#the most notable ones are a split in his upper lip that you could reasonably mistake for cleft lip surgery

[frankenb1rd]

also; I will later be drawing a ref for jasons facial scarring.

[hellraisered]

joshua graham & reader 

Joshua Graham was a man you had every reason to hate; so you did - simple as that. Occasional pleasantries exchanged when necessary, most of your dealings were with Daniel; staring at the ex-legionary for too long made your stomach churn in abject revulsion. A honeyed voice and a vague acknowledgement of guilt were not enough to pull opaque wool over your eyes; you could see Graham in his entirety, his brutality, his immaculate manufacturing of sentences to void his own blame, and you despised him for it.

And yet, here you lay now, shattered and bleeding near his feet. You would have thought it to be humiliating, demeaning, even, had you not barely escaped with your life from the ambush. Your arm throbs with a dizzying pain, bone from the compound fracture just barely crowning through bruised and split skin. It takes a moment for you to focus on his face, recognizing his bandages with a slow and sickening realization, and for a moment, you're afraid. 

Suddenly, you’re very aware of your pulse, and the way your heart had made a home for itself at the pit of your stomach. A man who was very fully aware of how much you detested him was responsible for whether you lived or died. He could walk away and leave you to bleed out; no one would think twice, upon finding your body in the morning. The fact that you couldn't read his expression through thick layers of gauze didn't alleviate the worry either. 

Despite debilitating pain, you manage to fumble upright, avoiding placing pressure on your broken arm, and silently lock eyes with his own. Blues that, in another life, could have been pretty, hesitated upon yours for a moment, before surveilling the rest of you, likely to ascertain how much damage you had taken.

Bandaged hand with blackened and coarse fingertips reach toward your chin, gently pinching it between thumb and index, tilting it upward. The contact is appalling, though you were far too weak to wrench your head from his grip, needing to put effort even into opening your eyes. The blood running from your nose had stalled earlier, and was now beginning to dry and crust upon your upper lip. Joshua runs a quick thumb across it, smearing the blood that was still wet across the side of your cheek, still silent, eyes unwavering in his assessment. He leans down to better speak to you, and the feeling of crisped fingertips against your skin, endlessly soft in contrast, grew ever slightly tighter.

"Who did this to you?"

Quiet, calm, there's nothing in his voice that you can identify. It's like gravel, as always, and had you been weaker, you would have knelt for him shortly after your first encounter. That was not the case. Looking at him now, there was nothing familiar behind tainted and empty eyes. That scares you. And because that scares you, you tell him. You tell him about you’d barely escaped from an isolated camp, just north of here, and he sets his palm upon your shoulder. He was incredibly warm - you did not like the feeling. He beckons over a couple of the Dead Horses, says something to them in a language you do not understand, and watches as you are hoisted away to be tended to.

They apply healing salve to your skin, and suture your open wounds, to which you are very thankful. Sleep is easy to come by, and almost immediate, that night - dreamless in its entirety. and still, morning comes far too soon. 

You don’t know it, but Joshua Graham was notably missing for that night.

ty @whumpster-dumpster​ for the prompt!

[dawnrider]

Continuation of Reunion Prompt story for @inukag-week Modern AU

CW: Major character is Deaf, Discussion/descriptions of an assault, Recall/memory/flashbacks

Part 1 | Part 2 |

A shower and a cup of coffee had done wonders for his mood.  Inuyasha felt lighter on his feet, the flowers in his hand bouncing as he made his way down the hall.  To an empty room.  His heart nearly stopped.  She had been there that morning when he left.  She had been fine.  No one had said anything about releasing her...  Grabbing the nearest nurse, he questioned her immediately.  “Where is Kagome Higurashi?”  The woman looked startled, then calmed and gave him an annoyed look.

“They moved her into a private room.  You should have checked with the desk before you came in here,” she scolded him, leading him over to the nurses station so she could give him her new room number.  Fighting down his panic response was more difficult than he'd thought it would be.  Inuyasha huffed out a thanks to the nurse and made his way back to the elevators and pushed the up button, waiting for the doors to open.  When they did, he was shocked to see his brother inside.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, stepping in beside him and seeing that the floor he needed had already been pressed.

The older youkai eyed his sibling with mild distaste.  “I am here to see Miss Higurashi.”  Inuyasha glowered at him.  He'd been afraid of that.  “Your territory will remain untouched brother.  I simply wish to see for myself the damage done so that my office can properly prosecute the human who dared touch her.”

While he appreciated that Sesshomaru felt as strongly as he did about going after the bastard, he wasn't sure why that merited a visit from the head partner of the firm.  “Isn't that a conflict of interest or something?”

Sesshomaru shot him a dry look.  “If I were to defend the vile creature when I am acquainted with Miss Higurashi, yes.  However,” he waited as a pair of nurses stepped off of the elevator,  “my goal is to protect her rights in case the district attorney is unable.”

“How could he actually get off?  She can identify him.  Hell, her whole office can identify him!”  He barely managed not to crush the flower stems in his hand in his rising frustration.  Sesshomaru tossed his brother a disgusted look.

“I am sure the defense will try a number of ploys, from saying she encouraged his advances to implying she attacked him first.”

“Kagome wouldn't hurt a fly!”

“The jury would not know that.  I have chosen to investigate on my own and offer my assistance to the DA so that nothing is missed.”  The closest thing to an angry growl Inuyasha had heard come out of his stone-cold brother rolled in the inuyoukai's chest.  “I will not allow that filth to get off on a lesser charge.  He will get the full sentence.”

“For once, we can agree.”  The elevator dinged and the brothers just barely managed not to have a childish struggle to get through the doorway at the same time.  Sesshomaru cleared his throat and adjusted his suit while Inuyasha ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt at nonchalance.  They both turned down the hallway and made their way toward Kagome's new room.  Neither one of them noticed the appreciative glances being thrown their way by many of the medical staff, female and male.   'Kagome,' Inuyasha greeted her when he entered her room first.  She smiled at him a little lopsidedly, the part of her mouth which was bruised or split too painful to move.  He held out the flowers for her to see before putting them aside. Inuyasha saw her one good eye widen when his brother followed him in, her gaze flitting to his questioningly.  Her hesitation to greet his brother made him smile.  Her name sign for Sesshomaru - an ‘s’ in the placement and movement of a raised eyebrow - was not exactly polite, but it made them laugh.  His brother wouldn’t appreciate the joke, however.  Since she rarely, if ever, saw Sesshomaru in person and he didn’t know how to sign anyway, she usually tried to speak to him with Inuyasha’s assistance.

“Sesso'aru,” she murmured, her accent on top of the restricted movement of her mouth making it difficult for her to pronounce.  The taller youkai bowed his head slightly.

“I came to assess your injuries and get your story so there are no questions about what happened.”  He pulled a digital camera from his briefcase and a printed sheet of questions.  He was smart to keep an interpreter out of the equation, making sure there were no misinterpretations of the questions being asked of her.  Once the video of her testimony was analyzed, likely by several interpreters at once, they would be able to solidly state her answers to the questions.  

Sesshomaru started with still shots of her face and hands, showing the progression from the initial photos taken when she arrived in the hospital.  Inuyasha didn’t miss the faint rumble of disapproval from his brother when she showed him the bruises on her neck, collarbones and upper arms where the bastard had grabbed her.  He got close-ups of her lip and her eye, where the outlines of knuckles were visible.  “Tank 'ou, fo comin',” Kagome whispered.  Inuyasha murmured what she’d said when his brother couldn’t understand.

“We will make sure this bastard pays for what he has done to you.”  Kagome glanced at Inuyasha for interpretation.  When he was able to convey his brother’s message, she smiled a little.

‘I only want to make sure he can’t hurt anyone else,’ she explained.  Inuyasha hesitated before interpreting, knowing it was in Kagome’s nature, but wanting so desperately to tell his brother something more vengeful.  But distorting what she was saying was unfair to her, and he knew that. A curt nod to her preceded his brother taking his leave. “Yasha,” she sighed. His ears flicked as he turned to her, his shoulders relaxing before he slid into the chair at her bedside. ‘You ok?’ Her nod said yes but her scent and body language said not even close.  ‘I hate that you have to keep reliving it.’

Her mouth twitched in an attempt at a smile. ‘It could have been much worse. Lucky that Ayame and Kouga left the office when they did.’  Inuyasha closed his eyes and swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat at what she wasn’t saying.  Her shirt had been torn in the assault, the waistband of her pants too.  It was obvious what the monster had been trying to get at.  Her strong will to live, how hard she fought him, had kept him at bay long enough that he’d been caught in the act and Kouga had torn him off of her.  Her hand on his let him know she had more to say. ‘They came by this morning.  It was nice to be able to thank them in person.’  He only nodded in response.  Part of him hated that the wolf had been level-headed enough not to kill the bastard outright.  Inuyasha knew, had he been the one there, there would be nothing identifiable left of Bankotsu. Taking her hands in his, he leaned down without thought and kissed her knuckles gently.  Her soft shuddering intake of air perked his ears in her direction, lifting his eyes to hers a moment later.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, knowing she could read his speech.  She shook her head, squeezing his hands in return.  That she didn’t blame him was so obvious in that simple gesture and it nearly brought tears to his eyes.  If only he could forgive himself so easily.

He sat with her until she fell asleep again, keeping the connection of their hands to help both of them calm down.  Inuyasha watched the morning light on her face, the way it highlighted the bruises just now beginning to turn from red and purple toward yellow and green.  There was little he could do to help her other than be there with her, which frustrated him.  He wanted to solve everything, to heal her immediately, to take her home and hold her.  As it was, he had yet to hug her.  Her injuries, the bruised collarbones and ribs most notably, made it painful for her to accept an embrace like that.  Just holding her hands was a delicate thing.  Inuyasha exercised every iota of restraint in himself to make sure he did not cause her further pain by not being gentle enough. For now, it was enough. Those light, gentle, touches were more than he'd had for months and he would treasure every single one.

***

The room was darker without the light of the moon.  Inuyasha didn’t relish being out tonight, but he didn’t want Kagome to be alone either.  He had come in when it was busy and stuck around until no one was looking.  The nurses wouldn’t be by to check her for another four hours.  He sat at her bedside as she slept, his indigo eyes troubled.  The arraignment had been earlier in the day and the monster who attacked her had friends who posted his bond.  He was under house arrest, but there was no telling what he would do.  Bankotsu wasn’t a top fighter in the local MMA ring for no reason.

“Fucking human night,” he growled to himself.  He turned his clawless hands in the faint light from the monitor at Kagome’s bedside.  If Bankotsu made it here, he might not be able to stop him. Hanyou, he was more than strong enough to protect her.  Human?  “Keh.”

A screech nearly made him leap out of his skin, Inuyasha jumping to his feet and looking around for the source of the noise before he realized it had been Kagome.  Her dark eyes were clouded, terrified, and she was clutching the sheets to her chest.  “No,” she gasped. “‘Eave me a’one.”

With a pang of horror, he understood.  She had woken to a black-haired man in her room in the dark and had instantly been brought back to her attack.  He had put that fear in her eyes. He flicked the light on and raised his hands slowly.  He signed his name sign to her several times until her eyes cleared and she stopped panting in fear.  “Kagome, Kagome.  I’m so sorry,” he whispered, kneeling down to her level and submitting to her.  ‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he signed.

‘Human night.  I forgot.’ She touched his head to acknowledge his apology.

They were abruptly interrupted when the nurse came barreling in.  “Who are you?  What are you...”

“It’s ok,” Kagome managed to get out.  “‘E start'ed me.”  The nurse was clearly still suspicious.  Kagome looked at him a second, a clear blush on her cheeks before murmuring, “Thih ih my f’ance.”  Inuyasha fought his immediate reaction to be shocked.  She was obviously trying to get the nurse to let him stay, but having her call him that…

“Are you sure?”  She was searching for any sign that there was anything wrong, that she was under duress.  Kagome nodded and smiled softly.  The nurse left slowly, reminding Kagome she could buzz if she needed anything.

‘Fiance?’ Inuyasha signed with a teasing raised eyebrow.  Kagome flushed hotly and sunk down into her pillows.  ‘I know you just didn’t want her to force me out.’  The half shrug and the intense but fearful look he got in response made him wonder.  Did… was she trying to tell him something?

‘If you don’t want it to be pretend,’ she started, trailing off as if not sure if she should finish.

Inuyasha felt his heart skip a beat.  ‘Really?’

Kagome’s eyes fluttered as she opened her mouth in an unsure gesture.  ‘If you still want me after…’ she looked around the room in frustration.  She jumped when his finger hooked her chin, bringing her eyes to his.

‘Nothing could make me stop wanting you. Least of all, this.’  He waited for the tremulous smile on her lips before gently touching them with his own.  It could barely be called a kiss, but her mouth was still healing. ‘Marry me?’ he pleaded. She sucked in a sharp breath in response, tears coming to her eyes. ‘Be with me. My Mate.’ Her fingertips trailed his mouth, his nose.

‘You will still want this in the morning?’ A fair question.  They both knew how much easier it was for his emotions to get the best of him when he was human, to make statements he might not otherwise make. Not that he didn’t feel those things, just that as a hanyou he was less inclined to share.

‘Yes.  I know you weren’t sure when I asked you before, but my feelings have not changed.  Not at all.’  Her face glowed with her smile, despite the bruises and split lip.  Inuyasha felt tears well in his eyes, mirroring hers.  ‘I love you.’ His hand stayed in the sign for some time to ensure she understood and saw his sincerity.  ‘I’m in love with you,’ he emphasized, ‘that will never change.’

‘I have been in love with you a very long time.’ She sniffed, giggling awkwardly as she had to wipe her nose. 'I love you too, Inuyasha.'

***

Getting her home felt like a huge weight off of his chest.  Until he remembered how poor the security in her building was, how small her actual apartment was.  ‘We can’t stay here,’ he told her decisively.  Kagome only raised an eyebrow at him and walked around him to set her purse down on the cafe table that equated to the dining room in her studio.  He tapped her shoulder to get her attention and gave her a serious look.

‘This is my home, Inuyasha.’

He huffed.  “I know that.  It’s not safe!”  Kagome blinked at him for a moment before a sly smile lit her lips.  Lips which were still healing from the attack.  ‘What?’ he signed with a scowl.

‘You want to protect me.  That’s sweet,’ she told him before tracing a fingertip down the middle of his chest.  He pulled in a shuddering breath, cheeks flushing slightly.

‘There is not enough room either,’ he reminded her, pointedly looking at her full sized bed barely hidden behind a partition opposite the kitchen.  He was no giant, and Kagome was petite, but there was no comfortable way to fit both of them in a full.  Especially when Kagome tended to sleep sprawled on her stomach.

‘I need the alarm.  I won’t make it to work on time…’

“Kagome, you’re not going anywhere near that office for…”  Her scowl gave him pause. He signed what he’d said only to be interrupted by her shaking her head at him. ‘Please. I need you to be safe. I can’t lose you.’  The sincerity in his face, the droop of his ears seemed to be enough to sway her.

“Fi’e!” she huffed. ‘But only for a while. Sango will like the extra help with the kids.’

Inuyasha blinked for a moment as he processed what she was conceding.  ‘No, Kagome,’ he waved her name sign at her.  ‘I want you to stay with me. Not Sango and the pervert.’

“Yasha…” she sighed. It was becoming clear that he wasn't going to budge on this. ‘Fine. I'll get some of my things.’

‘I'll unhook your alarm and you can bring it.’ They parted to attend to their separate tasks in silence. Inuyasha struggled with the under mattress vibrating alarm which was just one of several adaptations she used so she could live on her own. He was familiar with most of them, but he knew that there was still a lot he would need to learn if they were going to be living together. Lessons he was lucky to get the chance to learn. He paused to watch Kagome through the doorway of the bathroom, gathering her toiletries from the medicine cabinet.

He froze when she did, closing the cabinet revealing the mirror. Inuyasha realized that it was the first time she'd really looked at herself in a mirror since being going to the hospital. She had very strictly avoided the one in her hospital room her whole stay. The bruises were just beginning to fade to yellow, the swelling having mostly gone down before they left the hospital. Her dark eyes were wide in her face, taking in the remnants of the damage done. Inuyasha was in motion before his brain registered the need to move. He caught her against him as she trembled, silent tears leaking down her cheeks and soaking into his t-shirt. Softly, he pressed his hands to her back to anchor her until the trembling subsided and she stopped taking such desperate breaths. "Inu… Inu…" she murmured into his shoulder.

He rumbled softly, then more assertively when he noticed the vibration helped calm her scent. She couldn't hear him, but she could feel how he wanted to cocoon her, to protect her from everything. When she finally calmed enough, he loosened his hold. His fingers went to her eyes, gently wiping the stray tears away. 'They will go away,' he reminded her. 'You are beautiful, no matter what, and I am going to make sure that no one ever hurts you again.'

It was a steep promise, but one she knew Inuyasha would die trying to uphold. 'Thank you.' She sighed out the last of her upset. 'I am happy you came back. That we can be together. I… I missed you.'

'I missed you too, Kagome. You have no idea how much.' She flashed him a smile. 'Ok, maybe you do have an idea.' Her laughter lightened the weight on his chest, filled his heart. He couldn't resist capturing that laughter within himself, leaning down to catch her lips with his and softly pulling her up against him. She hummed a laugh while accepting his kiss and Inuyasha grinned before letting his own chuckle escape. That easy laughter, the way she made him smile… out of anything, that's what he had missed the most. 'You're never getting rid of me,' he told her with a serious look.

Kagome laughed again. 'Don't want to,' she signed before tapping the end of his nose with her finger.  He shook his head, chuckling softly as he followed her out of her bathroom and helped collect all her things.  They would have room to spread out in his apartment.  Though he didn’t plan for them to be very far from each other any time soon...

@lemonlushff , @fantastiqueparfait , @heavenin--hell, @clearwillow , @mamabearcat , @thunderpo , @keichanz , @meggz0rz , @disgruntledbeast , @sarah-writes-stories , @zelink-inukag , @cammysansstuff , @mcornilliac , @redflamesofpassion , @superpixie42 , @underwater0phelia , @cstorm86 , @noviceotakus-blog , @lavendertwilight89 , @hinezumi , @wenchster , @hnnwnchstr , @lady-dark-69 , @itzatakahashi , @juliatheanimelover7 , @kazeinori , @theinuyashareader , @inupotter , @eternalnight8806-3 , @smmahamazing , @willowandfog , @gaysonthefloor , @sistasecbhere , @jennybean91 , @alerialblu, @laurenintheskyy

[apictureisapoemwithoutwords]

Be Careful That Which You Request.

“Eat the damn food!” Ӓr’kān’s growl is low, tone gravelly. 

Ears and connecting fins pull back in her impatience, as he thrusts the plate with a fish across the bar top. At the hungry, stubborn moron sitting beside them. 

“Bought it ‘so you’d fuckin’ eat an’ quit gawkin’ at my supper.” 

Ӓr’kān speaks, before going on to chow down on their own Giant Redlina, about almost done. As she observes Śhadō who is quiet again. 

This time peering at the extra plate. Like the dead aquatic, grew two more head’s. Right before those beautiful shiny black faded dark emerald green and peach-pink eyes.

It’s taken Ӓr’kān a moment to figure out the differences in their species’ ways of expressing things. More so than it was even close to hard trying to understand the Lepíspterón language, with no working translation between their species. 

Again, just another of the million reasons to love being an Aquatic, Ӓkˈtäˈpəd. It took their species little to learn unfamiliar languages, and almost all of them were pronounceable through their speech.

The Lepíspterón Tribe, Pectō Victima, or at least this single-member named Śhadō wasn’t doing half bad himself. He still stumbled on Ӓkˈtäˈpə words that had no equivalent translation in his dialect or any dialect or primary language known to their species; as far as either was aware of...

Śhadō’s antennae pulled up in alert, then drew backwards towards their false feather scale pony. Before he pulled them closer to his head, in mock anger; antennae almost now hidden in the feathers.

The period of silence broke between them as he spoke up in his native dialect. “Śhadō will take no such-”

… Making it even more fun for this Aquatic when their Insectoid attempted to mimic whatever Ӓr’kān attempted to say. And what she’d said was uncivilized. Something about the Lepíspterón or his thieving Moth subgroup or even his war made siblings and Śhadō; even as  stuck up and nasty hearted as he’d described his culture as did not have in their native tongue. 

“- fuck’ing actions!” and finished in Ӓkˈtäˈpə, with his upper lip stretched up over sharp, serrated black teeth; to bear his annoyance, rather than any genuine anger directed at Ӓr’kān. 

Which reminded him of the species Se​la​kē; whose Kiŋdəm had been to the right of her own. A best friend in honourment of their species they’ve not seen since forced to flee their home and all those she loved.

Looking as the Pectō Victima’s stunned silence in the wake of being thrown off by the show of affection and hospitality’s had warned off. Ӓr’kān prepared for the shit storm he will throw in its wake. 

Affection had been something shocking to learn Śhadō nor any of his species held a previous history. It was just everything Ӓr’kān grew up on had been about devotion, tenderness and the respect between family and for your people. She had felt as if he had been the only one of their species to have an ugly and dark side.

Even with her Octopade parents not being as prevalent within his life. They’d always had her older Octopade sibling to love him, and then she got to love a wonderful little codling sibling. When everything Ӓr’kān had ever held, gone. It was the Ratz who had taken that job of comfort and affection. Before that dark hole devoured everything, creating this being, this them they called, Bounty Hunter Ӓr’kān.  

Although, after having learned about what Lepíspterón’s siblings were like, what one had done to him and with all the stories forced fed into making Pectō Victima who he is today. On top of Śhadō's personality, engraving betrayal, from his own family. It was no wonder the chaotic, nasty, fluffy gremlin did not understand what it was like to have anybody genuinely care about them. Or to sprinkle you with pleasant things without needing that suspicion of ulterior motives connected to keep you alive.

Though, in all the time that this Ӓkˈtäˈpəd had known them. Never stopped Śhadō from being someone with an abundance of love to give. And for somebody who’d never known it existed or experienced it. The crazy bastard’s reverence and care for his insect pets were some of the deepest of ties. 

Ties, Ӓr’kān has only ever seen between Ӓkˈtäˈpəd Ŕȯiəl siblings. It went beyond the willingness to die or live to protect and love them and to think this overgrown moth did it all for these tiny squishy unintelligent creatures.

It is too bad for everybody else. - Notably, those Śhadō defined as Humanoid, which was everything and anybody. Something Ӓr’kān is slowly trying to fix, as they had no idea what that species is. Outside, the fairy tales told in space of a horrible cryptic race that as far as anybody knows doesn’t even exist. - Were not worthy of that love, them being included it seemed for some universal awful reason.

So it is a splendid thing Ӓr’kān, thought, she defied all common logic and universal truths and could be just as stupidly obstinate as he ~ or just plain stupid, depends on whoever you asked. That he knew the two of them would work. If nothing else, she’d become the only friend this grumpy killer thief has ever or may ever have to trust.

Snarling back at Śhadō; which is not a normal sound for a Ӓkˈtäˈpəd, and had been something she’d picked up aboard Ratz. Ӓr’kān spoke up, “Fine, starve, I’ll eat yo’r food too,” and turned away to do just that. As he bluntly ignored the most adorable sound Ӓr’kān’s ever heard. 

An offended high pitched squeaking or squeaking for any reason should be illegal. They should have the right to arrest, detain and devour Śhadō in -

Thoughts of unholiness screeched to a halt. As a large, warm, looming body shoved Ӓr’kān aside. Forcing her to grip the other side of the bar top, to keep from falling off the stool. 

“HaA’A~” 

Their voice pitching high, choked off mid surprise, as three cool metal digits from the thief’s prosthetic arm wrapped around their wrist, moving her hand away from Ӓr’kān’s mouth. 

All eight of their eyes attempted to see what the other was doing. But Śhadō’s magnificent form blocked their view. He could only sense a heavy rhythmic heat ghosting over her hand for a split moment, before. …

The noise of flesh and tendons being torn, bone being crushed covered the atmospheric sounds of the shady Bounty bar they were in.   

Alerting not only the other living things, but Ӓr’kān. Before the sickening splosh of blood pouring over-the-counter cuts off the rest of the room, daring to continue on with what they’re doing. 

At first, the Aquatics whole being is in shock with the actions of Śhadō. The pain hasn’t really caught up to him, and then it does, and the scream sticks to the rear of Ӓr’kān’s throat. Along with the failure of words, at having a piece of themselves stolen, with the fish she’d been holding.

It’s not until Śhadō’s noisily devouring his meal filters in. That Ӓr’kān’s wide eyes dart up from the missing extremity to glance at their companion. Whose lightly furred black cheeks bulge with his fresh mouthful. Lips, chin and parts of the omnivorous moth’s cheeks stained in the purple essence of a Ӓkˈtäˈpəd’s bodily existence, that she snaps out of their stunned silence.

“THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” The screech of vocals a decibel close enough to shatter glass.

Śhadō jumps, large four wings spreading out slightly as their chest puffs out to make them look larger, as their eyes widen in shock, antennae now laying across their head and tucked away in their plumes in aggression. Looking close to jumping right through, Ӓrˈ’kān; who craves nothing more at this moment than beat the other into a gory pulp, before revising that plan.

She brought this upon himself challenging a being as twisted up inside like this.  

Instead, they concentrate on the original issue. 

Vocals low and gravely again, yet still yelled in anger. “GIVE THAT BACK!” All thoughts to why the Bounty Hunter would not wish the piece back far from their thoughts.

The six-foot beast towering over their barley 5’11 height, even standing a stool away, is back to chewing contentedly. Looking so very proud of himself at the moment. That has Ӓrˈkān rendered speechless, again. Before reeling back, repulsed. As Śhadō takes the fish and their extra webbed finger bits. Wrapped in his long tubular tongue and rolls it out to reveal to all those who are observing.

“Y’r’an animal.” The words are, however, tainted with affection rather than any anger or disgust that should rightfully be there. But . . .

Ӓrˈkān understands. Not only is this like some adorable display of pride, that knows no term of interpretation for, but it’s also a display of glory to this war created creature. 

Of course, there’s no reaction to her words. As they place the meal back where it belongs and promptly swallowed; as earlier demanded of Śhadō.

It’s twisted, they know, to consider Lepíspterón’s display as a form of love. Expressing that now Ӓr’kān belongs to Śhadō, as well.

Putting information down here again, to keep above clean. 

We are not even going to pretend we are going to make the prompts for Halloween, anymore. Just no time. 

So, today’s pretend prompt is Fights, Food, Shady Business, Moths and Octopus. ;)

There are my IZ created OC’s for my Au’s. They both have detailed species bios. More so for my Moth child.

Meet X Prinˈses Ӓr’kānia, known now as Bounty Hunter Ӓr’kān - Of the species Ӓkˈtäˈpəd from an Aquatic planet called, Süər. Using She/Him/Them pronouns. Affiliated with The Resisty, The Resistance & The Bounty Association.  

And their trusty Moth menace Śhadō, of the insectoid species Lepíspterón, born within the War Bred Tribe Pectō Victima. Off their homeworld forest, Hālünä on a rainforest planet called Tsəlaveh. Refers to self as Male. Affiliated with nobody except Bounty Hunter Ӓr’kān and Folk Healer Green Witch X-invader Kravis. Occupation Thief and Murder.

Thinking of adding a short character bio for them here, and a summary of their species.

[advernia]

fic: push me off a bridge (to catch me as i fall)

— war was never the best place to realize that trust was a very long free fall, but they had to start somewhere. (or: five times the jack of hearts receives treatment from alice the second, and all that happens in between.) || ao3 ver.

features: au!kyle’s route where kyle/mc is platonic, a hella slow burn edgar/mc development, more details of the war that you probably didn’t sign up for, and a! named! mc!

1: this is ridiculously long (14+k!?) but if you’re up for it, there’s post-reading notes here! (･∀･○)

There's a nice, narrow slash on his face; diagonally marking what many a mouth has called a remarkable young man's handsome features. 

They're just staring at him for some reason and if he were, well, someone like a certain beauty-marked-pretty-boy-who-happened-to-be-his-superior; he'd be threatening both of them to do their jobs or else. But he's not that someone, he's different and quite eccentrically so, as demonstrated by him simply smiling back at the doctor and assistant's pointing stares and asking the most inappropriate question at the moment.

"Is there something on my face?" Edgar asks, tone cheery.

"Nope," Kyle replies, an eyebrow raised. "It's just... Okay, wow, nice cut you got there. When's the last time you actually came here for treatment? Actual treatment."

"Hm... I can't recall. But I certainly don't visit the infirmary as often as my unit does."

A snort. "Yeah, that'll be the day. Ever wonder why they spend a lot of time here in the first place?"

"To visit the oh-so-talented Seven of Hearts and bask in his medical talent?"

"... Are you going to treat him or not?" Alice the Second pipes in, a frown directed to her boss. "Because if you won't, I will."

Kyle swivels his chair around to gawk her. "... You sure you want to?"

"But why not? It's the reason why Edgar came here in the first place, right?"

"It's hard to tell with someone like him, but yeah, probably. But the main issue here is that."

The doctor points to the not-so-elephant in the room, the Jack of Hearts' once-flawless left cheek.

"If you're going to treat him, it's gonna be an up-close-and-personal thing," Kyle says, ominous voice at odds with the growing grin on his lips. "Can you take it?"

Edgar jumps into the conversation, smile still present. "I'm not one for having people at close distances, but I imagine having you treat me is better than identifying what Kyle might have drunk last night, Alice."

"That's what he said, lucky you! So, are - "

"Oh, hush, you two," she huffs, making her way to a cabinet with brisk steps. She plucks out a bottle and a bag of cotton off a shelf, then makes a beeline for the sink. "I'm treating you, Edgar, because you're in an infirmary and you're injured. And if I have to be up-close-and-personal, it's because the injury is on his cheek, Kyle. That's all there is!"

She's muttering a couple of other things they can't hear as she's filling a basin with water, so Kyle takes this opportunity to slide his chair closer to where Edgar sat, whisper unnecessarily conspiratorial as he says:

"Her ears turned red."

"Yes, very much like your hair."

The two share glances before laughing.

.

.

.

Alice, much to his amusement and also a bit of dismay, does not end up getting 'up-close-and-personal' with him at all - rather than sitting directly in front of each other (because that's what Kyle does to his patients), she chooses to move her chair to his left side, all her attention set on the injury without the feeling of the patient staring at her while she works.

Maybe he should start giving her a little more credit.

"Edgar?" she says as she dabs a damp cotton lightly on his cheek, "How did you get this injury in the first place?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"If you don't mind telling me, then yes."

He chuckles as the cotton slowly traces its way upwards to his cheekbone.

"Well then. How about a little exchange?"

"Exchange? What do you mean?"

"I tell you how I got this cut in the first place... but in return," he angles his head sideways a bit so that he could meet her gaze, "You have to tell me your real name."

Her arm freezes, and the cotton stops touching his face.

.

.

.

And that was the first time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        "Lady Idike!"

She turns her around to the sound of her name, a frantic yell of help right by the tent's entrance - someone's struggling carrying his comrade on his back, his face strained with grime and sweat. She rises to her feet, eyes searching for any vacant space before rushing over to the new patients, leading them over to an area by the upper left side of the tent.

"Gently, now," she ushers as the soldier kneels down slowly to lower his friend's body on a cot. "What happened?"

A deep breath. "... We encountered the Three of Spades' squad by the streets of the Upper Central Quarter, and... I got careless, didn't see a trap coming right for me. This guy here, he... p-pu-p-ushed me... just in time, a-a-an-and..."

Tears began forming at the edge of weary eyes as he tried to continue, but any more words were drowned out by broken sobs. Idike sets a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone approach from her right.

"You did good, getting you and your buddy back here," Kyle says as he walked over to the sobbing soldier with a kind smile on his face. "Got any wounds?"

"... O-on-only b-br-r-bruises an-and sc-scrapes, sir..."

"Got it - we'll be with you in a sec, so sit tight. Idike, what about him?"

She nods and runs over to the cot, fingers immediately heading towards the unconscious patient's left hip and thigh; a visible mix of damp blood, broken flesh, and torn cloth combined. Clearing out a bit of the mess and pressing down gently, two of her fingertips come across light pricks, causing her to pull her hand away. Kyle clicks his tongue at her reaction, moving beside her to check the damage himself.

"Caltrops," he mutters.

"Cal... what?"

"Something like tiny metal spikes. See those things stuck on the soles of his boots? Caltrops. There's some hanging by his pants too, tricky things."

"Are they lethal?"

"Assuming they didn't hit something vital or that they weren't coated in poison, then no. They're annoyingly sharp, though."

Idike sucks in a deep breath, taking in one last glimpse of the gaping wound before turning to face Kyle.

"What do we need?"

.

.

.

"My, my. What do we have here?"

With a raise of his hand, his troop trailing behind him stops moving, hands swiftly finding the hilts of their swords and bodies shifting to a defensive stance. Without the noise of boots crunching on leaves and dirt, the forest surrounding them was tranquil - inviting, even, as the near setting sun tried to dye every lick of green with its reds, yellows, and oranges.

A few seconds pass. He lowers his hand, but none of them relax.

A few more, until -

- a dagger, seemingly materializing out from nowhere, flies straight and true for his cheek.

The Jack of Hearts smiles, drawing his saber from its scabbard in a split second to parry - a sharp clang echoes throughout the forest, and the threat falls defeated on the ground. With a few steps forward and a quick bend of his knees, he takes the weapon into his other hand.

"Do be careful," there's a lilt in his voice as he speaks rather loudly to the wilderness. "Alice treated this same cheek not too long ago - I'd hate to return to her and have her do it all over again."

Winds rustling the leaves of the trees answer, but there's a strange energy that comes with it, something similar to the sensation when magic would come to play: the air tingles with a prickling charge, filling one's lungs with a sense of alertness and unshakable jitter. Without warning, he throws the dagger upwards, towards the high branches of the large oak tree just a few meters ahead.

It doesn't come back nor does it make a sound of hitting a mark, but in its stead someone drops down from the tree, two feet gracefully landing on the ground.

The tension doesn't fade.

"Ten of Spades, Seth Hyde," Edgar waves, as if greeting an old friend. "Nice weather we're having, aren't we?"

Seth scoffs, a hand reaching for one of the daggers set on his hip - though there's a notable lack of expression on his face, every bit of his posture screams of a threatening aura waiting to be released on a moment's notice.

"... What did you do to her?" he asks, voice an unnerving low. 

"Nothing that concerns you," Edgar shrugs, and Seth watches as his lips curl into a teasing - teasing! - smile.

"Though I believe a better question is... what did she do to me?"

.

.

.

It's been... four days? Or had it been three? Perhaps she lost count.

All she knew these days was to focus. This was no London confectionery anymore, with all its flours, sugars, fruits and honey.

"Scalpel," a quick command, accompanied by an open hand held out towards her. She nods, picking out the tool carefully from a metal tray and handing it over.

There were no preparation periods, baking hours, timetables, opening and closing times, or rush hours.

"Forceps," the scalpel returns to her with its blade drenched in scarlet. Idike sets it aside and pulls out the next tool, placing it on Kyle's palm.

This was no warm bakery, open kitchen, or pleasant shop.

"Caltrop extracted," Kyle mutters as he glares at the object held upright by the forceps: it's a small thing with four sharp teeth, decorated with blood and pieces of skin. She stares at it, glimmering under the light of the tent's magic crystal lamp.

This was life and death, and she willingly chose to be part of it.

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.

.

Someone charges at him with a rapier held up high in the air, almost like a guillotine. A shame that it doesn't meet its intended mark though: Edgar parries the strike halfway down, watches as his opponent's eyes grow wide as saucers at the sudden impact, then delivers a smack right to the chest and two well-aimed jabs to make the man crumple to his knees along with his weapon.

From his left, someone not an ally rushes towards him presumably armed with a blade as well, and from his blind side; a set of throwing knives come for him like bullets.

What a pickle.

The knives are faster, but it only takes the swift motion of sinking down onto to his haunches to avoid them completely. The lunging soldier however was now just paces away from impaling his forehead, but he takes advantage of his position to aim for the underside of his enemy's outstretched arm; gloved hand reaching out to grab the forearm with a grip tight enough to cause a loud scream of pain and the release of the sword, followed by barreling upwards - his opponent starts to lose his balance in response to the motion and Edgar uses it, dropping his saber for a moment to fully grab the man's arm and throw him effortlessly over his shoulder.

A pained groan escapes the poor soldier's lips before he lays limp on the ground, unconscious. Edgar leaves him there and picks up his weapon, calm countenance at odds with the persisting sounds of battle ringing loudly in the forest.

He glances at the path forward, obscured by leaves but unable to completely hide the traces of freshly unearthed soil underneath the foliage.

Meanwhile, the sun was sinking down the horizon, beckoning the night to pour itself out on the sky.

"A pity, Ten of Spades. But it was quite fun while it lasted."

Turning on his heel, the Jack of Hearts set out to reconvene with his troop.

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.

.

"... and since there was sufficient evidence found that the area had been already laid on with various traps, the King postponed the advancement to Black Army territory through the forests."

Kyle hums absentmindedly as he was stitching up a patient's shoulder. "Smart move - glad he didn't decide to order someone to just get rid of the traps using magic."

Zero shakes his head. "Inefficient and costly. We still have a good amount of magic crystals in our inventory, but it's wiser to use them for a better time."

"I know. Still, a better time, huh?" cutting the excess thread with a scissor, Kyle lets out a heavy sigh. "The only 'better time' I can think of is you lot giving me and my assistant a break."

The doctor gestures to the whole of the medical tent, nearly full with lines of cots and miserable men: there were a spare few that were up and about, doing their best to look after the needs of the others; but the rest were either unconscious or groaning where they lay. The Ace of Hearts' lips drew a taut line, the mixing smells of pungent disinfectant and coppery blood dancing strongly about his nostrils.

"... Is Idike okay? Seeing all this."

Kyle snorts. "Of course not - bet she still cries a little bit inside each time someone's carried here, and that's fine by me. But what's important is she hasn't been running away from this: it's been three whole days since we've set up here, and so far she's been giving every single one her all."

"I see... where is she now?"

"Ordered her to take a breather. Should be having dinner or something."

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.

.

Contrary to what Kyle ordered her to do, no, she wasn't having dinner at the moment.

Not taking a breather, either.

She's dragging someone by the hand to their shared tent instead, mind and body working on adrenaline or reflex at this point: make some light by using a magic crystal and hanging it on a lamp, seat or make the patient comfortable, gather some basic tools and place them on a tray beside where you'd sit, then evaluate the patient's condition as calmly as possible.

And it's only when she's seated herself in front of her patient does she realizes who -

"Oh," she says, the word coming out of her mouth even before she knew it.

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Usual Red Army procedure dictates that after their given missions, the Chosen Thirteen (save for the Seven on some occasions) would gather in the commander's tent to report the results of the day's operations. The gathering, facilitated by the Queen, required that all information and notable observations should be accounted for; down even to the most minuscule detail. Once all was said and done, the Jack would narrate a summary of all the reports given and from there, the strategy planning would begin.

The King would finalize the orders once everyone came to an understanding and agreement of the current situation and objectives, then they were promptly dismissed.

Rinse, repeat. Whatever the Thirteen chose to do after the gatherings was completely up to them, unless they had orders.

Edgar didn't have any tasks assigned that night, so he chose to have a brief rest by the river just a short walk from the encampment. But on his way there, he runs into her - Alice the Second with all her loosely plaited honey-colored hair, bags growing under her eyes, and the apron she wore over her dress stained with suspicious splotches.

It gets interesting when she points out that the glove of his right hand had a tear on it, and even before he has a chance to explain himself, she already closed the distance in between them and took his right hand into hers, raising it up for her to check.

But in all honesty, never would've he imagined that she would actually drag him all the way to her tent.

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.

"You know Alice, were I someone else, I would've taken this as an invitation."

"An invitation for what?"

"I wonder. Oh, assume this instead: the lone young woman of an army inviting a man to her quarters in the middle of the night... what do you suppose people would think if they were to witness such a scene?"

Silence - her eyes, the most innocent of blues, blink once, twice, thrice -

- all of a sudden they widen, her cheeks bloom with color, and then -

"A-a-ah-ahhh! I-it-it wasn't intentional! I saw an injury on your hand, and - "

"Yes, yes - I understand. Believe me, I do. But you realize that you could've brought me to the medical tent instead?"

Edgar simply watches as Idike's lips quiver defiantly, but it's short-lived as she expresses her surrender by burying her face into her hands, mumbling incoherent as she shook her head back and forth repeatedly; loose strands of hair dancing about.

He chuckles, bringing a hand to his mouth.

Perhaps I took it too far?

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.

.

The wound on the back of his hand is a single slash, just in need of some disinfectant and a little ointment for good measure. She tends to it like going through the motions of every day she's dealt with ever since she begged Kyle to bring her along to the front lines: fingers deft and gentle, movements precise and prudent, pace not slow but steady.

She finished applying the ointment when he speaks, breaking the silence that hung in between them.

"Alice," Edgar lowers his head in a bow that has her blinking rapidly again as she sets the bottle of ointment down on a tray, "allow me to sincerely apologize for teasing you." 

"No, no! You don't have to bow - I too, have to apologize since I... um, overreacted. You were trying to warn me for being careless, so... thank you, Edgar."

Idike gives him a small smile when he raises his head to look at her again, and as her eyes meets his she's reminded of how difficult it was to decipher what he was thinking about when he stares at her with such a blank expression on his face.

Then again, Edgar was difficult as he was strange; an enigmatic character whose great idea of a peace offering was caramel corn. The memory makes her smile a bit brighter as she looks away to take his ripped glove from another tray, along with a needle and a small white spool.

"That isn't necessary, Alice," he tells her when she starts threading the needle. "Fortunately, I have a spare set of gloves with me."

"Good," she hums, but she began to sew anyway. "... Say, Edgar?"

"Yes?"

"How did you get that injury in the first place?"

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.

.

It's a rehash of their previous conversation, save for the fact that this time, he asks her the same question for a good reason.

"Do you really want to know?"

"I do, but does that mean you'll ask for my name again?"

A wry smile plays on his lips - they'd go off topic, but he could humor her for now. "Would you tell me if I asked it of you this time?"

She laughs, but no response follows. Oh, how he wished that her attention was set elsewhere rather than her needlework: with a head tilted downwards, he couldn't see the entirety of her face - she was ever so honest with her emotions, and being unable to see whatever expression crossing her features right now was unfortunate.

"... How did you know?" she asks after a short while, sewing coming to a halt. "About my name, I mean."

Gingerly she looks up a bit and he can finally see her eyes, blues tinged with confusion and perhaps some doubt - similar to when she studied him the day he gave her caramel corn, grip on the paper bag a little tight.  

"I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Do you recall how you introduced yourself to the King and Queen of Spades the night you arrived here?"

"To Ray and Sirius?" she blinks before mulling it over for a few seconds. "... I just told them my name?"

"'You can call me' were the words you added with it. Quite an unusual way for a lady to introduce herself, unless doing so was common in the Land of Reason."

"That was your only clue?" she fully raised her head, now openly gaping at him. "Huh...? But wait, I haven't run into you yet that time, so how did you..."

Edgar brings a finger up and holds it against his grinning lips.

"Your reaction when I first asked you back in the infirmary confirmed it - I have to admit, you're surprisingly more cautious than you appear, to the extent that you're unwilling to give away your real name and make us settle for a fake one instead."

"What the - it's nothing like that!" she exclaims, fingers clutching onto her apron. He falls quiet as he waits for her to continue, watching as her lips drew themselves into a frown and her eyes waver with evident hurt and regret.

But why regret? He's the one suddenly backing her to a corner over something as simple as a name - she had some right to be cross with him and he certainly didn't mind (he'd been wondering if someone like her was even capable of being angry); but the fact still remains that she didn't deny his words. The ongoing silence wasn't helping her case any further, either. 

Three seconds.

Four.

Five.

Then finally her mouth opens, hesitant.

"... If you've noticed that one detail..." she says, voice small, "... Does that mean you've been suspicious of me ever since?"

Edgar's smile grew thin.

Yes, he ought to give her a little more credit.

"Secrets, whether minor or major, can be such incriminatory things... don't you agree?"

Idike holds her breath.

.

.

.

"Before I forget, Alice."

With the mood heavy and possibly going nowhere at this point, he decides to take his leave, smoothly rising from his seat.

"The Ten of Spades, Seth Hyde," he doesn't miss how her shoulders jump upon hearing the name, "your friend - was the reason for my injury. Ah, but don't you worry - he still lives. I haven't the slightest clue about his unit, however."

She breathes in deeply, he's walking away. Shifting the tent's flap aside, the biting night air greets him, and he looks over his shoulder - she hasn't moved, nor does she turn his way. In the end it seems that he still won't be getting an answer, but perhaps he could try some other time instead.

If she even wants to see him after this, that is.

"Thank you for the treatment, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."

With that, Edgar leaves.

Idike sits in silence, staring at the half-mended glove on her lap.

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.

.

And that was the second time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        The instant the King of Hearts fully steps into the medical tent; the overpowering stench of blood assaults his nose.

It's a different warpath inside the seemingly wide space, its four corners occupied with wounded men and the aftermath of their treatment stored away in sacks set on the corner nearest to the tent's entrance. Fluttering about the meager spaces left in between cots and the area itself were only a handful of people tending to the chaos: mobile soldiers with what looked like minor wounds, the Seven of Hearts, and also Alice the Second.

Lancelot walks over to where the doctor stood, a white coat back facing him.

"Kyle."

Said person turns around, and Lancelot's face contorts itself instinctively into a glare.

"Huh - Lance?" Kyle frowns, a syringe at the ready in his right hand. "It's past midnight - skipping out on sleep again?"

"I can say the same to you, so you're not one to talk. Put that away for a moment."

A shrug, but the syringe is set aside on the nearby trolley. "As you can see, you've made more than enough work for me already. So hurry it up, what do you need?"

"You can work while you talk. I need a summary of today's report."

"Got no more time to read the whole thing?"

"Unfortunately, I don't. Rest assured, I'll still take the written report before I leave."

"Must be tough being a man of war," Kyle mumbles as he starts to lay out small napkins on one side of the trolley. "A hundred eighty-seven dropped by injured, twenty-five lying down with major wounds. Fourteen were initially in critical condition - used some magic crystals to help with the pain and lull 'em to sleep after treatment, but they're better off going back to headquarters."

"Causes of injury?"

"Majority's still the usual sword or bullet," nimble hands begin pulling out contents from the medicine bottles, then settle an assorted amount of them on top of the napkins. "But some guys under our Six ran into the Three of Spades' squad by the Upper Central Quarter - they plant and throw caltrops, imagine that. Then the Nine of Spades wreaked havoc with his bow and arrow: considering the statements of his victims, I assume the arrowheads were dipped in a herb formula that causes temporary muscle paralysis - made sure to tell our Four about that, since his troop took the brunt of it. Did he mention that in the gathering?"

Lancelot nods, then his eyes narrow. "... Are there casualties?"

Kyle pauses, his hands frozen in place.

The gap of silence is filled in by cries, bemoaning, and frustrated yells.

"... Got our first one an hour ago. Blood loss and an infection too far gone - risked his neck for a new recruit."

Lancelot follows Kyle's line of gaze, to a cot set almost by the center of the tent: a white sheet's laid over it as a shroud and by the foot of the cot wails a soldier; head downcast, on his knees, and a tightly woven fist repeatedly pounding the ground. Alice the Second comes running over to the man's side, hands reaching out to stop him from hurting himself any further.

Both King and doctor soundlessly watched as she did her best to help the man get up on his feet, despite the crack in her voice and her cheeks tear-stained still.

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.

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"This place is preposterous!"

"How so, dear Queen?"

"Do you have holes for eyes? Did you not see the houses we passed by? They have thatched roofs, for goodness sake, and even without the aid of a magic crystal; you could clearly see that those hardly look properly reinforced! This whole area with its closely linked houses is simply a disaster waiting to happen if fire was to be put in the equation!"

Edgar snickers as Jonah continued to ramble on about (in his words) the 'baffling and questionable quality of life' of Black Army territory. True enough, the simple wood or stone houses did pale in comparison to the usual brick or marble homes found in Red territory; but perhaps that could be attributed mainly to the primary livelihood differences of the territories: while Black territory soil was kind and bountiful to agriculture, Red territory grounds were a trove of abundant mineral deposits open for exploration.

"Now, now. I'm sure that if the people of this village wanted to, they could improve their homes any time they wish. It just so happens that they willingly chose to devote their time to their livelihoods - quite impressive of them, don't you think?"

Jonah scowls. "First and foremost, if they had all the time to care for their finely plowed fields and well-structured barns, then they should also have half a mind to keep themselves safe. What use do these fields serve if their cultivator isn't present? What happens to domesticated animals without their owners to feed and guide them?"

Edgar claps his hands softly for a few seconds. "Such touching passion. If you're that concerned, why not bring it up with the Black Army leaders? I'm sure their Queen would also be willing to listen."

If glares could burn through skin, then Edgar was sure that his head should be going through spontaneous combustion at this point.

"Remind me again, why are you here?" Jonah stops walking, raising his lantern a bit higher to survey their current location. It was probably a few hours before dawn, but the dark of the night still wore itself thick around the mountain village. "The King specifically ordered your unit to survey and secure the waterways of the Civic Center that are also linked to those that flow through Black territory, correct?"

"Right you are. I've already dispatched my unit accordingly to do the task as we speak - however, the King expressed interest in villages, such as this one, which are far off from Black territory proper but closer to the Central Quarter. It was agreed upon that occupying these areas immediately would be of best interest, lest the enemy uses them as vantage points." 

"That's the reason why my unit is here in the first place," an exasperated sigh, followed by a stern tone. "Admit it; you decided to come along, uninvited, because - "

Jonah abruptly holds his scolding, glower redirected at the darkness just ahead. With no one talking, the only sounds around were the faint chirping of crickets and the winds rustling through grass and straw roofs.

According to an earlier reconnaissance report, the Black Army ordered the evacuation and relocation of the civilian areas under their jurisdiction before the war started.

Two days ago, a number of scouts confirmed that the Black Army villages closest to the Red Army encampment were deserted.

Hours before he and his unit made their way to the village, watchmen claimed to have seen not a single trace of movement around the perimeter, even with the aid of magic crystals.

"Queen Jonah," a soldier whispers after a few seconds have passed, "Your orders."

Fixing himself into a defensive stance, Jonah tosses his lantern away from him - it lands with a dull thunk on a patch of grass, and his fingers slowly reached for the hilt of his sword.

"Discard your lanterns and draw your blades. We have company."

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.

.

Day four without a single drop of alcohol. How quaint.

Here he was abstaining, but both Armies showed no interest in giving up the war just yet - the proof of all that was clearly evident in every corner of the medical tent, and also adding to that were a new group of potential patients barging themselves into said tent.

"Seriously? It ain't even morning yet," Kyle mutters under his breath. Beside him, Idike smiles weakly.

One of the men run towards the doctor and assistant, white uniform dirty and cap in tatters on his head. Still, he has enough energy to salute and speak in a booming voice that probably everyone in the vicinity hears, whether they wanted to or not. "Sir Seven, Alice the Second!"

"It's great that you still got some pep, so drop the formalities." a lopsided grin makes its way to Kyle's lips, then he gestures to the new arrivals. "What happened?"

"We, the Eight of Hearts' unit, had a run-in with the Jack of Spades and his troop in our attempt to occupy one of the Black Army villages present in the upper quadrant," the soldier relays - Idike's eyes widen, but she says nothing. "In the midst of battle, Ace Zero and his unit came to our aid, pushing the enemy back and allowing the wounded from our side to withdraw! The skirmish still continues as we speak!"

"Jack of Spades, huh... he leads a sword-based unit. Anyone in critical condition?"

"No, sire! Er, I mean, none! I think! Oh, wait! One of us took a heavy blow from the Jack himself, sir!"

"He's our priority then - gotta pity a guy who gets hit by that claymore," Kyle motions the soldier to lead the way and he complies, doing another salute before turning on his heel. 

Kyle's already taken a few steps forward when it dawns on him that something - no, someone's missing. When he looks behind him he sees his assistant standing still, head downcast and hands tightly held together. Wisps of her hair that escaped her plait shield her face from his view, but he finds it relieving to see that neither her shoulders nor her knees were shaking.

The sight of her makes his expression turn wry - really, she could stand strong for days then become incredibly fragile just as fast; and that's exactly why he refused to let her near the front lines in the first place. She was kind, too kind for a war, and the fact that she had spent a considerable amount of time with both Armies didn't make this any easier for her.

Weeks ago the Black Army took her in when the Red Army saw her as a threat.

Now, she was willingly tending to Red Army soldiers, the sworn enemies of the same Black Army who called her a friend.

He walks back to where she stood and when he's close enough, he reaches out to take hold her shoulders.

"Hey," he says. Idike looks up at him.

"Oh - " her voice is a shadow of her usual self, the blue of her eyes waver with a flurry of emotions. Worry. Fear. Grief. Frustration. Exhaustion. All that a scrambling mess in one girl.

"Hey," he repeats, hands moving upwards to pinch her cheeks. She yelps in protest, face contorting even further.

"Owww!" she whines, the pain springing life back into her voice. "Kyle, what are you - "

"We have fourteen new patients lined up."

Her eyes widen, she stops squirming. Satisfied, he lets go of her cheeks and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his white coat.

"And supposedly, one of them's in bad shape. Think you can help me out?"

He keeps his gaze on her steady, she stares back. There's still some uncertainty flickering around the edges of her eyes, but her irises are filling in with the usual clarity of a blue sky, and that's what he - and the patients inside the tent - needed from her right now.

And eventually - thankfully - she nods, eyes not leaving his.

"I will," she says.

.

.

.

Right: a swoosh in the air, just seconds released, aim most likely for his left thigh or knee. A quick shift of his leg to the other direction, and an arrow materializes from the darkness and pierces the ground where his leg used to be. A brief look into the arrow's position suggests that the source is at an elevated position, possibly in -

Behind: heavy footsteps, grass crunching loudly; suggestive of someone rushing and most likely with a weapon. A twist of his torso, a raise of his saber up to his shoulder while he keeps his lower body steady to maintain balance; and clang! He comes face to face with his attacker and their short sword, strength shaky and current stance leaving them wide open. So what he does is to keep his right leg grounded as he lifts up his left; body pivoting smoothly as he delivers a heavy kick to his opponent's side.

The man screams in agony, leading to a loose grip on the sword and a wavering focus: the perfect opportunity to land a finishing blow through a series of rapid slices for disarming, a few sure steps forward, and - crack! - a knifehand strike lands on his opponent's neck.

Not wasting any time, he dives to the nearest place for cover, that being what looked like a small house. Back flat against the wall, he watches as the place where he once stood was again struck and with arrows this time, one hitting a discarded lantern and effectively snuffing the light of its magic crystal and the other two narrowly missing the body of the soldier he just defeated.

Jonah clicks his tongue.

Another light source gone. Dealing with ranged units in the dark can be so tiresome.

"Our morning got off to a good start, don't you agree?"

"Wha - "

Jonah whirls around to see Edgar leaning against the same wall and nonchalantly holding a bow and arrow in his hands, though his focus was more on the latter.

"Ah, yes. Our good doctor really is sharp, isn't he? The tip was dipped in a formula."

"Why you little - do you realize that this is hardly the time to be impressed!?"

"On the contrary," Edgar smiled as he raised the bow up to his shoulder height and nocked the arrow, "I think it's highly appropriate."

And with a sudden burst of speed; the Jack of Hearts ran out from his hiding place, aimed high, and released his hold on the arrow - he doesn't see how far it goes but seconds later there's a cry of pain and the loud rustling of leaves nearby, followed by something wooden and something heavy falling to the ground.

Jonah steps out from behind the wall, a dainty eyebrow raised. "That man better not be dead."

"How morbid of you," Edgar says as he casually discards the bow, then draws his saber. "A little paralysis doesn't cause immediate death, Jonah."

"But a sharp or faulty aim can. Enough of this - we ought to regroup with - "

"Men! Aim for the Queen and Jack of Hearts!"

The pair stood still as two groups hastily approached them from both sides - swords at the ready, they silently watched as they were encircled by what looked like an angry mob of soldiers all dressed in the same black uniform, the gleam of their weapons made seemingly eerie by a lone lantern paces away from Jonah's feet.

"Oh? Did the Nine of Spades have this much swordsmen under him?"

"Hmph. A trivial matter - they can call all the reinforcements they want, but their numbers mean nothing against the Queen of Hearts."

"Ever so dependable," Edgar grins as the soldiers begin to inch forward in unison. "But it's bad to keep all the fun to yourself, you know."

.

.

.

"Hey there. Can you hear me?"

The man lying on the cot lets out a groan as he awkwardly nodded - there's a gash across his chest reaching down to his stomach, looking loud and angry and all vibrantly red with spilled blood. Kyle inspects the injury without so much as batting an eye, stooping down a bit to get a closer look.

"Looks bad, but we can manage." he mumbles after a few moments, then he turns to Idike waiting behind him. "Get rid of his clothes and wipe the chest area clean."

"Alright," she steps forward to stand over where Kyle stood, gazing at what she needed to work with. First, she needed to get the patient out of that thick jacket - if she couldn't move his arms much, she could just go with cutting through the cloth instead even if it would take a little more effort on her part. Next, she had no other way around the shirt so she should cut it out, which meant that a clean replacement had to be ready after treatment. Lastly, since the blood was a bit messy, she needed to prepare two towels to make sure everything would be wiped down.

Her fingers are about to reach out when the soldier speaks, voice raspy yet firm -

"Don't touch me."

She stops, Kyle stops too. He's just nearby and getting the disinfectant ready, but he heard those three words - and the rest that would follow - loud and clear all over the din in the tent.

"Are you going to finish the work of the Jack of Spades? Part of your little Black Army family?" there's sardonic laughter - it goes on for a while, doing absolutely nothing to diffuse a palpable tension, then it's replaced by an angry growl. "I won't allow you, Alice - I definitely- "

"...op that."

Kyle looks over his shoulder. She said something, didn't she? Did she reach her limit? Was she going to cry, or -

"What did you - "

"Stop that," Idike repeats, high-pitched voice struggling not to shout but it doesn't mask the sheer emotion in her words that practically hiss themselves through her teeth. "I don't care if you don't like me, don't trust me, or if you think that I'm a Black Army spy! But don't you think for a second that I'm going to leave you here to bleed just because you said so!"

"How dare you - "

"How dare you! Do you think that your suspicion of me will mean anything when you end up dead!? Does it matter more to you than your own life!?"

The soldier lets out a gasp. Idike takes in a deep breath but she holds her tongue as she gets to work, lithe fingers unbuttoning the jacket with fervor.

Ah, she really needed those scissors.

"... You can doubt me all you want," she says, voice still struggling to keep itself leveled as she stared at the soldier straight in the eye, "But please do make sure to live through this, first."

And with that Idike stalks away, murmuring something about scissors, a shirt, and some towels. Kyle watches her go, lips quirking themselves into a smile, something like pride gleaming onto his expression.

Behind him, he hears a something like a whimper - then a sniffle.

"You heard the lady," Kyle chuckles, plucking out a bottle of salve from a trolley. "Glad to know I'm not the only one she gets angry at."

.

.

.

The Nine of Spades' specialty was archery - a rough approximate of men under his command was at least forty to fifty: half of them were trained in the art of archery, while the rest were trained swordsmanship or the art of wielding longer weapons like polearms in order to protect and keep enemies away from their ranged half. A group with good range.

The Seven of Spades on the other hand had probably around sixty to eighty men in his troop, and their weapon of choice were either blades or axes. When disarmed, the troop had no problem engaging opponents head on with their fists and legs. Quite appropriate, seeing that the Seven of Spades was rather bulky himself. A unit of great brawn.

Now, the Queen of Hearts had a total of a hundred and forty-five men under his command; all rigorously trained to be versatile in both melee and ranged weaponry, and also capable of manipulating magic to their advantage when deemed necessary. However, given that occupation of a village only required a minimum dispatch for convenience, that grand number was reduced to thirty at the moment.

Thirty, plus two Chosen.

Against two units with also possibly reduced numbers, but nonetheless still an advantage combined with knowing the general territory and geography better.

"Perhaps my uninvited appearance was a stroke of luck," Edgar muttered, sparing a glance upwards. Dawn was finally painting the sky... which meant that they were taking longer than expected.

"For once, I agree with you," Jonah huffed as he picked up a broken javelin off the ground - without bothering to aim he throws it ahead of him, and the sharp end pierces an opponent's thigh. The man shouts as his knees buckle, and one of Jonah's soldiers takes the opportunity to knock the man out. "Dealing with the Nine of Spades' flimsy unit would be easier if not for their annoying arrows!"

"If the whole or even half the unit of the Seven of Spades is in attendance, then we may have a problem," Edgar shrugs as two men, unarmed but with eagerly raised fists, rush at him at the same time: it only takes a sweep to the side, a swift kick to the back of the knees, and a single arc strike with his saber - to make his enemies fall face flat on some grass. "We can make do with our numbers granted that we avoid any major injury or arrow, but our endurance will be put to the test at this rate."

Jonah says nothing, but his narrowed gaze flickers to the pouch secured on his belt.

Edgar, of course, had already taken that into account - magic could dramatically alter their odds, but it was hard to tell whether the time was right to use it. While they knew their opponents, they couldn't say the same for their numbers; or their equipment. The Black Army had a limited supply of magic crystals, but what were the chances that the Nine or Seven of Spades' squads had crystals with them? Then there was also the issue of -

"Qu-Q-Qu-Queen Jonah!"

The two turn their heads to an ally running towards their direction, cap missing and face pale.

Jonah's brows furrowed as he stared at his subordinate: parts of his uniform and his face was stained with something dark, resembling soot - 

And it's also then that Edgar catches a trace of movement from the corner of his eye, from the grove leading to a forest near the village: a glimpse of black cloth, flutter akin to a robe - 

"My Queen, several houses have been set on fire!"

.

.

.

"Y'know, he was that same guy who didn't want you anywhere near his wound back then."

"Oh... Back when I just started as your assistant?"

"Yup. Good times, huh?"

A smile touches Idike's lips, hands taking hold of another sheet hanging on the clothesline. Oh, how she missed the feeling of warm sunshine on her skin and winds playing with her hair - stepping out of the medical tent for a bit to get the laundered cloths was a good choice.

Kyle also seemed to enjoy the brief respite, seeing as he was busying himself with stretching his arms and rotating his neck.

"Is he okay? It's good that none of his vitals were hit, but he lost a lot of blood..."

"Don't worry about it. He'll get better in time - even if your outburst made him go all emotional."

She goes quiet, fingers focused on folding the sheet in her hands. It's all well and good that her words actually meant something to that soldier, but in turn -

Are you going to finish the work of the Jack of Spades?

- those spiteful words haven't left her mind, either.

Part of your little Black Army family?

A frustrated sigh escapes her, but she quickly tries to swallow it down and settle for refolding the sheet instead - there's the crunching of grass behind her as she spreads out the whole sheet once more, and then suddenly she feels the weight of a warm hand on top of her head.

Idike stops.

"Hey, you should be the one reassuring me or something." Kyle says - he takes a step forward to stand beside her, his hand still on her head.

"About what?" she asks, breathing in the smell of crisp cotton in the air.

"About them, your folks back at the Black Army. That they'll be alright. You of all people should know how strong they are, yeah?"

Silence falls in between them, pregnant yet comfortable until she lets out a soft laugh; her shoulders drooping and hands shaking.

Yes, she knew, even if she only spent a few days with them, even if she only got to properly talking to five of their Chosen. She had a feeling that no matter how much Fenrir Godspeed, the Ace of Spades, wanted to test out his guns; he would never kill in cold blood or allow himself to be killed in turn. She believed that despite how feminine Seth Hyde, the Ten of Spades, appeared and acted; he possessed as much or even more strength than his rank required and demanded of him. She's aware that even Luka Clemence, the Jack of Spades, so quiet and aloof; strapped his heavy claymore constantly on his back and it definitely wasn't just for show. She witnessed herself that Sirius Oswald, Queen of Spades, dared not carry a weapon; but instead offered every spare second of his time and tactical ability for the pure benefit of the Black Army.

And she understood - if only just a little - how much Ray Blackwell, King of Spades, treasured the boundless freedom in a peaceful every day.

She still believed in them - even if she wasn't fighting with them.

"... I know," she whispers, words carried by the winds. She turns her head to face Kyle, lips easing themselves into a wry grin. "After all, they're the ones giving us so much work."

He stares at her, at the blue of eyes - before breaking into laughter and ruffling her hair.

.

.

.

Kyle, as punishment for ruining her already mussed up hair; ends up helping her gather the remaining pieces of cloths on the clothesline, folding them, and putting each piece neatly inside the large basket she brought out from the medical tent. It's only then does she discover that he can't fold a measly towel without fumbling around with it, but after some grumbling attempts he gets better - he's folding towel number five when she stops and stares at the next piece of fabric she had to take down from the line.

A pristine white glove.

Gingerly she frees the small thing from a clothespin and takes it into her hands, cradling it as if fragile: a finger traces over the surface where a tear used to be, now nowhere to be seen thanks to tiny stitches patching it shut.

Secrets, whether minor or major, can be such incriminatory things... don't you agree?

After a little more staring she raises her head and speaks, her voice a little louder for Kyle - the first person of the Red Army she exchanged a normal look with, the first person of the Red Army she had come to genuinely respect - to hear.

I want to believe in them, too.

"Say, Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"What if I told you that," she pauses to look at him before continuing, "Idike isn't my name?"

He tears his gaze away from towel number five to find her figure amidst and across all the fluttering whites, an eyebrow raised.

"... What, it isn't?"

She smiles a bit. "It's a nickname."

"Is it, now?" he blinks. The winds continue to blow softly; playing around with the sheets, the ends of his coat, and the strands of her honey-blonde hair. 

"Let's hear it, then. Your full, real name."

.

.

.

From afar, his eyes follow the movements of her lips as she articulates the syllables of her name.

Her full name, figures. Does the Black Army even know that she was going by her nickname? Why was she telling him this now? Was it common for Land of Reason folk to give out their nicknames first before their names proper after some time had passed? Or was it really her intention to keep her name a secret from the moment she fell into Cradle?

Her earnest, almost relieved expression on her face told him otherwise, though - she's watching him with clear eyes, as if waiting.

So he rolls those same syllables on his tongue, the letters coming out steady and unsure on his mouth. He says it once -

"... That's right," she nods.

- repeats it again -

"Yes?"

- tries thrice -

"... Kyle. Are you making fun of me?"

She's openly frowning at him in an instant, the solemnity gone from her expression just like that, and he can't help but snort. 

"I'll stick to Idike," he says, turning his head back to towel number five. Darned long piece of cotton. "Shorter. Less complicated. Is that why you go by your nickname instead?"

"... Admittedly, yes. It is a bit hard to say, isn't it? Even I had a hard time saying it when I was a child and most of my friends thought so, too. Now that I think about it, that's probably why it grew to be a habit of mine to introduce myself with my nickname."

"Huh. Your name isn't that bad. But y'know, since you were so serious earlier... I was starting to think that your name must be something complicated or embarrassing to the point that you'd keep it a secret."

"Hey!"

.

.

.

"It's a good thing we found someone to carry that basket of yours, huh?"

"... Kyle. The clotheslines are just behind the med tent - we could've carried the basket back ourselves!"

"Carry something that heavy? You're stronger than I thought! You exercise regularly?"

"What the - no! And you're exaggerating, a basket of cloths isn't that heavy!"

"Hey, that isn't good. You should exercise regularly, or else you'll get fat."

"You're missing the point!"

Kyle chuckles, watching Idike puffing out her cheeks like a little kid not taken seriously - they're only steps away from going back inside the medical tent when a clamor reaches their ears and makes them stop where they stand, both of them instinctively looking for the source of the noise.

"Did something happen?" she mumbles. Kyle shrugs in response, but he does squint his eyes to try to see what's ahead of them: the reinforced wooden walls surrounding the garrison, red banners swaying in the breeze, soldiers moving about, and -

"... horses."

Three of them, to be exact: pretty white stallions, as prim and regal as the Red Army uniform, getting larger and clearer as they approach. Idike squints and she sees them too, a hum of awe leaving her lips.

"Where do you think they're going?"

"Nice question. They're moving pretty quick, so maybe to the commander's tent. But they can also be heading - "

The horses still spur forward, sound of hooves hitting the earth starting to reach their ears. So far not showing signs of swerving to the left, therefore not heading to the center of the camp.

There's only one more place where soldiers would hurry to in times of war.

" - towards us."

.

.

.

"A good morning to you both," Edgar greets doctor and assistant oh-so-casually as he dismounts, like there weren't two unconscious men strapped to the back of his horse. The two soldiers who rode alongside him dismount as well, also revealing someone unconscious laying on their horse's back. Idike winces as she goes over to them, asking what happened with a brow creased by obvious worry.

Kyle sniffs the air and frowns - it gets deeper when he studies Edgar and his companions: parts of their uniforms, particularly their sleeves, caps, and boots were far from clean. They looked like they decided to spend some time rolling around in a fireplace. "You lot smell like smoke. Was your mission to set something on fire?"

"You wound me. I wouldn't dream of using such a brazen tactic if the great risks applied to our side as well. Sadly, the opponent didn't share the same sentiment."

"The opponent?"

Edgar smiles but says nothing more. Instead, he gets to removing the straps that held the men secure on his horse.

"These are men under our Queen that suffered from severe burns. That, combined with either a round of beatings, mauls from an axe, or arrow shots; courtesy of the Seven and Nine of Spades' units. I performed some amount of first aid with the help of magic crystals before bringing them here, and I'm sure you can handle the rest."

"Will do," Kyle watches as Idike ran up a nearby group of soldiers, presumably to get help in carrying the injured to the tent. It takes a few seconds of talking and gestures but she comes out successful, a group of able-bodies heading their way. "Still, you look pretty shabby yourself - sure that you ain't hiding a couple of burns?"

Edgar snorts - two soldiers approach him, saluting and offering to carry the unconscious to the medical tent in his stead. Nodding, he moves aside and lets them.

"I believe those words are meant for Jonah - he's the one who rushed towards a row of burning houses to save his men, I'll have you know. He also adamantly insisted that I bring them back to you - it's a good thing I decided to procure and hide away some horses beforehand."

"Heh. Cunning as ever, our Jack; as noble as ever, our Queen. Are you heading back to wherever you came from?"

"Along with reinforcements, yes. I believe Jonah has the situation under control by now, but there's much work that needs to be resolved."

"... Resolved, huh? That's a funny way to put it," Kyle shrugs, about to walk away. "Well, whatever. Just make sure to drag yourselves back here when you're done - and don't even think about skipping out on treatment, you hear me?"

.

.

.

With Kyle heading back to the medical tent Edgar stops to adjust his gloves, mismatched palettes splattered with shades of unsavory colors: earthy browns, crushed greens, murky reds, charcoal black. There was little to no trace of its pure white glory, but that was hardly anything new to him at this point.

They weren't damaged today, though. Not a single hole, tear, or rip.

Hm. Would she have noticed again if there were?

The thought escapes him just as fast as it crosses his mind, causing him to shake his head. As he told Kyle, there was still work to resolve and also things he needed to investigate; which meant he had no time to dawdle. Regaining his focus, he's about to mount himself on his horse when -

"Edgar!"

The call rings loud in his ears, echoing like the chime of a bell: there's no waver of hesitation, tremble of nervousness, or shake of anger.

It's just her and her clear voice, calling out his name.

So he turns around, smile at the ready, words planned out and ready to leave his lips once he'd see her face, but -

- it all comes to a halt when something damp touches his forehead.

His shoulders jolt slightly, surprised at the cool sensation but he doesn't pull himself away. It dawns on him that she's wiping his face with what looked like her handkerchief; the white square patterned with daffodils tracing his forehead, the curve of his cheeks, the lines of his jaw, and even the tip of his chin.

It happens all so fast and gentle, such well-practiced motions on her part.

And when she pulls away, hand holding a soiled handkerchief to her chest, she tells him:

"Be careful."

Their gazes lock together - steady and unafraid, jade meeting blue.

.

.

.

And that was the third time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        "Jonah informed me that you joined him without warning on his mission."

Ah, here we go.

Keeping his smile calm, Edgar stood still under his King's scrutiny. With the two of them only left in the commander's tent and with those eyes blue as ice highlighted eerily by the lamps, the air suddenly felt quite heavy.

"That, I did."

"Your help in subjugating the Seven and Nine of Spades' troops was greatly appreciated. But explain yourself."

Lancelot Kingsley leaned back on his chair, but by no means did his imposing tone or aura lighten.

"Do allow me to address my insubordination first - if you find it fitting to punish me immediately, then I shall gladly accept and reflect on my actions." Edgar bows low, eyes set on the ground. "On the other hand, my King, if were to explain my actions; I believe it's because I've been finding our current advantage over the Black Army rather odd."

"Odd, you say... Do you find it so surprising that we've been emerging victorious on each encounter we have with the enemy?"

"Nothing of the sort. In fact, it's the expected outcome even before the war began." Edgar raises his head with a shrug, the smile on his lips still present. "But considering the recent reports of the Chosen and the village conquest the Queen and I experienced... I can't help but think that there's a third party meddling, or, should I say... assisting our cause in the most peculiar manner."

There's a brief pause, poignant yet also brimming with the tension of a challenge. 

Edgar lets it sit very still, simmer a little further, then speaks up again.

"Or it may be a result of incredible chance," he says, adapting a lighter tone. "Whatever the case, I find it quite unsettling and insulting, as well. We certainly aren't so weak or foolish to require such aid; it's like our army's capabilities are sorely underestimated. And in addition to that... we also have Alice the Second as our trump card, do we not?"

Lancelot's eyes narrow ever so slightly.

.

.

.

There weren't much sheets today, but there were a hefty amount of towels.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she rises from her laundry spot; a quaint area by the riverbank with a patch of soft grass to sit on and with a comfortable arm's reach to the river's waters without the need to bend excessively. Stretching her arms upward, she finds herself staring up at the sky.

It's dark, but beautifully cluttered and lightened with stars. Sign of another day gone - four about to turn to five days of a war still raging.

Her arms eventually fall to her sides and she picks up her laundry basket, keeping her grip tight on the handle. Even if her nighttime laundry duties were something like her brief respite away from the medical tent, she couldn't - no, she didn't allow herself to stay out for too long.

If she did, she's not so sure that she could return calm and smiling like Kyle could always do.

If I have another outburst, I'm not so sure I can stop myself again.

So instead, she distracts herself with thoughts of work as she makes her way to the back of the medical tent and to the clotheslines: after hanging up laundry, she might as well head to the mess hall and grab some dinner for herself and Kyle, and also for the volunteers helping them out if the portions can fit in the basket. After dinner, check the condition of the critically wounded, see if they needed anything like bandages to be changed. Speaking of bandages, were there still enough of those going around in trolleys of the tent? When was the last time they restocked? She'd better ask when she gets back.

The list gets long, longer, and so on and so forth; and her feet have the urge to pick up the pace, until -

... Hm?

.

.

.

"Off with only a warning... how gracious."

If you insist looking for your... third party, then so be it. But remember where you stand, Edgar - you have your own duties to fulfill in this war. One misstep, and you might as well be at the mercy of your so-called chance.

So he's been granted permission to investigate, given that it doesn't interfere with his missions and that he proceeds with caution. The King doesn't address the idea of there being an actual third party, but the lack of confirmation or denial might as well mean that it was plausible... and that he was aware of its existence, himself.

As for Alice... her ability still serves to be of use to us, so it would do well to keep her close. She is, as you say, a trump card in this war... and it's important to keep our advantages hidden until the time is right. 

Simply put, the King was protecting her and if Edgar were to wager a guess, it wasn't in fear of the Black Army taking her back. If the King really saw her to be the advantage that she was, he still would've brought her to the front lines; but not with the freedom to continue her duties as the doctor's assistant.

For were she still the same person that she was two and a half weeks ago, Alice would've jumped at any chance of escape.

But at a drop of a hat, she changed. To army that gave her nothing but grief upon her arrival in Cradle, to the men who drew their swords at her and threatened to end her life, to those that kept her on the edge for days with their wary looks, and even to him who took her away from the Black Army by force... she chose to extend her hands to each and every one of them with a newfound purpose simply on her mind.

To help them.

To keep them alive.

It hardly made any sense, and in all honesty there little to no things that could leave him so vexed in a short amount of time.

How does she do it?

Was there truly a person in the world who was that tolerant?

How was it possible to turn obvious distrust into genuine kindness so quickly, without fear of betrayal?

.

.

.

"... Edgar?"

Ah - he's aware that just by thinking about an individual cannot summon said person like magic, but when he looks up he really sees her in the flesh, standing in front of him and holding a filled laundry basket in both hands. Her apron has added splotches on it with each new color just as equally suspicious as the older ones, honey-blonde hair still a haphazard plait now resting on her shoulder, and the new tickling smell of soap wafting from her figure presumably a result from doing laundry.

There are still bags overstaying their welcome under her eyes, but what he studies is the curious glint in them when she asks:

"... Can I help you with that?"

.

.

.

One minute ago they're enfolded by silence and a cool night's breeze, then the next she's suddenly laughing quietly to herself, features softened by a kind smile.

"Really. Are we going to keep meeting like this?"

He matches her smile, keeping his bare arm still outstretched.

"I hope not. I'd like to experience a day where I take care of you, for a change."

Idike chuckles, starting to wrap a bandage around his left forearm. To be fair, if her eyes weren't drawn to the light coming from his lantern as she was making her way back to the medical tent, they wouldn't be in this situation. But they were, and not so far away she saw the Jack of Hearts sitting cross-legged under a large tree, stripped of his long coat and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Curious, it was only when she stepped a bit closer did she realize what he was doing.

He was doing his own first aid and from the looks of it, he was already halfway done.

Now she sat beside him on the grass, helping him with the finishing touches.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Certainly. I still intend to make a good effort on becoming your friend, if you recall."

"Even if you don't trust me?"

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second. The bandage continues to wrap itself around his skin with her guidance, coiling like a snake.

Two seconds.

Three.

"... Say, Edgar? Is it alright if you listen to me for a bit?"

"... Of course."

She hums for a bit, keeping her eyes trained on the bruises on his arm, on the bandage she was trying to secure.

"When Kyle took me in as his assistant... I took up his offer for the wrong reasons. At first, I only saw working by his side as a guarantee for my safety in Red Army headquarters, and maybe my first patients understood that, too - when I began helping out in the infirmary, there were some soldiers that gave me odd looks but said nothing; then there was also this one person who refused my help outright, claiming that I'd poison him there and then."

Ah, yes - the soldier from our Eight's unit, Edgar muses, but doesn't say. The day that the Seven of Hearts declared Alice the Second as his assistant did cause quite the commotion in the barracks.

"I wasn't offended, really - I felt nervous since he was glaring at me, sure, but in the end being Kyle's assistant was my decision so I treated him anyway. I figured that all those pointed looks and that accusation was justified considering who I was to this world, and that I was with the Black Army at the start."

"... That is, until I forced you to come with me."

His comment prompts her to flash him a wry smile before continuing. The bruises are now hidden under strips of white.

"I wasn't angry or hurt, so I just took in all their suspicion. Besides, I couldn't find it in myself to turn a blind eye on someone who was injured - I may have made my decision to become Kyle's assistant for my own sake, but I wanted to help people in need... that much was genuine. I wanted to save lives."

A brief pause. When she speaks again, her voice shakes slightly.

"... So earlier this morning, when that same soldier who accused me refused my help again, and went as far as saying I'd kill him since he was already in such bad shape... something in me just... snapped."

A dry laugh escapes her - it's a heavy mix of frustration and anger and he could tell that it was still a bit raw; that those two feelings still took hold and grew root in her somewhere, not dissipating in the slightest.

So even the benevolent can feel such profound emotion.

"I... tried my best not to yell at him, even if I wanted to. I had so much, so much to say to him. About me. About the Black Army. About him being so stupid for rejecting help. About our patients in the medical tent, about how they all wanted to recover and live. About how Kyle and I and all the volunteers were giving our all every single day just to look out for everyone."

The bandage is now wrapped securely on his forearm, and she ties it nicely despite her fingers quivering.

"... I... I hardly said any of those, in the end. But when I got some time to clear my head... I wish I could've said something else from the start. Something I was reminded of... just this morning, too."

She stops moving, eyes still downcast. Her fingers still hold his wrist, her warmth mingling with his skin.

"... And what would that be?" he asks.

Idike goes quiet again, so he listens to her breathing as he waits.

A heavy inhale by the nose, a quiet sigh through her mouth.

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.

"You know - "

Her voice has found itself again and it has turned itself into a solemn whisper, dainty fingertips of her free hand now tracing over his bandaged forearm then to the exposed flesh of his wrist; his skin tingling at the light drag of her nails on them.

" - I can't heal you if you're dead."

She speaks the obvious, but of a topic that someone of her disposition most likely wouldn't talk about often, much less willingly mention unless -

Ah, he mouths.

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Such was the effect of death.

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The night continued to stretch on, tainting the sky pitch black but adding it with stars, bountiful and twinkling.

"... Edgar."

"... Yes, Alice?"

"Why do you allow me to treat you?"

No actual reason - but perhaps out of personal interest.

"Because you willingly offered your aid."

That was true as well - she approached him with all her honest intentions clearly written on her face, and he accepted it.

"Even if you don't trust me?"

Ah... Is that what it looks like to you?

"You seem to be mistaken. I never claimed to be suspicious of you."

Being extremely cautious around a young woman with a revolutionary ability but with a heart of gold hardly seemed necessary.

"But - you noticed I kept my name a secret, and I thought - "

If you were thinking that I thought you to be dangerous or something similar because of that, then you've misunderstood me completely.

"I apologize if my approach to you that night felt like an interrogation. But if anything else, your reactions made it very clear to me... you had your own reasons for doing so, correct? It gave me little reason to prod further or fault you for it."

Although if she was affected this much by his parting words, then it's a sign that she's learned that secrecy wasn't to be taken so lightly in times of war - how funny that he; the Jack of Hearts, would be the one to teach her that.

She seemed to have heard enough, her fingers finally releasing his wrist to fall back on her lap. Again, he finds himself wishing that he could see her face - she had used him, in some sense, to air out the pent-up emotions she's been holding in for heavens know how long. Did her moment of catharsis make her feel any better? Was his input or presence of enough use? What change would this conversation bring about in her? Would it be for the best, or for worse?

Was there a smile or a pained expression on her features?

Really, what was going through her mind right now?

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Slowly, he finds himself reaching out a hand to her.

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And that was the fourth time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

                                        "Enemy squadrons spotted ahead! The Queen and Ace of Spades appear to be at the helm!"

Their King isn't present...? Zero narrowed his eyes, focusing on the silhouettes that became clearer on the other side of the Black Bridge as they approached. True to what was announced, he could only see the ever so composed figure of Queen of Spades and the oddly colored shock of hair known only to the Ace of Spades; their mounts a few steps ahead from the group trailing behind them.

"Well now - to have their Queen out on the field... perhaps their King is out on much urgent business?"

Zero glances at Edgar - there's a smile playing on the oddball's lips as usual, but years of grudging acquaintanceship helped interpret that a little further: the man was grinning, and that meant Edgar Bright was most likely in good spirits - may mercy find the poor souls unfortunate enough to cross blades with the demon today. 

That aside, having Sirius Oswald on the front lines was unusual. Would an actual negotiation be held on this Bridge, or was the Black Army plotting something else?

The soldiers started to murmur among themselves, but then the clear cut voice of their King resonated among their ranks.

"It hardly matters if the King of Spades has business somewhere else - Red Army, I expect all of you to stand your ground. We are here for a negotiation as they requested, and if this happens to a pretense... I see no reason why we shouldn't retaliate in response: it will also serve as a good lesson for a King who seems to forget his Army's position as it stands in this war."

Zero felt a chill run up his spine. Speeches from the King, where charisma and callousness would mix, were really something else to the ears.

"May glory run crimson through our veins," Lancelot recited.

"May glory run crimson through our veins," came Zero's and the Red Army's reply, perhaps loud enough for the incoming Black Army to hear. 

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It happens in quick steps, like a practiced dance as they were to meet the Black Army halfway through the bridge:

First, it starts with Zero's horse unable to stay still for a second: he manages to calm it down, and from the corner of his eye he sees Edgar resolving the same problem as well -

Second, the winds that kept on blowing around the bridge suddenly died down, Black Army banners finally staying still on their poles: this would not be unusual if the air didn't feel so thin all of a sudden too, making breathing a little harder than it should be -

Third, the air simply isn't thin anymore: a tingling charge, prompting hair to stand on end and filling one with a sense of alertness and jitters, starts to creep in as Zero breathes and it downright makes him feel sick to his stomach with familiarity -

Fourth, everyone seems to get the feeling that something's wrong: from the right end of the bridge the King of Hearts abruptly orders his soldiers to stop, and from the left end Zero hears the Queen of Spades shouting a similar command, but -

Fifth: the pavement they are on literally starts crumbling. No one sees why it happens but it just does; starting from the center of the bridge then spreading quickly from the sides, the road breaking into cracks then growing to fissures then gaps in all directions and it just goes on; wider and larger and faster and it doesn't just stop for anyone and the cracking sounds continue to grow louder and stronger -

And in all the chaos of crumbling rocks, neighing horses, and astonished and panicked screaming; the Ace and Jack of Hearts turn around, concerns on one thought and one thought alone -

"King Lancelot!"

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"Do you recognize them?"

"Yes. This person is from Sirius' unit, while these three are under Fenrir."

Kyle lets out a sigh, staring at the four odd men out in the medical tent. No one would dare do anything to them in this place, but still -

"I still can't believe it," Idike's brow furrows as she wipes the forehead of the one she claimed to be under the Queen of Spades, "How could something as grand like the Black Bridge collapse? You don't suppose it's the work of..."

She trails off to shoot him with a knowing look, and he shrugs in response.

"Making a bridge like that collapse isn't a feat an army can even do on short notice. It's definitely a possibility."

But if they're willing to pull off something this big without a care of the aftermath, it's either this whole thing was a display of power or a warning.

Kyle lets out another sigh, shifting his gaze towards her instead: the headstrong bottomless appetite confectioner turned temporary doctor's assistant for a month, also known as Alice the Second.

His sort-of drinking buddy.

His sort-of student in the medical practice.

His assistant.

When he calls out her name - her real name - her head snaps to face him immediately, only to find him walking his way to the tent's entrance. He parts the cloth with the back of his hand, and a cool night's wind flows into the tent.

"Got a second?" Kyle asks as he looks at her over his shoulder, faint moonlight streaming down his feet. "We need to talk."

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"Zero! Look up! There's a floating marshmallow in the sky!"

"... One more ridiculous comment out of you, and I'm seriously going to abandon your corpse in this forest."

Edgar chuckled. It's a good thing his back was leaning on Zero's own to help his body stabilize itself - riding a horse backward was turning out to be a fun experience.

"How rude, Zero. I'm in perfect health, yet you call me a corpse? As your mentor, I'm dreadfully hurt..."

"You're a corpse in a different sense of the word," Zero mutters, keeping himself focused on maneuvering his horse around the dark forest path. "And what part of you is in perfect health right now? You fell off a collapsing bridge alongside an incredible amount of rubble down a twenty-meter lake - if I didn't know better, I wouldn't have guessed that you survived. "

"How touching. But yes, despite a head injury and a number of unfortunate scrapes, I live to tell the tale: my first time utilizing the precautionary magic crystals each Red soldier is given before battle, for the sake of saving myself from an unexpected situation. It's amazing how I suddenly regained consciousness, lying face flat on some shore."

"... King Lancelot says his thanks. If we didn't react the way we did, he wouldn't had enough time to compose himself."

"Oh...? Did he use magic to resolve things?"

"... He did. He also apologizes for being unable to reach you in time."

Edgar hums, closing his eyes. He didn't mind not being rescued, but what bothered him was in the end; the Beautiful Beast still saved the day with his magic: it's not the outcome Edgar would've wanted for his King, but it's the outcome he would've expected of from his King.

Surely the man knew that his powers were linked to his lifespan but there he goes once more, ignoring all that in favor for doing a noble deed.

"Kyle is going to throw a fit once he hears that our King used magic again."

"If he can even find King Lancelot, that is." Zero says, grip tightening on the reins. "After settling the bridge incident, issuing additional orders, and assigning my unit to search for possible survivors like you; he's nowhere to be found."

"Oh dear. Did he look terrible or as stoic as ever?"

"You shouldn't use those words to describe your commander. But those who last saw him said he looked awfully pale."

Edgar didn't have anything else to say after that.

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When he opens his eyes, he sees the sky, maybe. All black and white and hazy. Kind of like his mind at the moment.

His eyes are struggling, too. But he can still see the floating marshmallow.

It's oddly shaped though. It's circular, sort of tiny. Coin-sized. Far up and away.

Oh.

"Am I dead?" Edgar says, voice low and serious. He felt the jump of Zero's shoulders as soon as he spoke.

"... And here I thought you'd be sleeping until we made it back. So much for peace and quiet."

"Zero. Am I dead?"

"Get a grip. You're alive."

"But you called me a corpse earlier."

"What are you, suddenly five years old? I didn't mean it literally."

"Ah. So that means I can still be healed."

"Kyle and Idike will do their best once I get you to them."

"But the marshmallow must've taken her away already."

"... What nonsense are you going on about now?"

Zero waits for a reply, but it doesn't come.

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It's Kyle who first notices Zero enter the medical tent - a casual hey followed by a query about the bridge incident is about to leave his mouth but once he sees the Ace, the first thing he blurts out instead is:

"What is that, a sack of potatoes?"

"You're insulting potatoes," Zero answers flatly - he was effortlessly carrying the unconscious Edgar on one shoulder, face not showing a single sign of strain. "Do you have an empty cot right now?"

"Yeah, take your pick - " Kyle points to several areas of the tent in rapid succession, then he squints at Edgar. "Wow. Never thought I'd really see the day. You really sure this is our Jack of Hearts and not a sack of potatoes?"

"You're the doctor, you tell me," Zero starts moving towards the nearest cot, and Kyle follows. "Not sure if it's everything, but Edgar told me he has a head injury and scrapes - he managed to survive the whole fall by using all the magic crystals he had."

"Just like some of his guys from his unit did, huh? He must've taught them well on how to use their magic crystals."

"But I doubt Edgar taught them to risk their own lives to try and save him."

"Aw, but look on the bright side," Kyle grins as Zero sets Edgar's body carefully on the cot. "There are people around willing to help out our Gentle Demon - isn't that a good thing?"

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Too bright.

That's what his eyes are trying to say, but he opts to force them open anyway. Eyelids still heavy, all he can manage now is to make them flutter slowly - it's a start.

Strong smells of disinfectant and blood flood his nose each time he breathes, which meant that Zero successfully delivered him to the medical tent and he didn't even notice. That head injury might've been worse than he initially thought. How many hours have passed? How long had he been asleep? Was it still night or was it already midnight - or past midnight?

"... Oh? Waking up?"

Among the various voices and noises in the tent, his ears could pick out that one languid voice, just nearby.

Kyle.

"... It's due to surprise," Edgar manages to say, his throat a bit dry. "I can't seem to smell not a single whiff of alcohol on you, how tragic."

Eyes starting to regain their focus, he manages to see Kyle's face looking down at him with a lopsided grin. 

"Sheesh. Just woke up and you've already got something smart to say. Can't we get a thank you instead?"

Edgar laughs softly. "... That seems lacking though. Do you accept caramel corn as thanks?"

Kyle immediately scowls. "You and your awful food preferences. What kind of thanks is junk food, anyway?"

Before Edgar could answer with a compelling narration on the value of junk food, another voice pipes up, light and distinct.

"I'll have it if you don't want it, Kyle."

... Did he hear right?

He blinks once, twice, thrice; and there she is in the flesh, entering his line of vision: a young woman with honey-blonde hair, blue eyes, a smile on her lips.

Oh.

"Hello there, stranger," Alice the Second says.

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.

With the doctor shuffling himself away to attend to another patient, Idike remains by Edgar's side. When he manages to sit up, she hands him a cup of warm water.

"How are we feeling? Does anything still hurt?"

He shakes his head, draining the cup in a few gulps before handing it back to her.

"... Today is the night of the full moon."

"I know," she replies casually, taking the cup back in her hands. "The view from here was gorgeous, too. Is the moon always that pretty, wherever you are in Cradle?"

"I've never given it much thought."

"Really? That's a shame."

She pulls up the chair next to the cot and sits, setting the empty cup on a nearby trolley. He's watching, waiting, and when she looks at him; she's smiling again.

"I didn't go back. To the Land of Reason, I mean."

"I can see that."

"Kyle tried to talk me out of it, saying that I should go back to my peaceful world. You know how he hates people foolish enough to throw away their own lives? If I went back, I told him that it would be the same as abandoning those same lives and others I might be able to save - like yours, for instance."

He blinks for a moment upon hearing her last statement.

"That's noble of you. But surely you know that means seeing this war - no matter what the outcome - to the very end."

"I can do it. I will do it. It'll be tough, but I'll push through - I have to."

Resolution makes her eyes shine, beautiful in its utmost clarity. He's drawn to the sight, semblance of a response forgotten.

"Oh! By the way, I never thanked you that night we talked."

"... You don't need to. I was merely listening to your thoughts."

"That may be true, but it helped me a lot. So... thank you, Edgar. And I'm glad you're safe."

She beams at him with a smile reminiscent of warm sunshine on skin, and he's lost in it even further when she adds:

"Welcome back."

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"... Alice."

It slips out of his mouth even before he realizes it: she's about to leave, chair neatly set aside and feet ready to go elsewhere, but she stops to the sound of his voice calling. She peers at him curiously, and it dawns on him that he's made a mistake.

This isn't like me at all.

"... I realized that you still haven't told me something," Edgar says slowly, as if carefully listening to his own words as well.

A tilt of the head to the side, a series of blinks. "I haven't?"

He nods, then it hits him.

"Your name."

They go quiet for a few seconds. Her face is blank; he studies her with a half-serious expression. 

When she laughs, he finds himself staring again.

"I can't believe," her features soften with obvious amusement, "that you're so hung up over a nickname."

So it's a nickname. 

"Am I?" he eases his lips into the usual smile. "I've always believed that the first step to making friends is to tell them your name."

"... ike."

Whatever she said escaped her lips a little too fast and far too soft for his liking, drowned out by the din in the tent.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

Alice - Idike - laughs again, and somehow it manages to echo in his ears loudly than any other sound present in the medical tent. Smiling, she leans over to him a bit, raising a cupped hand to shield her lips from prying eyes, like a child would do when spilling out their secrets.

"My name, good sir, is..."

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30 days remained before the next full moon...

[noikracs]

Summary: Part 2 of when Reiji is in the hospital, when Sugai and Tajima decide to read his file

After the whole thing went down and Reiji was checked on by one of the doctor’s, he fell back to sleep in Tajima’s arms while Sugai had his arms wrapped around the boy.

“The nurse said we should probably look at the file...” Tajima mumbled.

Sugai already tried, he just couldn’t do it anymore. But he didn’t want to tell Tajima he went on without him, so he simply nodded, grabbing the file.

Taking a deep breath, Sugai asked nervously, “Are— are you sure you want to do this?”

“We need to know what’s wrong so we can help him,” said Tajima, putting on the bravest face he could manage.

Sugai slowly nodded once again before opening it, and giving enough room for Tajima to read also.

Patient Information:

Name: Reiji Sunada

Age: 15 Years

Date of Birth: 21 April 2004

Abilities/Notable Factors: Tendrils come out of the back that can shock when wet

Alias: ‘Eel’

Reason for access to Med Bay: Deathly injuries

 

Tajima paused, pressed a kiss to Reiji’s forehead and took a third breath before delving into the actual part of the report which was most difficult to read.

 

List of Injuries and/or Health Conditions by Assumed Date of Occurrence:

Mild taser burns on sides of abdomen and neck

Lip split and bitten into

Bruising on right eye, left cheekbone, ribs, stomach and neck

Bullet wound – entry through back, lodged next to left shoulder blade and scarring from bullet extraction surgery

Additional bruising to right side of face, cheekbone and temple

Eighty cuts and lacerations increasing in depth and severity covering back and hips

Evidence of drowning and subsequent health complications including the following:

Water Inhalation – Pulmonary Edema – Hypoxia – Respiratory Failure – Patient was most likely held underwater without air for extended periods of time before unconsciousness occurred *

 

Sugai and Tajima both stared at the Asterix and followed to the next page over where there was another section of writing. They were suddenly very glad that the people they hired were thorough because someone had printed information and research on something called secondary drowning, which Reiji had apparently experienced.

 

* ‘Inhaled water leads to a condition given the name ‘secondary drowning,’ which is when water gets into the lungs where it can irritate the lungs’ lining and fluid can build up, causing a condition called Pulmonary Edema. Pulmonary Edema (Symptoms: Extreme shortness of breath or difficulty breathing (dyspnea) that worsens with activity or when lying down, a feeling of suffocating or drowning that worsens when lying down, wheezing or gasping for breath, cold or clammy skin, anxiety, restlessness or a sense of apprehension, a cough that produces frothy sputum that may be tinged with blood, blue-tinged lips, a rapid or irregular heartbeat (palpitations)) causes respiratory failure due to hypoxia  hypoxia is a deficiency in the amount of oxygen reaching the tissues (symptoms: change in skin colour, increased or decreased heart rate, rapid breathing, shortness of breath, sweating, wheezing).

Sugai flipped back to the other page, determined to push through and finish reading the list of injuries.

 

Open bone biopsy on hip, knee and shoulder – Patient not administered anaesthetics and was likely forced to walk immediately after surgery

Patient appears to have been kept in early stages of hypothermia for extended durations of time

Patient appears to have undergone some form of sensory attack and deprivation due to increased sensitivity to light and sound

Severe ankle breakage – likely caused through weight dropped onto limb and continuous disruption and aggravation to the broken bone after breakage

Severe Asphyxiation – likely caused by strangulation

Additional bruising to jaw and mouth area causing second split lip

Severe bruising across entire face

Three broken ribs, two fractures

Trauma to eye socket likely caused by multiple blows

Bloody nose due to assumed assault

Dislocated shoulder

Injuries consistent to those of beaten and/or assaulted patients

Thoracentesis surgery without anaesthetic – needle inserted into pleural space between lung and chest walls, likely to remove excess fluids (pleural effusion) from the pleural space to improve ability to breathe

Shattered hyoid bone and evidence of poorly-executed bone reconstruction surgery

Severe Epiglottitis – condition which occurs when tissue protecting windpipe becomes inflamed

Please note that the patient was administered a fibreoptic intubation procedure without anaesthetics or ventilator to assist breathing

Extreme fever caused by infections *

 

* ‘Infections in both lungs’ air sacs causing them to swell – Caused Pneumonia

Respiratory tract infection in upper and lower respiratory tracts

Pharyngitis – caused by severe swelling in pharynx and larynx

Severe Sepsis throughout body (condition arises when body’s response to infection causes injury to tissues and organs)

Multiple opportunistic infections (infections caused by patients weakened immune system and deteriorating physical health)’

 

Evidence of more water inhalation and an increase in the severity of multiple infections

Evidence that the patient underwent severe and final stages of hypothermia

All external wounds were re-opened for reasons unknown

Severe electrical burns on points of contact (both temples, toes, fingers) and contusions/abrasions from suspected metal clamps and plates used to administer high amount of electrical currents

Severe injures from restraints on ankles, wrists, all joints, chest, collarbone, hips, temples and neck

Severe electrocution

Severe hypovolemic shock caused by amount of blood loss

Major concussion

Throat inflammation caused by screaming

Multitude of severe contusions and abrasions

Evidence of multiple seizures and spasms

Extreme starvation

Extreme dehydration

Extreme sleep deprivation

 

Interesting/Unexplained Features:

Gasoline residue found on clothing and skin – inhalation of these subsequent fumes caused high risk carbon monoxide poisoning which is the likely cause of the seizures and heart arrhythmias

Surgery guidelines over skull and spine despite no evidence of any surgical procedures

Finger-shaped bruises in unusual places such as hips, thighs, lower back and shoulder blades

Wound on chest had been carved into the patient in order to cause emotional and psychological damage

Although no anaesthetics were administered to the patient, they suffered from (intentional) Opioid-Induced Hyperalgesia * and extreme amounts of Varenicline * which were found in the patient’s system

 

* ‘Opioid-Induced Hyperalgesia is a state of nociceptive sensitization caused by exposure to opioids. The rare condition is characterised by a paradoxical response in which a patient receiving medication (specifically opioids) for the treatment of pain actually becomes more sensitive to certain painful stimuli. In this patients’ case: (Reiji Sunada) the specific synthesis of drugs he was unwillingly supplied with were used to intentionally increase the amount of pain felt during and following most experiments and attacks.’

 

* ‘Varenicline goes by the brand name ‘Chantix’ and has been highly scrutinised for causing severe neuropsychiatric adverse events including abnormal dreams, nightmares, night terrors, aggression, anxiety, heavy fatigue, insomnia, irritability, somnolence (sleepwalking) and other various sleep disorders.’

Tajima choked back a sob. “Baby— my baby—” he buried his nose in Reiji’s hair, crying.

The slightly older man wiped a few tears. “I can’t— I can’t comprehend how he could’ve went through all that...”

“Dad’s?” a small voice called, Reiji looking worried.

Sugai gave the best smile he could manage. “Hey, love. How are you feeling?”

With a shrug, Reiji mumbled, “My back hurts a bit but I’m fine. Why are you crying? Are you reading my file?” he asked quietly.

“We’re sorry, sweetheart, we just needed to make sure y—”

“No, it’s f—fine. I understand.”

Tajima asked nervously, “Are you hungry now, bambino?” He was just worried Reiji would end up starving at his own will.

And not to his surprise, Reiji shook his head. “No. I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” asked Sugai, his larger, calloused hands cupping the boy’s cheeks gently.

Reiji nodded. “Yeah. I can’t tell if it’s a habit or the fact I j—just am not used to eating really.”

Even though part of him was afraid to ask, Tajima did ask, “When could you eat, sweetheart?”

“Every four days,” he responded, trying to seem nonchalant about it, but he wanted to sob.

Sugai inhaled sharply. “What— what could you eat?”

The boy looked like he was thinking for a moment before mumbling, “Bread was the usual. Though sometimes I’d have oatmeal.” Again, he wanted to sob but he kept it in.

“B—baby, you know you can cry, right? It’s okay, you are safe,” reassured Tajima, rubbing small circles into his cheek.

Reiji sniffled. “I—I know, it’s just a habit, I—I guess.”

There was a pause before Sugai said lovingly, “Take your time, sweetheart. We c—can be patient.” Though his voice was quivering, Reiji nodded.

“Can I go back to sleep?” asked the boy quietly.

Tajima and Sugai instantly nodded as Reiji’s eyes slowly drifted shut.

Everything’s going to be okay.

[bangtangurlarmy]

Wings [Part 48] || Taehyung

LOST AND FOUND

Pairing - Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre - Fantasy, Fallen Angel! AU, Fluff, Smut, Angst

Summary - As their friendship blooms, Yoongi is forced to take decisions that he makes without any hesitations. Taehyung is aware of his friend being a patriot at heart.

Prologue ; Part 47

Taehyung hissed as his wing slowly attached itself onto his wound - his other wing finally in his possession. Groaning, he clutched the cloth under him for comfort. Perhaps if you were here- no. He wouldn't allow himself to lament over you. You'd every right to move on, and the last thing he'd want is to bring you here.

'All okay there, Taehyung?' Min Yoongi's husky voice reached his ears as the king of Kronell walked into the Healing Room. Unlike Taehyung, everybody else in the room were here for healing wounds from fires, whippings, sword fights - only to be inflicted later upon them. Taehyung groaned again, this time in response. Yoongi took it well as - that's the last thing on my mind right now.

Taking a seat beside the wounded Sinner, he placed a hand over Taehyung's fist that was holding on to the cloth. His grip loosened as though the touch comforted him. 'You're my only friend here - whom I've grown to care about. Please, don't die on me.' He mocked a pained tone, one that made Taehyung and himself chuckle.

'You've got some humor for a cold-heated person.' Taehyung strained, a hiss escaping right after. A grin split Yoongi's lips apart, 'I know.'

For someone as unapproachable as Yoongi, he would agree to Taehyung's retort. But he was serious - although he feigned a mocking tone - when he said Taehyung was his only friend.

He had come to meet Taehyung right after his first meeting with the other 'important' courtiers of the kingdom - and all of them made sure to criticize Yoongi for killing his father. Most notably the Leader of the Third Brother Clan. And it had escalated from there to his 'rebellious' friendship with a Sinner. But that's exactly why he'd even bothered to attend the meeting in the first place: so he could get rid of the conservatism in the ruling system. 'I didn't think you'd be just as biased with choosing a friend like you were with choosing your wife, Do Joon.' Yoongi had said, in response to the man's criticizing claim of 'breaking a golden law'. It had shut the entire meeting up, all the Leaders sending nervous glances to others they were in par with to bring Yoongi down and away from the throne.

Although no official announcement had been passed yet, Yoongi was almost sure the law forbidding relationships between Sinners and Red Bloods would be removed. And forgotten.

'How is she?' Yoongi asked, although he knew the answer. He'd visited Earth two times in the past four months, both times you being the reason. You were happy - but only on the exterior. You'd never let anyone see through that invisible barrier you'd put around yourself - not even your brother, Jungkook. He knew you were strong, but everyone had their limit. What was yours?

'How would I know.' Taehyung's voice came out clipped as he cleverly averted his gaze.

'Don't lie to me. I know where you've been running errands to.' He smirked, his stare still fixated on his friend. Rolling his brown eyes, Taehyung snarled at Yoongi. He was crossing his line. Shrugging his shoulders, Yoongi stood up, ready to leave when he said, 'Also, I think it's just a waste of time and energy to fix your wing.' He winked at the male before turning around and leaving the latter in confusion over the former's words.

Another two months had passed, and Taehyung's wings were as good as new. He felt stronger, and more importantly he was slowly learning to forget. He hadn't run his "errands" for a month now, and just as painful it was to admit it, he found himself being proud of the fact. It was while he was training a few younger Red Bloods in hand-to-hand combat when a Keeper came for Taehyung, 'The king wishes to meet you in his chamber.'

Taking the steps was the least of Taehyung's concerns. For one, he'd never been personally called to Yoongi's chamber for anything - even if the meeting was at it's maximum height of importance. It must be something that surpassed the limit that had Yoongi summoning the Sinner-cum-friend to his own room. He'd ditched the idea of using his legs by the thirtieth flight - and took to flying over the next twenty flights before landing in front of the black and golden door - beyond which the king was waiting for him. He had to admit, Yoongi's taste in colors were quite a match to his soul - although he couldn't place exactly why he liked gold. The man probably had his own reasons.

Knocking on the door to let Yoongi know of his arrival, he waited until a voice from the other side of the door sounded, 'Come in.'

Walking in, Taehyung saw Yoongi coming out of what he assumed was the bath since the king stood in front of him with just a pair of pants. And when he got a glance of his chest, Taehyung had to bite his tongue - four scars ran diagonally the length of Yoongi's torso and stomach. Thankfully for him, Yoongi hadn't noticed he was staring at them since he was still drying his hair with a towel.

'Grab a seat, Taehyung.' Yoongi offered, walking to his bedroom to grab a shirt and threw it on while Taehyung sat on the chair by the dining table. Propping his elbows on its arms, the Sinner waited patiently until Yoongi returned from his room.

Clad in an inky black satin shirt and a random pair of trousers that Taehyung noticed Yoongi hadn't bothered to match with his shirt, the king sat across his friend at the table. 'How's things at the Pit?' He asked randomly, referring to the post of a temporary Keeper Taehyung was given. And as a combating trainer. 

Taehyung's lips lifted into an amused smirk, 'I'm sure you didn't call me all the way up fifty flights just to ask me how the Pit is. But since you asked - it's okay. She's been keeping me company.' Taehyung smiled as he referred to your mother. She had indeed spent most of her time with Taehyung - considering how lonely he felt most of the time. 

It was expected of course - the loneliness. After word got out that Taehyung was a 'friend' of the king, the rest of the Sinners and Red Bloods whoever he came across, either bent all the way down to his feet and put on a see through façade or avoided him completely - although the latter was mostly chosen. 

Taehyung didn't mind - not until he figured it was because of his friendship with the king. Even then, he didn't really confront anybody about it. It was pointless. 

'You're right - I didn't. I called you here because...well, I have news.' Yoongi found himself glancing at the night sky that was not dressed with specks of stars, but with the embers of fire. They crackled as they passed by Yoongi's window, like they too wanted to know the news. 

'Good or bad?' Taehyung crossed an ankle over the other, drooping lower into the seat - it was really comfortable.

'I'll leave that to you to decide.' Yoongi said, him too doing the exact same thing - slipping lower into the seat. Sighing, his ebony eyes met an almost similar pair, but the latter held a sort of hope in them. Something Yoongi had learned to forget - because it never helped him. But here, right now, he saw it fit just perfectly. Maybe, just maybe, Taehyung had the right to hope for what was about to spill.

'I can grant you mortality.' Yoongi jumped right into the net, not bothering to dance around the topic. And he could've sworn Taehyung wasn't breathing. 

Perhaps it had been an hour, or minutes, or maybe only a few seconds before Taehyung finally opened his mouth, 'What?' he breathed heavily. 

Yoongi found himself smiling in amusement. The hope in the Sinner's eyes were gleaming now. 

'You heard me, Kim Taehyung. I can grant you mortality.' He repeated, and along with the kindling hope in his friend's eyes, he simultaneously felt a part of him being ripped apart. 

'What's the catch?' Taehyung asked almost immediately. Yoongi shook his head, 'There is no catch. It's as simple as it sounds, Taehyung.' 

Taehyung couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't believe his life was staring at him in the eyes - and for the first time ever, it wasn't mocking him. It was stretching a hand towards him; a helping hand. His heart thrummed against his ribs, before reducing its pace and then peaking to its highest. It was as though his heart couldn't decide on what to feel either.

He smiled. He smiled wide in what felt like months - because it had indeed been months since he'd really smiled. Really been happy. 

Then it faltered. 'What was the deal?' 

Yoongi's eyes softened, and Taehyung almost hated himself for feeling thankful too soon.

'It doesn't matter.' He said, his smile not leaving his face. It began pissing Taehyung off. Yoongi had definitely said something. Or the Leaders did. 

'It does. You mean just as much to me as I do to you.' And then he saw what he'd seen in Yoongi's eyes only once: tears.

'Yoongi...' He addressed his king by his name, because right now, he was not his king - but his friend. A friend who was in need of more than just a hand. 

'In return for a stabilized realm, I could either kill you - erasing our records of friendship entirely - or I could grant you mortality and never see you again. As far as we hold no more contact, everything remains the same.' A tear, followed by another, streamed down the king's face. Then Taehyung noticed it. The hollow cheeks, the dark-ish circles under the male's eyes, and the distant look in his eyes. He's been given these choices long before he summoned Taehyung. 

And he had chosen the best path - for Taehyung. And he'd considered you as well. 

'No, Yoongi. I'll stay, please. We can't just let them make bullshit policies and rule like they want to. You're the king. And whether they like it or not, they listen to you-'

'It all depends on what the majority votes for, Taehyung. Although I do have the upper hand, the power is not entirely mine. And only by taking this decision, can I show them that. And only by granting you mortality, can I die in peace when I have to.' He offered a painful smile and Taehyung almost flinched.

He wanted to curse. He wanted to call him a dumb bastard. A dumb bastard for being too compassionate. But that's what he'd been born for. To bring the change that was necessary. And Taehyung - even if he didn't want to - understood that. He understood that just to bring that one change, his king would have to sacrifice much more. And he'd do it readily - even if it were his own life that had to be sacrificed.

He clicked his tongue, 'You're an idiot.' The best reprimand he could offer. 

'I know,' Yoongi chuckled lightly. Taehyung wanted to remember that. 

Long moments of silence passed. A pause that seemed so long it seemed like the world itself had stopped. But the two males knew the world was still on play, and it would keep continuing even after they left each other. It wouldn't mourn a newly born friendship being lost. 

'You'd be the first Sinner ever to be granted mortality. Congratulations on setting a record.' Yoongi tried to lighten the darkening environment settling on them. Taehyung snickered. Yoongi was such a horrible liar. Just terrible. 

'You're taking the chance aren't you?' Yoongi asked when Taehyung didn't say anything. Just to be sure.

And Taehyung sighed as he signed the virtual contract. He was gaining a life, but losing another. 

'Yes.' He said. And as Yoongi sighed a heavy breath of relief, Taehyung had a distinct feeling of punching the living lights out of his friend for being the one to suggest to grant mortality to him, to the Leaders. Because he knew nobody was insane enough to let that happen other than the king. The man who went through more than what he'd ever imagined. A man who lost his wife to a human and a cruel father. A man who possessed a daily reminder of what a tyrant his father had been. 

Most of all, a man who yet believed in a change that could possibly never occur. But if he had a heart big enough to let his friend go, then maybe, that was just enough to bring about that change they'd always dreamed of.

[kapower]

39. Kiss down their spine Surprise me with the pairing 😉

Inspiration quite literally slapped me in the face with this one. Bless you.

pairing: kacchako (katsuki bakugou x uraraka ochako) 

fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/ My Hero Academia

rating: T (for swearing)

She was stupid.

Selfless.

But stupid.

He looked down at the girl who was the current source of his irritation. She was lying down on her front in his bed, her eyes closed but brows pinched together in pain in a restless sleep. The back of her shirt had been cut open so that Recovery Girl could treat the lacerations properly, leaving her scarred back bare for all to see.

But it was just him. And he was pissed.

She had been called in unexpectedly to help with a rescue mission downtown, and didn’t bother to call him and let him know about it. A villain with explosive abilities not unlike his own had been reeking havoc, pointedly targeting the more populated areas. Luckily, he was dealt with before things got to far, but not soon enough to prevent him from causing heavy damage to the recovery wing of the hospital. By the time Uraraka had gotten there, one side of the wing had completely collapsed on itself and the other was dangerously close to following its place. Hospital staff and a few heroes who were still on the scene were moving frantically about trying to get as many patients out as they could, but the ceiling wasn’t going to hold.

Uraraka had made a split, and an admittedly risky decision and had ran and touched every piece of fallen debris she could reach to form a makeshift barrier to keep the rest of the ceiling from caving in. With her arms held high, Uraraka had then helped direct the rest of the injured and staff out of the area with a calm, firm voice.

Even though everyone was moving as fast as they could, Uraraka couldn’t hold out forever. Within minutes, her arms began to shake as she fought to keep the ceiling up as long as she could. She gasped for air in small quick pants as sweat began to run down the sides of her face and into her eyes, but she persisted. It wasn’t until her knees were nearly touching the ground and her vision blurry did she collapse unconscious, the rest of the ceiling crumbling down on top of her.

When Katsuki had finally been able to get past the press and into Recovery Girl’s office -but not without threatening to destroy every last piece of their equipment if they didn’t ‘shut the fuck up and let him get past their dumb asses’- he didn’t even recognize her.

She hadn’t been treated yet, and her body was marred beyond recognition. Bruises still littered her body down the length of her back, as well her forearms and legs, all of which would heal and would fade, but as for her scars…

“Kat?”

His eyes snapped up from staring at the pale lines criss-crossing along her back up to her eyes.

Her eyes…She was looking at him like he was the one who was hurting. Like he was the one who nearly died.

Idiot. He’s not the one that needed help.

Don’t look at me like that…

Katsuki tisked as he walked over to sit on the side of the bed. “What did I say about you calling me that shitty nickname?”

Uraraka rolled her eyes but managed a small grin as she looked up at him. “Oh, because you calling me ‘Ura’ is any better?”

“You like it. You fucking said so.”

“So? ‘Kat’ is literally the same thing as you calling me ‘Ura’; both are the beginnings of each of our names.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a fucking cat.”

“I have to disagree. I’m pretty sure you just hissed,” Uraraka chuckled, but then grimaced in pain. She tried to shift her arms underneath her, but cried out as it pulled her stiff muscles.

“Don’t move you idiot!” Katsuki growled, his hands darting out to gently push her back onto the bed. “The old hag sealed all the cuts and healed all the broken bones, but she left everything else to heal by itself. You’ve been in here too many fucking times the past month, she doesn’t want you becoming immune to her quirk.”

“I see,” she muttered into the pillow. Her eyes squeezing shut as her shoulder muscles began to spasm.

“Here,” Katsuki mumbled, “lemme help.” Uraraka’s breath hitched as she felt his weight settle over thighs, and then exhaled heavily through her nose as Katsuki lightly began to rub out the tightness in her muscles, the feeling of his calloused fingertips on her skin sending pleasant shivers down her spine.

It was so unlike him; being careful. Hesitant even. She could feel it as his hands trembled the further down her back he went. Or when he would pause at the sound of her whimpering at a tender spot.

“Does it hurt?” He asked. His voice was hoarse and low, but for what reason he didn’t know. This shouldn’t be affecting him. There was nothing sexual or romantic about this. She was vulnerable and in pain underneath him for fucks sake. He needed to get a hold of himself.

“Not really,” she breathed. She didn’t dare look at him. Feeling his hands on her was nerve wracking enough as it was. After a moment, her voice came again, shy and withdrawn. “Are…how bad is it?”

Katsuki stopped completely as he sat up to fully look at her back. He honestly couldn’t count how many scars she had now. The most notable was one that started from her lower left shoulder blade and extended down to the lower right side of her hip bone where it disappeared underneath her tights. Another began at the junction of her upper right shoulder where it met her neck and went almost completely diagonal to her mid back. That one was the ugliest. It was thick and jagged, the skin raised up and coarse as he trailed a finger down its length. Just looking at them made his blood boil, but in the worst way.

She could have died. She almost did, and he wouldn’t have even known about it. She didn’t care what happened to her as long as she could save the innocent. That’s how she’d always been.

But what about him? They were a team now. They go in together and come out together. Never one without the other, that’s what they had promised.

Katsuki sighed out his nose as he lowered his head to place soft, angry kisses across her scars. His nose skimming down the ridge of her spine and back up again.

“They’re not bad, Ura,” he mumbled, the sensation of his chapped lips on her sensitive skin making a deep flush spread across her cheeks and ears, “you’re a hero. And as fucking mad as I am about you going in without telling me and nearly getting yourself killed, you saved lives, and you’re still here.” With me, is what he wanted to add, but Katsuki was never one to say sappy shit. He expressed himself through his actions. So that’s what he did.

Uraraka held her breath as he planted hard, sloppy kisses on her scars, his hands coming up to run up her sides, but only enough for her to feel the heat from his palms. She knew he would be angry, but she wouldn’t apologize, and she knew that he knew she won’t apologize. Because she’s not sorry for saving people, only for making Katsuki worry, but that’s something he won’t admit out loud. So she says ‘sorry’ by catching the hand that he had been smoothing down her arm and bringing it up to her lips to kiss each of his knuckles. And he accepts her apology by squeezing her hand and leaving a trail of fiery kisses down the column of her neck.

In this moment, even though both were mending wounds of different kinds, this was how they found their healing; their solace.

In each other.