#thread: harper sinclair

[katbarton]

WHO: @katbarton, @emily-barton, @maxceden, @frankie-drake, @harpersinclair, @evanalbert

WHAT: The Nameless crew has a meet up to discuss the situation.

WHEN: 11/2, Late Night

EMILY

Emily was as still as a statue, waiting for the others to arrive. She didn't know who exactly was involved yet, though she could imagine a couple. It didn't feel right to be sneaking around in the dark of night, when something was happening, but she had to. Riss was home and safe, with Tegan to watch over her. Kat needed her. "What time are we supposed to meet?"

KAT

"Anytime after ten, should be here any minute now. If something comes up, Max will text me." Kat holds up her phone, but doesn't look away from her laptop screen. "You're making me nervous. Stop it."

MAX

Max shows up alone, having pissed Harper and Evan off. As she walks towards the pair, she raises her brows, still in confusion over Emily's involvement, but doesn't say anything beyond a "Hey. Harper and Ev are on the way."

KAT

Kat looks up then, "They good? Harper didn't get caught up in the shit, did she?"

MAX

"Nope, she's as clueless too. Said she'd be late though, so maybe she's trying to see what's up." Max shrugs and takes out her phone to check for any incoming news or texts. Nothing yet.

KAT

"I've been trying to hack into the city hall security feeds since all this shit happen, but everything's down. Not like shot, cause then it'd show no signal or static or something-- but like totally fucking down." Her attention is back on the laptop. "I've got the news up in another browser. Should get an RSS alert if something is released."

EMILY

Emily doesn't do more than nod at Max, unsurprised at her presence. She didn't make it a point to know all of Kat's friends, but when said friend was a drug dealer, well she got some extra scrutiny. Her phone beeped with a message, and she turned to them. "Pull up BBC. If the news outside of the city is reporting this, there must be some credibility to it."

KAT

"BBC? Fuck--" Frantic typing and then a news feed is pulled, the volume loud enough so they could all hear. "Hostage situation... what the fuck?"

FRANKIE

Frankie finally shows up with confident grin on her face and absolutely relaxed body language, a big contrast to everyone else already there. "Hey kids. Great night for a walk, huh?" She wiggles her eyebrows playfully before leaning against a wall, looking for a pack of cigarettes. "Heard the news yet? Hostages and shit. Just awful."

EVAN

Evan was annoyed and frustrated, and really just wanted to be at home; instead she made it to the meeting area and leaned against a wall. She glanced around the room to see who was there, ignoring Max for the time being and waiting to see what would happen next, pulling out her phone to get the updated.

KAT

Kat looked up as Frankie arrived and couldn't help the crooked grin that twisted at her features. "Hey, fucker. Yeah-- we're hoping to try and figure out if it has shit to do with those weapons we found out about."

MAX

Max stays silent at first, wanting to be able to hear the news feed. Her eyes squint a little, as if it'll allow her to hear better. And when Evan and Frankie approach, she purses her lips. "Any thoughts?" She gestures to the laptop, speaking to everyone all at once.

EMILY

Emily isn't bothering to crowd around the screen, instead tapping away at her phone to send messages out. "It's too much of a coincidence not to be. Scene around City Hall isn't pretty. And I'm pretty sure that these beat cops are carrying around some of those military grade weapons." She hands her phone to Kat, zoomed in on the picture that clearly show assault rifles in the hands of uniformed officers.

FRANKIE

"So what? They brought out the big guns 'cause they knew there'd be hostages or somethin'? Doubt it." she shrugs, looking through her own phone; not at the news, or her contacts, but Instagram, going through profiles of men and women she knew at the NEPD. "Most likely the weapons would be there anyway. Unless it's all an act and that's all just an excuse to shoot something real nice, but that would be like a major conspiracy. Like, Nicolas Cage type of stuff"

HARPER

With her bag slung over her shoulder, Harper did her best to walk as inconspicuously as she could from the station to their meeting place. The NEPD was just about locked down, but more to keep people out, rather than in. At least, civilians, that is. She spots Max and Evan immediately, and recognizes most of the others- except the addition of two women she had never seen before. Resisting the urge to flash her badge, or reach for her pistol, she did her best to stay calm as she moved closer. "Damn, this shit's getting wild. Even Starbucks is closed. #smh."

KAT

Kat scrutinizes the picture and then looks up as Harper walks in, gives her a little smile and stands, laptop left on the ground. She starts pacing, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Instinct says that they got the weapons because they wanted to do something with them soon. Could lead to them using them because they knew the hostage situation was coming, but that would mean they either caused the hostage situation or planned it with another group." She shook her head. "It's too conspiracy theory-- but other evidence suggests that maybe this is the lead in to something else? Something bigger?" She looks back to Emily's phone, swiping around the photo, then starts pacing again. "Can't wrap my head around it. Harper did you find out anything?"

MAX

Max works her jaw back and forth, crossing her arms across her chest, but silent still. She's shaking but tries to hide it, opting instead to listen to the conversation happening around her, coming up with every possible scenario she could think of. When the attention turns to Harper, she takes out a cigarette and lights it. Still quiet, though.

HARPER

"Who're the newbies?" She drawled, one brow raised, her question directed to no one in particular. While she didn't regret getting involved, the more people who knew that she was, the more likely it was that her involvement might get out. And she definitely did not need that. "Not gonna lie, I was doing my actual job for most of it, but once I got the heads up, I tried to put my ear to the ground. Most of the talk is happening behind closed doors, but there's plenty of conspiracy theories traveling amongst the NEPD peasants. Which do you wanna hear 'bout first?"

KAT

"Hit me with the conspiracy theories."

EVAN

Evan took a deep breath and pushed off the wall, gathering with the group, her hands slipping into her pockets.

FRANKIE

"Hey lady, I'm Frankie Drake. I'm one of the gals," she waves childishly and goes back to what she was doing, hoping to find any indication that the cops knew about the weapons before that day. No such luck yet.

HARPER

"Sup," Harper purses her lips, unimpressed with Frankie's introduction. In a different setting, she could actually see herself getting on with the blonde, but in this particular instance, she couldn't help but feel suspicious. Still, it wasn't her operation to run, so she keeps her mouth shut about it for now. "It's everything from us to aliens. Some are saying it's a Nameless plot, and some think it's an inside job. A way to forces the public into willing submission. Honestly, all the Captains are locked up, trying to strategize, and they're bringing out the big guns. Literally. Idk where all this shit came from, but I've seen a couple of the "special ops" guys running around with semi automatics or whatever."

EMILY

Emily has kept her distance mostly until now, though she wonders whether any of them would recognize her from the tabloids. They don't really seem like the type. "Emily. I'm with her," she nods at Kat. If they need more than that, then they could kiss her ass. "So the police are clueless as usual, we've got idiots running amok in the city as usual. Lee and Covington are as good as dead and they have weapons of war. Am I missing anything?"

EVAN

"Sounds like you've got it." Evan quipped, glancing over at Emily before rubbing her forehead. "This is a shit show."

MAX

Max has her brows pinched for now, ignoring the exchange between the newbies and Harper. She knows there may not be any trust there but she trusts Kat and if Kat's bringing them in, that's enough for her. She shakes her head, "Nope. Sounds about right." She nods her head to Kat, "Anything from higher ups?" she asks, referring to anyone Kat may know higher up within the Nameless.

KAT

Kat pauses in her pacing around the warehouse to pull out her phone and get in touch. Almost immediately there's a few pings back and she shakes her head. "It's not our guys. And none of them can get into city hall feeds, either. And these fuckers are better than me. Something is going on. I don't have a good feeling about any of this."

HARPER

Harper ran a hand through her hair, her foot tapping agitatedly, itching to pace. But she held back, not wanting to let out how anxious the whole thing had her feeling. Her gut was twisting and turning, and she knew whatever was going on, couldn't be good. I've been texting the guys back at the station, but no one seems to have high enough clearance. And no one's heard from our Captain since it all went down." She paused, looking at Kat with a weary sigh. "You're sure? Because, like, this is a little intense, like damn..."

FRANKIE

Frankie's attention is piqued again when they mentioned the higher ups. As far as she knows, nothing is happening on her end as well. Probably for the best not to mention anything, though — never a good idea to overshare in places like this. "Any way of hacking the people doing the hostaging? Or the hostaged" Probably a dumb idea but what does she know? She's the one tricking people, not cellphones. "Do the sci-fi thing and turn on their microphones or somethin'"

KAT

Kat had to laugh, it wasn't funny, but.. nervous laughter was definitely a thing. "Yeah.. uhm, I could try Lee's phone? Anyone else we know in there? Covington?"

EVAN

The entire thing was a lot and Evan didn't really know what she was doing there. She rubbed at her face and bit down on her bottom lip. "Covington for sure. But I've got no idea who else is in there."

KAT

"Okay, gimme a sec." And she sat down at her laptop again, waving her hand. "Keep talking."

FRANKIE

..... "So how about them Giants, huh?"

MAX

Max quirked a brow at Frankie's quip and opened her mouth to speak but shut it quickly. It wasn't worth it, they had bigger things to worry about.

KAT

After a few minutes, Kat growled and chucked her phone across the room. "I can't get into the motherfucking COCKSUCKING phones!"

EMILY

Emily immediately crosses the room to pick up Kat's phone and pockets it. "Okay, so we know they have some kind of technical expertise. But now that we've confirmed it's not.. us," she hesitates over the word briefly. "I think the best thing we can do is get back to our lives, because meeting in a warehouse in the middle of the night looks suspicious no matter what's going on."

HARPER

Harper rolls her shoulders, letting out an exhausted sigh. This "meet up", if it could even be called that, has pretty much wasted her time. They didn't know anything, and she didn't know much of anything either. "I agree. Until we know more, there's no point in loitering around and kicking around conspiracy theories all night, ya know. We all got our contact points," She continues, looking pointedly at Max, "So maybe our best bet is to keep contact on the minimum until we've got a better feel for things." While she won't admit it, the presense of new faces had her even more on edge, and at this point, she just wants to get back to the station to try and see if she can catch word of whatever is going on.

KAT

Steeling herself, "Alright-- hold on, before we separate. I'm installing an app on your phones we can use to contact each other without being monitored by the government. I'm also gonna install some shit to help block them getting into regular texts and shit, but it's not foolproof." She went around and held out her hand for them to get her the phones. "The app allows you access IRC channels, but you can't release any personal information, and you can't use any real names. You have to have a handle. Mine's grim.angel, and that's how I keep in contact with everyone. You should already have your handle if you're in with us. If you're not, you will after they grab you."

EVAN

"Grab us?" Evan questioned, an eyebrow quirking as she looked around the room.  "Fantastic. Looking forward to it." She said with a roll of her eyes.

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

Privileged (36/?)

Summary: Now with a way to unchip their people, the group of delinquents head back to Arkadia with every intent on stopping ALIE. However, an unexpected visitor from a certain mountain throws a spanner in the works. *yn*’s romantic crisis takes some unexpected twists and turns as she tries to keep up a brave face for her friends.”

Warnings: death, violence, ANGST, swearing, some fluffy fluff if you squint

Notes: Based on 3x12 “Demons” of The 100.

‘Privileged’ Masterlist

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

"Becca's journal is amazing. At 26, she found a pathway to access a human mind.” 

*yn* tore her gaze away from the rover’s window to look at Raven. 

“That same year, she had to lock up A.L.I.E. because her answer for what was wrong with the world was too many people.” Raven continued as she flicked through Becca’s journal. *yn* peered over Raven’s shoulder, her eyes travelling over the rough sketches and mathematical equations. They might as well have been written in gibberish. 

“She was 27 when it launched the bombs."

“What did she write about the flame?” Clarke queried, swivelling around in the passenger seat to face Raven.

 "Well it’s A.L.I.E. 2.0. Becca saw it as a way to atone for her sins. She designed it to not just access a human mind but to merge with one. It could never wipe us out because it would be one of us. She would have put it in herself first, altered her genes so her body wouldn't reject the implant.”

“The gene therapy made her blood black, didn't it?” Clarke queried causing Raven to look up at her in surprise.

“Yeah, it did.” Raven nodded, causing *yn*’s brow to furrow in confusion.

“And you know that because...?” *yn* trailed off.

“Nightblood. That's where it came from.” Clarke explained. “Somehow it became hereditary. Luna has it. That's why we have to find her. If she can access ALIE two..."

“-She can tell us how to stop ALIE one...." Octavia murmured in realisation. 

"Get back to the mind pathway.” Monty piped up, causing all eyes to turn to him. “If ALIE uses it to upload our minds to the City of Light, then there's a chance my mom's still alive?” He queried, flickering his eyes up from the chip clutched in his hands. There was a pause as *yn* felt a wave of sympathy wash over her as she studied Monty’s desperate features.

"That depends on your definition of "alive", Monty.” Raven answered softly. *yn* placed a hand on Monty’s shoulder and squeezed it in an attempt to comfort him as the rover fell silent.

She looked down at her lap when she felt warm skin brushing against her own. She shot Raven a soft smile as Raven threaded her fingers through *yn*’s, squeezing her hand tightly once they were entwined.

*yn* glanced across from her and stiffened when her eyes met Elijah’s. She swallowed and averted her gaze from his, turning her attention to the front of the rover. There, instead of finding a reprieve, she found herself staring back at Bellamy who was studying her through the rearview mirror.

The rover was starting to feel a little bit too crowded for her liking. 

“We’re almost home.” Bellamy announced as he reverted his gaze back to the landscape in front of him.

“Miller, come in.” Bellamy spoke into the radio. “Harper, you there? Ride is two minutes out.” Bellamy continued when he got no reply.

*yn*’s brow furrowed as he was met with complete silence. 

“Good start.” Jasper remarked as the rover slowed down to a stop.

“Nothing new for us then.” *yn* quipped as she pushed open the back door to the rover and jumped out onto the grass. “Don’t even think about it” She ordered, shooting Raven a warning look as Raven moved to follow after her. “You stay here.” She continued as Octavia and Elijah jumped out after her. Before Raven could protest *yn* slammed the door shut, keeping her, Sinclair, Monty and Jasper inside.

“Keep your eyes sharp.” Bellamy spoke as he raised his gun up into position. *yn* slid her blade out of her pants, gripping it tightly in one hand with a small gun in the other. The group slowly edged out of the tree line and into the open, revealing Arkadia.

“It’s been two days since we left, why the hell haven’t they fixed the gate?” Clarke remarked as they slowly approached the entrance.

“Maybe because there’s no one here to fix it.”

Something was wrong, very wrong.

*yn*’s eyes darted around nervously as they slowly made their way into Arkadia, the rover trailing behind them. It was like a ghost town. Everywhere she looked there was nothing but empty space. It was like everyone had vanished into thin air.

“I don’t like this.” She spoke, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of the group on foot.

“Miller, where the hell are you?” Bellamy spoke, frustration laced through his tone as he picked up the radio once more.

“Maybe they got chipped.” Jasper suggested.

“If they got chipped they would have waited for us at the cave, they would have ambushed us or something.” *yn* answered back.

“Maybe they saw the open gate and went in for Lincoln’s book.” Elijah suggested.

“Maybe you should all stop saying ‘maybe’.” Octavia huffed.

“If they are chipped, then ALIE already knows we’re coming.” Clarke spoke, ignoring Octavia’s comment. 

*yn* opened her mouth to respond but clamped it shut as they made their way into the centre of Arkadia. She felt her stomach churn as her eyes fell on crimson liquid pooling in the mud. 

Lincoln.

“Let’s get his book and get the hell out of here.” Octavia spoke up, her voice cracking slightly as she did. *yn* tore her eyes from the blood before her to Octavia, her heart aching at the grief evident on her features.

“That’s a plan I can support.” Jasper remarked as Octavia turned on her heels and marched towards the main building.

*yn* hurried after her, intentionally keeping her eyes focused on the rover in front of her. 

“Close it up and turn the rover around, we may need to get out of here quickly.” She heard Bellamy say as everyone piled inside once the garage gate creaked open. 

*yn* hovered near Raven as the metal door slammed shut once they were all inside, engulfing the room in darkness. She waited patiently as Raven carefully stepped out of the rover. 

The pair wandered over to the communal area, *yn* feeling her concern levels rising as she noted the abandoned, half eaten meals with food still on cutlery, and playing cards and books scattered everywhere, as if they’d been dumped in a hurry. 

“It’s like they just got up and left.” Clarke remarked, voicing *yn*’s own thoughts.

“We should just get in and out. No fucking around.” *yn* spoke, her eyes still surveying the room.

“Let’s pack as much gear as we can into the rover.” Bellamy suggested.

“I’ll get the map.” Octavia announced, hurrying off towards Lincoln’s room. 

“I’ll go with her, no one should be alone.” Jasper said, trailing after her.

“What’s the rush? They won’t be coming back.” Raven queried, fiddling with her sling.

“How do you know?” 

“ALIE’s mission is to chip everyone, it wouldn’t make sense to return to a place she already took.” Raven explained.

“Well, it might make sense if there was someone in that place who could tell us stuff like that.” Sinclair remarked, shooting Raven a pointed look.

“Good point.” Raven conceded. 

“Like I said, let’s get in and out.” *yn* spoke up, to which everyone nodded. She could feel Elijah and Bellamy’s eyes on her as she turned on her heel to make her way out of the main room. She slowed down in the hallway when she heard the uneven steps of Raven limping behind her.

“You seem very eager to load gear.” Raven remarked when *yn* came to a stop and glanced over her shoulder. 

“This place is creeping me out.” *yn* answered, waiting for Raven to catch up with her before the pair continued. 

“Even though it was, or is, meant to be our home.” *yn* sighed, her eyes flickering over the interior of the Ark. It was strange to think that just over six months ago this had been carrying them up in space.

“Maybe it’s time to find a brand new one. One without a reminder of our shitty past.” Raven answered as they made their way into a supply room. 

“I could get onboard with that.” *yn* said as she began to shove supplies into a backpack. “Put it at the top of our ‘things we need to do if we survive this shitstorm’ agenda.” *yn* remarked dryly which caused Raven to let out a chuckle.

The pair fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound was the shuffling of supplies being dragged from the shelves. *yn* let out a small sigh as they worked in silence, letting herself steal a glance over her shoulder at Raven.

“Raven?” *yn* queried, her brow furrowed in concern when she saw Raven standing motionlessly, staring blankly at a bag of wheat in front of her. “Is everything ok?” *yn* continued, speaking softly as she placed her bag down and approached her.

“Um I’m fine I-” Raven cut herself off, seeming to snap out of a sort of trance when *yn* placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“I was just thinking.” She spoke as she turned to face *yn*.

“About...?”

“About you... about us.” She admitted quietly. “I mean- not that there’s an us I-” She stammered, feeling herself grow red at the sight of *yn*’s raised brows. *yn* stood patiently, watching Raven inhale deeply and compose herself before speaking again. 

“I just meant.” Another pause. “Even though I was chipped, I remember everything.” 

“And by everything you mean...” *yn* trailed off, feeling her heart hammer in her chest as she studied the girl before her.

“When I kissed you in the control room and you stopped me. When you told me you had too much going on.” 

“Raven I-”

“Just- just let me finish ok?” Raven cut her off, sending her an almost pleading look. *yn* opened her mouth to speak but cut herself off, instead sending Raven a nod of encouragement. Raven shot her a look of gratitude before inhaling sharply.

“I just wanted to say that I get it. That even though I have feelings for you, I understand that with everything going on with ALIE and Pike and Bellamy and Elijah... it’s too much. The last thing you want to deal with is some crippled girl pining after you-”

“Raven don’t you dare talk about yourself like that.” *yn* snapped, anger coursing through her veins. “You’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. And I -”

“-*yn*, please.” Raven interrupted her once more, leaning up to cup *yn*’s cheek in her hand. “Let me let myself go.” She hoarsely whispered as tears welled up in her eyes. “For you.”

“Raven...” *yn* murmured. There was a part of her that was screaming at her to fight for Raven. But there was another part of her that was telling her that this was for the best. That it was wrong to keep Raven on tender-hooks when *yn* knew her heart was already being torn in multiple directions.

“If things had been different...”

“But they’re not.” Raven sighed. “Timing’s a bitch.” She deadpanned causing *yn* to let out a breathless laugh. 

“I’ll always be here for you *yn*, and maybe in the future the timing will be right for us.” Raven continued as she pulled *yn* into a tight embrace.  

“But for now, you need to focus on keeping us all alive.” 

“Just promise me I won’t lose you, even as a friend.” *yn* whispered into Raven’s neck as she wrapped her arms around her.

“Of course I promise, you can’t get rid of me that easily. I just need some time.” Raven reassured her.

“Thank you Raven.” *yn* murmured, squeezing her tightly. The pair stayed like that for a few moments, simply enjoying the feeling of being in each other’s arms before they both reluctantly pulled away.

“I’ll give you some space.” *yn* heard herself say when she noticed that Raven was still fighting to keep her tears at bay. Raven nodded, shooting her one last tight lipped smile before she turned her back on *yn* to continue gathering the supplies.

*yn* knew that Raven didn’t want her to see her cry.

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

“What did you find?” 

Bellamy turned around in surprise at the sound of *yn*’s voice. She looked at him expectantly as she came to a stand still, her arms folded across her chest.

“Weapons, tonnes of them. And bullets.” Bellamy explained, gesturing to the practically full armoury. 

“Shit.” She breathed out. “I guess ALIE doesn’t think her army needs weapons.”

“Lucky us.” Another voice interjected. 

Elijah appeared through the doorway of the armoury, keeping his eyes locked on the weapons in front of him as he avoided *yn*’s gaze. 

“Where are the others? You radioed everyone right?” *yn* asked before an awkward silence could break out.  

“I did.” Bellamy confirmed. 

“Raven, Sinclair, Monty and Clarke were all in the hanger before I left to scope out any other supplies.” Elijah spoke. 

“Can you try them on the radio Bell?” *yn* queried, inwardly cursing herself as the nickname involuntary slipped out.

“Uh- yeah, I can.” Bellamy nodded, clearly taken aback by the sound of the nickname rolling off her tongue. “Raven, do you come in?”

“Yeah I’m here, what’s up? Is everything ok?” Raven’s voice crackled through the radio and *yn* let out a sigh of relief.

“Where are you? Have you heard from the others?” Bellamy asked.

“Sinclair and I are still in the hanger, Clarke and Monty left to meet you at the armoury. They aren’t there?” 

The three exchanged concerned glances.

“No. We haven’t.”

“Anyone seen or heard from Octavia and Jasper?” *yn* queried to which she was met with two shaking heads.

“Is everything ok?” Raven spoke up.

“Just stay where you are Raven, we’ll make our way back to you.” *yn* replied, before Bellamy turned off the radio after Raven responded in confirmation.

She fell silent as her mind began to race and an all too familiar pit in her stomach began to form.

“You’re having one of those feelings, aren’t you?” Bellamy murmured as he studied her body language and facial features.

“Something’s wrong.” She mumbled, more to herself than to anyone else. 

“We need to find the others.” She continued, pulling out her blade and hurrying outside before either Elijah or Bellamy could utter a word.

The pair exchanged brief glancing before pulling out their weapons and following after her. 

“*yn* don’t you think we should wait to see if we hear from anyone before we race in, we don’t even have a plan if something is wrong.” Elijah called out as him and Bellamy raced to catch up with her.

“I have a plan.” *yn* answered back as they crossed the square to head back inside the main building.

“And that is....?” Bellamy queried.

“Find where our friends are and kill anyone who tried to hurt them.” She responded nonchalantly. 

“Of course. Why didn’t we think of that.” Elijah remarked dryly which caused a smirk to involuntarily twitch up onto Bellamy’s lips.

“Hey I never said you two had to come along.” *yn* shot back, shaking her head in amusement as the three made their way inside. 

They slowed down to a stop once they were deep inside the building. 

“Clarke! Monty!” *yn* shouted out. 

Suffocating silence responded.

“Maybe we should head back to the hanger and decide-” Elijah was cut off as *yn* pressed a finger to his lips. He studied her in confusion, watching her as she stiffened up and stared at the hallway behind him. 

“Did you hear that?” She whispered.

Before either of them could reply a scuffling sound echoed down the hallway, followed by a large bang. 

“It’s coming from the direction of the control room.” Bellamy murmured to which *yn* nodded in agreement. *yn* glanced over at Elijah, realising her finger was still pressed to his lips. “Sorry.” She apologised, gently dragging her finger away from his lips. 

“It’s ok.” Elijah answered softly, studying her intently which made *yn* blush slightly as she moved away from him towards the control room.

“Ever occurred to you that we might be walking into a trap?” Bellamy remarked as the three made their way into the control room.

“It did. And I decided I didn’t care.” *yn* responded as she slowed down, her eyes flitting around the derelict surroundings for any sign of life.

“Well, there doesn’t appear to be anyone here.” Elijah stated after the trio spent a few more minutes exploring the room. “I think we should head back and see if we can find the others.”

“Yeah,” *yn* let out a sigh as she finally relented. “You’re probably right.”

“Maybe we can see if any of the security cameras are still working and see if we can spot anyone. Or explore outside the boundaries.” Bellamy suggested.

“Good plan, let’s-” *yn* cut herself off as the sound of metal clanging the ground entered her ears. 

The three of them swivelled around to see a metal ball rolling towards them. *yn* stiffened as she stared at it curiously as it grew closer, finally coming to a halt when it came into contact with her boot. Before anyone could say anything the ball shuddered and opened. 

*yn* felt terror rush through her as red gas spilled out. 

The memory of being alone in the forest and fleeing from the gas before slipping into unconsciousness filled her mind. Before she’d woken up trapped in Mount Weather.

“Fuck.” Bellamy cursed, recognising it instantly. *yn* jerked her head around at the sound of the door sliding shut. 

They were locked in. 

“We’ve gotta move before it knocks us out, cover your faces.” *yn* ordered, hastily yanking off her shirt to wrap around her face. “There’s an emergency button on the left that’ll open the door.” Bellamy explained. 

“Bellamy!” His name slipped past *yn*’s lips when she looked up to see a masked figure suddenly appear behind him. Bellamy turned around just in time, swinging the butt of his gun at his head. 

The figure groaned as Bellamy made contact, forceful enough to make him stumble back.  “Hurry!” Bellamy shouted, turning his back on him as the three of them sprinted towards the door. 

“The door will only stay open momentarily before sealing shut.” Bellamy continued as they approached the bright red emergency button. *yn* could feel her mind going hazy as the gas slowly seeped its way through the fabric of her shirt.

*yn* let out a grunt as she felt something hit her back, causing her to topple to the floor. She flipped over onto her back just in time before the masked figure lunged at her, pushing their entire body weight into pinning her to the ground.

“*yn*!” Bellamy and Elijah shouted simultaneously. 

“Just open the fucking door!” *yn* called back, grunting as the figure attempted to rip her makeshift mask from her face. She leant forward and smashed her head against theirs, causing them to be dazed momentarily. Seeing an opportunity she pushed with all of her force, managing to wriggle out from underneath them. 

Manoeuvring herself so she was straddling them, she landed a punch to their jaw causing them to slump to the ground. Satisfied, she hastily rose to her feet, stumbling slightly as the gas continued to grow more effective. She would be unconscious in a matter of minutes.

She looked to her left to see the boys had just managed to pry open the safety glass and had slammed the button, with the door now open. “Let’s go!” *yn* urged as they hurriedly met her in the centre of the room. The boys were only steps ahead of her as they ran towards the door, all of them becoming more clumsy and slow as the seconds ticked by.

*yn* glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening when she saw that their chaser had gotten up to their feet and was now hot on their heels. “Hurry!” She yelled, her heart pounding in her chest when she saw that the door was beginning to slide shut. 

She could practically feel the masked person’s breath on the back of her neck, swearing at one point that she felt their fingers scrape her back. The gap was getting smaller and smaller by the second as they grew closer.

Her eyes darted between the two men in front of her and realised the gap would be too small for all three of them to get through one at a time.

They weren’t all going to make it. 

She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the pursuer’s fingers graze her neck and with all the energy she could muster she lunged forward. Her body colliding with another as she gripped onto him and pushed with all of her might.

Her vision was growing blurry as she felt the body underneath hers land with a smack on the ground. Her own body slammed against his as they hit the floor, simultaneously the door shutting with a sick thud behind them. 

She pulled her shirt off over her face and gasped for air as she desperately tried to rid her lungs of the gas. “Are you ok?” A familiar voice breathed out from beneath her. 

Hands were on her face and back, tracing her body for any sign of injury. She blinked a few times as she felt her head clearing and glanced down.

Bellamy’s concerned features stared back at her.

“Elijah.” She mumbled, crawling off Bellamy as she shakily got to her feet. “Elijah.” She repeated, this time louder as she pressed her hands against the door.

“*yn* we’ve got to go, we need to find the others.” 

“I can’t, Elijah is in there. We need to help him.” She answered as she tried to pull the door open.

“He’ll be unconscious by now, there’s nothing we can do right now. We’ll only get ourselves caught or killed.” Bellamy winced as the last word escaped his lips and he saw the realisation dawn on *yn*’s face. “I have to save him.” She muttered, although Bellamy could see her resolve waning. 

“Ba- *yn* come on, we need to get out of here before whoever that was comes after us.” Bellamy pleaded with her, placing a hand on her forearm. She stilled her desperate movements at the feeling of his skin against hers. Bellamy swallowed and quickly removed his hand as she looked up at him. 

A bang on the other side of the door made *yn* jump slightly, shattering the trance like state she was in. “Let’s go, we need to head back to Raven.” She nodded, her survival instincts kicking in as she pulled her hands off the door. Bellamy nodded and the pair broke out into a sprint towards the hanger. 

“*yn*! Bellamy!” A voice shouted out as they turned a corner into the hallway that led to the hanger.

“Clarke!” *yn* breathed a sigh of relief as her eyes fell on her best friend. “Thank god you’re ok.” She continued, closing the gap between the pair as they embraced in a tight hug.

“Where’s Monty?” Bellamy queried as he joined the pair. 

“Emerson took him.” Clarke explained.

“Emerson?” *yn* echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. “From Mount Weather?” 

“How is that possible?” Bellamy queried when Clarke nodded in response.

“Because I didn’t kill him, I let him go.”

“What are you talking about?”

“In Polis. I had a chance to kill him and I let him go. This is all my fault, Miller, Harper, that’s why we haven’t heard from them he’s-” Clarke began, tears welling up in her eyes as she spoke.

“What about the others? Octavia? Raven?” *yn* queried, speaking softly in an attempt to calm down Clarke.

“I spoke to Raven.” Clarke nodded as she took a deep breath. “She’s still with Sinclair in the hanger. I told them to stay put but then I heard footsteps and that was when I found you.” 

“Ok, let’s make sure they’re ok first and then we can find the others.” Bellamy spoke. “Let’s go in from the outside, we’re less likely to get caught in a trap if we come in from the open.” 

Clarke and *yn* nodded in agreement before they all hurried towards the hanger. 

“Wait, where’s Elijah? Wasn’t he with you two?” Clarke queried as they made their way outside. 

“Raven! Sinclair!” Bellamy called out as the three approached the hanger door. He edged in slowly with *yn* following closely behind him. 

“Emerson has him.” *yn* answered quietly, guilt overwhelming her at the thought of Elijah lying there, unconsciousness and defenceless. “It’s my fault.”

“Fuck.” Bellamy hissed, distracting Clarke from asking *yn* what she meant. *yn* stepped out from behind Bellamy, her eyes instantly falling on the reason for his curse.

“Sinclair.” His name slipped out from her lips at the sight of his body lying motionless on the floor. 

“No.” Clarke murmured from behind her, the pair hurrying to his side. 

*yn* watched Clarke press two fingers to his neck as she felt tears pool in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t need Clarke’s confirmation to know that he was dead. 

“We're too late.” Bellamy breathed out as Clarke gently closed his eyes. 

“No we’re not.” Clarke shook her head. “He didn’t kill Monty or Raven, he would have left their bodies. He took them somewhere.”

*yn* stayed silent as she gently stroked Sinclair’s face.

Another friend, gone.

“If you’re right, then Octavia and the others are there too.” Bellamy murmured in realisation.

“Elijah.” *yn* breathed out, finally tearing her eyes away from Sinclair to look at the pair. “Where would he be taking them?” 

“He could be anywhere.” Bellamy sighed. “Does he even know his way around?”

“He was here. You were both in Mount Weather.” Clarke answered and *yn* watched as something dawned on her. “The airlock.” 

*yn* rose to her feet as she watched Clarke hurriedly grab the radio, bringing it to her lips. “Emerson, I know you’re listening. We need to talk.” 

The three fell silent, watching the radio with bated breath. They grew even more tense as it crackled to life, “I don’t need to do anything.” 

*yn* recognised the voice instantly. The one she’d become all too familiar with in Mount Weather. Emerson.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

“And now you’re here to kill me is that it?” Clarke answered back.

“Something like that.”

“Then let my friends go.” She snarled. “Do that, and you can have me.” Her words made *yn* take a step towards her, a worried look on her features.

“Brave, Clarke. I’ll give you that. They’re lucky to have a friend like you.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Clarke murmured to her, sending her a reassuring look before bringing the radio back up to her face.

“Come to the airlock, alone. No weapons. Right now.”

Clarke let out a sigh, shoving the radio in her pocket as she turned to *yn*.

“Before you even say it, you’re insane if you think you’re going in there alone.” *yn* spoke up. “So don’t even think about trying to mater yourself.” 

“But-”

“*yn*’s right. We don’t know what happened between you and Emerson in Polis, but we do know that letting yourself be killed by him right now is a stupid plan.” Bellamy interjected, his jaw set in determination as he studied Clarke.  

“You guys have a better one?” Clarke queried, her once determined features slowly eroding. 

“You distract him, Bellamy and I can figure out a way to kill him and get the others out.” *yn* answered, Bellamy nodding in agreement. 

“Let’s go.” *yn* continued, her eyes involuntarily darting to Bellamy. The pair locked eyes briefly and she forced herself to look away, clearing her throat and nodded awkwardly, “We need to free our friends.”

Clarke watched as *yn* stole another glance at Bellamy before she turned on her heel and hurried towards the airlock.

“What the hell happened with Elijah?” Clarke queried, turning to Bellamy once *yn* was out of earshot. “She said it was her fault, what did she mean by that?” Clarke pressed when Bellamy turned to watch *yn* go.

“She-” He cut himself off, inhaling deeply before turning his attention to Clarke. “We were in the control room and we were trying to escape from Emerson. The door was closing and we were both in front of her and *yn* must have realised that there wasn’t enough time or room for us all to get out.” He explained. 

“She had to choose between you.” Clarke breathed out in realisation, as Bellamy stiffly nodded in response. Her eyes grew wide as she studied Bellamy and she couldn’t control the little bundle of happiness that surged inside her.

“She chose you.” 

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

“I held up my part of the deal. Your turn. Let my friends go.” 

*yn* pressed her back against the wall, watching as Clarke approached the airlock slowly, her hands raised in surrender.

“Tell Bellamy to show himself first.”

Fuck.

“I don’t know what-” Clarke began but was cut off by the sound of Octavia screaming in pain. 

*yn*’s grip on her gun tightened as she turned to Bellamy to tell him to stay put but she was too late. He was already stepping out of his hiding spot and into Emerson’s view.

Emerson yanked Octavia’s head back and pressed a knife to her throat. “Good. Now take out the clip and put the gun on the ground. Then get inside.” 

“Please, you wanted me. I’ll get inside once you let them go.” Clarke responded.

“I was talking to Bellamy, not you.” Emerson answered, pressing the knife into Octavia’s chest.

“Ok, ok. Just stop.” Bellamy pleaded as red liquid began spilling out onto Octavia’s chest.

“Bellamy don’t.” Clarke whispered as he slowly placed the gun on the ground, kicking it out of his reach.

*yn* inwardly cursed as she kept herself glued to the wall. She could hear Bellamy’s footsteps growing quieter as he approached the airlock. “Those are yours.” She heard Emerson say followed by the clanging of metal.

Handcuffs.

She gritted her teeth, her hold on her gun growing increasingly tight as she mentally prepared herself to take the shot. She only had one chance. 

“Now *yn* next.” 

She felt a breath lodge in her throat. 

“Come on *yn* don’t be shy, I know you’re lurking around somewhere.” Emerson continued. 

A few moments of silence stretched on as *yn* stayed rooted in place.

“Fine.” Emerson called out. “Let’s see if the other Blake sibling bleeds just as easily.” 

“Fuck.” *yn* hissed under her breath, wincing at the sound of Bellamy’s grunts of pain. Before she could overthink her actions she tossed her gun out onto the floor and stepped out into Emerson’s line of view.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?” Emerson smirked, eyeing *yn* as she raised her hands up. “Get inside.”

Her eyes darted to Bellamy to see blood spilling out onto his shirt, his eyes wide with fear as he shook his head at her, silently pleading with her to run. She felt bile rise in her throat at the sight of her other friends, their eyes all full of terror as they stared back at her. Her eyes landed on Elijah, her heart sinking at the sight of him on the floor, bound and gagged as he looked back at her. 

It was her fault he was here. 

“Now.” He demanded as he moved his knife towards Bellamy once more. 

She swallowed and tore her eyes from Elijah as she slowly began making her way towards Emerson. The second she was within striking range she leant down to her pocket, suddenly brandishing a blade. She lunged forward towards Emerson, channeling all the rage she had.

Emerson seemed to have predicted this, gripping her arm that held the knife and smashing her around the head with the butt of his gun. Momentarily dazed, she stumbled back, allowing Emerson to rip the knife from her hands and shove her against the wall. 

“*yn*!” Clarke shouted. 

“Stay there or she dies.” She heard Emerson spit back in response.

She could faintly hear grunts and moans of protest from the others as they struggled against their restraints. She could feel something brushing against her arm and she turned her head to see that Bellamy was handcuffed to the wall right beside her - so close that they could literally touch. 

“I spent hours analysing and watching you in Mount Weather. You don’t think I picked up on a few of your little party tricks?” Emerson growled into her ear as he pressed the barrel of the gun to her temple. 

“Get in the handcuffs now.” 

*yn* blinked a few times as her vision began to clear and she glanced up to see an extra pair of handcuffs that were attached to the same ring as Bellamy’s. She glanced at him momentarily before she slowly leant up and strapped herself into the restraints. She felt her stomach drop as the last handcuff clicked closed. 

“I should kill you right now.” He hissed. “If Cage hadn’t been so fucking obsessed with you we might have survived.” 

“He might have been an evil piece of shit but at least he had good taste.” *yn* remarked back, wincing as the gun pressed harder into her skin.

“Always the one putting on a brave face. Until we finally broke you in Mount Weather, that is.” Emerson chuckled causing *yn* to flinch. “If I had time I’d torture you all over again. But that’s not part of my plan.” 

*yn*’s head slumped against the wall as Emerson finally removed the gun from her head and turned his attention back to Clarke. 

“Now, get on your knees.” Emerson ordered, pointing his gun to Clarke. “Hands behind your head.” 

*yn* locked eyes with Clarke and shook her head as she watched her best friend comply. *yn* tugged at the restraints but to no avail. She was well and truly trapped. 

She watched as Emerson stepped out of the airlock, his gun never leaving Clarke’s head. She felt panic rise up in her as he pressed a button and the doors to the airlock slammed shut. *yn* flinched as she heard a thump at the door and glanced past Bellamy to see Clarke’s face pressed against the glass.

"You murdered 381 people. You took the lives of my children, my brother, my friends. Did you really think that I would be happy with just one life in return, hmm?" She heard Emerson snarl through the glass.

*yn* felt the panic begin to rise up in her chest as realisation fully dawned on her. None of them were going to make it out alive. 

She began to writhe against her restraints desperately as Emerson took a few steps back and slammed his clenched fist onto a button. The airlock lighting turned red and *yn* immediately felt the air begin to thin. 

She could see Emerson saying something to Clarke but *yn* couldn’t make out what it was he was saying over the siren that had begun to wail mercilessly. *yn* let out a scream of frustration as she pulled with all of her might against the handcuffs, pressing her feet against the wall to use every last ounce of her strength. She could see Octavia slipping into unconsciousness beside her as she felt her own strength rapidly deteriorate.

“*yn*.” Bellamy spoke quietly, she paused and turned to look at him as she felt herself growing weaker. Her body fell limp in defeat as they locked eyes, both of them with tears rolling down their cheeks. He shook his head slightly as his legs gave out from under him and he dangled from his handcuffs. 

She knew what he was saying.

There was nothing they could do.

Her own legs collapsed underneath her and she could feel her vision starting to grow blurry. She weakly lifted her head up as she felt Bellamy’s clammy fingers brushing against her own. She blinked rapidly as tears continued to spill down her cheeks as she messily entwined her digits with his. With the last ounce of energy she had left she turned her head and nodded weakly in understanding before pressing her forehead to his.

She felt her eyes flutter shut as Bellamy squeezed her hand and pressed his forehead firmly against hers. “*yn*.” He breathed out as he felt her fingers begin to loosen around his. Bellamy’s own eyes began to droop as he watched *yn*’s head loll back as she slipped into unconsciousness. 

"Any last words?” Emerson whispered to Clarke.

“Yeah, Ascende... superius.” Clarke gasped out before slamming the chip into Emerson’s neck.

Emerson spluttered as the chip buried itself into his neck and travelled up to his brain. Clarke shoved him off her as he began to gargle before slamming the button to the airlock.

The door slid open and she dragged herself forward as oxygen flooded back into the space. Clarke let out a sigh of relief as she watched her friends almost immediately begin to twitch and show signs of life. 

*yn* let out a gasp as oxygen suddenly flooded her brain and her eyes sprung open. She spluttered as her lungs began to work overtime to collect the air they had been denied as her vision began to clear. 

She turned and felt relief wash over her as she saw Bellamy slowly coming too. “Are you ok?” She heard herself whisper to him. 

“Yeah..” He breathed out before breaking out into a coughing fit as a result of his exertion. “Don’t strain yourself.” She ordered, unable to hide the concern in her voice. 

Her words made a small smile appear on his features as he squeezed her hands that were still restrained beside his. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“Good, now lets get the fuck out of these handcuffs.”

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

*yn* felt her lip quiver as Octavia let out a heart wrenching scream. Her eyes never left Lincoln’s body that was placed on the pyre in front of her. She clenched her jaw and blindly reached out to take Clarke’s hand as tears of her own spilled down her cheeks. Her eyes then turned to Sinclair’s body, where Raven had a hand pressed gently to his chest as she said her goodbyes.

Two more friends dead. Two more of her people gone.

She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and took a step forward. “May we meet again.” She murmured to Sinclair, placing a hand on his shoulder.

She then turned to Lincoln, her eyes quickly filling with tears once more as she stared down at his body. 

“Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim.” *yn* whispered to him, smiling softly as she brushed a hand against his cheek. “Goodbye brother.”

With that she took a step back beside Clarke as Octavia moved forward, a flaming torch in her hand.

“yu gonplei ste odon.” Octavia spoke as she leant down and pressed the flame to the pyre.

“yu gonplei ste odon.” *yn* and a few others echoed as the wood caught alight. 

*yn* inhaled sharply as Clarke reached over and grabbed her hand as they watched the flames grow higher and stronger.

“yu gonplei ste odon.” She heard Bellamy whisper to himself from beside Clarke. 

*yn* looked over to Octavia to see her staring at Bellamy, her expression difficult  to read. *yn* watched as her face slowly contorted from one of pure grief to one of cold, detached anger.

“It’s time to go.” Octavia announced, her voice still shaking. “I’ll get the map.”

*yn* moved to follow after her but was stopped when she felt a hand gently grip her wrist. “I need to talk to you.”

She glanced up, her eyes widening slightly when she was met with Elijah. “Yeah.” She nodded, noting his determined features. “Of course.”

He nodded before turning on his heel and heading off towards the outskirts of the camp, not bothering to wait up for her. She let out a small sigh and trudged after him. 

They ventured further away from the pyre, the voices of their friends and the crackling of the wood growing quieter with every step. Once Elijah was satisfied that they were far enough away he came to a stop.

“Elijah...” She murmured, concern written all over her features as she noticed the pain etched on his own.

“I just want to say. I’m not angry that we haven’t been able to talk. I know these last few days, well the last year actually, has been fucked. And the timing right now is probably not great either but if I don’t get this off my chest I’m going to explode so-” He cut himself off, closing his eyes shut as he inhaled deeply to calm his beating heart.

“I’m listening Eli.” She encouraged, taking a step towards him. She felt her heart sink when his eyes flashed open and he took a step back, keeping the same space between them.

“I- you can’t do that anymore.” He spoke, catching her entirely off guard.

“Do what?” She asked, a puzzled look appearing on her features. 

“That- that voice and that nickname it-” He cut himself off once more and inhaled deeply. “Fuck.” He breathed out in frustration.

“I don’t understand.” 

“No, of course you don’t.” He chuckled bitterly, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head. “Because you don’t understand the effect you have on me and so many others around you *yn*. You don’t understand what it’s like to be totally and irrevocably in love with someone who doesn’t love you.”

“Of course I lo-”

“Don’t! Don’t you dare fucking say it.” He snarled and *yn* took a step back at the unexpected harshness of his tone. 

“Maybe you love me like in a way someone loves an old friend. But you’re not in love with me. Not anymore. And I can’t follow you around like a lost puppy anymore in the hopes that one day you might fall back in love with me.” He continued, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I can’t be the person you turn to anymore when you need to feel loved or when you try and get over Bellamy. I can’t be that distraction for you. It’s going to be the fucking death of me.” 

“Bellamy and I are done, Elijah. How I feel about you has nothing to do with him.” She heard herself shoot back. Even she didn’t believe her own words.

“You chose him today *yn*. You chose to save him over me. You patched him up after his sister beat him up for getting his boyfriend killed. You clung onto him today in that airlock like he was the only person you would ever want to die alongside. He slaughtered an army of innocent people and you would still choose him over me everytime.” 

*yn*’s lips parted in surprise as she stared at him wide eyed. She was totally and utterly speechless.

“I-” She cut herself off as she felt a tear escape her eye to spill down her cheek. “I’m sorry.” She breathed out hoarsely. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know.” He nodded. “But I can’t be there for you anymore *yn*. Not as a lover, not as a friend. I need time.”

“You need space.” *yn* breathed out, Raven’s words from mere hours ago echoing in her mind.

He nodded at her words. “Yes.” 

An awkward silence filled the air as they stared at each other, neither of them having any clue what to say. *yn* had just lost one of her best friends. Elijah had just told his soulmate that he couldn’t be near her anymore.

“We should get back to the others.” He mumbled to which *yn* nodded numbly. 

The pair made their way back towards the main building in complete silence. All eyes turned to them as they entered the hanger, the tension between them almost visible as they made their way towards the group. She could feel Bellamy’s eyes on her before they flickered to Elijah. He knew something was wrong. 

*yn* straightened up and painted on a smile as she approached the others. There had been enough drama for one day, she didn’t need to add to it. 

“What’s going on?” *yn* queried when she noticed everyone hugging and saying goodbyes. 

“Me, Bellamy, Jasper and Octavia are heading out to find Luna. The others are staying here to try and access ALIE.” Clarke explained as *yn* came to a stop beside her.

“Ok.” *yn* nodded, her eyes flickering between the group that was now split in two. “I call shotgun.” She continued, shooting Clarke a grin before moving to say goodbye to the others.

“And I’ll be staying here.” Elijah announced. “Hope you can do with an extra pair of hands?” He queried, turning to Raven.

“Yeah of course.” She nodded, unable to hide the confusion on her face. Clarke and Bellamy exchanged their own looks of surprise at Elijah’s words. Usually wherever *yn* went, Elijah followed.

“Be careful.” Raven murmured into *yn*’s hair as the pair embraced tightly. “When am I not?” *yn* smirked causing Raven to roll her eyes.

“I mean it Kane.” She teased which caused *yn* to let out a small laugh.

“Yes captain.” She spoke as she pulled away. She shot Elijah a longing look before tearing her gaze from him and making her way towards the rover.

She hopped into the passenger seat and was relieved to see Jasper already in the drivers seat. She leant back in her seat and let out a sigh as Octavia, Clarke and Bellamy piled into the back of the rover. 

Somehow she had managed to just escape death, have another friend die and lose two of the people closest to her due to their desire for space all in the space of 24 hours. 

“In need of a distraction?” Jasper queried when he noted her blood shot eyes and the way her smile dropped the second she was out of Raven’s sight. She turned to see him waving a music disc in front of her.

“You read my fucking mind.”

Part 37

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

Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim = Get knocked down, get back up.

yu gonplei ste odon = your fight is over

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

Y’ALL SO MUCH HAPPENED IN THIS CHAPPY I LOVE IT <3 WHAT DO WE THINK IS GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT?!  As always, feedback would be super super appreciated and you can give it back HERE!

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[darkmasterkattsvault-arc]

I'm in... a place.

I don't really know what this place is. It's not negative, per se, but it's definitely not positive. I want to do replies but everytime I look at my drafts I just... don't want to. Muses are around, they want something but I point out what we owe and they just shut down.

I'm not really sure what this means. I love my muses and the threads and the ships but I genuinely don't know why my muses keep refusing replies.

I assume it's a byproduct of this place I'm in. How weird I'm feeling. Problem is, don't know how to fix that.

So, I guess I'm going back on hiatus of some sort? I'm hoping not full and hoping for not too long, but I don't really know what else to do.

EDIT

The following muses have been put on hiatus:

Ash Parker

Dani Harper

Quinn Fabray

Rose Fenn

Jack Kelly

Jayne Sinclair

[musebyanyothername]

part of me wants some new threads, another part of me knows that I should do my damn drafts. but also - 

like this for a starter. let me know if you want a specific muse too. muse pages are here, here, and then this list of muses that haven’t been added yet and are still new/in progress:

Erik Hawkins - Dom Sherwood fc (bi) (actor)

Hannah Brady - Victoria Justice fc (25)

Harper Allen - Crystal Reed fc (bi-curious) (mob daughter)

Kayla Brookes - Zendaya (actress)

Kori Neal - Virginia Gardner fc (bi) (intern/journalist)

Landon Hart - Daniel Sharman fc (bi) (nurse)

Lindsey Collins - Hailee Steinfield fc (22)

Madelyn Collins - Lydsey Forseca (spelling?) (lesbian)(28)

Madison Fitz - Danielle Campbell fc (hetero)

Mason Haynes - Chris Wood fc (bi) (cop)

Mika Lee - Arden Cho fc (lesbian)

Miles Hunter - Alberto Rosende fc (gay) (stripper)

Myles Cross - Jordan Fisher fc (bi)

Paisley Rogers - Johanna Braddy fc (bi-curious) (advertising executive)

Parker Young - Ross Butler fc (gay) (columnist)

Samuel Sutton - Matthew Gray Gruber fc (hetero) (up and coming writer)

Shane Riley - Tyler Young fc  (bi)

Simon Reed - Aaron Tveit fc (pansexual) (actor)

Tripp Caldwell - Nick Robinson (pan)

Tyson Sinclair - Tom Maden fc (bi)

Ximena Molina - Ester Exposito fc (hetero)

Valerie Myst - Lili Reinhart fc (stripper/law student) 23

Victoria Mann - Olivia Munn fc (hetero)

[boneandfur]

Rosemary Lane [4]

CHAPTER FOUR

Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea. - Tom Jones, Henry Fielding. 

When Rosamund at last slumps down to breakfast, Woods informs her that her cousin has gone out riding with the Englishmen and the Turk, and that the ladies are at their needlework in the sitting room. 

"This is not the house party I imagined." Rosamund flops down on the chaise, opening one eye to look at Briar. "Since when do you embroider useless things, Briar?" 

Briar looks up from her sewing. Her eyes are dark with purplish shadows, as though she has not slept a wink. Well, that makes a pair of us. 

"Lisette is showing me how to embroider a rosette." Briar holds up her sampler, showing Rosamund a lumpen attempt. 

What a waste of silken thread. But she does not say it. "Where did you learn to stitch so fine, Lisette? We did not get a chance to learn much about you last night, besides the fact that you were a..." Rosamund stumbles over the words in her head, not wanting to offend. " ...a dancer."

Lisette looks up from her stitching, and Rosamund sees she is mending a hole in a fine lawn handkerchief, worn very thin in places, as though it has spent many years in and out of pockets. There is a dark stain near a clutch of blue flowers, and Lisette covers it with a fine-boned hand, looking straight at Rosamund without flinching. "Yes, in the ballet. First in Paris, and then in Vienna. And you, Briar?" 

Rosamund is taken aback at the girl's cheek. "Briar was my maid!" She slaps a hand over her mouth, and Lisette's eyebrows rise. 

"We were friends first." Briar continues working at the rosette, her mouth a set line, giving away nothing. "Grew up in Grovershire, a day's ride from here. Wherever we went, we went together, like each other's shadow." Briar picks a green floss, for the vine, and continues stitching, childish and clumsy. "So when Rosamund found out her true father was the Earl of Edgewater, I came here with her, as her maid. That was back in '16." She looks away, there is a wet gloss in her dark eyes.

Rosamund realizes that Briar is working on a man's handkerchief, and dark jealousy claws at her throat. "Yes, Briar, you were quite busy that summer, were you not?" She cannot resist the dig, and it makes her feel both guilty and satisfied, all at once. 

"Ah, the summer of '16." Lisette's voice is wistful. "When I danced in The Goose Girl."

"I thought you danced in Sun and Moon?" Rosamund stabs her needle into the fabric a little too hard, it bites her finger and she pops it into her mouth. "Or was that just some romantic embellishment?" Because of what you are. But she does not want to say it aloud. After all, aren't all cats grey in the dark? 

"When Maximilian came through Vienna in August of 1816, he was captain of a troop of mercenaries, headed to the Rus." Lisette's eyes are far away, and she sets down her needle, swept up in the memory. "'I have nothing to offer you, Lisette,' he said, 'Except my heart, and the wide, wide world.' What could I do, then, but follow him?" 

It is only because he had money. If he had been a poor man, you would have laughed in his face, Rosamund thinks, and she remembers the summer of 1816, and the look on Luke Harper's face when she told him she could not live on love, nor should any woman be expected to. She had never seen him again. "Well, your life has indeed been a fairytale, Miss Lisette."

Lisette looks up from her stitches, and there is an old sorrow in her eyes for a brief, heartrending moment, but then it is gone, and there is nothing outside but the corbies, whirling and diving in the watery light, no sound of marching boots, no fife and drum. "Never that, Lady Rosamund. Do not ever think it. Maximilian and I have chosen to be happy --" As if happiness is such a thing that can be chosen -- and Lisette looks out at the dark line of forest, beyond the windowpane, where frost etches a silvery web of fate. 

There is more to this tale, Rosamund is certain of it, but Lisette begins to stitch again, a small smile playing about her lips, she will not say more. "Where do you come from? Where is your home?"

"My home is with Maximilian. The place where I was born is no more, madam. It is just a mad dream of exiles, flung to the ends of the earth." Stitch, stitch, stitch. The impossibly small stitches mend the hole in the fabric, as if it never lay over a man's heart as he fought for something bigger than himself, half a world away -- a field strewn with corpses, men and horses falling all around him, the sky streaked red and black, and the sound of the cannons so loud that they could be heard by a girl in Brussels, tending to the wounded as the armies began to retreat. 

Rosamund does not know the tale of that little scrap of cloth, she never will. All she sees before her is a girl who has not been made to know her place, not as she and Briar have been made to, and it makes her feel a fury with the European sense of laissez-faire, that Cousin Maximilian might take a mistress and live openly with her, and no one on the Continent will bat an eye. Meanwhile, her own affair must be hidden in shadow, or else she will be an outcast, as if she is not enough of one already, held to a higher standard by the stain of her very birth. 

But Rosamund presses on. "So you have no home. Is that why you came here, to sponge off my largesse, like common thieves?" 

"Rosamund!" Briar snaps, and Rosamund feels a confused sense of hurt, as though she is the one in the wrong here. 

Lisette stands up, pinning Rosamund with her eyes, and the look in them makes Rosamund shrink back against the chaise, wanting to slink away and go to earth, like a fox who runs from the hounds. When Rosamund drops her eyes, Lisette turns on her heel, and addresses Briar. "Will you not show me around the grounds, Miss Daly? I detest being cooped up inside, and need to feel the sun upon my face." 

"Oh -- yes, of course! Let me just fetch a shawl." Briar hurriedly gathers her sewing things, and stands to go. "By your leave, Lady Rosamund." 

No, you may not have leave to go, I am not done with this conversation! But she has already gone too far, to say that would be beyond the pale, and Rosamund bites her tongue and nods, feeling as though she has not given anything at all.  

•••

"Sinclaire and I will find a tavern." Hamid rubs his hands together so gleefully that Marlcaster would think he planned for Maximilian's horse to throw a shoe, only a stone's throw away from the village. "We shall reserve a private parlor, and order something to stave off the chill." 

"I'll require a pitcher!" Maximilian calls after them, and Marlcaster thinks that Maximilian could probably drink two or three pitchers, remain upright on a horse, ride into battle in his evening wear, and still come out on top through sheer luck. Watching Maximilian saunter through the village streets, pausing to peer through the windows of a curiosity shop with his eyes lit up like a little boy's makes Marlcaster certain that it's all been luck that has brought them here, just the roll of the die. 

"Look! They have an automaton!"  Maximilian bounds inside before Marlcaster can stop him, leaving him to tie up the horses with not a small measure of irritation. It surprises him, how much inner conflict he feels, wanting and not wanting to return to Edgewater, to take Rosamund in his arms, and--

"Well?" Maximilian pokes his head around the door. "Are you coming?"

•••

The inside of the shop is cluttered on every surface with junk: tops carved with skulls, bone rattles, and a wall entirely covered in pinned butterflies; their wings lightly lifted by the breeze from the door, which sets them all to quivering, the sound like a thousand blades of grass, rustling, rustling in the cool of the morning. A clock gongs the hour somewhere in the back of the shop, and all the cuckoo clocks burst out all at once. 

Ku-ku! Ku-ku! Ku-ku!

Marlcaster flinches, nearly dropping the toy theatre he has been holding, a paper and wood replica of Shakespeare's Globe. When he looks up, a plague mask looms from the shadows, the beak long and curved, like a hook. He flinches, hand going instinctively to the pommel of his sword. 

The figure holds up two very human hands, and whips the mask off to reveal a girl, with hair like a copper coin and amber eyes, not more than nineteen or so. "Pax! Pax, sir!" She holds out a hand, Marlcaster stares at it, then back at her face. "I am Mena. Welcome to my shop, gentlemen." 

"Tremendous!" Maximilian startles them both by bursting into laughter, clapping loudly. "May I?" He plucks the mask from the Mena’s fingers, tying it around his head, and dashes off to admire his reflection in a concave mirror. 

"Will you be buying the toy theater, sir?" She has an odd accent, Marlcaster tries to place it and cannot, it belongs to everywhere and nowhere. "They are quite popular." 

Marlcaster looks down at the intricately illustrated plates, thinking of the little boy he once was, thrilled beyond belief to play for hours at producing plays for his baby step-brother, Harry. When Harry grew, he would assist Edmund, until his imagination surpassed the plays that came with the theater, and the two of them were putting on original shows for their mother and the Earl. 

A regular little Davy Garrick, his mother had called Harry. Marlcaster looks down at the toy theater, tracing a finger along the painted scenery, and then back up at the girl. He clears his throat, suddenly thick with emotion. "Yes, wrap it up." 

"And for you, sir?" The girl turns to Maximilian, who has opened the backs of one of the cuckoo clocks and looks up in faint alarm. She glides across the cluttered space, her full skirts whispering, whispering, and she stands on tiptoe to whisper something into the tall man's ear. He flushes, Marlcaster cannot quite make out what they are saying. She places something in Maximilian's hand and his face turns dark. He whirls from her, the look in his eye making Marlcaster shudder. He should not like to face down a foe on some foreign field with a look like that in their eye. 

"There is nothing here I wish to buy." Maximilian's voice is harsh, he clutches something in his fist so tightly that the bones in his hand are white. 

"Sir --" Mena moves forward, and stops. "You may like to know the history of the piece --"

"I know it," Maximilian growls. "For three days and nights, I lay on a blood-soaked field, not knowing if I should live or die, that sigil ring on the hand that lay next to mine." He prowls the edge of the tables, picking up curious things without seeming to really see them at all: a pinned fairy in a jar, an iridescent purple shell, an intricate dagger. "Was this whole shop stocked by Death's plunder, then, madam?" 

Marlcaster looks at the shop-girl, Mena, she has flattened herself to the wall, and he opens his mouth, feeling he should say something to stop Rosamund's cousin. "Lord Maximilian --" 

"He did not die on that field to have his identity stripped from him by craven thieves!" Maximilian roars, his face like thunder. With an incandescent howl of fury, he sweeps his arm across the nearest table, sending everything upon it crashing to the floor. He opens his fist, and the sigil clatters on the floor in the ringing silence. Then he pulls his hat down, and storms from the shop, the door slamming nearly off its hinges behind him. 

"I'd better go after him," Marlcaster says apologetically. "Send the bill to my club in London, Sir Edmund Marlcaster at White's, and I shall see that you are compensated for you troubles." 

Mena plucks at his sleeve as he turns to go. "I shall have the toy theater delivered to Edgewater, where you are staying, sir." 

"How did you... Never mind." As he leaves the shop, he feels eyes on him at the window, but he does not turn around. If he did, he might see that those eyes turn curiously scarlet for a moment, before the heavy curtain falls.

•••

Marlcaster finds Maximilian on the town green, his fingers tracing names on a copper plaque affixed to a simple marble obelisk. The snow is falling more heavily now, soon the whole village will be under a blanket of white. Unbidden, he thinks of the Frost Fair of '14, when Harry rode an elephant across the Thames, when he'd thought they would always be young and golden and immortal, and never know the pain of one who is taken too soon. 

"I should go back." Maximilian stands very still, his head cocked, listening. "I should not have acted so ignobly. I forgot myself." He pulls his collar up, against the chill. "That's the trouble with staying in a place for too long -- you gain a local reputation." 

"I lost a brother, too," Marlcaster says casually, offhand, as though discussing the weather. He gives Maximilian the space to compose himself, glancing up the street where smoke puffs out of the tavern's chimney. "Step-brother, I should say. His name was Harry. Died in a hunting accident. the year before he reached his majority." The old hurt again: though it happened near seven years ago, not a day goes by that he does not see Harry in a sunset, or hear his laughter as he passes children at play. "It never leaves you. I should have been the one who protected him." 

Maximilian's voice is flat, his brown eyes stripped of emotion. "I ran off from Cordonia when I was a lad of fourteen, to follow the drum of war. I was always the joke, the fool, the one who could do nothing right. Came home after the Battle of Paris in '14, to find the old man dead and my brother Duke in his place, and it was as if I'd never gone to war and made a man of myself." 

Marlcaster does not know what to say. He has never seen Paris, he has never been to war. In 1815, while Maximilian Beaumont danced at the Duchess of Richmond's ball and then fought in Quatre Bras at dawn in his evening wear, Edmund Marlcaster was frittering away the rent monies in a gaming hell in Seven Dials, and the next eve dancing the reel with a green-clad girl at a country fair. He never lay in Hell for three days beside the dead body of his elder brother, instead, he watched as his little step-brother was lowered into the ground. 

He raises a hand, as if to give comfort, and then drops it, offering Maximilian a pinch of snuff instead. 

For a long moment, there is no sound but their inhalations as they snort the snuff off the backs of their hands, then: 

"It wasn't your--" 

"And then the Corsican monster came back, and I quit the Cordonian shore to run headlong back into the only thing I knew, the only thing I was ever good at. And he followed me, to try to understand." Maximilian clenches and unclenches his fists, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, and begins to walk toward the tavern, the snow swirling around his patched military cloak. Just before the tavern door, he turns around, and his eyes are bleak as a wasteland. "So do not tell me that the fault is not mine to bear, Mr Marlcaster, sir."

[captaincovington]

Citizens of New Eden, 

I assure you, the complaints and concerns that you have been bringing to our attention are not going unheard. We understand that this is a sharp transition for all of us, none moreso than for the New Eden Police Department. Our officers and staff have been working night and day to maintain the safety of this city and we have been taking your feedback into account. 

In response to the overcrowding issues at the correctional facilities around the city, we are implementing a new system that should hopefully alleviate such issues. In trying times such as these, we need all citizens to step up and help each other to ensure that our community is strong. Switches are already doing their part with the essential work they provide for the city’s infrastructure. Now, we ask that of our Dominant population to do so as well. Part of this includes the punishment mandate issued several days ago. By Dominants doing their part, this frees up government resources to invest into finding these terrorists so we all may go back to our lives. 

As such, we have another large request to ask of our citizens. Any unclaimed submissives over the age of 18 will be assigned to a Dominant, with whom they will spend three days out of the week. We assure you that all claims and mock claims will be honored, so there will be no breaking of relationships in this mandate. During these three days, the Dominant will be responsible for administering the submissive’s weekly scene and maintenance punishment. 

We understand that this is not an ideal solution, but we have ultimately found no other choice. We must humbly ask our citizens to help the government in this moment of history. The world’s eyes are on us. Let them see that we will not bow down to terrorism. We will not devolve into anarchy. We are New Eden, strong and proud. Let us show them what utopia really means. 

Your Captain, Captain Charles Covington III

OOC: Welcome to our next shakeup! Below is a list of pairings that we’ve randomized for the purposes of this plot drop. This part of the drop will not affect Switches (which is fine because y’all just had some cake on Friday). We’ll be keeping an eye on these pairings to ensure things are kept fairly equitable, and to shift things accordingly with new characters. If you have an OOC issue with your pairing, please come directly to us and we’ll do our best to make things work. IC issues will not be catered to. The police have better things to do than play matchmaker and maybe they also live for the drama. 

The GList (im sorry i couldn’t help myself)

Addison Taylor - Alexander Babin

Ainsley Corcoran - Olivia Vance

Beckett Taylor - Max Carter

Branson Yeung - Fauna Frightman

Grey Ward - Alex Sinclair

Harper Sinclair - Kat Barton

Hermione Harper - Malia Fahey

Julian Wright - Bobbi Katz

Kale Mahoe - Daisy Hannigan

Lex Stovall - Amira Rouhani

Malachi Rush - Maggie Frightman

Marcus Reed - Mattie Taylor

Margaux Mulloy - Anna Rose / Emily Barton

Nava Zografos - Emmy Wright

Sean Matthews - Avery Ward

Sophia Barton - Cole Bratten

Tegan Pratt - Jack Babin

Valentina Ramirez - Sadie Cavet

For the purposes of this plot drop, you absolutely do not have to write out a punishment/scene every week (though if you want to, that’s definitely allowed). We’d love to see threads, hc summary posts, and anything else you can think of. As always, our DMs are always open to any questions or concerns and feedback.

[whoisleft-rp]

It’s a New Year for us, writers, even if it’s still December ‘77 in the game! Interested in starting up some new plots to shout about 2019? Not entirely sure where to start? 

Based on the canon information we have available, and what we know about certain characters’ futures, here are a few examples of common ground between our currently taken group of characters that can be helpful to keep in mind... ***

*** Note: Admin Amanda is whipping this up based mostly on memory and bios, so please let us know (and don’t be offended!) if anything here is inaccurate or has omissions! It can be fixed up right away and was not intentional.

CURRENT DEATH EATERS (& ADJACENT)

Antonin Dolohov

Sebastian Nott

Bellatrix Black

Rodolphus Lestrange

Harper Baddock

Marya Warrington - not a death eater, but married to a very influential one

Anastazie Dolohov - not a death eater, but the younger sister of one

Narcissa Black - not a death eater, but the future wife of one

CURRENT ORDER MEMBERS

Gretchen Ollivander - with an ex who is a current death eater o0o0o0oooo

Vince Sinclair

Alice Fortescue

Geraldine Ollivander - not an Order member, but related to one

FUTURE DEATH EATERS

Alecto Carrow

Amycus Carrow

Rabastan Lestrange

Regulus Black - future defector

Evan Rosier

FUTURE ORDER MEMBERS (& ADJACENT)

Benjy Fenwick

Dorcas Meadowes

Sirius Black

James Potter

Remus Lupin

Emmeline Vance

Mary Macdonald - not a future Order member, but is offered involvement and declines

Davey Gudgeon - not a future Order member, but will live and be romantically involved with one, which is delicious and complicated 

MINISTRY AND FUTURE MINISTRY

Antonin Dolohov - current

Amelia Bones - future

Emma Vanity - future

Gretchen Ollivander - she has many jobs, including one as Antonin’s secretary

Alice Fortescue - current, auror in training

Ava Avery - current

Rodolphus Lestrange - current

PUREBLOOD HIGH SOCIETY MEMBERS

Ava Avery

Celeste Greengrass

Alecto Carrow

Amycus Carrow

Anastazie Dolohov

Andromeda Black - later defects from society/ her family for Ted

Antonin Dolohov

Bellatrix Black

Narcissa Black

Evan Rosier

Rodolphus Lestrange

Sebastian Nott

Regulus Black

Emma Vanity

Marya Warrington

Lucinda Talkalot

Rabastan Lestrange

CHARACTERS WITH NOTABLE NON-MINISTRY JOBS

Vince Sinclair - Daily Prophet

Geraldine Ollivander - Wandmaking apprentice

Harper Baddock - Hotel chain CEO

Charity Burbage - future professor (distant)

Remus Lupin - future professor (distant)

ROOMMATES

Alecto Carrow AND Emma Vanity AND Lucinda Talkalot AND Andromeda Black

Lily Evans AND Mary Macdonald

Amos Diggory AND Davey Gudgeon AND Ted Tonks

Amycus Carrow AND Evan Rosier AND Rabastan Lestrange

Dorcas Meadowes AND Emmeline Vance

James Potter AND Sirius Black AND Remus Lupin

Charity Burbage AND Gladys Gudgeon

Celeste Greengrass AND Narcissa Black

GENERAL PLOTTING QUESTIONS

What is your dream plot? Where do you want your character to go? Having an end goal in mind can help set up the necessary mini-plots, threads and connections that play into a full arc. No good plot comes out of thin air, so what can you do now to work toward a satisfying plot movement later?

Are you bringing ideas to other writers, based on what plots you want for your character or ideas that their character and current plots have inspired? Waiting for other writers to come to you often leads to no plot movement at all – we all know one another well here, and making sure that you’re pulling your plotting weight is a HUGE part of collaborative writing.

QUESTIONS FOR FUTURE DEATH EATERS

Admittance to the Death Eaters is extremely difficult and extremely secret. Even initiated members – who have earned the trust of the others in the ranks and of the Dark Lord, and have committed acts of Dark Magic to prove themselves – aren’t guaranteed a Dark Mark unless they’re in the inner circle. Nobody goes out for a night of drinking and wakes up with a Dark Mark branded into them like a regrettable tattoo, so...

How is your character going to be recruited? Who recruits them, and what do they have to do to prove themselves?

What is your character’s opinion on the war? On blood purity?

Why are they (or will they be) interested in serving? Why is it worth the risk, to them? Is it worth the risk to them? 

How will they keep their involvement secret from friends and family when the time comes?

What isn’t worth it for them – what will they have to give up once involved? What are their fears and anxieties? 

How do they feel about Lord Voldemort himself, outside of the cause?

How will their involvement affect them outside of their actual missions – the use of Dark Magic, the suspicion by the authorities, being surrounded by death all the time, etc.

QUESTIONS FOR FUTURE ORDER MEMBERS

Admittance to the Death Eaters is extremely difficult and extremely secret. Even initiated members – who have earned the trust of the others in the ranks and of the Dark Lord, and have committed acts of Dark Magic to prove themselves – aren’t guaranteed a Dark Mark unless they’re in the inner circle. Nobody goes out for a night of drinking and wakes up with a Dark Mark branded into them like a regrettable tattoo, so...

How is your character going to be recruited? Who recruits them, and what do they have to do to prove themselves? Gretchen, Vince and others are keeping their eyes wide open to try and bring promising people into the fold. Nobody joins the ranks without an invitation - who is inviting them, and what will they do to warrant that invitation?

What is your character’s opinion on the war? On blood purity?

What can your character contribute to the Order? What branches of magic are they best at, or what other skills do they bring to the table?

Why are they (or will they be) interested in serving? Why is it worth the risk, to them? Is it worth the risk to them?

How will they keep their involvement secret from friends and family when the time comes?

What isn’t worth it for them – what will they have to give up once involved? What are their fears and anxieties?

Who will mentor them within the Order, and how will their service affect other areas of their life?

QUESTIONS FOR CURRENT STUDENTS

OWLs and NEWTS are this year for many of the students. What subjects are they taking?

What are their career goals? Are those goals attainable or will they have to readjust?

How are they feeling about life outside of the castle – are they anxious, or are they ready to stand on their own two feet? How will the current seventh years adjust from being the Big Kids on campus to the youngest and least experienced members of the graduated magical community? 

Programs such as cursebreaking, becoming an auror, etc. aren’t jobs you just walk into. They take preparation, application and a training program. What groundwork can be laid now?

[newiliadrp]

Campers, as Spring edges closer and the weather around camp begins to get a bit warmer, we have some news that I hope will excite you! Our first game of Capture the Flag since the beginning of Autumn will take place on 19th of March. Ensure that your teams are prepared, and await further instructions when the time gets closer.

This is intended to test your tactical skills in battle, as I’m sure you know, and we must ensure that both teams will be equally challenged. It is important for all demigods to know how to work as a team, as well as learn how to follow orders. As an added incentive to really ensure that you all work your hardest, the winning team will ensure that they don’t have to do any of their chores, apart from cabin tidying, for the rest of the week. 

Finally, ensure that you enjoy the experience! 

- Chiron, Activities Director at Camp Half-Blood

To celebrate the opening our RP, we will be holding our first event in a week’s time! This gives people time to “prepare”, and also the opportunity for new people to join before the event. Our first event is going to be something that happens regularly at Camp Half-Blood, and is going to be a regular occurrence in our roleplay. 

Our version of Capture the Flag is going to be a bit different to how it goes in the books and films, please see below the cut for rules, and for your teams!

I. This event will take place the week of the 19th of March, starting at 8 am EST/1 pm GMT/9 pm GMT +8/12 am GMT +10. This will go on until the 23rd of March at 8 am EST/1 pm GMT/9 pm GMT +8/12 am GMT +10. This gives you ample time to start threads and give them conclusions. Please ensure that you interact with people both on your team and on the other team, as it makes it a more authentic experience. 

II. Each day during the event at 8 am EST/1 pm GMT/9 pm GMT +8/12 am GMT +10, the admins will post a riddle or question based on something to do with Greek mythology. The task for you is to discuss the riddle or question with your team mates and try to find out the answer, without using Google as your first resort. We’d really like you to try and use any existing knowledge of the mythology that you have, as that makes it more fun. The team who answers the question first will win the point, and at the end of the week, the team with the most points will win. We will post a maximum of two riddles during the day, if we feel that the first riddle was answered too quickly and didn’t challenge you enough.

III. During the event you can post about preparations for it, you can trash talk other players, and even post about different strategies that you may have as ideas. Just make sure that you have fun, and tag all event posts as #ilievent001.

IV. At the end of the event, we will be hosting a mini event, our very first Campfire! At the Campfire, you can discuss the events of the “day”, how you’re feeling, and anything else you may want to! This event will go on from the 23rd of March 8 am EST/1 pm GMT/9 pm GMT +8/12 am GMT +10  to the 27th of March  8 am EST/1 pm GMT/9 pm GMT +8/12 am GMT +10 . Please tag all of these posts #iliminievent001.

V. To celebrate the whole event, we will be launching our RP gossip blog! Aphrodite will be commentating on the events as it goes on, but she’ll also be taking questions to answer on things not related to the event. Her link will be posted at the start of the event.

VI. Finally, here are the teams! They have been generated at random, but cabins have been kept together to keep it more like the books.

RED TEAM

Aphrodite Cabin: Matthew Morrison, Reyna Torres, Scarlett Havilliard

Zeus Cabin: Skyegirl Sinworth, Caleb Dawson, Trenton Williams, Rosalinda Dorrance

Boreas Cabin: Isla Cortland, Charles Grant

Iris Cabin: Danny Martin

Nyx Cabin: Lucien Holmes

Eris Cabin: Dorian Steels

Hypnos Cabin: Kieran Irwin, Noah Gray

Poseidon Cabin: El Middleton

Hecate Cabin: Nora Willow, Odyssia Simmons, Teren Benoit, Raena Andromedus, Florence Lynch-Kovach

Apollo Cabin: Noah Atawhai Temple, Avi Melrose, Dimaria Estrada, Gwnag Ho Han, Jaehyuk Lee, Iniko Dale

Morpheus Cabin: Aidan Danvers, Sabrina Salen, Silas Salen

Thanatos Cabin: Karen Halloran

Eirene Cabin: Winifried ‘Winnie’ Alwyn

Artemis Cabin: Roxanne ‘Rox’ Robinson

BLUE TEAM

Athena Cabin: Jane Nolan, Harrison Reid

Ares Cabin: Diala Cortez-Sinclair, Ruby Dixon

Erebus Cabin: Damien Ross, Robbie Montgomery

Dionysus Cabin: Skyler Francois

Cybele Cabin: Cassius Rath, Jeon Sung-Min

Nike Cabin: Brianna ‘Bambi’ Macon, Florentine Santini

Phobos Cabin: Diego Cortez, Adrian Banks

Hebe Cabin: Blue De Laurent

Eros Cabin: Ethan Germaine, Estrella Pendragon, Basil Rosen

Dike Cabin: Ian Calloway

Enyo Cabin: Erah Henning

Persephone Cabin: Thomas Tyrell, Charlotte Sloan

Demeter Cabin: Karra Belmont

Hades Cabin: Mei Hino, Hyun-Shik Weong, Amelia Foxworth

Psyche Cabin: Adamus Finch, James Gallagher

Hermes Cabin: Maeve Anderson, Harper Rhiding, Abigail Van der Berg

Hephaestus Cabin: Andy Mercer, Olivia Liu

Triton Cabin: Penelope Jeon

[wxndcr-blog]

intro post for all my babes ❣

hello hello! my name is anna and i am the pain in the ass that plays way too many characters that i can never keep up with! i finished everything for my babes, and below you will find their bios and wanted connections! if any of them catch your eye, just let me know and we can get a thread going and plot more detail for it!

oliver pierce - (biography) (wanted connections) julian abassi - (biography) (wanted connections) jackson vacarro - (biography) (wanted connections) greyson james - (biography) (wanted connections) rosalie sinclair - (biography) (wanted connections) madeline harper - (biography) (wanted connections) jonah mathews - (biography) (wanted connections)

[isolationshepherd-blog]

CHAPTER TWO – THE MAID O’ THE LOCH

Abigail had been holed up in Arkholm Tower for nearly a week since the incident with the reivers. It wasn’t by choice. For the first couple of days, she hadn’t wanted to venture outside the safety of the walls. She replayed the encounter with the reivers over and again in her mind, analysing everything they did and said, trying to think of something she could have done to change what had happened, to save her men, and the cattle. Could she have bargained with them? Should she have offered herself in return for the cattle? That wouldn’t have been much of a bargain, though. She was worth far less than the cattle, nothing at all, really. She was the property of her husband, but she had no financial value. After hours of turning it over in her mind, the details had started to change so that she no longer knew what was true and what she had invented. She realised there was nothing she could have done, nothing even Alasdair could have done. They were outnumbered, and the reivers were highly skilled at what they did. That knowledge didn’t make her feel less guilty, though.

After two days, Abigail had felt ready to go beyond the safety of the barmkin. She was tired of pacing the walls of tower and yard, staring out of windows, sitting by the fire. She wanted to get on her horse, feel the wind in her hair, on her face, stinging her eyes. She wanted to feel alive again. Alasdair had been home most of that time and he didn’t like her leaving the tower when he was there. She had to be available to him at a moment’s notice, even though in the end he had ignored her completely after that first night. He hadn’t even slept in their bedchamber, either preferring to stay on the second floor with his men or with one of his mistresses out in the village. She didn’t care. The longer he left her alone, the happier she was.

That morning, when Harper had woken her to help her get dressed, she had given her the news that Lord Griffin had left for Edinburgh. He had been summoned to the Sherriff’s Court to attend a number of trials. Abigail’s spirits had been lifted immediately, and even more so when she looked out of the window and saw that it was a glorious autumn day, with a pale blue sky and hardly a cloud to be seen. The moors were a carpet of purple flowering heather and yellow gorse as far as she could see. All she needed was an excuse to take out her horse.

She went down to the cellar, where the cook was preparing the day’s food. Abigail liked spending time down here. It was warm and aromatic, and there was gossip and good-natured banter amongst the servants. She had an armchair in the corner where she often sat, listening to them talk. When she had first started doing this two years previously, the servants refused to talk, working in silence, so scared that they would let some awful secret slip they chose not to speak at all. Abigail wanted the conversation, longed for it; Clarke was growing up and hardly ever in the tower. She no longer needed her mother and Abigail was lonely. She encouraged the servants to talk by asking them questions, and gradually, as the weeks turned into months and she persisted, they started to put aside who she was, and the kitchen echoed with the sound of chatter and laughter again.

“Good morning, Hannah,” said Abigail in greeting to the cook who was a small, dark-haired woman with a grim face set in a permanent scowl. She tolerated Abigail’s presence but was always wary, ready to shut the servants up with a bang of her heaviest copper pan if they strayed into treacherous territory with their talk. No discussion of Lord Griffin was ever allowed in the cellar, but most other topics were, within reason. The one thing Hannah could be persuaded to talk about was food. Abigail stood over the pot Hannah was stirring, inhaling its rich scent.

“Is that venison?”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“What have we done to deserve this treat?” Venison was a rare meat to have at the dinner table, usually reserved for entertaining important guests.

“One of the lads found the carcass in the forest nearby, My Lady. It was close to being spoiled so I have decided to use it even though Lord Griffin is away.”

It was clear that Hannah thought the meat too good to be wasted on the likes of Abigail, but she didn’t care. This could present an opportunity.

“May I?” Abigail indicated a spoon that was lying next to the pot. She knew Hannah would hate her tasting the stew before it was finished, but would not be able to refuse.

“Of course, My Lady.”

Abby took a spoonful of the liquid, blowing on it before tasting.

“Mmm. Very nice. Juniper would go well with this.”

Hannah bristled at the suggestion that her stew could be improved. “Perhaps, but we don’t have any, My Lady.”

“I know where there is a patch,” said Abigail. “I could ride out, it is not far. I will be back before dinner.”

“His Lordship would not like that, My Lady.”

“No, but he is not here, and it would make your stew the envy of all other households. The servants won’t stop talking about it, I’m certain.”

Hannah thought for a moment, her brow more furrowed than usual, if that were possible. She nodded. “Juniper would be a good addition. If you are certain you want to go out, My Lady.”

“I am. Tell the groomsman to saddle my horse and ask Harper to attend me in my chamber.”

Abigail ran up the four floors of winding, spiral staircase as fast as the narrow steps would allow. Harper appeared in the doorway a minute later.

“How may I help, mistress?”

“I’m riding out, Harper. My green dress with the blue brocade would be better than what I am currently wearing, and I need my pouch, the one I use to collect herbs.”

“Yes, mistress.” Harper helped Abigail out of her formal dress and the many under skirts that helped make it flare out. It was a beautiful dress for floating around the tower in, but not practical for riding in. “Are you going far?”

“On to the moors, not too far.” Abigail stepped into the green dress, which was plainer and had no skirts. If it were up to her she would wear dresses like this all the time. She could move more easily in it, and it didn’t require a corset so she could breathe as well. Harper laced up the bodice, pulling the threads tight across Abigail’s chest.

“Not too tight, Harper.” Abigail wanted to be as free as possible in every way. The girl loosened the ties a little, and stepped back to appraise Abigail.

“As pretty as a picture, Mistress.”

Abigail smiled. “Thank you. Now let’s go and find my horse. Don’t forget the pouch.”

Within half an hour Abigail was seated on her horse and ready to go when Sinclair came out into the barmkin.

“I’m not happy about this, My Lady.”

“I’ll be fine, Sinclair. I’ve done this hundreds of times before.”

“I know, but after what happened. I don’t think ye should be out on yer own. Let me send one of my men with ye.”

“No,” said Abigail. The last thing she wanted was to be accompanied. She was so rarely alone, these rides were her one great joy, the one thing she had that belonged solely to her. “It is daylight, I will be safe. The reivers will be fast asleep curled up next to their stolen cattle, I’m certain.”

Sinclair shook his head, and for a moment she thought he was going to forbid her to go. He was well below her status in society but as a woman she was seen as a child, and her husband’s property. As Alasdair’s protector and right hand man he could command her if he wished, and she would have to obey. He had been Jacob’s man first, though, and he knew how things were. They never spoke about it, and never could, but Abigail looked into his eyes, silently pleading with him to let her go.

He sighed. “Open the gate,” he said to Blake, the groomsman. The young man did as he was told, and Abigail steered her horse, Juno, through, and out into the wider world.

They picked their way carefully down the steep side of the hill and along the grassy slope, down to the millpond. There was no wind and the waters were still. She went to the edge and looked in, seeing a dark reflection of herself and Juno in the water. The horse drank some of the water, disturbing its stillness, and her reflection fractured, distorted pieces of her rippling across the pond. She turned and headed out to the forest, following a well-worn path through the birch and pine trees up onto the hill. The trees became smaller in number and more scattered the higher they climbed until the heather and gorse took over and only a few stunted birch trees remained, clinging stubbornly to the rocky crevices. The wind picked up, but the sun was strong and the wind was warming on her face. It was dangerous terrain up on the moor for the unwary traveller. Ditches crisscrossed the landscape, and tussocks of purple moor grass lay patiently waiting to trip up the careless walker or rider. Abigail and her horse knew the moors well, however, and once they were on the flatter tops, she urged the horse to pick up speed and soon they were flying across the ground, her long braided hair flung out behind her, beating a rhythm against her back as it rose and fell in time with the horse’s gallop.

After half an hour of hard riding, she slowed Juno as they came to the edge of a bowl-shaped depression in the landscape where a loch nestled at the bottom. She guided the horse down a rough deer track through the gorse, her excitement rising with every step. This was her favourite place for picking herbs. Heather and blaeberry grew on the dryer slopes, thyme and marjoram round the loch, and there was a patch of juniper on the far slope. The shape of the landscape trapped the sun, and the water of the loch was just about warm enough to bathe in, even in late September.

As she reached the floor of the basin, she was dismayed to see another horse grazing on the far side of the loch. She knew other people must know about this place, but she had never seen anyone here in the ten years since she had found this paradise. She dismounted and tethered Juno to a small willow tree. She wouldn’t normally bother but she didn’t want her getting spooked or chasing off after this unknown horse. Feeling apprehensive she walked along the edge of the water towards the horse. As she got closer she could see it was a pony, a lot smaller than Juno, and with its chestnut coat and black legs it was clearly one of the Galloway Nags the reivers liked to ride. A bolt of fear ran through her. She turned to run back to Juno and standing right behind her was the reiver from the other night, Marcus Kane, the Grey Wolf. A black and white border collie dog stood at his feet, looking up at him expectantly. She had not heard Kane at all, and she was so shocked she couldn’t speak. Her hand went to her mouth involuntarily, as though she could hide her surprise.

“We meet again,” said Kane, in that same amused voice he had when he first put his head round the carriage door.

Shock turned to indignation, and gave her a newfound confidence. How dare he creep up on her like that?

“Do you get a thrill out of frightening people?”

Kane smiled. “It depends on the person.” He took a step back, sweeping his arm theatrically to indicate she may pass.

Abigail moved past him so that she was on the side closer to her horse, should she need to run. For some reason, though, now that the shock had subsided, she didn’t feel nervous at all. Kane’s wry smile, his eyes twinkling in his suntanned face, made him seem less threatening somehow. She didn’t relax, though. She knew to her own cost how quickly a smile can turn to a scowl, a gentle hand to a fist.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I was going to bathe. If ye’d arrived a few moments later, ye might have found me in a state of undress.”

Abigail took in his appearance properly for the first time during this encounter. His kilt was the blue-green tartan of his clan and he was wearing a white loose-fitting shirt with a V-neck that tied at the chest like her bodice did. The ties were undone, as though he had indeed been about to disrobe. His chest was visible beneath, bare apart from a line of feathery hairs that ran down the cleft between his pectoral muscles, which she could tell were strong and well-defined, even though they were mostly hidden by his shirt. Her face grew warm as blood rushed to her cheeks.

Kane noticed her discomfort, and continued. “Have I disturbed yer private place, My Lady? Were ye hoping to bathe as well? Don’t let me stop ye.”

She thought he would do the gentlemanly thing and leave her alone but instead he settled down on a patch of heather, his dog by his side, and opened his leather pouch, taking out a small object wrapped in cloth. Abigail watched as he unrolled the cloth to reveal a lump of hard white cheese known as whitemeats. It was a rough-made version of the Pecorino cheese she had eaten at clan gatherings at Edinburgh Castle. The Italian cheese was extremely popular but very expensive. Most borderers couldn’t afford it and the shepherds had realised this and made a small living on the side making a version from the milk of the ewes they were guarding. Kane lay this to one side and took out another cloth which contained a batch of rough oatcakes. He proceeded to break a piece of the cheese off and eat it with an oatcake.

He looked up at Abigail as he chewed. “Mmm, delicious. Would ye like some?”  

“I’m not hungry,” said Abigail, which was a lie, because she was starving after her ride across the moors.

“Not good enough for ye, is it? Too used to the real thing, I suspect. Archie isn’t so fussy, are ye lad?” He gave a small lump of cheese to the dog, who swallowed it without even chewing it.

“I’m no more used to it than you are.”

“Ah.” Kane nodded his head slowly. “So, ye know who I am?”

“I have heard something of you, yes.”

“Heard, or did ye ask about me?”

Abigail was flustered. Why did this man have the confidence to talk to her like this? And how did he seem to know what she was thinking?

“Have no fear. I am merely teasing ye.” He patted the ground next to him. “Sit for a moment. Indulge a fellow traveller with some conversation. Then I promise I will leave ye to yer peace.”

Abigail sat down on a grass-covered rock opposite him. This time, when he offered her the cheese and biscuit, she took it. The cheese was salty, with a delicate flavour. It was also extremely hard.  She struggled to bite a piece off.

“Ye have to suck it first, to soften it. And ye need good gnashers.” Kane flashed her a grin that revealed strong, white teeth.

Abigail sucked on the cheese as he instructed, keeping her eyes lowered so she could not see him watching her. If her face got any warmer she thought the blood vessels might explode.

Kane was mercifully silent while they ate and Abigail began to regain her composure as she concentrated on the tweets of the willow warblers and reed buntings. She risked a look at him. He was staring into the distance, out across the loch and beyond to the hills. His beard looked neater than when she’d first seen him, as though he had trimmed it. The black was peppered with grey and there were a few silver threads in his hair as well, which was still too long and flopped in his eyes. He brushed a curl back absentmindedly as she watched.

He surprised her by speaking. “I am at a disadvantage.”

“How so?”

“Ye know who I am, but I do not know your name, except ye are the Lady of Arkholm who took me so roughly in the rushes last sevenday.”

Abigail smiled, she couldn’t help it as she remembered what she had said after she dirtied his knees. She still didn’t know where the courage had come from to answer him as she had.

“Your knees are clean I see. You have not defiled any ladies in the last week, then?”

“I would never defile a woman, as I told ye, not unless she wanted me to. Ye are avoiding my question. What should I call thee?”

“You do not need to call me anything, for we shall not meet again after today, but if you must know, I am the Lady Abigail Griffin of Arkholm.”

“Abigail.” Kane rolled her name around his mouth as though he were savouring a fine whisky. “Abby,” he said.

“No one calls me Abby.”

“What, never?”

“Not since I was a child.”

Kane pursed his lips. “That’s a shame. It’s a beautiful name. Abby. A place of worship.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. How long have you been planning that line?”

Kane laughed. “Ever since I met thee. Is the game up?”

Abigail frowned. “You didn’t know who I was back then.”

“Oh, I did. I know everything about the people we… encounter. Their habits, the things they don’t want other people to know.”

“Then you knew I would be in the carriage?” Abigail didn’t know what to make of this information. He had seemed genuinely surprised to see her. Was everything he said a lie?

“No, no. That was a surprise. I was expecting his right-hand man to be with him. It must have been a last-minute idea of yer husband to take ye instead.”

Abigail thought back to that week. Alasdair had indeed informed her at the last minute that he wanted her to accompany him. She had barely had enough time to pack for the journey. Another thought occurred to Abigail.

“How did you know I would be here? Are you following me?”

“I follow everybody, Abby.” He must have seen a look of consternation on her face because he held his hand up to calm her. “Fear not, I am not following ye, although I will confess I have made some enquiries about ye. I knew this was yer favourite place and I may have visited it a time or two since we met.”

Abigail was astonished. “Why would you do that?”

“Why did ye enquire after me?”

“I was curious.”

“As was I. No woman has ever spoken to me as ye did.”

Abigail didn’t know how to respond. It was so long since anyone had taken an interest in anything she did or said she was at a loss to know what to say, or think, or feel. She finally found her voice.

“I don’t know why I said that.”

“Don’t ye?”

“No. Well, you were so arrogant.”

“That has been said about me.”

“I am not surprised.”

Kane raised his eyebrows in amusement. “So ye wished to turn the tables, to let me have a taste of my own medicine.”

“I didn’t really think about it. The words just came out.”

“It is your nature.”

“What is?”

“To be contrary.”

“Why is it contrary in a woman but forceful in a man?”

Kane shrugged. “It is the way of the world. I like it, though.”

“What?”

“Your nature.”

“Then you are alone. I have been supressing it ever since I was a child. It is not becoming in a woman to have a mind, as I have learned to my cost.”

“That is indeed a pity; ye have a beautiful mind. I would like to get to know it better.”

Abigail wasn’t convinced by his words. There was something flippant about them; as though he was teasing her.

“Do you use these lines on all the women you meet?”

Kane shook his head, a serious look on his face. “I have never met a woman like thee.”

Abigail didn’t know how to deal with this man, what to say to him. She had to remind herself he was a thief, and a killer. She shouldn’t trust anything he said. She decided it was time to bring this conversation to a close.

“I must get on. I have herbs to collect and I am expected back at the tower. I don’t wish to cause them to come looking for me.”

She stood up, and Kane did the same, gathering his belongings together. He took a grey woollen jacket from where he had hung it on a tree branch, and pulled it on.

“I do not wish to delay ye, or get ye into trouble.”

“Then I shall wish you good day. Thank you for the meal.” Abigail started to head down the path towards where the juniper bushes were located when Kane spoke again.

“I almost forgot.” He withdrew an object from his pouch. “Hold out yer hand.”

Abigail hesitated, but then held out her hand. What was he going to do, chop it off? Kane dropped the object into her palm.

“I thought ye might want this back. I saw how distressed ye were when it was taken from ye.”

Abigail looked at what he had given her, it was the cross that Murphy had ripped from her neck during the raid. Tears sprang to her eyes and a lump came to her throat, not just because she was seeing the necklace again when she thought it was lost forever, but because of the kindness of Kane’s actions. She swallowed, trying to push down the many feelings that were fighting within her.

“I. I can’t take this.”

“Of course ye can. It’s yours. We never should have taken it from ye.”

“You did not take it.”

“What the men do under my command is my responsibility. Please take it.”

“No, I really can’t. What if my husband finds it? I can’t wear something that was stolen from me. He will wonder how I came by it.”

“I did not think of that.” Kane took the necklace from her. “Then I shall keep it, here, next to my heart, and I will think of ye with every beat.” He slipped the cross into the breast pocket of his jacket and patted it.

Abigail shook her head, and laughed. “You think you have a way with words, don’t you?”

“Oh, I do, Abby. I have written many a ballad about my adventures. Perhaps I shall write one about thee for next time we meet. A ballad about how I met the maid o’ the loch.”

Abigail sighed. “We can’t meet again. It is not appropriate.”

“No, perhaps it is not. But If I am here, and ye are here, and we accidentally cross paths, then it would be rude not to at least say good morning.”

“I would not wish to be rude to you, when you have done me so many kindnesses.”

“Then that is settled. I cannot be certain, but I expect I may be passing this way at the same time this sevenday. Come, Archie.” He whistled for the dog and it trotted over to his side. Kane put his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the pony. Abby caught a glimpse of slim, muscled thigh and then his kilt settled over the back of the horse obscuring her view.

Kane urged the horse forward. As it started to move, he turned to look back at Abigail. “May we meet again.”

Abigail watched as he disappeared into the gorse. “We will,” she whispered, and her stomach flipped at the thought. Take a hold of yourself, Abigail, don’t get carried away with this man, she told herself. She walked to the other side of the loch, to where she knew the juniper grew, and found it half way up the slope, in a hollow. She picked a few leaves and berries, putting them in her pouch, and then returned to her horse, ready to go back to the tower and her real life.

As she rode back over the moors she ran through the events of the last hour in her mind. There was so much to consider, she felt overwhelmed. She had never met a man like Kane in her life. He was so confident, and arrogant, waiting for her, somehow knowing what she was thinking and feeling, how she would act. He had even named her, calling her Abby, a name she had not used since she was a child. Even Jacob had called her Abigail. It was not appropriate for Kane to choose what to call her, and yet she didn’t think he did it because he wished to own her, or mark her in some way. He simply liked it, and a part of her did too. She was already starting to think of herself as two people. There was Abigail, Lady of Arkholm, dutiful wife, a woman who lived in the shadows, barely causing a fluttering in the breeze. And now there was Abby, the maid o’ the loch, a woman whose nature didn’t have to be supressed, who could be as free as the wind, as wild as the heather. She shook her head to clear it. She was getting fanciful, and all because a man had been kind to her. A handsome, intriguing man, yes, but a man all the same. There was nothing different at heart between him and her husband. He just knew the right things to say, that was all. She was not going to return to the loch the following sevenday. Nothing good would come of it, of that she was certain. She spurred her horse on ever faster, determined to put Marcus Kane out of her mind for good.

[sometimesrosy]

I've just got to say I felt so much more sympathy and connection with that poor dad and his little 5-year-old boy from 2 episodes worth of background material than I ever felt for Riley. Proving the writers can do a good job when they want to with small details, so wtf was with Riley? I can't remember which podcast it was, but someone said it would've made way more sense for Harper to have almost shot Roan in 405, signaling the start of her mental health's decline. At least the moment would 1/2

2/2 have been used toward developing one of our mains, and Bellamy’s speech to Harper would’ve packed a greater emotional punch for us all. Anyway, just a thought.

Pretty sure Riley’s role was supposed to be taken by Bryan, but they lost Bryan’s actor to a better role. He was just a minor character, they had to let him go to a real contract. I don’t think they had the time or necessary characters in story to have a good substitute, so they inserted Riley into the slaves to fill the slot. 

Sometimes tv shows are limited by the realities of their business and this absolutely interferes with their ability to tell a good story. Whenever I watch a show, even one a adore, I ALWAYS leave a possibility open that Hollywood will screw over the story and the show and the writers and the audience. 

But this doesn’t mean the writers are bad, it means the situation was bad and they did their best with it. This one was less effective than the last time they lost (fired) an actor. They got rid of Wick’s actor, and the Wick character, despite the important role he had to play in the coming season. But this time, they had a character that they could use to fill in as the emotional connection for Raven. Sinclair. They just switched the love relationship from romantic to parental/mentor, which was actually a really nice touch and very deftly done. It worked perfectly with the story and added a dimension that would not have been there with a romance. 

You didn’t have a problem with Sinclair in season 3, did you? That fix was some good writing. You didn’t notice. That’s because you don’t notice when writing is good. You just believe it and are transported into the world in a way that everything feels natural. 

Because I’ve also been tracking the long term themes and storylines, and because I knew about Wick, I watched the Sinclair storyline with a double vision. I could see Wick in EVERY scene. It was his role. It’s a little disorienting. I’m lucky that it wasn’t as clear the first time I watched it so I could just purely enjoy Sinclair. 

I don’t agree that Harper would have been better in that role. What reason would she have to hate Azgeda? Her trauma was in the mountain. In the woods. With Trikru and the mountain men. And she was on Kane’s side in the Arkadia confrontation, not Pike’s. She had no connection with Farm Station or their struggle. Her descent came from not being able to save that guy, because she’s been on team hero. She worked to become like Bellamy and she failed. Worse. She didn’t even try. She was scared and just let him die. Giving her Riley/Bryan’s spot would have sold out Harper, for a scene that was about Bellamy. Plus it would have weakened Monty’s storyline with Harper, that wouldn’t have been able to develop into something lovely in the face of a too soon mental break. It was much better they inserted someone else into it than take someone away from their storyline. Sinclair at least ALWAYS was in a storyline that was about loving and supporting Raven, even if it was low key. 

Writing is not just about the one scene that doesn’t sit right. It’s about how that scene or character spreads out and touches the rest of the story, the other characters, the other plot elements, the themes, the symbolism. Writing is like creating a web of interconnecting moments. You tug on one, and it pulls the others, possibly changing the entire pattern. 

When something doesn’t sit right with you, follow the other connections and see where they lead and the chain of cause and effect that creates the whole story. Jumping to “bad writing” first the way so many people do means you’re not following the threads. If you follow the threads and still conclude that it’s bad writing, then okay, because sometimes it is, but you at least need to consider the rest of the story and the other possibilities for meaning. 

[daemontargtrash]

"You could've chosen me..."

Pairing: Bellamy x Kane Daughter!Reader 

Summary: (Y/N) Kane has been in a relationship with Bellamy Blake since the dropship landed on Earth. However with Bellamy’s choice to align himself with Pike, their relationship becomes strained. (Y/N) must decide what to do. Especially when her dad gets sentenced to death because of treason.

Based on 3x08

A/N: this is my very first attempt at writing something like this so i apologize if i completely butchered it. But in the slight chance that you enjoyed it, please like and maybe reblog? Thanks xx

Tensions were rising all around Arkadia as Chancellor Pike and his guard dogs started to discovered who was working against him. With Octavia going radio silence, we had no contact outside the wall. But per usual, my dad had a plan. The Grounders wanted Pike’s head and the few of us were willing to help them get it. All we had to do was perfectly execute the plan. 

Sinclair was first. He would pretend to work on Rover 1, drawing the attention of the guards. If everything goes well, Sinclair will be placed in lock up where he can tell Lincoln the plan to start a riot. Next came my dad, Kane would ask to set up a meeting with Pike. In doing so, he’ll be able to kidnap Pike. To do so however, comes in the lock up riot. Miller and Harper would act normally as guards until Lincoln and Sinclair are able to trick Bellamy into opening the lock up cage, starting the riot. Then Miller and Harper would fight along side Sinclair and the other Grounders to distract all the available guards with Pike. Once Pike is alone with my dad, Kane will electrocute him and load him into Rover 1 for the Grounders. Now comes me. My job is to distract Monty to make sure he doesn’t receive any intel that will give up our plan. However, that’s when everything went to shit.

I was on my way to Monty when two guards approached me.

“Kane, what’re you doing in these quarters?” asked the slightly taller guard.

“Can’t a girl just take a walk without being questioned?” I tried to walk past them but they grabbed my arms.

“Not when your dad is leading the opposition against Chancellor Pike” retorted the other guard. The guards started dragging me away and that’s how i ended up locked in a room with those two idiots guarding the outside.

I sat there for what felt like hours thinking. My mind drifted to Bellamy. By fate, destiny, or whatever you want to call it, I fell in love with Bellamy Blake. From the moment the dropship landed on Earth, we had something special. However, lately things have been different. We argued almost daily because of his decision to align himself with Pike. I knew deep down he didn’t agree with Pike’s actions yet for some reason, he was being too strong headed to admit he was wrong. I honestly don’t know how much longer i can put up with it. I feel completely split between the love of my life, Bellamy, and the first man i ever loved, my father. However, my thoughts were interrupted by the door unlocking and a figure walking it.

I looked up and recognized the tall figure as Bellamy. 

“Did you know about it?” he asked as he walked closer to the table where I sat.

“Did i know about what?”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Please (Y/N). Just tell the truth. Did you know about the plan to kidnap Pike and turn him over to the Grounders?” I looked down. I knew this would turn into an argument one way or another and i really wanted to avoid it.

“You know, it didn’t work.” he added.

“Well obviously” i muttered back under my breath.

“Your father was caught. Pike charged him with treason.”

This caught my attention. I looked up at Bellamy and saw distress written all over his face. His mistake, however, was avoiding my eyes.

“What aren’t you telling me?” i asked quietly, scared to hear the answer to the question.

“Pike sentenced your dad to death… (Y/N), im so sorry. I never thought it would come down to us killing our own people.”

I snapped my head up and looked at him. Why was he apologizing? He was in the riot at lock up. 

“Who was it? Who was the guard that stopped my dad from driving out of those gates to finally achieve real peace with the Grounders?” i asked, anger and hurt prominently laced in my voice. 

“(Y/N)…” Bellamy said as he looked away from me.

“I’ll ask again. Who was it? Who’s fault is it that i’m going to lose my dad?”

“It was me. I stopped him. But (Y/N) i swear to you, i didn’t think…”

At this point i stopped listening. I was numb. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the emotions coursing through my body. My dad, the only family member i had left, was being sentenced to death because of Bellamy. i could hear Bellamy still talking but his words were going in one ear and out the other. Soon, i couldn’t stop my body from being overcome with sobs as my mind finally wrapped itself around the fact that I might never get to see my dad again. However, i was drawn out of this state when Bellamy came over and laid his hand on my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me. My sadness was now replaced with anger as i quickly stood up.

“Don’t touch me” i growled at him. Hurt flashed through Bellamy’s eyes. 

“(Y/N) you have to believe me. i didn’t think it would ever go this far. I just thought we could rid ourselves of the Grounder threat. If your dad would’ve-”

“If my dad would’ve what?” my voice was dangerously low at this point and i could tell Bellamy knew he was threading on thin ice.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I just... i dont know, okay? Is that what you wnat to hear? I made a mistake. It all happened so fast and there was nothing I could do.”

“You could’ve chosen the right side, Bellamy. You could’ve chosen me and Octavia and Clarke. You could’ve chosen The 100 kids who were forced to come down to Earth.”

“What do you want from me (Y/N)? Please just tell me and i’ll do it.” Bellamy pleaded.

“I want you to leave. I want you to walk out that door and never come back. I want you to think about the fact that because of you, my dad is going to die”

i couldn’t tell if what i was saying was what i truly wanted but in this moment, it seemed right. I had to stand by my dad and do what’s right. And if that meant leaving Bellamy, then so be it. Bellamy stood there and looked at me for a minute before he sighed and walked towards the door.

“Is this what you really want?” he asked, looking back at me one more time. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t trust myself right now. He took my silence as an answer. 

“May we meet again…” he whispered as he walked through the door.

Crying, i slid down the wall i was bracing myself on and curled my knees to my chest. I had just lost my dad and my boyfriend in the matter of a day.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

CHAPTER THREE – FEAST AND FIGHT

Arkholm Tower, Roxburghshire

The first two days following Abigail’s second encounter with Marcus Kane passed quickly. Alasdair had sent word from Edinburgh that he would be returning for two nights with the Lords Elliot and Douglas and they would require a banquet. Abigail spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Hannah, choosing the foods that would be served, organising the purchase of specialist items from the market in Kelso. She would have liked to have gone to Kelso herself to help the servants pick the sweet treats and wine they would have with the banquet but Sinclair was still uneasy about her leaving the tower. She didn’t want to waste what might be her only chance on a visit to the town when she might need to visit the loch again in a few days. Not that she was really going to go and see Kane. She had decided that it would be a mistake and she was resolute on that, but there might be a reason she would need to see him, even if it was to tell him they could not meet again. It was better to save up the day, just in case.

Abigail had also spent time with Harper, designing a new dress to replace the one Kane had ripped. She was tempted to make something simpler, that she could move in more easily, but Alasdair would expect the dress to rival the previous one, so she and Harper had gone all out to create a dress that would show off Abigail’s best assets in spectacular fashion. She wanted the Lords to be unable to take their eyes off her, wanted Alasdair to see that other men found her desirable. The material was blue silk again but a deep blue this time, like the sky on the warmest of summer days. Harper said it made Abigail’s eyes as brown as a salmon river and that had made her laugh. It was a compliment even if it didn’t sound like one. Harper was in Abigail’s bed chamber, busy sewing the dress together. The last time Abigail had looked in on her the girl was threading the delicate mother of pearl buttons that only just held the bodice in place. Her mind drifted again to the moment in the rushes when Kane had stripped the buttons off the previous dress. She wondered what he would make of its replacement, not that he would ever get to see it; but if he did, she thought he would like it very much indeed.

On the third day, Alasdair arrived with the Lords, their wives and retinues. It was a large number of people to accommodate in a relatively small tower. All of the Griffin servants, with the exception of the guards, had been billeted in the village for the duration and the second floor had been given over to the guests. The first floor had been laid out for banqueting, the long oak table covered with a cream cloth. A claret-coloured runner with the crest of the Griffin clan embroidered in golden thread ran down the centre. Abigail had chosen the large wooden candlesticks with the griffin heads carved into them and these had been lit, the tall, waxy candles bringing a soft light into the room. Alasdair was proud of his name and crest, loved showing it off to visitors. The mythological Griffin was a powerful and majestic creature and she suspected that was how Alasdair saw himself. Abigail thought the lion and the eagle that made up the griffin were indeed appropriate. Both were creatures that dominated by devouring everyone beneath them.

Earlier in the day, Abigail and Harper had been out on the moor that surrounded the tower to pick the purple heather and this was adorning the rooms, adding extra colour to complement the wall hangings and tapestries that gave the stone walls some warmth. The heather also filled the rooms with its delicate perfume. Abigail walked through the room one last time before the feast, running her fingers over the smooth damask of the tablecloth. Everything looked perfect; she hoped Alasdair would be pleased.

 The Cheviot Hills, 20 miles south of Arkholm

On the evening of the Griffins’ banquet, Kane was at The Hundred’s camp in the Cheviot Hills south of Jedburgh. The camp was substantial with twenty buildings to house the men. The houses were long and narrow and followed an age-old design. The frames were made from tree trunks the men cut down from the nearby forest and erected into the shape of an A, with walls of thin willow branches woven between stakes. This simple frame was covered with mud, clay and cow dung which hardened to provide protection from wind and rain. The roofs were thatched with heather collected from the moor. Being made entirely from natural materials obtained from their surroundings, the houses could be erected quickly and abandoned in a moment should the camp be discovered. As Second in Command of the group, Kane had a house to himself, as did their leader, Jaha, but the other men lived five or six to a dwelling.

Night had fallen and Kane was sat at a rough-made table in his dwelling, his head bent over a piece of paper he was attempting to read by the poor light of a single candle. He was checking an inventory of their latest acquisitions. In the last month, the Hundred had stolen two hundred head of cattle, eighty horses, one thousand sheep and fifty bolls of corn plus jewels and a small amount of cash. Most of the animals had already been sold on but the money they had made was not enough. It was never enough. It cost a lot of money to feed a hundred people, even when those people lived mainly hand to mouth and survived on potage, the thick soup that sustained most of the poorer borderers, whether they be reivers or legitimate farmers. The soup contained whatever came to hand, mainly cereal, roots and fungi sometimes supplemented with the meat from small animals and birds they hunted. The sheep they plundered were too valuable to go into the pot, but if they came across a dead sheep on their travels, that was butchered and went in too. The large pot that was kept permanently on the fire in the main house had not seen any meat for three weeks now and the men were starting to complain.

Low down on the inventory, towards the bottom of the final page, was a note of Abby’s necklace. Murphy had recorded its acquisition before Kane had managed to steal it back, and he now had the problem of explaining its disappearance. The cross was valuable, worth nearly as much as all the animals they had taken from the Lord of Arkholm. Kane bristled at the thought of that man. Alasdair Griffin had a reputation that Kane was keenly aware of and he had seen the man’s callousness for himself on the night of the raid. He had ignored his wife as she was robbed and roughly-handled by Murphy, hadn’t even looked up when Kane brought her back from supposedly ravaging her. If he hadn’t known how it would have destroyed Abby, he would have gloated to her cold-hearted husband about how good it was to have his wife.

Kane patted the breast pocket of his jacket, feeling the cross within. If anyone asked, he would just have to feign ignorance of its loss. He wasn’t going to accuse any of the other reivers of theft because that would lead to their execution. The rules of the Hundred clan were very clear. All crimes committed against the clan by its members were punishable by death. It was the only way to maintain order amongst a group of thieves and murderers.

Kane put aside the inventory and took out a fresh piece of parchment. He had been trying to compose his ballad to the maid o’ the loch since he had seen her two days before, but the words wouldn’t come. He could describe her long golden-brown hair and her eyes that were the colour of the poteen that was distilled secretly in the hills, deep brown and peaty, but he couldn’t capture the spirit of her that had so captivated him. She was demure on the surface, probably lived her life barely causing a ripple, but underneath there was a wildness, and a deep intelligence. It was there in those whisky-coloured eyes if you looked closely enough, a spark, a wit. She looked at him as though she could see right through him, and her wry smile said challenge me if you dare. No woman had ever looked at Kane like that. They were either scared of him, whether it was warranted or not, or they wanted the Grey Wolf to bed them, and give them something to gossip about with the other Ladies. Kane had cuckolded many a Lord of the Realm while they were blissfully unaware of what their wives were doing. Abby was different, though. She wasn’t a conquest, at least not in that way. He hadn’t been feeding her a line when he said he wanted to get to know her mind better. He did. If he got to know the rest of her as well, then he suspected that would be a definite bonus.

There was a creak as the door to his house swung open. Kane turned to find the Heid of The Hundred clan, a man known only as Jaha, standing in the doorway. Jaha was as much a mystery to the border people as Kane the Grey Wolf was a legend. Kane knew little about him, except that his ancestors had come to England from north Africa after the Crusades and somehow had ended up in Scotland. Mistrusted because of the colour of their skin, they were a family of thieves, living on the edge of society. Jaha had a strong intelligence, and a strategic mind. He had prospered as a lone reiver because he was ruthless and was known to leave no man standing. He had seen the advantage the clans and surnames of the Borders had in working together, and had put together his own clan, The Hundred, five years previously. There were always a hundred men in the clan, no more, no less. Kane didn’t know why that was and he had decided not to question it. Jaha and The Hundred came along at the right time, when Kane was on his knees after being thrown out of his ancestral home and stripped of his title and everything he had ever known. Kane had not prospered on his own as Jaha had; good looks and wit didn’t get you far when you were an outcast, and he was penniless, starving, and in poor health, about to give up, when Jaha offered him a place in the clan. A company of other outcasts had seemed like the perfect solution at the time, and Kane had felt lucky that a position became available just when he needed it most.

“Sir. Good evening. Come in.” Kane gestured for Jaha to take the chair opposite him and the man sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him, making himself at home. “Would ye like a wee dram, Sir?”

“I would, Kane. Thank you.”

Kane poured the rough poteen into two small flagons and handed one to Jaha, taking the other for himself. He held the flagon aloft. “Slàinte mhath.”

“Slàinte.”

Both men took a sip of the whisky to seal the greeting and then Jaha spoke.

“I need you to lead a party of men to Newcastle. You leave tonight.”

Kane was surprised. A raid so far across the border into England was a rare activity for The Hundred. Newcastle was at the eastern end of the old Roman Emperor Hadrian’s wall and was firmly in the hands of the English. It was also over a hundred miles there and back, and a further twenty miles from their camp to the loch where he was planning to meet Abby four days hence. He would never make the journey in time.

“Sir, are ye sure? What is there for us in Newcastle?”

“I have heard there is a company of the King’s men encamped outside the town attending a conclave. They have six English Lords with them. They will fetch a good ransom. I want you to capture the men and bring them back to camp.”

“A company of the King’s men? They will likely number thousands. We are so few. It is not possible, Sir.”

“I have faith in you, Kane. You are known for shedding little blood on your raids and in this case, that is exactly what I want. I’m sure you will find a way to extract the men without causing another war.”

Kane knew he could argue no more. Jaha’s decisions were always final, and Kane was fortunate that the older man indulged his occasional questioning. No other clansman was afforded that right.

“I will organise the men.”

“Good man. Safe return.” Jaha drained his whisky and left. Kane stood for a moment, hands on hips, trying to come up with a way to rob the King’s company without thousands of his men realising it had happened. There had to be a way, and he knew just the person who could help. He called his boy in.

“Go and find The Raven. Bring him to me, then tell Murphy to prepare the usual crew and six extra horses.”

A couple of minutes later and the boy returned with a small, slim young man with long dark hair tied in a ponytail. He gave Kane a cocky smile.

“I am at yer service, Kane. What can these magic hands do for ye tonight?”

“Get in here, Raven.” Kane looked around to see if anyone was listening, then pulled the man into the room and shut the door. “One day ye’re going to go too far with this joke and someone will guess the truth.”

Raven shrugged. “They’re too stupid to realise.”

“No, they’re not. Not all of them. Murphy, for example.” He shook his head. “Never mind that now. It’s yer brain I need tonight.”

“Primed and ready. Feed me.”

“We’re headed to Newcastle for a raid. We must steal six English Lords from under the nose of thousands of the King’s men without shedding any blood and without anyone noticing. Thoughts?”

“Woah, Kane. That’s big.”

“It is. We can’t go in fighting. There are twenty of us and thousands of them.”

“Ye’d be dead within seconds.”

“Aye, thanks, Raven.”

“Well, it’s the truth. We need to be like shadows in the dark, unseen.”

“But how? It would be best if we could take them while they were asleep, but their guards will be awake. We’d never get them out.”

“Where are the Lords housed?”

“We don’t have that information yet. I’m sending scouts ahead to find out, but if they follow tradition the Lords will be in two pavilions together with their attendants and guards. There may be forty or more men in the pavilions and ten times that surrounding them.”

Raven was quiet. Kane knew better than to disturb him when he got like this. Something was brewing in his brilliant mind.

“We dinnae need to take out all the men, just the ones guarding the Lords.”

“I suppose, if we can get to the pavilions without the other guards noticing.”

“Hmm. I’ve been experimenting with something that might work.”

Kane felt hope rising. “What is it?”

“There’s nae guarantee it will work. If it goes wrong, we’ll be defenceless. They’ll kill us.”

“Just another day in the Borders, then. Tell me.”

An hour later and the raiding party were mounted and ready to go. Kane had sent his scouts Jordan and Green ahead to find out the exact layout of the encampment. He was filled with anticipation for the task ahead. Raven’s scheme was so audacious, Kane suspected ballads would be written about it, and sung long after the sun had set on all their sorry lives. If it was successful, that was. He spurred his pony forward with a kick of his heels. They had to do this, and quickly. He had four and a half days to get to Newcastle, pull off the raid of the century, return victorious, and get to the loch to meet Abby. What could possibly go wrong? He laughed into the black night as he galloped south to Newcastle, and whatever his fate was going to be.

 Arkholm Tower

Darkness fell early in Scotland at the end of September and as the feast commenced, the banqueting room was bathed in the warm glow of the candles. Alasdair was seated at one end of the table, Abigail at the opposite end. The Lords were next to Alasdair, their wives next to Abigail. Alasdair had not mentioned her dress, had barely looked at her when he entered the room with his guests. Lady Margaret Elliot had given her a disapproving stare but Abigail didn’t care. Margaret was old, at least sixty, and she disapproved of most things, according to her sources. Lady Eleanor Douglas was younger, thirty-something, and extremely pretty, with long brown hair that was thick and curled, and blue eyes that rivalled Abigail’s dress for depth of colour. She had given Abigail a smile and the vaguest raise of an eyebrow which Abigail took as a positive comment on her appearance. She shouldn’t care so much, really, what other people thought, but someone who is starving will take even the smallest crumb. Abigail hated that she felt this way. She made small talk with the Ladies and was glad when the servants brought the food in; she was running out of things to say quickly and there were still hours of eating and drinking to go. The first course was a potage with the meat of pheasants and woodcocks caught in the wood down in the valley, flavoured with sage and thyme. Social etiquette was very important to Alasdair and the guests helped themselves to the food in a strict order, with the Heid of the household first, followed by the male guests, their wives and finally Abigail. She spooned the thick soup into her trencher and waited for Alasdair to start eating before taking a sip of the piping hot liquid. It was delicious, nicer than the venison stew they had been treated to a few days previously, rich and gamey, the sauce heady with red wine and herbs.

Lady Eleanor was seated to Abigail’s left and she placed a hand on Abigail’s. “I had heard your cook had a good reputation, Abigail, but none of the compliments touch the reality. This is delicious.”

“Thank you, Eleanor. Hannah has been with the household many years. Since before me, in fact.”

“You are lucky. My cook could burn water, I swear.” She laughed, and Abigail smiled.

“Yes, I am lucky.” She looked across the table to where Alasdair was holding forth with the men. They were all laughing as he told an amusing story. He was at his best when he was home in his kingdom, surrounded by a world that was ordered to his liking, ready to attend his every need. She supposed she was lucky; there were worse lives to be leading, much worse.

“I believe you recently had a son, Eleanor. My congratulations.” Harper had given Abigail all the information she had on the guests, whom Abigail had never met before tonight. Servants were the best source of information in the land, she had found.

“Oh, yes. Thank you. We have named him William. Henry was delighted. Finally, a son after two daughters.”

“A son is always a blessing,” said Margaret. “I have three. All married of course, with children of their own. You have only a daughter, I hear.”

A shiver ran through Abigail. She always hated this subject arising.

“I do, yes, Clarke. She’s eighteen now.”

“And not yet married?”

“Not yet.”

“Hmm. And she is from your first marriage?” Margaret looked at Alasdair and Abigail knew what she was thinking, what they all thought. She repeated the words she had said so many times over the years.

“Yes. Unfortunately, I was not able to have more children. After Clarke.” There, Alasdair dissolved of blame. It was Abigail’s responsibility, her fault, her shame.

“You were fortunate then, that a man like Alasdair married you. A man needs sons.”

Abigail nodded but did not speak. She was trying not to think about what she had lost, what she could never have again.

“To know the joy of any child is a blessing, I believe,” said Eleanor and Abigail gave her a grateful look.

“I would not be without Clarke for anything.” She stared at Margaret, willing her to respond, but the older woman harrumphed and took another sip of her soup.

The second course passed by in similar fashion, with Abigail mostly ignoring Margaret and swapping details of life in the Borders with Eleanor. It wasn’t until the custards, tarts and fruit came along that the conversation around the rest of the table became interesting. Wine had liberated the tongues of all the guests, and conversation was flowing freely, particularly among the men. Abigail was getting tired; too much meat and wine always made her sleepy, and she was staring at the flickering candle, drifting away a little when the conversation turned to the raid on the road from Edinburgh.

“I believe you were accosted by reivers, Alasdair,” said Lord Elliot. “Did they take much of value?”

Alasdair grimaced. “Everything I had bought in Edinburgh. A bullock and heifers I was planning to breed. Damned nuisance that Hundred Clan.”

Don’t forget your wife, thought Abigail. They took her too, and her necklace. Of course, she knew Alasdair would not mention that, but he didn’t even look at her, or share a glance to recognise that she was there, to mark a common experience.

“I heard it was The Hundred, led by that man Kane,” continued Lord Elliot.

“They call him the Grey Wolf,” said Lord Douglas.

“The Grey Wolf!” Alasdair spat some dregs of his wine back into his cup. The servant brought him a new cup, filled it to the brim. “He’s nothing but a common thief and a murderer.”

Lord Douglas nodded. “I have heard the ballads the people sing about him. What does it go like? ‘The Grey Wolf prowls the purple moor, and robs the rich to pay the poor’.”

“I’m sure he writes those ballads himself, to perpetuate the legend. The only poor he gives to are his own sorry clan of outlaws.” Alasdair took a long draught of his wine.

Abigail had woken up fully by now. Her heart was beating faster and there was a quivering in her stomach. She tried not to look too interested, though, using the candle flame to focus her mind, so her thoughts wouldn’t wander and be betrayed in her face.

“Why do they call him the Grey Wolf?” asked Margaret.

“Because he is a beast,” replied Alasdair, “a low, creeping scourge on this region.”

“He brutalised his brother’s wife, my dear. That is the rumour. That is why his father cast him out of the house. He lost everything.” Lord Elliot patted his wife’s arm, to soothe the shock that was clear in her face.

“His brother’s wife? Oh, my!”

Abigail’s whole body became cold, as though an ice wind had blown through her and frozen her solid. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Sinclair had hinted at this, but she had suspected it had perhaps been an affair, not something so terrible as this. The thought of him doing that to his brother’s wife, his sister almost. It didn’t reconcile with the man who had refused to touch her when he could so easily have had her, who had saved her, and searched her out to return her necklace. Perhaps he had changed, or perhaps it was a ruse all along, a game. He meant to woo her, and then ruin her reputation.

“The whole clan are known for that kind of thing during their raids,” said Lord Elliot.

A heavy silence descended. Everyone turned to look at Abigail and she went from cold to hot in an instant. Alasdair cleared his throat.

“They tried, but I saw them off. They were no match for the old Griffin claymore,” he said, indicating the great two-handed broad sword that hung on the wall.

“It is all conjecture,” said Lord Douglas. “No one knows the true reason for his disgrace. His family refuse to speak of it.”

“Whatever the truth, he does have a reputation as a Lady’s man. He’s well practised, from what I hear.” Eleanor giggled and winked at Abigail. She was clearly under the influence of too much wine. Abigail did not wink back, didn’t dare to even move a muscle of her face. Alasdair was watching her intently.

“That’s enough, Eleanor.” Lord Douglas gave his wife a stern look of admonishment.

“He won’t be bedding women for much longer, with or without their consent,” said Alasdair. “I have plans for Marcus Kane. He’ll be swinging from the gallows before this year is out. You have my word.”

Abigail kept her face as still as she could but inside she was in turmoil. If he was truly such a beast, a man who would defile his own brother’s wife, then he deserved the gallows. And yet, she had seen with her own eyes his kindness, his warmth and humour.

“It’s time we brought the reivers to account, I agree,” said Lord Douglas. He turned to his wife. “Perhaps it is time you retired, my dear.”

Abigail saw an opportunity to escape the room which had now become suffocating. “I will escort My Lady to her chamber.”

“Thank you.”

“You may retire as well, if you wish.” Alasdair and the men stood.

“Thank you. I will. Good night.”

As she helped Eleanor up the narrow stairs to her bedchamber, she decided to risk asking her a question in the hope that she would not remember the conversation the next day.

“The Grey Wolf’s reputation. With women. How do you know of it?”

Eleanor leaned forward, swaying a little and Abigail gripped her more tightly. She didn’t want her falling down the stairs.

“You must keep this to yourself. A friend of mine, a Lady, had cause to meet him. There was a gathering. No one knew he was an outlaw. She took a liking to him. She has the most boring husband, bless her.” Eleanor swayed again. “Oops.”

Abigail steered them to a wider step. “Please continue.”

“She arranged a rendezvous, while her husband was away.” Eleanor bent her head, so her mouth was close to Abigail’s ear. “She said he was a wolf in every way.” She giggled, her warm boozy breath tickling Abigail’s face.

“But his brother’s wife. If the rumours are true. How could your friend lay with him?”

“Who says the rumours are true? My dear Abigail. Nobody knows, and that’s the thrill.”

Abigail helped Eleanor into bed and retired to her own chamber. She had decided before tonight that she was not going to meet Kane at the loch. After everything she had heard, the last thing on her mind should be the thought of seeing him again, and yet he was all she could think of. She had to see him, had to know the truth, to ask him herself. What had happened with his brother’s wife? Why was he called the Grey Wolf? Would he tell her the truth? How would she know? There was only one way to find out.

 Newcastle, 70 miles south of Arkholm

It had taken Kane’s party two nights to reach Newcastle. They had started out in the early hours and rode twenty miles through the dark until the dawn’s early light had made them too visible to continue. They had holed up in a makeshift camp near Otterburn, scene of the famous battle and the defeat of the English by the Scots nearly a hundred years before. A glorious victory it may have been, but Kane had heard the Ballad of Otterburn sung many times, and he knew it had not ended well for the Scots’ leader, Earl Douglas, who had foreshadowed his own death in a dream.

But I have dream'd a dreary dream, Beyond the Isle of Skye; I saw a dead man win a fight, And I think that man was I.

Kane hoped he would not suffer the same fate as the Earl and had been thankful for a dreamless sleep.

Thirty more miles of riding through the night and they were now camped next to the ancient Roman wall at Walbottle, just four miles from the King’s conclave on the north bank of the River Tyne, beneath Arthur’s Hill. Kane was desperate to get the mission underway; it had taken them longer to reach this point than he had anticipated. Their small Galloway nags were used to difficult terrain but long distance riding took its toll and they had to make their way slowly, and let the ponies take plenty of rest. It was frustrating but they couldn’t launch the raid during the day anyway, and Raven needed time to gather the rest of what was needed for the task. Kane settled back against the crumbling stone wall, closed his eyes and let himself drift away with thoughts of Abby. If they were quick tonight, he might just make it back in time to see her.

As the sun was setting on the second day, Kane led his men along the line of the wall towards Newcastle. Jordan and Green, the scouts he had sent ahead, had reported that the King’s men were encamped at the eastern edge of Arthur’s Hill, the Lords being in two separate pavilions as Kane had predicted. The six extra horses they needed to transport the captives away were laden down with the equipment Raven had made and collected. Raven rode up to Kane and trotted alongside him, a look of nervous excitement on his face.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” asked Kane.

“Not at all. I would be more surprised if we succeeded.” Raven laughed. “Having to mix the gas at the last minute is very risky. So much could go wrong.”

“Like what?” Kane wanted to be prepared for every eventuality.

“It could explode, and wipe us off the face of the earth.”

“Oh.” Not much he could do about that, thought Kane. The more dangerous the task seemed, the less he thought they had to lose. They might as well give it everything they had or die trying.

When they reached the outskirts of the camp the men unloaded the ponies and left them loosely tethered to tree stumps. They moved the equipment as close as they dared to the pavilions. The camp was quiet, with only a couple of guards patrolling this section of the perimeter. Kane knew there were more guards inside the pavilions, though, and some of them would still be awake, taking shifts to protect the Lords. He had deliberately chosen this time of night, long past the witching hour and a couple of hours before dawn. He knew from experience that this was the time people were at their least alert. Those who were asleep would be so deep into their slumber they would likely not even be dreaming, and would be slow to wake. The guards would think themselves alert, but they were only halfway so, their reactions would be slow. He had seen it time and time again.

The perimeter guards met up with their counterparts on the adjacent section of the camp at regular intervals. Kane had watched it happen twice now and knew exactly how long they had before the guards would be missed and the alarm raised all over camp. It wasn’t very much time at all. His men were in place, waiting for his signal. He took a deep breath. It was all or nothing. He raised his sword and at this sign Murphy and Armstrong crept up on the guards and struck each of them on the head, knocking them down. The bodies were dragged towards the reivers where they were tied together, cloths put into their mouths to prevent them shouting if they awakened before the task was completed. Jaha had wanted little bloodshed, and Kane was determined to give it to him. As soon as the guards were down, Raven began unrolling a length of pipe he had made. It was round like the clay pipes that ran beneath some of the old Roman cities, only it was made of seal skin and was narrow, no more than a flagon’s width across, and flexible. When he had shown it to Kane earlier, he had been amazed by it. It was cold and smooth to the touch. Raven had said it would keep the gas inside so it wouldn’t disappear into the night air. Kane wasn’t sure how they would know the gas was inside the pipe because Raven said it couldn’t be seen. He had to trust him, as he had many times before.

Raven placed the pipe at the edge of the closest pavilion, coiled at the end as it would need to be extended under the cloth when they were ready. At the other end of the pipe was a large bag made of the same material and into this was fed a bellows of the type used to make a fire burn hotter. The bag had a hole in it with a wooden stopper. Kane marvelled at what Raven had created. If this worked, he could envisage it making their lives a lot easier on future raids. IF it worked. He had been counting down the time since they had captured the guards in his head, and realised they were running behind. They needed to put the next part of the plan into action. This was the crucial stage. This was where it could all go wrong in an instant.

Raven looked at him. Kane nodded, and the young man removed the stopper and poured some of their precious poteen into the bag. At the same time the other end of the pipe was pushed under the pavilion. Raven plugged the stopper back in and set to work on the bellows. In the bag, Raven had already placed lime and salt and this was now mixing with the alcohol and creating a gas that Raven said would render the people in the pavilion unconscious long enough for Kane’s men to extract the Lords without notice. Kane watched, his heart pounding, hands sweaty. All he could see was the seal skin pipe expanding and contracting as the air was pushed through it. At least that part was working, and there had been no explosion. Yet.

After what felt like an eternity, the apparatus was removed and taken to the other pavilion where the process was repeated. Kane led his men to the pavilion’s entrance. He slowly pushed the heavy cloth aside, not knowing whether he would be faced with slumbering men or the point of a shiny sword. The pavilion was warm, a low fire burning in the centre, and all around it lay sleeping men. The Lords on their beds of furs, the guards slumped where they had fallen. Raven’s plan had worked. Kane pointed the Lords out to his men and they worked quickly to bring them outside. Raven had warned him not to stay in the pavilion too long or he could be overcome by the gas as well.

Green and two other men carried the Lords directly to the waiting ponies and strapped them on top. Kane went over to the other pavilion where Murphy’s group were dragging their captives outside. Raven was rolling up the pipes and the rest of the men were hauling the equipment back to the ponies. No one had made a sound during the entire operation. Kane clapped Raven on the back as they followed the gang. He couldn’t believe that the plan had worked, and so well. He smiled as he pictured the guards waking up and looking around to find their charges gone, and no sign of how it had happened.

Kane was so caught up in congratulating himself on a job well done that he had forgotten to keep up the count in his head. The meeting time of the perimeter guards was well past, and down at the camp, this had just been noticed. One of the remaining guards came around the hill, looking for his comrades. He found them, tied to a tree, and when he looked up he saw Kane looking back at him.

“Hey!” the man cried.

“Go, Raven,” said Kane. “Tell the others to hurry.”

“I’m not leaving ye, Kane.”

“Ye must. I’ll be fine. Go.”

All this was said in the space of a heartbeat and then Kane turned to run back towards the guard, anxious to get to him before he could raise the alarm. They met with a clash of swords, blows parried, thrusts blocked. Every move Kane made the guard countered. He pulled back and kicked Kane in the leg. Kane stumbled, fell to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. The guard brought his sword down towards Kane and he managed to roll out of the way, getting to his feet and hitting the guard on the back with the flat of his sword. He stumbled but remained upright, turning and slashing at Kane.  Kane heard the rip of cloth and felt the sting of the blade as it tore through his clothes and into his arm and down across his chest. He didn’t feel any pain. He was too focussed on the guard. The blow he had landed on Kane had taken some of the strength out of him. He was breathing heavily and staggering backwards. Kane took advantage of this and pursued him, striking his sword once across the man’s arm and then putting a decisive blow into his chest. The guard fell to the ground. He was dead. Kane staggered up the path to where his pony was waiting patiently for him. He pulled himself astride and turned the pony in the direction of the north, and home. Kane leant forward as they trotted, his head resting on the pony’s neck. His arm was throbbing now, his chest aching. His shirt was wet with blood; he could feel it sticking to him. Every move of the pony, every twist and turn, pulled on his wounds and he felt faint.

He must have drifted off for a short time because he became aware that he was no longer moving. He looked up to see Raven sitting astride his pony, watching him.

“Ye’re alive, then,” he said.

Kane grimaced as a wave of pain flowed through him. “Aye, just about.”

“Do you think ye can get down. I need to take a look at yer wounds.”

Kane nodded and Raven helped him off the horse. He took Kane’s jacket and shirt off and examined the wounds. “I think these will need to be stitched up but I don’t have any thread. I’ll make a strapping to hold them until ye see the medic at camp.”

“I’m not going back to camp.”

Raven stared at Kane. “What do ye mean? Where are ye going?”

“I have to be somewhere else. I don’t have time to waste going back to camp.”

“Kane. These wounds could become infected. Ye need to see the medic.”

“Aye, and I will. I just have to do something else first. I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

Raven bound Kane’s wounds, muttering to himself as he did so. Kane ignored the admonishments and occasional expletives. His mind was made up. He was going to meet Abby, and nothing was going to stand in his way. The thought of her waiting by the loch, risking everything to be there, and he not turning up. He couldn’t countenance it. He wasn’t going to be another source of disappointment in her life. When Raven had finished, Kane eased his shirt and jacket back on. He turned to mount his pony when Raven spoke.

“Kane.”

“What?”

“Be safe.” The young man reached up and placed a gentle kiss on Kane’s cheek. Kane took hold of Raven’s hand, brushed his lips against the delicate fingers.

“Aye, thee as well. Don’t do anything daft while I’m gone.”

He could feel Raven’s eyes on him as he rode away.