#that said my favorite Flash time-travel story is actually from back in the silver age

[supreme-leader-stoat]

You reset the universe one time and nobody ever lets you live it down.

We're putting a moratorium on time travel being used in screen adaptations of the Flash. That's not even his thing. Stop it.

[zdbztumble]

“Jewel of the Seven Pokemon!” Chapter III

As a huge fan of both Tim Burton and Sir Christopher Lee, writing from the POV of characters who weren’t impressed with their Pokeverse equivalents was quite the challenge.

Chapter I Chapter II

FF.Net

AO3

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The drawing room set was perfect. Everything Misty had ever imagined while reading Jewel of the Seven Pokémon was here. The dark aquamarine walls with white molding and filigree, the silver-plated gaslights, the deep crimson velvet of the chairs and sofa, a fireplace so big it could fit a Blastoise; even the prop for the professor’s custom phonograph had the Aerodactyl teeth lining two sides. And with all the light and sound equipment gone, there was hardly anything that gave away this was a set; except for one camera in the corner, it seemed so real.

It all would have looked even more beautiful under the proper lighting, of course, instead of the harsh florescent work lights, but Misty loved it all the same. The one costume left on set – the heroine’s dressing gown, with colors and patterns inspired by Milotic – was so wonderful that the only way Misty could keep herself from trying it on was to link arms with Ash and make him look at everything too.

“We’re here to help save this movie, y’know,” he muttered; apparently, the fineness and shimmer of the gown’s silk didn’t mean anything to him. “And Cilan’s doing his interviews right now.”

“I’m listening!” Misty hissed. Was it so hard to believe a girl could multi-task? “Besides, that director’s not gonna have anything useful to say anyway.”

Will Hampton wasn’t what Misty expected of a film director. He was a short, spindly man, with black curly hair, black scraggly beard, black baggy suit, black-rimmed blue shades, and a sickly pallor. A real weirdo – that’s what he was. He also didn’t same capable of forming a complete sentence.

“But you really have no idea where the Cofagrigus were brought from?” Cilan asked him.

“Nah,” said Hampton. His hands never stopped moving when he talked. “The producers…from what their…I think they…wasn’t important.”

Cilan looked stumped by that answer, and Misty couldn’t make any sense of it either. But Hampton apparently knew what he was doing with movies; Sir Bela called him his favorite director. “Knows exactly what he wants,” he’d said, and he could somehow make out what exactly that was; he was the only one nodding along.

“Hmm…” Cilan started to pace, his magnifying glass held to his chin. “And you had no signs of trouble from them until the jewel appeared on set? They weren’t hostile to direction, in other words?”

Hampton shook his head. “Nah. They were…did the thing…yeah.”

“And what about Bisharp?” Cilan asked Sir Bela. “Was there any sign he might be under a definite influence – Hypnosis, perhaps, or Psychic? Or even an indication he might have had a problem with the production?”

“No, but it’s funny you should say that,” said Sir Bela. “Because Bisharp is quite attentive to my feelings on our films. And he has heard me, many times, say about the Blasko series – well, they made far too many of them, of course. And they did not use Hunter’s lines, they did not portray Hunter’s character, and –”

“Who’s Hunter?” asked Ash.

“Saul Hunter, Ash,” Misty groaned. “The author of Blasko – The Un-dead and Jewel of the Seven Pokémon.” Honestly, why did she have to go and like such an uncultured boy? It was exasperating.

Sir Bela went on without any mind to the interruption. “I do seem to recall saying to Bisharp on the plane that having a prince’s jewel instead of a princess’s worried me, that it was a sign of another poor script from Hunter’s work. All in jest, of course. Naturally, I’d already read the script – it’s superb. Superb. And given over to one of the great directors of our age.” He swept a hand to indicate Hampton, who giggled nervously and tugged at his hair. Misty shared a skeptical look with Ash.

“And you said that to Bisharp too?” asked Cilan.

“Of course.”

“Do you remember your exact words?”

“…I do, and now that you mention it – I never did say explicitly that I was joking on the plane. And between takes on the first day of filming, I may have said ‘I’ve never seen a director like this.’ Meant as a compliment, of course, but…”

“Are we getting somewhere with this?” Iris moaned. She was hanging upside-down from an empty line set by her legs, rocking impatiently. What a kid, Misty thought. Of course, from what Ash had said about Iris, Misty guessed she was thinking the same thing. What was it that made some people their age act so much more mature than they really were? And they never realize it, either…

“I think I know where you’re going with this, Cilan,” Misty said, drawing herself up tall. “Bisharp got the wrong idea from what Sir Bela said, and thought he wasn’t happy with this movie. And that’s why he’s disappeared – he didn’t want to be in a film he thought his Trainer didn’t like!”

“You think so?” said Ash, sounding impressed.

“Pika?” concurred Pikachu, still on Misty’s shoulder.

“Osha!” Oshawott, still in Misty’s right arm, clapped approvingly and nuzzled her shoulder with his cheeks.

Cilan, however, shook his head. “That doesn’t explain what’s happened here.”

“Huh? Why not?” Misty frowned. What else could he have been driving at, with those questions?

“Elementary, my dear Misty.” It was a standard line of the Mycroft Abode character; Misty suspected Cilan had been itching for an excuse to say it. “The unusual behavior started with the Cofagrigus, not Bisharp. And any misgivings Bisharp may have had about the production shouldn’t have mattered to the other Pokémon in the cast and crew. They may have made him more susceptible to whatever’s causing this mystery, but they don’t explain it.”

“Hmm…he’s right,” said Ash. Misty tightened her grip on his arm until he winced. “Whose side are you on anyway?” she hissed.

“That wouldn’t account for the missing equipment either,” said Cilan.

“Or the missing producers,” added Sir Bela. “They left for the front office after informing us about the suspension. I expected them back by now.”

“Well, that’s…I bet they…executives…lunch meeting…all day.” Hampton shrugged.

“…Yes. Er – are there any Pokémon left at all?” Cilan asked. “If so, they could have some insight. Ash’s Pikachu could question them and report – Ash is quite gifted at divining what Pikachu means.”

“Hey – yeah!” Ash said, with a snap of his fingers. It did seem like a good idea – not that Misty was about to admit it, after hers was shot down like that.

“There are no Pokémon left that were directly involved in the production, I’m afraid,” said Sir Bela. “None that I’m aware of, anyway. But I do have two more on me – they never took to filmmaking, but they travel with Bisharp and I and know him well. They haven’t been out since we’ve arrived here, but they may know something about his state of mind.” He reached into his jacket and drew out a Dusk Ball and a Luxury Ball. The Dusk Ball went out first, flashing as it opened to reveal –

“SHEDINJA!” Pikachu and Oshawott went flying. Iris and Cilan winced at the scream. Misty sprang onto Ash’s back, wrapped her arms and legs around him, and pulled and twisted until he was a complete shield between her and that horrible buggy ghost.

“Is there something wrong?” Sir Bela asked.

“Misty’s got – ack! – problems with Bug-types,” Ash wheezed. Pikachu moaned in agreement; he and Oshawott had landed in a pile on one of the chairs. Misty was about to apologize when the Shedinja floated closer. She tightened her grip and buried her head into Ash’s shoulder instead.

“Really now,” Cilan said crossly. “There’s no time for this. We have a mystery to solve, and there’s no need to be upset by a friendly Pokémon that means us no harm and –”

POP! Misty dared a look up to see what came out of the Luxury Ball. It wasn’t another bug, thankfully; it was actually kind of cute. A feline Pokémon, with a violet and cream coat and sleepy green eyes –

“PURRLOIN!” she heard Cilan shriek, and saw the green blur of his mad dash for cover behind the sofa.

***

This movie can’t be worth it, Iris thought. She ran her hands down her face and bit back a groan as the clock made one tick closer to a full hour since they’d come into this set. The time would be easier to take if anything were actually happening, but…

The first hang-up was that this Bela Christopher guy’s Purrloin was really offended by Cilan freaking out around it, and it took forever to convince it to help out. Then Purrloin and Shedinja had to go in the corner with Ash and Pikachu, a “safe” distance from Cilan and Misty. Cilan would shout his questions across the set, Pikachu would give them to the Pokémon, they would answer, and Ash would try and figure out from Pikachu what the answers were before shouting them back to Cilan. A process that had told them nothing so far, because Shedinja and Purrloin didn’t seem to know anything about why Bisharp would disappear. Not that we need it anyway, Iris thought. My sixth sense is going off like crazy in this place, but of course the Detective Connoisseur wouldn’t trust that…

Meanwhile, Iris was stuck with creepy Christopher and his fan club. The director just sat in his chair doodling, but Misty and Cilan were gathered around Mr. Christopher as he told story after story after story. Apparently, he remembered every second of his long film career, and had no problem talking about all of it.

“…I had no idea what it was going to look like. Had no idea! And of course, the effects were very primitive in those days. We had Scorbunnies casting Flamethrower at odd angles to create the animation of the shadows…”

They just went on and on, and he never let any interruptions get in the way. And Cilan and Misty were eating it all up! Sure, Cilan gave Ash a new question every few minutes, and Misty gushed over Oshawott now and then, but for the most part, they were completely under the guy’s spell.

“…nearly severed my finger clean off. It’s still bent out – you see, here. But that was the first sword fight I had in a film. There were many, many more. I think the most difficult one was…”

It was a weird combination of boring stories and creepy storyteller. Iris liked scary movies, but a guy who was in them all the time sent out bad vibes. And those eyes…Cilan told her once that red eyes were “fetching,” but to Iris, they were nothing but bad news.

“…and he finally said to me, ‘you’re too tall to ever be an actor.’ A ridiculous thing to say to somebody. Of course, this was near the end of the war, when I was stationed in Azure Bay. I’d been seconded to the Dragon Squad as a liaison, and –”

“‘Dragon Squad?’” Iris inched closer to Mr. Christopher’s chair. “What ‘Dragon Squad?’”

It was Cilan who answered. “It’s a famous unit of the Galar Air Force, Iris. They ride Dragon-types instead of planes and serve as a special attack squadron.”

“And you…you were in that?” Iris asked Mr. Christopher. And these two were asking you about movies!?

“Well, I was an officer in the GAF. I was attached to the Dragon Squad from time to time –”

“Axew! Axew!”

“Huh? What is it, Axew?” Iris asked. Axew’s head and arms were poking out of her hair. He pointed up towards the catwalks above them. With the work lights on, it was hard to make much out, but Iris saw it too – a big, boxy shadow in an open doorway.

“What is it?” Misty asked, but Iris didn’t answer. Instead, she ran over to the fly system, shimmied up one of the ropes, jumped onto a high line rail, and swung herself up onto the catwalk. Axew gave a little cheer, and Iris gave him a little pat on the head. Now about that shadow…

Shadows seemed to be all that was up here. The work lights were all hung below the catwalks, so only a little of their light came up from below. Everything was painted or plated black. But the doorway Iris and Axew saw was filled with a dim blue glow. Inside the room, a small square closet, was light after light after light – all turned off, along with microphones and boom poles and cables.

“Hey, guys!” Iris called over her shoulder. “I found the missing film equipment! It’s all – um, Axew? Do you hear that too?” Axew nodded and slunk down into Iris’s hair. It was a faint, muffled whirring sound, hard to place. There was something mechanical to it, and it seemed to be coming from more than one spot. It’s like it’s in the walls or something. I wonder if –

The boxy shadow reappeared on the wall; a few seconds later, its source materialized. Its four arms spread wide, its red eyes lit up below the mask on its forehead, and its gold and jade body took on a horrible shine in the blue light.

“AUGH! I found a Cofagrigus too!” Iris yelled. “And I don’t think it’s friendly!” As if to confirm that, the Cofagrigus reached out with two of its hands, blue and violet flames surrounding the long fingers. From the set below, Iris heard a crash, a shout, and a menacing cry of “Cofa!”

And there’s supposed to be seven of these things…great. Battling them would be much easier with help, if only she could get away. “Axew, Dragon Rage!” Her Pokémon popped out of her hair just long enough to fire the blast, which struck the Cofagrigus right between the eyes. As soon as it reeled back, Iris dashed for the exit. She jumped over the catwalk railing, grabbed at the closest rope, and slid all the way down to the set, just in time to see Purrloin, Shedinja, and Pikachu chasing another Cofagrigus out the open side door to the stage. Ash was sprawled out on the ground with his head and shoulders on Misty’s knees, inches away from the ruins of the sofa; it looked as though it had been flung at the ground, and Misty had pulled Ash out of the way. Mr. Christopher was leaning heavily on his cane, with Cilan at his elbow for support. And the director was still doodling, as if nothing had happened at all.

“Iris, what’s going on up there?” asked Cilan.

“It’s a Cofagrigus!” Iris pointed up toward the catwalk. “There! It – it just passed through the walls! I don’t know where it’s going, but it was guarding a closet with all the film equipment that’s gone missing.”

“The one down here just jumped us,” said Ash, with a slight tremor to his voice. “There was this sound – whhhrrrr – all over, and then – boo! – and – crash!”

“So you heard that noise too.” At least it had gone; the only sound left in the room was the director’s pen scratching on paper. Strange noises before ghost attacks…strange behavior and disappearances with no explanation…yep, my sixth sense doesn’t lie about things like this. Iris put a hand to her chin. “Well, you know what I think?”

Cilan scowled. “Iris, please. This is no time for superstitious –”

“I think there’s a curse going on here!” cried Misty. She stood up so fast that she knocked Ash off to the side.

“You what!?” Cilan and Iris gasped together – Cilan in horror, Iris in delight.

“Think about it,” said Misty. “This only started when those Cofagrigus saw that authentic jewel. Jewel of the Seven Pokémon was based on real legends; maybe jewels from that ancient civilization really can hold lost souls, and the one in the jewel Sir Bela brought is possessing the Cofagrigus and the other Pokémon on the set!”

“Exactly what I was thinking!” Iris hopped over to stand side by side with Misty. “I’ve had a premonition of something like this ever since we came in here! You know –” she leaned in closer to Misty – “you might just be alright, kid.”

“Well, I’m surprised at you, Misty,” Cilan tutted. “Any supernatural occurrence has a scientific explanation, and this is no exception. Surely you recall The Houndoom of Harkershire, where the haunted moor turns out to be just a thief and his Pokémon?” He nudged Mr. Christopher with his elbow and winked at him; it must have been another of his movies.

Misty scowled and put her hands on her hips. “Well, what about The Night Train to Snowpoint, when all the clues turned out to be wrong, and it really was a ghost channeling the Froslass?” She advanced on Cilan; Iris stayed back and slapped a hand over her face. Not another one of these…

“But you recall Mark of the Golbat, where the supernatural events were a tool of the investigation to wrest a confession from the murderer?” said Cilan, not backing down.

“And Kiss of the Golbat has the vampires use a ‘rational’ explanation to fool the heroes until it’s too late! I wish you could have played the head vampire in that film, Sir Bela…”

“Bah! You’re forgetting Galar after Midnight, where –”

“ENOUGH!” Iris shouted. “No more movie talk! We have two Cofagrigus to worry about, and one of them might still be in here!”

Pikachu and Mr. Christopher’s Pokémon came back over from the door. Pikachu hopped onto Ash’s knee and gave a few chirps and gestures. “The other one went to the stage next door,” Ash reported.

“The cave sets are in that stage,” said Mr. Christopher.

“Then it looks like we need to split up,” Iris declared. It was about time someone took charge. “Half of us will stay in here to try and find that Cofagrigus, and the other half will go next door. And I’m going with Ash and Mr. Christopher.”

“What?” Cilan and Misty looked like they’d both been slapped, but they were just going to have to deal with it.

“I told you,” Iris said, “I’m done with the movie talk! And I’m sure you’re driving Ash and this poor old guy nuts.”

“Now, really!” Mr. Christopher snapped.

“I don’t care, Iris…” Ash started; Iris silenced him with a wave. She linked arms with him, then with Mr. Christopher, and marched toward the side door.

“We’ll take the cave,” she said over Cilan and Misty’s sputtering. “You two and the director check out the rest of this place.” Of course, Iris was the one who had seen the Cofagrigus in this set, but she just wanted to get out for a while. It was hard to do, though, when her companions were resisting.

“I really must protest –”

“Iris, our Pokémon!” Ash dragged his feet so that Pikachu could catch up and jump onto his shoulder, and Mr. Christopher recalled his two Pokémon. But when Ash drew out Oshawott’s ball, the Water-type shook his head frantically and waddled over to Misty, latching onto her leg as hearts lit up his eyes again.

“…Fine,” Ash sighed. “But if she needs you to battle, you’d better do it.”

“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?” said Misty.

“You’ll find out,” Iris snapped. “Now meet us outside in an hour!” She pushed her two partners ahead and started shoving them from the back to get them to the door faster.

“Young lady,” grumbled Mr. Christopher. “I do not need shielding from fan inquiries.”

“You don’t need to be nice about it, sir,” said Iris. “It’s got to be annoying, all those silly movie questions. Now – about that Dragon Squad…”

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KAY! You’ve been accepted for the role of PORTIA with an FC change to TIFFANY MEIA. Admin Rosey: *chants with you* PANDORA PANDORA PANDORA PANDORA! So one thing I absolutely adore when getting applications is when the names of the characters are dissected. But at the end of it, you had tacked on something I found very interesting -- “Pandora will always be a gift given away.”  And with that you suckered me in so easily that I couldn’t help but love and adore the interpretation of Pandora that you presented on a silver platter. You made her charming, you made her someone I admire and adore. You added such humanity to her when I expected her to be a mechanical thing. Kay, I can’t wait for you to join the family and let Pandora bring her ambition to light! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Kay

Age | 24 soon to be 25 and I can hear the grim reaper calling my name.

Preferred Pronouns | She/her/hers

Activity Level | I’m currently in school and in another group, but with that being said I’m online practically every day. I can get on to plot every day and post a reply or two at least every other day!

Timezone | EST

Current/Past RP Accounts | Here is my current blog!

In Character

Character | Portia, Pandora Phan. If possible, I’d like to switch her FC to Tiffany Meia!

Pandora, origin: Greek, meaning “All-gift” Just as her namesake before her, Pandora will always be a gift to be given away.

Phan, origin: Vietnamese, meaning unknown

What drew you to this character? | Is it cliche to say the first line in her bio? Because the first line had me hooked right away. “The sense of wonderment that others had as children was lost on Pandora Phan.” She was never a girl that worried herself with fantasies, always looking at the reality of things and analyzing how and why things are. She didn’t concern herself with the fantasies and lies parents would tell their children, and instead wanted to know the truth, the bottom line of it all. To me, Pandora is this girl who might come off as soft and pretty to some, but she’s really a girl with hard edges and a razor blade tongue. Every word that comes out of her mouth is very deliberate, calculated to maximize the impact they’ll have.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

a. Mother, may I speak now? Pandora spent her formative years having her voice fall on her parent’s deaf ears. So while she doesn’t speak unless she truly wants to, she makes her voice heard above all others. She’s someone that will use her voice to get what wants when she wants and she doesn’t care who she has to step on to be heard. And with that, comes enemies even within her own affiliation. Are there members that want to see her fail? What will she do to prevent that from happening? Who does she think she is?

b. Did the pressure weed you out? Odin is an ever-present figure in her life and it bothers her that she doesn’t know why. He’s one of the few people that can truly match her word for word, cut for cut and it makes her worry. She wants to know why he’s putting up a front of helping her when they’re on opposite sides. Will she listen to his words? Will she actually believe them? What steps will she take to make sure she doesn’t toe the line and fall into his trap? Who exactly does Odin think she is? I’d love to answer all of these!

c. Do you sleep anymore? Obviously, being a captain for the Montagues is sometimes she takes pride in. Pandora is someone whose work ethic is feared above all else; she’s known for being a cold and calculating woman in the gang. But she wants more. She spends her nights figuring out ways to claw her way to the top so she can be the one laughing at the end of the day. Just what, or who, is Pandora willing to risk on her way to the top? Will she survive long enough to be the queen that takes the king?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | As the Tralfamadorians say, so it goes.

In Depth

In-Character Interview:

What is your favorite place in Verona?  

Personal questions always rubbed Pandora the wrong way. Why people wanted to know such intimate things about others was lost on her. Some things were better left tucked away in the back of her heart. And yet, she found her lips parting before she realized what was happening. “Castelvecchio Bridge.” The faintest of smiles grace her lips as memories flood her mind. She remembers her childhood spent there, legs dangling over the edge. She remembers her teen years, smoking too many cigarettes and drinking too much wine on a blanket by the water’s edge. She remembers her adulthood, escaping her parent’s meetings to catch a glimpse of the swans floating by. “There’s something beautiful about the water in the middle of a war, don’t you agree?”

What does your typical day look like?

“I wake up and I go to work.” A memory of blood strewn across a table flashes in her mind. How unfortunate that the last collection she went on ended with her getting dirty. That poor silk blouse is worthless to her now. But, she didn’t ascend to her position without getting some blood on her hands. She glances at the underside of her nails, checking for any residual blood she missed the first three times she had scrubbed them. “I enjoy the view from the office then I go home to my fiancé. I have a simple life, really.” She swallows the bile creeping up her throat. Pandora has tried everything in her power to make her life anything but simple. Her typical day is filled with cutting remarks and blades pressed to skin, with sweet nothings and knives pressed into others backs. The only view she enjoys is the sight of someone realizing just how dangerous she is.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

Mistakes were never something Pandora took pride in. Sure, she looked at them as lessons, something that taught her how to properly do something in case the situation ever rose again. But, she hated the process. She would berate herself in private for doing something so foolish, so dumb, so immature. Pandora Phan the Captain was anything but those things. On the other hand, Pandora Phan the Child was not. “When I was at university I fell for an artist. I ignored everyone’s advice and she broke my heart. How naive I was at that age.” A wave of the hand shows that’s all she’s willing to say about it. She’s handing the interviewer a nugget of truth. A tiny kernel of the story without telling him the ending of it. A broken heart never did any girl any good, now did it?

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

The word engagement burns her tongue and she has to fight to keep it down. She never signed up for the arrangement her parents made between the two families - she never had a choice in the first place. Their engagement had been just another business transaction in the grand scheme of things, a handful of signatures that sealed their shared power for the future. But playing the pretty fiancée was getting old. Their engagement was beginning to bore her and felt more like a sentence than an agreement. Sharp nails tap the desk between the two, fighting for seconds to come up with a reasonable answer. “Does this interview count?” Her head tilts to one side, the corners of her lips turning upwards as she spoke. “I have other things that require my attention instead of sitting here playing this silly game with you.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

Actual war was never something that interested her, but the benefits that came from it did. With every war came those who profited from it and Pandora was one of those. Because of their war, she was able to escape from a dull life to something more stimulating. She had a chance to be more than a little girl with chaos in her name. “The war went on for hundreds of years before me and will continue for hundreds of years after me.” It’s an answer devoid of any actual meaning, meant to distract the poor man sitting across from her. The interview might be required by her boss, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun with it. “Lions do not concern themselves with the opinions of their cubs, so my thoughts are nothing but wasted breath to my superiors.”  

Extras:

Right here is a mock blog for her, here is an insta edit for her, and I am a sucker for headcanons so here is a mile long list of them.

Drugs might not be one of her vices, but caffeine and cigarettes definitely are. More often than not she can be found with either a cup of coffee or a cigarette, or both, in her hands.

Panda is really good at card tricks. As a bored teenager, she learned various card tricks to fill her time with. Just picture a teen Panda running around Verona scamming people outside of bodegas because she knows how to slip a card between her fingers.

Her main weapon might be her words, but very few know about the pocket knife she carries on her at all times. It might be old fashioned, but she prefers her weapon to cut in a similar way to her words.

She’s a sucker for poetry, with her favorites being Charles Bukowski and Pablo Neruda. The way that they form their poems and prose is something that she was always interested in replicating.

Panda is in love with learning languages. She’s fluent in French, Italian, Japanese, Spanish and is learning German.

She has a degree in linguistics and classics!

She spent some time traveling as a form of rebellion but thanks to that, she found the Neuschwanstein Castle in Germany. After a trip to Munich to fill up on nothing besides beer and pretzels, she visited the castle on a whim and fell in love with it.

As someone who doesn’t speak often, she has a very expressive face. I picture her looking into the camera like Jim on The Office whenever something goes wrong.

She reads the New York Times every day and does the crossword in pen.

I didn’t make a playlist for her, but I listened to a lot of Citizen and Joji to really get a feel for her. ‘Slow Dancing In The Dark’ by Joji and ‘Roam The Room’ by Citizen are the two songs that really gave me Pandora vibes. I also wanted to thank you for letting me reserve Pandora! I wasn’t sure I was going to finish her app in time but here we are, submitting right before the deadline lmao.

[megabadbunny]

A Rose by Any Other Martha

The short answer? I think they would become friends pretty quickly but until then, things might be a little...strained. :’D

As for the long answer, I think the day Rose Tyler appears in her original universe is an interesting day for Martha, as she thinks of it, later.

“Wow,” says Martha, after the hubbub has died down a bit. It’s only taken a few hours (or a few years, but who’s counting?), but Rose and the Doctor have finally stopped hugging and laughing and crying and laugh-crying long enough for her to get a word in edgewise. “I finally get to meet the infamous Rose Tyler. Big day for me.” Rose’s smile wanes only the littlest bit as she steps back from the Doctor to take Martha in properly, her eyes making their first departure from the Doctor since she first showed up beaming outside the TARDIS doors. “Big day for me, too,” she replies. “Martha, was it? What’s your story?” It’s a friendly enough question, the shell of it, but Martha can see through to the meat. There’s distrust, too, and suspicion, and the vague scent of someone threatened, though Martha hasn’t any clue why Rose would feel any of those things. She herself doesn’t have much experience with this sort of behavior, but she’s watched enough of her friends prowling around each other, catlike and narrow-eyed and hackles raised, to recognize this primal behavior when she sees it. She shrugs—she figures it’s noncommittal, non-threatening. “No story,” she says, honestly enough. “Nothing much anyway. Got caught up in some funny business at hospital, the Doctor offered to take me on a trip after.” “And one trip became two became a whole bunch,” Rose supplies. “Oh, Martha’s brilliant,” says the Doctor, flashing that stupid-pretty grin of his as he loops one arm around Martha’s shoulders—and is Martha imagining things, or has a shadow fallen across Rose’s face? “Brilliant, astonishing, molto bene, a fantastically clever physician-in-training with brains for centuries, slick as an otter covered in oil!” “Erm, thanks?” says Martha uncertainly. “A quality addition to Team TARDIS, don’t you think?” the Doctor continues, and without waiting for a reply, goes on to say, “The two of you will get on wonderfully. Actually, why not start now, take a few minutes to get to know each other?” He takes off before the words have finished leaving his mouth, long strides taking him out of the console room before either woman has time to blink.

“Wait,” Rose calls after him, frowning. “Where are you going?” “Just a routine trip down to the basement, got to check a few things after that rough landing. Be back in a tic!” the Doctor shouts over his shoulder. “Come on, now, time to make friends!” “Sir, yes, sir!” Martha calls after him with a mock-salute. “Right,” says Rose, quietly. “Friends.” She doesn’t turn around to face Martha. Fidgeting uncomfortably, Martha taps one pointed-boot-toe on the grating after a few moments have passed, and it becomes increasingly apparent that, no, the Doctor won’t be back in a tic after all; whether he found something in the basement that genuinely needs work or he’s stalling for some unknown reason, it’s just going to be her and Rose for a while. And Rose doesn’t seem too interested in that. Martha grimaces behind Rose’s back. She hates to be petty, but something about Rose is—well, unlikeable seems just a little strong, doesn’t it? Especially since they’ve only just met. But maybe once she gets her talking, Rose will surprise her with some hitherto-unrevealed good qualities. Surely she has one or two. “So, Rose,” Martha starts. “Heard a lot about—” “Sorry,” interrupts Rose with a sigh, and Martha watches as one hand flies up to rub tiredly at her temple. “I’m a little worn out. Maybe we can do this later?” (“Or never?” she adds under her breath, as if she thinks Martha won’t hear.) Biting her tongue and anything that might roll off it without her permission, Martha nods and slaps on a smile, even though Rose won’t see either. “Sure,” she says. “Later. When you’re less…worn out. All that universe-hopping has gotta be pretty exhausting, right?” “You have no idea,” says Rose, not bothering to turn around even once before she stalks off from the console room. Martha grumbles under her breath. “Oh, I’ve got an inkling,” she says mutinously.

***

“…so then the Face of Boe gave up his remaining energy to open up the Motorway, and the Doctor and I finally had a proper chat about what happened with you, and the Time War and Gallifrey and everything, and then…” Martha trails off, watching Rose as she drinks in neither her tea nor a word Martha has said, probably not for some time now. Instead she stares blankly into the middle distance, eyes glazed and unfocused, stirring her spoon round in her cup. It’s a series of lazy circles, a flash of silver in a tiny beige-brown vortex that’s growing cooler by the second, much like Martha’s attitude. “…then the Doctor asked me to carry his children, and we had a procedure for it on Neptune, and I’m expecting a litter of his tadpoles in seventy-three months,” Martha finishes drily. “Good, good,” says Rose, her tone as absent as her expression. “So do you think you’re done now, or…?” Martha frowns. “Done what?” “Traveling with the Doctor. When do you think you’ll be done?” Eyebrow piqued with surprise, Martha sets her tea down on the galley-table, gently. “Dunno. Guess that’s up to him, isn’t it?” “Sure, I just don’t want things to get awkward for you or anything.” “Awkward?” “Oh, y’know.” Finally Rose takes a sip of her tea; whether or not she registers how tepid it is at this point is anyone’s guess. “That whole third wheel thing isn’t any fun, is it?” Martha’s smile grows somewhat strained. “I wouldn’t know.” “I mean, nothing against you or anything, I’m sure you’re lovely once you let that whole superiority complex die down a little bit. But the Doctor—” “Superiority complex?” Martha tries to say, but Rose won’t stop talking, what a surprise. “—the Doctor and I just have all this shared history, you see,” Rose continues, “and that’s not gonna feel great for you, is it? Listening to us with all our stories, feeling out of the loop, all that.” Gritting her teeth so loudly she’s surprised Rose can’t hear her molars cracking, Martha forces her mouth into a smirk. “Oh, it’s so nice of you to worry,” she says, “but you needn’t bother. The Doctor and I have plenty history all on our own.” “Sure, I bet you do,” replies Rose, and her smug little grin makes Martha want to shake her by the shoulders. “Oh, yeah,” says Martha. “Loads of stuff. We really bonded, y’know. Actually, I was a little concerned for you when you came onboard, because you’ve missed so much, you see.” Rose nods. “Sort of a pesky little side effect of saving the universe, sometimes you miss out on things. What’s a girl to do?” “I’d recommend some grip-strengthening exercises, for starters,” Martha mutters. Rose’s eyes flash with hurt, and Martha instantly regrets the words leaving her mouth—cow or not, Rose only slipped into the other universe, only lost her grip on that lever, because she was trying to help the Doctor, and the memory is clearly quite painful for them both. Some blows are too low and Martha suspects this was one of them. Besides, it isn’t like Martha has any idea how hard it was to hang on to that lever, especially with all those Cybermen and Daleks whizzing past. These cheap jabs are starting to make Martha feel sort of queasy. But before she can apologize, Rose downs the rest of her lukewarm tea in one gulp and fixes Martha with a bright-eyed stare. “So how’s your little crush going anyway?” she asks sweetly. Martha chokes on the air in her lungs. “S-sorry?” she splutters. “Your little crush on the Doctor,” Rose replies, all friendly innocence. “Oh, but I’m not—I wouldn’t say—it’s not that he’s not, but he’s not really—and I don’t—” Laughing gaily, Rose flashes Martha a wide grin, one Martha suspects is normally quite charming when she doesn’t smell blood on the air. Right now, it’s positively shark-like. “No worries, mate. I won’t give your secret away. Besides, I think it’s kind of cute, the way you trail after him like an adoring kitten.” Martha’s immediate impulse is to bristle, but instead she returns Rose’s grin with one of her own. “What can I say?” she asks, sipping delicately at her tea. “I guess I was just kind of a goner after he kissed me.” Rose’s grin slips by millimeters. “Yeah, well, there’s no accounting for taste.” “That how he justified picking you up that first time?” “Wow, you really do know a lot about our time together. Just how much did the Doctor talk about me while I was gone? What’s it like, hearing your crush constantly talk about another woman?” Martha glares at Rose. Rose glares back. “Ah, there they are!” interrupts the cheerful voice of the Doctor, only just preceding him before he pops into the galley, all confidence and bouncy heels and cheeky grin. “How are my two favorite twenty-first century women today?” “Fine,” says Martha, just a little too loudly. “Tremendous,” says Rose, just a little bit louder. “Never better,” Martha shoots back louder still. Glance flickering between them, the Doctor steps back, eyes wide. “Right,” he says, his brow furrowing in confusion. But soon enough the grin returns as bright as ever. “Anyway, I was just thinking, how does a trip to Broadway sound, eh? But wait, it gets better! How does a trip to the Golden Age of Broadway sound? I’m thinking flappers and gangsters and top hats and white ties and tails, feathers and sequins and music and pastiche galore! Seems like just the ticket, doesn’t it?” “Sounds just as good as a spot of Dickens in 1869,” chirps Rose. “Or maybe even as good as Shakespeare himself in the 1500’s?” chimes in Martha. “Or even Elvis in 1953!” “Or,” says the Doctor, “very possibly it’s related to none of those things in the slightest! Except for the stage bit. And the fun.” He flashes them both an encouraging (if a bit expectant) smile. “Remember fun? Doesn’t that sound nice?” Crossing her arms, Rose stares at Martha. “Sounds great.” “Just spiffy.” Rose’s cheek twitches. “Positively smashing.” Fingers drumming nervously against his thighs, the Doctor looks between the two of them once again, his eyes narrow and suspicious as if Rose and Martha make up two pieces to a puzzle he can’t quite solve. But he just shakes it off and turns to leave the galley, grabbing Martha’s teacup on the way. “Do you mind?” he asks, even as he downs it. A flush blossoms across Rose’s face as a wicked grin spreads over Martha’s. “Not at all, darling,” she says, fluttering her lashes when he pushes the empty cup absentmindedly back into her hands. (Rose squeezes her own cup until the handle snaps off.)

***

“Ah,” says the Doctor, drinking in a deep lungful of ocean-salty air, “Smell that Atlantic breeze. Nice and cold. Lovely.” Turning back toward his companions, plimsolls scuffing the pavement, he beams. “Martha, Rose, have you met my friend?” he asks, gesturing to the scene before them. Stepping outside the TARDIS, Martha follows the line of the Doctor’s pointing finger, up, up, up, until she sees— “Is that…?” she starts to ask excitedly, and the Doctor nods, urging her onward. Martha’s eyes travel slowly over the figure, taking a moment to soak it all in, the massive and intricate craftsmanship before them. A giant statue of a woman fills her vision, clutching a stone tablet in one hand, a torch in the other; a crown adorns her head, and her face is calm, impassive, inscrutable as a Roman sculpture of old. “Oh my god,” Martha breathes. “That’s the Statue of Liberty!” “Nothing gets past you,” mutters Rose as she pushes past, but Martha ignore her. “That’s right. Gateway to the New World,” says the Doctor. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” “That’s so brilliant,” says Martha, grinning. “I’ve always wanted to go to New York. I mean the real New York, not the new, new, new, new, new one.” Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Rose glance at her darkly (dear god, what could she possibly have done to offend Her Highness now?) but she decides to ignore that, too. “Well, here’s the genuine article,” says the Doctor, pocketing his hands as he rocks back on his heels. “The Empire State, the Big Apple, New York, New York. So good they named it twice,” he adds, clicking his tongue and sending a wink Rose’s way. Rose laughs delightedly and the two of them beam at each other like a pair of idiots. Martha rolls her eyes and keeps walking.

**

None of them are smiling by the time they reach Hooverville. “What happened here?” asks Rose, aghast at the shanty town laid out before them. Granted, it’s not like Martha particularly enjoys the sight of the slipshod tents and rickety clotheslines poking out of the mud, or the widows huddling together for warmth around chicken-wire-bonfires, or the dogs fighting for scraps or runaway children running around barefoot in the cold evening air. But Rose—she doesn’t look concerned in that way that polite middle-class people do when they hear about those poor unfortunate Third World countries on the news. She looks positively stricken. It makes it really, really hard for Martha to do what she really wants to do, which is to explain to Rose all about the finer points of the Roaring Twenties and the Wall Street Crash and the Great Depression, thereby demonstrating to both Rose and the Doctor that at least some people managed to pay attention in history class, so instead she swallows her pride and shelves her knowledge for later, when it won’t make her look so horribly petty in the face of Rose’s famous perfect compassion. Dammit. “Hard times,” she finds herself saying. She half-expects Rose to bite back with some sarcastic retort, so she’s surprised when instead, Rose just nods. “Yeah,” she says, her voice quiet. And then Martha watches as, with a tentative step forward, Rose sheds her leather jacket and offers it to one of the more underdressed children, a small boy who eyes her with no small measure of distrust. Confused, Martha turns to the Doctor. “Can we do stuff like that? I mean, help people, like, with jackets and money and stuff?” “Erm, generally best to keep that sort of thing to a minimum, just for the sake of timelines and fixed points and all that,” the Doctor admits, scratching the back of his neck. “But don’t worry. Rose knows the rules.” “Even if she breaks them?” Martha asks jokingly. Both of them look on as a small herd of children slowly swarm around Rose, some of them plucking at the leather jacket now adorning the boy’s shoulders, others looking up to her like she might have something else to offer. She’s only got the one jacket—not everyone can have the Doctor’s bigger-on-the-inside pockets, Martha supposes—but she unwinds the scarf from round her neck to give to one child, peels off her gloves for another. Martha frowns. How can one person be simultaneously so nice and so awful at the same time? It just doesn’t make sense. Stupid Rose. Stupid, saintly, self-sacrificing Rose. “Sorry,” Martha says to the Doctor, willing her eyes not to roll—if she keeps rolling them, surely they’re bound to get stuck that way. “That was petty of me. I’m sure Rose doesn’t break the rules.” The Doctor bursts into a peal of laughter so loud it scares off the pigeons grazing nearby.

**

“The sewers,” Martha mutters darkly as they trudge underground with people they just met, sloshing through damp stuff she doesn’t want to think about. “Why’s it always got to be the sewers?” “To be fair, it’s not always sewers,” counters Rose. “No?” “Nope,” she says brightly. “Sometimes it’s tunnels, ship corridors, prison hallways…” “Lots of running down hallways, isn’t it?” “An astonishing amount of running down hallways,” Rose agrees, and the two of them share a brief laugh. Rose seems a little softer, now, after encountering the folks from Hooverville; Martha wonders why that is, but she’s smart enough not to ask. Besides, she’s still waiting for the next lightning-fast snake strike. (She doesn’t have to wait long.) “What’s that supposed to mean?” Rose snaps at Tallulah, and if her eyes could stare daggers, Tallulah’s cute little chorus-girl dress would surely be riddled with dozens of bloody little holes by now. If Tallulah feels the bite behind Rose’s words, she doesn’t show it. “Just sayin’, your friend here’s got herself a nice little hotsy-totsy fella, that’s all. She’s sweet and all, but she doesn’t know how good she’s got it with him.” “No, no,” Martha stammers, her face turning to ice as the blood rapidly rushes from it. “We’re not—” “Oh, no, they’re not together,” Rose laughs, and for some reason, it’s not the words so much as the laugh—the Dear me, how absurd of it all—that makes Martha grit her teeth together and ball her fists in her jacket-pockets. Pushing her anger down (deep, deep down, where it belongs), Martha turns to Tallulah with a dangerous smile plastered on. “No, not together like that. We’re just really good friends. Really, really good friends.” After a pause for emphasis, Martha’s smile deepens, widens, like a Cheshire cat’s. “I can see why you might think that, though. There’s a closeness, isn’t there?” “Trust me, sweetie, I get it,” Tallulah says with a knowing nod. “Close but no cigar, right? But don’t worry, you’ll get there. I’ve seen the way you look at him—hell, I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. It’s clear as could be.” With a lovelorn sigh that’s only slightly over-exaggerated (only the littlest, tiniest smidgen of a bit), Martha places one hand dramatically over her heart, the other on Tallulah’s shoulder. “Aww, bless,” she says fondly. “Did you hear that, Rose? Sounds like wedding bells any day n—” She turns just in time to see Rose disappear out the dressing-room door.

**

It only takes Martha half a minute to track Rose through the backstage crowd, thick with chorus-girls and blokes and stagehands. “Oh, come on, Rose,” she drawls, because she’s cold and impatient and she’s absolutely done with this weird indirect dancing-around-precious-Rose’s-precious-feelings bullshit. “It was just a joke, can’t you even take a stupid joke?” “God, I get it, all right? You don’t have to beat about it anymore, you can just come and say it, come out and tell me how much you hate me!” Rose snaps. Stunned by the outburst—what, does Rose have some kind of telepathic-whatsit now? Can she read minds now? Should she just give up and worship at the feet of the all-seeing, all-knowing Rose?—Martha just stares. “I’m sorry?” “You heard me!” Rose hisses. One of the stagehands whirls around with a finger pressed to his lips, silently but sharply telling them to hush. Mouth opening and shutting again wordlessly, Martha looks all around at the other stagehands and performers, as if one of them could come to her aid, but of course, no one can, and the Doctor’s nowhere to be seen. “What kind of—?” she finally stammers. “I don’t have a problem with you—you’re the one who has a problem with me!” “Don’t give me that, you’ve had it out for me from the very beginning,” Rose argues in a heated whisper. “From the very first second I stepped back onboard the TARDIS, you’ve been nothing but snarky and passive-aggressive and just flat-out mean!” Now all the blood rushes right back to Martha’s cheeks, burning them with a vengeance. Denial is the first thing that comes to mind, but the frustrating thing is that Rose is right. Even if she started it all, Martha hasn’t exactly risen above the fray, and that just makes her even angrier. “You think I’ve been petty and mean? Well, you’ve easily been just as bad!” she retorts. Pointing her finger in accusation, Rose opens her mouth with a reply that Martha can practically see scalding the tip of her tongue, but instead of letting it fly, she swallows it. Something in her seems to wilt, deflating like a pin-pricked balloon. “Shit,” she says, quietly, to herself just as much as Martha. Then, resigned, “You’re right.” And again, under her breath, harsher, “Shit.” Drawing in a deep breath, as if she’s rallying her strength for some grand action, Rose bites her lip. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice curt. Martha feels it again, that spark of childishness urging her to say something unpleasant in return—Wow, that’s big of you, Don’t strain yourself there, Don’t do me any favors—but no; she drinks in a calming lungful of her own. She hasn’t risen above the fray yet, but now’s her chance. She can do it. She can. “Me too,” she says, only a little grudgingly. And now neither of them can meet each other’s gaze. Great. “It’s just,” Martha starts to say, and she closes her eyes, because it’s easier that way, somehow, “I’m just afraid you’re gonna replace me. Like it’s pretty clear that the Doctor’s only keeping me around for—for stupid reasons, now that you’re back.” “No, he wouldn’t—” says Rose, but Martha cuts her off with a sharp shake of the head. “It’s okay, you don’t have to defend him, I already know the truth,” Martha says, sadly. “Cos see, you don’t know what he was like, while you were gone. He—I don’t know what he was like before, but even I could tell he was broken. He missed you, Rose. He missed you so, so much.” She opens her eyes to find that Rose’s are glittering with the hint of tears. “I mean, I think it was a little better by the time I came along, I think having me around helped with the loneliness,” Martha rushes, “but it was like there was still this huge, gaping hole, that absolutely no one else could fill, no one but you. You know?” Rose thumbs her would-be tears away. “I thought maybe he’d already done that with you.” Eyebrow raised, Martha laughs shakily. “Right, that’s a good one. Tell me another.” But when Rose doesn’t reply, just wraps her arms around herself protectively, Martha starts to wonder. “Wait,” she says, realization dawning. “You didn’t honestly think I had replaced you…?” “Well, why not? Even if there’s nothing romantic going on there, it’s like the Doctor said—you’re brilliant, Martha.” Dumbfounded, Martha isn’t sure how to reply to that, so she doesn’t. “You’re smart, you’re quick on your feet, you’re able to take his nonsense in stride,” Rose counts off. “Not to mention you’re clever and posh and educated and beautiful.” “Beautiful?” Martha repeats, incredulous. “Uh, yeah,” Rose replies, as if it’s obvious. “Don’t act like you don’t know you’re a babe.” Now Martha’s cheeks are warm for an entirely different reason. “Are you in love with the Doctor, or with me?” she jokes feebly. “You’re even training to be a doctor yourself. You’re learning how to help people, how to fix them. How to get to the heart of the problem and make it better. That’s just like him—the two of you have so much in common.” “Well, maybe, but—” “You said he told you all about the Time War,” Rose continues quietly. “And what was that other thing you mentioned, Gallifrey? I don’t even know what that is.” A pang pierces Martha deep in her gut. “That’s the name of his home planet. Gallifrey. You mean he never told you…?” Lips pursed together, Rose shakes her head. “Well, that’s just him being an idiot, then. It doesn’t mean he has feelings for me. Any kind of feelings. Definitely not like what he had for you.” “Yeah, but that’s just the thing,” Rose says. “The feelings he had for me. What if he’s moved on now?” At that, Martha can only blink in surprise for a few seconds before bursting into laughter, heedless of the dirty looks any stagehands may throw her way. “I’m serious,” Rose insists, but Martha just laughs harder, until she’s doubled-over from the strain of it. “I’m sorry,” she wheezes, “It’s just—that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” She fears that Rose might bristle at the remark, but instead the corners of her mouth quirk upward like she might smile. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Martha chuckles, wiping a tear of mirth out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve heard some pretty stupid things, but that takes the cake. He bloody loves you, all right? It’s obvious to anyone who’s got two eyes and a heart.” “I don’t know, though, I just—” “Yeah, back there, in Tallulah’s dressing-room?” Martha continues as if Rose never spoke. “She’s a nice girl but she had no idea what she was talking about. If anyone’s making moon-eyes at each other, it’s the two of you. I’m not even in the picture.” Martha quiets, her laughter subsiding into wistfulness. “Oh, Rose, I’m not even in the same universe,” she says. “It was nice of you to chuck all those compliments at me earlier, but we both know the Doctor’s only keeping me around so he doesn’t have to be alone with you. He doesn’t want to have to face up to everything he felt while you were gone, doesn’t want to admit how much he cares about you. He’s just keeping me around cos he’s scared.” “That’s not true,” Rose says stubbornly, taking Martha’s hands in hers. “And even if that does play any part of it—Martha, the Doctor doesn’t suffer fools. He doesn’t ask just anyone to travel with him. Regardless of anything else that might be going on, and regardless of any nasty thing I might have said to you, the Doctor only keeps company with people he thinks are special. Period. He only chooses the best.” She squeezes Martha’s hands in reassurance. “So that means you’re one of the best. Even if the Doctor doesn’t say it—cos let’s face it, he’s wonderful, but he’s also an emotionally-repressed prat—you, Martha Jones, are one of the best. Better than he deserves, even. Okay?” Martha’s heart swells in her ribcage, expanding at such a rate she’s afraid her lungs might rupture. This absolutely is not the outcome she expected from this conversation—nor, indeed, from any conversation with Rose, ever—but if she has learned anything from her travels through time and space, it’s that things are rarely what they seem on first glance, one may find allies in even the unlikeliest places, and damn, but Rose Tyler can be really convincing when she wants to be. “Okay,” she says, and she and Rose beam at each other, identical smiles spreading slowly over their faces. “So, erm, did we just become friends?” “Oh, we totally just did,” Rose laughs before pulling Martha in for a hug. (It’s not a bad hug, either; soft and warm, and even from a strictly platonic viewpoint, Martha can understand why the Doctor likes it so much.) And then she notices the pigman skulking around in the shadows backstage, staring longingly at Tallulah as she dances and glitters in the limelight. And just before it disappears in the direction of the sewers, even though Martha doesn’t get the best look at it, she notices straightaway that it’s different from the other pigmen somehow… “Rose, how do you feel about a trip back into the sewers?” Martha asks. Rose chuckles. “Why, Martha, I thought you’d never ask.”

***

After a day well-saved and a job well-done, the three of them stroll back down the street toward the TARDIS, Rose and the Doctor walking happily hand-in-hand. Martha is pleasantly surprised when Rose holds a hand out to her, too, and she takes it. Rose wasn’t half-bad in their little adventure, after all. And she’s not half-bad as a friend, either. “Do you reckon it’s gonna work, those two?” asks Martha, to nobody in particular. “Sure it will,” replies Rose. “Beauty and the Beast, Lady and the Tramp, the pig and the showgirl. Love conquers all. Don’t you think, Doctor?” she asks, nudging the Doctor’s shoulder with hers. The Doctor hesitates, and for a brief second, Martha could swear he was about to say something else, something optimistic and bright, but it’s as if his thoughts turn on a pin, and suddenly he’s saying, “Maybe. You’d like to think if they could make it anywhere, it’d be New York, but I suppose one never knows.” “Nah, I think this just proves it,” Martha insists. “There’s someone for everyone.” “Perhaps,” the Doctor murmurs. Martha feels Rose’s grip slacken at that; she squeezes her fingers, offering comfort, but Rose doesn’t squeeze back. “Hey, maybe we could catch a quick bite before we turn in, yeah?” Martha says quickly—things have only just smoothed over, and she isn’t quite ready for the merriment to end, yet. “Get a slice of authentic New York pizza—have they got pizza, now?—or we could nab something from one of those famous New York diners?” But Rose is already pulling ahead, slipping away until both Martha and the Doctor are left empty-handed. “Sounds brilliant,” she says, turning around just long enough to flash them both a wan, tired smile. “Catch up with you later?” “You’re not coming with?” Martha asks, and she’s surprised to note that she actually feels a little disappointed at the thought. “Nah, I reckon after all that time in the sewers, I’m overdue a good, long bath. Besides, you can fill him in on our end of things, right?” They stop just outside the TARDIS doors, Rose shooting Martha a meaningful look over one shoulder, a look only Martha can see. And, ah. This isn’t only about Rose and the Doctor, then; she’s also giving Martha a chance to see for herself that she’s not just a third wheel, after all. That she and the Doctor are friends on their own. “Okay,” says Martha, a little reluctantly. She appreciates the gesture, but now that she and Rose are friendly, well. It doesn’t exactly feel good to see her so down, does it? “Want us to bring you anything after?” “How about some pie?” asks the Doctor, rocking back on his heels. “Nice piece of pie, two-crust, extra whipped cream on top, just the way you like it? Any flavor but cherry?” Rose smiles softly. “Sounds perfect, yeah.” She unlocks the TARDIS doors and slips inside, leaving Martha and the Doctor to themselves. “Right, then, a brief culinary adventure with Smith and Jones,” says the Doctor, taking off again down the street at a jaunty pace. “Now, did you see a particular placed that piqued your fancy, or—” “You need to talk to Rose.” The Doctor turns around but doesn’t stop walking; Martha has to jog after him if she wants to catch up. “What’s that?” the Doctor says, holding a hand up to one ear as he walks backward. “Sorry, you’ll have to speak up.” “I know you heard me, so don’t play stupid, all right? You’ve got to talk to Rose.” “Fairly certain I spoke to Rose just now.” “You know what I mean,” says Martha, offering the Doctor a proper glare. “Like a proper sit-down. I don’t think you’ve had anything like that since she came back, have you? Maybe not ever.” “And this is your concern, how?” asks the Doctor, voice mild as he turns round to walk normally. “Because Rose and I are friends, okay? And it’s not fair to her, having to guess at your thoughts all the time. She can’t read your mind, she doesn’t know what you’re thinking, doesn’t know how you feel.” The Doctor doesn’t reply to that, but Martha swears she can read the response plain enough on his face. (She doesn’t know how I feel? She should.) “And quite frankly, it’s not fair to me, either,” Martha finishes. The Doctor quirks an eyebrow in question. “Look, I’m not your buffer, all right?” Martha blurts out. “I don’t want you to keep me on the TARDIS just so you don’t have to be alone with Rose and, y’know, God forbid, actually own up to how you feel. Own up to her, I mean. You don’t have to talk to her tonight, or even tomorrow, or however that works in the TARDIS, but you do have to talk to her. Okay?” Shoving her hands in her jacket-pockets, Martha stares stubbornly forward, refusing to let herself be cowed by anything she might see playing across the Doctor’s face. “She’s been through a lot, and she needs you,” Martha says quietly, and she wishes she could say she’s only talking about Rose here. “And she needs you to tell her how much you care. She needs to hear it. Humans need to hear stuff like that. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s stupid or unnecessary or not. It’s still what she needs.” Now she looks up at him, jaw set and gaze sharp. “Got it?” At least the Doctor has the decency to look the littlest bit abashed before his trademark grin slaps back in place. “So you’re properly friends, then?” “Yeah,” says Martha grumpily, crossing her arms with a hmph. “We are.” “Good, I was starting to think you two might not fancy each other’s company all that much.” “Well, I like her a whole lot better than I like you right now.” The Doctor chuckles. “Fair enough.” Beaming down at her, he extends an elbow. “Now, I believe we were discussing the possibility of obtaining some local delicacies, Miss Jones?” Martha eyes his arm warily. He winks at her. Ugh. He’s such an arse sometimes. But still, he’s an arse who’s happy to grab a bite with her, with or without Rose. So maybe that counts for something. And pie doesn’t sound half-bad. (An irresistible arse, then. And doesn’t he know it.) “Fine,” Martha says grudgingly, threading her arm through his. “But you’re paying, Mr. Smith.” “Fair enough,” the Doctor says again, laughing. ***

[ashleighxx]

Klarolinemashup Day Three

Sunday16th|TropeMashupPrompt|MythicalCreatures+CoffeeshopAU

She was deep into her favorite book, coffee machines and people chattering as background noise as she was consumed by the story yet again, and she never tired of the feeling she got when she submerged herself into a new world, lived a different life from someone else's eyes.

"Your kind are hard to come by." A deep, accented voice brought her out of her reverie.   She glanced up from her book that was sat in front of her next to her latte and saw a handsome man. He had stubble which helped emphasise his jawline a bit, short, curly, brown hair and bright blue eyes. Very handsome indeed. He exuded charm, bravado and power underneath the good looking exterior, her inner demon was itching to come out and play. Can tell how powerful he was, can tell how more powerful he could be too. Her demon smiled in delight. "And yours is fun to play with." "I'm glad you think so, maybe you can help me out with a tiny problem?" He leaned forward into her personal space, his scent of woods and whisky and age travelled to her, she nestled purred in delight. "What kind of problem?" She raised her eyebrow in question, trying to tame herself, rein her claws and teeth that itches to sink into his skin. "One that requires your unusual tactics. Come by place tomorrow," he passed her a business card with and address and number on, "we can have a chat in private if you're interested." And with that he stood up from his chair and walked out of the coffee shop. Glancing at his card she spotted his name. Klaus Mikaelson. His kind was so much fun indeed. Especially a family of Original vampires.

.

Caroline walked up the pathway leading her to a massive mansion. The architecture of the place was simply stunning and was highlighted with the off-white limestone paint. She stood in front of the huge door way, two large marble pillars at either side of her, she knocked the door quietly knowing she would be heard. "Well hello there, darling. What can I do for you?" The young, dark haired, roughing looking man greeted her. A seductive smile graced his face but his eyes were all predatory. A gust of wind drew her attention behind him where Klaus appeared. "Come in, love. Ignore my brother Kol here would you, he knows no manners." Stepping into the house she was awestruck by the beauty of the interior. No matter how long she had lived her life, she still loved seeing the beauty in the world, was still shocked by the wonderful sight of it all. Caroline turned back to see Klaus gazing at her with a pleased smiled, and he should. "So you're the succubus." Kol concluded before his features lit with glee and mischievous. "You have got to do me! Glamour me, put me in a trance!" He practically jumped around like he was a child wanting treats, a dog wanting it's chew toy. Caroline looked at Klaus to see if his brother was insane or dead serious in his request and the hybrid shrugged his shoulders a little, giving her the choice to use her power on him or not. She looked into the younger originals eyes and felt her power prickle beneath the skin, smiling seductively she touched his shoulder as she walked passed, leaving him to sand where he was, stuck until his visions were over. "Follow me."

The hybrid led her into his study slash studio. The large room was split in two, on the left was an easel and paints decorated around a table, canvases strewn across the side wall and sketch book upon sketch book stacked on a side table too. She was surprised that the art studio was as organised as an artist could be. She's seen her fair share of them over the centuries. The right side of the room had floor to ceiling height bookcases, lined up with ancients rolls of parchment and books. A large wooden desk was sat in front of the bookcases and a chair in between them, facing his art studio. In the middle of the room sat two sofas opposite each other and a table in between. Decanters of blood and alcohol inside them. "Please sit." Klaus nudged her further into the room and he walked around her to gather some crystal glasses, sitting on a sofa while he poured the brown liquid into them. "So how did you know what I am? Only a few know my kind exists, never mind actually finding us." Caroline asked him. It was true though, not many people seemed to find her species out, even witches claimed they were myth and that only vampires and werewolves existed. "Let's just say my brother Kol is on good terms with a friend of yours, Lorenzo?" She nodded, thinking of ways she's gonna kill him if this goes wrong. "Well he told us if your location as you were closer to us than him. He also said you wouldn't mind as you'll enjoy playing." Caroline took a deep gulp of her whisky as Klaus leaned back in his chair, confident that she would help. He had a tiny gleam in his eyes, excitement. Hers probably matched his, she did enjoy having fun. "What is it you wish for me to do?" "What is it you can do?" Klaus challenged her, not many that did know of her existence knew the power she held and how she weaved it. It's how they liked it. "Don't you worry about that, what do you need done?" She challenged. "There's a precious stone that I need to retrieve, but I cannot procure an invite to the house. The town of Mystic Falls are aware of vampires and their weaknesses due to a council of founding families. The whole town aren't aware but just enough to get messy when I need to do a bit of light thievery and murder you know?" He paused sipping on his drink before he carried on. "The moonstone I need back is in the mayor's house, somewhere. There is also a teeny glitch called the Salvatore brothers. Both vampires and harbouring my doppelgänger." Caroline was deep in thought planning, seeing what powers would be needed and what not. Humans are easy, they don't really question much. Vampires, though fun to play with, may be able to tell if she put them in a trance depending on how old they are.

“So why don't you just kill them all in a horrific town meeting then take the doppelgänger?”

“My brother, Elijah, made me a deal unfortunately. If I was to spare his deceitful doppelgänger who escaped my last ritual and promised not to kill anyone next time round, then he and his whore would help me by keeping an eye on her family lineage, let me know when a new doppelgänger popped up and stay out of the way.”

A few hours later, a few more drinks later, Caroline and Klaus had finally mapped out a plan and a contingency plan and a further few more ideas if anything should go wrong. But she was confident in getting the job done the first time. Klaus was doubting as he didn't know of her abilities and he also didn't want the ritual to go wrong.

Suddenly the doors barged open, Kol standing in a slight gaze, looking at her in awe with a huge smile on his face. "Oh my God. That. That was amazing! Wow. Nik, you need a go of that.." He thrummed in excitement. "Thank you." And with that he flashed back out.

"What did you make him see? When he was in that trance?" Klaus asked her, still curious of her powers. She didn't mind answering this though as she didn't know herself. "When I put people in that trance like state of mind, it shows the person their desires. It could be money, power, sex. It differs person to person. Once in that trance I could see what they are seeing, use that information to seduce them into plans and schemes or I could choose not to see their desires and still feed on the power they produce from the trance." "So that's one of your powers?" "And that's all you're getting to know of them." She pointed her finger at him sternly. . It only took Caroline an evening to do her tasks, like she told the hybrid, so she waited until the night before the full moon. She made sure he had his witch waiting for the ritual. She was in the Grille for her unsuspected target, son of the mayor, Tyler. He was so into her all evening that she didn't need to seduce him with her powers before he invited her home. Luckily enough for both of them, he passed out in bed from all the alcohol he drank. Waiting until she could hear his parents sleeping she cast her powers over them that made sure they slept, giving her plenty of time to find the moonstone in the location Tyler drunkenly slipped out. The house only had one safe. After Caroline pocketed the moonstone, she made her way over to the Salvatore boarding house. The eldest brother and the school teacher, from the notes and research Klaus told her of, sat by the fire drinking, brooding. From the power she absorbed from the Lockwood's, she felt it prickle under her skin, itching to get out. She focused her power as she let it loose and she knocked the pair out before casting them into a sleep. Just one more house to visit tonight then she had work to do tomorrow to keep them distracted. The Gilbert house, just three humans and a vampire staying in the house. Perfect. It was nearly sunrise so the occupants were already asleep, making her job so much easier. The aunt and brother were the easy targets, but the vampire had to be done first in case he woke up and spotted her. Once the three were under her spell she woke the brunette doppelgänger up, her eyes lit in fear and confusion as Caroline's eyes turn silver whispering seductive commands for her to calm down and follow, into her car and back to her hotel where Klaus waited for her.

He smiled gratefully as he took the moonstone and the Gilbert girl away, leaving her to get some much needed rest and a shower.

The next day she spent all day trapping them inside the grille unknowingly under her spell before she made her way to the woods to watch Klaus' ritual. Watching him slaughter three innocents before he fell to the floor, blood dripping down him, bones cracking and golden eyes. Breathtaking. . Caroline spent three days pacing her hotel room nervously, constantly checking her phone for any signs of him being alive. She wasn't used to feeling this anxious before, this need to know if someone is safe. But she had and she needed to know. So she grabbed her bag and made her way to the front door, surprised at opening it to reveal the hybrid in question, looking very much alive. Looking very, very attractive. Wearing his dark grey henley, black jeans that fitted his rear perfectly, black combat boots and his array of necklaces. Bringing her eyes to his face hoping she wasn't caught practically drooling, she brought herself back down to her mask of boredom and nonchalance. "Finally going to take me up on that trance offer?" He walked in without taking his eyes off her and closed the door after him, "You could try if you want." Frowning, Caroline brought her power from deep within her, felt it being cast over Klaus but it didn't click, didn't sink into his body but instead drew back into her. "It didn't work." "Performance issues." He joked as he walked towards her, making her step back unconsciously. "That's never happened before." She was still staring back into his eyes as she felt the wall hit her back all of a sudden, Klaus standing in front of her, gazing, searching. "Why didn't it work?" She questioned herself more than him, but he answered anyway. "Because I don't want a little fantasy, Caroline. I want the real thing." His voice came out husky as he positioned himself, hitching her right leg over his hip and drawing his hand on her bare thigh as her dress moved. "The real thing?" She gulped in anticipation, blood pumping with arousal. "And what real thing do you want?" She spoke breathlessly. His other hand came up and cradled her face, both thumbs moving in circles, in sync with each other over her soft skin. He tilted her face up towards his more as he closed the gap between them. Both smiling as their eyes flicked to the others lips and back to each other's eyes. "You." He barely managed to get the words out before his mouth finally reached hers, her hands coming up to cling on to the back of his neck, grabbing into his curls as she deepened the kiss.

[aithne]

(Illume) Tomika's letters, 9/5 - 9/28/1583: The Lion and the Unicorn

9/5/1583 Kanazawa

Dearest Yukiko,

Saying that the last few days have been busy would be the understatement of the age. Akechi probably told you after we visited that he suggested we go clean out the nest of vipers that Kanazawa, the Lion Clan headquarters, has become. He said that Ryoto and Sachiko were there, Usagi is there and posing as a Dragon clan ambassador (to which Haku replied, "I will kill her. Slowly."), and General Isamu was probably somewhere around as well. (Ryoto being the Lion Clan Lord, but you knew that.)

Reiko also asked for advice concerning her situation, which is the first time I believe I have heard the full story about the ugly trap the kitsune is in. (Who would have thought that the kitsune and the Thrykreen are possibly the male and female of the same race?) He had no useful suggestions for her other than the possibility of killing her mother, at which she looked utterly appalled. Killing Edi-lo would restore the Demonbane's honor, since she was the cause of its loss in the first place, and he would probably give up his crusade against the kitsune at that point. Reiko, however, seemed to consider this and reject it as a possibility. So she either sacrifices her life, sacrifices her immortality and loses all of her spells as well as all of her spirits, or does nothing and dies anyway.

It's not a situation I envy. She looks haunted these days, does the kitsune.

We decided to load everyone into the mirror, tell the ships to sail around the north end of the island and meet us on the other side, and use Gryphon Air to fly to Kanazawa, almost due east of Tokyo.

Funitsu's orb turned up several interesting things, by the way. General Omura was nailed to a wall, upside down, and men were preparing to torture him. Muriko, who I've never met but I believe you have, was lying on some sort of hard surface, the sign of the Covenant burned into his chest. Everything else seemed to be more or less status quo.

We arrived in Kanazawa on the fourth of September. All things considered, it was a bustling town with little obvious civil unrest, and the Unicorn Clan for some reason had a compound quite near the Lion Clan's compound. The librarian wanted to go speak to his semi-adopted clan, and he went off, while my husband contacted his own factors in town.

The librarian came back, and his eyes were grave. He gathered all of us around and told us that all of the Battle Maidens guarding the Unicorn compound were dressed in mourning white, and Storming Bear is dead, assassinated. The deed was done by someone with a dimension door sword--much like ours.

Storming Bear's two daughters are here, and in negotiations with Ryoto. Knowing that Ryoto is controlled by the twilight spirit, we knew that the girls were in trouble.

The other very troubling thing is that it appears that Storming Bear left instructions to the effect that if he died, the Unicorn Clan would fall under the control of Lord Soshi. You know, the one who travels with us. Funitsu returned and said that his people knew about the assassination, but it hadn't been their work--though it had been set up to look like it.

All put together, it smelled very much like a setup. If nothing else, it was a tangled knot of intrigue to unravel.

Funitsu scried on Ryoto, and requested Reiko's assistance. She said that Ryoto (who was badly wounded a number of months ago) was being healed by Sachiko--but was being harmed by him at the same time, with magics designed to thin his blood and hamper healing. And Naoko, the mage who has been tracking our reality-door wakizashis, was somewhere near the city, as well. Another thread around the knot, indeed.

We set about untangling the knot. Haku left to go speak with Storming Bear's daughters--Thunderstorm and Sun Bear, who we met last time we were in Aomori--about Usagi, to warn them that she was not actually representing his clan. Panda and Gryphon went to speak to Ryoto, as Panda is officially a member of the Lion clan.

[At this point, Yukiko, I am pulling things together from the various reports of your retinue. Many things happened in very short order here.]

Haku explained about Usagi to the Unicorn daughters, and then established the fact that Funitsu, at the time that Storming Bear had been killed, was with all of us together at Skyhome. Panda, on the other hand, established a pretext for Ryoto and gave him a drink of the true source. She, ah, stretched the truth a little bit, and said that what was in the vial was Gryphon's tears, which she claimed had a healing power to them. (I suppose samurai can lie when they want to. Good to know.) After the true source took effect, she explained quickly about Sachiko, and the fact that he was surrounded by a web of lies and vipers.

He then asked Panda to take over the Lion Clan for the moment, while his mind and body recovered. He also asked for some warriors to use as guards, as he no longer trusted anyone close to him.

The rest of us had gone to talk to the Unicorn daughters, when Tadaki recieved a message from Panda, requesting immediate assistance. Usagi was evidently walking to the door of the Lion compound, and once she realized that Ryoto was no longer under control, she was likely to kill him. Haku, Tadaki, Jeron and the Thrykreen we had with us went to help Panda and Gryphon. The librarian, said, "Naoko is approaching--I don't know why, but it can't be good."

So we put the Unicorn daughters into the mirror, and the librarian, Funitsu, Reiko, and I waited for Naoko to walk into the room.

When she did, she recieved a very unwelcome surprise in the form of the librarian's sword in her side. We had a brief yet interesting battle; there was an acid fog and a prismatic spray, a spell I've never seen used in combat. (Must learn it! Most effective.) When the smoke cleared and the librarian cut off Naoko's head, Funitsu was a statue. The rest of us had been badly shocked with electricity, but would live.

(Ssssh, Yukiko, don't tell, but my heart twisted when I saw him like that.)

I rapped on his head with my knuckles and remarked, "This is the hardest I've seen him in months."

Reiko replied, "We could leave him like that, you know. How would you like control of Clan Scorpion?"

I hemmed and hawed and finally declined. She and I laughed about it, a little. Sometimes, we are kindred spirits. She knew exactly what I meant by my remark--and I knew exactly what she meant. We have something in common, she and I: an affection for a man who isn't interested in either of us.

Assured that Tadaki could probably do something about my husband, we bundled the statue into the mirror.

At the same time, the others were fighting their own battle. Tadaki turned Usagi into a mouse, which Haku killed and is going to have stuffed and mounted as an example to those who wish to misrepresent themselves as part of his clan. An explosion near Ryoto's quarters alerted them to the fact that Sachiko was present and pissed as hell, and they turned their attention to that battle. Sachiko had very little chance against even a bit more than half of the retinue, but managed to get in a Harm on Gryphon, a spell he was unacquainted with and I presume never wants to have cast on him again.

Naoko had the other two reality-door wakizashis on her--the Crane and the Lion. Reiko picked up the Crane sword and experimentally held it to her leg. There was a flash, and the most extraordinary thing happened. Reiko's hair was no longer a lightless black, but the pure silver-white that is so common among my clan. It looks very odd on her, and I'm afraid that scarlet is no longer going to be her best color--nor is gold, her other favorite color. We gave the Lion wakizashi to Panda, since she was actually a member of the clan.

We all met up at the quarters we had rented, and patched each other up, Reiko draining herself dry of healing spells. We discussed amongst ourselves possibilities for resolving the knot we'd only partially untangled, but decided to leave most of the discussion for the morrow.

The next morning, after Tadaki had unstoned my husband (after asking me if there were any modifications to, ah, his natural equipment that I wanted. After a moment of deliberation in which I recognized that the change I desire is one he could not effect, I declined), we went to talk with Ryoto, and then the Unicorn girls.

Ryoto was easy, after gathering a number of healers to him that Reiko made sure weren't going to harm him. He did more or less force Panda to accept permanent leadership of the Lion Clan, so now Panda is Lady Morimoto.

The girls were a bit more difficult to settle. Neither of them were really suited to clan leadership; Thunderstorm is a warrior at heart, a bit limited in her intelligence but fearsome in battle, and did not really want the responsibilities of leadership, and Sun Bear (whose nickname is Sunny), though intelligent, is only fourteen. They had been here in Kanazawa to see if one of them could marry Ryoto; they had realized that he wasn't the best choice, but he was the best they could think of.

Sun Bear will be a good leader in five or six years, as long as she has some guidance along the way. Panda took the girls aside and asked them if they had anyone among their clan that they liked and who would make a good leader. Both of them immediately named, of all people, the librarian.

(I had to leave the room briefly, as I was in danger of losing my composure to a fit of the giggles. I returned in good time, however. It's just that the librarian, when I met him, seemed the last person who would be pursued by women, and now he's attracted a kitsune and these two girls.)

Panda posed the question to Hiroshi, and said he had the option of marrying either--or both--of them, if he wanted. After some pondering, he chose to marry them both.

A state wedding is in order, and in contrast to all of the weddings we have performed in the past few months, this one could be public--and, in fact, needed to be public. We have too many people to take by mirror (and the Unicorns are notoriously intolerant of magic), so we will be caravaning up the coast with the Unicorn detachment. It should be about three weeks; we will be traveling slowly.

Reiko is beside herself with excitement. Evidently, the kitsune adores organizing parties. Go figure. We'll be dropping by to visit while we're traveling, I'm sure.

So, let me sum up here.

We are now traveling with the leaders of the Scorpion, Lion, Dragon, and Unicorn clans. We have a strong alliance with the Crab and a shakier one with the Phoenix. My own clan, the Crane, has evidently been decimated. (I hope my father is still alive. I am afraid I don't have a lot of optimism that he's escaped Arenro's clutches.)

I think, Yukiko, that we might be winning.

Pray we have a quiet three weeks. It would do us all some good to have a rest.

With greatest affection, Tomika

9/25/1583 the road to Aomori

Dearest Yukiko,

So many letters have I started and then torn up. Without battles, I seem to have a lack of things to tell you, and I am terrible at poetry. We are nearing Aomori, caravan in tow, and I have finally become used to sitting a horse though I still have no interest in learning to fire a bow from horseback. Much as several of the Unicorn men seemed to be interested in teaching me.

It has been a strange and quiet time. Hiroshi has been acquainting himself with his fiancees in the time-honored tradition of going out hunting with the two of them. (They are occasionally accompanied by our two kitsune; along with her hair color change, Reiko's fur color has changed to a stark white, without even shading towards the tips of her tails. And she seems to have gained another tail from somewhere, as she now has three.) Oddly enough, I think all of them may be well-suited, in different ways. Panda and Nibori are still acting, when they're off-duty, for all the world like lovesick teenagers. It's very sweet and I have been telling myself that I mustn't be envious.

It seems Reiko and Jeron have taken up again; evidently her anger at the Thrykreen was short-lived. I don't think I've ever seen the kitsune as happy as she has been for the last little while. She has been in her element, planning a state wedding, and perhaps the strangest thing of all is that she seems to be sleeping with nobody but the Thrykreen general. These days, she is rarely seen out of the company of either Jeron or Gryphon, and though she is still odd, her grip on reality seems to be more certain than it has been. She still talks to people none of the rest of us can see, but perhaps I have grown used to that.

It as if something has been settled in her mind, lately. I think she has made her decision about what she's going to do about her father's persecution of her people, though she has told nobody. (I realize that you love him, Yukiko, but...genocide seems to be an overreaction to one's wife sleeping with other men.) I have been trying to tell her that with her white hair, she'll look better in clear blues and greens, but she refuses to give up her scarlet kimonos. It's very easy to tell her and her mother apart now, even to the untrained eye, which is likely a blessing.

Tadaki has been being Tadaki, contacting the hengenyokai in every territory that we pass through. Haku has been much busied with messages from his Clan, as well as finding a taxidermist who will preserve the body of the mouse that was Usagi.

And so the time has passed, slowly.

Tomorrow we reach Aomori, and we will hold a pair of weddings. We have been scrying on those that remain of our enemies. Hideyoshi seems to be moving north in some sort of wagon, healers bent over him; he has been gravely wounded in some battle recently. Arenro was alone, perhaps outside of Tokyo. The mage looked tired and worn, and there was a blue haze outside his window.

Amaya, the mage who has been trying to capture the Demonbane, was in Sapporo. Oddly enough, she was looking for Edi-lo. And when Reiko and Funitsu scried on the Demonbane, they saw him, looking at us, looking at him, looking at us...

The Demonbane waved.

Reiko muttered, "I knew it."

Sakura, the mage who is tracking hengenyokai, was examining a map that seemed to be showing Tadaki's current whereabouts. Hitomi, the mage who was assigned to track down Lao-tzu, was in a place that looked much like Aomori. Her head was shaved and her scalp had been tattooed. She was begging for scraps in the street, her eyes empty of thought.

It looks like she found him, and he got the better of her.

I will burn a prayer to the kami that your delivery goes smoothly. I am sure you are tired of being pregnant, and the fact that your child seems to be somewhat reluctant to emerge from the womb cannot be reassuring. It will be soon, I promise, and with any luck the delay in your delivery means that we will be able to attend the birth.

All wishes for your health and happiness, Yukiko.

With great affection, Tomika

9/26/1583 Aomori

Dearest Yukiko,

The weddings went off without a hitch, and Hiroshi has embarked on what will be the first of two wedding nights. Sun Bear will spend the night among us, as her turn is tomorrow night. I do like her, as I like both of the girls. Thunderstorm is quite pleasant company, especially since she and I can swap tales of battles fought. And it is easy to forget that Sunny is so young; sometimes, she seems very adult in her outlook on things.

All of us now are Clan Leaders except the kitsune. Reiko seems to be perfectly happy with her relative unimportance, however.

Earlier today, on our way into town, we located Hitomi and gave her a drink of the true source. We elected to leave her as is, with the belief that she is a beggar tattooed into her skin.

I find myself becoming rather fond of the company of the Unicorns. They are barbarians, it is true, almost as bad as gaijin. But there is a certain rough honesty to them, and their politics are very simple. Quite a change from either of my clans--the one I was born into, and the one I married into.

You are in all of our thoughts as we wait. Do have Akechi send a message the moment you go into labor.

All my love, Tomika

9/28/1583 Aomori

A member of the Black Hand came to us and requested audience yesterday, we granted it, and it was noted that the man looked quite glazed. Reiko murmured, "He has some sort of mind control on him."

The man said that he had been contacted by someone who wanted him to carry a message to us, asking for a meeting. He was to carry a message back from us, three hours hence, with a time and location. He told us where he was supposed to meet the man who had contacted him, and then Haku asked Reiko to dispel the control on him.

She accomplished this, and it turned out that the Black Hand member had no idea about being asked to carry a message, seeming to wake and saying, "I'm sorry, lords, I hadn't realized I was walking into a meeting."

We sent him off with a return message for the mysterious whoever-it-was to meet us at Storming Bear's tomb, as soon as possible.

When we arrived, there was one person in front of the tomb, cloaked against the sun. Reiko observed that he was glowing with great magics that were contained within him somehow. He was dressed in armor that seemed to almost be peeling away from him.

He man pulled his hood back. It was Hideyoshi.

He told us that he--the twilight spirit--was done. He had spent the past three weeks traveling and collecting the rest of the fragments who were scattered among the generals, and it was time for him to be finished with this fight. He asked, "Tadaki, may I see your orb?"

Tadaki argued, and Hideyoshi managed to convince him that all he wanted to do was to release the entirety of his spirit into the orb. Finally, the Sparrow consented, and held out his orb.

Hideyoshi laid his hand on the orb, which began to glow brightly, and then fell to his knees. He shook his head and asked, "What's happened? Where am I?"

The last thing he remembered was being present at Emperor Nobunga's execution. He has missed the last four months, the war, the blood that has been spilled at his orders--everything. We told him that months had passed, and then said, "Well, what's happened...is a long story."

Hideyoshi marveled at Hiroshi's transformation and Reiko's newly white hair, wondered at the fact that all of us seemed to have been turned into leaders of clans, was introduced to me, Jeron, and Nibori, and was shocked that Gryphon has become so large.

We will be bringing him through the mirror tonight to Akechi, and let him explain everything that's gone on.

Tomorrow, we go to Sapporo, to track down Amaya, and let Funitsu try to bargain with the Demonbane. Akechi told Reiko to ask the Demonbane about Jeron, and my husband, I think, hopes to bring about an end to the standoff between the Demonbane and Reiko without killing either one of them. If nothing else, we hope to find out if there are any more original Thrykreen still in the world. Reiko believes that with even a few more Thrykreen, the two halves of the race would eventually balance out, and the kitsune would no longer be a menace to the world.

I asked her, tonight, "Are you afraid?"

She shrugged. "I am a very small fox in a world filled with things that have sharper teeth than I do. Of course I'm afraid. But it doesn't matter what happens to me, Tomika. If I die tomorrow, I will have small regrets. But if I end the persecution of my people in the process, then my life will have had meaning. That's something few foxes can ever say about our lives. I've lived more lifetimes than any one being has any right to. This last one, at least, has the potential to redeem all the rest."

There was nothing I could say to that, Yukiko.

With greatest affection, Tomika.

Quotes:

"There was a recap?" "It was in Kris' livejournal." "Kris has a livejournal?" "Yes...." "Who is Kris? Oh, you're Kris!" --Ray and Storm

"This donut has fish on it!" --Graham

"I am old, Lady Panda..." "Oh, CRAP." --Ryoto and Panda, who correctly sensed that Ryoto was about to try to stick her with leadership of the Lion Clan

"You now have two hit points." "I don't feel so good. I'm moulting!" --Storm and Laura

"That's the hardest I've seen him for months." "We could leave him like that if you want. You want Clan Scorpion?" "Well...hm." ("REIKO!" cries Panda, OOC because she wasn't there) --Tomika and Reiko, about the petrified Funitsu

"She PINCHED me! HARD!" --Gryphon, about the first Harm spell we've seen this campaign

[talldrink-o-h2o]

Lifestyle: Buying a New Car

I grew up in Michigan, which you can read about extensively in this post. Everyone in Michigan either was employed by the auto industry (working for the Big 3 – GM, Chrysler, or Ford, as the case was in the ‘90s) or had family who worked in the auto industry. To this day, I know I’m in Michigan because of the lack of foreign cars on the road. I remember people would make racial slurs to my mom for the three years she owned a Toyota Camry, because it was more acceptable to say a racist comment than to drive a foreign car.

As a side note, I went to school in East Lansing from 2004 to 2008. This was when it was becoming mainstream to pay an obscene amount for drip coffee, a trend which continues to this day. East Lansing was home to a startup coffee chain called Beaners. I shit you not. Beaners experienced massive growth in Michigan and started to look to national expansion. They tried to enter into the Texas market. Allegedly the Texas powers-that-be said you can’t have a coffee shop that is named Beaners in Texas. Turns out that this is a racial slur for the migrant workers. Calling a shop this would alienate a good portion of the population. The company has since changed its name to Biggby (pronounced “Big B”) and claim the change had nothing to do with how offensive the name was. Which shows why people in Michigan thought it was okay to tell my mom she drove a rice racer because her car was Japanese.

But I digress. My aunt and grandfather both had worked for GM and my mother’s childhood best friend’s husband was a co-owner of a car dealership (did you follow that?). A person who retires from GM is granted a discount for him/her and their family for life. Because of this, it was insane for our family not to drive GM cars.*

When I turned sixteen, Katrina had conveniently totaled the little Mazda MX3 my dad had bought for her from a woman he worked with. The woman had kept it in mint condition, barely putting miles on it, and my dad got it for a song. One missed stop sign and the car was kaput. Because Katrina was a senior in high school and would be going to Michigan State the next year where she wouldn’t be allowed to have a car, my parents thought it’d be prudent to get us a car we could share for a year and then I could have it to myself my senior year. That’s how we got a year-old silver Pontiac Grand Am. And aside from feigning heartburn at the injustice of it all,** that car would take us all the way through college and follow me to my first year in Minnesota.

The first spring I lived in Minnesota, I had agreed to give my car to my sister, who had finished her MBA and was moving out to Virginia for her first job. This meant I needed a new car. Up until this point, the most I had ever spent on any single purchase was a $200 purse. I came out of undergrad with $20,000 of student loan debt and dumbly chose to live in a brand new apartment in the coolest neighborhood that literally cost more than one of my paychecks. I had no money to put down on a car and the idea of buying anything, let alone taking on yet another loan, made me sick to my stomach. I stayed up many nights talked to Steve about it, whom I had just started dating, and whom has always been much more frugal than me. For instance, he lived with his dad for a few years after undergrad so stockpiled an amount of cash. His favorite activity on the weekend is to determine just how much we’ll be able to save in the coming year and at what age we can retire. He offered to co-sign the loan for me, something I’d obviously need, being “cash poor” as the lady at the bank would later describe me to my dad. On principle, I couldn’t have a man I just started dating as my co-signer (I couldn’t think to the next week, why would I be beholden to this dude for five years?) so I had my dad sign.

The car I chose? A year-old silver Pontiac G6 with 22,000 miles on it. This is the car that replaced the Grand Am, because even though I no longer lived in Michigan, why would I ever buy anything other than American? Also the idea of doing research and going from dealership to dealership seemed daunting and not the same pastime activity in Minnesota as it was in Michigan. Don’t worry, this wasn’t an exact replica of the car I had just driven to my sister. This car was a very practical two-door, my statement to the world that I wasn’t planning to get married or have kids cause they couldn’t fit anyway. I chose it because I thought the trunk was cute. “I like its butt,” I told the salesman.

Fast forward to November 2018. I still have the G6. In the 9.5 years I’ve had the car, I’ve put a whopping 45,000 miles on it, meaning I never drive the thing. The furthest distances she traveled were two trips to Michigan, three trips to Milwaukee, and one time to Chicago. Only recently did I start driving her with any regularity, which is because I finally got access to Target’s restricted parking lot (you can reminisce about my first month parking there here). On an average day, my driving is 3-5 miles round trip. It’s less than two miles total to get to and from work, and if I throw in a class at OrangeTheory, I top out at five miles total.

Do you remember what it’s like to drive around in a 2009 model? There’s no back-up camera. There’s no keyless engine start. There’s no input for a phone to connect and certainly no Bluetooth. The dashboard is digital but not a touchscreen. It’s basically the Stone Age.

But back to money. A lot of people will say that they don’t buy cars because they don’t invest in depreciating assets. Which like, fuck off. If you’re leasing your BMW 5Series every three years that means you’re paying $500+ per month every month with no end. You’re pissing away money that could be used on literally anything else.

I always said I’d keep my car until it was ten years old or hit 100,000 miles, whichever came first, which, based on my habits, is clearly going to be the former versus the latter. Also, though, I really don’t like having a car payment so my intention was to drag this baby out as long as I could and start doing some initial research this spring.

But, like any long-term relationship, my car required some TLC recently. I was driving her when the “Service Tire Monitor” light came on. At the time, it was winter in Minnesota and air pressure in tires is a real thing, so being able monitor the pressure is something, but this seemed more like a nice-to-have, versus a need-to-have. So I put it off. I should also note that the only other time this light came on, I was driving down the road (not the highway, thank God) and the car just completely shut down in the middle of traffic. It was able to turn back on but it did it again a second time. As I learned while running, the symptom is not usually the cause and the car’s computer had to be reset – nothing to do with the tire monitor at all. One might think that story would have led me to quicker action this time around, but it did not.

On a November weekend, I went to a suburb for new running shoes (as discussed here). I was forced to take the scenic route home, because the road to the highway was blocked by some random festival. I had to go through a neighboring suburb where I could catch the highway. As I got close to the highway, literally every light on my dashboard – Check ABS, Check Airbag, Traction Control Off – started flashing.

I was nervous, but not overly concerned, and called Steve, who was watching Purdue football. “All the lights on my dashboard are on and flashing,” I started in.

“Uh huh,” he said, distracted, over the sounds of football in the background.

“Well, I just wanted you to know that if I die, this is why.”

“Okay – I’m going to go back to watching the game,” he hung up, unconcerned.

I figured that since things were going nuts and I clearly needed to reset my car’s computer, I might as well call Firestone. I explained what was going on with my car and asked if they’d have any availability today.

“No. Actually the earliest we can get you in is Monday,” the Firestone man informed me.

“Can I just drop it off today? She’s no good to me – actually,” I cut myself off. “My car is shutting down now. I need to call someone who can help me. Bye.”

My car completely died in a busy intersection. I tried to turn my car to the side street but only managed to be at a sight angle causing a backup in traffic. I tried turning the car on and off many times over, but nothing was happening. Now, I was panicked. I put my hazards on and started sweating. I called Steve, unclear what to do in this situation.

“Now don’t get mad, but, did you try turning it off and on?” Helpful.

“Yes. Duh. Many times. It won’t go back on. I have my hazards on but people keep honking. What do I do?” I was starting to freak, picturing that my death would not be because my car blew up on me, but rather because the cars behind me would not notice and crash into me.

“Uh…well…umm…” I could hear his brain working but also thought that maybe something was happening in the game.

“I’m going to call someone who can help me. Bye,” and I very aggressively hung up the phone on my husband.

I was able to get a tow truck and three really kind men who were walking by pushed my car out of the intersection and into a parking spot. One even started yelling at the people who were honking as he helped. Like the completely sane, rational, strong, independent woman I am, after the men saw I was safe and went back about their day, I started crying.

To move the story along, my tow truck friend Kyle delivered my G6 to the Firestone I had called previously. I called to alert them and miraculously they now had time to fix my car that day. Steve came and got me – I apparently told him the wrong intersection so not only did he have to leave the game, he was sent to the wrong place, so he scolded me for that upon arrival. I apologized but also reminded him that I was a little distracted.

All in, my car needed a new alternator, battery, spark plugs, and fuel flush. It cost me $1000. Everyone told me that was high and Steve had been able to get them to drop off a whopping $50, but as I asked everyone who offered their armchair quarterback advice, what leverage did I have?

The following Tuesday morning, I was driving my car to OrangeTheory when the Service Tire Monitor light came on, again. This time, I was no fool. I called the Firestone guys on my way back home post-class and they told me to bring it in. The man on the phone let me know that checking tire pressure is complimentary.

Great, sir, but when the air pressure needs to be checked, a light comes on that says, “Check Air Pressure,” not “Service Tire Monitor.” I had to explain this twice, but they ignored me and sent me out to the garage to have a mechanic check the air pressure, because what do I know? I’m just the girl who cries when people are kind to strangers and who overpays for auto repair.

Turns out my air pressure was just fine, but, wouldn’t you know it? One of the tire monitors was out. Don’t worry, that was another $250.

All in all, I decided that I at least needed to get my money’s worth and drive my car through the spring, which will be its ten-year anniversary. Then I will begin the hunt for a new car.

On my list? Unfortunately, Pontiac has since been discontinued by General Motors. An Audi Q5, Jaguar E-Pace, and Infiniti QX50. For the first time, I’m going foreign. And I will be looking to lease, not only because that car payment is so much cheaper, but also because, when the Service Tire Monitor light comes on, someone else will pay the $1250.

 *This obviously didn’t stop my mom from not only owning the aforementioned Camry, but also a Ford van (not a mini-van because apparently owning a mini-van is worse than owning one of those huge vans with the sliding doors that pedophiles drive around in).

**Really my brothers should be the ones complaining. Keith, the eldest, had to buy the Beretta he drove with money he collected from the paper route. He would later inherit my mom’s Ford van, which turns out is the exact wrong thing to give a high schooler unless you want to promote kids getting drunk in the spacious back area. My other brother, Kent, drove a Dodge Diplomat which was more or less a land yacht. It had this big, cushy leather seats that could fit two people each and, unfortunately, the heater only worked sporadically – a problem in Michigan winters – and when it did work, it’d make a really loud noise. He’d proceed to hit the dashboard hard with his fist until the sound stopped. I think a barely used Grand Am to share with my sister was luxury.

[celestial-writespace]

Seemingly

Sometimes, your greatest love isn’t always the one you end up with.

[ genre: romance, teen fiction ]

Have you ever met someone who you thought was seemingly perfect? It’s this one person who just seems to have absolutely everything you’re looking for. A person you’d never thought could even exist. That one person, the one who you’d always have a soft spot for. That was it, that was exactly what I’d describe Kyle. I’m Margaux, and this is how a green eyed boy who wore dark grey jeans and a black hoodie that day in September changed my life forever.

If you’re reading this, then it must mean that it’s probably already some time in 2040 where I’m all grown up, being stable and all, and this “story” I’m writing, just happened to live on for a couple decades. I don’t know who’ll be reading this, if you’re my friend or a completely random stranger, but in case you didn’t already get it, or you just completely went over all the things I said, I’m Margaux. As of June 20th of the year 2018, I’m 18 years old, and I’m probably the typical freshman college girl. I was born and raised (as typical as it may sound) in the sunny town of Phoenix, Arizona. Let me start my story a little like this:

Okay, let’s flashback to the day I first started college. Now, I’m generally a pretty open, outgoing girl, but this day just made me so anxious. I woke up today at 4 AM, and the welcoming rally starts at 8. I was totally not stressing out. I mean, who would’ve thought i’d actually make it into my dream school? Did I even deserve it? WHY WAS I THERE? REALLY? Anyway, so I started my morning, like any other, with coffee and bread, in a desperate attempt to calm myself down and make it feel like it was just any other day. The anxiety didn’t fully go away, but my favorite bittersweet sensation from a good cup of freshly brewed coffee definitely helped. A few hours of stress, anxiety and weirdly enough, boredom combined, and the clock struck 7 o’clock. Of course, I immediately left at that moment.

As I arrived in school, the anxiety took over me. There were so many people who were so much better than me. Talk about insecurity, right? Flash forward to the end of the day, when I became tired, scared, but thankfully, a little less anxious, and a little more excited, but nevertheless, I came here to learn, and I kept in mind that I really shouldn’t let those things bother me. I deemed college one of the most life changing periods in my life. At that time, I was so ready to reinvent myself, move on from the horror that is high school, and prepare myself for a better future ahead of me.

When three months had passed since my first day at University of Phoenix, midterms had just ended, and I had been a member of this lovely sorority where my mother was once a member of, for around 2 months now.. I hoped to gain a sisterhood like no other through this. This was where I met my first college best friend, Sarah. I was definitely off to a great start, and I hoped so hard that nothing changed this for the next 4 years. However, it was way too early for me to hope, right?

One day in September, I committed to going to a Mura Masa concert with Sarah. She and I both loved Mura Masa, and it was his first show ever in Phoenix. To add, Sarah had been such a nice friend to me. She was the only one caring enough to show me around the campus voluntarily, and we’d have lunch together every time our schedules aligned. Seeing this, I knew we just had to go together. Little did I know that going to that concert would change my life forever.

My phone read 9 o’clock, the concert just started, and I was having the time of my life seeing one of my favorite artists play live with my college best friend. But there was something more magical about that night. There was a tall guy that was standing beside me, in his dark grey knee-ripped jeans, a black Mura Masa hoodie and some beat up Nikes. He sparked up a simple conversation as the intermission started. Nine. That’s how many words it took for him to finish his sentence, and how many seconds it took for me to gaze at his beautiful face, which was a bit too long for someone to respond to such a simple question. “What do you think the next song’s gonna be?” he asked me.

“I think it’s definitely gonna be my favorite, Firefly” I responded, as I lock eyes with the silver haired fellow. Suddenly, the music started. But that wasn’t the only thing that started that night, but also a love that just seemed so right. I see this as mystical I'm sure that you know, my favorite line from Firefly played as I stare at him once more. That night was mystical, for sure. Although, I’m not quite sure if it was those green eyes that got me lost every time I looked at him, or his soft-looking lips I would have loved to lock with in those moments. Kyle and I danced and sung along to our favorite songs, and not too soon after, Sarah joins in and gets to know him a little more.

The concert ended, and me and my friend were now with Kyle. As we were walking to the parking lot, we exchanged numbers. Turns out, he was an artist who dropped out of college in his sophomore year. He loved painting and photography the most, for he thought that being able to capture beautiful moments in one’s life was one of God’s greatest blessings to mankind. But to me, it was people like him. Those that appreciated the beautiful little details, and those that believed that imperfection is most times what makes us human, and what makes us beautiful.

Sarah drove me home, and during our drive, she talked to me about Kyle. “Soooo, Kyle huh?” she teases me. I wasn’t gonna deny it to my best friend.

“Yeah, I like him, what’dya think?”

“I think you guys are really compatible for each other, hell, couldn’t even get you guys separated.”

So that night I came home, I could not stop smiling and thinking about the enchanting night I had just experienced. I wondered until about 3 in the morning. Did he know how wonderstruck I was when I met him? And all I could hope for was that, he wasn’t already in love with someone else. I fell asleep to these thoughts.

The next morning, I woke up to a vibration from my phone, which rested on top of my chest. I received a text from him. “Forgot to tell you, I thought you were wonderful last night, and i’d love to get to know you more, perhaps over some coffee?” it read. The text struck my stomach with butterflies as I eagerly texted back “I feel the same, actually. How about today at 4PM?” A minute passed and I got a confirmation text, complete with the words “Can’t wait!”

We met up at a local cafe on the corner of 10th street and Park Avenue. I walked into the cafe but failed to spot him anywhere, so I decided to sit down at the table by the glass window. Five minutes passed and I saw him on the other side of the street, about to cross the road. Seeing him once more brought an uncontrollable smile on my face. He entered the cafe, approached me and I ultimately greeted him with a warm hug. He smelled bittersweet for some unknown reason, like the coffee I drank every morning. He smelled like.. Home. It was the scent I could wake up to every morning.

And so we talked for hours about our favorite songs and how he loved travelling so much that he could spend the rest of his days travelling everywhere and never have one permanent home. He told me his adventures in Peru, Japan, Australia, Indonesia, all at his age of 23. It was truly amazing to see how one man could appreciate so much in life. Everything to him was beautiful. I wondered if I was too.

Seven o’clock struck and he invited me back to his place for some dinner. I spent such a wonderful afternoon with this man, but I was not to forget why I stayed in Phoenix despite my longing urge to leave this city, my studies. I told him I had things to do and his persistence went on, not in a bad way though. He wanted to help me finish my paper for a writing class I had. Well, he was an artist so I figured he’d be of great help. I was wrong. “OH WOW now I know why you stuck with playing music and visual arts, you are absolutely terrible” I say, teasing him as I giggle. He really was terrible, but that’s not what I looked at. I looked at how hard he tried despite knowing he wasn’t exactly a good writer. It was cute. He was cute. This infatuation has really gotten over me. “It’s cute you know,” I said, staring at him as he typed on my laptop a few more senseless lines.

“What is?” He asked with a grin on his face.

“When you try like that, but fail in the end,” I answered.

“How is that cute?” He asked, this time, looking at me in the eyes that showed the most interest in what I was saying.

“Because you’re determined, and I find that cute.”

He pinched my nose and said “not as cute as you, you little human bean.” We spent the rest of the night teasing each other and just talking for hours, being with each other like nothing else mattered. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. We were spending most our nights together like this until the next month. We knew each other’s favorites, our interests, our childhood, and even our past, including past relationships. At this point, it was safe to say i loved him. Or at least I thought it was.

It was movie date after park dates after study dates. Although he dropped out of college, he never stopped supporting me in my goals. He understood how college was so important to me, and how I wanted to make things right in college after all my mistakes in high school. He knew that for me, college was the time I wanted to reinvent myself, and he was more than happy to be part of such a life changing period in my life.

Never have I met someone who scarily liked the exact things as I did. He had the same political views, same moral values. Never have I met someone so beautiful, someone who saw wonder in the least wonderful things. You could say we sort of completed each other’s sentences. He was good for me, I knew, because I felt that I was growing as person, becoming more positive around him, and others. We complemented each other, and it was all going good. It truly was as if we were made for each other. We were compatible, but perhaps, too compatible that it scared me too. I thought that somewhere along the way, it might become a problem.

The time came, it seemed as if something kept bothering him. That smile I could never tired of, was gone. Was I doing something wrong? What was it I was lacking? I thought. I just couldn’t bare that I wasn’t making him happy. So one day, I came over to his place, and I decided to confront him. “Why aren’t you happy with me anymore?” I was hoping to hear something like “You’re a bit too clingy” or that he didn’t really like me anymore, or he just simply got bored of me in general. But it wasn’t because of any of those that we just couldn’t be together. It was because of a fragment of his past that kept reappearing in his head every time he looked at me. He told me I was beautiful, and that he had spent his greatest days with me, but it was all too familiar for him.

Before I came into the picture, he had dated this girl named Emma. I had gone to high school with her. No doubt, she was beautiful, kind and smart, which had caused her to be one of the most popular girls in school. However, she had transferred in senior year, and no one knew why. It turned out she had severe anxiety and depression, as Kyle said. This had also become the reason for Kyle to drop out of college. He took care of her. He was so sure about her, that he wanted to spend the rest of his days with her. She had graduated high school and a few months after, he proposed to her. He said he knew they were young, but he had been so sure about his forever with her, that she was his, and he was hers, and nothing could have broken them apart.

I thought we had an invincible love, a love that no one could top, until I saw the way his eyes sparkled talking about Emma. It never sparkled that way when we were together. He had a different glow to him. He was sad talking about this, but he had more life than he ever did going on dates with me. Seeing the way he talked about her, It hurt. It hurt that he couldn’t be that way with me. Though I knew he had feelings for me, it wasn’t enough. It was not the best kind of love he deserved. He deserved Emma, not me.

However, let me tell all of you that during those moments, I was more in awe at how one man could love a woman so much than I was jealous. At that point, I already knew where it was going. We weren’t going to end up together and maybe it was okay. Maybe he’d be better off without me, because I knew at that moment, I wasn’t what he needed. And maybe I never will be.

Moving onto the story, Kyle and Emma plan their small wedding. Emma and her dad drive to pick up her wedding dress days before the wedding, but gets into a major car crash which costs her dad his life. This triggers her depression and long story cut short, she decides that suicide is the best option for her. She was found in the bathtub of her parents’ house lifeless, with a note “I’m sorry, Kyle. Know that i’ll never stop loving you, even in the afterlife. I’ll see you soon.” And of course, Kyle is distraught. The woman she loved so dearly, the woman who he had planned to spend his entire life with, committed the most selfish act of all. Up until now she remains in his heart, and he was never really meant to be mine to begin with. Although they never got married, it was as if they did. He was going to love her, for better or for worse, even after death tried to do them part.

Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new, a line from one of the songs in his playlist which he loved listening to. And now I know why. He couldn’t deny he had feelings for me, for it was too real for it all to just be fake. One thing i’ll always remember in his voice though, is how he bid me goodbye that day.

“You are a beautiful and respectful woman, Marge. I’m so thankful that I met someone like you. Any man, and I mean any man would be so lucky to have you in their life. Although it would have been nice for me to be that man, i’m sorry. I still think about her countless times a day. I see her in you sometimes, and I don’t want that to be the reason I stay with you. I don’t want you to fall in love with someone whose thoughts keep wandering to someone else, more so,someone else who’s long gone. Promise me, Marge, you’ll find someone who’ll give you the world, because I know that’s what you deserve, and exactly what I can’t give you.”

I hugged him tight and gave him a quick kiss. Our first, and last. And maybe also the first and last time i’ll feel that way about someone. And so I told him that there was no need for such an apology. “Maybe we’ll find our way to each other someday,” were the last words I told him.

It hurt, but I knew he was doing this for me. It was a kind act, kind of like mercy killing. I would have endured a greater pain if he hadn’t told me as early. I was never going to forget the genuine happiness he always made me feel whenever i’d be in his presence, and maybe, just maybe, i’ll feel that way again with somebody else, or maybe, with him but in a different time. I was truly hopeful, that maybe it was right love at the wrong time, and if it was right love, maybe the right time will come.

It was sad getting to experience a love so surreal but not having it last for so long, but I don’t regret having met him. He showed me what it was like to truly love someone so deeply. He showed me how beautiful life was, and that we should never stop loving, even after death, may it be your own, or anything/ anyone else around you. Loving was a gift, one that we should practice, even if it hurt. Sometimes there are things that will continue to make love a hard thing to do, but we shouldn’t stop. Alfred Lord Tennyson once said “'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” That experience of mine is one I would never forget, and never regret. Kyle and I remained friends, but months after we decided to remain friends, he seized to travel the world, and I deemed i’d never see him again, nor hear from him.

EPILOGUE

I now write as Margaux, a 34 year old woman, with a stable job in the state of New York, who graduated form the University of Phoenix with awards, like I always pictured myself back then. I write as a married woman, with a loving husband, and 2 amazing children.

I met my husband when I landed my first job in LA. The best part about it is, when I met him, you could tell he had the brightest glow in him, his eyes sparkled whenever he’d see me, and you could feel it in his kiss. It took us 3 years before he proposed to me, and I could never been happier that day I said “I do, Father.”

I write because few years after I got married and had my first child, I received a letter from somewhere in Puerto Rico. It read:

“To the beautiful Margaux,

I heard you got married, and I could never have been happier for you. I’m glad you’ve found someone who will treat you well, much that I couldn’t. I don’t exactly know if you still care but, just as you remember, I left because I traveled the world to find myself. During my first year of travelling, i fell in love with immersing into the different cultures and learning more about each one. I started volunteering at charity foundations in every country I visit, and i’ve become a self-proclaimed journalist now. And I guess travel is whom I’m married to now. Anyway, I hope you’re living the wonderful live you deserved. Write back, so at least I know you got this.

Sincerely,

Kyle”