#the story isnt even about them it's about like a dead relative who left pieces of paper with random words for the family to put together?

[captainjimothy]

weyoun mentioned

[theinternetphantom]

Okay so I’m not the biggest fan of the show Spirit: Riding Free, but with the movie that recently dropped and the backlash and opinions circling around the show as a whole I wanted to throw in my two cents on a major issue that I, personally, found with the show that I haven’t seen anyone else talk about.

And it all starts with this bitch right here:

Now if you’re a Kate fan I recommend not reading the rest of this because it’s about to get very not nice. But for the rest of us let me lay in some truth real quick.

Before I get into it let me say that have never actually sat down and watched the show closely. I caught bits and pieces from when a relative of mine watched it over the course of a few years, but I watched enough to understand the plot and dynamics of the characters.

And from the moment we met her I absolutely hated Kate. Kate (Miss Flores) is introduced as Lucky’s school teacher. But over the course of the first and second seasons labels Lucky as a ‘trouble kid’ and looks for every opportunity to knock her down. To give some perspective, remember that Lucky has just moved to a whole new town with all new people. She’s twelve, a child. And Lucky may get herself into trouble, but she’s always got the best intentions. Except that Kate never takes the time to really get to know Lucky or listen to her side of the story. She always looks through an incredibly biased lens and punishes her whenever she can. Throughout the first few seasons, she is nothing but awful.

I can’t remember specifically what the original misunderstanding was that made Lucky (rightfully) hate Kate, but I remember the candle mishap. Lucky tries to fix Pru’s candles after another girl ruins them, resulting in her staying at the school all night. And she does, she fixes the candles! But she accidentally falls asleep and reruins them. When Kate finds her in the morning, she instantly accuses Lucky of sabotage. Instead of reading the situation (because Lucky and Pru are literally friends it makes no sense for Lucky to ruin them on purpose) or asking for her side of the story, she instantly throws Lucky out and sends her home.

My real hate stems from the circus episodes, where the circus where Lucky’s mother was from comes back to the town where Lucky currently lives. The entire arc tries to drum up sympathy for Kate, trying to make it seem like she is being ‘left out’ and ostracized.

But, y’all, THIS ISNT ABOUT KATE. It was NEVER about Kate. This entire arc is supposed to be about Lucky and her connection to her past, which up until this point was almost entirely told to her secondhand. This is an amazing opportunity for Lucky to really learn about her mother and her culture. And of course her father is going to be focused on that! It’s part of his past too! But instead of taking the opportunity to admire how much Lucky comes into her own skin here, Kate spends the whole arc JEALOUS OF A DEAD WOMAN.

She decides to make a big scene where she takes a job offer in the city and leave without saying a word. And why is that again? BECAUSE HER BOYFRIEND IS SUPPORTING HIS DAUGHTER IN CLAIMING SOME OF HER IDENTITY. Kate straight up tries to leave without communicating ANYTHING because she’s not the center of attention anymore?? Because they have family in town that SHE feels like she isn’t apart of? Even when they try to make her feel as welcome as possible?? Pathetic. Lucky’s grandparents are literally thrilled that Jim has someone new in his life, and even make the suggestion to include her more!

Kate, if you want to be a part of Jim’s life, then you have to accept the fact that he’s had a life before you. And part of that life includes a daughter that has a DEAD MOTHER. A dead mother who’s picture you PUT IN A DRAWER WHEN HER FAMILY COMES TO THE HOUSE. I’m sorry, respect for the dead much? And her excuse?? “With all of the commotion I didn’t want it to get broken.” Like sis, seriously? I understand that you were trying to do something good, but I highly doubt the family of the woman in the frame would be careless enough to break it. They know who that is, they wouldn’t throw themselves around a picture of their DEAD family member and break it. They have respect.

Not to mention, if Kate REALLY wanted to try to love and get along with Lucky, wouldn’t she WANT to watch Lucky perform in the show? Instead, you make her father come chase after you so that you BOTH miss the performance entirely. Lucky SHOULD HAVE HAD HER FATHER THERE. That creates such a huge riff in their relationship, and rightfully so!

I’m sorry, but Kate spends the ENTIRE arc JEALOUS OF A DEAD WOMAN. I will never get over that. And to make all of this worse, Lucky’s father knows how much Lucky hates this woman. She complains about her CONSTANTLY. And I understand that sometimes parents date a partner that their child hates, but instead of scold her for being jealous of Lucky’s dead MOTHER, he PROPOSES TO HER. While the circus is still in town. WITHOUT COMMUNICATING ANYTHING TO LUCKY. What. A. Train. Wreck. And, rightfully, Lucky’s pissed.

So, Lucky runs away with the circus. Good. Great! Lucky deserves that. After her father clearly choose Kate over her, she deserves to go with the circus to follow in her mother’s footsteps. I think that that would be a fine way to end the show. With Lucky happy in the circus and Kate and Jim back in that town… except the show paints Lucky as the bad guy here. Everyone shuns her for running away and being immature. Instead of understanding her side (which is the right one, btw) they all get mad at her for going with the circus??? Sis what???? That’s her family! If she wants to go with them, let her! They clearly have her interests at heart (they give her trick riding lessons and teach her about her culture) and she’s happy! But what happens instead? Pru and Abigail decide to follow her and convince her to come back, treating her like a bad person for wanting to be with the circus. They guilt trip her into accepting Kate and in the end she comes back, which isn’t fair! When Lucky finally gets treated like a top priority y’all have to rip her away from that? Gross.

Conclusion: Kate is a horrible character with a weak development that never gets held accountable for treating a little girl like garbage.

[mikoriin]

No Matter the Cost

happy halloween! here’s some suspenseful, angsty rogue!syaoran content for yall! very heavily based on the headcanon i have that syaoran actually has created his own heart by this point, and hes semi conscious when he’s committing these acts of horror. he just isnt strong enough to reach through and take control of himself under fwr’s manipulation. its an angst playground really.

WARNING: blood and character death

ao3 link

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Everything was dark around the clone as he walked through the portal to another world. He had achieved getting another feather. Of course he did, he always achieved his goal, and he would continue to do so by any means necessary. He looked down at the hand that held the feather, the pure white memory stained red with the blood that was on his hands. He stared at it blankly, the memories of him slaughtering an entire village to get his prize flashing in his mind. Syaoran winced at the scene playing out in his mind; men, elderly, women, and children alike...All dead by his hand.

Light began to seep through the cracks of the nothingness that was in between worlds, taking his mind off the horrors that plagued him. He stepped toward the light, coming into a marketplace. It was raining, people running the opposite direction of him to flee from downpour. The rain washed away the blood on his arms and face, drenching his clothes. Syaoran put the feather in a bag he had picked up during his travels alone, filled with a good portion of Sakura’s memory fragments.

Sakura...The name ringing in Syaoran’s ears. Sakura, the cherry blossom. He could see her, her honey colored hair framing her soft, round face, her big green eyes staring at him, her pink lips smiling at him. He could feel his heart tear itself apart, feeling like his entire chest was caving in on itself. He wanted to take this memory and burn it, burn her from his mind and his heart. Thinking of her hurt too much. The last time he ever saw her face, her beautiful face, it was twisted into pain, tears streaming down her soft cheeks, begging him to stay. This memory angered him, he wanted to rip it to pieces, tear it away from his body and soul.

“Young man?” A voice echoed through the pouring rain.

Syaoran turned around to see a tiny old man standing in the rain with a large umbrella. He smiled, his eyes closed. “You’re soaking wet, do you have somewhere to get out of the rain?” He asked.

Syaoran looked him up and down. This man had no threatening aura about him and he seemed genuine. Syaoran shook his head. The old man continued to smile. “Well, if you’ve nowhere to go I can give you a place for the night. Included with a free bath and dinner.”

The clone looked down at himself. All the blood on his skin was washed off but his clothes were now a wet, bloody mess. His stomach began to rumble as he felt his skin itch for a warm bath. He had no reason to refuse this man, so he nodded. The old man’s smile grew, showing what little teeth he had left. He began to walk toward Syaoran, reaching out his hand with the umbrella once he reached him. “Your payment will be holding this umbrella for a tired old man.” He said, a little laugh in his voice.

The two walked through the marketplace as Syaoran held the large umbrella over the old man. He talked about the village, about the trade market, how it was what kept the village afloat, how many of the village’s residents were elderly, the weather during the seasons. But, what really caught Syaoran’s attention was the tale about the village deity. The old man talked about the shrine on the top of the hill the village sat at the bottom of, how there is a festival every year to celebrate and worship the deity, and that if you pray to her, she will heal the sick and wounded.

“How long has this deity been around?” The clone asked.

“The village was worshipping this deity long before my grandfather’s time, so I couldn’t say. I’ve heard many legends growing up here, legends of a goddess coming down to bless the ancient people with a magical feather to heal their sick and wounded during times of war.” The old man spoke over the rain.

Syaoran clenched the fist of his free hand. A feather. That’s all he needed to hear.

“A feather is kind of an odd blessing to give your people, isn’t it?” The old man asked with a chuckle.

“No.” Syaoran’s voice was monotone,  “I’ve heard many stories like that.” He gripped his bag as they walked uphill, the rain only worse the further up they walked.

Eventually they reached a little section of houses. They were relatively small, smoke coming from some of the chimneys. The old man led Syaoran passed the section to a secluded little house off from the rest. The old man looked at Syaoran with that same smile, indicating they were about to go inside. The boy took that as his cue to close up the umbrella, a bright light illuminating the space before him as he did so.

“Shoes off at the door please.” The old man said, his smile never faltering.

Syaoran looked down at his shoes, full of mud. He took them off at the door, setting them aside as the old man had done with his own shoes.

“Welcome home, Husband.” A woman’s voice made its way into Syaoran’s ears.

He looked up to see a woman, just as tiny and old as the man who had led him to that little secluded house. She had the same gentle smile plastered on her face, her long grey hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Her eyes seemed far away, however that smile never left her small face. “I see we have a guest. Should I ready the bath for you two?” She asked.

The old man nodded as he stepped deeper into the home, giving his wife a kiss on her forehead as he passed her. She looked in the general direction of Syaoran, her hazy eyes somewhere far away. Syaoran knew that hazy look, that gleam that no one else seemed to have. She was blind. He felt something, something he couldn’t quite name. However, it vanished as soon as it came.

The old woman reached out her hands. “May I take anything?” She asked.

Syaoran said nothing, only gripping his bag tighter. The woman’s hands fell back to her side, a chuckle escaping her lips. “I understand. Please, come this way, I shall lead you to the dinner room.”

Syaoran felt hesitant at first, but he followed. She navigated her house perfectly, bringing her hand to touch the wall every now and then, possibly for her to check where exactly she was. Her steps were light, and she was swift. The dinner room was a little ways off the entrance of the house, a large room with a low table in the middle, cushions on all four sides. It had a few light fixtures hung on the walls, brightening the room.

“Please wait here while I draw the bath.” She said with that smile still on her face, and walked away.

Syaoran stared at her as she left, thinking that this old couple was a bit odd to be trusting a stranger standing in the rain, covered in blood. Nevertheless, he sat on one of the cushions at the low table.

“My wife is very good to me.” The old man’s voice came from behind Syaoran.

Syaoran turned to him, expressionless. The old man sat down in the spot opposite to the boy, that same smile he’d worn all night still draped over his face. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but she is blind. I’m not in very good shape these days, my knees are getting weak and my back is giving out. But my wife, she continues to take care of me despite her disability.”

Syaoran looked at the old man, his hands folded and his smile bright. He continued, “My wife has always been sickly. Every winter she falls ill, and it scares me to death each time. We’ve never had children of our own, her body was much too weak to bear a child. So, it brings me great joy to house a young man like you.”

The old man’s entire aura brightened as he spoke, his smile growing bigger. Syaoran stared at him. The way he spoke about his wife reminded him so much of someone he would rather forget. It pained him to remember. He turned away from the old man, refusing to allow this stranger to see him weak.

“Husband, the bath is ready.” The old woman appeared around the corner.

Syaoran stood from the floor with ease, noticing that the old man did not have the same experience. His wife held onto his arm, but even she was delicate and frail, so the entire process seemed like a struggle to them both. Feeling a tug on his heart, Syaoran decided to grab the old man’s skinny arm and pulled him up gently. The old man chuckled at how swiftly he seemed to get onto his feet, turning to the boy with a wide smile. “Thank you, you made that easier on both of us.”

Syaoran looked at the elderly couple who were smiling wide at him. Something in the back of his mind begged to be brought forward, a feeling he wasn’t sure he knew how to express. Even so, he smiled softly at the two.

“What a gentle aura.” The woman whispered.

Syaoran’s eyes widened at this. His mind flashed through the crimes he had committed in so many previous worlds, the horrors of what he had done replaying like a broken record. He turned his head away, no longer facing the kind old woman. He couldn’t bear to lie to her face. His aura couldn’t be gentle with the things he had done. He was a monster…

The old man began to walk toward the bath, his hands behind his back. “Come young man, we shall bathe the sky’s tears off our bodies as dinner is being prepped.”

Syaoran’s stomach began to growl as soon as he said that. “Dinner?” He asked sheepishly.

“Stew.” The old woman said happily. “Husband’s favorite.”

The old man led Syaoran to the bath, the two stripping their clothes and getting into the large tub with steaming hot water. Syaoran practically moaned at the feeling of warm water on his skin. When was the last time he had a proper bath? When was the last time he had a proper meal? He couldn’t remember...He could only remember the feeling of blood on his hands.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the old man, sighing loudly and sinking his body into the bath all the way up to his chin. “A good bath at the end of the day is perfect for these old bones.”

Syaoran looked at him. His face was full of wrinkles and age spots, most of his teeth were missing, and he had no hair on his head. “How old are you?” He decided to ask.

The old man chuckled. “I couldn’t tell you anymore, I stopped counting a long time ago. I just know I’ve been alive much too long.”

The last comment took Syaoran by surprise. “Do you not want to live?” He asked another question, letting his curiosity and comfort get the better of him.

“It’s not that. I am content with my life, it’s quiet, it’s peaceful, and I have my wife. But a life of hardships weighs you down after a while.” He spoke, his smile no longer on his face.

Syaoran sunk deeper into the water, letting it touch his chin. He stared at the old man, who had been smiling the entire time up until now. He must have really seen his own hardships.

“I can see you’ve experienced your own horrors, young man.” He started again. “Those aren’t the eyes of someone who hasn’t seen death.”

Syaoran’s eyes widened. The flashbacks began again, the replay of him taking the lives of innocent people, of the blood that stained his clothes, his sword, his hands no matter how many times he cleaned them. The image of Sakura’s face as she held him, begged him not to leave her. There it was. The memory he wanted to lock away and forget. The one that, even though he had done worse, made him feel like he was going to die every second he thought about it. He had hurt many people, but the fact that he had hurt her , the one he swore to protect from harm, plagued his mind more than anything else.

Syaoran curled into himself and faced away from the old man. He was peeling him away layer by layer, exposing his raw skin, his blood and bones. He wanted to run away and never come back, to go to Sakura and hold her and be with her, tell her how he really felt, give her all the feathers he collected, hoping she would be a little more alive with these pieces of her soul. But he could never, even if he wanted to. He had no real control over his body, his mind, or his choices. Even if he didn’t want to end so many lives, he had no choice. It was his duty to get the feathers, and he would do so at any cost.

He looked back at the old man who was looking directly at him. “Why did you take me in?” The clone asked. “You can clearly see I was covered in blood and I was standing suspiciously in the rain. So, why?”

The old man closed his eyes and leaned back against the tub.”Hmmm. You have a point, I noticed those things. However, when I look at you, I don’t see anyone suspicious. Even now, I just see a lost child, crying for someone to save him.”

Syaoran looked at the old man. He felt something in the crevices of his chest, something, like most of his emotions, he couldn’t quite name. He turned away again, not looking at the other man in the bath with him. “I’m not lost. I know what I have to do.” He said firmly.

The old man chuckled from beside him. “You just do what you feel is right.” He said, bringing that same smile back to his face.

Syaoran glanced at him, taking in his words. The two finished up their bath, put on a pair of clean clothes each, and went back to the dinner room where the old woman was setting the table.

“Oh, you’re both done! Perfect, dinner is ready.” She clapped her hands together and turned to the general direction of Syaoran. “Young man, would you mind bringing the pot to the table? I made extra since we have a guest and I’m afraid I can’t lift it.”

Syaoran blinked, unsure what to do about being asked to do a task for this woman, but he nodded. The stew pot was indeed heavy, there was no way such a frail woman like her could carry it from the kitchen to the dinner room. Setting it down gently on the table, the old woman tapped Syaoran’s back in support. “Such a strong boy we have with us tonight!” She sang.

Syaoran blushed a bit, being complimented was something he was never used to, even now it felt out of place and awkward considering the things he had done.

“Come now, sit and eat.” She said, taking a seat beside her husband.

Syaoran sat down across from them, watching as the old woman scooped stew into their bowls. He looked down and noticed that there were various little dishes with cut up vegetables and sauces scattered around the table, along with three cups of tea. He only looked up when he was being handed a bowl. He took it, saying his thanks. He examined the stew; meat, potatoes, carrots, and onions in a creamy white broth. Taking a spoonful, Syaoran blew on the hot stew and took a bite, tasting the various seasonings put in to make it delicious.

He surprised himself with how much he enjoyed it, and how hungry he was. He ate many of the side vegetables and had two bowls worth of stew. The couple talked the most throughout dinner, letting Syaoran take his fill. After all was done and cleaned up, the woman decided it was time for her to sleep. She kissed her husband goodnight, leaving Syaoran once again alone with the old man. They listened to the rain pour outside, drinking hot tea in the dinner room.

Syaoran’s thoughts drifted to his bag that he had left in the corner of the room. He was keeping a close eye on it, almost obsessing over whether the feathers were untouched. He stared into his teacup as he thought of the feathers, and if there was one in this world. He had a pretty good lead, the old man he was sitting right across from told him himself that there are legends of a feather. He looked up, remembering a mention of a festival.

“You said there is a festival once a year to celebrate the village’s deity. When is that?” He asked straightforwardly.

The old man hummed, his content smile turning into one of excitement. “Actually, you came into town at just the right time. It is in a week from now. I’m greatly looking forward to it.” He said as he took a sip of his tea.

Syaoran clenched his fist. He didn’t want to stay in one place too long, but if there was a feather in this world, he was going to get it. He looked the old man dead in the eyes, serious and determined. “There’s something I’m looking for, and I believe this village has the answers to what I’m trying to find.” He said, his voice firm yet calm. “Would you house me until the night of the festival?”

Syaoran put his hands forward and bowed deeply, his forehead touching the floor. The old man looked at Syaoran for a moment, then, his lips curled back into his signature smile. “You may stay here as long as you like, young man.” His creaky voice was soft.

Syaoran lifted his head and smiled at the man. “I will do housework and help you whenever you need it. I’m used to living on my own so-” He stopped mid sentence.

Everything seemed to stop as his old self peeked through the cracks he had let open. His mind flashed with snippets of a life in a desert country, feeling love all around him, the thrill of adventure, his interest in history and archeology. They were all so vague, a far off place he couldn’t seem to access in his mind. Syaoran swallowed hard, unable to speak. The old man just pat his shoulder. “There is no need for you to explain, my son. I understand.” He said kindly.

Syaoran wanted to break hearing this man’s comfortable words. He knew he didn’t deserve it, he knew he had killed too many people to deserve it. But he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. All he could do was stare at the floor, feeling the old man’s steady hand on his shoulder. He wanted to burst into flames, to burn away all of his mortal emotions, wanted to toss away his heart so he could do what needed to be done.

Syaoran steadied his heart and locked it back up. He took a deep breath and looked the old man in the eye, the glimmer of who he once was now gone. “Thank you sir. I think it’s time I head to bed.” He said flatly.

The old man’s brow wrinkled a bit but whatever thoughts he had he kept to himself. He began to struggle to stand, Syaoran not offering to help him this time, as he was lost in himself. “We don’t have an extra room, but there’s plenty of space in here for you to sleep. I will get the extra bedding.” He said as he went to a small closet and retrieved the bedding. “I hope this will keep you comfortable.”

Syaoran thanked the old man, setting himself up to sleep. The old man blew out the candles in the light fixtures, the room now pitch dark. He said goodnight to the young man, though Syaoran did not answer back.

Over the course of the next week, Syaoran stayed with the elderly couple, cleaning up the house, helping the old man in his shop in the market, taking care of the garden, and assisting in the cooking. He watched the other villagers as they set up for the festival, getting more information on the local legends among the elders. He could feel close eyes on him, as if the old man was analyzing him. Syaoran brushed it off though, he felt no threat from the old man, but knew that if there was sabotage, he would do as he did before, and force his way to the feather if necessary.

There were nights when the thought of Sakura’s feather would be pushed to the back of his mind, Syaoran spending his time socializing with the villagers and helping out at the residence where he stayed. He spent nights talking to the elderly couple, cooking with them, bathing with them, eating with them. Those nights were spent in contentment, feeling no weight on his shoulders, letting a bit of his old self peer through the curtain of his heart, the chains coming off little by little.

The day of the festival came. Syaoran spent most of the day hours helping the villagers set up the final touches to the venues and décor. The hours passed quickly, welcoming a night of tradition and fun. Lamps lit up the marketplace, the different smells of various foods wafting in Syaoran’s nose. His mouth watered, waiting to taste all of the different flavors on his tongue. The elderly couple that had taken him in were beside him, dressed in traditional garb for their culture. The old woman clung to her husband, her lack of sight hindering her in the crowd.

“My, so many people this year!” She said with excitement in her voice.

Syaoran looked around. He’d seen festivals a lot more crowded than this, however for the tiny little village he was in, this many people was probably a record.

“Well, let’s not just stand here. Let the festival begin!” The old man cheered, throwing his frail fist in the air.

The three of them went around various stalls, trying the many different foods offered to them, then onto little games around the festival. The night went on, Syaoran feeling things he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt a sort of joy bubbling within his chest, forgetting all about his duty to gather Sakura’s feathers. Soon, many stars were out and there was a chill in the air.

“Young man, come, we’re going to the temple at the top of the hill to pray for good health.” The old man called Syaoran over.

Syaoran nodded, following the two up the hill to the tiny temple that sat atop it. Once they reached it, he looked to the sky, feeling a gust of wind on his back. The clouds were moving fast and the air smelled of rain. Something in Syaoran’s gut told him something was coming, but he wasn’t sure what. The old couple called him over into the temple, Syaoran following.

The temple was one, relatively empty, dimly lit room made of wood. It had partition screens on each side of the walls with various paintings on them. Then, at the far end of the room was an altar. Syaoran stepped deeper inside the temple, closer to where the couple were kneeling down. He walked closer, attempting to get a view of what they were going to pray to, only regretting what he saw as soon as he saw it.

Sakura’s feather.

Syaoran clenched his fists hard, he could feel his blood boil and his eyes grow larger in size. His breathing began to pick up in pace, his heart thumping inside his chest, adrenaline flowing through his veins. It was her feather, an object of which he absolutely must obtain. The old couple lowered their heads and prayed, the old woman coughing into the silence. Syaoran’s eyes widened further as he realized why exactly they were praying, recalling the old man’s words that she was always sickly.

“The feather heals the sick and wounded.” He remembered the old man telling him. Of course it was real, and he should’ve expected this. This was what he was coming for. But part of him hoped, deep down, that there would be no feather. Maybe, just once, he wouldn’t have to hurt anyone else.

Syaoran took a step forward, the wood floors creaking under his foot. Quickly, the old man put an arm in front of his wife and the feather. Syaoran was taken aback. The old man looked at him, though now there was no smile. “You mentioned you were looking for something.” He said, a certain sadness in his voice.

The old man’s wife looked in their direction with a puzzled face. Syaoran felt his heart stop.

“You were so curious about the legends surrounding this feather that I figured it was what you were after. I have no idea where you come from, young man, but it’s clear you’re on a mission of some sort.” The old man spoke firmly.

Syaoran stayed put, his hands still balled into fists. He listened to the old man. “You must know by now, this feather is seen as a patron deity for this village. It has magical properties, heals our sick and wounded, and keeps this village alive another day.

Son, you’ve been so good to my wife and I.” His voice began to crack now. “I told you we never had children of our own. You came in and filled that void for us, having a young one around really gave us such joy...But, if you’re here to take the feather…”

Syaoran closed his eyes, not wanting to hear the words that would come next.

“I cannot allow that.” The old man said, determination in his voice.

Syaoran stood there for a moment, absorbing the old man’s words. He could feel his emotions pouring over, feelings of sadness, regret, and anger. He wished he could let this go, just leave the feather for these poor people to rely on. But his programming would not allow that. He opened his eyes, dark brown and cold blue shining in the dim light. Without a word he began to summon his sword with the magic he had stolen from his dear companion. He took hold of it, his hands trembling as he pointed the tip of the blade to the elderly couple.

“Dear...What’s going on?” The old woman asked, fear in her voice.

The old man looked at Syaoran’s trembling hands, then to his eyes. His eyes were full of emotion, emotion that the old man knew Syaoran would try to hide. “You don’t have to do this.” He said calmly, as if to try and reassure the clone.

“I do!” Syaoran suddenly barked, his voice plagued with pain. “Just...Give me the feather...Please…” He began to sob.

The old man looked deep into Syaoran’s eyes, the boy fearing he could see his soul that he had tried so hard to lock up inside. “You don’t have to be the monster you think you are.” The old man spoke gently.

Syaoran looked at him now, his eyes full of tears. “Then give me the feather.” He demanded, his voice broken.

It was silent for a moment, but to the three of them it seemed to last a lifetime. The old man finally shook his head and spoke. “I cannot.”

Syaoran hung his head, and then, like the turning of a switch, he was still and all emotions left him. He turned to look up at the old man, his hand no longer trembling, and his eyes now devoid of any life. He took a step forward to the old man and his wife, sword at his side. Closing in the space between them, Syaoran lifted his sword above his head, watching as the old man held his trembling wife in his arms, sitting in front of the feather to guard it. A single tear ran down Syaoran’s cheek as he brought his sword down.

A faint scream echoed outside the temple, rain droplets beginning to pour down onto the earth. Inside the temple, blood painted the walls and floor. Syaoran stood in front of the feather placed on the altar, covered in blood, the bodies of the elderly couple at his feet. Kneeling down, he grabbed it, staining the pure white object with blood. He looked up to see a portal had been opened, letting him know his job was done.

Stuffing the feather into his bag, Syaoran used magic to conceal his sword, and then stepped into the portal. Just before it closed behind him, he took one last look back. He stared at the bodies of the man and woman who housed him for a week, who showed him kindness and love. Then, the portal closed, and he was encased in darkness once again.

[magmasliveblogs]

1.02 R

hey im back! looks like more ryoka! to recap: last chapter erin had a party of goblins, antinium, relc, and olesm! it went well 

The Ruins of Albez sits at the heart of what had once been a magical kingdom. Or perhaps a community of mages. Or an ancient citadel of—you know what? It doesn’t matter.

The entire area is saturated in magic, and as such, attracts two kinds of visitors. Monsters, seeking to make their lairs among the ruined buildings and endless underground tunnels in the area, and adventurers, seeking lost treasure in the same spots. Naturally, conflicts ensue.

The adventuring group currently occupying the ruins is known as the Horns of Hammerad, notable for their relatively high average level – most members are above level 20 – and their leader, a Minotaur [Fighter]* who wields an enormous battleaxe in combat.

*I still don’t get classes. Apparently, [Fighter] is a general class, although some call it [Warrior] depending on the culture. Does that mean they have the same skills? Either way, it’s the first class most warriors take, but if this Minotaur guy were higher-level he’d be an [Axemaster] or [Knight]. Huh.

he probably wouldnt be a knight, but yes warriors and fighters are the same class basically 

The general consensus is that they’re quite competent in combat, and they’d received official permission to search the ruins for the duration of the week. That means that while the Horns are in the ruins, other adventuring groups can’t interfere or look for treasure. It was an arrangement that allowed the nearby cities to reap a profit for charging access and prevented conflicts between their adventurers.

All well and good, and normally the Horns would have expected a moderate payout at the very least. They were well equipped, and prepared for anything.

Which was why the sight of their disorganized party fighting and retreating across the ruins is even more alarming. Their leader was down by a large building, a huge spike of ice piercing his midsection. The other warriors and mages – the Horns of Hammerad was a large party twelve members strong – were either hunkered down or exchanging shots with the monster that had cornered them.

Even as I watch, an armored warrior deflects a sword strike from one of the skeletons attacking their group and smashes it with a mace. The skeleton falls to the ground, lifeless. But that’s attracted the attention of the leader of the undead, and a huge blast of fire engulfs the area.

I wince as the armored warrior runs out of the blaze screaming in agony. He rolls on the ground as a mage with a staff shoots a few magic bolts of rippling light to attract attention away from him. Two other adventurers rush forth and drag the burnt warrior into cover as a hail of ice spikes nearly pincushions all three.

Well, crap. That’s the fifth member of the Horns down. I was hoping they’d sway the battle, but at this rate they’ll  be wiped out. No help for it.

I take two deep breaths, and then stretch my legs out. Right leg? Check. Left leg? Stretching…check. Okay.

I peek over the piece of rubble I’m hiding behind. Clear. Okay. Here we go—

I vault the rubble and dash down the slope. From where I am, there’s a moderate incline down into the heart of the ruins, where fallen buildings and rubble make for treacherous ground. But what’s worse is the danger of being killed by the monster fifty feet in front of me.

I charge down the hill towards it. The robed figure notices me as I’m halfway there and turns. Two glowing blue points of light in its eyes shift towards me as I sprint directly at it. It’s a Lich*, an undead skeletal mage.

*I personally have problems with calling it a Lich. Apparently, unlike in games and stories, Liches are rather common. They’re more like an undead type rather than unique and rare examples of mages living forever. They’re not even that deadly. Well, they’re very deadly, but even scarier types of undead exist apparently.

curse you ryoka your asterisks are doing my job for me! 

For a second I don’t think it even knows what it’s seeing. A lone human running straight at it without a weapon? It hesitates, but then raises a finger. This would be the part where I die in its theory. In mine? I think I survive.

If it seems stupid to charge at a monster capable of blasting me to bits with a single spell, well, it probably was. But I had a good reason for doing it. Over the last thirty minutes I’d scoped out the Lich’s battle against the group of adventurers and picked out a few important details about how it acted. I had three good reasons for my plan of action.

Reason A: I’d noticed that the Lich could cast several spells, from a miniaturized lightning bolt, a fireball, and those nasty showers of ice spikes. Of the three, I really only had to worry about the fireball and the ice spikes. The lightning looked dangerous, but it grounded itself too easily. Since I’m not wearing any metal, it was far harder for the Lich to hit me.

As for the fireballs and ice spikes, well, they were slower and the Lich had to point first. Its aim also wasn’t the greatest in the world. It was a risk, but so long as I didn’t get cooked when the fireball exploded I had a shot.

Also, Reason B: was that I’d noticed the Lich tended to defend itself with a barrier of bones it summoned from the ground whenever anything got close. That stopped it from casting spells for a few seconds.

And Reason C: I was bored.

The Lich pointed at me and cackled something that made my ears hurt. I dove and rolled and felt my right side go slightly numb. It felt like the worst static electricity shock I’d ever felt times a hundred, but that meant the lightning had missed me. And I was still alive.

Hit the ground, roll onto my feet and run. I closed on the Lich and it raised a protective hand. As I expected, a wall of bones erupted from the ground in front of me, a grotesque puzzle of interlocked bones and skulls solid as rock*.

*Seriously. How the hell does it do that? Are there that many bones in the ground? Or is it just magic?

Now’s my chance. I immediately veer left and accelerate towards where the adventurers are. The Lich makes a crackling noise as it realizes it’s been duped. It tries to lower the bone barrier, but it’s too late.

Run. Run faster. Dodge behind the pillar. Pause. Go left. Move right. Fireball! Close. Now—sprint left as fast as possible.

In one of my many safety seminars my dad made me attend after every mass shooting, they taught us what to do if a gunman ever opened fire and we had to escape. Some of it was common sense stuff like don’t scream or do something stupid and think before moving. But I did remember one important tip.

When someone’s firing at you, don’t run in a straight line to get away. Zig zag, make it hard for them to get a bead on you. And in my case, duck behind rubble and place as many obstacles between me and the Lich as possible.

I run, and I run as fast as I can. The instant I slow, I’m dead. The air around me is static; fire explodes around me and flying ice threatens to pierce my skin.

You can’t tell, and I don’t have a mirror. But I’m pretty sure I’m grinning.

a thrill seeker isnt she 

“Status?”

Calruz, leader of the Horns of Hammerad, grunted at the other warrior as the two hid behind one of the fallen walls in the ruins. The human, his second-in-command glanced down at him and shakes his head grimly.

“I think Terr got hit by a fireball. Coblat and Grimsore dragged him away, but he’s down for the count as well.”

“Damn.”

The Minotaur hit his thigh and winced. The huge spear of ice protruding out of his midriff oozed more dark blood and he sat back against the wall and breathed out. The tendons on his neck strained and sweat stood out on his brow despite the freezing cold.

“What about our mages? Why the hell aren’t they taking this thing out?”

“They’re trying, but whenever they fire at that monster it just raises a shield. It’s got more mana than all of our casters combined. We need to get in close if we want a chance.”

“Fat chance of that happening with all those skeletons and zombies guarding it.”

“I think Terr got rid of the last of them, but we still can’t get close. It’s too flaming quick.”

The vice-captain of the Horns of Hammerad chanced a peek around the wall he was hiding behind. There didn’t seem to be any more fireballs coming his way at the moment, which was good and also worrying. Had the Lich turned its attention elsewhere? Doubtful. But then why—

His jaw dropped.

“Who is that?”

Calruz grunted and tried to twist his head, but felt back weakly.

“Who? What’s happening?”

“It’s a Runner! She just charged down the hill at the Lich! She’s coming this way!”

“You’re kidding. She’ll never make it.”

“She’s doing it.”

The vice-captain watched as the long-legged runner dashed across the broken landscape. She was leaping over pieces of rubble and running in a serpentine motion while fireballs and shards of ice rained down around her. From this distance, all he could see was her raven-black hair and tanned skin, but the vice-captain was sure he’d never seen this particular runner before.

this is a bad situation, i can see why they need a delivery 

She had odd features, which would have told him she was part-Japanese, or at least Asian if those words had meant anything to him. But it didn’t, and the vice-captain watched with tense anxiety as she dashed closer. Any second he expected her to be blown away by an on-target fireball or be seared by a lightning blast. But she didn’t. And then she was right on top of him.

Ryoka nearly tumbled into the large warrior with a sword and shield. She knocked into him and felt cool metal before she stumbled back. He pulled her into cover as icicle shards crashed against the rubble.

It took her two deep breaths of air before she could speak. Ryoka unslung her pack and nodded at the gaping vice-captain.

“Delivery.”

“Holy gods!”

inconsistency! the actual phrase is “dead gods”. yes, the gods are dead. apparently they fought a war with the fae and didnt survive. dont question it

The vice-captain stared at Ryoka. He gestured to her, the ruins, and then waves his gauntleted hands a bit.

“That was the most amazing sight I’ve ever—you just ran right past that Lich! Are you insane? Or crazy?”

“I’m a Runner. I’ve got a delivery for the leader of the Horns of Hammerad. That you?”

“That’s me.”

Ryoka glanced down at the Minotaur. He nodded to her as more sweat dripped from his brow.

“I really hope you’ve got our delivery, girl.”

She paused at the word girl, but nodded. She opened her pack and placed heavily-wrapped bottles down on the ground in front of the Minotaur.

“Fifteen healing potions, five mana potions. All unbroken. Delivery to Horns of Hammerad. Your seal?”

“Seal? Oh, of course!”

The vice-captain fumbled at his belt pouch and pulled out a silver and copper token. It was a unique seal with a hammer standing on a mountain embossed on one side.

“Thanks.”

Ryoka stowed the seal securely in her waist pouch and then peeked around the wall. The Lich was exchanging fireballs with another mage wearing a red wizard’s hat. She nodded to herself and lowered into a sprinter’s crouch.

“Wait—are you going?”

Ryoka didn’t glance at the vice-captain as she tried to judge when would be the best moment.

“Yep.”

“You can’t! I mean, that’s even crazier!”

The vice-captain stared at Ryoka in consternation, and then looked at his leader for support. Calruz was trying to open one of the bottles. He grunted as he pulled the cork out of one of the bottles and downed the thick, syrupy green liquid.

“Let her go if she wants. Runner—thanks for the assistance. Not many of your lot would do this.”

She paused.

“No problem.”

He nodded to her. She nodded back.

“At least let us reassemble and give you a diversion. Once we get these potions to all our members we can finally bring this guy down.”

Ryoka thought about it.

“That’ll take too long. You want an opening? I’ll give you one. I’ve got more deliveries to make.”

The vice-captain tore at what hair he could reach underneath his helmet.

“He’ll blast you the instant you leave cover!”

She grinned at the vice-captain, breaking her expressionless mask.

“He can try.”

ryoka seems a bit hot headed now 

The adventuring party, Horns of Hammerad, watched the Runner break out of the ruins and sprint away even as the Lich fired a final parting bolt of lightning in her direction. He missed.

“She did it. She actually did it.”

“She told you.”

Calruz grinned, and grimaced as the icicle in his chest shifted. He took a deep breath and cracked the ice with one massive forearm to let the rest of it slide out of his stomach. Even as he did, the magical powers of the healing potion he’d downed began to knit the flesh of his stomach closed.

“Is that a new Runner? She must be. I haven’t ever seen her before, and I think I would have remembered hearing about one as crazy as that.”

“She looks different, for a human. Although you lot all look alike to me.”

“She is different. From another continent, maybe?”

“Maybe. Did everyone get the potions?”

“I tossed them over while she was drawing the Lich’s attention. They should be good. You need another?”

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually, thanks to that Runner.”

Calruz grinned and shattered the potion bottle in his gauntleted fist. He stood up, the flow of blood already slowing. He hefted his battleaxe.

“I’d like to buy her a drink. But right now we’ve got a contract to fulfill. Everyone ready?”

The magic linking him to the rest of his adventuring party let him hear their acknowledgement. The Minotaur grinned.

“Alright, then. Let’s see how this Lich likes fighting us when we’re at full strength. Charge!”

As one, the Horns of Hammerad abandoned their position in the ruins and began a full-scale assault on the Lich and the remaining undead.

ryoka does have an out if they question her on where she is from! there is a string of islands known as drath. these islands are never actually gone to but they are basically japanese 

After she’d run ten miles away from the Ruins, Ryoka finally stops to catch her breath. Her lungs are burning, and her legs feel like jelly. The adrenaline is finally draining out of her, and she feels exhausted, despite only having run for a few minutes.

She can still feel tingling in her legs from the lightning bolts missing her skin. Her left arm is singed, and she feels blisters already forming on her skin.

She nearly died. Ryoka knows this, and her legs tremble. She still feels cold as she remembers gazing into the hollow eyes of the Lich. He was a monster capable of wiping her out with a single spell.

She nearly died. Had she been a second slower or dodged a foot to the left, she wouldhave died. Ryoka knows this.

Her lips twitch. She smiles briefly.

“Fun.”

yep ryoka is a thrill seeker 

“You completed the supply request for the Horns of Hammerad?”

“Yep.”

The receptionist stares at me. I shrug. What does she want me to say?

It’s later. Or rather, it’s only thirty minutes later, but I feel like I’m in a different world. The worn-down room of the Runner’s Guild is a far cry from the grassy plains, or the rubble and destruction of the Ruins of Albez.

“That’s incredible. Are they already finished fighting? The mage communication we got said they were fighting a Lich and a horde of the undead.”

“They’re still fighting. The Lich is still around. Not sure about the other undead. Looked like they were mostly dead.”

The receptionist doesn’t smile. Didn’t she get the joke? Darn. She’s still giving me that ‘I-don’t-believe-you’ look. I hand her the Seal.

“Here’s the Seal from the Horns of Hammerad.”

She checks it over, and then double-checks. Her eyebrows rise.

“It’s real. So you’re telling me you delivered the supplies in the middle of the battle?”

Why is she making a big fuss? I thought that’s what all Runners did on this kind of mission.

“Yup.”

“Incredible.”

I’m silent. I mean, what am I supposed to say to that? ‘Oh, yeah, I’m really amazing, now give me my money?’

After a few moments the receptionist finally shakes herself.

“Well, this is all in order. Would you like the payment now or…?”

“Later.”

I can collect my pay whenever, but most Runners do it in one lump sum at the end of the week. It’s more convenient that way, since we have to sign to confirm we’ve been paid and the receptionist has to validate it.

“Well, I think you’ve earned your break. Unless—do you think you could do another delivery? I wouldn’t ask, but you’re the only City Runner here right now.”

I’m tired, but that’s only because of my adrenaline low. I know my legs have got at least another good run in them, so I nod.

“Where to?”

“Celum. It’s another request from Lady Magnolia. Another Runner just brought it from Remendia, but he’s too tired to keep going. It’s been passed from six Runners so far, and we need to get it to Magnolia within the hour if possible.”

Okay. Now that’s tricky. I hesitate.

It’s not that I don’t think I can do it in time. I can get to Celum in less than an hour even with something heavy on my back. But I’d done another run for Magnolia – delivering a big fancy vase – a few days ago. By the ‘unwritten rules’ that meant I should wait for at least another week before I took the request.

Damn. Damnation. Drat. What should I do? This is the exact kind of situation I hate.

“There aren’t any other City Runners around?”

The receptionist shakes her head.

“They’re all out on deliveries, and I don’t want to wait longer than I have to. I was about to ask one of the Street Runners to do the delivery, but that would have been a problem too.”

Well, in that case…why not? The Magnolia rule can go to hell for all I care.

“I’ll do it.”

The receptionist smiles in relief.

“Thank y—”

“Hold on!”

The receptionist’s head turns. My head doesn’t. I’m taking this moment to say a few choice words in my head*.

*Oh, please no. Not that stupid, inbred rodent girl. No one in the world has a voice more high-pitched and annoying that her and her moronic cronies. I’d rather go back and dance naked in front of the Lich than deal with this.

look i try to enjoy this series in its worse times, ie: the first volume. this character that is about to be introduced is basically that one extremely annoying girl who leads a clich and i am frankly going to skip this dialogue because i dont enjoy reading her. i dont enjoy doing this, and it cuts out a good 3rd of the chapter, but frankly perusa is a character that is meant to be hated 

This time it’s the head maid who opens the door. She sniffs down at me.

I nod at her. I’m out of breath, tired, and my back is really, really cold. But I feel great, because I made it here in just forty minutes. That’s almost a record, and it’s at least twice as fast as Persua’s best time.

“Delivery for Magnolia.”

“That’s Lady Magnolia.”

Now here’s someone whose looks can really kill. I shrug and take off my pack.

“Seal?”

“Wait.”

The head maid closes the door on me as I wrestle with my damp delivery. Well, looks like I won’t be talking to Magnolia today. That’s actually a relief. I don’t mind the bubbly, excitable noblewoman, but I actually prefer the maids. They might be abrupt and rude, but that means less talking.

Okay, icy package is in my hands. I wait as patiently as I can outside the door, and then hear a muffled conversation. It sounds like someone arguing, and then I hear a familiar energetic voice.

“Nonsense! Ressa, how could you—of course I insist you let her in! Dirty feet or not!”

The door opens and a familiar woman greets me. How can one woman’s hair stay that curly? I’m fairly certain they don’t have hair curlers in this day and age, but Magnolia’s blonde locks look as stylized as any I’ve seen from my world.

“Please, allow me to apologize for my servant’s rudeness. Come in, please!”

I hesitate, and the maid—Ressa—standing behind Magnolia looks unhappy.

“I can just deliver the package if you have the seal—”

“Oh, I won’t hear of it! Come in!”

Ressa makes a face, and I try not to. Reluctantly, I walk into the foyer of Lady Magnolia’s mansion and wish there was a rug to wipe my feet on. Magnolia beams at me while Ressa perfects her death-glare behind her back. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want my dirty feet walking all over the marble floor. I’d prefer not to be here too, but the delivery isn’t done until I get the seal.

“This way, please. You can put it in the drawing room. No, not the secondary one, Ressa. The main one!”

She leads me into a carpeted room. Again, I hesitate, but there’s no helping it. The rug is very soft, and my feet are very dirty, but Magnolia doesn’t care. She peers excitedly at the metal container burning my hands with frost and dripping onto the carpet and beams at me.

“Oh my, that was quick! I was told this would be travelling the entire way from the port city of Hazenbrad! Did you bring it here yourself?”

“No. Other runners brought it most of the way.”

“Well, you and your people have certainly done me quite a service! Thank you!”

Magnolia presents me with her silver-sapphire seal.

“It’s Ryoko, isn’t it? It’s rare that I see the same Runner in so many days.”

Ryoka. But I’m used to people mispronouncing the name. I take the seal and slip it into my pouch. Right, now how to get out of this place tactfully?

“I’ve got to go. More deliveries.”

Actually, I don’t have any more, and I’m tired. But I’d rather go to sleep now, and deal with annoying jealous Runners tomorrow.

Magnolia’s face falls.

“Oh, but won’t you stay? I’d love to share this delightful treat with you—and you’ve run so far and so quickly too! When I heard a runner was setting out from Wales* I was sure it would take at least an hour for you to get here!”

*Yeah, that’s the city I left. Wales. It’s odd that it has the same name as a country from my world, but then again…it’s not. There’s only so many words in the English language, after all.

this is a unique feature in the innverse, as no other place i can think of shares a name with anywhere on earth 

“Mm.”

Again, what do you say to something like that? ‘Yeah, I’m awesome, now give me more money?’ This is why I hate talking to people.

“Besides which, I was never able to talk properly with you both times before now. I truly would love to converse with you—and ask about your peculiar choice of footwear, or should I say, its lack! Won’t you stay for a while?”

Magnolia entreats me with her eyes, and Ressa the maid gives me a look that says I should do whatever she wants and stop sweating and getting the carpets dirty while I’m at it.

I hesitate. But—I’m tired and I don’t feel like talking. Like always. True, Magnolia is better than Persua any day of the week, but her enthusiasm makes me feel tired. So I edge towards the door.

“I’m sorry, but I really should go. I’m very busy.”

Magnolia smiles at me.

“Are you that eager to be away? You may simply tell me if you don’t wish to converse.”

I jump* and stare at her. Magnolia smiles.

*Well, not literally.

“Really my dear. It’s written all over your face. But besides that, I am a [Lady], and most of us learn [Sense Intentions] quite early. And I am quite high-level at that. So, therefore, sit.”

I sit. I don’t even think about it. She spoke, and I—okay, that was something else.

“I would like to talk with you. It is rare that I meet a young lady as interesting as yourself.”

Try to stand up. No? Okay legs, I’m your boss. Stand. Stand.

Magnolia gestures to the chair I’m trapped in.

“Please sit here. I would like to share this delivery you’ve worked so hard to bring me.”

I’m still struggling with my unresponsive body. Magnolia gives me another smile and addresses her hovering maid.

“Ressa? Please be so kind as to open up the delivery? And I believe we will need two bowls and silverware. I would like the blue porcelain today.”

“Very good, milady.”

Ressa gives me a silent, warning look. Probably to tell me to behave, and disappears out the door. She’s probably going for reinforcement maids. And that leaves me with Magnolia.

The larger woman gives me another charming smile. For the first time I eye her, and not just as a rich, silly lady. Sure, she looks like something of a stereotype with her bright clothing and expensive jewelry and unambiguously good-natured personality, but what the hell did she do to me? Is that a skill?

“I do hope you like sweet things, Miss Ryoka. Forgive my rudeness, but I simply find that sometimes it’s best to pin people down and get to know them, don’t you?”

“Mm.”

“I’m so glad you agree!”

Now, that. That sounded a bit like sarcasm. Well, well. Looks like Magnolia has layers. Or her petticoat does. Looks like I’ve underestimated her.

“Well, continue sitting there for a moment. I simply must try this delight, although I fear it’s rather ruining the carpet. Ah, well, it was due for a change.”

Magnolia bustles out of the room. I try to run for it, but my legs are still unresponsive. Well, damn. She’s got some power. It might be worth talking with her after all.

Magnolia. What an aggressive, pushy lady.

I think I like her.

you may note that pink word, sit. pink is somewhat of a theme with her. 

Lady Magnolia fussed around the drawing room, and her maids fussed after her. She was busy overseeing the opening of a large metal cask, the contents of which had been surrounded in ice.

Ryoka sat in front of one ornately wrought table, conscious of her dirty feet on the rug. It might not have been Persian, but that was only because Persia didn’t exist in this world. It was certainly expensive, and it was certainly getting dirty the longer her feet were on it.

Occasionally, Ryoka’s legs would tense, but she remained sitting, much to her vexation.

“And here we are!”

Magnolia clapped her hands together in delight. Ryoka glanced up as the two latches on the metal canister were undone and icy vapor escaped. She had no idea what she’d brought, and so it was with interest that she saw a maid carefully scoop something out of the canister.

It was…white, wet-looking, with a few dark flecks mixed in the creamy color. Magnolia’s eye sparkled as another scoop was transferred to a blue and white porcelain bowl. Even the maids looked covetously at the soft cream.

To be specific, the soft ice cream.

Ryoka stared.

Magnolia gestured towards her guest, and the maid hesitated before setting the bowl down in front of Ryoka. The young woman stared silently at the gold filigree on the spoon she was handed. She stared down at the ice cream.

“Now, this is quite a treat.”

One of the maids pulled a chair out for Lady Magnolia and the noblewoman sat across from Ryoka. She accepted another bowl and smiled at Ryoka.

“Don’t be afraid. This is in fact a very rare delicacy I had imported. It’s quite, quiteexpensive, but once you try it, I think you’ll agree it’s worth the cost.”

Ryoka hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she should eat first, but Magnolia waved one hand at her.

“Oh, go on. What kind of host would I be if I did not allow you the first bite? I must warn you though—it’s quite cold!”

Ryoka hesitated, but Lady Magnolia was staring at her with earnest expectation. That was in sharp contrast to the maids behind her, who were all giving Ryoka the glare of death. She had the distinct impression refusing would not end well for her.

Prompted by the all the eyes on her, Ryoka slowly took a bite. Her expression didn’t change one iota. Lady Magnolia blinked. The maids would have muttered, but their training kept their faces carefully neutral.

“Huh. Ice cream.”

Ryoka paused and cursed inwardly. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Again, Magnolia blinked at her and her mouth fell open delicately.

“My. You know what this is?”

“…No?”

“My dear, remember what I said about my skills? I know you’re lying. But how can that be? I would swear that this delight hasn’t been invented but for a week! I just heard it had been created by a master [Chef] in the northern continent. But you’ve had some before, haven’t you?”

She could tell the truth, or she could lie and reveal the truth. Ryoka shrugged.

“Yeah.”

The maids murmured. Magnolia sighed, and tasted the ice cream herself.

“Delicious. Oh, but pardon me. I couldn’t help myself. Well, this is one surprise that quite trumps my surprise! I must say, I’m rather put out and delighted that you know this treat. What did you call it? ‘Ice cream’?”

“Is it called something else around here?”

“I believe it was referred to as ‘gelato’, or some such. But I rather like your name! It certainly is quite reminiscent of cream, isn’t it? But the coldness—and of course the sweetness is incomparable!”

“Mhm.”

“Well, now you simply must tell me how you know of this treat.”

“Uh, it’s common in my home country.”

Magnolia raised her delicate eyebrows.

“Common? Sure you—but you are telling the truth. How curious.”

Ryoka shifted in her seat. This was bad. She felt like her mind was being read. Well, even if it were just her intentions and whether or not she was telling the truth, there were enough landmines in the conversation to fill a battlefield. She had to shift the conversation.

Gingerly, she took another bite. The ice cream wasn’t actually as sweet as the one from her world, but it was hauntingly familiar. She pointed to the melting canister.

“Uh, how much did this cost?”

That wasn’t an appropriate question, to judge by the glares she got from the maids. But Magnolia seemed to take the question in stride.

“Well, I hate to bring up such issues in polite conversation, but this little treat cost seventy gold coins, not including the cost of shipping it across the sea and rushing it all the way here.”

Ryoka choked on her bite of ice cream and nearly bit the spoon in half. Magnolia waved a hand at her.

“Oh, please. I know it’s a lot, but for a treat like this? Very worthwhile.”

Silently, Ryoka stared at the canister of ice cream. It was probably, when all was said and done, the size of a tub of ice cream she could have bought for three dollars in any supermarket in her world.

Oblivious to her inner thoughts, Magnolia smiled again at Ryoka as she delicately spooned more ice cream into her mouth.

“I fear we must eat quickly before our ‘ice cream’ melts. But I’m sure we could chat over tea as well. And then you can tell me about how you know of this ice cream, and where you come from. I must say, your features are quite striking.”

Ryoka’s expression didn’t change, but Magnolia’s eyes flickered.

“Well, if you don’t prefer to say I quite understand. But I would like to chat.”

This was hard. Ryoka frowned at her mostly melted ice cream and thought carefully. Then she looked up. Magnolia’s smile grew even wider.

“Oh? I know it’s terribly rude to point out what you’re thinking, but that was quite the inspiration you just had.”

“Yeah. I was just thinking about the ice cream.”

“Would you like another scoop?”

“No. But I do know a lot about it.”

Magnolia leaned forwards in excitement. Ryoka looked down her bosom and felt like she understood part of the attraction of visiting Magnolia. At least, the attraction for the male City Runners.

“Really? I’m afraid I wasn’t able to learn anything about what creature produces such a delightful treat. Do you know where it comes from?”

“Better. I know how to make it.”

oh this will be interesting. tomorrow. because frankly my internet isnt cooperating 

thats the end! will the horns remember this apparently unusually brave delivery? will persua keep appearing in person and forcing me to cut out portions of each chapter? 

see you next post