#there are different and distinct species of deer in this au

[lizarr7]

Here's the first batch! Deer, as promised. Pretty sure this is actually the first time I have drawn any of the main four, and of course, it was turning them into animals, lol. These are some of the simplest ref sheets I have ever done, but it suited the more cartoony style I went for here, as well as made it possible to do so many, lol (there are more coming). Despite that, I put a LOT of effort into these, really trying to make them be recognizable as the characters! It's been a very fun exercise.

[minecraftbookshelf]

What’s the situation with hostile mobs in the marriage of the state AU? I assume the answer is different for night mobs and Illagers/witches, based on what you’ve mentioned before?

So, if nighttime mobs do exist, do they come from somewhere? Or do they just form out of death smoke like they do in the game? Slime is an important codland export, so are slimes different?

And Illagers are probably just another race right? Or is it more of a culture thing? Are villagers also a race distinct from humans? How do the codfolk/mythland interact with the swamp witches, who you mentioned before do exist?

Also this isn’t really related to the main question but I don’t want to make a separate ask; are gems antlers from elven or deer-hybrid ancestry? (Are elves just deer-hybrid fae?)

Wow that’s a lot of questions, your Worldbuilding is really good btw. (And your writing too)

It's low-key kind of scary how you you're batting...three for three? i think? on asking exactly the thing I really want to talk about XD

You would be correct, most of the night mobs are basically wildlife, if incredibly hostile wildlife. Creepers and spiders and such. (Though spiders are sometimes less hostile and more just, doin their own thing and mindin their own business.)

Skeletons and zombies are also not sentient (anymore) and are basically considered large, dangerous pests. Like if cockroaches were human sized and out to ruin your day, specifically. (I'm not sure of their exact origins yet, because I haven't quite decided how I'm adapting my base mcyt mythology for this au)

Spiders are just like real world small spiders as far as "where they come from". Creepers and Slimes are actually similar in origin, n that they are sort of a magical manifestation of an environment. They both kind of...grow? Out of the land. Slimes are a bit pickier about where they grow from.

Slimes can also be farmed (As in livestock, not in the minecraft sense) which they are in the Swamp, where they also grow at a higher rate. They can be fed algae to encourage them to grow, and then split to make smaller slimes, which can be grown in turn.

Creepers just...separate themselves from the land and wander around after dark. Unless they encounter something that causes them to explode. They're generally considered to have about equivalent intelligence of dogs, as far as anyone can tell, and don't seem to be sentient.

Illagers/Villagers are just human/human+. Villagers are usually interpreted as citizens of relevant empires (see, smajor's elves and ldshadowlady's...pastel fish people) while Illagers are a specific culture, mostly based out of the mountains. (This is mostly because I just associate them with mountains because that's where I somehow encounter most of the Pillager Towers I find while playing minecraft.) They are primarily nomadic but do have bases (said towers) and most of them consider the Crystal Cliffs to be their homeland, as much as they have one.

Witches are also humans/hybrids and its a set of abilities and skills and not a species. the Swamp Witches are a specific group who live deep in The Swamp and mainly are fairly isolated, through they do provide council and aid to the other Swamp Dwellers, particularly during the Occupied years, which was when they separated from the majority of the population and went into hiding, when they were targeted by the invaders. The other Swamp Dwellers tend to regard them with cautious respect.

There are also wandering witches, who tend to travel around and either help or harm (based off personal inclination) as they go. Pix is on decently good terms with about half of them, with the other half it is on sight. (Mostly on the part of the witches)

Most Witches do not exist on good terms with Mythland, even a few hundred years down the line. Tensions remain.

-

As for Gem's antlers...

:)

So elves are not deer hybrids (or owl hybrids) despite sharing a few physical traits. (and the fae of the Overgrown are not hybrids either, despite frequent resemblances to butterflies and/or cats)

The primary differences are instincts. Fae and fae adjacent people tend to have some physical traits of different animal species, but they aren't actually from the species if that makes any sense. They don't have the animalistic instincts and tendencies any more than they have the human ones, despite resemblances both ways.

Hybrids are actually human+, as I referred to them earlier in this post. All hybrid species started out as humans. They're ultimately the result of the environmental magic of the world (and sometimes meddling from gods and spirits and such). They will have some combination of physical traits and instincts from their additive animal species, to go along with their human ones. They will also have human lifespans and developmental cycles, with a few minor variations here and there.

(But Rain, you say, you made a whole post about Seafolk and their life cycles and development and how its different from humans? Yes because the Seafolk aren't entirely hybrids either. The Deep Oceans have their own variations of fae folk and there was much more intermarriage and cultural crossover there than on Land. But that's another post altogether.)

As for Gem in specific...All I'll say for now is that

A) There is some extant xenophobia against fae races in a lot of majority human kingdoms and half-elven and elvish-descendant individuals often struggle.

B) Gem insisted stoutly her entire childhood that her antlers are because she's a deer hybrid.

C) Deer hybrids have tails.

D) Gem does not have a tail.

[cruciatusxxcervus]

Who the Heck is Eden?

Warning: The backstory contains parental death, child death, and gore.)

Disclaimer: For those who have seen my DBZ verse for my other RP blog, ambereyedcetra, you’ll notice they are the same. I started off with an AU for Eden’s original blog but it has developed to the point that I would be more comfortable giving this AU a blog of its own. I am the mun and creator of both blogs, no worries about character theft!

While the blog is currently focused on the DBZ verse, I am open to interacting with muses of other verses, especially fandom-less muses!

In verses that are not DBZ-related, Eden's backstory is very much the same. The only differences being that Shihab is a celestial realm instead of a planet, and it is an unnamed force that destroyed her world instead of Freeza.

This page is under construction, the story needs revamping. Forgive me for such a long wait for the change. I hope to get the backstory and information rewritten soon.

Name: Eden of the Draconids

Many of the characters in the Dragon Ball franchise have unusual names, often associated with food. However, since Eden was originally a Final Fantasy muse and her roots are based off Biblical stories, her name won’t be as humorous. Her father gave her the name Eden, in hopes she would be as beautiful and bountiful in blessings, but he had no intentions in her falling into sin like those within the Garden. Eden is to represent the Garden of Eden in that sense. As the story progresses, Eden gradually becomes corrupted with her inability to move past her loss and the frustration in her struggle with her heritage and identity, she betrays the planet, the stars, and what she holds dear, thus resulting in her losing that spiritual light.

Not only she represents the fall of Eden, but her story is to illustrate Judas Iscariot, the disciple who committed betrayal out of greed. Ultimately, her story is to reveal that even the most faithful can fall. However, her story is to also show the radical power of forgiveness, how it can revive the dead spirit.

Her last part of her name relates to her clan name. Clan names come from that of the meteor showers: Draconids, Perseids, Leonids, and Ursids. A kirinite’s membership of their clan can be determined by the color of their scales (described below). Their native planet, Shihab, bears an Arabic name, as a large part of Eden’s inspiration comes from the Middle East and Northern Africa and its meaning, “Shooting Star” refers to the Kirinites’ celestial nature.

Age: Mid to late 20’s during the Dragon Ball Z timeline, late 40’s during the Dragon Ball gt timeline.

Species: Kirinite (DBZ), Kirin (Other verses) 

The kirinite name is based off a mythical creature with a similar appearance: the kirin. Many of their physical characteristics (description on this page) resemble the creature.

Kirinites are known for their agility, intelligence, and spiritual power. Much of their strength comes from their lower body, and are capable of cracking bone (of those who lack intensive training) with their rock-hard hooves.

Their senses are incredibly sharp, heightened by their connection to their planet. This is strongly linked to their ability to hear the voices of souls passed and can help them detect the aura of living creatures (unless those targeted are trained to hide their energy level). Though they lack the ability to fire ki directly from their bodies, they can harvest crystals from the earth and use their energy and rituals to inflict damage and potentially status-related problems (such as sleep, pacifying, or for those who master the skill, copying an enemy’s skill and create illusions).

Kirinites can also call upon an ability of the Celestial Beast. This creature is believed to be the totem of all born of Kirinite blood. This ability is similar to that of Yamcha’s Wolf Fang Fist, except the aura takes form of a large, maned antelope-like creature as the fighter charges. This empowers their melee strikes, as well as have a chance of burning the opponent with their energy. This power, however, is very risky as it drains much of the user’s energy reserves and can leave them vulnerable if they are not able to dispose of the foe before time runs out. Another limitation is the need to use crystals taken from Shihab’s meteorites to channel their energy and awaken their totem.

Kirinites feel connected to their planet and believe they can commune with the spirits. They place great reverence to the stars, viewing them as creators of their world and embodiments of all souls that were born upon it. With the use of crystals, Kirinites connect with the ghosts that whisper guidance to them and unlock their powers. The ancient belief was cast into doubt, however, as the Kirinites saw invading ships scream past the stars and collide into their home.

Description:

Kirinites have a humanoid appearance, with several physical traits resembling that of a sable antelope and gemsbok. All members possess cloven hooves for feet, often with feathering on the back of them, with the short bristly fur covering the tops of these hooves and melding into the skin at mid-calf.

Though members of the Draconid Clan bear long, ridged horns that gracefully sweep back from the head, Eden’s horns resemble antlers, a trait inherited from her mother’s clan: the Persids. All Kirinites possess large deer-like ears; claws; heavy, thick, fang-like teeth with large prominent canines (elder, higher-ranked Kirinites will have even larger canines that slide over the lip); long lion-like tails; mohawk-like hairstyles (mohawks are usually more prominent on males); and small, light-colored speckles scattered over their skin and scales.

Kirinites also have scales present on the fronts of their hooves and lower leg, hips, base of their tail, the tops of their hands and up their forearms, and up their back. The scales on their backs are thickened and raised like a crocodile’s spines; these are believed to help protect their spines during hunts and battles. These scales are often dark in color, yet have small glistening speckles, similar to stars.

With Eden’s Draconid Clan, the scales are similar to those of the sunset (coming from the preferred time to view the Draconid meteor shower). Her scales are a gradient of a dark, muted reddish-purple fading into rosy gold at the bottom of the scales, with the silvery speckles being most prominent in the darkest colors. Her scales are in the common places, listed above.

Eden stands at about 5’ 3’’ and has a lean, toned figure. Her skin is a very dark tan, and has a subtle rosy tint to it. Silvery cream speckles are visible all over her skin, with them being most prominent on her shoulders, upper arms, shoulder blades, thighs, and down her sides and hips along the dorsal scales, and down her tail.

She also has various scars from her hunts and battles. While shallow cuts litter her entire body, there are three distinct scars: Three claw marks are seen on her left collarbone; four huge, jagged scars rip over her left rib cage, reach down her side, and end just above her left hip bone; and a messy web of gashes, bite marks, and dimples where flesh and scale had been torn off is seen on her right forearm.

I based her appearance loosely on the Egyptian and Middle Eastern backgrounds. She bears the purplish-black tattoos around her eyes and on her cheeks that are iconic of Egyptian relics, and wore three piercings on both ears (a golden ring, silver stud, and silver ring), the ivory fang gauge once seen only on her left ear. Two thin, silver lip rings were on her bottom lip. Her piercings are forcibly removed during her drafting into Frieza’s army, leaving two rips on her bottom lip and her ears tattered.

There is also a tattoo on her left wrist, a small symbol of the silver sun with two black-tipped feathers. It’s to honor her late mother.

Her long, straight, thick hair reaches down to her hip. It’s a very dark brown, with some streaks in her bangs and on the ends of her hair fading to a dusky purple-brown color.  Four thin braids also adorn her mane, each braid held together by a tarnished gold band.

The fur covering her ankles, ears, and tail are a dark rosy-brown; purpleish-black markings rim the edges of her ears and around the hooves. Like all Kirinites, Eden also has horizonal, rectangular pupils; her irises are still a deep amber.

During the DB gt timeline, Eden’s seemingly endless wandering and fighting against her heritage and spiritual connection has impacted her. Her ribs become visible due to restricted access to food, and dark circles and bags can be seen beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. Though Kirinites has long lifespans and youthfulness, she appears older and more tired due to her difficult lifestyle. More scars are also visible on her body.

During Eden’s time in the Planet Trade Organization and her intergalactic escapades, she wears black and champagne gold armor, baggy black pants, and a marroon belt as seen below.

On Earth, however, she can be seen wearing midriff shirts to show off her midsection (Kirinites view scars as a sign of beauty, as they prove one is capable to guarding their clan and their mate and children). The tops are usually dark colors. Her favorites being a dark gray midriff shirt with a knotted hem and a wide collar to show off her shoulder (and thus the scar on her collar bone), and a charcoal heather top with a smilodon skull graphic. She also wears acid washed jeans, or ripped denim capris. She also develops a fondness for hemp chokers and tribal-inspired jewelry. Her usual attire for life on Earth can be seen below:

( Full size images and detailed reference sheet can be found [HERE] !! )

She is always wearing a crystal of pale gray and pale gold  around her neck. This crystal comes from Shihab and is what she uses to channel her ki for attacks and summon the Celestial Beast totem.

Abilities:

Eden is no exception and possess the standard kirinite abilities as described above, along with being able to let out a thundering bestial roar (sounds like an angry mix between a red deer stag’s and a lion’s) that can echo for miles. However, the blessing of hearing ghosts becomes a curse the day she forsakes her faith in them. If she were to return to Shihab, they would become distorted, distressing wails. Though she may be a great distance away from them, they still tug deep in her mind like a silent, persistent haunting.

When she lands on other planets, this ability becomes even more unnerving as she cannot understand the souls tangled whispers. This only strengthens her fear and hatred towards hearing them, and is further convinced that the stars of her home have cursed her. She is at risk of losing focus, becoming entranced, or reacting wildly midst the most severe hallucination phase. All these can make battle extremely dangerous for the lost Kirinite.

Though during times where her vigilance becomes exhausted, she does let the voices stream through her for a time. Her corrupted view and dark intentions for the use of her people’s powers will occasionally make the scramble of strange tongues make sense. Like a devil whispering temptation to heartbroken ears, the words take form of spells, of rituals beyond her former knowledge. To seek and perform these rituals were strictly forbidden in Kirinite law, but with these discoveries, the last Kirinite decides to abolish the law and commit these rare incantations to memory.

Over time she practices the dark arts, and more and more she seeks to uncover the greatest ritual that dark words promise will endow her with the power to rain flaming justice upon all who wronged her. She still searches for the ultimate crystal, said to be buried within a planet, beneath the graves of countless sacred souls, conflicted with the desire to finally seize that power and her need to discover the truth about the stars and her people. The most common of these is her ability to conjure sleeping crystals, meant to lull the threat or target to a deep sleep, allowing her to escape or steal from them. Due to her corruption, however, they are filled with negative energy and can inflict pain, or blinding fury, on anyone within its proximity (including herself), rather than just the opponent.

My aim for Eden is for her to learn and grow stronger gradually through training. She will likely lose in battles, especially against powerful opponents, though this is dependent on the verse, where our muses are in their interactions, and what my RP partner is comfortable with. The fun in Dragon Ball Z is watching a character work hard with others to overcome challenges, not winning everything effortlessly.

Personality:

Eden can be cunning, and she relies on this trait when facing a troubling situation; often choosing to stick to the shadows and tricks rather than facing someone head-on. Eden can’t stand the thought of losing control and is known to fight viciously and dirty when cornered. Preferring to be quiet and simply observe, she struggles with social interactions, especially first time meetings. She is paranoid towards others, thus she doesn’t trust easily. The woman is also victim to envy, as she can become very jealous towards those who are more skilled or more blessed than she is. She broods quietly instead of talking about her problems; and can seem dishonest, selfish, and stubborn.

However, towards those who grow close to her heart, she becomes protective and does her best to be dependable. The Kirinitw becomes more playful to those she loves, often sneaking up and catching them by surprise (mostly by pouncing on them). She’ll even goes as far as become touchy-feely with them. She is rather insecure, due to her fear of the ancestral stars and belief that she is cursed, and often looks towards intimacy as a means to help combat with her insecurities.

Parents:

Her father’s name is Cassiel, which is the name of the archangel of tears and solitude in the Kabbalah. He is considered withdrawn, quiet, and has a cynical view towards most things. He questions and fears of what the voices will do to him. Because of his fear, He tries not to get involved with the stars’ and Planet’s troubles, despite their urgings for him to act. He was a hunter for the Draconid clan.

Her mother’s name is Nizhoni, which I found means “Beautiful” in Navajo. She was a merchant for her natal Persid clan before her marriage to Cassiel. She’s always been headstrong and takes pride in being seen as “a rebel for the right reasons”. Nizhoni is very set in her ways, and is always determined to act for the greater good. This is where her and Cassiel get into arguments, particularly when tensions on Shihab begin to mount. The clans began fighting for the sacred lands, with the Draconids and Persids allying with one another, and Leonids and Ursids joining on the opposing end. Nizhoni spends much of her time travelling between clan territories to give supplies to her natal clan as they are on the front lines. Though this wears on her, especially when she is pregnant, she remains determined to do all she can to save both her natal clan’s and her current clan’s livelihoods.

The extent of her exhaustion became starkly apparent as she struggles to give birth to Eden. Cassiel’s dying faith in the spirits finally came to an end when Nizhoni passes away after delivery. He believes the spirits of the stars and planet truly betrayed him, and thus sows the seeds of hatred towards them. He is a distant and gruff father, spending his waking hours away hunting to meet his daughter’s needs, only to check in when necessary. He begins training her to become a hunter as soon as she was able to hold a dagger.

Though Eden admires her father’s resilience, she quickly learns not to ask about her mother and the spirits’ words as it often brings about buried anguish. As she grows, Cassiel’s inner resistance to the spirits’ influence begins to wear on his mind. The once powerful man she knew slowly deteriorated to a feeble lost soul, becoming disconnected with reality and unable to carry about his duties.

Now a young adult, Eden patrols the clan’s hunting grounds and boundaries to support Cassiel and herself. She starts questioning her own faith as she watches how the spirits are affecting her father. Distortion ripples through once familiar voices, she and the others start to grow restless. There is a persistent, eerie feeling in the air, like the calm before a violent storm.

It was that night, as metal and murderous intent fell from the skies instead of rock and fire, that the spirits, stars, and earth fell silent.

The invaders of different shapes and sizes claimed the planet in the name of Frieza and began slaughtering most of the inhabitants. The terrified Draconids came to the conclusion that the stars have betrayed them, and they could no longer trust the spirits’ words. The last survivors plotted their escape, with Eden and the ailing Cassiel being among them. They attempted an ambush to steal the invaders’ space pods, only to be caught and murdered.

Being only a lowly hunter and guard, Eden swallowed her pride and submitted. She spoke velvet words, despite her trembling voice, playing up her strength and skills honed by years of surviving within the badlands and fighting the monstrous beasts of the land.  It was by the sheer grace of whatever deity was left to care that they conceded to let her live, only on the condition that she devotes her life to servitude.

The worst was yet to come, as training within the Planet Trade Organization held no mercy for a mere foot soldier. Though bones were broken and tears spilled, the Kirinite held onto her lust for vengeance. She vowed to tear the entrails of these monsters and their tyrannical ruler, just as they have done to her people, to her family. She vowed to show the celestial guardians, who left her kind to die, that she would overcome their betrayal and inflict the same suffering upon them. So she waited, she watched, learning who were integral to this force, and their weaknesses…

(Thank you @crownprincefreeza for letting your muses become part of mine’s story!!)

Her already turbulent life in Frieza’s forces took a turn for the worse after a failed conquest over a targeted planet. The soldiers stood at attention fearful and frozen before the enraged prince, dreading for what was to come. Eden was no exception, drowning in the quiet, yet surging rise of death’s cold approach. Yet to endure abuse, from the very creature that brought destruction upon everything she had known and loved, to be beneath the heel of her enemy fueled a storm of fiery rage. In her foolishness she bit down at Freeza’s pointed finger, earning her a scream and a brutal swat of his tail.

Once sliding across the floor from his strike, Eden laid paralyzed, waiting for the painful judgment to come upon her. Malevolent ideas on what to do weaved and clashed in the imperial mutant’s mind, and to Eden’s surprise, he offers her an opportunity to receive redemption. Desperate to remain alive, Eden accepts, not knowing the price of her pardon would cost until moments later.

Amazingly, few of her people, members of her late mother’s clan, hid well enough to survive the onslaught. As images of once proud warriors digging through the garbage of the planet’s new occupants and the deadly clashes between them flash by, Frieza gave her the choice: Lure out the last of the Kirinites and pay her transgression with their blood or die. The torn woman wrestled within herself. Would she dare betray her allies, her own kin, just so she might live another day? Morals and instinct warred within her, and ultimately through her tears, her yearning to survive, just long enough to make Frieza and all the spirits suffer for their crimes, overcame the more noble of choices. She accepts, and with the towering equine soldier, Yuut, being commanded to follow her, Eden returns onto once familiar soil, the soil that no longer bore the warmth nor recognizable voices.

With her armor cast aside, sand scratching and clinging onto hands and skin, and letting Yuut break one of her precious antlers, Eden approached the last of the Persids. Eden spoke of escaping the invaders’ prison and stole a space craft that could save them all. Her pleas for them to join her were eventually believed, and they followed Eden away from the last of their strongholds, only for their blood to stain the hooves and shadows of both soldiers.

Once conquered, Eden stared at the eyes of dead kin. Wide with fear, with otherworldly agony of being betrayed, becoming like dead ice, devoid of any life. The spirits no longer held comfort to her, and with a sudden, brutal crash of her head against the rocks stained by unrelenting violence; her last antler fell, broken dark shards among limp bodies, before turning away with Yuut.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Nocturne (FFXV) - 1/30

Fic: Nocturne (1/30) - Ao3 Link

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairings: Mostly Gen (variety later to come)

Summary: In which Cor Leonis loses his temper, accidentally acquires a kid, and tries to single-handedly dismantle the Lucian immigration system – and that’s before he and his lawyers find out about this Prophecy business. If the Astrals think Cor’s going to let his kid’s best friend die without a fight, they’ve gotten the wrong cheetah ‘taur.

(a young adult novel set in @kickingshoes' 'taur AU)

A/N: Some background almost certainly necessary here for those who aren't yet familiar with @kickingshoes' wonderful 'taur AU:

In this AU, everyone in FFXV is a 'taur of some sort, 'taur being short for "centaur" but not limited to horses: there are cattaurs, dog-taurs, deer-taurs, the traditional horse-taurs, etc. Each 'taur has a human head, arms and torso extending up from the bend in the spine, and the lower half of some sort of animal, including all four legs and tail. See the art for that here!

They've even gone ahead and create anatomical drawings for the 'taurs, including interesting features such as two hearts: one located in the "human" chest (the supernal heart) and one located in the "animal" body (the infernal heart). See the art for that here!

For context: a 'taur baby is called a "kitling" (general term) or after their type (kittens, puppies, etc.), then they grow up into being children, and then teenagers, and then adults.

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

A seat on the King’s Council is a rare privilege, typically given to individuals who have given many years of service to the royal family of Lucis. An offer to take a seat at the Council is more than a mere honor – it is a request to share one's wisdom and experience with the King and so, in turn, with Lucis itself. It is a position of both power and influence, and of great prestige, and it is widely coveted by those who would be in the center of the seat of power. Wise kings of the past have sought to protect the Council from those who would befriend young and impressionable Princes in search of a seat at the table, decreeing that only those with a minimum of a decade of extraordinary service to the Crown would be permitted to join the august body.

Unfortunately, they didn’t really account for the problem of prodigies.

After all, if one counts his years first in the Crownsguard, then as part of the personal bodyguard of King Mors, then as the personal bodyguard of Prince, later King, Regis, and now most recently in his appointment as Marshal of the Crownsguard, there is no question that Cor Leonis, nicknamed "The Immortal", has served the throne loyally and with distinction for the required ten year period, despite the fact that he is currently still only twenty-three, and a young-looking twenty-three at that.

Indeed, although there was some grumbling about his age, mostly from the older scions of the nobility, there was widespread approval among the populace when the news spread that their beloved Immortal would be joining the Council: his skill at fighting, now honed by caution and discretion after his experience in the Tempering Grounds; his extraordinary and intuitive grasp of tactics and strategy; and his surprising talents in the management and organization of armies were all considered extremely valuable additions to the Council’s wisdom.

It’s just that Clarus sometimes wishes his young friend had learned a little bit more diplomacy alongside his undeniable martial skills.

“You’ve got me all wrong,” Cor says mildly, his hands laced together in front of him. His manner is easy, his shoulders relaxed, his face habitually stern but almost casually neutral; if Clarus had never seen Cor mid-battle, that same expression of mild concentration on his face as his sword destroyed the enemy, he might even be deluded into thinking that Cor is just making friendly conversation. Unfortunately, Clarus does know better. “Entirely wrong, even. It’s not that I have a problem with taxonomy – after all, as we all know, there are many benefits to classifying species, both sentient and non-sentient, natural and daemonic, by easily identified typological traits –”

The esteemed Councilor Cor is speaking with – Taceo Dovinius, who was appointed in the days of King Mors and who has not ever seen Cor fight – looks pleased by what he mistakenly thinks is acquiescence, smiling condescendingly at his younger colleague across the table.

“– it’s just that I think it’s a crock of shit,” Cor concludes.

The smile vanishes.

“Listen here, young kit,” Taceo snaps, “you might think that you’re some hotshot because you can swing a sword well, but swinging a sword doesn’t change the facts of the world: the people of Lucis are felidaetaurs, or cattaurs, the upright taurus cousins of the family Felidae, while our sworn enemies of Niflheim are canidaetaurs, or dogtaurs, who are more akin to the family Canidae, and as anyone can tell from looking at nature itself –”

“Yes, yes, we’re cats, they’re dogs, ‘fighting like cats and dog’ is axiomatic, I’m familiar,” Cor says, his calm voice cutting through Taceo’s rising voice as sharply as his sword would. “But that’s irrelevant, and not just because the scientific community has largely replaced the Felidae classification with Feliformia and Canidae with Caniformia. It’s irrelevant because it is absolutely useless for making any determinations about sentient individuals such as ‘taurs. A person with the hindquarters of a cat can be a traitor and one with those of a dog a friend, if that’s what they decide to be; that’s what sentience means. And even if you were planning on going entirely by pure animal taxonomy, there’s no system of classification that even makes any rational sense – would you condemn every person with the legs of a fox as an enemy, and accept every hyena as a friend, just because that’s how science has arbitrarily broken them down? Why do we get the mongooses and the civets, and they the weasels and raccoons? And what does any of that say about our ungulaetaur friends from Tenebrae, with their goats and deer and elks? Where do they fall?”

“You’re splitting hairs,” Taceo snaps.

“Hardly,” Cor says. “Since your proposal is that we differentiate our treatment of individuals based on the species they resemble – indeed, not merely their treatment but their access to the very rights to which they are entitled under the Charter of Lucis – and given both the known arbitrariness of nature itself and the historical unreliability of taxonomical science, my question is quite to the point: who, exactly, should be entitled to make so important a decision as to which person is classified as what?”

Taceo has gone pale with rage. “Our taxonomists –”

“Oh, taxonomists,” Cor says, and for the first time his voice is actively scornful. “Yes, they know so much, don’t they, with their always excellent classification that always right on the first try, and never any issues. Is that right? Or need I remind you of my own history with taxonomists?”

Clarus winces, as do many of the others at the table.

It’s all rather notorious now, of course. Being born (or at least, found) within the Crown City, Cor, a foundling orphan left on the doorsteps of the city foster home, had been immediately taken to the nearest hospital to be given the standard taxonomic analysis.

The taxonomic analysis program has its origins in the insurance system, given the fact that different ‘taur breeds often have vastly different medical requirements even within the same family or sub-family. After all, genetic drift and mutations exist: a pair of felidaetaurs would generally have a felidaetaur child, of course, but while it is still common for a two-tiger pair like Clarus and his wife to have another tiger as a child, or two lynxes a lynx, it is perfectly possible for a child of two species-alike parents to come out as a different felideataur species entirely, like a bobcat or a puma. Even if you exclusively married other ‘taurs of the same felidaetaur breed and had for generations, you could end up having a different-breed felidaetaur child, just because of the drift. After all, even the Lucis Caelum line, which is rather famously almost all lions and almost always married other lions, has supposedly sometimes produced a non-lion child that modern genetic tests confirmed to be their own natural child.

The insurance system therefore developed taxonomic analysis as a method of testing for and classifying species at birth. The system became even more popular once the scientists definitively established that ‘taurs are not bound by any cross-species breeding restrictions the way that their animal cousins are, enabling any 'taur of any variety to have children with any other variety of 'taur, and, around the same time, any remaining legal prejudice against mixed-species relationships was definitively eliminated. Of course, in the face of all scientific knowledge, such prejudice hasn’t entirely disappeared as a cultural phenomenon – a lingering bigotry of a less enlightened age, when genetic drift wasn't as well understood and paternity tests were not trusted as much as they should have been, and there were accusations of infidelity every time a ‘taur came out a different type.

Of course, the principles of genetic dominance means that a mixed-species child will look like a single animal species, no matter how mixed, and will generally take wholly after one parent or the other in terms of their appearance, but that just means there is even more of a chance of species variation – Clarus’ own mother was a bear, as it happened, but he himself took after his father the tiger, and he married another tiger in his wife Cyrella, and his son Gladio is also a tiger despite there being a decent chance of him being a bear like his grandmother. While mixed-species relationships are still a minority, they are a sizeable one, and have been for generations and generations, and that means that no matter what you are or who you marry, you could end up with a surprise.

Given that, and given the wide range of medical treatments – not to mention medical insurance requirements – that depended on knowing what your little kitling is from the moment of birth, the taxonomic analysis is therefore considered crucial. Even though the kitlings and, later, children who are so classified run the risk of being stereotyped simply because of their classification, parents regularly opt for analysis in order to better prepare for the future, especially as Insomnia grows increasingly more cosmopolitan.

And so the taxonomic analysis system remains in place, with all of its benefits and drawbacks.

In Cor’s case, of course, it was mostly drawbacks.

At the time of his initial testing, Cor was stamped with the standard Felis catus taurus (domestic housecat 'taur) designation that the majority of the population of Lucis has – out of sheer laziness, Clarus presumes, since well before the time Cor was officially re-tested at age fifteen, it was obvious to everyone with a pair of eyes that he was actually an Acinonyx jubatus taurus, the far rarer (indeed, almost unheard of) cheetah ‘taur.

It might not have been such a big deal if Cor wasn’t quite so famous: the great prodigy of the Crownsguard and, by the age of fifteen, already starting to be widely known as the Immortal for his daring, almost suicidal feats of bravery and his equally amazing ability to survive them. Indeed, if Cor had been any other child, growing up in relative poverty as he had, he likely wouldn’t have had any choice but to take what he was initially offered: his designation quietly changed on the books without anyone in the medical or insurance industries having to admit that they’d made a mistake and thereby open the door to incurring liability.

But Cor was not any other child, and he was not exactly inclined to take insults lying down – especially not at fifteen, mere months before he’d gone to the Tempering Grounds, back when he’d been a regular firecracker, hotheaded and rash and so very, very angry at the world. After all, he’d received years and years of incorrect medical care as a result of his misclassification; worse, his foster parents had turned him out of their house when the expense of his medical requirements turned out to be considerably greater than what was allowed for under his category of insurance, and he’d lived for some months (no one is quite certain as to the exact timeline, and Cor won’t say a word about it) on the streets of Insomnia before he’d forced his way into the Crownsguard by lying about his age and only revealing the (incredibly obvious) truth when he’d already beaten the tests and defeated four current Crownsguard members in one-on-one duels. So instead of simply agreeing to a change of classification, he’d demanded an official recognition of his misclassification.

A court-sanctioned recognition.

The medical and insurance industries had (unwisely) decided that instead of admitting the mistake and opening the door to future suits by misclassified individuals, they would simply refuse to reclassify him, arguing instead that they’d been right the whole time and that he was actually simply a spotted tabby with a peculiar resemblance to a cheetah.

It was a scandal, of course; the entire city was appalled at the obvious untruth being spouted by otherwise respectable doctors, especially with Cor visibly growing into the so-characteristic spots and infamous speed of his species. It didn't help that Cor, being a foundling, was surnamed Leonis, the traditional foundling surname in honor of the royal family of Lucis (all lions, of course).

A cheetah named after a lion being misclassified as a housecat? The political cartoons all but drew themselves.

Realizing belatedly that they had seriously thrown their own credibility into jeopardy, the medical and insurance agencies quickly retracted the argument, but the damage was done and Cor’s lawyers proceeded to definitively rip them apart in court.

All together, that history makes for a pretty strong argument against Taceo’s profiling proposal on Cor’s part, especially given the fact that Cor virtually never makes reference to his past in any context, much less as a rhetorical argument. In fact, Clarus doesn’t think Cor has so much as mentioned the lawsuit since the day he won an unconditional victory in the courthouses.

Taceo seems to realize that he’s losing his audience, as many of the other Councilors are nodding in agreement with Cor, so he quickly says, “You misunderstand the nature of my proposal, young Marshal –”

“Just Marshal is fine,” Cor says, his voice reverting back to pleasant. “You lost all rights to refer to my age when you called me a kitten. But please, do go on.”

“You act as though I were suggesting that we rely exclusively on speciesist assumptions and stereotypes,” Taceo says, pretending as though he hasn’t heard the interruption. “Nothing could be further from the truth! I merely suggest that given the limits of our resources and the well-known fact that our enemy is largely canine, that we focus our security forces on examining individuals with canine characteristics –”

Cor arches his eyebrows. “Still sounds a lot like discriminatory stereotyping to me, oddly enough,” he drawls. “You’re aware, of course, of the large numbers of refugees that have come to our city are canidaetaurs?”

“That’s precisely my point!” Taceo exclaims. “The influx of refugees is a perfect opportunity for a Niflheim spy to –”

“If I were an idiot,” Cor says flatly, “and I assure you I’m not, even then I would still have the bright idea of seeking out my spies via the usual method of recruiting dissatisfied individuals already living here instead of trying to sneak them in as refugees – without money, without food, hurt and alone and having lost everything. Your suggestion is little more than anti-immigrant bigotry dressed up for public consumption.”

“Now listen here, you impertinent little youngster – ” Taceo starts.

“Cor,” Regis says from the head of the table. “That was uncalled for.”

Cor bows his head. “You are correct, of course,” he says. “I spoke too hastily. The fact that the idea is based on no science, no reasonable rationale, and would undoubtedly result in increased internal strife within the city boundaries is obviously no reason why we should not continue to entertain the idea suggested by Councilor Taedeo –”

“Taceo!” Taceo roars, rearing back on his haunches.

“Really?” Cor asks, blinking. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Clarus very nearly chokes trying to keep himself from laughing. The root of Taceo’s name comes from the old word for ‘silent’, while the similar-sounding ‘taedeo’ originates from the word for ‘disgusting’; a fact that Cor is well aware of, given that as a teenager, he briefly all but moved into the library to make up for his missed education, at least whenever he wasn’t on the training field.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Regis says quickly, though Clarus can tell from the way that his lips are pressed together that he’s also having trouble keeping from laughing. He rises, his lion's tail flicking majestically behind him, and everyone automatically rises as well. “Our time is up, and unfortunately I have another appointment following this one. Perhaps we can take up the subject again next week?”

Cor smiles with teeth, his hands behind his back in military style. “Certainly, your Majesty. Anytime.”

Taceo stalks off with stiff legs, his wildcat tail stiff with anger; the other Councilors disperse as well, most of them shaking their heads in amusement or disapproval, depending on where their politics fall. Cor heads off back to the Crownsguard grounds without another word, shrugging off the traditional Council cloak almost before he reaches the door.

Regis nods at Clarus before heading back towards the throne room, an obvious hint, and Clarus falls into step beside his king. They’re of a size – Regis is, of course, a lion, and Clarus a tiger – and it makes it a little easier than it might have otherwise been. Of course, ‘taur physiology means that no matter what species make up their lower halves, people are generally proportionate to their upright humanoid halves, typically ranging between five to six feet tall, but Clarus distinctly remembers how annoying Cid found the casual walk-and-talk style generally prevalent in Insomnia, his jackrabbit stride being totally out of sync with their relaxed feline prowl. While that certainly wasn’t the reason he was no longer really talking with them, Clarus can’t help but think it might have contributed to his decision never to visit, at least a little.

“What do you think?” Regis asks.

“Of Taceo’s proposal to focus our security on profiling canidaetaurs? Absurd, of course; the second Niflheim got wind of any such rule, no matter how secretly implemented, they would double their efforts to conquer territory which is primarily felidaetaur, and we obviously don’t want that. Not to mention the effect it would have on morale in the local non-felidaetaur population –”

“I meant Cor,” Regis says, amused. “I’m aware of the flaws in Taceo’s proposal.”

“What about Cor?”

“He was speaking,” Regis says. “Quite a bit, if you’ve noticed; I think the amount of words he uttered in session today is about equal to everything he said the first month he was assigned to travel with us.”

Clarus doesn’t disagree. Cor tends towards silence, most of the time, whether due to shyness, as it was when he was just a kit of fifteen, following along and trying to protect a group of 'taurs at least ten years his senior, or to sternness, as after his experiences in the Tempering Grounds. The only exception is when he loses that fiery temper of his – rarer after his experience with the Tempering Grounds, but definitely not gone for good.

Still, Clarus isn’t sure what Regis is getting at.

“He has good reason to be especially bothered by proposals that hinge on classification,” Clarus points out.

“Bothered, yes,” Regis says. “But such a proposal has no room in my kingdom and he knows it. There was no reason for such an outsized reaction.”

“You have a theory,” Clarus interprets. He knows his friend well.

“I have a theory,” Regis agrees.

“Would you be interested in sharing that theory?”

Regis snorts. “He’s twenty-three, Clarus.”

“So?”

“Do you remember being twenty-three?” Regis asks. “When all those adolescent hormones have finally started evening out –”

“He would’ve told us if he was going to go into a premature heat,” Clarus hisses, face flushing. “Honestly, Regis!”

“I’m not concerned about his heat schedule,” Regis says dismissively. “Besides, you know for a fact he wouldn’t tell us a thing about it – you remember that time with the mesmenir den in Duscae?”

“Six, do I remember Duscae,” Clarus mutters, conceding the point: Cor had technically been on heat-leave at the time, bedding down in an abandoned mesmenir den while they continued onwards, but that hadn’t stopped him from going straight into battle against the Niflheim forces in the area when they’d ambushed the rest of the party, and never mind that it had made him the target of every single Niflheim soldier out there. Yes, his intervention was likely the only reason they’d survived that particular ambush, but still…“Then what are you suggesting, Regis? Stop pussyfooting around the issue already.”

Regis rolls his eyes at Clarus. “He’s the only one of us without a mate or a child, Clarus. I have Aulea and Noctis, you have your lovely Cyrella and little Gladiolus – Six, Cid has a granddaughter already. And Cor certainly doesn’t mind playing with them when we’re having dinner, for all that he likes to loudly claim an inability to understand how children function.”

“Weskham doesn’t have kids, if I recall,” Clarus grumbles, though now that he thinks about it, Cor has been vaguely antsy recently, in what could be interpreted as a courting-season sort of way but is probably, in Clarus’ view, more of a Cor-sometimes-loses-his-temper sort of way. “I take your point. But I thought that Cor isn’t interested in courting?”

“He’s not yet, according to him,” Regis says dryly. “That doesn’t mean his biological clock hasn’t started in on him – and you know how his anxiety issues act up when he’s dealing with his body doing things he doesn’t agree with.”

Clarus makes a face. Cor is perhaps typical for a cheetah, brutally efficient and terrifyingly fast, but paying the price in heightened perceptiveness that often manifests as severe anxiety. When Cor is anxious, he doesn’t eat; when he doesn’t eat, he's grouchy; when he's grouchy, he snaps at people – much like he did in the Council chamber earlier today.

Damn, it probably is an anxiety issue. And yet the stupid ‘taur refuses to see a regular shrink about a single one of his issues, despite being dragged to a first visit with at least half a dozen in the last few years. Not that Clarus could really blame him, what with his experience with doctors…

It doesn’t mean the rest of them don’t worry about him, as his friends and colleagues. Or, for Regis, as his king.

“He’s too young for baby kitlings, anyway,” Clarus adds, still grumbling and unwilling to admit he missed this. “Not counting Cid, who had kitlings before we ever met him, the oldest one Cor knows is my Gladio, and he’s only two. And we’re both well over ten years older than him!”

“Only twelve years, Clarus; we’re not ancient. Regardless, he’s a cheetah; you know what they say –”

“Fast to grow, fast to bed; fast to run, fast to wed,” Clarus recites the old poem with an eyeroll. “Didn’t we just get out of a meeting discussing why we should not apply traditional species-based stereotypes to people? You just want it to be all about romance, you old tomcat.”

“Says the person who keeps trying to pair him up with company for the Chocobo Festival?”

Clarus coughs. “Enjoying some pleasant company and having a mate are two totally separate things,” he says archly. “A ‘taur’s needs are not all intellectual upper heart, you know; the secondary lower heart, the animal instinct, also needs to be satisfied…have you considered that he may just be lonely, Regis, and not necessarily for want of a mate? There aren’t many other cheetahs in the city – and none quite like him.”

“Perhaps,” Regis concedes. “But at any rate, we need to do something about it. Get him to exercise all that restlessness out, something like that.”

“Exercise,” Clarus says dryly. “The head of the Crownsguard doesn’t get enough exercise.”

Regis makes a face. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

They enter the throne room. Instead of going to the throne, Regis heads towards the windows overlooking the Crownsguard training arena. Clarus joins him and looks down to where Cor is – well, to be frank, where Cor is kicking the ass of ten highly regarded Crownsguard.

At once.

“He’s going to be unpopular if he keeps up with that,” Clarus observes.

“I know,” Regis says with a sigh. “Perhaps some time outside the Wall will do him good.”

“You just named him the Marshal of the Crownsguard,” Clarus reminds Regis. “You can’t just reassign him.”

“Not reassign him, no. Perhaps a covert mission of some variety...?”

Clarus snorts. “That’s a terrible reason to send someone on a covert mission,” he warns, but he can already feel himself giving in. He’s always been protective of Cor, ever since old King Mors had come back from his travels with an overgrown fluffball at his side as his bodyguard, of all preposterous things; Clarus hadn’t believed it until Cor had demonstrated at some length why Clarus ought to let Cor guard him instead of the other way around. Clarus still secretly thought it more than a little ridiculous; ridiculous prodigy or not, best fighter in the kingdom or not, thirteen years old is far too young to be on the front lines of a war. “Very well; we can pick a mission for him to go on, something reasonable…hmm. We did get that one letter from Niflheim, do you recall – the one about the factories?”

“Didn’t we think it was some sort of trap?”

“We thought it was likely a trap of some sort, yes,” Clarus agrees. “But this is Cor we’re talking about. He can be trusted to scout out the situation fully before going in.”

“And very likely to survive coming out,” Regis says wryly. “If anyone ever finds out we sent him on another death-defying, impossible-to-survive mission, he’ll never get that Immortal nickname off of him.”

“He’s never getting rid of that nickname anyway. If we send him solo with - at most - some back-up within radio distance, he’ll at least avoid being afraid that everyone around him will die,” Clarus says. “Again.”

“It’s not his fault he’s so much faster than everyone around him,” Regis sighs. “It’s just the way he was born, and how talented he is; anyone else would have died along with their squad. He’s not somehow to blame because he survived where they didn’t, no matter what he might think. Do check with the Crownsguard that he’s been eating enough, will you?”

“You already know he won’t be,” Clarus says gently. “But I’ll tell him he can’t ship out unless he eats a full meal.”

“That’ll be something, at least,” Regis says. He shakes his head and pads up onto the throne, settling in for his next meeting. “Very well, we're agreed; let's send him out. Do remind him to be cautious about it, will you?”

“Don’t worry,” Clarus says firmly. “He won’t do anything rash.”

[villainsarebetter]

Lost and Broken

Parent Fic: (Creature of the Black Lagoon AU) Rumpelstiltskin is a strange aquatic creature living a lonely existence on an isolated island and Belle, having been dragged to the middle of nowhere by Gaston looking for a hunting prize, is a young woman who catches his eye while swimming in his territory.

This Prompt Fill: Belle discovers some secrets that might have been best left forgotten.

Prompts: @Anonymous: Creature from the Black Lagoon!Rumple remembers his old life. @Anonymous: Black Lagoon Rumple--I have to know, was he originally a human who was experimented on, was he a chimera created in a lab, or are/were there other swamp people? If he was human, what happened? If he was lab created, were there other experiments? What happened to them? Did/does Rumple have family who miss him, whether other lab-grown creatures, a human family, or a creature family? (Also is Mulan the only other human in the expedition sympathetic to Belle and/or Rumple?)

The Creature was patient and compliant as Belle bandaged his side, standing still without so much as a whimper or flinch and allowing her to do as she wished with dusty gauze and half-full bottle of something that smelled sharply of alcohol. It was difficult to see with only the moonlight to guide her, although it was easier here than in the other room since all of the windows were long-broken in this one. There weren’t even any shattered shards attached to the frames anymore. They were simply empty.

Belle couldn’t help but notice that the skin beneath her hands was green and covered in scales, nothing like anything she’d ever felt before; rough on his back but transitioning to snake-like smoothness on her patient’s stomach. The only times she’d touched him for more than a few moments were last night and when he’d saved her life. She hadn’t had any time to register the difference in his skin either time. It wasn't so much unsettling as it was fascinating - her hands itched to explore further, to see what other textures and colors she could find, but her concern kept her on track tending to the Creature’s injury.

Once she was done, he sighed in relief and beckoned her away from the room full of broken debris, back down the hallway to the dim room that contained his nest. It was only when he stepped into the structure, knelt down, and started shifting the bits of vegetation and cloth around that she realized what he intended. It was late, it had been a long day, and as that fact finally sunk in, fatigue hit her hard.

The Creature was free. They were both safe. And Belle had no idea what she was going to do about her friends. Or ‘friends’. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to call them that anymore, thanks to their treatment of her new companion.

Belle was only slightly surprised when, once satisfied, he settled carefully onto his back, favoring his healing side. She was more surprised when he extended a beckoning hand towards her and cocked his head, obviously inviting her to join him.

Briefly, she wavered. If he’d been Gaston, she would have instantly suspected ulterior motives...but all the Creature seemed to want was to sleep. In the dim light, he looked more like a monster than ever - his eerie eyes were wide and dark, reflecting little light and reminding her of dark pits, while his skin was mottled dark grey and green and the scanty light reflected off of his sharp claws and fangs.

….But Belle knew better. Despite the inhuman traits picked out by the moonlight, he’d proven to be caring and respectful. It only took a moment of hesitation before her resolve firmed and she let him usher her into his nest. It was surprisingly soft, having been worn down with age, but she could feel the hard, unforgiving floor beneath the padding.

Exhaustion took hold before she could dwell on the many and varied reasons that being there was a bad idea and likely to cause problems for both of them. The Creature and Belle fell asleep lying next to each other in his nest.

Belle woke up stiff and sore with the irritating grimy sensation of dirt ingrained into her skin. Her clothes were wrinkled and scratchy and she shifted uncomfortably, feeling every bump and bruise complain. When she tried to roll over to get more comfortable, she ran into something warm and breathing that jumped at the contact.

Her eyes snapped open and she found herself staring straight into the brown and gold eyes of the Creature who was looking at her with a distinct deer-in-headlights stare from mere inches away. She was so close that she could pick out the shimmers of hazel, amber, and pale gold in the inhuman iris ringing the dark pupil.

She had accidentally rolled over on top of him.

Before her embarrassment could completely take control, she dredged up a smile for him and a quiet. “Good morning.”

He squeaked.

With as much grace as she could muster, she rolled back over and clambered to her feet, giving him the space to do the same. When she was composed, she turned to look at him, hoping her embarrassment wouldn’t be too obvious, only to find that he was wringing his hands and refusing to meet her eyes, badly hiding his own embarrassment.

It was endearing and Belle smiled fondly at the sight.

The hard floor had left kinks in her back and neck and she stretched as she turned away, trying to work out the stiffness. A few circuits around the room was not enough time for the Creature to overcome his embarrassment and Belle quickly grew tired of watching him pick nervously at his nest, refusing to respond to any soft questions or even meet Belle’s eyes.

“I’m going to take a look around, alright?” She finally offered, thinking to give him time alone as well as satisfy her curiosity about the unnerving building that the Creature called home.

She received a slight jerky nod in response, though he still did not turn to look at her.

The rooms and hallways were bathed in sunlight that shone in through the dirty and broken windows and Belle found that it was easy to find her way around. It was a small building with only half a dozen rooms, all leading off of the main hallway; the office that the Creature had chosen for his nest, two similar offices full of broken furniture and little else, two storage rooms, and the big laboratory from the previous night. The first storage room was lined with shelves that had once been full of chemical supplies (for cleaning, Belle assumed) which had been knocked down at some point in the past so that now the shelves were empty and floor was littered with ominously colored bottles of liquid that had long since lost their labels to the ravages of flooding. The second storeroom had a broken rusted lock on it, and inside she found four old fashioned walkie-talkies that had the word ‘Security’ painted on them in faded red paint. There were makeshift stands and slots set up to hold other items…but they were empty. Whoever had cleaned out the offices had also cleaned out that supply room.

The final room – the lab - was at the end of the hallway, opposite the boat shed where Belle and the Creature had entered, and it dominated the facility. On its own, it probably took up half of the entire building. Belle found her attention drawn to it despite already having seen it and shortly found herself staring at the gurney, the shattered tank, and the rusted counters and cabinets. The sight was even more disturbing in the daylight – it reminded her of something out of a horror story or from the island of Doctor Moreau.

Her curiosity quickly overcame her caution and she ventured inside, picking her way through the broken glass on the floor. Unlike the rest of the rooms, this one had not been cleaned out – it had been destroyed. Shredded, faded papers clumped around the room, unreadable and all but disintegrated with age, metal and plastic equipment lay haphazardly around the floor or shoved into cabinets at odd angles, every single pieces twisted, snapped, or shredded to the point where they were unrecognizable from their original functions. Belle found an entire drawer full of shattered glass and broken syringe tips, another full of knives and scalpel handles (the blades had been ripped off), and another full of plastic bags that had weathered the years better than anything else.

It was only on Belle’s third circuit of the lab that she made her most interesting discovery: wedged behind the cabinet furthest from the windows and door, in the shadows of the broken reptile tank and hidden from the sun, was a black notebook that had escaped the weather and the destruction. Belle managed to slip her fingers into its protected hiding place and ease it out into the light, turning it so that she could read the name on the cover.

Doctor Simon Zoso.

Belle froze and her eyes widened. Dr. Zoso. The strange man who had insisted on coming along on Gaston’s foolhardy hunting trip, who had in fact given them the location of this island, claiming that Gaston could achieve fame by hunting the island’s never-before-seen animal species. But he’d never shown any interest in Gaston’s kills once they were there, instead insisting that there was more to be found deeper in the forest. He’d been ecstatic when Gaston caught the Creature yesterday.

For more reasons than the novelty, it seemed.

Without any reservations, and bursting with curiosity, Belle turned the first page and began to read.

The Creature paused in tending to his bed when he heard Belle’s voice, tilting his head and turning it slightly so he could hear her better. He liked her voice. In fact, he could easily say that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. But who was she talking to?

He pushed himself fully upright with a wince, waiting until his still-tender injury stopped throbbing before following the sound of the human’s voice down the hallway, towards the big room. He didn’t like the big room – it had things that could fix him, things he’d always known how to use, but he always felt like there was someone looking at him when he was in there. It made him uneasy. And when he left, he had to force himself not to run – as if there was something to escape from inside the empty room. Over the long time that he’d lived there, the instinct had dulled, but he still remembered what it had felt like back when the glass shards were still sharp on his feet and he hadn’t yet twisted the scary things until they didn’t look scary anymore.

What was Belle doing in there?

He paused in the doorway, cocking his head in confusion at the sight of her hunched over in the corner, reading out loud from a book he’d never seen before in the slow, measured way that she spoke when she wasn’t sure what something meant. The long words that tumbled from her mouth seemed to confuse her, no matter how hard she strained to understand them. However, with a start, the Creature realized that he knew exactly what they meant.

As Belle read the book out loud, engrossed by the writer’s account on a mystery specimen studied in the lab and ignorant to her companion’s presence at her back, the Creature found his unease growing with every word. Normally, he had trouble understanding Belle because he did not know about things she took to be common knowledge (though he was getting better under her patient tutelage), but this time he found he understood every single word. Even the ones that puzzled Belle, that she carefully enunciated to commit them to memory so she could look them up later, connected in his mind... the dark, shadowy part of his mind. The lost recesses of his memory, the time he knew he’d forgotten and did not particularly want to remember. Enough pain and anger filtered through the block to make him fear what was on the other side.

But as Dr. Simon Zoso’s dry commentary droned on with Belle as a vocal filter, the Creature could feel those shadows fading away – or, more accurately being driven away. The dull, lost emotions were becoming sharper and more personal while vague impressions of old memories were seeping through to influence how he saw his surroundings.

The dark room of glass and metal had always bothered him but never truly inspired fear in him, not since he’d woken up in its shattered confines with a horrible headache, cuts all over his body, and a mysteriously empty memory. He’d spent the next couple weeks curled up in the room that currently housed his nest, suspended in the welcoming embrace of gently shifting water which had filled the building almost to the ceiling. He’d been disappointed when it drained away and he’d had to venture out into the crocodile infested lagoons to submerge himself.

Now…the wall of shattered glass loomed, tall and intimidating, inspiring a surge of helpless anger and the impressions of dagger-like pain stabbing from the roots of his claws and cool, intact glass under the pads of his fingers and palms. The long-degraded and rusty cuffs attached to the central table shortened his breath in reflexive, baseless fear. Paranoia about what was contained in the rusty old cabinets lining the counter-walls haunted him – even though he knew from long years living down the hall that he’d twisted everything inside into non-scary shapes, the feeling remained that whatever was inside was not medical supplies but instead associated with pain and helplessness.

As the images – memories, he realized with horror, they were memories – became clearer, the Creature curled in on himself, making a quiet sound of distress that Belle did not notice through her single-minded focus. Her eyes were fixed on the pages of Zoso’s journal with the intensity she always showed when trying to puzzle out something she didn’t understand. For the past week, that had been the Creature and he’d preened under the attention and admired her determination.

Technically, he was still the subject of her interest, though maybe she didn’t realize it. There was no physical descriptions included in Zoso’s notes. Nor was there a name.

As Belle flipped quickly through the pages, skimming the oldest and least detailed notes to find the passages worth reading, the images came fast and hard to the Creature. Whatever barrier in his mind had been broken, the words she spoke now freely pulled from the shattered depths.

It was terrifying and unwelcome, but bearable – until she reached an account of a test that had happened on the gurney in the center of the room.

“The subject no longer willingly submits to our tests.” She read, mumbling the words rapidly, flush with the thrill of discovery. “We have been forced to use physical measures for restraint. Our budget does not allow for tranquilizers; however, Gorgon is certain he can handle it. There is no reason to make allowances for injury prevention – the subject has become remarkably durable to the point were significant pressure must be used to penetrate its skin with a scalpel.”

Every word that fell from her lips, no matter how muffled, dislodged bits and pieces of the past that stabbed at the Creature’s mind like broken glass. Here was the feeling of metal biting into his wrists. There was the sight of pale human skin running red with blood as scales burst through from beneath. Here was blunt teeth and the rawness of throat that meant he’d screamed himself silent. There was the sight of a human man – his father? - accepting a large stack of green bills and walking away. The cool smoothness of glass under his palms. The biting pain of claws emerging from his fingertips. The sound of generators. The taste of blood. The bite of a needle. Bile in his throat. Burning, glowing liquid. A rubber tube in his mouth. His own voice. Screams becoming whispers becoming silence.

Belle’s attention was focused entirely on making out the densely written words, much of them medical jargon, and attempting to make sense of what they were talking about. As he listened, the Creature leaned backwards until he was huddled against the doorway as far away from the painful words as possible. His clawed hands rose in distress – but instead of reaching for his ears, he clamped them tightly over his gills.

The pressure was an unfamiliar pain but the effect of his panic had an unexpected consequence – the dichotomy of gill and lung breathing diminished, allowing his vocal cords to flex for the first time in decades.

The voice that emerged was rough and garbled, but fully understandable.

S-sTOoo-oP!” His harsh cry instantly startled Belle from her research and she whirled in shock, dropping Zoso’s journal.

The sight to him arrested her instantly. “Did you say-?”

“No moRe! StOP!” He keened and then turned and fled, eyes wild. They were fixed on the water inside of the boathouse at the other end of the hallway. Escape.

By the time Belle came to her senses and surged after him, face twisting in realization, compassion, and worry, he was gone.