#this show has me all reflective and contemplative and pensive and other words for thoughtful and such

[november-rising]

Further Thoughts: Omelette

This man, to me, sees himself as a means to an end. Now, may that be a tool for others’ to utilize him or Carmy himself trying to live his life, I don’t know. But, I do know that this man doesn’t always know how to accept that he’s worth so very much.

Carmen’s drive is admirable. He knows what he can do, who he can be, and how to get there. I would badger this man to the ends of the Earth to gain all his culinary secrets. And, when I finally found him, he would teach me everything. In less than a heartbeat.

Carmen is a giver. He likes to take care of people. There have been many scenes were he's allowed everyone space to find their way while gently encouraging them. It is beautiful to see. He’s not showy about it. Yet we see it in the words of support, the guidance, or the resources provided to others that have skill but don’t have the foundation just yet.

There’s so many thoughts swirling around about Carmen from his utter courage and strength to his willingness to nurture/mentor a talented chef to him trusting explicitly and implicitly in his team…so many thoughts – Carmen is a good person who takes on all the pressure and is quick to put himself on the back burner. It’s why I wrote “He knows he will. He always does.” I don't think he will fuck up in the end. He's just waiting until he does.

And through all this anxiety, he does find beauty and meaning in cooking. Working in the culinary field may not be fun for him for some time as he said with Ritchie down in the random basement (The OG had a basement all this time and we've seen it but once!). Yet, I think he's finding the joy he once had when he's with Sydney.

Their energy is symbiotic...similarly-minded and enjoyed. I can't think of the exact post but I saw where someone showed gifs of Carmen smiling and laughing when he's with Sydney alone together. There's so much between the two.

Sydney is a catalyst. What she brings and offers speaks to Carmen. I haven't quite figured out how to express my experience (read as joy and probable transference) of Sydney over these past two seasons. She has her traumas and MH issues (potentially the acid reflux/GERD she's been experiencing is a physical symptom/outcome). And there's something about Sydney that I haven't been able to put my finger on. Maybe I'm not ready to see all of her just yet.

Gotta love this damn show!

[teliangel]

As If It Meant Something

Author’s note: I’m back, here to make everyone feel terrible things once again. This time we’re buckling down and experiencing the events of the terrible Princeit relationship from Remus’ perspective cause Reflections wrecked me, so if I have to suffer, you do too :)

@tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors thank you for making this monstrosity a possibility, ily so come scream with me.

PLEASE NOTE, if you haven’t read LAOFT this isn’t gonna make a lick of sense, so go read that, get emotionally steamrolled, then come back to be emotionally sucker punched by this slugger. 

TWs: Remus typical violence, abusive relationships, thinking fondly of an abuser, contemplation of murder, grief handled poorly, jealously handled equally poorly, hurt with no comfort (again)

Parings: Remus/Deceit, Roman/Deceit, brief LAMP mention  

Remus was in love.

It had been love at first sight, instantaneous and intense, like most things were for him. But from the first revel he had attended, left to his own devices but not the least bit shy for it, his eyes had unavoidably landed on the king, and in the span of a second he was completely smitten. But the king was the king, and he was an unremarkable Summer aside from being remarkably annoying to most, so getting close enough to share what he felt was a vital declaration of devotion was nigh on impossible. So he watched. He had thought he might like to dance at his first revel, or pester some pixies, or get into whatever the clusters of unseelie were involved in, but he found he'd rather gouge his eyes out than look away from the king. He was polished and regal and perfect, and Remus wanted to look at him for forever.

But the revel had to end at some point, and then he was flocked by simpering fae paying their dues. Remus was terrible at being patient, and the impulse to tear through the bodies between him and the king was nearly unbearable, but if he made too much of scene then he'd be done away with before he could even get close, and while being offed while looking at that beautiful, beautiful face sounded blissful, he really would like to talk to the other boy first. Eventually the king stepped down from the dais and off into the shadows, devoured by them like he was made of the same stuff,  and Remus followed him in what was probably a complete breach of protocol. He never was good at remembering the rules, and he cared even less about the ones he did remember. And then he was crowded up in the king's space, the other boy's brow pinched in all too familiar irritation, a confession spilling from his lips like blood from a fresh stab wound. He started and he couldn't stop, words running into each other until he was completely uncertain if he was making any sense whatsoever, and the king's expression slowly shifted from frustration to shock to amusement. And then he was laughing, so hard and bright that Remus stopped speaking immediately just to listen to the sound in dumbfounded pleasure. Surely no one has heard such a genuine laugh from the king before because he couldn't imagine anyone being able to be afraid of him if they had. The thought made him feel like he had swallowed the whole damn sun and it was burning bright in his belly. Then the king had asked for his name and he had given it, because there wasn't a single part of himself he wouldn't offer up if only the king would laugh like that again.

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Remus had never hated anyone with the intensity that he hated Roman. Honestly, he hadn't known he had it in him to hang onto any one feeling aside from his love for Dee for longer than a breath, but here he was, broiling in his own rage. By the sun and stream and all things rotting, who did that human think he was? Riding into the revel on the king's horse like he had any right to be there, and staying plastered to the boy's side all night like some unfairly pretty leech. It made Remus want to break something or set something on fire or gut the human and strew his entrails from one end of the woods to the other and- Well. It upset him. Which was why he was out pacing instead of at the court, because if he saw the bastard's face, if Dee so much as smiled at him, he was liable to do something drastic and Dee would get angry. And it didn't help they looked so alike, slight distortions of each other, like brothers with different fathers. Was this how humans felt about changelings? The invasive same but not the same, the feeling of something replaced, an unfair exchange? If it was he could understand why the sensation would drive a mother to stab a fae child with a hot iron poker. The worst part, though, was how betrayed he felt. There was no doubt in his mind that Dee loved him, even if he never said as much. Remus was the one who was so effusive with the word love that he got stuck on it sometimes, repeating himself over and over, increasingly frantic with the thought that it might not come across right, that Dee might not believe him, until the king would laugh and shut him up. But he knew. He knew Dee loved him. Who else would he tell his secrets to, who else would he be calm and relaxed with? No one but Remus. And Remus knew he was a lot to handle, that everyone thought he was awful and disgusting, but that made him all the more sure Dee loved him because why would he put up with him otherwise?

But if Dee had brought this human back with him then that meant- that might mean-

No. He didn't believe it.

It had to be the witch's fault (for he knew the other boy was a witch, he could smell it on him like burning hair and bonfires), he had some sort of spell or charm placed on Remus' love. Well, he wouldn't be fooled. He saw the witch for what he was - an usurper, a substitute, a sham - and he wasn't having it. Roman had to be done away with. He'd have to be subtle, or Dee might get upset. He wasn't great at being subtle, though. The exact opposite, really. But everyone in court knew his brand of 'play', and if he accidentally loped off Roman's head, well whoopsie, things went like that sometimes! And that was if Dee didn't get bored first, which surely he would. Roman was just a boring old human who'd age and break with use. Remus was obviously better. He just had to wait for his love to come to the same conclusion. He wasn't a patient man by any means, but if it was for Dee, he could wait.

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Remus was feeling . . . Something. 

The feeling, whatever it was, didn't show up often, and he didn't pay much mind to it when it did. He liked straightforward things, easily defined and acted on, not feelings he couldn't articulate. But he couldn't sleep tonight, and was feeling unusually pensive, so he was rolling the something over in his mind like a worry stone. The crux of the feeling, the root of the strange thing, was that he didn't exactly hate Roman anymore. He wasn't sure when the change had taken place, when his not-so-subtle attempts to murder the witch turned to more playful pranks, when the mere sight of him stopped making Remus want to remove his eyes. Granted, they weren't lovers like he and Dee were (the mere thought of that caused a sense of revulsion that Remus rarely ever experienced), and they weren't friends either. And every time the king kissed Roman he still wanted to stab him in the neck or maybe strangle him- and not in the fun way. But . . . But on nights like tonight, when he and the human had sat on either side of Dee at the revel, wine and conversation flowing easily between them and the king's mood high . . . well. He felt . . . fond? Happy? He didn't know! But he didn't hate Roman anymore, and he hadn't even noticed it until after a long day the human had woken him up coming in far sooner than he had wanted to wake that night, and instead of throwing a rock or a knife at him like he would have in the past he simply twisted his hand and left the witch's hair in knots, the other boy squawking indignantly. And it kept happening. Sure, he still injured Roman from time to time (he was a biter, he could not help this), but the tone of their relationship had shifted, somehow. And he felt strange. He didn't think he'd be any more sad if Roman died now than when they'd first met. But it would make things odd. They were sort of balanced, like this. As bitter a taste as it left in Remus' mouth, Dee needed things from Roman that the Summer simply couldn't give. He'd never be so polished and charming and civil. But the things that scared Roman about Dee where the things that Remus loved most. And if Dee didn't have the two of them, who did he have? Remus was of the humble opinion that every living creature should worship the ground the king walked on, but they were all too chicken-shit to even look at him properly most of the time. So who would love Dee if not them? That made the something-feeling even more complicated. Remus hated overthinking things and waxing poetic about his feelings (he wasn't Roman) but lying here in the dark, listening to his king and the human breathing soft and deep, he seemed unable to stop. The worst thing about this sort of mood and the something-feeling was that it made him feel something spongy and oddly vulnerable in his chest, because it made him realize that Roman wasn't actually all that awful. Maybe- maybe if he had met him before Dee had taken the human on, or maybe if they had met in literally any way that wasn't him trying to steal his lover, or-or- He shook his head viciously to dispel the thought, freezing when Dee snuffled in his sleep before hunkering back down. Hypotheticals were the worst for making the feeling stronger. Because maybe, under other circumstances, they would have been friends. And maybe he'd prefer those hypotheticals, and that was worse. Because what did that mean? What did that say about them, and what they had, and Dee? What did it say about him? Nope, he didn't want to think about it, or the something-feeling. He flopped over with a frustrated grunt, burying his face in the king's shoulder and rubbing his nose along the scales that peppered it. He wanted things to be simpler, and the resentment towards Roman for complicating things was almost always simmering right beneath his skin.

But.

But maybe one day it wouldn't be like that? Maybe things would get simple again, and Roman wouldn't have to die for it to happen, either.

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Remus was ecstatic.

He had been given a quest and it was going to fix everything. Finally he could prove himself to Dee, prove his dedication, and take back his rightful spot as the favored lover. He was nearly dizzy with the heady combination of delight and relief. The quest had settled on him with the reassuring weight of a down comforter, heavy and sweet. He nearly wept from it, as disgustingly sentimental as that was. This proved that Dee still had faith in him. That he trusted him to earn his place back. They both had an out now, one that didn't involve hurting Roman more than a little bit of heartbreak would. And, well, Remus wouldn't gloat too much when he succeeded. He knew how unpleasant it was to be unseated, to feel like you were loosing a lover. Maybe Dee could even be convinced to keep him as a knight! He was useful enough. The entirety of his life didn't  have to be uprooted. And then they'd all live happily ever after and all that sappy shit.

Yes, this was perfect.

Everything was going to be okay.

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Nothing was okay.

Nothing was going to be okay ever again either. Remus' life was as good as over, dead and decomposing, without even a grave to mark its passing and- and-

And Dee was dead.

It couldn't be real. It didn't feel real. He couldn't have been gone for that long, not long enough for things to get that out of hand, and what was he going to do? Everything he'd ever done was pointless. It amounted to absolutely nothing now, and he shrieked into the night air with a lack of anything else to release the bubbling agonized thing burning in the back of his throat like bile. Roman was supposed to take care of their king while he was gone. Sure he wasn't as good as Remus, but he was competent enough, and loyal to a fault. Except he wasn't. He wasn't the man Remus thought he was at all, and he had spun back around to hating the witch more than anything on this earth. How could he? Dee had no one but them. No one who loved him, no one he could trust. There was Remus, and Roman, and that was it. And the second he was away the witch had pranced off to the next shiny thing. Hadn't he loved Dee at all? Remus had. Did. He thought the sun rose and set at the king's feet, thought all the flowers bloomed just to bask in his light, and Remus was built up around his every desire and would gladly rip himself apart tooth and nail for him and- And there was nothing. He had come back to nothing. His room in the court taken by another, his seat at the throne replaced by three for a witch a human and another seelie, his treasures meant for Dee -as proof of his love- taken by his replacement. All he had now was a bird singing at his shoulder and chest so full of unnameable feeling that he wasn't sure how it wasn't bursting through his bones and flesh, rending him open in a bloody mess. Because oh, he was bleeding. But there was no wound. Nothing to stitch together or slap a poultice on. Just carnage that had no exit mark. Remus crumpled over on the dew soaked grass beneath him. He didn't know where he was, nor did he much care at the moment. Maybe he'd get up soon and do something useful like set something on fire or pull the wings off a pixie. But for now he curled up on the ground and wept for everything that could never be fixed. And as his feathery companion settled on his head, her beak ruffling and preening his disheveled hair, he could almost imagine it was fingers tugging knots free as soft words were exchanged above his head. He could pretend he was in his old room, the revel just outside whenever he was ready to go back.

He could afford to pretend for just a little while longer. After all, no one was looking for him now.

[ends-of-the-wayward-storm]

Unchained--Part 1

Summary

In an attempt to help find Sora, Erica tries to reach out to him much like her friend Ephemer once did with her--with the help of Chirithy, of course. One day, however, she reaches out to what she hoped was the first clue to tracking Sora down, only to find herself in a place she's never seen before and come across someone who apparently had been told to save him.

[AO3 version] [Part 2]

[This contains spoilers for KH III and Re:Mind.] 

________

I can remember the first time I talked to my friends Ephemer in Skuld, kind of like it was yesterday. If I hadn’t taken that chance of finding a way to Sora, I probably wouldn’t have found them.

Erica pensively looked out the window in her room, the ever-present sunset gleaming through. “Chirithy, do you remember when I saw Ephemer in that dream?”

“That was a pretty long time ago,” Chirithy replied. “But I remember.”

“I know he was reaching out to me. And when I looked into it, it ended up meaning something.”

The little creature studied their best friend. “What are you trying to say?”

“If I can do what Ephemer did, then maybe I might be able to reach out to Sora. I just have to figure out how he did it.”

Oh. Now they saw what she was getting at. But . . . was she ready? Would it even work the other way?

Erica studied Chirithy. “You know how he did it, don’t you?”

“Well . . . maybe. But I’m not sure it’ll work.”

“Can you tell me?”

Chirithy hesitated. “Are you sure you’re prepared?”

“Yes. This might be a way to find Sora, and I’m willing to try it.”

The dream eater sighed. “He sent you a dream from the Unchained Realm.”

“Unchained Realm? What’s that?”

Chirithy explained to the best of their ability what it was, including how Erica’s war-torn-free adventures took place there. When they were done, Chirithy watched Erica’s eyebrows furrow, and her eyes held many questions as the silence lingered longer than the dream eater would’ve liked.

“So, they wanted to protect me?” Erica finally concluded.

“To put it simply, yes.”

The young wielder fell back into contemplative silence. Having to remember every moment of the Keyblade War was painful, and she could’ve sworn her heart might’ve broken. She wouldn’t blame Ephemer and Skuld for wiping her memory of it and putting her in a place where the war never happened. If she had been in their place, she probably would’ve done the same thing.

“Do you think Ephemer might still be there? And Skuld?” she asked.

“I’m not sure, but if they are, then they might be able to help us find Sora.”

Erica settled under her covers. “Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Chirithy explained how they might be able to reach the Unchained Realm, and Erica followed their instructions carefully. Sleep soon washed over her, and she found herself at Sunset Hill. Her dreams often started like this, and usually they would lead to her hanging out with her friends. One time she had showed them her home world. If only that could actually happen. . . .

“Are you ready?” Chirithy asked from atop the rail, bringing her out of her thoughts.

Erica nodded.

“Good. Now, remember what I told you.”

“Right.”

The two of them closed their eyes. She felt Chirithy’s heart and their bond, and she held on to that connection. Chirithy’s presence faded away along with everything around her, but she still held fast to the connection to her best friend.

There was a shift in the air, and for a moment or two, nothing else happened. Together, they put all their hearts into it, and sure enough, a breeze brushed by. The light outside her eyelids changed, and she opened her eyes to a place she thought she’d never see again.

“I’m . . . I’m here. . . .”

Everything was exactly how she remembered it—the purple roofs, the chimneys, the flower beds, even the clock tower she had explored long ago. The sky was as beautiful as ever, the soft lavenders, pinks, and peaches picture perfect. She breathed in the scent of the flowers in the area, and her eyes began to prickle.

The familiar sound of water drew her attention to the fountain she’d always come across, every detail exact. But the nostalgia would fizz out occasionally, and oddly enough the distortions seemed familiar. . . .

I . . . I have to find Sora before I run out of time.

Just as she was about to begin her search, footsteps brought her attention to a familiar face entering the square.

But it wasn’t just one.

“Skuld. . . . Ephemer. . . .”

Both of them looked to her, and they each shared a look of surprise.

“Erica?” Skuld said.

Everything fizzed again, but Erica didn’t care. She ran to them without hesitation, wrapping both of them in a hug that the duo’s shock almost didn’t let them register.

This has to be real. . . . Erica thought. It has to be.

“Y-you’re here,” Ephemer said, hugging her tighter despite his burning questions. “I can’t believe it. . . !”

“How did you come back?” Skuld asked.

Erica let go, but she held on to their hands securely. “Chirithy helped me. I. . . .” A few tears slipped out, and she squeezed their hands. “I looked for you guys . . . everywhere. I wanted . . . to-to find you so badly. . . .”

“Well, we’re here now, right?” Ephemer said with a smile.

Their surroundings fizzed again, pulling shocked expressions from him and Skuld.

“You’re fizzing out!” Skuld said.

“I am?” Erica said, looking at herself.

“We might not have much time left.”

The fizzing and blurring gradually became more frequent.

“But you can’t go! Not yet!” Erica pleaded. “I need your help.”

“Something wrong?” Ephemer asked.

“It’s my friend So—”

The fizzing turned into a sort of fog that shrouded everything. It crept in from all sides, and before Erica could pull them away, her friends became engulfed.

“No wait! Come back, please!”

Erica woke with a start, startling Chirithy. She found herself back in her room. She wasn’t in Daybreak Town anymore.

She stared down at her hands, her eyes prickling again. She wasn’t with Ephemer and Skuld.

“Did you find anything?” Chirithy asked.

“. . . They’re there. I saw them. . . .” But I lost them again. . . .

“They are?”

Erica nodded.

“What about Sora?”

“I didn’t get the chance to ask. . . .”

Chirithy’s ears lowered for a few moments. “Well, at least it worked.”

After that, Chirithy and I kept practicing staying in the Unchained Realm for longer and longer. I got the chance to talk to Ephemer and Skuld and finally tell them everything that’s happened. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

“How’s Ven?” Skuld asked one time.

“He’s doing really good,” Erica replied. “He’ll be so excited to hear from you guys! Once he actually answers my calls.”

Eventually I told Riku what I was up to. He had a lot of questions like I did, but once I explained the basics he was all for another way to find Sora. He did tell me to be careful and to let him know if I found anything. And of course I said I would.

Now it’s been a year. I was able to get to the Unchained Realm without Chirithy’s help, but they still pitched in to keep me steady. No one’s really found anything yet, but we’re not giving up. Sora wouldn’t give up on us, so why should we?

“Good night, Chirithy,” Erica said.

“Good night, kiddo,” Chirithy replied. “Here’s to hoping Ephemer and Skuld have found something.”

Erica nodded, and she closed her eyes to reach out to their realm. It took a bit like it usually did, but she felt something that didn’t feel like Skuld or Ephemer. Maybe this was their breakthrough! A clue!

She sifted through the realm and reached out to the new feeling, and soon she found herself in a part of Daybreak Town she knew she hadn’t seen before.

It was completely night, not like the partial nights she’d always known. The buildings didn’t really seem quite right; they were almost advanced, like Hiro’s world. And the fact that no street lamps were on didn’t really help.

“Hello?” she called. “Anyone here?”

Silence.

“Ephemer? Skuld?”

Nothing.

The atmosphere was even different. It wasn’t homey and safe. In fact it was the complete opposite.

Erica looked around. From what she could see, she was in an alleyway. There was some kind of light in the dark street ahead of her, and if she looked up, she could see lights coming off of other nearby buildings.

A flicker of movement brought her attention to someone just walking out of view, but she managed to catch his reflection in the building across the street.

Wait a second. . . . “Riku?”

Erica bolted down the alleyway. How did he get here? Did he figure it out? Maybe he found something.

She stumbled to a stop out on the street and looked to Riku. He was looking to his left with the most serious expression she’d ever seen on him. But when he looked at her, he seemed different. Too different.

“Riku?” Erica asked cautiously.

“No,” he said, his voice clearly emphasizing his answer. “Who are you?”

“Erica.” She couldn’t sense a light in him or a darkness. So maybe they were hidden? Or maybe they were too intertwined for her to distinguish them. “Who’re you?”

He studied her, contemplating his next words. “No one important.”

She wasn’t very satisfied with that answer, but she let it slide this time. “I’m uh, looking for a friend of mine. His name is Sora.”

“You’re looking for Sora, too?”

“Yyyes? Wait, do you know him?”

“I’ve heard of him. I was told to save him.”

“By who?”

“A friend of his.”

That could be anyone. But did they know this guy? Or . . . was this something different? “. . . Have you found him yet?”

He looked to his hand, closing it as he spoke. “Once . . . but I lost him.”

“. . . Is he okay?”

“More or less.”

Phew. “Well, maybe we could work together. We might be able to find him faster.”

He studied her again, and he briefly glanced up at the full moon above her. “I don’t need help.”

“Why not?”

“I can manage on my own.”

“What if you get hurt?”

“Like I said, I can manage on my own. Trust me.”

Erica didn’t look convinced.

She seems persistent. “How did you get here?”

“I’ve had help from another friend of mine. Technically I can come here by myself, but they still want to help out.” She hesitated. “What about you?”

“I accidentally wandered into this place.”

“Oh.” She paused for a bit.

“Are you done?”

“What? No! You said a friend of Sora’s asked you to save him. Well they’re my friend, too. So it’ll be easier for both of us to work together to find Sora. And safer.”

Erica paused again. “All his friends are looking for him, and they’re worried about him. You’re probably our only lead in a long time, and I’m sure whichever one of my friends asked you to help Sora has to know that. So if there’s any way for you to let me help, I’ll do it.”

He studied her more intently. She was desperate. It was clear in her eyes. And it almost made him wonder how far she would really go.

Almost.

“You would really make that choice?” he asked.

“Yes. I would.”

Reckless. “Tell me exactly how you got here.”

Erica took a minute to gather her thoughts. “My friend told me I’m coming here through a dream, so I’m uh, technically sending my consciousness here. But I’ll leave if I wake up.”

He began to walk away. “Then there’s no point in working together.”

“Uh wait! I could try to figure out how to stay longer.”

He stopped. “Would you really want to stay asleep?”

Erica found herself hesitant to answer. If it meant helping Sora, she would. But she’d worry her friends, especially Chirithy. She never wanted to do that. And how would she let the others know what she’s found?

Footsteps pulled her out of her thoughts, and she looked to him walking away. “Wait wait!”

He resisted an eye roll, and he stopped to look over his shoulder.

“What if I meet up with you every time I come here? I’ll just be temporary back up.”

She was really persistent. Or desperate. If he played his cards right he could last until she disappeared. But then there was the chance she’d come back and pester him again—if she came looking for him. Which he suspected she would probably do.

“I’ll think about it.”

Finally she was satisfied. That would give him some time to figure out how to deal with her.

“So um, should we meet back here if you make up your mind?” Erica asked.

“Fine.”

With a nod, she fizzed and faded away.

[Part 2; AO3 version]

________

[So I kinda got inspiration from a headcanon that had to do with Yozora having something to do with the Keyblade War era. Also I have a small headcanon that the place Sora and Yozora fight in is in the Unchained Realm. Even if I also think they're in some form of Shibuya.]

[emma-nation]

Without You - Bloodbound AU (Chapter 7) *For You Sequel*

Summary: Gaius is back. While coming up with a plan to take him down, the gang must deal with some new life-changing events.

Genre: Angst/Adventure/Romance

Rating: T - Warning for violence and language

Tag List: @begging-for-kamilah, @lulu-the-cat, @ilovekamilahsayeed, @zoe6111, @kennaxval

Notes:

- English is my second language, please forgive me for any mistakes.

- Hope you enjoy it, your reviews and likes are always appreciated.

- My apologies again for the late update. My life is chaotic right now but I don't intend to give up on this fic. Please be patient, as soon as I can it'll be updated weekly again. I hope a longer chapter can compensate my absense ;)

- Trigger warning for Priya’s past. It may contain some sensitive content. Part of it was inspired by this headcanon.

- Smut Alert!

Amy

“I’m going to kill him.”

If there was one thing Amy wasn’t good at, it was acting. She still tried to act surprised when Kamilah drove them to the Hamptons’ house and started to ask if she’d like to have it for their wedding party, or even permanently, but her ‘whoa’ wasn’t convincing enough.

“You didn’t like it,” Kamilah sighed in disappointment.

“No,” she fixed. “It’s just… I’ve been here before. With Lysimachus.”

After telling her fiancée about how she found out about the house and how her twin brother invaded it, Kamilah was extremely angry.

“Hey,” Amy went behind her, massaging her tense shoulders, “I loved it and this is what matters. Really, Kamilah. I could spend the rest of my life here with you.”

The female vampire’s expression finally softened. She was still disturbed, Amy knew. The whole drive was silent and while she was focused on the road, her eyes seemed distant. It shouldn’t be easy to face Gaius again after almost a century. After betraying him. Kamilah hadn’t told her details of the encounter, but she had a feeling, a intuition, that he had tortured her badly.

“So…” she tried to lighten her mood, “now we have this house all for us, which part should we try first? We have a nice bar, a giant swimming pool, four bedrooms…”

“A walk on the beach is fine for me,” Kamilah replied.

Amy agreed.

After minutes walking together on the shoreline, holding hands and feeling the waves crashing against their bare feet, they picked somewhere to sit. They contemplated the ocean in silence for a moment, before Amy pulled Kamilah for a kiss. A soft and gentle kiss. She still hadn’t felt her fiancée’s lips after coming home. After thinking she would never be able to cherish them again, because she almost died in Wright’s crazy ritual.

“I have something to tell you,” she spoke. “It’s about the historical fair.”

Kamilah stared at her for a second before rolling her eyes.

“If you say you’re going back to London, I…”

Amy couldn’t help laughing.

“I mean it, that teacher has a master’s degree in manipulation.”

“She had, indeed. She’s dead, Kamilah.”

“Oh.”

“She was lying the entire time about the fair. It was a trap to force me to join her cult.”

“I knew there was something wrong about her! She didn’t force you to do anything, did she? Because some of these cults can evoke some real dark forces.”

“Actually, I was the sacrifice to her goddess.”

“God, Amy… H-How did you…”

“I believe destiny really want us to get married. Lysimachus happened to be at the right place, in the right time. He saved my life.”

“I…” Kamilah didn’t know what to say. It shocked more than she already was. While she processed the information, Amy hugged her tightly, resting her head on her shoulder.

“I’m just so thankful I have another chance of being here with you.”

She didn’t told it yet. She just couldn’t find words to tell Kamilah she was the First Vampire’s descendant. The one that was supposed to bring her back to life. Did her feelings or their connection had anything to do with that? She wasn’t sure. Conflicted, she decided to keep the information for the right moment.

----------

Lysimachus

He was working on a project for Raines Corporation but his eyes wouldn’t leave the page lying on the table. That mysterious symbol, he could almost remember seeing it before, engraved somewhere. But he had been alive for 2064 years, it wouldn’t be an easy task to remember. He rested his back on the chair and let out a weary sigh.

Priya passed through his office door, grunting with her cell phone in hands.

“Bastards!”

“Do you ever do anything else other than complaining?”

“I’ve got trouble, Hunter. Trouble you wouldn’t understand.”

“Is it the gossip website again? I’m not hacking it another time to remove your… compromising pictures.”

“Those were fake! My features are way better than that and you know it. Anyways, that doesn’t come to the case…”

“What’s the matter?” He sighed and crossed his arms to hear, expecting it to not having any murder situation involved.

“You know, since I’ve been off the media lately, it has been raising a lot of questions. Now, my agent is forcing me to attend this party tonight.”

“Since when this is a problem to you?”

“I need a date and literally no one is available.”

She watched him in silence, expecting an answer. Lysimachus didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like he could recommend her any celebrities or high society personalities to attend the party as her date. Then he realized…

“No. The answer is no.”

“I’ll pay you for it.”

“I don’t need money.”

“Then, what do you want?”

“Hmmm,” he was pensive for a moment, trying to figure out something Priya would never accept. “I accept under one condition.”

“Tell me your price.”

“You’ll be doing something nice for once.”

“Like…” she seemed puzzled, “donating money for charity? Adopting a stray puppy? That’s easy.”

“No,” Lysimachus protested. “I want you to do something spontaneous. You know, not because you’re being forced, but because you want to. Something that shows you actually have a heart.”

“Go to hell,” she whined, walking back to the living room. “I’ll find some random mortal on Bleeder.”

He followed. She was deeply focused between finishing the last adjustments for wedding dresses and the release her Spring collection. Priya was passionate about her career, that he couldn’t deny. It was possibly the only thing she truly loved.

“You’ve outdone yourself with these dresses, congratulations.”

“I know,” she grinned, proud of her creations. “Also, Kamilah is paying me handsomely for them.”

That was a good opportunity to try to explore her mind. Speaking of her work, she could reveal a little of who she truly was.

“You’re talented,” Lysimachus complimented. “It’s uhhh… been only fifteen years since you officially started your label?”

“That’s correct, but you know… being vampires, we always need to confuse the media, so I answer ten in most of my interviews.”

“And for how long have you been a fashion designer?”

She was silent for a brief moment, as she was reliving a memory. A small smile appeared in the corners of her mouth.

“Since I was born, I think.”

That was the answer Lysimachus wanted. Finally something honest, with feelings.

“Oh, how was it like back in India? Did women wear some sophisticated sari with your name written all over it?”

The smile faded away from her face.

“It’s none of your business, Hunter. Now listen, will you help me or not?”

As he advised her himself, “always find out your target’s weaknesses”. He had just found the right spot. He only needed to know how to access it.

“Okay, you win. I’m going with you to the party.”

----------

Kamilah

It had been almost ten minutes Kamilah had locked herself inside the restaurant’s toilet. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, her fangs were still exposed, as well as her red eyes.

To feed from that group of mortals, she had to let her instincts take control. She wouldn’t be able to do that consciously. Now, after ingesting such a large amount of blood, her thirst was out of control. While they were eating, she couldn’t focus on anything else but the beating hearts around her, their jugulars, the sound of the blood running inside their veins… including Amy’s. She looked at her fiancée and she desired her in a different mode. She wanted to please her, to make her scream her name and beg, beg for more… beg for her life, as her fangs sank into her neck and sucked until the last drop of blood.

Gaius was turning her into a monster again and she didn’t even notice. The hypnosis wasn’t needed, he was already inside her head.

“Kamilah?” She heard Amy’s voice coming from outside. “Is everything alright?”

Amy. Her Amy. Was she still capable of loving her the same way? What if she lost control? She could seriously injury her or worse.

“Open the door, please.”

She inhaled deeply, focusing her thoughts on something else. Ahmanet Financial. Nothing could make her forget about the world as her company. If she managed to control her hunger through the centuries, she could do it again.

When she opened the door, she was her recomposed self again.

“Sorry, I was fixing my make up,” she walked away before Amy could question.

Back to their house, she grabbed her laptop and pretended to be focused. She needed to avoid Amy as much as possible. At some point the girl would want to get intimate and it’d lead to a tragic outcome.

“What are you doing?” Amy placed herself next to her on the couch, with a bucket of popcorn. “You’ve been acting weird since lunch.”

“My apologies, Amy. I… I forgot these information I was supposed to have sent to my lawyers and I was afraid it was too late, but I’m working on it right now.”

“Anything I can help? I’m still your assistant.”

“Not really, it’s just very complicated.”

“Okay.”

The girl started to text Lily and as she was distracted, Kamilah could examine the pictures she took of Lysimachus’ book. She had absolutely no idea how to translate that.

“Lawyers, huh?” Unnoticed, Amy came back from the kitchen and stopped behind her. “This is the ritual Lysimachus and Lily have been studying. The one to kill Gaius.”

“Amy,” it was becoming harder to keep things from her fiancée. She always managed to find a way to figure out when she wasn’t well.

“Kamilah, it’s okay to share your concerns and feelings with me. I mean, we’re getting married. It shouldn’t be a problem anymore. Unless…”

The girl studied her face for a few seconds before raising her eyebrow.

“Unless you’re planning something stupid. You’re not planning to do this on your own, are you?”

She rolled her eyes, wondering if Amy was having those visions about her life again.

“Amy, speaking of a fight against Gaius, it’s clear not all of us are going to survive. People will die and I don’t want it to be Lysimachus… or you.”

“How many of you did he kill, back in the twenties, when you put him in the sarcophagus?” Amy sighed.

“None, but only because I intervened.”

“But you couldn’t have done it yourself! You only stabbed him because he was distracted fighting the others.”

Kamilah rolled her eyes again. It was hard to admit Amy was right.

“Why don’t we join them and help with their plan? Trust me, it’s the best we can do.”

Amy placed her hand on hers and she admitted defeat. Even though Priya was part of the plan, it was more reasonable and safe than fighting Gaius alone.

----------

Amy

Despite Amy’s best attempts, Kamilah was avoiding physical contact or any interaction that could lead to intimacy.

“Is there something wrong with me or…” she showed Lily her body and face through a video call.

Maybe Kamilah was too stressed to think about it, but then, for what purpose she brought her to stay in that house for a couple of days, if they weren’t supposed to spend time together?

“Uhh... maybe she’s attached to old traditions? I mean, save it for after the wedding?” Lily suggested.

Amy muffled a laugh.

“I don’t think that’s the case. Anyways I should go, I have a sexy vampire CEO to seduce. Bye.”

She walked to the living room, wearing a sexy nightdress she bought in London. One she knew Kamilah would be able to resist. She bit her lower lip playfully as she spotted the female vampire in the living room, where she was waiting for her to watch a movie.

"What is my gorgeous fiancée doing?" She asked to make her presence to be noticed.

"Amy," Kamilah said, before turning around to face her, "I swear this was the longest shower you've ever..."

She turned around and stopped, astonished by her special outfit.

"I was preparing you a little surprise. Did you like it?"

"I-It looks... nice."

"Really?" Amy rolled her eyes. "Nice is the best word you can use to describe it?"

"No, actually I can find multiple other adjectives to express how much I liked it."

"So," Amy wrapped her arms around her neck and whispered in her ear, "tell me."

“Amy,” Kamilah carefully pushed her away, “this may not be a good idea at the moment.”

Amy threw herself at the couch and sighed frustrated, wondering if after being distant for so long Kamilah had stopped desiring her.

“It has nothing to do with you,” the female vampire spoke. “It’s about me.”

“Gaius?” Amy asked, afraid to hear the answer.

Kamilah shook her head in denial.

“After ingesting such a large amount of blood my thirst is out of control.”

“Oh, so that’s the problem. I mean, you’ve controlled it before, you can control it again.”

“Does that make you relieved?” Kamilah frowned. “Amy, it turns me into a monster! At the same time I want you, I want to drink until the last drop of blood in your body.”

After thinking for a while, Amy found an easy solution. She brushed off her hair from her shoulder, exposing her neck.

“Do it,” she ordered. “Feed from me. You'll never know if you don't try it.”

“Did you hear what I just told you? I’m going to kill you.”

“You won’t. I know it.”

“Amy...”

“It’s in your head, Kamilah. You’re letting Gaius manipulate you again, can’t you see it? You’re not a monster. Please, let me prove this to you.”

She stood up again, approaching Kamilah and pressing her lips on the vampire’s. As she slipped her tongue inside Kamilah’s mouth, she stopped her.

“Then let’s get you a stake first. In case I don’t stop, you can...”

“Kamilah,” Amy silenced her with her index finger, “stop.”

She turned around, exposing her jugular again. Kamilah held her close, Amy could feel her heart racing inside her chest. She nervously traced her neck, finding the right spot to feed.

“Are you sure?” Kamilah asked.

“More than sure,” Amy placed her hand where hers was lying, on her belly.

Kamilah slowly sank her fangs into her jugular, drawing small sips of her blood. Amy could sense how insecure she was, as if she was holding back her thirst, her desire, everything... and the girl was determined to get more. She grabbed Kamilah’s hand, guiding it to her inner tights.

She moaned in pleasure as Kamilah started to give her exactly what she wanted, what made the vampire deepen the bite.

Amy never felt a similar pleasure in her life before. Kamilah’s fingers moving inside her, along with the pleasure from the bite. She felt like her entire body was on fire. Kamilah suddenly stopped.

“That’s enough, I’ve drank enough of your blood.”

“No,” Amy protested. “You usually take more than that.”

“I feel I’m slipping out of my control.”

“You’re not. I promise you.”

“In this case,” Kamilah looked at her and a devilish grin appeared on her face.

Using her vampire special skills, she ripped off Amy’s nightdress.

“I thought you had liked it,” Amy complained.

“I thought you were used to my ways of showing it.”

Kamilah’s mouth was suddenly on hers, kissing her hungrily, fiercely... then she moved down to Amy’s neck, tracing her jugular with her tongue.

“Hmmm, I’ve had enough of this,” she sank down to her knees, leaving Amy with a confused look on her face.

She softly pressed her fangs against Amy’s inner tights, leaving a small, shallow cut. The swipe of her tongue, cleaning the blood over the mark, made Amy’s entire blood tremble. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of ecstasy as Kamilah bit her a little harder, drawing some more blood.

Amy was about to reach climax when the female vampire stopped, healing the bite with her fingertips.

“Why did you... oh!” Amy had no time to finish her question, Kamilah moved her mouth to her most sensitive spot of her body, sending her into bliss.

After she finished, Amy’s legs were weak and her mind a little lightheaded and foggy.

“Now you know how much I liked it.”

Between pants, the girl let out a smile.

-----------

Kamilah

It was late night and Kamilah couldn’t force herself to sleep. Though she was relieved to know her thirst was remained under control, she was lying still, staring at the ceiling. She wondered if she and the others would even survive the next few weeks. Or days. Gaius was planning something big and, unless she was able to earn his trust again, she wouldn’t be part of it this time. The sound of her cell phone vibrating on the nightstand made her body stiffen even more. It was Harvey.

After going to the balcony, she finally answered.

“What do you want?” She asked. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“Recruiting new members, I hope,” the voice on the other side replied. "The King isn't pleased after what your stupid brother did."

"I haven't spoke to my brother in days. I have no idea of what he's doing."

"After you gave him ownership over your clan, he sent all of the members to different parts of the country, looking for our King."

Kamilah smirked. Her twin brother hadn't lost his skills over the century. Behind this act, he should be trying to make it difficult for Gaius to get new servants.

"I mean it, Kamilah. You better find some new members to our army, he's furious at you."

The last words made Kamilah's heart pound, but she couldn't show it.

"I'll see what I can do," she lied. "Just give me some time."

"We have no time. He wants to see you, in three days."

Three days. Gaius demanded to see her urgently. If he was furious, he'd probably punish her. If only she was able to finish him before that... As anger took control of her body, she was ready to throw her cell phone away, when a loud, frightened scream came from inside the bedroom.

"Amy," she shouted.

In less than a second she was back to her fiancée's side. The girl was sitting on the bed, her skin was pale and her eyes were wide in fear.

"You scared me, what's wrong?"

"I-I..." she took a moment before being able to say anything. "The visions, Kamilah. I saw her... Keaseth."

"Who?!"

"The First Vampire. Her name is Keaseth."

Kamilah sat by her side in bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a assuring manner.

"Amy, she's only a myth. We're not even sure she really existed."

"She exists, Kamilah!" Amy raised her voice. "Asleep, inside a coffin in some underground temple in London. To wake her up, I must offer my life in sacrifice because I'm her descendant. The one she assigned the mission."

The girl buried her face in Kamilah's chest and started to sob.

"S-She's calling for me... but I can't... I can't..."

"This is insanity. Whatever that teacher has tormented your mind with isn't true, Amy! She was a psycho that created a baseless theory. This isn't true!"

"Lysimachus has the manuscripts. It's real, Kamilah. Everything is there, Keaseth instructions, a genealogy map that leads to me... It's true. I can ask him to show you."

Kamilah got up from the bed and started pacing around the room. It couldn’t be true. That teacher should’ve invented it all to lure Amy into her own interests. But somehow it explained Amy’s visions. How she could, somehow, have access to hers, Lysimachus and Adrian's past.

“This isn’t why I love you,” Amy tried to explain between tears. “In the beginning I was confused. I thought I only felt attracted to you because I’m related to The Frist Vampire, but it’s not...”

“Amy...” Kamilah gave her a comforting hug. “This thought never crossed my mind. I... The only thing I fear is for your life. If you’re really her descendant it makes your blood powerful, special. A lot of vampires could try to use it in their advantage. But... I’ll protect you.”

Amy finally opened a smile and hugged her back.

“Amy, as you know, under the current circumstances it’s impossible for us to have a moment of pure joy and peace, so... we have to go. Gaius is requesting to see me and we need to discuss our plan.”

“Kamilah, oh my god. Y-You don’t have to go. We'll find another way.”

“Yes, I do. While we can’t figure out a way to kill him, I can’t blow up my cover.”

“Actually...” Amy jumped out of the bed, looking for her phone.

“What are you doing?” Kamilah was confused.

“I’m calling Lysimachus, I just remembered where I saw the last symbol.”

-----------

Lysimachus

“Boring,” Priya lamented. “Everything suddenly started to feel boring and I don’t know why! Maybe I’m getting old, like Kamilah.”

“No,” Lysimachus added. “You’re absolutely right. That party was one of the most boring events I ever attended. I'm glad we left."

He still couldn’t believe how far he had went on his plan to find out about Priya’s past. He could have gone to the Shadow Den to help Lily or hang out with Jax. For what purpose he was trying to know her better? She would never change. She only agreed to be part of the plan because of her own interests: protection, power and strength. If Gaius offered her an opportunity to obtain more power, she’d surely accept.

“We aren’t even friends…” Lysimachus though, “or are we?”

As Priya would always say, they were friends with benefits, without the friends part. Only the benefits.

“Than, let's have fun!” She complained, splashing him some water. "We didn't come here to chat."

“Okay..."

They were both in the swimming pool at Priya's house, with a few bottles of vodka he stole at the event's bar. All he had to do was to find a way to make her talk.

"We could play a game," he suggested. "Truth or Dare?"

"Come on, Hunter. This is so last century! Though it could be fun if only picked 'dare'."

Her hand softly stroke his naked chest, when she suddenly stopped.

"I'm not sure I'm in the mood for this either."

Lysimachus observed confused as she left the swimming pool and wrapped a towel around her body.

"Priya, what's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

"Why do you assume it's about you?" Her face turned into a frown.

"I'm not assuming anything! You've been acting weird since this morning."

"You assume a lot of things."

He detected a hint of sadness in her voice.

“What are you talking about?”

“Stop playing dumb, Hunter. I saw you creeping on my bedroom. You don’t think I’m worthy your trust.”

“Priya, this is not...”

“I’m done with you.”

For the first time since they met, he could tell she was somehow hurt.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to know more about you, about your past.”

His words made her turn around and face him again.

“Why?” She clenched her fists in anger. “Why was that supposed to matter? Why would you like to know about... that!”

Carefully, he took her hands in his and noticed she was shaking.

“Sometimes it’s easier if you just let it go. I mean, look at me. Everything I did, everything I built my entire life... it was a lie. My sister was so alive as I was.”

She walked away from him, sitting by the pool’s edge, where she started to play with the water using her hands. After a few minutes in silence she finally spoke.

“Life wasn’t always a piece of cake for me, Hunter. Back in India, I belonged to the people they call ‘the untouchable’, ‘the impure’. We lived like rats! In a secluded and small rural property, where my parents did the most degrading work to feed me and my four siblings.”

During his travels to India, Lysimachus heard about that group of people. Excluded from the caste system, they lived under inhumane rules.

“I was the youngest child and the only one to not accept that life,” Priya continued. “As a little girl, I started to collect pieces of fabric that were discarded and sew them together to make myself beautiful clothes. Clothes I’d never be allowed to have.”

She approached him again, taking a sip from her bottle to prepare for what she was going to tell next.

“When my father died, my mother fell seriously ill. We needed to bring home some money, but I’d never submit myself to dirty work, such as working with garbage and dejects. So, I went even dirtier.”

"Priya, oh my god...” Lysimachus ran his hand through his hair, not knowing exactly what to say upon that information.

“What do you think upper caste women did when they found out their husbands were sleeping with an ‘untouchable’? One night, they set my family’s house on fire. I wasn’t home, so I was the only one to survive.”

“It’s enough,” he told, squeezing her hand, but she was fixated in the memories. Memories she probably suppressed for over a century. Some tears started to run across her cheeks.

“With the money I had I fled to France, seeking for a better life. I was naive, Hunter. Too naive. Soon, I was back to my old habits. Until the day this rich guy I was dating got fed up of my expensive taste. He called a little friend of his and the two of them attempted to get rid of me, not before having fun one last time, of course.”

“Priya…"

"I was weak, almost dead, when somebody came to my rescue,” she didn’t let him speak. “A thirsty, disgusting vampire. I attempted to scream while he fed from what was left of me. After drinking my whole blood, he thought I was too young and pretty to die, so he Turned me.”

“You don’t even know who’s your maker.”

“No, I was on my own. Until a woman saved me. She owned a brothel. She let me stay there, where I was allowed to feed from her and her girls. In trade, I’d create clothes for their night shows and protect them from the nasty clients. That was my favorite part. Anyways, when she died, some of the girls wanted to come to America, where they hoped they’d find what they were searching for, so I came too.”

“And did you find it? What you were looking for?”

“More than that,” she finally opened a mischievous grin, “he gave me what I needed.”

“Who?”

“No one,” she finished her bottle and wiped the last few tears from her face. “He’s gone now. It doesn’t matter.”

Lysimachus stood up and involved her in a protective embrace. Everything suddenly made sense, her houseboys, the way she treated mortals… she was taking revenge for how she was treated in the past. Being used, abused, broken.

"You don't have to do this," he stroked her soft hair. "You're hiding behind this character you created to mask your pain. I know what I'm saying, this is exactly what I did being a Vampire Hunter."

“No, you have no idea of what you're saying,” she angered. “I shouldn’t have told you any of this! Now you know my weaknesses, you’re going to use it against me!”

“Priya,” Lysimachus held her still, looking into her eyes. “God, I would never use it against you. You can trust me, I promise.”

“But… now you know, it changes everything. You better keep a distance.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

For a moment, she seemed open, vulnerable. Their lips were almost touching when Priya took a step back.

“I need to stay alone for a while.”

Respecting her wish, Lysimachus went to the Shadow Den and left her alone in his apartment. Lily had important news to tell him.

“Amy told me she remembers seeing the mysterious symbol at Wright’s office and temple.”

“So that was where I saw it too.”

“Anyways, after studying it for hours I came to a conclusion,” Lily seemed worried somehow. “It’s a junction of other symbols: this one for ritual, the one for blood or descendant and this one... means sacrifice.”

“A-Are you telling me…”

“In order to kill what the First Vampire created, you must execute the ritual and offer her descendant as sacrifice.”

“You mean…”

“To kill Gaius, we must kill Amy too."

Next: When a meeting with Gaius goes wrong, somebody will be facing a tragic outcome. Stay tuned!

[schmergo]

The Winter’s Tale at American Shakespeare Center: Informal Review

It’s less than two weeks until auditions for the production of The Winter’s Tale that I’m directing this summer, so my friend and I went down to the American Shakespeare Center in Staunton last weekend to get some inspiration and get hyped… and it worked! Ever since, I’ve felt compelled to write one of my little informal reviews, so here goes!

If you’ve never been to ASC, first of all, you should. It’s my favorite place to see Shakespeare’s plays in the entire world. They’re this little recreation of Shakespeare’s indoor Blackfriars Playhouse (fancy people saw shows there in winter months in London), a cozy and intimate place that replicates Renaissance traditions like keeping the lights on through the show and using a small ensemble of actors to play multiple roles. But just because they take Shakespeare seriously doesn’t mean they take themselves seriously. Their shows are always fun, energetic, pleasantly irreverent, and full of creative little surprises in staging. They always pull out the spirit of the show. Another thing that they do is incorporate lots of music into the shows—they present a lively preshow and intermission mini-concert featuring the talented troupe of actors playing instruments and singing folksy renditions of contemporary tunes. My favorite this time was “Mr. Brightside,” sung by the actor who played  King Leontes. For those unfamiliar with The Winter’s Tale… well, that song is extremely fitting for Leontes’ state of mind.

The Winter’s Tale is—there’s no doubt about it—one of Shakespeare’s weirder plays. One part tense psychological drama and one part comedic pastoral romance separated by a 16-year time gap, it somehow all comes together in the end with a magical, intensely moving family reunion. I used to dislike this show, and I still think that on paper, it’s not Shakespeare’s best work, but seeing an imaginative production at the Folger Shakespeare Library the other year was a revelation to me: this show could be unbelievably powerful to watch if acted by passionate actors who are truly absorbed in their characters journeys without winking. As one character, Paulina, says in the play’s final act, “It is required that you awake your face.” Even the smallest shred of cynicism can shatter the delicate illusion that Shakespeare creates in The Winter’s Tale. Its plot is as fragile, intricate, and impractical as a Faberge egg.

I’ve seen six productions of The Winter’s Tale. Four of them only reinforced my snarky feelings about it. The Folger’s reimagined, highly original take on it was a breath of fresh air. ASC’s was different. It completely captured and reflected Shakespeare’s play for better AND worse, without doing any rewriting or reorganizing to cover up some of the play’s more awkward moments. It was unapologetic and authentic. All in all, it was emotionally exhilarating yet messy.

The story goes thusly: King Leontes of Sicilia is hosting his best friend, King Polixenes of Bohemia, for a long stay at his palace when he suddenly begins to suspect that his wife, Queen Hermione, has been cheating with his bestie. This is especially worrisome because Hermione is pregnant. Although she is actually totally innocent, Leontes’ paranoia spirals out of control until he tears apart his own family and destroys multiple lives—yet lost family members sometimes come back in the most unexpected way.

The final scene of the play, when done well, is a transcendent moment that brings tears to the most jaded eyes. I always judge a production’s Leontes—and, really, the production itself—on whether that final scene feels deserved, whether I want that happy family reunion for the penitent king. ASC’s Ronald Roman-Melendez completely delivered. I wanted his happy ending so badly that my heart was pounding.

               Roman-Melendez took a surprisingly long time to fully inhabit his character, however. In Act 1, he struggled a little with Leontes’ fragmented speech, sometimes seeming not to understand when Leontes’ phrases change direction. Some lines came out disappointingly Shatnerian. “Oh boy, this’ll be a long night,” I thought glumly, anticipating four more acts of this. But I needn’t have worried. When Leontes’ madness hit its full pitch in Act 3, Roman-Melendez crafted an incredibly complex portrait of conflict, sleep deprivation, rage and mental disorientation that was so believable that it was scary—and pitiable. After the play’s time skip, he beautifully reflected the passing of sixteen years of guilt, grief, and pious contemplation, his eyes sad but his voice warm. Leontes is, in my opinion, one of the most challenging roles ever written by Shakespeare,  and even the most talented actors often don’t seem to get it. Roman-Melendez is one of the few actors I’ve seen who seem to understand that Leontes’ tyranny is not an expression of strength. He craves control only because he’s completely out of control.

               As Leontes’ queen Hermione, Ally Farzetta resembles a Renaissance painting of the virgin Mary, with beautiful long dark hair, pensive features, and a halo-like headdress that seems to hint at her virtuous nature. Her Hermione is both playful and elegant, gentle yet strong. When she tells us in Act 2 that she is not prone to weeping as many of her sex are, it’s not bragging but overly naïve: she has no idea what kind of horrors will befall her. When she later appears bedraggled at her public trial, too soon after childbirth, her husband resolutely facing away from her, she cries.  I cried with her. Farzetta doubles delightfully as a ditzy shepherdess named Mopsa before a stirringly emotional turn in Act 5.

               The most powerful player in the ensemble was unquestionably Annabelle Rollison, who plays Leontes’ sharp-tongued advisor, Paulina. This may be a little unfair because Paulina is probably the coolest character in the play, with daring one-liners like “It is a heretic that makes the fire, not she that burns in it,” but Rollison takes a role that could be a one-note ‘strong female character’ and makes her utterly real: proud, emotional, manipulative, loving, devastated, hopeful, and much more. Her words feel like a punch in the gut half the time and an encouraging arm around the shoulders the other half the time. She commands the stage in every scene with a confident, stately bearing. (Her shepherdess character is even goofier than Ally Farzetta’s. The character’s name is Dorcas. That’s all you need to know.)

               Topher Embrey stole every scene as the adorably gullible Shepherd’s Son, an overgrown child with a sunny disposition and a fondness for the ukulele. Embrey plays the Shepherd’s Son (aka Clown) as unaware of his own strength to hilarious effect and, with his warm voice and wide eyes, is one of the most lovable lugs you’ll ever see. No wonder the two shepherdesses squabble so much over him—that and the fact that he carries more money than is good for him.

As young lovers Perdita and Prince Florizel, Constance Swain and Josh Clark show strong chemistry and energy and wonderful dance skills, as wild and free as you’d expect Bohemian revellers to be. They’re a treat to watch, yet I couldn’t help but feel some elements of their characterization could have been more carefully calibrated. Swain’s Perdita, though utterly lovely, came across as more 'manic pixie dream girl' than regal, no matter how much other characters commented that she seemed too great for her humble surroundings. Clark’s Florizel was a hair more petulant and irritable than I’d like to see in the impulsive poet-Prince.

The rest of the ensemble was good, though some characters (especially wise advisor Camillo) made less of an impression than I'm used to seeing. The energetic Madeline Calais failed to entertain as the mischievous peddler and scam-artist Autolycus, but that's not exactly her fault-- I've never found that character amusing in any of the productions I've seen. The scenes featuring Autolycus dragged even with the presence of audience favorite Topher Embrey.

Jessica Van Essen's sumptuous costumes enhanced every scene. She dressed Sicilia's royals and courtiers in formal Renaissance garb, with Leontes decked out in regal purple, while creating colorful costumes for the foreign land of Bohemia that seemed equally inspired by traditional Turkish, Ukrainian, and Bavarian dress. Plenty of flower crowns, silk jackets, intricate patterns, and a cool turban for Kenn Hopkins' commanding King Polixenes. In Act 5, Leontes appeared in a huge fur cape that seemed to represent the weight of sorrows heaped upon his shoulders.

Special effects were simple, as is common at ASC, but well-timed thunder sounds were often used to dramatic effect. The famous bear, simply played by an actor in furry costume, was nonetheless effective, both brutal and darkly comedic. One more modern touch included an automated pedestal that glided out across ASC's stage in the play's final scene-- a departure from the usual low-tech staging conventions, but magical enough to fit seamlessly into the play. "If this be magic, let it be an art as lawful as eating." I sobbed through the final scene.

Though this may not have been a perfect production of Winter's Tale, it was a wonderful recreation of Shakespeare's charmingly imperfect play. If you get the chance to go down to Staunton, don't miss it!

I can't wait for auditions!

[mathiaskillmaster]

My GOT Ending: The First of the Starks (Episode 4 Season 8) Part 1

Jon Snow, his hands blocked by chains, finds himself sitting in a makeshift camp set up by the men of the golden company. The young king of the north is deeply worried and shows it. When he went away with Rhaegal to bring the King of the Night on him, the Battle of Winterfell was still raging, the wights had broken down the defenses and Jon unfortunately ignores everything that has happened so far. Harry Strickland, very confident and satisfied with his capture, comes to see him, offering him a sip of water, but Jon remains exasperated by the almost detached behavior of the mercenaries and try to talk with the captain of the mercenaries. _ "Listen, I'm not kidding! The army of the dead is on us and thousands of people are dying! You must act, help us, I beg you!" Jon claims, upset, but is quickly restrained by a mercenary who forces him to sit down under the threat of his sword. Harry Strickland listened, contenting himself with a nod and a smirk. _ "Thanks for the news. Queen Cersei will be delighted." responds Strickland. Jon remains speechless. The captain orders his men to move the camp and Jon is taken by force towards the south. But as Jon glances behind him as he is dragged by two mercenaries, he quickly observes Harry Strickland addressing one of his men on horseback and seeming to entrust him with a messenger mission. *********** After the Battle of Winterfell was lost, the survivors, who had managed to embark on the ships of the Targaryen fleet, went to Dragonstone for refuge, Daenerys having opened the doors to the refugees from the north. In the fortress, everyone is busy caring for the wounded. The unsullied, dothrakis and northerners soldiers having survived, who are few in number, make an inventory and try to establish a balance sheet of losses in their ranks, all under the direction of Brienne, Podrick and Jaime. An atmosphere of defeat reigns over the fortress. The sacrifices of some friends remain anchored in memories. Brienne remains strong and do not forget Tormund who gave his life while a white walker was preparing to slaughter her. Sansa remains deeply marked by Theon's death, as does Missandei for Grey Worm. Jorah could not have forgotten the heroic sacrifice of Lyanna against a giant who massacred her troops. The feeling of helplessness is total. Assisted by Gilly, Samwell uses some talents he has learned at the citadel to help the injured. Unfortunately, some people are seriously injured and many people succumb to it. Samwell finds himself helpless in front of a Northerner soldier who has had an arm torn off and just died. Tyrion, Sansa, Varys, Missandei, Jorah and Davos have gathered in Dragonstone's council room and are thinking about what they can do to stop the advance of the army of the dead. Earlier, Sansa wrote a letter to Yara Greyjoy, announcing the heroic sacrifice of her brother Theon at the Battle of Winterfell and humbly asking for help. Arya, on her side, decided to isolate herself, and Gendry has trouble trying to give her back a smile. Sandor is also isolated, embittered, trying to drown his anger in alcohol. But his loneliness is quickly disrupted by the arrival of Melisandre at his side. Sandor gives her a quick, scowling look and drinks another sip. _ "If you still come to tell me the same shit as Beric did, it's really not the moment ..." warns Sandor already very angry. The Red Priestess does not seem intimidated and approaches anyway. _"I did not come here to judge you. Only the lord of the light can give me that right. I'm here to fulfill a promise I made to Ser Beric. He wanted to give you something." _ "And what could this moron have to offer me?" the Hound asks, raising an eyebrow, wary. Melisandre leans over him and slips a few words into heis ear. Sandor listens, and seems disconcerted to the highest degree. _ "Are you fucking kidding me or what?" he asks. Melisandre merely shakes her head and moves away, leaving the man alone with his thoughts. He seems stunned by what she has just said and remains pensive, looking straight ahead in the vagueness. As Melisandre crosses one of the corridors of the castle, a familiar voice is heard. _"The last time we saw each other, you told me that you had to come back to Westeros to die ... Is that still the case?" Varys appears at a nook, staring at the Priestess almost suspiciously. Melisandre obviously recognizes him and is content to send him a slight neutral smile. _"Nothing has changed. My master has shown it to me again....you and me ... in the midst of great greenish and gleaming flames, disappearing little by little in their purifying veil .... your arms, dripping of blood ..... I clearly saw it .... " Varys remained skeptical about this mystical declaration from this woman from Asshai. Melisandre greets him with a slight bow and walks away again, leaving the master spy alone with his reflections. But as Melisandre comes around the corner, she notices Arya, standing up alone in a corner, giving her a look of very heavy judgment. The priestess does not pay any more attention and continues her way. ********** Daenerys did not stay long in Dragonstone, because after having deposited Jorah and Bran safely with the others at the fortress, the queen had flown again on her powerful dragon, in spite of the insistent reluctance of her advisers. Too worried about Jon's and Rhaegal's already protracted disappearance, Daenerys had left for Winterfell. Sitting on Drogon's back, she now flies over the snowy moors and sees Winterfell in the distance, now reduced to the state of an empty and silent city. No more traces of the white walkers or their army, which is not for reassured Daenerys. Did they continue their way south? Very probable. Daenerys and Drogon move away from Winterfell and still fly over the moors looking for the slightest sign of life. A little further, both discover the charred remains of Rhaegal's body in the snow. Drogon utters a sad roar as the dragon queen's heart breaks and her face twitches in pain. The loss of another of her children overwhelms her, but also reinforces her anger and determination to destroy the Night King and his creatures. But from Jon, no traces. Suddenly, something shining in the snow catches Daenerys' eye and she immediately steps down from her dragon to see what it is. Her heart is torn. It's Long Claw, Jon's sword, half buried in the snow. Recovering the sword in her hands, Daenerys feels her lips tremble. _ "JON! JOOOON!" she screamed insistently around her, hoping for some sort of response, but only the icy north wind was heard. The sword huddles against her chest, the young queen can only let a tear appaear in her cheek, fearing that the worst happened to Jon. As she gets ready to fly again to continue the search, Daenerys holds Drogon up and raises an eyebrow. A little further, a lonely rider approaches and seems to wave to her. He wears golden armor and stops a good distance from the dragon (this is the messenger sent by Harry Strickland). Barely stopped, the rider begins to speak in a loud voice in order to be heard. _ "The king in the north Jon Snow is our prisoner! If you try to follow us, he will die! And if ....." _ "Dracarys ...." simply answers Daenerys, darkened. The rider does not have time to finish his sentence as Drogon's powerful flaming covers him completely and reduces him to ashes in just a few seconds. Anger appears on the face of the young queen, but also fear. Knowing where Jon is now, Daenerys thinks. She can not take the risk of attacking Jon's captors without putting him at risk. Reluctantly, Daenerys flew away with Drogon to return to Dragonstone as soon as possible to warn others. ********** At King's Landing, Cersei still reigns with an iron fist over the capital, most of whose inhabitants now seem to be totally submissive to her. The tyrannical queen is in her royal apartments, sharing her bed with her new lover, Euron Greyjoy, who does not hesitate to enjoy this intimate moment. Cersei can not help but show a smile more than delighted, but Euron suspects that it is not because of him. _ "What makes you smile so much, my queen?" he asks, while continuing his work and filing hickeys in Cersei's neck. _ "News from the small birds of Qyburn. Winterfell has fallen, the armies of this little Targaryen whore and this bastard from the north have been practically wiped out .... and the height of happiness: that bastard in question, Jon Snow, was captured and is on the way to the capital." Euron seems at first astonished, but shares the sadistic pleasure of the Queen Lannister. While continuing his work, Cersei diverts her face slightly, replacing her insurance with a slight hint of fear. Indeed, earlier in an meeting with Qyburn informing her of the fall of Winterfell, the latter also mentioned disturbing rumors about a certain army of dead men ravaging everything on its path and heading south. ************ At Dragonstone, Missandei isolated herself on the beach, remaining silent and contemplating the sea with her closed face. The vision of Grey Worm changed into a wight does not stop haunting her. Ser Jorah arrives at her side, and noting the surprise that dominates her. _ "He was a brave soldier ...." said the knight Andal with sincerity "... and a most faithful friend." _"He had told me ... that I would see Naath again, that he would take me there and take care of me ..." the servant replied, biting her lip and not being able to stop the tears from running. Jorah gently hugs her to comfort her. _ "And you will see Naath .... That's what he wanted ... So stay alive, for him ... our queen will ensure that his sacrifice was not vain, I promise." _"I know, I have every confidence in our queen." said Missandei, thanking her friend for these words. The recognizable roar of a dragon echoes in the sky and it is with relief that Jorah and Missandei observe the imposing form of Drogon appearing in the sky. The arrival of the dragon also alerts Tyrion, Varys, Sansa and Arya who descend the stone stairs out of the fortress to go to the beach, while the mighty dragon lands heavily on the sand. Jorah and Missandei come to meet Daenerys as she comes down from her dragon, but they quickly disappoint when they see the queen's worried face. Tyrion, Varys, Sansa and Arya also notice him as they approach. _ "My queen, what has happened?" Tyrion asks. _ "Where is Jon?" Arya asks in turn. Daenerys takes a few seconds to answer and reveals, in the eyes of all, the sword Long Claw in her hands. _"He is prisoner of the Golden Company and they are taking him to King's Landing right now and threatened to kill him if we try anything to free him." This news has the effect of an electroshock for all, especially Sansa and Arya. Jorah, having been a member of the golden company, recognizes the trick of his captain, Harry Strickland. _"We can not leave Jon in the hands of Cersei, she'll kill him for sure." worries Sansa. _"Let's see Bran, maybe he'll have an idea." suggests Arya, who without waiting for the opinion of others, begins to head towards the entrance of the caverns under Dragonstone. Daenerys and Sansa follow her. ******** Since arriving at Dragonstone, Bran has asked to be brought into the dark caves under the island, and has not moved since. The young man in a chair remains alone, in the light of the few torches placed in the corners to offer light, and contemplates with his neutral air the cave paintings of the Children of the Forest adorning the walls of the cave. In particular, his gaze seems to linger on the fresco depicting the white walkers, and especially the Night King. Not long ago, Bran had another vision. The army of the undead, greater than ever and accompanied by the terrible winter storm, continues to advance relentlessly, leaving behind other fortifications in the state of silent ruins and enlarging its ranks with the occupants of these strongholds now in the service of their terrible king. The arrival of Daenerys, Arya and Sansa does not even surprise the young man who turns his eyes even before the first of them cross the entrance. _ "Bran ...." begins Arya, before being interrupted by the immediate response of the three-eyed raven. _ "I know ....." he said "... Jon was taken prisoner and he is taken to King's Landing." The three women remain somewhat surprised. Although having already seen Bran demonstrating his curious "power", it was always surprising to see. The young man does not stop there and continues. _ "The army of the dead has crossed the Neck and approaches the passage of the Twins ..... We must go to King's Landing without further delay." he then glances at Arya "... you have to free Jon, he is our only hope."

[marissaneedsabetterblog]

2+3 = 5: 5 things i’ve learned on the road to 23

I haven’t posted on this blog and bombarded the world with my oddly worded thoughts in a year. 

This past weekend I turned 23. It’s an unceremonious age, really. None of the excitement of 21, and it also lacks the feeling of transition that turning 22 gives you. Yet, for me 23 has become a milestone of sorts.

The road to 23, specifically, the past 2 years of my life, has been full of changes, transitions, and lessons.  Between ages 21 and 23, I:

Broke up with someone I dated for almost half a decade

Had a very public breakdown in my last semester on campus at college

Traveled to 3 different countries while studying abroad for my last semester

Graduated from college

Felt the existential dread of unemployment

Got a job

Began experiencing the effects of the existential dread of adulthood in general

Lost my first job

Got a new job

Moved out of my childhood home to live on my own with my best friend

There’s a lot more that happened than these spark notes style bullet points. A lot of these things feel so distant to me, as if they were lived out by another girl or were a dream. But this all happened in the space of 24 months.

If you have gotten to know me in any real way, you know this about me: I am sensitive and emotional, I am very pensive, I have a strong set of morals, and I make every move with conviction.

In the past two years, in so many ways I have become a different person, I have felt the entire spectrum of human emotion. I have been pushed to contemplate so many things that I thought I was sure of, and to feel so many things I thought that I had let go. 

However, in many more ways I have proven and had proven to me that I am who I am who I am. 

From all of this I learned so much, but since  I turned 23, and 2+3 = 5, I am going to write about 5 of the top things I have learned  on the road to 23.

1. Embrace all of your feelings and understand temporality

I think the largest struggle I have witnessed around me in my short foray into adulthood is the struggle to be happy. 

People want to experience being happy all the time. People shy away from anger, sadness, and pain because of the discomfort it causes.  I think this desire for the ever-present feeling of happiness is what stops so many people from making hard decisions or working through issues they need to work through. 

Ever see someone have their heartbroken big time and proceed to go out and get trashed/fall into the arms of several people within the span of a couple of weeks in the name of “having fun" and ~*living the single life*~? 

Instead of embracing all the emotions we can feel as people, I think a lot of people cling to happiness and do whatever it takes to feel temporary euphoria instead of coping with the underlying emotions they’re experiencing. Seeking escape sometimes is okay and necessary, but I think we have to acknowledge that  at the end of every fun night, the feelings we haven’t dealt with will still be there like an overdue bill waiting to be paid. 

Being angry, sad, hurt, anxious, etc is okay. It’s important. We are multifaceted, we are meant to feel many things. You shouldn’t avoid these feelings because - they’re temporary!  They won’t last forever. Discomfort is not a permanent state of being, but it’s an important state of being.  Discomfort creates growth. (There’s nuances to this with mental illness though....) 

Understanding the temporality of emotion is what has allowed me to move through most of the disappointment and anxiety I have experienced as a recent college graduate, as well as the painful emotions that I experience just from interacting with others in an open vulnerable way.

Like *queen* Hayley Williams of Paramore sang in Last Hope:

And the salt in my wounds isn't burning anymore than it used to It's not that I don't feel the pain it's just I'm not afraid of hurting anymore

2.  Context is not equal to justification

Empathy and sensitivity is kind of my thing. I am the MVP of just feeling the shit out of my feelings. I feel my feelings, your feelings, her feelings, his feelings, their feelings…

I stay in my feelings.

I am also the MVP of overthinking, analysis, and rumination. (Shout out to my anxious empaths) So, the combination of these two traits creates the perfect storm of….trying to understand other people.

It sounds great on paper. In fact, a lot of times it is great – but if you’re not an expert at prioritizing yourself and protecting your energy yet, this can lead to a lot of pain.

How? Why?

It took me 23 years to understand that understanding where someone is coming from, having that context, is not justification. It’s not an apology. It just means you…you kind of get why a person did what they did. I have spent the better part of 2 decades conflating context with justification, and getting unjustifiably shit on because of this habit.

Just because you understand why someone did something, does NOT mean you have to accept what they did.

Let me repeat that: Just because you understand why someone did something, does NOT mean you have to accept what they did.

People have all sorts of reasons for doing what they do. Hurt people tend to hurt people. Moreover, I have observed an interesting phenomenon in my age group.  People use being young and finding themselves as an excuse for being reckless with other peoples’ feelings. Twentysomethings tend to be selfish in the cool self-care setting boundaries prioritizing oneself way, but also in the not so cool draining emotional vampire way too *people who are the latter tend to claim they’re the former too...stay woke fam.

Don’t accept things just because you understand them. Things don’t hurt less because you understand them. Don’t overextend yourself for people who wouldn’t extend themselves for you.

3. Live reflectively

I am writing a blog post, so you know I believe in this one! That was a bad joke. I’m sorry.

But, in all seriousness – if you are just living life without actively and intentionally thinking about what you are doing and what is happening in your life – that ….is not good.

I have seen myself and others close to me repeat the same patterns. Sometimes even with very concrete intentions of making change. Without deep reflection, it is easy to end up doing the same things. If you see yourself repeating a behavior that was harmful in the past, think about it, and think about how to change.

You should think about what you do, what you have done, what your friends are doing, and all of the effects these things have on you. How does your job make you feel? How do your friends make you feel? What do you think you should be doing differently? Think about these things often. Write about these things. Talk to honest people about these things. See a therapist. Find some sort of outlet.

For many, growth is a process that needs to be guided from within, and I sincerely believe reflection can provide a lot of that guidance. Refection teaches you what makes you wilt and what makes you flourish.

4. Become an active listener

I personally am convinced that many people do not know how to actively listen. Actively listening isn’t about hearing; it’s about making sure someone is heard. You can’t listen if you’re trying to form your next point. You can’t listen if you’re stuck in your own head. And if you can’t listen, you can’t understand.

Active listening isn’t just about making others feel good, it’s about understanding others and being able to effectively use your intuition. Many times, people clearly articulate what kind of energy they will bring into our lives with what they say and especially with what they don’t say.

All I’m saying is use the old gramophone to actually listen bro. It can change how you make other people feel and how you feel about other people.

5. Tell someone you care about them, every single day.

I’m going to be as blunt as possible: if you’re taking people for granted, you are living your life wrong. You can AND will lose people that mean something to you if you don’t show them that you value them.

More importantly, people need to know that they’re loved. We are living in such trying times, and people need the compassion of their loved ones.

Posturing to seem chill or detached…is dumb. And you will regret it. Clearly articulate to people what they mean to you. Be honest and open with you intentions and feelings.  Be receptive to how other people articulate how they feel. Through this process you will understand who your support system is.

I’ll be honest. I don’t know how to end this post. I feel like I have only share 5% of what I’ve learned, but it’s already 3 pages in Microsoft word, which means not even my mom will finish reading this.  If you made it to this point – thanks for sticking it out. 

On top of these 5 lectures, I also made a playlist of 23 songs that I care about a lot in this moment as a 23 y/o. Hope you enjoy it~

-marissa

[ladytrollfishes]

Cresce and Shupaa: Make an Acquaintence

You don't get out of Arkady as often as you like, really. You're in Ghoulisar on business of course, but that doesn't mean you can't take a little time to yourself. Ghoulisar had an excellent creamery- you hadn't tasted all their flavors yet so you stopped by for a cone. You bounce through the streets, working through your cone and sorting through the melodies of the passerby on the streets, separating strings that trembled with every day stress, brass that burst with the joy of a good song, xylophones of excitement, bass of fear- the every day melodies of the crowd pass you readily as they shift through their thoughts and the physical space  around you

.All but one. It's been trailing for you awhile. A combination of boredom and tense anxiety constantly radiating you while you travel around the city. Someone's following you. You don't know Ghoulisar as well as you know Arkady, and Ghoulisar doesn't know you as well as Arkady! It's your signmate, you're sure. You turn off into a corner.

Kitty | neriticNomad12/31/2018

Your new assignment is unusual in nature, but the process is the same. You have a mark. You have informants, then, information. You follow the trail until it takes you to your mark, and all of it happens like clockwork. The difference is that you aren't allowed to kill her, which means your job is exceptionally harder. You keep your eyes straight ahead. They never view your target directly. 

You see her in reflections, and in your peripheral vision, but never more than that. She's easy to watch, because she doesn't seem to be expecting you, and unlike other marks you've had, she doesn't seem to have anything to hide. It isn't your job to speculate, but your mind still wanders: What could Lyrian want with her? What's the long con? And why go so far as to hire you? You say none of this out loud.

The only sign of your thoughts are the waves of pensive cerulean, which pass over the light of your implants, before fading back into neutral jade. You stick out a little, when you aren't trying to hide. 5'6" isn't a terrible height, and your boots push you up to 5'7". The real intimidation comes from the strange-looking machinery in your body, so you hide it, with long sleeves, high collars, and a hood, which hides your implants from view. You distract from it, with a leash, and a medium-sized two-headed dog at the end of it. 

Everyone loves a cute dog. Your mark makes another move. You wait, and give her room, then follow. Your senses search the area for anyone that might be lying in wait, but perhaps, tonight, you're a bit more relaxed than you should be. "Cress" hasn't given you any trouble so far. Why would she do so now?

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)12/31/2018

You listen for the melody to follow you, waiting around the corner and take a nice long lick of the ice cream. It's a cherry garcia and dark chocolate flavor. Very good, but not your favorite so far. You've been taught a dozen different ways to lose a tail, but you don't plan on using any of them tonight. You want to know what this stalker is here for. So when you hear them coming around the corner you turn back like you made a u-turn and smash your ice cream right into the center of their chest.

 "Omigosh!" you exclaim. "I'm so so so sorry!" You make a show of pulling out a hankerchief while you take a look at whose been following you. Covered face, walking a lusus, could have been a jogger, really. There's a glint of something from under their hood but you can't quite tell what it is. Jadeblood. You take a moment to consider if this might be anyone besides your signmate, then dismiss it. Your position in Torrent is solidly middling, Melete's not the sort to leave this work to someone else- no it had to be her.

Kitty | neriticNomad12/31/2018

Your lusus has two heads. Asterion isn't very talkative. She tends to speak only when she feels a need. Chara, on the other hand, loves the sound of her own voice, and that's the head that barks in alarm, when your mark collides with you. You take this exact second to realize just how badly you've fucked up. Now you just need to fix it. Unpleasant, but necessary. The words of your strength trainer echo, momentarily, in the record of your memory: Muscle up, buttercup. "It is fine," you start, neutral and expressionless. You lift your mouth to where it's visible, with no protruding teeth, and only a few haphazard marks. Most trolls have a few. It's nothing special. 

"Forgive my... carelessness." The reddish-colored ice cream sends an unpleasant chill through your sensory receptors. Your gloved hand scrapes the bulk of the ice cream from your chest, and flicks it to the side- oops, that was too hard. You dented that trash can. Way to go, Becvar. "... Are you offering this cloth for my aid?" you ask, but it doesn't sound like a question. This is why you're not a birdie. You can't fucking talk to anyone.(edited)

January 2, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/02/2019

Oh honey no. The stalker blares of alarm and anxiety. Her words come out neutral, and the line of her mouth you can spot from under her hood barely moves, even when she speaks.  Her words drop like gravel on glass and when she dents a trash can with more strength than you'd expect from a jadeblood and her melody is mournfully mortified. You'd wince except for the fact you're actually a little charmed. You take another moment to mourn your taste. 

 "Of course I am," you witter, blinking at her and offering her the handkerchief. It'd be rather forward of you to press it to her chest,  but you do consider it. She's either too uncomfortable to refuse or uncomfortable enough to do something even more drastic and you can't be the judge of it just yet. Better to pull your punches. "You weren't so careless at all," you exclaim. "It was a complete accident, and your shirt is ruined! Let's get some water on that. And let me buy you coffee as an apology? There's a cafe right around the corner where we can get both."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/02/2019

As if your situation couldn't get worse. If you survive this, you'll consider different employ. (That's a joke. You'd never change jobs, and you're most certainly going to die.) "... That is... very thoughtful of you," you pronounce, slowly, but the alarm bells are still going off in your head. The glowing lines in the side of your hair run red with anxiety, as your computers run the calculations. If you say no, you'll seem suspicious when she sees you elsewhere. She knows how to spot you, having seen you up close. If you say yes, that's direct contact with a mark, and you don't do direct contact. You do the opposite of direct contact, which is staying the fuck away. If you were killing her, this would be convenient, but you're contractually forbidden from doing that. Briefly, you ponder if Lyrian would understand, if you explained the situation. ... Likely, no, which is a shame, you think.

 "... This offer seems favorable," you decide, finally, interrupting your silent beat. You take the handkerchief, visually scan it for any hidden hazards, and dab, somewhat mechanically, at the spot on your shirt. It would be difficult to poison you this way, and you're wearing gloves. There are no blades or concealed weapons, or at least, not ones you can pinpoint, with the knowledge in your databank. Indeed, the handkerchief doesn't kill you. You record this data for future analysis, and schedule a virus scan. The handkerchief stays in your hand. You want to rinse it before giving it back to her. 

 "Are you quite certain you wish to fraternize with an unknown person?" you ask, studying her from beneath your hood. The red light in your implants fades, but stays red. You're on alert. "Dangerous individuals are present in the vicinity." That's you. Potentially, that's her.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/02/2019

Her alarm only grows as you speak, and she's slow to find the words to respond to you. You wait patiently, pleased as punch that she can't even figure out a good excuse to try and get out of it. Instead she resorts to vague intimidation, like she can threaten you, in a city full of imperials and you're a trained soldier of the empire. It's positively adorable. You beam at her and you don't even need to fake it. 

 "A stranger's just a conversation away from being a friend," you explain patiently. "But you're so sweet to worry. I insist! We're so lucky, this café is one of my favorites. They have spiced apple cider to die for, but the coffee is also excellent!" You smile down at the fluffy lusus at your feet too. "And they're lusus friendly. Let's go!" "What's your name anyway?" you exclaim as you take two steps backwards before you turn, keeping your eyes on the stranger. Was that a slip of red light under hood you saw before?

Kitty | neriticNomad01/02/2019

That's the moment you realize this isn't a friendly offer. In fact, it wasn't a question at all. She was making a demand, and the saccharin in her smile promises more than you can handle. There's a flicker of yellow - fear - which runs across your implants, before being washed out by the red of baseline anxiety. They'll likely stay that color, until you find a way to leave.

 "Charm-ing," you say, and your eyes don't leave her for a second. You walk. The night air bites at you, through the damp stain in your shirt. You can't reroute your sensory input, which means you have no choice but to endure the double discomfort of being here, and feeling exposed. Your peripherals stay on her, even when your focus shifts away. Asterion and Chara don't know what's happening, but Asterion keeps looking back at you, under the mop of her fur.

 "I am called Maera," you say. You don't give her your hatched name. Again, you contemplate incapacitating her, but you have too many witnesses, and you don't know what she's capable of. So, instead, you have to pretend you know how to talk to people. "What are you called?" you reply, even though you already know. Maybe you'll glean something useful yet.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/02/2019

Oh, well she's got sense enough to be afraid, her melody flickering with a little tremble of fear. Perhaps she's realized you aren't quite the ditz you're pretending to be? It's a little disappointing, really, you were wondering how long you could string her along without her realizing you know what you need to know. You don't expect for a second that the name she gives you is real at all, but at least she shows some respect for social normalities. 

“Call me Cress!" you exclaim with a smile, and spin into the coffee shop. It's a quaint little thing with a little stage you've performed on occasionally, enough that you're familiar with the staff, at any rate. There aren't too many customers at this time of night, but it's busy enough that you won't be overheard, at least. 

"Hiiii," you say as you approach the counter. You only know the barista by sight, but they're all wearing name tags. They smile as you approach. "Hey Cress! Glad to see you're back in town," they say. You steal a glance at their name tag. Heliop. "Glad to be back!" you exclaim with a smile. "Could I trouble you for a cup of water? I'm such a klutz, I dropped an ice cream cone on my friend here by accident. Also could i get an apple cider and a-" You turn back to "Maera" for a second, hesitant. "What kind of coffee do you like? Oh, and a treat for the lusus."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/02/2019

"Heliop," as their name tag informs you, stands about an inch shorter than you. They're green, somewhere towards olive, but the low, filtered lights of the shop are coloring everything just slightly yellow. They drum their fingers across the counter as Cress speaks to them, but the way they lift their wrist tells you they've taken piano lessons - without thought, their hand forms the same shape it should when resting on a keyboard. They have a moderate amount of confidence in their work. It must have been a slow day. They seemed relieved, when you first walked in, to have something to do. Very slow day, in that case. 

 "Mocha," you finish, for Cress. You glance up at the menu, briefly, and add, "Peppermint, if possible. ... Mother does not like to share. The medium biscuit, please." You'll break it in half. Asterion and Chara don't need to know. Cress - Cresce - is in her element. She's enthusiastic about this place, and she never once drops her cheery attitude. You file away the location of this shop in your databanks, note the exits, and memorize Heliop's general features. The location of her "favorite" coffee shop is promising information, in some small measure. If Cress knows your real purpose, she likely won't come back, but that's the great part about being bound to Alternia: A troll can only run so far before they run out of room. If you have to track her halfway across the planet a second time, you will. When the server turns away from you, you eye Cress again. "Do you come here often?" you ask, which is the most cliche thing you've unknowingly done, ever.(edited)

January 7, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

Maera doesn't ease very much, even when ordering for herself and her lusus. There's a moment of casual consideration and affection as she orders a biscuit, and then more careful tense beats. You can barely see her face from under the hood but you bet she's watching you. You take care not to seem like you're watching her either, keeping your eyes on the desserts they have on display as you review the information you do have. She's not a spy, that's for certain. She's almost as bad as Melete at conversation. She has to be at least on par with you strengthwise, as easily as she dented that trash can, despite being nearly halfway down the spectrum from you. That feeling, too, when you crashed into her, the glint of red you caught from under her hood.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

The hood was an interesting choice. They were pretty much only good for keeping your ears warm. They blocked your peripheral vision. The were obvious. Having your hood up constantly was more noticeable in a crowd than if it was down. Despite popular media, hoods were generally very bad for stealth. Unless, of course, whatever was underneath it was more noticeable than the hood. If you placed bets you'd place them on Maera being some sort of augmented cyborg, built for power rather than stealth. An assassin, most likely. Someone who didn't want to attack you in public at least. Plausible deniability perhaps? Did your signmate hire someone to kill you? That surprises you- she did seem more like the type to get her own hands dirty, so to speak. You press your hand to your collar at the unpleasant memory. Fucker. 

 She's still doing recon, obviously, otherwise you'd have noticed her following you ages ago. Most people doing wetwork dangled on the edge of legality and the murder of an imperial agent by a mercenary would draw far more attention to her than she'd like. It would be difficult to pull off an assassination of an imperial soldier in the middle of Ghoulisar, and she'd need to know as much about your habits and commonly frequented locations as possible if she were to make a getaway. She's even bold enough to ask you about your coffee habits.You giggle as she asks. 

"Whenever I'm in Ghoulisar! As often as I can, really. I love this place." 

Depending on how this conversation turns out, you're obviously never coming back here without company. "Here's your order," Heliop says, and slides you two drinks and a biscuit. "Thanks!" you exclaim, handing the biscuit and the mocha to Maera. "Hold on, you grab a seat first. Heliop, can you grab me one of those apple turnovers actually? Sorry to tack something at the end of my order like that, but just looking at this batch makes me hungry!" It wouldn't be the first time you had coffee with someone who desperately wanted you dead. Only Maera isn't desperate. You wonder what she wants. Not just with you, but as a person. What sort of person took a job as insane as this one?

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

A person who doesn't see any other choices. Her next line doesn't follow the script. Something is wrong. You take note of it, but it's a small enough divergence that you don't think now is the time to panic. Maybe. Probably. You hate the uncertainty of all of this. Killing someone is easy! They're either dead, or you need to try again. Cress is confusing you. You're not sure yet if it's intentional. Regardless of your reservations, you take your drink. You don't see any reason to speak again, and, not being one for needless words, you find a place to sit. This is an alchemy on its own. You want something where your escape route is quick and easy, and you don't have your back to any current patrons. You choose a seat by the window, for a few reasons. The first is that you want to keep her guessing. If you really wanted to kill her right now, you'd choose something more discreet. 

Again, you remind yourself, you're not trying to kill her for real. This is for show and information, but that kind of nuance usually gets missed when observed in situations like this. The second is that it grants you security, too. Trolls are a little less likely to kill someone if they know it's on display. Murder tends to be a private affair, usually, unless she's one of those bloodlust exhibitionists. Then you guess you're royally fucked. You sit, uncomfortable in the cushioned chair. Chara and Asterion sit at your feet. Asterion is still watching Cress, but Chara is more focused on the biscuit in your hand. You hide it under the table as you break it in half, and you feed portions of Chara's half to her, little by little. You need her to stay with you, and stay quiet. Cress has a game. You don't know what it is yet, but you're pretty sure you don't like it. Thinking about what might come is making you more uneasy, though, so you focus on pinpointing her center of balance, and other physical attributes, filing these away in your memory.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

The seat Maera picks is between you and the door, with her back to a window, with a clear view to anyone who may approach. The turnover is a useless exercise then- an excuse to move past her and snatch her hood off when necessary but at least it'll be delicious. You smile at her as you wait for your pastry as you pick your next move. She's so very clearly uncomfortable- you don't suppose assassins usually get bullied into tea time with their targets. She knows something's up. You assume she knows what your actually place of employment is, so you're certain she knows you're up to something, but her uncertainty speaks volumes about her experience in dealing with spies. The apple turnover slides over the counter, warm and spiced, and you breathe in the buttery aroma.

"Oh that smells so good," you say. "Thanks, Heliop!"You don't waste a moment before you bite into it, and take a sip of your apple cider. Ghoulisar did have a good apple crop. Arkady's were fine, in and of itself, of course, but there was something special about apples here. 

 "Oh, it's so good," you moan, as you slide into the seat across from Maera, placing your cup and pastry on the table. It's small, the sort of table with space for maybe two husktops, no more. Your knees could bump hers if you slid down in your chair, but you don't. You keep your back straight as you wash down another bite of your pastry and get down to business. You finger slides behind your ear to give the patch of tech there a scratch- with your mind you set your wetware to record. You're not armed, but Maera doesn't have to know it. You give her a wink and make a finger gun with your left hand, and slip your right under the table.

"Just so you know," you say with a smile, and lean forward, keeping your other hand carefully under the table, "I've got one of these under the table and pointed at your lusus." You tangle the lusus leash with your foot and step down. 

 "So maybe don't make sudden movements," you say casually. "She is actually yours, right? You seem quite fond of her. Shooting a bullet into you seems like it might not work but her?" You click your tongue and shake your head. This is why Torrent made certain to remove lusii from the equation. It was a mistake to bring her on a job like this. "So let's talk," you say, leaning forward.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

You knew she was up to something, you just didn't think it would be this. You didn't think any troll would go as far as to threaten a lusus, and it's why you even bothered to train yours for your job. Chara whines as the leash gets pulled, and somewhere under your cold shell, there's a spark of concern. It runs lime-green across the lines of your implants, just before it trips your emergency overrides. Then it - the worry, the color - they both disappear. One of the scientists who works on your implants protested this measure. They said it was "cruel." If you were capable now, you might agree. As it stands, you aren't. 

In dire situations, the computers in your brain can strangle your emotional response, and turn you "cold," as it were, until you reach stasis again. It's supposed to make you more efficient. It's supposed to ensure you actually do your job. 

 "What do you wish to talk about?" you say, and you keep your voice even. The lights under your hood have gone dark, so the only light comes from what's reflected in your eyes. "I have little I can say." You have water capsules at your belt. You just don't know how quickly you could manipulate the water, and if your draw would be faster than hers. You're not immune to bullets, but you'll let her keep thinking that you are, if only so it gives you that millisecond advantage. You should have killed her.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

Something curious happens to her when you make your threats- the anger, the fear, the concern, those you all expected, the offense that you would do such a thing- well, honestly, dear, what did she expect? Carrying a vulnerability out like that in the first place? But that cacaphony  cuts off for a different sort. Her natural sound drops to a whisper as static plays over it. Wetware, perhaps? To keep her from intense emotions? Interesting. There's not even a twitch on her face to indicate the change. "Well for starters," you say, musing, a hand on your chin, like it's nothing but a casual coffee chat. "Why don't you take off that hood? I do so like to look a person in the eye when we're having a civil conversation."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

You stare at her for a moment longer than necessary, expressionless. If you could feel anything right now, it would probably be resentment. However, ultimately, you comply. Your gloved hands let go of your lusus's leash. Fingers hook into the fabric, and pull it back from your face, then behind your head. You're jade, and it's obvious from the color that fills your irises, accented by the light tones in your skin. You have no facial scarring, no protruding teeth, and fairly average ears - long, but not excessively so; pierced, but only with studs. Your mouth doesn't move, and your eyebrows stay flat, your eyes on her. You'd look very plain, perhaps eerily so, if it wasn't for your hair - shaved into an undercut, with lines of tech sprawling across the sides. As it turns out, replicating psionics requires quite a few hookups to the brain. Go figure. She can't see it, but those lines connect at your spine, and then disappear under the high collar of your jade-marked coat. As your hands retreat, you take the opportunity to pull a water capsule off the belt across your chest. You hold it in your glove, black against black, and try to slip it past her notice. It's insurance. Even without your emotional response, you still have enough dry humor to ask, "Do you like what you see?"(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

She takes a moment to consider your request, and you wait patiently as she struggles with it. Her hesitation tells you almost as much as her compliance. Her face is plainer than you expected, honesty. No unusual scars, no pockmarks from battles long past, or brutal disfigurements from implant injections. That was more imagination than you needed in your day to day life, honestly. She definitely wasn't wrong to keep the hood up- that sort of tech isn't common, and something you assume requires a lot of maintenance if she has to keep her hair shaved like that. The static keeps you from necessarily hearing what she's feeling- though you assume quite badly would be the answer. Her face is as emotionless as her voice though, so honestly you guess this was mostly just a power move. You know what she looks like now. You smile cheerily at her. "Well, you're pretty cute!" you exclaim. "Not exactly model material though. But there, isn't that better? Now we can see you." "Now, why are you following me? You're not doing it for your own reasons." You take another bite of your turnover.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

You just don't like to be seen. If you could block people IRL, you would block everyone you ever met. The low-profile thing is just a bonus. "No," you confirm. Her teeth are pinging your danger sense every time she smiles. Annoyance fires, but you don't feel it. "The interest is strictly professional." 

 She seems to know how to navigate these kinds of conversations quite well. You wonder, for the third time tonight, why Lyrian bothered with you, and didn't even try to warn you that she'd be on the lookout. She isn't just a mark. She's a mark who has been marked before, and evaded them, and that gives her the upper hand. 

 "This is a job. Your name was given. You were tracked. There is nothing else to say." This is the strangest questioning session you've ever been in. Annoyance fires again as she bites into the pastry. "To reveal my employer would be destructive to my reputation. Unless you are hiring me to find them, it is against contract to discuss further. Is this acceptable?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

You take another bite of the turnover as you consider what she was told. Only the job, and your name. No information about you? You know your signmate knows what you do for a living. She's got your name, and also Rumisa chattering in her ear. You sigh, blink prettily and drink from your cider. For the first time, you're not smiling. 

This isn't an assassination. It's a test. And it's not to test this little green pawn either. She's testing you. If she wanted you dead, she'd have given this girl all the information she had on her. Your psi, your position, your friends- then this conversation would have gone much, much differently. You ponder your options. "Let me guess," you say finally. "Your employer is a stunning mirror image of my face with the bonus of a slathering of subbjugulator paint. Goes by the name Lyrian? I'm very sorry to say, but I believe you've been a little bit set up!"

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

Why does every employer you work with have deep-seated emotional baggage? Can't you just get sent to kill a local annoyance, just once? "You realize that confirming guesses is also against the contract. Confirm?" 

 But it helps. Little by little, she seems to be easing off the trigger, and as you lean back into comfortable stasis, your override unlocks. The implants on the sides of your head burst into your jade green - neutral - as your emotions return. You still don't take your hand off the water capsule. You don't take your eyes off her, not even for a second. 

 "You already know what can be said. This is not in the contract. Make a better offer, or leave well enough alone." The computer in your head coaxes you into adding a "please" to the end, because you're speaking to your better, even if you were hired to hunt her.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

The implants at the side of her head spark green, and the radio static stops, much to your relief. She sounds annoyed, but not as tense as the conversation starts with. Even getting brave enough to bite at you! You can't help but laugh at that. It's tinkly. You worked hard on that. 

 "Leave well enough alone!" you exclaim. "When you're the one following me. I don't see how I could simply ignore it." You smile coyly up at her and lean forward on the table so the tuft of hair that dangles out from your forehead frames your face. 

 "The set up, dear," you say, "Is that I'm not a regular person you can follow around, though you've probably figured that one out. If she wanted you to succeed, well!" You snort a little then lower your voice, watching her carefully for her reaction. "She would have told you I work for the empire as an interrogator," you murmur. "I have their resources behind me if you do in fact, move against me. You'll be much better off breaking that contract with her, trust me."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/07/2019

Oh. That's cute. On a second thought, you realize this is probably the point, and push it from your mind. She drops a bomb on you, and you can recognize that she's looking for you to be outwardly shocked. You won't be, because you never emote, but in your mind, yes... you're sort of surprised. It confirms the growing suspicions you've been having, ever since Cresce first "bumped into" you, but it confuses you, too. And you also don't understand why both Lyrian and Cresce are so god damn dramatic, until you spot her sign, and... Yes, okay. That tracks. You humor her by raising one of your eyebrows, briefly. Then you put it right back where it was. 

 "Congratulations," you say, even as ever. "There is a correction to be made, however. If she wanted me to succeed, she would have allowed me to kill you." You don't think you mind breaking your contract, if you were set up to fail in the first place. "She did not. If you have gotten what you wanted, will you cease threatening Mother?" you ask, which doesn't sound as exhausted as you feel while saying it. Lyrian is stranger than you first assumed. Cresce, too, is strange. You don't like the fact that they seem to know each other, and that you now seem to be implicit in their personal dealings, but that can't be helped much anymore. However, you note one thing: Cresce is on the defensive. She's not asking you to go back out after Lyrian, though she may be planning a strike to execute later. This doesn't seem to be a two-way fight. In fact, if they're signmates, it hardly seems fair at all. You pause, and then say, "It is not against contract to share the methods used to find you, should you desire it."(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/07/2019

You hear it, the symbol crash of surprise as you let her know what you're capable of. A suspended chord sounds as she sorts out her confusion, her eyes glancing over you, before it resolves to a major chord. Then, as a delayed reaction, her eyebrow raises. You grin at her. Wasn't that adorable? She manages to surprise you though, by what she says next. You assumed Maera was here to kill you. 

The idea that Lyrian would refrain- that she would specifically hire a trained assassin to follow but not attack- well. Well that gives you pause. And then again, when she offers you help. Unexpected! That wasn't pity you heard, you don't think. You'll have to find time to review the recording. Usually you'd have to work at an offer like this, and she just hands it to you. You take a deep sip of your apple cider as you consider it. Murdering you isn't on the table, you don't think. Not if she's offering to help. You don't hear any trace of fear or anxiety that usually comes with laying out bait, and all she's really offering is information. Learning she was set up, must have really turned her off of Lyrian, which could be useful. You'll make concessions, you'll think. It was time to deescalate. And you find yourself rather curious about Maera! As a person.

“It’s hardly all I want,” you say, “but alright.” You motion as though holstering a gun and place your right hand back on the table. You don't lift your foot from the leash. "Well!" you exclaim. "So long as it's not against the contract!"(edited)

January 8, 2019

Kitty | neriticNomad01/08/2019

You've decided that you hate trolls, and you'll stick to just killing people from now on. They're much less talkative, and they tend to be less demanding, too. "There is a matter of reputation involved," you say. You turn the water capsule over in your hand, then... slowly, re-attach it to your belt. You do this in full view of her, not breaking eye contact. She doesn't know its significance, but that lack of knowledge might help, because - cruel as it is - you want her to feel a little bit closer to the unease you feel here. 

 "Employers are protected because they talk. No one succeeds in this business without a reputation. Personal quarrels are not so simple as cutting ties and washing hands. To speak without heed of the contract makes one appear unreliable, especially when the conversation will not end with someone dying." Because you're not going to kill her. You should have, earlier, but it's too late for that now, better luck next time. Now you're just tired, because she's acting like you selling out your clients isn't a big deal, even if those clients set you up. Those clients are terrifying. They could do horrible things to you, or they could make sure you never work again, or both. You rest your hands on the table, now, fingers knit together.

"We are still in a public space, no matter how quietly we speak. There is security in that, but not enough to willfully break contracts. Make a better offer." You hope, to whatever gods would listen to someone like you, that she isn't the type of highblood to make her offers solely on threats. You'll take it, but that doesn't mean you have to like it. Threats don't pay bills, usually.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/08/2019

You watch as Shupaa places something, you don't know what, carefully cautiously into the belt draped across her chest. It's a de-escalation gesture, and the sparkle of spite tells you she's making a point of letting you know you hadn't had her all wrapped up around your fingers. You hadn't even realized.  It had to be a weapon of sorts, then, one she had in her hands, that you had no idea what would do. You wonder, briefly, how different this would have turned out if she really was out to kill you.

 Her yammering about contracts and reputations makes you want to roll your eyes but you refrain. The tune she was singing would be very different if they were where you usually conducted these things. In a blank, sealed room with a two way mirror. But no, that's too much trouble to bother with for this. You didn't want to drag your personal dirt into Torrent for everyone to prod at. And if anything was personal, Lyrian was. Maera had nothing you couldn't stand to lose, if you threatened her and forced her and she objected. But on the other hand, how useful would someone like her be? You like playing the carrot better than the stick anyway. 

 "Then let me ask," you say. "Why are you in this line of work?" You take another long drink from your apple cider. It really was quite good.(edited)

Kitty | neriticNomad01/08/2019

There's a beat. You're... left at a loss. Your face doesn't change, but inwardly, you have to process this question a second time before you answer. You still haven't taken a sip of your own drink. It sits, untouched, between you and your interrogator.

 "Opinions are not relevant to the work," you say, finally. "They are unnecessary. This question, too, is not relevant." It's a cheap escape, but it's what you know, because you don't have an answer for that - because you've never needed one before. It never mattered to anyone else why you do what you do. You feel vulnerable. You decide that she's trying to get under your skin. 

 "A request for understanding may be in order, but this is not the way these talks go. Please explain why you feel a need to explore opinions and personal feelings. You were asked only for an offer, and if you have none, we have nothing more to discuss." 

 Under that same skin, you hope you won't have to leave. You don't remember the last time you were in a restaurant, talking to anyone, when you weren't on a hunt. Your memory concludes it hasn't happened before.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/08/2019

The discomfort is a chord that doesn't go away. You prop your hand on your chin as you think over her answer. You've met people like her before. People who have only traveled the path set in front of them, people who were loyal to it simply because they thought of nothing else. People answered you honestly before- power, money, justice, some ideal they slammed down on the table and spat in your face for, but the most interesting answer was one that didn't exist. A blank slate. Her discomfort with the social setting and the conversation, the tech she has and her complete lack of personal consideration- well. Well that was interesting now, wasn't it! You take another sip of your cider. "How am I supposed to offer you something when I don't know what you want?" you ask simply.

 "If it's just money well. That's no real issue. But what if, with all the resources I have at hand, I could... do something else?" 

 You raise an eyebrow in question and take another bite of your pastry. This wasn't strictly necessary, no, but you have to admit you're curious. There's a person in there, behind all that tech. You've heard her. And whoever that might be, might be grateful for a little more than a job to do.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/08/2019

"Personal desires are not relevant to my func-tion." The stutter-step of your words is an unfortunate side-effect of your condition. She mistakes you for a person, and you aren't - not in the usual sense, anyway - and it's setting you down paths of thought that you aren't equipped to handle, putting strain on your systems. It's almost as bad as the last time the science team tested you on paradoxes. You shut down for a week. 

 Your lusus had laid down under the table during your discussion. She picks up on the break in your speech, though, and Asterion nudges her nose against your ankle. You only know this because you take one brief moment to look away from her, and down at your mother. This gives you enough time to collect your thoughts, and make a decision. 

 "Money would be acceptable. Payment will not be received for the work in these past two weeks. This will be a financial hazard. However, it would be equally hazardous for an employer to decide that too much has been said." Lyrian doesn't seem to be the understanding type. Although, so far, you've held to the letter of your contract, your employers don't always see it that way - especially since you can't report much back. Cresce caught you, but you had been declawed. Lyrian has special interest in Cresce, and in keeping her alive, at least for now. She has no such qualm with you, and it would be very inconvenient to die. You look at her, and let your hands fall back in your lap. "If you have the capability to keep such a thing from happening, or to prevent it in some way, there is potential to make a deal. Can you?"(edited)

January 9, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/09/2019

Personal desires are not relevant to my function. Oh my god. She even stutters. You school your face still- it wouldn't do now for her to think you're laughing at her. The poor dear, she's got her personhood tucked neatly away, doesn't she? Personal desires are not relevant to my function when you can tell how badly she wants this conversation to end! Like any other person in her position would. It's sad, really, but alsoooo. Hilarious. You tap your chin as you think about your options and how you can do this. "I assume you won't consent to protective custody?" you ask, with an eyebrow raised. "Officially registering you as my informant will give you legal protection. Lyrian's no longer a part of an imperial organization, save the Messiahs, so it will force any retribution to the courts, especially if you do give me good information on her." 

 "That's assuming everything's aboveboard," you say. "And of course, as an informant, you get paid however much i deem necessary for the information you give me." Birdies aren't exactly your field of expertise. You're an interrogarroter, not a field spy. But you know the basics of the system, and it's open to all Torrents. Maera gets registered and all information you get from her is catalogued accordingly. The only people who get to see everyone's individual list of informants were the people at the top. Everyone had leeway to obtain and manage their own informants, and while it wasn't meant to be used as a personal thing, well. Lyrian's record is plenty shady. All you really have to do is say you have suspicions of illegal activity for grounds for surveillance. Sure someone might pull you off the case for conflict of interest, but all that would get you would be pulling you off the case. You play your cards right, no one could nail you for abuse of resources.

Kitty | neriticNomad01/09/2019

"No, un-fort-un-ate-ly." She knows your answer already. Good. You have work to do, and as much as dying would be inconvenient, being held in custody indeterminately would potentially be worse, especially because you wouldn't have something to do. But the other idea has potential. "Registration is acceptable," you clarify. "What qualifies as 'above board?' The current path of employment cannot simply cease, if that is what you mean." 

 Your work, at least so far, is technically legal. Probably. You've heard and seen things that have certainly broken laws, but for the most part, you're a means to an end - for revenge cycles, for people with grudges, for anyone with a chip on their shoulder. If Cresce means that she wants to monitor that activity, that could potentially be bad. But then again, could it be worthwhile, for a short time? ... "This will require clearance through someone else, as well. However, it seems acceptable." You have to talk to the lab. Ultimately, she'll have to talk to the lab. You're still their project. They're still testing you.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/09/2019

The sound of hesitation and confusion leaks out of her questioning your terms, and you realize that you were probably not as clear as you could have been. "I know your work dabbles in less than legal things," you say dismissing her concerns with a wave of your hand. "What I meant was that this should protect you, unless Lyrian murders you quite suddenly from a dark corner. I may be able to press charges, but you'll be beyond caring I'm afraid!" 

 "Legally this agreement is little more than an agreement that I pay you as I see fit when you give me truthful information," you say. "I could always request something particular, but you and I are both aware you could simply choose to withhold it." Your smile is a little thin. Really, you would find out if she did anything of the sort, and she wouldn't like the consequences.

"It's a fairly free agreement," you continue, "Though if you are found to be passing on false information to the empire, you understand the consequences." You tap your fingers against your chin as she mentions someone else, and you quirk up an eyebrow in a question, even as you tick off that mental checklist of suspicions as confirmed. There was always going to be a handler for characters like this. "Someone else?" you ask.(edited)

Kitty | neriticNomad01/09/2019

You don't say what you're thinking - that you hope Lyrian won't, in fact, do that - because you know, vaguely, the way this works. She's feeding on your intimidation and fear. Even without her once-charming smile, you feel as if she's the hunter between the two of you. It's not a good feeling. It's worse when she asks you what you mean. You think there's a fan that turns on, in the back of your neck, trying to cool down your body and keep you stable. You want to evade this question, and your scan for any listening ears turns into a scan for an escape route quite quickly. But you opened this can of wrigglebeasts. 

 "Arctophi." You watch her. "Labs. It is presumed this does not come as a surprise." You have a pen. You take a napkin, and write lightly on its surface, Arctophi Labs, followed by the contact information. This will put her in touch with one of the leads on your project. It's a quiet lab, but they're an imperial pet project, kept somewhat under wraps while they develop their technology. Their aim is to replicate psionics with enhancement tech, and use that tech to create more powerful assets to the empire. You're their project, and while they improve their experimentation, you test their tech in the field. You hesitate only a moment longer, pondering the napkin, before you give it to her.

 "If you are imperial, your security clearance should suffice." If it doesn't, you have no doubt she'll find her way. She seems intent on digging up everything she possibly can. "They will know to expect your call." You don't think they'll have any issue with it. They may even be glad. This is a new arena to test you in, and you found it on your own - or, more accurately, it found you.  Still, it isn't your place to suggest it. The details are above your heavily-modified head. It's better they stay that way.

January 10, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

The beat of her melody is slow, resigned, as she tells you, she assumes you've figured out that piece of the puzzle- and well. She isn't wrong. You give her a mysterious smile. Things were a little more fun when Maera was left lagging along, but now she was catching on. The name she gives you is unfamiliar to you- you slide the napkin over to you and carefully study the words and numbers before you tuck it into a pocket. You'll find out soon enough. "Alright!" you exclaim brightly. You gesture between you with a flick of your fingers. "Sooooo what are you going to tell Lyrian about this little exchange?"

Kitty | neriticNomad01/10/2019

This isn't a prompting to tell her the information you've gleaned. Admittedly, it isn't much. You mentally tuck it back into its appointed file folder, and try to think of what you might actually say. 

 "Data is insufficient to say whether Lyrian is capable of seeing through lies. True honesty would likely be unacceptable. There is little desire to give her true information on you." She probably already knows it, too, if she sent you in blind this way. "The most likely plan of action will be to develop a false report, which follows what happened today, but altered, with no mention of this discussion. She is not following or spying on the work so far, but risk-taking does not seem acceptable. Does she know about your favor towards this establishment?"(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

You tap your chin and consider the cards in your hand. You share a power with Lyrian, and that would mean sharing hers means sharing yours. It's not a far leap to make, with what you've done here and the fact you share a sign. No, you decide. No sharing. There's a third party at work here that you know nothing about and that means keeping your own exposure to the minimum possible. 

"No," you say simply instead. "I don't believe so. But let's make some adjustments to your plan." You sit forward, putting your weight on your elbows as you smile.  "Lyrian undoubtly has expected us to have a conversation, not necessarily this one." She has to know that your powerset makes being tracked very difficult. The test she's giving you here isn't to find out you're being tracked, but what you do with it. That's what you do if you were in her place after all. "What you should tell her is that I noticed you following me, confronted you, and accused you of being her pawn before assaulting you and running," you say, holding her gaze before nodding at stain on her shirt. "Work in the ice cream too if you want."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/10/2019

As she speaks, you commit the information to memory. It's a simple task. You've been working with your own internal computers for some time now, and writing the data away is the easy part. The hard part is making sure you retrieve the right data at the right time. 

 "Understood." This means you need to keep the ice cream stain, though, and you're not thrilled about that. "There are no other signs of a struggle," you point out. "Will this cause suspicion?" You don't know how well Lyrian knows Cresce, but she started this conversation by cornering you, then threatening your lusus. You'd like to think she'd put up more of a fight than just throwing ice cream at you.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

You shake your head. You never even tried to hit her the one time you met face to face. "Tell her that it was a public place and people were looking," you say simply. That's part of the reason why you hadn't done anything more at the ball. If you were going to pocket Maera as your own pawn, then you'd have an advantage on her. If she thought you were weaker or more incompetent than you really were, then perhaps she'd make a stupid move. Perhaps she'd tell Maera something she really shouldn't have. Of course, that would depend on Maera not getting caught. "When are you to report to her?"(edited)

Kitty | neriticNomad01/10/2019

"As necessary." You check the time. The only outward sign is a flick of your eyes to one corner, out in space, before returning to her. "Reporting will be done in person, as soon as there is information to report. This would qualify as information to report. Departure may be as soon as eight hours from the present time." 

 The extra time is to accentuate the story. If you act as if you spent time trying to re-track Cress, only to have her evade you again, you'll look slightly less like a hunter who didn't know how to do her job. And finally, after all that, you take a sip of your mocha. It's careful - the cup blocks as little of your field of vision as possible, and certainly doesn't block anything you can see of Cress. "Your input has been noted. Will you desire a report when the meeting is over?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/10/2019

You nod with a smile. It was so cute, the way she finally drinks that coffee, like a feral cat trying to lap up a few drops of milk , with those big eyes fixed on you like you'd steal it, or attack her or something. As though you haven't basically gotten what you wanted from this game. 

 "Yes, that would be great!" you say. There was just the concern of Lyrian discovering the lie. She'd be as good at it as you were, if not better. She did have more experience after all. "Don't worry you'll be fiiiine," you say with a flap of your hand before you hesitate, and place it to your chin again. "Well... it might be good to be a little worried. She probably has a sadistic streak." You mime a grimace. 

 "Subbjugulators, you know," you say almost conspiratorially. "They get creative." The more afraid Maera would be of Lyrian, the harder it would be for her to tell what exactly was she afraid of. You take another bite of your turnover and groan. "God this is so good?" You tear off a piece and hold it out to Maera with a smile. "You want some?"(edited)

January 11, 2019

Kitty | neriticNomad01/11/2019

You're fairly certain Cress is fucking with you at this point. Fear pings at the mention of subjuggulators and what they might do, which is a healthy response that any reasonable troll might have. It's strong enough that it turns the lights of your implants yellow to match, as it takes emotional center-stage. And then she follows that up by offering you a piece of her food, and you stare blankly at her. What? Does she expect you to trust her, after having just made both vague and direct threats? You have no evidence to prove what she's giving you isn't poisoned somehow. You're reasonably certain she didn't tamper with your coffee, but the pastry is another matter. She's had that in her hands from minute one. ... You take the piece, and begin scanning it for toxins. You have no accessible record of trolls having venom, whether in their teeth or mouths, but that doesn't mean she couldn't. The number of hazards one could put into a piece this small are relatively low, but even small dosages of some could prove fatal, or could, at the very least, incapacitate you.(edited)You find nothing, from visual or tactile scans, and nothing from olfactory scanning either. The papery pasty flakes off as you turn it over, and with your finger, you delicately push these flakes into a concentrated pile. Speaking reasonably, outwardly turning down her offer now could be offensive. That would be bad, tactically, and you can't find any reason not to eat it... So you do.

 Most of your taste sensors are not equipped for actual tasting. With limited usefulness to your project as a whole, they were designed to pinpoint toxins and ingredients, by matching taste data to different profiles stored in your memory. This over-analytical process is a long way of saying that you don't enjoy what you eat. You just eat it. Enjoyment doesn't help you do your job, and like your emotions, would probably only distract you. The only taste that manages to break this pattern is mint. It's cleansing, and it's one of the only things in your accessible memory that you remember from before the experiment. As you eat the pastry piece, slowly, thoughtfully, your implants begin to fade from yellow, back to green. Now you have a new problem: You aren't sure what to say. So, after you've finished the piece (you definitely did this in two parts, even if it was a small piece, just to be sure about the poison thing) you finally say, 

"This is acceptable. It has a variety of apples." Nice. Nailed it. Perfect.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)01/11/2019

She lights up yellow, yellow, with fear, like a little cobra spreading its brightly colored hood- except of course she can't strike you. Not now. You can't understand why the scienterrorists would work something as flashy as that into her design but it's kind of adorable and you have to stop from pressing a hand to your chest in sheer delight.

You wait patiently as she methodically and carefully examines the pastry you gave her as you chew on your own piece. She tastes it, hesitant, then eats the rest and chews it like she's chewing oats. And what she says- you laugh. You can't help it! It's so awkward! "Oh aren't you just a dear," you say, and grab another napkin. You untangle your foot from her lusus' leash as you grab a glittery blue gel pen to write your number. "Call me when you have something to tell me," you say, drawing a heart at the end and coloring it in carefully. "I'll expect to hear from you soon."

Kitty | neriticNomad01/11/2019

You're embarrassed, and it makes yellow light fade in, then right back out after a brief moment. It wasn't that funny. The glitter pen is a surprise. The heart is even more so. You look at it with wariness, commit the number to memory, and then... tuck it away in your coat. Normally, you burn everything you receive. This, though, you'd like to hang onto. You stand from the table. "Understood." Your lusus, freed from the confines of Cresce's foot, trots over to you, looking quite pleased. You pick up your coffee, and after Chara picks up the leash for you, you leave without another word.

> End thread

[snowbellewells]

“Ghosts of Christmases Past”

In honor of Christmas being just a few days away, and because I love Christmas fic, I’m going to self-promo some older holiday fics I posted (mostly on ff.net before I was active on Tumblr) each day up until the 25th, and then I get to unveil some new work for the season (hopefully!)  Please enjoy!! This first one was written back during the Season 3 winter/Christmas hiatus, when Emma and Henry were in NYC without their memories of everyone else.  Graham plays an important part in this one from beyond the grave, and it draws some from Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol”.  Obviously it’s AU, and re-imagines the last couple scenes from the winter finale.  This might easily be the longest one-shot I’ve ever written, but more just kept coming as I wrote.  I’d love it if you dropped me a line to let me know what you think when you’ve finished reading.  Sadly, Killian has yet to be found under my tree, so I still don’t own them…

“Ghost of Christmases Past”

By: snowbellewells (TutorGirlml on ff.net)

                 White, downy flakes filter through the air lightly, gently, like the inside of a snow globe, falling to the bustling, slushy, grey sidewalks of New York City.  Looking down from her window, Emma Swan marvels at how the city never stops, never slows, no matter the weather or time of day.  The people packing the streets below are bundled up and hurrying in every direction, like busy ants in a hill, all with a mission: things to do, errands to run, and little time to waste stopping to admire the snow or dwell on the fact that it is only two days until Christmas.

               She supposes she would be the same way if it were not for Henry. Having a child makes it important to keep the holiday alive, to follow the traditions and enjoy them – savor them – as they pass.  She has closed her private detective office for the last two days to make sure she will have time to do all the Christmas activities she enjoys with him, and it will remain closed until the New Year.  Peoples’ desire to catch their spouse cheating or discover a secret gambling habit doesn’t suit the holidays at any rate and so business had been slow.

               Emma can hear her son in his bedroom down the hall now, talking with one of his friends from school and planning when they are going to go sledding at their favorite hill then follow up with hot chocolate and videogames at the other boy’s house.  She smiles pensively, pleased at how happy Henry sounds.  She is glad her son is making friends this school year.  He’s so thoughtful, smart, and serious that in the past he has not always found it easy to make friends his own age, preferring her company, or that of other adults.  While she treasures being so close with her only child, Emma never wants him to be left out, but to belong with friends of his own as well.  For some reason that flits at the edge of her consciousness – that she cannot quite remember – the idea of being without friends and alone causes a dull ache in her, one that she feels is more than the fact that she doesn’t connect with a lot of people herself.  It is something from her history, which is disturbingly fuzzy to her, and she can’t quite put a finger on it.  

               Her head turns from the wintry scene outside to her son entering the room when she hears the sound of his footsteps drawing nearer.  “Hey Mom,” he greets; looking excited already, eyes bright with enthusiasm.  “Nate’s mom is going to pick me up here to go sledding, and she’ll bring me back in the morning.  That’s still okay, right?”

               “Yeah, Kid,” she grins, ruffling his hair as she rises to stand before him, letting her fingers linger for a moment.  “I told you it would be fine.  Just…be careful, okay?  Don’t get too rowdy and hurt yourselves.”

               “You’ve got it, Mom,” he agrees, always so good, so happy to please her that it continues to surprise Emma as he edges into a teenager.  She is constantly expecting the angst and trauma she experienced herself in those years, and continually breathing a sigh of relief when Henry shows no signs of morphing into an angry, trying adolescent.

               “Did you pack your overnight bag?” she asks.

               “Yep, right here.”

          A knock sounds on the door a few minutes later, and Emma goes to answer it, introducing herself to Nate’s mother, setting a time for Henry to be home the next morning, and exchanging cell phone numbers with the other woman.  She gives Henry a quick, one-armed squeeze of a hug as he heads out the door, unable to resist, even with his friends nearby, but Henry doesn’t seem to mind much, wrapping one arm around her waist in return and squeezing back for a second.

        When Henry is gone, the apartment feels empty and slightly less warm, but Emma moves quickly to avoid reflecting on it too much.  She goes into the kitchen, makes herself some hot cocoa, and tilts her head to one side in contemplation for a moment.  Then, she digs into a seldom-opened cabinet, digs out a bottle of Jameson’s and pours a healthy measure in, making her drink “Irish” and then giggling briefly at how ironic and apt it seems, despite not understanding why.  Topping the whole thing off with whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon, she carries the mug and a novel she has been wanting to read back into the living room. Curling up on one end of the couch, Emma tucks her feet under herself and sips the warm, chocolate-y liquid, savoring the extra warm burn as it soothes its way down her throat.  She forces herself not to wonder what she will do with herself alone all evening, and instead enjoys the cozy fire in the hearth and the two stockings and twinkling lights they have hung above it.  Slowly, as the flames lull her into a trance, the warmth surrounds her, and she starts to drowsily relax, she sets her drink on the coffee table and slowly drifts to sleep.  Soon, she is wrapped in the comfort of a deep dream…

~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

               Emma becomes aware of her surroundings again in some sort of strange, blank space, somewhat grey and faded looking, hazy at the edges.  Even though it seems preposterous, she can’t help wondering if she has awakened in some sort of dream world.  Instead of being alarmed however, she is merely curious what will happen next.

               At that moment, the form of someone begins to walk toward her out of the mist.  She tenses, having no idea who or what to expect, but as the person’s form becomes clearer, Emma feels her body relax, though she cannot clearly explain why. Something oddly familiar about the person now stopping to stand before her face-to-face eases her mind, though she has no concrete memory of him or why this should be so.  The man now studies her with equal interest and curiosity, and he has a charmingly shy and almost old-fashioned air about him.  He stands three or four inches taller than she does, is lean and handsome, with a head full of thick, honey-colored curls that messily fall onto his forehead.  His eyes sparkle pleasantly when he graces her with a tentative smile in greeting and holds out a hand to shake hers.  He is dressed in a collared button-down shirt under a fitted vest, and when he does speak, Emma is charmed by the lilting Irish accent in his voice. “Hello, Emma,” he begins warmly, that brogue caressing her name as if it is treasure.  “It’s good to see you again.”

               She is taken aback by this gorgeous stranger knowing who she is and more so by the fact that he seems to think she knows him as well. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him skeptically.

               “You did once,” he responds, a trace of sadness in his inflection, “but I realize that you might not now.”

               “Excuse me?” she questions, her heart fluttering a bit in anxious confusion at his words. “That doesn’t make any sense.

               “I know it may not at the moment,” the stranger replies, “but give me just a bit of time.  I think it will all become clear.”

               Emma shakes her head, suddenly wanting out of this confused dream. However, nothing changes, and with a sigh, she sees no other option but to consent to this man’s wishes. He doesn’t seem to mean her any harm, at any rate.  She nods, and with a beaming smile, he extends a hand to her.  “Try something new…” he urges gently, the words causing a shiver of recognition to run through her, “it’s called trust.”  Though she would swear it was in a voice of another timbre, in a different mood, in another time and place, she has heard those words before.

               She tilts her head, looking at him more closely, trying to understand. “What did you say?” she whispers, stunned.

               “Trust me,” he repeats, looking her steadily in the eyes, no lies or trickery in his gaze.  “Take my hand.  There are things I have to show you, and there isn’t much time.”

               The moment Emma reaches out and lets his warm fingers wrap around hers, she feels a lurch in her stomach, a jerk forward, and suddenly they are whirling in space, traveling into the unknown at the speed of light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~

               They land with an impact that almost knocks her to her knees but the stranger catches her elbow and keeps her upright.  Catching her breath and trying to still the rolling in her stomach and her disorientation, she demands, “What was that?!  Who are you?  How did you do that?!”

               “For now, let’s just say that I am your guardian angel, Emma,” is all he will tell her.  Instead he turns her to face the building they have landed in front of.  “Does this place look familiar to you?”

               She stares at the house before them – simple, plain, but with a bright, royal blue front door – and something like recognition flickers in her mind. She isn’t sure what happened, or when it did, but it does seem as if she has stood here many times before.  Enough so that it seems natural to reach out, turn the knob, and step through into the house.

               The house seems normal, like any typical suburban home.  There is a nondescript entryway with a hall tree full of coats and jackets, an archway leading further into the house, and stairs decked with garland on the banister heading up to the second floor.  She can hear warm chatter from further in, and curiously she follows the sound, still hoping to discover where she is and why this place seems familiar.

               Reaching the archway, she peers into a living room lit by a Christmas tree and inhabited by a man and woman who bring a quick prick of tears to her eyes, though she is again powerless to explain this reaction.  Then, suddenly, she freezes, unable to speak, move, or hardly breathe, as she lays eyes on the third and final occupant of the room. This isn’t so much definite memory, but a clenching in her chest and shivering over her skin that tells her – impossibly – that this golden-chaired child crouching by the tree is her, many, many Christmases ago.

               As she watches, an unsettled sense of knowing what came next washes over her.  Realizing that, though the memory wasn’t in her head before she was transported here, she knows this scene is about to become a painful nightmare for the little girl clutching a single present before her.  Emma turns to face her enigmatic companion, hissing over her shoulder as though someone might detect her presence, “What is going on here?!”

               “It’s you, Emma,” he whispers in that melodic voice of his, though she catches sadness and longing in its enchanting lilt as well this time.  “This is a vision of an important Christmas in your past.”

               “Why?” she presses, almost frighteningly needing to understand, and realizing that she does not want to be here as she sees the two familiar adults beckon her child-self to sit on the couch between them, and her child-self obey warily, as if she too already sees that something isn’t right.            

Her mysterious guest turns his eyes on her fully then, intense and undeniable, “Because it’s time for you to remember now, to know who you truly are again.”

“I know who I am.  This is ridiculous!  Why do this place and these people seem familiar when I don’t know them?!”

“Emma,” he says softly, laying a hand on her shoulder, “you do know them.  Pay attention.  Open your mind and heart; you will understand before we are done.  We can’t stop now.”

With a frustrated growl, she gives up trying to talk to him and turns back to the scene unfolding before her. The little girl Emma has unwrapped the box she was clutching and pulled out a lovely necklace, honestly one probably too nice for a child that size, with a delicate silver chain and a crystal circlet as its charm.  Emma lets out a strangled gasp as she glances down, fingering the very necklace she still wears around her neck, the one she had always worn with a swan talisman as well. The other necklace is gone, she realizes, and she doesn’t know where it went, or where either one had come from – until now.

More engrossed, and yet also more fearful than ever, she looks back to the Christmas-y scene.  Now the two adults are talking and the child’s lower lip is trembling.  The child is about to cry, and Emma feels a heartbreaking knowledge and panic clawing up her chest.  ‘They don’t want her – me – anymore,’ her mind races, knowing the truth without a doubt, and actually remembering the moment she sees.  ‘They’re sending me away.  That necklace was to help me remember them, to say that they would always care, never forget me…They wanted me to know that their affection was never-ending, like a circle.  I kept it all these years to remind myself that no gift is free.  Don’t get too comfortable in anyone’s affection; they’ll change their mind and take it away.’

The little girl is asking a question, and Emma’s gut recoils even looking on.  As if she could actually hear it, the question echoes in her mind, ‘Did I do something wrong?  Was I bad?’  The tears are streaming down the child’s cheeks now, and Emma feels them on her own as well.

               “Enough,” she gasps, looking at her guide, almost allowing herself to plead with him.  “I don’t want to see this anymore.  Please. I remember this, alright?  Just please…get me out of here.”

               She is surprised to see what seem to be tears in his eyes for her as well. He cups her face in his hand, light like the brush of wings and ephemeral, but comforting nonetheless.  He’s sad for her, she realizes with a pang. He understands like he has felt this sort of pain as well.  He nods in assent to her request, and does as she asks.  The painful memory she has been witnessing fades away, and Emma wonders where they will end up next.

~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~

               When the whirling, spinning sensation eases this time, Emma is shocked once again, both to recognize herself before her more immediately and to see herself seated with legs crossed in a jail cell.  She glances to the handsome, curly-headed stranger who has brought her here and still lingers at her side, but he offers no clues, only a small smile, intended to encourage she thinks.

               Shaking her head, she wonders why she expected anything else at this point and turns her attention back to the picture before her, where quite a few years have obviously passed.  This version of herself is no longer a child; though the sad, lost, lonely look is still in her eyes, it is even harder and clearer in a young woman’s face.  She appears hardened; something has happened to teach her the lesson over again – for good this time – don’t trust, people leave.  Her hair is still long and golden, and she still wears the crystal circle charm around her neck.  Now, though, hanging below it, is a second pendant, one with a dark circle bearing a white swan.  Flashes of memories return to her at the sight of it: a dark-haired man, a yellow car, the twinkle in the man’s eyes as he gives her the swan on a keychain, a map of Florida, a hotel room, his quick smile and her light, carefree laughter in return.  “Neal,” she whispers, stunned that she knows the name belonging to the face in her mind’s eye.

               She watches this younger version of herself with a single tear staining her cheeks, head bowed, and knows that in the moment a tiny smile graces her careworn face a bit of happiness and wonder is felt.  She places a hand on her slightly rounded stomach to feel a light kick from inside herself. “Henry,” she whispers again with certainty.  She knows this should seem preposterous, finding herself in situations she has not remembered until this moment.  Yet, the sense of awe at seeing, feeling, Henry within her, all the hope and family she has ever known, fills her with too much wonder to question it further.

               “That’s me, with Henry,” she tells her companion, “but how is that possible? I was never in jail.  Henry is with me, and he wouldn’t have been if…”

               She trails off, even before the stranger begins to shake his head slowly. “Henry wasn’t always with you, Emma. He found you again.  There are many times it may be painful, but the truth is coming back to you.  You’re regaining your story.”

               “I would never leave Henry,” she protests, but then she looks back at herself in the memory, sees the still-so-young face go pained and frightened again, watches the past her tilt her head to hear Christmas carols sung elsewhere in the prison though she has chosen not to join in.  Her eyes fall downward to her hand on her stomach, rubbing soothingly, but she can feel the self-doubt and fear churning her gut as if she were still back in that day.  She hadn’t known how to care for a baby, or how she would provide for him once she got out…  Could it be? She couldn’t have!  Shaking her head, Emma turns to her guide once more, again more than ready to leave behind the feeling rushing back over her.

               This time she doesn’t have to ask.  His intriguing eyes understand; full of empathy and warmth, he holds a hand out for Emma to place hers within.  She is only too grateful to welcome the pull as they began to move once more.

~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~

               At their third destination, there are no former versions of her before them, only a quiet grove of trees dusted lightly with freshly fallen snow. She steps forward, studying her surroundings, breath quickening as she becomes certain she has been here before as well.  This time it seems more immediate, closer to the surface of her consciousness.  She turns to speak to her familiar “guardian angel”, but for the first time, she doesn’t find him by her side.

               Emma keeps walking forward and beneath the bare bows of a large tree in the center of the clearing, she finds a nondescript headstone.  Kneeling, she brushes snow away, brow furrowing, looking for a name she feels sure she will know.  However, all she finds inscribed on the surface is a simple cross and a date, in the fall, two years before.

               ‘This was last Christmas,’ Emma thinks to herself.  ‘I was alone for the holidays, and I didn’t think he should be too.’  She purses her lips, resting her hand atop the granite stone, reluctant to break contact and striving to remember just who this ‘he’ is that she feels so connected to.

               “It’s my gravestone,” that warm, accented voice speaks from over her shoulder. Her otherworldly visitor is back again, and Emma turns to ask where he had gone, but when their eyes meet this time, it all comes flooding back.  Just as she had once brought back all that had been lost to him, he now reveals to her all that had been shrouded in her mind.

               “Graham?” she asks hopefully, blinking back tears.  She already knows the answer, knows it is true, knows he is the sheriff who befriended her when she first came to Storybrooke.  Emma is almost overwhelmed with all that has happened, which she had somehow lost.  He saved her mother – Snow White – and the Evil Queen took his heart in retribution. They kissed once, and he regained his free will.  The Queen – Regina – then crushed his heart.  Her own heart squeezes painfully at that memory, and she reaches out for Graham’s hand as he confirms her question with a silent nod.  However, on contact, her hand slips through his as simply as if he were made of smoke or vapor.

               “It is me, Emma,” he says, his voice still beautiful, but also more laced with pain, not so much for himself as for her, “but I’m not really here. You saw me die.  I’m here because it’s time for you to be the Savior once more. Someone had to help you regain all the memories lost to you – even if it hurt.  It had to be someone you would believe, someone you would trust – and that is a gift you do not bestow easily.  I was given this Christmas Eve night to show you, who you have been, who you are, and who you yet might be.”

               Emma wishes desperately to embrace him, tears silently racing down her cheeks and under her chin unchecked now.  She reaches up to touch his cheek, even though she can’t truly feel him, unable to stop herself.  His eyes flutter closed for a moment, letting out a blissful sigh, as if he can somehow feel her touch.  And yet, even as they share this quiet minute, other memories are still rushing back in.  She and her mother traveled to the Enchanted Forest, Captain Hook followed them back to seek his revenge on Rumplestiltskin, Neal had found out they had a son, Henry had been kidnapped, they had all gone through a portal and challenged a psychotic Peter Pan to get him back.  How could she ever have forgotten all this?

               Graham’s gentle voice answers her internal question before she can put it into words.  “There was a second curse.  Everyone was sent back where they were from, save you and Henry.  That’s why you don’t remember.  Regina made it so you would feel you and Henry had always been together, like you had never given him up.”

               Sighing, Emma bows her head, once more taking up the weight of pain, missed chances, guilt, and loss that she had been without in her curse-created fog. She cannot decide which reality is worse for a long time as she stares at Graham with all the missing pieces sliding back into place at last.  It is awful to think that so much could have been lost to her forever – her parents, her friends, allies – and she would have never have known the difference. Yes, she had been without the pain of the past, but it had cost her huge chunks of her present and future.

               “So, why now?” she asks him, deciding not to dwell on what cannot be changed.  She has always been a person of action, and that is no different in this moment. “Why were you allowed to help me remember?”

               “I don’t know the whys; I only know that I was,” he responds, his voice low, soothing, comforting her with its caring and friendship, as it always had. “You are once again their only hope. You parents and everyone else in the Enchanted Forest need you to save them once more.  I begged for the chance to be the messenger, in order to see you again, and to tell you this: Emma, there’s a chance before you, but you have to fully trust, to offer you heart and take a leap of faith in order to grasp it. I once hoped that I might be that one for you, but since that was not to be, I don’t want to watch you let this pass you by.  There is someone for you.  Someone who will stand by you, who will always back you, who will always find you. Just as your mother has in your father, you too have a True Love.”

               He can sense her about to interrupt, so he raises a hand to halt her words, swallows hard, and continues.  “You already know who he is; you simply will not let yourself admit it. I can see in your eyes that I’m right. He has returned to your mind and your heart with all of your other memories.”

               Emma shakes her head and starts to protest, more scared of the vulnerability she feels than the actual idea of her True Love.  “No, he can’t be my True Love.  It can’t be – “

               Graham comes so close that if he were still flesh and blood their foreheads would be touching.  “Emma,” he breathes, “please, let me show you one more Christmas – your Christmas future, if you will only let yourself be happy.  You don’t always have to be alone.”

               The fight drains from her at his earnest request and she nods her head in agreement.  Once more, things go hazy, and then she sees a simple living room all decked out for Christmas.  Three stockings hang over a crackling fire in a stone fireplace, a tree twinkles with lights and silver balls.  She sees Henry looking taller and broader shouldered, sitting in a chair looking happy, comfortable, and deep in conversation with someone in another chair facing him, someone she cannot see from where she stands.  Then she sees herself entering the room.  There are a few more laugh lines around her eyes, there might be a few more years of age showing on her face, but she doesn’t think she has changed much until her eyes reach her future self’s midsection.  She is clearly carrying a second child and looks to be practically glowing in the expectant joy of a second chance to be a mom from the very start.

               “Hot cocoa is ready!” she announces happily, the tray of three steaming mugs in her hand.  The figure that had been hidden by the chair’s back before stands and quickly moves to her side, taking the tray and ushering her to his vacated seat.  “Why didn’t you call me, Lass?” the rich, silky voice questions.  “I would have helped you.”

               Emma watches the scene unfold with bated breath.  She and Henry are with Killian Jones – Captain Hook – and they appear to be a happy, blissful family, with a baby on the way.  Those stunning blue eyes near steal her breath as he passes the tray off to Henry and then makes sure she is settled comfortably with her feet propped up.  His protective hand comes to rest on her rounded stomach, worrying over her, a first time prospective papa through and through.  “You need to take it easy, Emma Love,” he adds, obviously not the first time he has said those words.

               “You worry too much,” she assures him, though touched at how much he clearly cares for her.

               “Aye, that I do Lass, but only because I love you and the little one, so much.”  He leans down to kiss her deeply, she tilts her head back to meet his lips, and she melts a little inside, only pulling away when Henry playfully groans and tells them to get a room.

               They are all laughing happily as the scene fades and she is back to standing with Graham at the edge of Storybrooke’s cemetery, snow still falling around them.  She looks at him once more wonderingly. “Can that really be my future?” she asks, unable to help the hope and desire in her voice.

               “It can be if you will allow it,” he replies sincerely.

               She believes him, and in turn finds that she wants that future more than she has ever wanted anything.  A hesitation, then a pang of sadness stabs her though as she continues to study his face. “What about you?  Are you alright?” she asks.  “I wish I had understood then, that I would have believed you before she could…” she trails off.  “You do know that I cared for you – as much as I was able to then – don’t you?”

               “Yes, Emma, of course I do,” he assures her kindly.  “My curse is lifted.  I’m free now.  I want you to be free as well.  You have a wonderful life yet to live.  He is a good man.  You both deserve the chance to be healed.”

               He brushes an errant tear (at this point she is sure she’s shed more tears this night than in the whole rest of her life) off her cheek, and it feels like a breath of air it is so soft and light.  “Be happy, Emma…” his voice echoes, and then Graham is gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~vvvvvvvvvvvvvv~~~~~~~~~~~~

               Emma is disoriented when she wakes the next morning on her couch.  She tries to blink blearily and clear her head, but she knows somehow that the images, people, and places flashing through her mind, the dreams she had the night before, are all real.  

               Henry returns and seems no different, so they happily carry on just as they have been, enjoying the holiday season together.  Emma is different inside though; she knows there is more now.  There is another world and others she loves that she has to get back to.  She only needs to find the way.

               She bides her time, watching and waiting.  So, one day, when he appears at her door, she is ready.  She knows Killian Jones when he returns to her, but she doesn’t stop him when he kisses her; she wants the confirmation, wants to feel that pulse of pure love between them, and wants the curse on Henry’s memories to be broken as well. Wants her son to know as surely as she does that this was all meant to be.

               Their kiss takes her breath away; the power and light radiating from them nearly bowls her over, and the joy and awe on Killian’s face enchants her. Henry comes to them at the door; his believer’s heart much easier to convince than her stubborn heart had been, and he is ready to follow.  Killian offers her his hand, and she takes it, finally ready to make a leap of faith and let him lead them home.

Tagging some lovely friends who might enjoy: @drowned-dreamer @cat-sophia @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @flslp87 @captain-swan-coffee @bromfieldhall @hollyethecurious @icecubelotr44 @blowmiakisscolin @singingisfun @ps1473-4