winter air was biting and stung his cheeks. He loved it.

“What do you want?” He kept his voice to a whisper. The ghost shook it’s head and took a few (well not exactly steps) backwards, bringing up one arm to make a gesture which Alexei took to mean ‘come’. He considered. The woods were dark and deep and dangerous, especially at night. There were monsters afoot.

He put his hands on the sill to boost himself up and out, then reconsidered. A moment later he returned, this time wearing his scarlet cloak. He did not, however, remember his shoes.

The ground beneath his feet was hard with cold and his breath misted in front of him. The ghost waited patiently as he clambered safely out the window. Then it started walking, straight out of the small clearing in which the cottage was situated and into the closely pressing trees. The ghost kept ahead of him, occasionally stopping to let the much clumsier Alexei to keep it in his sights. It could have been mistaken for a moonbeam flitting between the dark pillars that was the forest, glowing slightly and seeming fragile.

They seemed to walk for a long time, Alexei occasionally calling out to ask where exactly they were going and receiving no reply. His feet were half-frozen and his temper was starting to flare with frustration. He was about to give up the endeavour altogether and follow the trail of broken twigs back home when they arrived at their destination.

Inbetween the undergrowth, there was a small gathering. Alexei could see a few rabbits, squirrels, even a fox or two, their eyes as large and as solemn as if they were in church. They were crowded around a much larger body. Alexei stepped forward, cautious. They surrounded a deer, a great stag, slowly bleeding to death. There must have been hunters here. The ghost stood anxiously near it, gesturing towards the body.

Alexei knelt and with indescribable softness, tucked his knees under the creature’s head. He ran his hands over the antlers, startled to find they were not hard and unyielding, but in fact covered in a soft fuzz. He must have been a king, Alexei realised. Beautiful and regal and with a court of woodland animals. And now he was dying here. Alexei’s heart cracked, just a little. He looked up at the ghost, confused as to what his purpose was here. He wasn’t a healer. He couldn’t save him.

But he could pull out the arrow that was in his breast, prolonging his death and his pain. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself, wrapping a small fist tightly around the arrow. With one sharp motion, he pulled, releasing it. The stag made one soft noise, then fell silent. His chest rose and fell until it stilled completely, no longer trembling with pain. Alexei bowed his head, tears in his eyes, pressing forehead to forehead.

The ghost lingered for a few moments, then almost gently began to drift back the way it came. Alexei stood, brushing the dirt off his pajama trousers and followed, unable to rub off the dark and sticky blood that stained his palms. When they got back to the cottage, the ghost stayed for a minute longer, then faded like morning mist. Alexei stood for a moment too, watching the first flakes of snow tumble down from the sky, until cold overwhelmed him and he climbed back inside, returning to bed.

_________________________________________________

The Starry Night Swirled Above

Something was going to happen. You didn’t need to be an augur to figure that out. The stars in the dark above were restless, shifting, changing places as though unable to decide where exactly they should be. The light swirled, purple, blue and white drawing streaks across the sky. Whatever was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be good. They hadn’t seen the sky change like this in centuries. It meant something was going to be born or something was going to end.

Layla sat on the side of the mountain, switching between looking down at the sleeping village in the valley and up at the shifting sky. Occasionally she tossed a pebble, to see it bounce and skid downwards, eventually disappearing from sight. She was waiting without knowing what she was waiting for. She half-expected to see a crack rend the sky and something come clambering out. Or perhaps the lake, the one behind the village, part and release a crowned being.

But the night was quiet. No gods appeared, no earthquake shattered the peace. She sighed, resting her elbows on her knees. Then, movement. The road that lead to the village was usually completely abandoned at this time of night. And yet, there there was. A black figure, walking alone. It paused for a moment, and turned to face the mountain. A shock went through Layla. Layla could have sworn it looked right at her.

______________________________________________________

Tommy back from his walking holiday

He dropped his backpack in the hallway with a dull thud. It was morning in England. The birds chattered to each other excitedly and you could hear the sounds of Heywater getting to business. Buses, cars, bikes, people calling to one another. It felt both painfully foreign and achingly familiar. The house felt smaller somehow.

The kitchen had light pouring in through the windows, as it so often did. Tommy clicked on the kettle, picking up the post it attached. ‘Welcome back - Jones.’ He smiled despite himself. He supposed he was back. In more ways that one. He made his tea, curling his hands around it as though to capture the warmth.

He walked into the living room, planning on stepping into the back garden but the sight of his reflection made him pause. To those who did not know him well, he supposed he looked exactly the same. Still young, still bespectacled, still a little on the thin side. But to himself, he looked completely different. His skin had a tanned tinge, freckles more prominent across his nose. His shoulders were a little broader. He stood a little taller. He looked like an adult. He found himself almost fascinated. How could his inner image of himself been so very wrong?

Finally breaking the spell, he stepped outside and sat on the doorstep. Flowers were pushing through the ground, blooming. Daffodils and snowdrops and all the spring flowers that Persephone spilled from her fingertips. Everything was peaceful. He sipped his tea, breathing out steadily. He was okay. This was okay.

____________________________________________________________

The Shattered Mirror/Glass

A thousand shards pour from the sky like deadly rain. A child went to catch one on his tongue, mistaking the shimmer for snow before his father caught his wrist, pulling him inside the relative safety of a doorway. They watched the streets empty as people fled.

Not that the inside was any safer than the outside. Ballrooms were soon coated, the deluge over in seconds but the clean up expected to take hours. The rooms of ciscibeos became dangerous in more than one way, bureaus and drawers filled with broken glass. A few unfortunate souls were holding their hand mirrors when they were rended. It didn’t hurt them, but the image of their face suddenly breaking would stay with them, the more hysterical mountebanks calling it an omen. Perhaps they were right. The city had been revealed, as mirrors do, and nobody was sure what truth lay beneath.

The people walked outside in sturdy boots, quite unlike their usual silk slippers or soft leather. They half expected to see the moon shattered too, her milky face missing from the night sky. But she was there, watching over the broken city, her face reflected in every piece of glass littering the streets. It would have been beautiful if it was not so terrible. A bravo stooped, tried to pick up a familiar shard and drew his hand back as if bitten, his fingertips gleaming scarlet.

The streets were full of a different type of music. Crunching. Wailing. Shocked gasps and hisses of pain, the gentle clatter of glass on glass on glass against brushes and pans. It was not music any of them wished to hear but Sarvos, for once, did not grant its people’s wishes. Instead it mourned, for its magic and for its beauty and for its mirrors.

__________________________________________________________

The Honour is Mine

Her armour looked average from a distance. Silver steel, moulded close to her body with little flare or showy shaping. It was when you got closer you saw its beauty. The entire thing had been engraved with slow, looping patterns of ivy that started at the feet and crept up the entire body, until it was coated.

It was with these leaves Maria was suddenly intimately familiar. She was not quite sure how long she had been lying in the ditch, pain crackling up from her ribs and across her right arm, but it had been long enough that delirium was beginning to set in. The cold soaking into her dress from the mud below her had done little to numb the pain but a lot for turning her into a shivering mess. Then there was a sharp clack of metal hitting gravel, some clicks as a gauntlet was undone, and a gentle hand helping her up, a cloak around her shoulders.

She opened her eyes now she was convinced it wasn’t a dream to be greeted by a knight of spectacular beauty. She had chestnut hair that tumbled down her shoulders like a waterfall, a kind face with a large nose painted with freckles. Her eyes were a dark, dark brown that would have been hard to read if her red mouth was not so determined to wear her thoughts. It was currently painted into a concerned frown. It took a moment for Maria to realise she was speaking to her. “M’lady, are you quite alright? I spotted your horse making for the pasture and stopped to investigate and by God I’m glad I did. Are you hurt?” Maria, faintly, gestured to her arm, which wasn’t quite responding to her requests for movement. “Right. Um. Do you live far from here?” Maria shook her head. “My father is the lord, we reside just outside the next village. I was only going for a ride when a passing cart startled her. She’s a farm creature, not much used to...” Words failed her, partly from exhaustion and partly from the weight of the knight’s gaze on her. The exhaustion won out in a different respect however - her knees buckled a little and she pitched forward. Quick as a cat, the knight launched forward and caught her. Another moment and she swept out her legs, carrying her bridal style. She felt her cheeks heat up until surely they were flaming red and she tried to occupy herself by focusing on the carving on her shoulder. “I have been most remiss. I apologise my lady. I’m Autumn, knight of the Dark Heath.” Dark Heath was a forrest not too far from here, filled with all manner of frightening creatures. Her own pet wolf had been rescued as a puppy from there and still occasionally had savage tendencies. Autumn must be very brave. She was certainly very strong as she was carefully lifting her onto her own horse, arranging her carefully. She also stripped a scarf from the animal’s pack, the scarlet scarf suddenly becoming a bandage for her arm. Autumn, still not done, caught the reins of Maria’s horse, and lead it back over to the road. She mounted her (a stunning achievement, Silver was usually extremely suspicious of new comers) and caught the reins of her own horse. “It would be my honour to take you back to your father’s village, if that is permissible to my lady?” Her dark eyes met Maria’s own green. “The honour would be all mine miss.”

_______________________________________________________

Haunting

Horror was as much a part of the human narrative as love was. As someone that currently had neither, fear or love, it was particularly doubtful if Ash was human at all. Looking at society moving around her like a river she wondered - was she apart because she was different? Or was the mere worry she was enough to impose self isolation, consciously or otherwise? Cleverer people than her had pondered this, written entire books about it and not managed to come to a conclusion. She suspected she would not be any different.

She wondered if she was afraid the first time she met a vampire, a werewolf, a vengeful ghost. She couldn’t remember the first - it was so long ago and obscured behind a compassionate curtain of grief and exhaustion. If you couldn’t remember something important, it was usually your brain being kind. Covering your eyes, guiding you away from what hurt. Helpful and annoying all at once.

Nowadays she didn’t feel fear in her work. Grim determination, occasional thrusts of survival instinct, frustration and rage were all second nature now. In her day to day life she only felt tired. She didn’t realise it could be an emotion until it had consumed her completely. It was much preferable to all other emotions. Because tiredness stayed. Happy, angry, normal sad would all eventually reset back to grief, and it hurt all the more once you had had a break. Better to not leave the state at all.

Dear God, if she died tomorrow, please just let her sleep. Heaven or hell, she didn’t want either of them if it meant she had to think. Even ghosts remembered. Better to have oblivion, better to have something like actual rest. Death was like sleep without the nightmares and could there be anything finer? Ash didn’t think so. She was so tired.

_________________________________________________________

Open Eyes In Darkness

Ash sat shivering on the bench, opposite the house. The glow of her cigarette matched the homely glow from the windows and both were the only sources of warmth she had. The leather jacket kept off the worst of the rain, but not the worst of the cold. Her grey hair, plastered to her skin, dripped persistently down her neck. Logically, she knew this job could wait until tomorrow. She was tracking and there had been no fatalities yet. But, of course, the question would then have to be asked about where she would go, who’s kindness she would fall on, who’s concern she would have to field and frankly it was easier to freeze.

She wished John and Sean would hurry up and come back. She could pretend to work with them out of necessity and they went along with the ruse without so much as a blink. She wished the rainbow of bruising on her ribs would fade and stop aching so much. She had managed to carve out most of her reactions to fear. She had not yet quite managed to find out how to quit pain. She wished the shivering was only due to the weather and not the barrage of nonsense that was hitting her as hard as the storm she was sat in. She closed her eyes for a moment, pretending she was stupid enough to just fall asleep here.

When she opened her eyes, it didn’t surprise her that she saw Violet among the trees on the east side of the park. She had been seeing her more and more. Part of the whole going crazy deal, she suspected. She blinked and she was gone. Instead, a man was close by. He vamoosed when Ash made an obscene gesture, muttering under his breath. She wasn’t adverse to making out with a guy and stealing his wallet but she drew the line at banging middle aged tories.

It was a family inside the house she was watching. Two dads, kids, dog, the whole fucking lot. She hated them, even as she protected them. They were the reason she kept the pistol close to her skin, kept her limbs moving, kept doing this whole damn thing.

Again though, that question. Persistent, burrowing into her brain. What else would you do Ash? What else could you do? Nobody wants a runaway, crim or someone with more issues than GCSEs. Hunting was not an option people who had options took. She stubbed out her cigarette, went to light another, cursed at the empty box. Her eyes flickered to the woods. She wondered if she was being watched right now, by the same people that sent the lawyer, that made her ‘special’.

On the off chance, she flipped off the dark trees. It made her feel a little better.

___________________________________________________

Flight

She stole down the stairs, shoes in hand. She knew every creak and every loose floorboard and stepped around them with a ballet dancer’s grace. The way had almost morphed into muscle memory, something she didn’t have to think about at all. Mr Higgins in the staff room opposite was asleep as he always was. There was always meant to be one staff member awake, but it’s not like anyone followed the rules here, even the important ones.

The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind her with a softness one would not expect from the look of it. Outside, the day was just beginning. The clouds were a pearlescent blue, the dawn light just weak enough to make your eyes strain. Stuck in the throes of Autumn, soon it would be winter. She paused on the stone steps to slip her shoes on, not fancying the slightly damp gravel versus her tights. She padded out of the grounds, backpack resting on her shoulders.

It was early enough that nobody was on the streets and morning mist lingered, cutting off her vision at the end of every road. The moisture gathered on her skin, making her feel slightly damp, gathering in pearls in her hair. So far, freedom felt a lot like being in a dream.

Her plan, if it could be called that, was just to walk. It wasn’t a large village, it took less than half an hour to free herself of the winding paths and cobbled streets, finally breaking out into fields of crops. She didn’t know the names for even half of them. She had often dreamt of sleeping out here, under a hedgerow as if she too had grown here as naturally.

She had been walking two hours when the sun finally emerged over the horizon, taking a little chill out of the air and draping everything in gold light. It was so bright it made her squint, it seeming to reflect off everything that had an opportunity. How lucky she was to be born at a time when there was sunrises and autumns to enjoy them in. How improbable to be born at any time at all, but yet here she was, a miracle among billions of miracles. If the human race wasn’t proof of God, what was?

The miracle stopped at the crossroads sign and tried to decide which of the quaintly named paths she should follow.

_________________________________________________

Eyes/Petty

I despised Imogen Golightly the moment I saw her. I hated her dark curls that looked like an unruly mane, her prominent chin, her mouth that had an unattractive habit of twisting as though thinking of an untold secret. I hated her untied shoelaces, her ripped stockings and the dirt under her nails. Most of all I hated her eyes which were large and uncommonly green, framed by thick black lashes. Often I would catch the sight of a loose one resting on her cheek and have to resist the urge to pluck it from her. All my urges were towards touch - to tidy her or pinch her or shake her. My hands fluttered like restless birds whenever she was around.

As was the nature of boarding schools however, I was forced to spend time with her. We were in all the same classes with twelve or so other girls of sixteen. They seemed nowhere near as vexed with her as I was though my cloest confident Ashley did whisper she thought she had an arrogant upturn to her nose. I replied that she had an arrogant upturn to everything.

She mystified as well as vexed me. When changing for bed one evening, a broken shard of something or the other cut my foot, sending a scarlet flower blooming up my stockings. I let out a little cry, limping over to the nearest bed. In a flash she was there, hand sliding up my calf to roll down the stocking. I found myself quite distracted from the pain. Her face was a picture of concentration, using the already ruined stocking as a bandage and then dashing off to find matron. My cheeks felt rather hot. The shock of the situation, naturally. Only when she was gone was I reminded of the painful throbbing and my attention caught once more.

It seemed from that point onwards I was unable to escape her. I bumped into her when on a nature walk. She sat close to me in art class, her elbow very nearly jostling mine. At lunch I would look up and see her looking at me from across the room with those uncanny eyes. It drove me to distraction. I had to do something.

I still despise Imogen. I despise how soft her hair is under my fingers and how her skin is smoother than velvet. I despise her laugh when I say something foolish and romantic. I despise her cleverness that is a competition to keep up with. I despise how my hands always reach out to touch her. I despise how free she is. Most of all I despise how those green eyes can see right through me, ignoring mistruths until they find my core, and love it all the same.

________________________________________________________

Presumed

It was that time of year again.

Ash sat on the edge of the motel bed, elbow on knee, chin cupped in palm. She could have lied to herself and said she lost track of the date, but if she started lying to herself, she really was lost. Every year like clockwork on the six o’clock news. She picked up the remote next to her and pressed the volume button, sending the television from a whisper to a level voice. The press conference was in full swing, though each year a little more sparsely populated. The news liked new and shiny tragedy, not the same one rehashed over nearing a decade. And like an idiot, every year, she tuned in.

Her mother looked older, which surprised her every damn time. She had dyed her hair for the television appearance though. She could tell because last year there had been grey creeping in at the roots. Her father hadn’t bothered, though his salt and pepper colouring was more readily apparent in his beard. These images of her parents jostled against her memories of them. Her father had always been clean shaven. Her mother used to tease him about quite how long he spent in the bathroom preening. He didn’t look like he bothered about his appearance very much these days. Behind their shoulder was that same photograph they used every year. Teenage Ashley grinning, eyes bright, looking sunny. Just long enough ago she would have plausible deniability if anyone recognised her. ‘Sorry who? You must be mistaken.’

This year there was a new feature. A projected image of what she might look like now. She could have cackled. Her cheeks hadn’t filled out nearly that much, her hair had stayed long. Her freckles had mostly faded into a palor and no sketch artist on earth could have predicted how dark her under eyes had gotten. It was the her she could have been. It was fascinating, like looking into a broken crystal ball.

She managed thirty seconds of listening to her mother beg for her to either come home or for whoever had taken her to return her safe and sound. A personal reccord. It was their voices she couldn’t stand. Their voice’s pronouncing Violet’s name especially. She pressed the power button and flopped back onto the mattress. She stared at the ceiling, mapping the cracks across the plaster. She’d have to lay low her usual three days, just in case.

Another year missing, presumed dead. Being dead never got any more enjoyable. It just got more depressing.

____________________________________________________

New Skin

We covered ourselves with lumps of clay, smoothing them out so they fit our bodies like a second skin. She did my back and I did hers, making sure we reached all the parts we couldn’t alone. By the time we were done, only our eyes were visible. Bright lights shining out from a statue. And then we slept beneath the earth, our hands not quite touching.

It was centuries before we awoke and we were stiff and the clay cracked a little when we moved. We came blinking into the new light and the only thing we recognised was the other. The earth had left its prints on us, the patterns of vines and leaves and beetles embedded into our bodies. We were the picture of our environment and we were beautiful.

Before too long we decided to lie down in the sun and a little while after that we decided to lie down in the fire. Then we held hands, so as we cooked we would be linked together forever, the only way to separate to break apart. We were surrounded by orange and red and heat and it was an apocalypse and a birth all at once. I held you hand tight and wanted it to never end.

I was more fragile when the air finally cooled. One hard touch could shatter me. But I trusted you and I chose to trust the world to be careful. There’s a hundred different ways to love and this was mine.

___________________________________________________

innocently wicked

I picked worms up from the pavement, depositing them tenderly into the wet grass even as their writhing repulsed me. The only thing that repulsed me more was the sight of them crushed, minuscule guts spread out over the concrete. I wondered if later the same worms were plucked from the grass by hungry birds. There was no way of knowing but their tiny souls weighed on me still.

I was a fretful child. I was always sure that there was a schedule for which teddy got to sleep in my arms, so none felt excluded. Even the dolls that scared me would have a place on my bed, even then knowing that if I let my fear win, they were even more likely to harm me. Dangerous people had feelings too. That’s what made them so dangerous.

One of my earliest memories is trying to comfort a dying bee, stroking it’s soft fur with the gentlest touch I can manage. It stung me of course, one last lashing out at the world that had given it mortality. I didn’t blame it. My mother covered the wound in honey and stuck a plaster on it. This was how I learnt that sometimes it was only the product of what hurt you that could fix the damage done.

I could never hurt anything intentionally. I would step on an ant even though I noticed it in my path or turn on a tap to flush a spider down a drainpipe. I did these things and then a wave of guilt would come, so huge as to be catholic. A life was a life, no matter how small.

For a time, I stopped walking on grass, convinced I was committing a massacre with every step. This only stopped when I learnt about the presence of insects too small to see and indeed, microbes. I killed unintentionally with every movement. I had to draw the line somewhere and I decided to draw it under ‘what I could notice’.

Today I still feel guilty for tipping water over fighting cats, for flinching from a barking dog, for disliking spiders weaving webs on my clothes. I was not a pacifist by choice, only by nature. I’m not sure if I could claim a higher ground on morality when being cruel frightened me so much.

_____________________________________________________

what would you do for your family

Aeneas kissed his mother’s cheek goodbye, as he always did, donned his hat and stepped outside. It was pouring, rain tumbling down in erratic buckets. He didn’t mind. He was staying in a hotel not too far from here, you know, since his last house had crumbled under the weight of politics and flames.

The lights of the street glinted off every raindrop and he ignored the inviting calls from the doorways of those lit with red lamps. It wasn’t that he was adverse - quite on the contrary, he was happy to give money to professionals. It was that he was preoccupied. And when Aeneas was occupied, very little could sway him from his train of thought. It was one of his better traits and also one of his worse ones.

He kept walking past his hotel door. Walking helped him think. Running was usually the product of his thinking. He was bored of running. At least, he was bored of running away. He wanted to run towards something. Isn’t that what he was doing with this court case? He was standing and fighting. Like Hector. That thought sends a spear of grief through him so sharp he inhales. Hector fought fairly and he fought bravely and Hector died.

He wasn’t too concerned with his own life. What was a life when it was this unmoored? He had no home, no friends, no money, no family - well. He did have a family. That was indeed part of the problem. He wasn’t sure how well he could protect his mother once he showed his hand and his face in court. He wasn’t sure if she would try to protect him. It was a loyalty neither of them had tested yet and the question was in both of their eyes every time they looked at each other.

Would it be better to just disappear? Into a fake name, a fake story. This was the type of city where such stories were easy. He could stay Pierce, become a minor player, not tread on any toes. He could get a spouse, a flat, enough money to get by. He clenched his jaw, looking up at the sky. No. His name was all he had. Even if it killed him, he would make it the one thing this city couldn’t forget. Someone had to oppose them. Someone.

__________________________________________________________

God knows he made a mistake.

The body on the table was still. Kit wasn’t sure what he had expected the experiment to look like, but he hadn’t imagined it looking quite so. Well. Dead. The skin near her fingertips was blue, as were her lips. The skin around her eyes looked almost bruised in its darkness. She didn’t look peaceful. She didn’t look like she was sleeping. She looked like shaped meat with nothing inside it, nothing at all. It didn’t frighten him - it repulsed him. This was a weakness that nobody could avoid and it was horrible and it was inevitable.

If he ever needed evidence that God wasn’t real, here it was. The fact that death existed was one thing, the fact that it reduced an entire being to this was quite something else. It was like adding insult to injury. Was there anything more indignant than being dead?

The feeling didn’t fade when the corpse opened her eyes, sitting up and pushing her long black hair over a shoulder. His stomach twisted, his hand flying to cover his mouth. She moved naturally but wrongly, like a clock ticking backwards. Her eyes were preternaturally bright, the colour not dull as they should have been. Instead they were like circles of distilled moonlight. She crooked her arm, running a finger over the stitches that encircled her elbow. She looked down at her legs, washed clean of blood but not wounds. “That’s new.” She said, voice like a cellar door opening. She may have said more, but Kit did not hear it. He had been swept away in a dead faint.

__________________________________________________________

Wings that block out the moon

The city that never slept stopped dead, a thousand hundred people looking up the sky, their mouths dropping open one by one. Even those inside the buildings paused, feeling a shadow pass over them. Even those asleep turned uneasily, their dreams turning darker.

Was it an apocalypse? It could be. They had always imagined it would come with high waters or trembling earth or even a fire ripping through the streets without mercy. Something real. Something sensible. Not this fantastical.

It was a dragon, black. If you thought the night sky was dark, you had thought wrong. The wings spread against it proved that, creating a void in it’s image. It’s eyes resembled stars only because they were pricks of light in that sea of nothing. There was an intelligence there, unflustered and calculating as it looked down at the city before it. It could hover like a kestrel, only the laziest flaps of it’s wings keeping it aloft.

It was too big to know how to be gentle. It was too old to know how short life was for humans. It had awoken already tired and the entire world had changed around it. You’d be disconcerted too. Maybe that’s why they attributed malice to it’s steady gaze and began to load up the guns. They never stood a chance really. It would survive past guns. It would survive past the city and the lives within it.

_______________________________________________________________

Once upon a time in Bognor Regis

The smell of the sea soaked through everything. It was embedded in the wooden piers and the awnings of market stalls, as much a part of the environment as the buildings that had been here since the place had decided to become a city. Seagulls squawked and bickered, occasionally getting up the moxy to attempt to steal the fresh fish from the fishermen’s nets and even more occasionally succeeding.

It was a busy place. Ships were coming in, goods were being sold, families were waving each other off to war or a new life. Children weaved below waist height, picking pockets and chasing birds. A mage on the corner was making coloured fire dance around his hands, keeping one careful eye out for any law that would appear and demand a permit or to see his nobles. Harlots hung out of an inn window, cooing to the sailors stepping off the ships, tempting them to spend all of their hard earned wages in one fell swoop. A preacher waved pamphlets at them, attempting the very same thing but with a promise of a very different salvation.

Every day looked alike in this place. It was always thriving, always stinking, always a place that bustled and overflowed. It was easy to get swept up in, lost in and it was where things happened for the common people. News was spread here as well as rumour. It was the court of the working people and they performed to the highest standards they could, unconsciously mimicking their betters. The nobles would be appalled by the concept of such a thing of course, but they didn’t know. All they saw was a port and a market.

_____________________________________________________________

Inimical to our way of life

It wasn’t that he hated Merrows. For Throne’s sake, he wasn’t Highborn, he didn’t hate any lineage. It was that they unsettled him and that they indeed refused to settle in. They never acted with their feelings or passion, always waiting for the logic or knowledge to fall into place first. They observed and kept themselves separate from it all. They only knew how to immerse themselves in water, not in a party or a love.

The flourished in Urizen, able to look down on everyone from their towering spires, kept away from anything that could stir their feelings. Draughirs were terrifying and cold but at least they were passionate in their own way. They often acted on instinct which was good, even if those instincts were generally fairly frightening.

Mattias wondered what Inesh found in this Merrow that was lacking elsewhere in the Coast. They had clever people. They had calculating people - you couldn’t walk anywhere for tripping over Cambions. Was it his lack of passion that attracted her? If so, why bother making friends or lovers in the Coast at all? Mattias vaguely held out a hope he was rich and this was some sort of Prosperity driven romance.

He had hurt Inesh with his disapproval, which didn’t fill him with joy. He loved his proxy-mother dearly. He wasn’t quite sure what he would think of her if he found out she had truly fallen for someone so opposed to their values and indeed, life.

___________________________________________________

Due for a good kicking

There were only so many ways you could get particularly creative with a beating. If you introduced implements the entire tone changed all together and that wasn’t what he was going for. Crucially, with weapons you really ran the risk of ruining a face. In some ways, that’s exactly what Axis would want. Being a spiteful little shit, taking away the only advantage he had would only please him.

Instead bruises littered his ribs and chest and Dante suspected there would be quite the lump on the back of his head afterwards from where he had hit the floor like a sack of bricks. They had been through this routine a hundred times before. Axis struggled into a sitting position, eyes slightly unfocused and waited for the lecture that always followed. Learning opportunities, Dante called them.

Axis couldn’t remember the first time Dante had hit him. He certainly couldn’t predict when the last time would be but he suspected it might be a few moments before his death. Dante didn’t have as good a grip on his temper as he thought he did and Axis liked pushing him. Kill me. Every glare seemed to say. I dare you.

Dante may have been able to kid himself that he loved Axis but Axis was under precisely no illusions about what he felt for Dante. He would very happily push him into traffic or down a well. The only reason he hadn’t tried was because he was reasonably certain it wouldn’t end well for him. He had tried once when he was fourteen, with a pen knife. His wrist had been broken in three places and that was that for that dream. Dante could see the thought flickering across his eyes. It seemed to mostly amuse him which obviously prickled at Axis all the more.

Which is why, this time, he was going to get his boyfriend to try it.

_______________________________________________________

Cyberpunk Les Amis

Enjolras lay back in the chair, gritting his teeth so not a single noise of discomfort escaped him. Feuilly, to his credit, pretended not to notice. Just as he pretended not to notice Combeferre looking over his shoulder with extreme interest at the inside of the arm. Enjolras had only had the damn thing for two years and it seemed as if it had been used for ten. There was often dirt and blood jamming the mechanisms, but in this case he had taken quite a nasty strike when trying to avoid a cyber mastiff. A wire had become dislodged and the resulting nerve glitches were driving him up the wall. Grantaire had of course not helped by remarking that he would be an absolute liability at an auction. This had been the straw that finally meant Enjolras consented to Feuilly’s tinkering.

Between Feuilly and Joly, they had a fair medical and engineering set up. Combeferre could sometimes be included in this umbrella but it was often fifty fifty if he didn’t decide to try something new and exciting half way through. Sometimes you just wanted your body and/or augmetics to work. Coufreyac of course always consented to new and exciting, which is how he had ended up with two eyes of varying colour and hearing that occasionally gave him far too much information about Marius’s nocturnal activities.

“It would be fine if it was sex.” He groaned, lamenting his situation with Bossuet over a glass of something that might once have been wine. “But no. It’s reading and rereading a hundred terrible pieces of poetry over and over. Someone needs to tell him that women don’t generally go for sadness as a personality trait.” Chetta patted his shoulder in a way he suspected was more sarcastic than comforting. He mumbled a threat into his arms but there was no bite. Jehan cheerfully offered to tutor Marius in the ways of true artistry. “No. Then I’d come home to animal guts and laments about how nobody knows what the colour green is anymore.” Jehan was offended but they truly had no leg to stand on, and they knew it.

“There, done.” Feuilly sat up, pushing his welding goggles up and flexing his shoulders. Enjolras sat up, testing out the arm. Once it had been top of the line. Now, cut off from his parents credits it was more trouble than it was worth. He gave a small and satisfied smile. “Thank you. Perfect working order.” “Please give me two weeks to get new parts before fucking it up again.” “No promises.”

_____________________________________________________

Furby gains sentience

Small children often have gods. They need very little encouragement to start cults. Leave them alone for ten minutes in a garden and you’ll come back to them daubed in war paint and circling a discoloured flower, asking it the questions its parents can’t or won’t answer. It is however rare for these gods to start responding.

Emilia had had the furby since her birthday on the twelfth of august. It was purple with pink eyes and a white stomach. She loved it instantly as she loved anything fluffy and cute. She already had quite the collection of stuffed toys. Bears and penguins and dinosaurs and cats, practically a menagerie. She never threw a single one out. Even the most grubby and torn up found a home with Emilia. The furby however was different in several respects.

It wasn’t really made for hugging. Underneath the fur was a plastic case, giving it a heft and solidness that didn’t encourage much affection. The next was magical however. Under Emilia’s watchful eyes her father had produced batteries and carefully unscrewed the base, popping them in and then sealing them back inside carefully. And the furby talked.

Nonsense words and noises, kissing sounds, crying sounds. Emilia’s mother quickly surmised that they had made quite the mistake in getting the creature but her father assured her quickly that the batteries would run out soon enough and by that time Emilia would have found something else to lavish love on besides. It was a necessary stage of parenthood and they would get through it with hopefully minimum migraines induced.

Emilia named the furby Lilia and placed her reverently on a shelf, overseeing most of her bedroom. She chattered to it as she brushed the hair of her dolls, painted lipstick on toys and read the cheap magazines that came with plenty of sparkle. She took Lilia to school with her under strict instructions that she had to turn it off during lessons and be extremely careful with her as she had not been cheap. All as expected.

Until one morning two weeks later she came downstairs with a purple swirl painted on each cheek. She shrieked when her mother tried to rub them clean before class but this was not so unusual. What child enjoyed having their face cleaned after all? When asked about them, she called it ‘garb’ which seemed an unusual word but then they were studying vikings in school.

It was two weeks after that when she uttered her first prophecy. In that time she had gained quite an obsession with the colour purple, insisting on wearing only purple clothes and begging for every purple felt tip she saw. When friends came over she would drape them in purple scarves and they would disappear into her room for hours, door shut, only hushed whispers managing to be heard past the door.

The prophecy was not particularly groundbreaking. She had simply walked down the stairs and informed her mother (in the same tone one might comment on the weather) that she would be exactly fifty three minutes late for work. Her mother had laughed - her work was only a twenty minute drive away after all. But that morning there was an accident that sent queues snaking through the entire neighbourhood and when she finally arrived at the office she glanced at her watch to see she was indeed fifty three minutes late. How interesting, she thought before forgetting and going about her adult business and saying words like invoice and synergy.

The third time it happened, to the exact minute, how interesting she thought, slightly more uneasily.

On the fifth time of Emilia predicting a small but significant part of her day (apples running out for lunch, a speaker cancelling, a coworker announcing a pregnancy) she asked her baby girl how exactly she knew these things. Lilia she had replied, casually and continued eating her wheatos. She asked if Lilia knew the lottery numbers. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Emilia replied. Why would a furby care about the lottery? “Well why would a furby care about me being late or Susan being pregnant or anything else?” “Because you’re my momma so she likes you. She thought you might like a heads up about these things.”

This was about when she started to think it was all going a little far.

________________________________________________________

Stolen gateway to heaven

It wasn’t that we wanted to go back. We wanted to nurture our hatred, give it material to help it grow. So we used it as a mirror, all of us crouching around it as though it was a fire and peering through with our ugly faces. There was something about heaven that made us want to ruin it. Perfection couldn’t last in hell so why should it get to last anywhere else? I wanted to pluck the feathers from every angel, snip every harp string and smear ash onto every clean cloud. I wanted to make the angels feel afraid of something and disturb their centuries long peace. We wanted, in short, a war.

Because if they hurt us back we would be justified. We would have a reason for being the way we were and a reason was the next best thing to an excuse. We would not only be villains, but tragic villains, wronged by those so much loftier than ourselves.

Somewhere, Lucifer turned away from the image. After all he was the only one that had called this paradise home once. He probably could have even used the portal, enough angelic blood still in his veins that the door would recognise him. But to look with us would be to admit he wanted it and Lucifer was no stranger to cutting off his nose to spite his face. He turned away and called us fools for flocking like moths to the light of a pure existence.

_________________________________________________________

The first time she had to give a soldier an all-over sponge bath.

After last week’s embarrassment she was determined to do it. No more silliness, no more girlishness as matron would say. She had spent the weekend locked in her room (chair pressed under the knob) studying anatomy books until her cheeks had ceased to be fire every time she so much as glanced at an image of nether regions. She steeled herself, rapping sharply on the door and stepped inside.

And stepped promptly back out again. Straight into the linen closet where she stifled her giggles for several minutes. At least she had managed to leave the room before the giggles started. It was her nervous response to anything rude and it had been most inopportune last week. She had been fairly and roundly scolded for her immaturity which had just about been enough to stop her. Get yourself together she told herself sternly. Do your job. Nurse and heal him.

She wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her apron, took one more breath and returned to the room. Luckily with the fire burning to heat the water, the flush on her cheeks could be blamed on the heat. This was a new entry, Gareth. One serious leg wound, still needing cleansing from the battlefield but hopefully to make a full recovery. Marjie felt a small tug at that. The way his eyes were glazed off and looking through the window meant she doubted if he would ever fully recover. Oddly, it was this thought that gave her a boost of sensibility. The poor man needed all the help and comfort he could get and she was the only one that could offer such a thing.

She started her chatter, rolling the sheet down to his hips. Pointless, stupid chatter. Mentioning things like the village fair, the flowers that were blooming outside, the chores the children were doing to snag extra sweets rations tokens. To her own ears her voice sounded utterly inane and irritating. But it kept her thoughts busy. Within moments her flannel was dark with dirt and blood. She rung it out over the basin, the repetitive rhythm that begun to occur naturally oddly soothing. Wipe, wipe, wipe, rinse, dip, wipe - She started at the injuries that hadn’t been crucial enough to warrant inclusion on the chart. Scrapes up his back, a cut along his cheek from stray shrapnel. Her hands were as gentle as she could make them and still did not feel gentle enough.

Her flush deepened when the time came to move below his waist. But he didn’t care and after a time, neither did she.

___________________________________________

Katie’s Present

Dimitri had been by her bed for three days. Sometimes the others would come by, usually with books or chatter. He responded to neither. He simply kept sitting with his chin in his palm, eyes focused either on Esfir or the window above her head. The family would chat around him and eventually had given up trying to draw him into conversation. Classic Dimitri, withdrawing into himself once again.

Morgan had recovered after the first day, though the red welts the tentacles had left on him were definitely not going away any time soon. A little of the tension had eased out of Dimitri’s shoulders at this, but not enough. Still he waited, statuesque and focused.

Esfir woke up on the sixth day of his vigil. He sat up when her hand stirred, feeling a sudden surge of guilt. He was, after all, the reason she was in here. The demon hadn’t damaged her body. He had. Cut her legs down from under her and made it so that thing couldn’t puppet her any longer. Then, yet another miracle. The last one he would be granted for a while he suspected. He had asked a lot of the Light. Both of them needed a break.

Terror gripped him when she opened her eyes, half expecting to see the demon looking back at him. But no, he had been successful. Her eyes were the familiar softness she had in the early mornings, confused and exhausted. He had seen it a hundred times. He would know it anywhere. It was her. His throat clenched painfully.

“Dimtri? What - “ She trailed off, closing her eyes as the memories came back to her. She had hurt quite a few of them, enemies and friends before Dimitri had managed to take her down. A part of him wondered if he was the only one who could. “Why are you still here?” A hell of a good question. Looking away from her, he turned his head away and laced his fingers through hers, still scarred from the gauntlet all that time ago. “Because while it’s still you, things can better. Nothing’s completely destroyed until you’re gone.”

______________________________________

100 Words, All True

The first time I visited my mother in hospital, I got lost. All the corridors looked the same, the directions given to me by the occasional nurse required a degree in arcane knowledge to understand and to top it off, the elevator was broken.

Still, I got there eventually. Despite her yellowing skin, her sleepy eyes, I recognised her. Alcohol withdrawal could do terrible things to a person but render them unknowable it couldn't.

Silently, I plucked a piece of banana out of her hair. "I wasn't allowed conditioner." She said by way of an explanation. Despite everything, we laughed.

#prose #prompts #writing #short stories

1 note · View note

ruffsficstuffplace · 7 years ago

Text

And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 24)

The elevator groaned to a stop once again, a different set of gears started whirring and turning as the doors leading to that section opened up. The sea of people that were on the platform with Ruby and Weiss began to move out, the politeness and voluntarily giving way they had experienced earlier long gone, the passengers furiously pushing and bumping into each other.

These weren’t tourists or upper class citizens out for a leisurely stroll that fine morning; these were people who had places to be and things to do, and no interest in using up any more of their time than they needed to.

Ruby and Weiss waited together in the cart, the former having climbed in some time earlier. They didn’t pay much attention to the crowds shifting and moving around them, until Ruby noticed someone get pinned against their cart, two cloaked figures who seemed to be pressing him in.

Ruby gestured out to Weiss, before she reached out and grabbed their hoods; the two of them looked up at them with murder in their eyes, until Weiss held out her palm and they saw the glyph violently spinning there.

His attackers stunned in surprise, their victim squeezed himself free, was horrified to find his pockets emptied.

“Give it back...” Weiss growled, and the two thieves reluctantly pulled their hands out of their cloaks, revealing a wallet, and a small, wrapped up package. The man snatched his belongings back, the guards on the elevator moved in and took over for Ruby, escorting the thieves away by spear-point.

“Thanks! Heavens smile upon you!” he said, smiling and waving at them as he left the elevator, his other hand tightly holding to his belongings.

Weiss and Ruby smiled and waved back, before the latter climbed back on the bike and started pedaling out of there; the crowds who needed to get even lower down were already starting to flood in.

“Don’t you just hate how brazen the thieves can be here?” Weiss said as they slowly moved through the crowds like a ship in water, people gradually moving to the sides of them. “There were two guards not ten feet away from them, and they still decided to prey on that poor man.”

“Who doesn’t?” Ruby replied. “Though, Yang told me there’s a lot of thieves that are practicing stealing from people even when the guards are looking; it’s actually kinda clever, in its own messed up way, since people will probably see a guard right there and relax, thinking there’s no way someone will steal from them right there and then.”

“And how did she know that?” Weiss asked.

“Oh, she asked them while she was in jail, like she was with Amanda and Jaune on Monday!” Ruby replied. “She gave me an update when we bumped into each other in the hallway earlier, though, said they’re starting to spread the word to stop doing it now that the guards have caught on, and are starting to send out reinforcements in disguise.

“Apparently one of them accidentally looted an officer’s badge, and the officer really wasn’t happy to realize that happened.”

Weiss sighed. “Your sister get in trouble a lot?”

“Yeeep,” Ruby said. “My dad says it’s all just because she hung out with the wrong crowd and he didn’t do enough to steer her away, but my Uncle Qrow says its just in her nature; he says that even when her mom started hanging out with the right crowd, she eventually went back to her old crowd, because they were more her type of people.

“’Birds of a feather flock together,’ like they say.”

“Sad fact of life, that…” Weiss said, gazing out the side of the cart and watching some rowdy boys covered in scars and band-aids kicking a ball around, barely any consideration for who they ran into, or got in the path of. “Sorry for any offense, Ruby, but I hear about the things Yang has done and see how she acts, and find it extremely difficult to believe you two are related.”

“None taken!” Ruby chirped. “And we’re only half-sisters, actually, if that explains anything.”

“Huh. It does indeed...” Weiss said, nodding.

The two of them stopped at an intersection, Ruby letting a shepherd with her goats pass by in front of them.

“Yang tries not to get me roped into trouble with her, just so you know,” Ruby said. “She goes out of her way a lot to make sure that I’m safe, no one tries coming after me in case she pisses off the wrong people, and she makes sure whatever money she uses to help pay the bills are all from legal sources—mostly delivery jobs like me, especially ever since she got her motorcycle, Bumblebee.”

“And if she happens to get arrested, and needs someone to bail her out…?”

“Well, then that’s where dad comes in!” Ruby said. “He says it’s one of the most important skills any good parent should learn, deciding when or when not to bail your daughter out of jail. ‘Sometimes, you just gotta give ‘em nothing else to do but think about where they went wrong this time.’

“I still visit her anyway, though, just to see how she’s doing,” Ruby said as she the last of the goats trotted after the last of the herd, she continued pedaling. “I mean, she always says she’s fine in her messages, but you never really know, you know…?”

“Do you want me to stop?” she said as she slowed down. “Like when I visited you at your grandma’s lab earlier, do you want me to stop doing that?”

“Maybe if it’s taking time away from something important, like homework or urgent chores, or there’s also class that you might be late for too, Ruby,” Weiss replied. “Otherwise, go ahead.”

“Oh. Okay. I will, Weiss, thanks” Ruby said as she sped back up to her usual pace.

“… Was it really that distressing for you?” Weiss asked. “It wasn’t even an hour since I left when you came looking.”

Ruby sighed. “No, not really, but it’s just… I really don’t like it when people who were with me there at night, are just… gone, when I wake up. Especially you, Weiss.”

Weiss blinked. “… W-Why me, specifically…?”

“Because I like you!” Ruby replied. “I know we’ve only been together for a few days, but I don’t like seeing or knowing that you’re sick or hurt, off at the hospital or your grandma’s lab…”

Weiss turned bright red, her lips moving as she struggled to find words, but found none.

“I want us to be together—in class, in combat, or just hanging out, with Akko and Diana, as a whole team! AWRD, not A-blank-RD, or ARD, which just sounds weird!”

“...”

Ruby sighed. “I’m sorry, am I getting too clingy and attached too soon...? I know we’re supposed to be close and look out for each other more than we would all our other friends, but Yang told me I shouldn’t really get all ‘super besties’ with you guys until we’ve had a lot of time together, ideally enough time for us to have naturally become super besties even if we hadn’t been thrown together thanks to Huntress training.”

“...”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that back at the Bunker, we always made it a point to look out for each other, because so many of us—“ Ruby groaned. “Oh, never mind...”

“...”

“… Sorry…” Ruby whimpered. “I just made things super awkward between us, didn’t I?”

“… No, no you didn’t, Ruby…” Weiss muttered. “… I like having you, Diana, and Akko as teammates and friends too, and believe me, I hate it too. I was just quiet because it’s a very sore spot for me, being separated from friends because of my health,” she half-lied.

“Oh. Should I not bring it up again?”

“You can, just… not now.” Weiss stared out the side of the cart, looked at the small, worn, and cheap houses on the side of the muddy roads. “Maybe with Akko and the others, so we can all air it out at once… how far are we from your first errand, by the way?”

Ruby stopped and looked around. “Oh, crap—we already missed it! I mean, not like it’s the first time it’s ever happened to me, but still!” she said as she turned the cart around, thankfully easier now that the streets weren’t as populated.

“What are we even looking for?” Weiss asked.

“Small office little ways into an alley—you’ll only know it because it’s between a small tea shop and a used bookstore, doesn’t even have a sign on the street telling you its there,” Ruby said as she started pedaling back the way they came.

Weiss’ eyebrows rose at that. “There isn’t anything I should know about this place, should I? Anything important…?”

“It’s not illegal, I swear!” Ruby said. “It’s just that Souma’s business is kind of a referrals only sort of deal.”

“That doesn’t really help their case.”

“Oh, just come with me—you’ll see she’s not a bad person, or runs a bad business, honest!” Ruby said, slowing down as the cart rolled to a stop in front of the used bookstore.

“Come on, Weiss!” Ruby said as she hopped off her bike. “Don’t you trust me?” she asked as she smiled and looked up at Weiss.

Weiss looked met that face with a wary frown, before she sighed. “Yes, but consider this a moment where said trust will be tested… also, can you help me get back down, please?” she asked, looking down at the distance between the edge of the cart and the ground below. “I… kinda didn’t realize how much I needed that boost you gave me earlier to get up here.”

“I gotcha, Weiss!” Ruby said, coming over to her and holding her arms out. “Just jump, I’ll catch you!”

Weiss climbed up the side. “On three… one… two… three!”

She jumped, Ruby caught her by her waist, Weiss planted her hands on her shoulders shortly after; there was a brief moment when their faces came close to each other, their eyes locked, worried crystal blue and reassuring pale silver, before Ruby brought Weiss’ feet back down to earth.

“There!” Ruby said as she let go of Weiss’ waist. “Uh, you can let go of my shoulders now.”

“Oh!” Weiss said, her hands darting back. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ruby said as she walked into the alley. “Come on! I’ll show where Souma’s office is.”

Weiss took a good look at it—shaded thanks to the height of both buildings surrounding it, not a light fixture to be seen, so cramped it was impossible for two people to walk shoulder-to-shoulder—before she sighed and followed after Ruby. She quickly found herself at a nondescript door, so old, worn, and dirty like the walls around it that you probably wouldn’t have even seen if it, if you didn’t know it was already there.

There wasn’t even a doorknob or a locking mechanism that Weiss could see.

Ruby knocked on the door in a specific rhythm. She hummed under her breath the whole while, Weiss recognized the tune from a famous children’s tale about huntsmen:

“Who’s afraid of the Beowulf, the Beowulf, the Beowulf?/ I’m not afraid of the Beowulf, the Beowulf, the Beowulf!”

The door clicked and swung open soon after, no visible person behind it, no light pouring out from what might have been a pitch black room. Ruby pushed it open, before she gestured inside with dramatic flair. “After you!” she said.

Weiss ignored the niggling voice in the back of her head, and did.

“… Ah! A familiar face makes her return to the lower levels…” said a voice—female, old and whispery. “Welcome back, Ms. Weiss Schnee! How can I, Souma, help you today…?”

Weiss frowned, looking at the hare Faunus sitting behind a simple counter, a sleepy expression on her face as she rested their elbows, nothing much around her but a flickering gas lamp, and behind, shelves full of scrolls and scraps of paper like you’d find at a post office.

“I’m sorry, I don’t seem to recall your face—have we met…?” Weiss asked as she stepped in.

“No, not formally, nor in person until now,” Souma replied. “Most of my knowledge of you and your activities always tend to involve your grandparents as my main interests.”

Weiss frown grew deeper.

“Souma deals in information, Weiss,” Ruby explained as she shut the door behind her, using the doorknob. “Things she overhears, fliers and advertisements, gossip and rumours that people sell to her.”

“Oh, I see: totally a legitimate business like you said earlier...” Weiss said dryly.

“Told ya!” Ruby said, obliviously walking up to the counter.

Weiss opened her mouth, before she shook her head and followed her.

Souma chuckled and stood up straighter. “I can understand the suspicion, the wariness that my business is not legitimate, to say the least, given the kinds of people who are also in this industry with myself... but I assure you: I’m merely servicing a market law-abiding citizens have always had need for.”

“Which would be what, exactly?”

Souma smiled. “Knowing what is going on in their surroundings, obviously,” they replied. “In small settlements like your home of Hoshiko, it’s rather easy to decipher the hubbub and learn of the latest going-ons, is it not? There’s only so many people, so many places you can go, and only so many things that can happen there.”

She got a far-off look in their eyes as she looked past them, at the door on the other end of the room. “Make Hoshiko a sprawling, thriving, expansive metropolis of activity like the fair city of Mistral, however, and you’ll see how someone might find knowing what’s going on in even just their neighbourhood rather… difficult.”

Souma looked back at them and smiled. “Getting the best deals in the market oftentimes involve knowing who exactly is offering such deals at the moment, yes? Certainly, you could spend a good portion of the day roaming the markets, keeping track of everything yourself, making good with the various shopkeepers and suppliers and working your way into their good graces...

“… Or you could just save yourself the effort and avail of my services.

“Does this seem like it’s illegal to you? CCT sites do it all the time, compiling information for deals and prices for the benefit of the consumer, yes? Why not for the original version, before the advent of such wondrous technology...?”

Weiss nodded. “Alright you’ve made your case, but why the secrecy?”

Souma smiled ruefully. “Those who tend to know it all, tend to frequently be targeted by people who would rather others did not know. I don’t deal in such dangerous secrets as some of my colleagues in the other levels, but you know: best not to attract the ire of businesspersons who had hoped to keep their stroke of good fortune a secret, to their benefit and their competitors’ detriment.

“I usually don’t transact with my clients or my couriers face to face, actually.”

“But why make us an exception?” Weiss asked.

Souma chuckled. “I have my reasons, and I have my reasons not to—one of which is that in person I tend to ramble on and on, and on like my ancestors, the storytellers and the criers of our villages of times long past, you see.”

“I like listening to you talk, though,” Ruby said. “You’ve always got great stories.”

Souma beamed at Ruby, looking at her as a proud grandmother would their beloved granddaughter. “I know you’re not here for that, though—I’m assuming from your sister’s recent activities with her new team, you’ve come to collect your pay?”

“Yep!” Ruby said. “I could also really use a shop that sells office supplies and arts and crafts materials—you know, paper, pens, cards, pencils, string, tape, the kind of stuff you’d need to make notes for little kids, or people who’re just really easily distracted.”

Souma chuckled as she turned back to the shelves, pulled out a scrap of paper, then put it and Lien into an envelope. “You’re in luck: a paper mill recently found themselves with a great deal of whole if misshapen rejects thanks to a tragic malfunction of their new equipment; selling them off seemed a better deal for them than recycling like usual, you see.”

“I’ve sadly no information at the moment about any sales or good deals on materials to unleash your more artistic side, but I’m sure you’ll find them easily enough within the general area,” she said as she slid the envelope over.

“Thanks, Souma!” Ruby said as she took the envelope, counted the Lien inside before she put it into her pocket.

Souma smiled, and nodded. “You’re welcome, Ruby.”

“That’s… a lot of Lien.” Weiss muttered.

“Ruby is a very reliable courier,” Souma said. “And as for you… it’s been a while since you’ve been down here. Would you like some information about events since you’ve been gone? On the house.”

Weiss looked uneasy, and raised her hand. “I’ll pass, but the offer is appreciated.”

“My information is always good, you know,” Souma hummed. “Quite deeper and more extensive than what you might find on the CCT or outside fliers; you never truly get the whole story when someone merely shows you their public face.”

“And I don’t doubt that, but again, I’ll pass. I’m trying to leave that time in my life behind, you see.”

Souma nodded. “Understandable. Good day, Weiss, Ruby—till the next time Fate wills our paths to cross.”

“Bye Souma!” Ruby said, waving before she headed out the door.

Weiss stayed and looked warily at her for a moment, before Ruby called out and she hurried on after her. “So, what’s our next stop?” she asked as Ruby shut the door to Souma’s office.

“The Shitty Bar!” Ruby replied as they headed out of the alley. “It’s the place Yang brought Amanda and Jaune too when they were out New Team Bonding.”

“Why do they call it a shitty bar?’”

“Not a ‘shitty bar’--‘The Shitty Bar.’ That’s its name.”

Weiss stopped as they neared the street again. “… Seriously?”

“Yep!” Ruby said as she stepped up to the side of the cart. “Mr. Fong had a great name all thought up for it, but it was already taken by the time he got to the business bureau, so he said he ‘just settled for a shitty name because the great name was already taken.’ Anyway, ready?” she asked as she prepared to give Weiss a boost again.

“Ready,” Weiss said as she stepped up.

Ruby grabbed her by the waist again and lifted her up into the air, Weiss grabbed the edge of the cart and climbed back in; Ruby got back on the bike, and off they went, heading to the Shitty Bar at a different part of that level.

Back inside Souma’s office, she calmly turned down the gas of her lamp, and sighed quietly. “And to think, I went through all that trouble...” she muttered as she made cryptic motions with her hand. “May Fate spare you the consequences of your actions a time longer, little one...”

#little witch academia #rwby #white rose #dianakko #au #and the awrd goes to

3 notes · View notes