#towards the pathetic excuse of a legacy that his children are. I understand him completely

[superiorsuicide]

I’m always joining the war on disappointed fathers on the side of the disappointed father. such a burden, being both wrong and sexy.

[carmenlire]

The Son’s to Bear

read on ao3

With a wave of his hand, a viewing window opens on the wall, allowing Asmodeus to watch his son unobtrusive.

He sees matted hair, greasy and unkempt. There are circles under his eyes, dark bruising that betrays his bone-deep exhaustion. Laying limp in his bed-- with its Egyptian cotton and hand-woven duvet-- Magnus looks broken.

It’s a sight for sore eyes and Asmodeus drinks the scene in hungrily.

He’d tried. Lilith knew that he’d tried his damnedest to mold Magnus into the man-- the king-- he was born to be. He’d known from the moment his son was born, wails echoing around the little village he’d slipped through several months earlier-- that this would be his heir. None of his other children had ever been so powerful from the start. From Edom, Asmodeus could feel the strength in the babe, the magic already so bold and strong.

When he’d visited the little house on the outskirts of the village, he’d crept through the house as silent as a shadow. He’d frowned at the little mementos that mundanes liked to scatter around their homes-- bibles and trinkets and wasteful possessions.

Following the beckoning of the blood in his veins, Asmodeus had found the child swathed in cotton and sleeping peacefully, thumb in its mouth and expression serene.

He’d stared down at his son for long moments, cataloging the dark hair and tawny complexion. Suddenly, the child shifted in his sleep, reaching out to Asmodeus before opening eyes that were identical to his own.

Captivated, Asmodeus has slowly reached his own hand out, allowing his son to wrap a little fist around his finger. Paternal pride had clenched his chest at the power contained in such a little body. Asmodeus could detect the magic running through the child and it was potent.

Asmodeus had stood over the crib for hours, watching his son sleep while his mind churned with plans. Lost in thought, he’d stayed until the night sky started giving way for dawn’s weak light and he heard the stirring of the house on the other side of the door.

It had been nothing to keep a watchful eye on that corner of the world and when he’d heard rumblings about a little boy wreaking devastation in a tiny village, Asmodeus had known it was time.

The boy-- soon enough, Magnus-- had been distrustful, frightened. Asmodeus had coaxed him closer, though, with a sincere smile and gentle touch. He’d waited for his son to accept him, to welcome him, to reach for him before whisking the two of them away from this pocket of the world.

The next decades had been everything Asmodeus had hoped. He’d honed Magnus’s magic and watched as his son grew into his power, as he wielded devastation on his own terms and not as an act of fear.

And what devastation it had been.

In some places, there are still whispers of The Great Destruction. Asmodeus’s tutelage had been as complete as it had been uncompromising. Magnus learned to control his magic until it was second nature. Mercy wasn’t a concept the boy had known and he’d watched, time and time again, as Magnus destroyed villages and punished the people who scorned him, who shrank back in terror at eyes that should have instead commanded respect and awe.

Still, he’d failed. As Asmodeus watches the way Magnus seems to sink into the bed, listless and disgusting with it, he shakes his head mournfully.

Somewhere, he’d gone wrong. Magnus had turned against him, against the father he’d never had but always wanted, against the one person who would have given him the world on a gold-plated platter.

He still remembers the day Magnus had turned his back on his legacy. It had seared through him, a maelstrom of disbelief and rage and sorrow. He doesn’t know where he went wrong, just that Magnus had sworn that he’d never become his father-- as if that was a bad thing, as though it was shameful to fall into Asmodeus’s shadow.

But look where they are now, Asmodeus thinks with a slow, private grin.

His son never learns. His spirit is indomitable but it can be manipulated as easily as any mundane’s. All he’d had to do was dangle Magnus’s lost magic before him like the most persuasive carrot and his son had completed a little mission for dear old dad, leaping through the fires of the damned a second time in as many months.

He’s had Magnus in Edom for several days and he’s greedily watched as Magnus’s spirit had plummeted hour by hour until he was left in his room, pitiful and pathetic.

The shadowhunters are chasing their tails in the city. Magnus’s boyfriend is beside himself and it’s been an amusing diversion to watch as Alexander runs himself into the ground trying to find where Magnus had gone.

Everyone around him has started suggesting that it might be time to give up the search. It will be interesting to see how long it takes for Alexander to follow suit.

Asmodeus can already picture telling Magnus-- showing him-- that his lover had given up on him. Yet another fickle human unworthy of his son.

They’re all the same, honestly. Asmodeus wonders if this time, Magnus will listen to him, if he’ll understand that his father is his one constant, the only person who loves him and will love him through the passing centuries.

Magnus was a fighter, he’d give his son that.

No one understands a father’s love, Asmodeus muses. No one can understand the depth of feeling, the pride that is just as easily displaced with bitterness. Asmodeus will always welcome Magnus to Edom with open arms and his vision of the future has never wavered-- Magnus at his side as they rule together.

A legacy that strikes fear and respect and admiration and awe in the hearts of demons and mortals alike.

At first, Magnus had been furious at the perceived betrayal. Asmodeus had returned his magic to him-- what lost was so easily regained-- and locked him in his old suite in Edom until he’d seen reason. He’d watched as Magnus had been consumed with fury as he’d searched feverishly for an escape.

He’d watched as Magnus’s shoulders had slumped as he hadn’t found anything, as the days had passed and he’d remained trapped. It was for his own good and Asmodeus knows that he’ll come around eventually, that all will be forgiven as soon as Magnus realizes just how much Asmodeus loves him.

Taking a step back, Asmodeus waves away the viewing window and turns on his heel.

Magnus is breaking but he isn’t broken yet. His thoughts fill with ideas as Asmodeus walks away from his son without a backwards glance.

Magnus barely looks up as the doorknob turns.

He’s angry but it’s distant. His goddamn father always has another trick up his sleeve and Magnus will never fucking learn that apples from Asmodeus are poisoned to the core.

He’d naively thought that he could regain his magic if only he completed a little mission for Asmodeus. But he’s stuck here, in this filthy ruin of a castle.

He’s sworn time and time again that he wouldn’t return to Edom, that he’d walk away from his father and never come back but here he is like a fucking fool, playing right into Asmodeus’s hand.

It’s galling. It makes bile rise in his throat.

Magnus is stuck here until he can find a way to escape. The days have started blending together and he’s tired. It seems like Edom saps the soul right from his body. His dreams are plagued with nightmares and his thoughts turn to Alec whenever the darkness is particularly heavy.

Alec is his lighthouse in the thunderstorm. When things get too hard, when the nightmares leave him gasping and sweating, he thinks of his boyfriend.

He wonders what Alec’s doing now. He wonders how Alec’s doing. Hopefully, he’s taking care of himself and Magnus desperately hopes that Alec knows where he is.

After all, he was only supposed to be gone for an afternoon. Like an idiot, he hadn’t told anyone where he was going and his appointment book only has the ever helpful client designation in the time slot.

“Magnus?”

Magnus blinks slowly before it registers who’d just spoken and then he’s sitting up so fast he’s dizzy.

Alec is standing in the doorway.

Alexander.

His expression is grim but Magnus sees emotion in those lovely hazel eyes. Alec’s gaze is watchful, ever the soldier, as he takes a look into the corridor before focusing back in on the room.

His bow is ready in his hand and he takes a single step inside. Magnus cringes a little as Alec studies him, eyes sweeping from head to toe. He knows that he’s a sight for sore eyes and he wishes that he could look better for Alec, even if the thought is ludicrous right now.

“Are you alright?”

Alec’s tone is curt but Magnus tells himself that Alec’s just hypervigilant right now. For heaven’s sake, the man has stormed hell to save him. Now wasn’t the time for grand declarations.

Standing, Magnus straightens his shirt. It’s both a nervous tic and an attempt to look not quite as ghastly as he’s sure he does.

Alec doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m better now that you’ve arrived, darling. Where are the others?”

“The others,” Alec asks, frowning for a moment before his expression smooths out.

Magnus stares at him, incredulous. “Don’t tell me that you’ve come here by yourself, Alec. As happy as I am to see you, I don’t want you pulling hare-brained schemes in an attempt to rescue me.”

“I’m your boyfriend,” Alec says, shaking his head impatiently. “It’s my job to protect you.”

Something about his tone is off but Magnus can’t put a finger on it. The words are halting, frozen. They don’t fill Magnus with the warmth he’d ordinarily feel and it’s jarring.

Chalking it up to the trauma of Edom, Magnus walks toward Alec, smiling. “I assure you, Alexander, I very much appreciate this mission but let’s not be hasty. I don’t need protection. I think you’ll agree that Asmodeus is a particularly vile devil and that these are extenuating circumstances.”

Clenching the bow, Alec’s shoulders are rigid as he replies, “I don’t think you know who you need protection from.”

Magnus rears back as though he’s been slapped. “Excuse me.”

Grabbing his hand, Alec pulls him closer. His grip hurts and Magnus has to fight his instinct to pull out of the hold.

“You think your father’s the devil incarnate but he saved you from starvation, from filthy streets and certain death. His power runs through your body. He’s given you everything you could wish for and more. He lauded you over his other children and this is how you repay him? You sicken me.”

Magnus chokes on a breath as he stares into Alec’s eyes. The grip has turned punishing and he feels bone grind against bone as a dull ache starts in his wrist.

“What,” he whispers. Swallowing painfully, Magnus bites his tongue. He hopes the pain will clear his head or awaken him if this is yet another nightmare but it doesn’t do anything, it doesn’t change anything and Magnus is left standing in front of Alec as confusion and dread swirl around him.

“I don’t love you,” Alec says coldly. “You were a convenience, a way to test the waters but I’m tiring of you. Do you really think that a shadowhunter could want a warlock, could love something half-demon? Did you think I could? Yeah,” Alec says softly as his nails dig into the softness of Magnus’s skin, leaving bruising crescents in their wake. “I bet you did. And that makes you stupid as well as weak.”

His stomach turns and it’s all Magnus can do to swallow the bile that scalds his throat. The words pierce him, splintering his heart into a thousand pieces before crumbling it to dust.

“Alexander,” he mutters hoarsely. “I don’t--”

Before he can finish the sentence, something’s happening. Alec’s face blurs, morphs. His body changes, leans out as thin fingers dig into him.

And then it’s not Alec standing in front of him but Asmodeus.

Everything crashes down on Magnus in an instant. It’s a burden that bows his shoulders, that makes them tremble as he tries to keep his knees from buckling at the realization that Alec was never with him, that escape is as far away as ever.

“You bastard,” Magnus hisses and recoils as Asmodeus smiles warmly.

“You’re welcome, son.”

Biting back a retort, Magnus can only ask, “What are you talking about? Why the hell should I be thanking you for pulling such a heinous stunt?”

“You think that was a stunt?” Asmodeus’s mouth forms a moue of distress. “That was a lesson, my boy. Alexander Lightwood is the latest in a long line of self-righteous shadowhunters who think it sport to hunt our kind. You are nothing to him but a willing body and it pains me to see you sink so low. You need help, Magnus.”

“And what,” Magnus bites out. “I’m supposed to believe that you’re the kind of help I need?”

“I’m your father, boy. I’ve only ever had your best interests at heart. Forget about Lightwood and come home. Return to my side and we will forget about mortals who are beneath us, who could be so easily crushed under the heel of our boot. You’re made for better things, bigger things, than to degrade yourself with a shadowhunter and pander to people who will never know the kind of power you possess-- and would condemn you if they ever found out.”

“No,” Magnus says. “I will never forsake everything that makes me human just to turn into you. I made that clear centuries ago and that will never change, not as long as there’s a heart beating in my chest.”

Asmodeus doesn’t say anything for a moment, studying Magnus with eyes that make Magnus’s skin crawl. Alec might love them, might’ve tried his damnedest to make Magnus love them, but every time he looks into his unglamoured gaze, Magnus is reminded of his father and of a past that haunts him, even after centuries.

“We’ll see about that,” Asmodeus finally says. “Sooner or later, we all must return to the houses of our fathers. You’re lucky that yours is so benevolent, Magnus. I know it will take time for you to come around.”

He steps closer and Magnus stands still through sheer force of will as his father tilts his head up with a finger under his chin.

“Lucky for us both then that we have all the time in the world, isn’t it?”

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves as suddenly as he’d arrived. Magnus stumbles back as the door closes and sags onto the bed. It feels like he collapses in on himself as he bends over, burying his head between his knees and trying to get his breathing under control.

God damn Asmodeus for wearing Alec’s face and damn him for believing it.

“Jesus Christ,” Magnus whispers, throat working as he gasps out a breath. He’s shivering, cold even in the infinite warmth of Edom.

He knows-- damn him, he knows-- that Alec didn’t say those words, that Alec hadn’t flung those vile words at him.

He can’t stop repeating them, though.

I don’t love you.

Did you really think that I could love a demon?

Burying his hands in his hair, Magnus grabs fistfuls and pulls until his scalps stings, until the pain clears the fog.

Edom is nothing but tricks, but smoke and mirrors, and Magnus has been away for far too long-- yet never long enough-- if he’s forgotten that painfully learned lesson.

Alec’s out there and he’s looking for Magnus. Magnus needs to remember that, to believe it, otherwise he’ll go insane and when Alec really does find him, there will be nothing of worth to bring back.

Magnus crawls into bed and lays on his side, tense as if waiting for another blow, this one fatal.

He’s still in the quiet of the room, all of his thoughts focused on Alec, on the love that burns bright between them. It will be his saving grace, that much Magnus knows without a shadow of a doubt. He plans and he plots but Asmodeus won't let him go so easily again and Magnus despairs of finding a way out without help.

His boyfriend’s voice is a soothing background in his mind as Magnus stares at the chipped, ruined paint of his bedroom wall.

There’s something dark lingering under the surface, though. Magnus tries to ignore it but it seems to spread like ink on parchment.

It stains his heart even as he fights against it.

Asmodeus watches as Magnus breaks a little more over the next weeks. The next time he’d masqueraded as Alec, Magnus had fallen for it again.

Along with the time after that, and the time after that.

He’d watched the light go out a little more each time Magnus’s hopes were dashed. Every time he heard Alec denounce him, reject him, Magnus grew a little smaller, his eyes a little more hollow.

Remembering Magnus’s vow-- not as long as there’s a heart beating in my chest-- Asmodeus works, slowly, painstakingly, to grind the offensive sentiment into dust.

By the time Asmodeus is done with him, love will be an anathema to Magnus. All that will be left will be power and strength and a duty to his father.

Asmodeus loves Magnus but he doesn’t need that love returned. No, he just needs Magnus with him. Whatever that takes, Asmodeus is more than willing to do.

With that thought in mind, Asmodeus closes the window on Magnus, who was babbling to his imaginary love about Tokyo of all things.

It’s less than a thought to shift form into Alexander as Asmodeus reaches for the door to Magnus’s quarters.

By all the demons in hell, Asmodeus will break Magnus if it’s the last thing he does.

There is no escape. There is no respite.

Magnus is his and it’s time that the world remembered that-- that his son remembered that it was him, Asmodeus, who was responsible for his very existence.

Opening the door, Alec is greeted with a dull stare. Magnus tries his best to ignore him but like a moth to a candle, he’s pulled into the scene for the dozenth time, hope flaring bright before being mercilessly crushed.

Alexander will be Magnus’s downfall.

Asmodeus will make sure of it.

[river-phillips]

After River’s death, Iann is stuck with a restrained Wendy Kimura, both still going a little crazy from the Blood Moon. He attempts to glean some information out of her in order to carry on River’s legacy and stop the curse on her family, resorting to some less than innocent measures to do so.

@ianncardero

Iann wasn't able to keep the mother (he still couldn't remember her name, and had to go look at his notes to find it) in the basement, unfortunately. Even though he thought it was best for her to be tied up, nice and proper with chains and moonstones all around her, with no other view but her dead child. River, who now stood propped up and eyes closed, cleaned up of her blood and mess as best as Miguel and Iann were able to do. She stood in the stand-up freezer locker in Iann's basement, glass-frosted doors so that the mother could see exactly what she'd done. There was no excuse for it, either. And everyone had excuses for the terrible things they did, everyone had their fucking reasons. Some Iann sympathized with, others Iann did not. His moral boundary was drawn when there was intent to kill, or do harm to innocent people with a purpose and design. Short of the mother (Wendy! That was it, Iann read in his notebook on River) saying a demon possessed her and made her kill her children, Iann was not going to let her go easy on this. But he had to know, because...he had to know.

So he took her up to the rooftop, given how antsy and aggressive everyone was during the blood moon. He had no choice here, although he wanted her to see her youngest, dead. But sitting under a covering to shield her from the sun, and watering her down with a hose would have to do. "I know about Calloway," Iann stated flatly. "I know where he is, I know that he was affiliated with you and your husband. I know you two were criminals, and I know how River ended up in her mother's care. The mother who raised her, not killed her." Iann turned off the hose. "I know a lot of pieces, Wendy. And I know you owe me nothing, but if you have any conscience or regret over what you did to your children - to River - you'll tell me what I don't understand. Why you did what you did, and why you believe it had to be done."

Wendy was simply biding her time to escape. There were still four of them out there. Still four away from the finish. She'd went for her youngest next because after the obstacle she'd posed to Wendy in Canada, she realized River and her supernatural friends would be her biggest threat, and that threat needed eliminated as quickly as possible. The witch had unblinded her, but unfortunately this human knew his way around a knot, and being brought to the roof added an extra complication to the matter. Wendy simply rolled her eyes as the human tried to interrogate her. "You know nothing," she scoffed. "Soon this will all be over and I can rest. You'd do best to let me go before you become collateral damage."

"Rest? That's all you want? You should've just offed yourself then," Iann said, folding his arms and studying her. The anger in him seethed and pooled around his heart, but Iann could control that. And he could definitely control those other urges around Wendy. All he had to do was think of River's dead body in his freezer, and his focus intensified on the selkie. "Rest is simplistic and you went out of your way to make it complicated, with the voice modulator and traveling up and down two countries like that."

Wendy looked the human in the eye. He thought himself intimidating. Convincing. It was adorable. "You don't understand," she repeated again. She was compelled to do these things, but she wouldn't ask for sympathy. She could feel no remorse. She could feel...nothing at all. "You tried to get me to feel regret by propping my daughter up in front of me down there. It only shows how little you understand. She was the best challenge yet." She narrowed her eyes, a wicked grin twisting on her lips. 

Iann was far from trying to be intimidating, and it was the last thing he'd ever hope to achieve; even now in the blood moon, he was fully aware of that. A human, trying to be intimidating in a supernatural world was ludicrous. But he didn't mind when people assumed things about him, made erroneous judgements because it was convenient to them to decide Iann was trying stereotypical stupid macho TV show tactics. As if Iann didn't already know who and what he was to supernaturals, to pretty much everyone in this world. A nothing and a nobody. However, everything Wendy said to him, was giving him answers. He didn't ask questions expecting exact replies from her; he asked to make her say anything. And she did, and Iann listened, processing. She didn't feel regret, she still saw killing her children as challenges. If Wendy still had any heart or motherly instinct, it was buried or hidden so deep, that it didn't crack this hardened surface. It would be easy for Iann to just assume she was a psychopath, but...that would be a lazy assumption. There was more, and Iann wanted to find it. "You keep saying that we don't understand, as if I don't already know that, Wendy." Iann came over, and lifted the awning that kept Wendy shaded, pulling it off to one side. The sun was hot and high in the sky; Iann tugged his own baseball cap down lower, and came behind Wendy methodically stripping her wet shirt off of her. He exposed her shoulder and head to the sun; still wet, it was only a matter of time before the sun evaporated the water and made her dryer and hotter than before. Especially for a selkie. "Is it your skin? You lost your skin, and you're compelled by someone? By Calloway..." Iann said it, but he still wasn't convinced this was all Calloway's machinations, for some reason that Iann couldn't pinpoint. That would be too convenient, he felt.

Wendy attempted to struggle in the chair as the human exposed her to the sun. She could already feel her pale skin cooking underneath it, the water she'd been drenched with before leaving her quickly under this baking effect. But she acted as if she was simply soaking up the sun, leaning her head back and letting out a contented sigh, even though she could already feel herself overheating. As the human spoke again, she let out a scoffing laugh. "Pelts grow back, you fool," she said, giving away more than she realized. "What's your name, human? Do you have children?" she asked, letting her head lull forward. She felt as if her face was melting like wax, the sweat immediately evaporating from her skin. "Do you know what it's like to take advantage of their trust?"

Iann backed away and bit at his thumbnail, watching Wendy closely. She wasn't afraid of Iann, which was fine since he didn't act fearsome. But was she afraid of pain? What about of adverse reactions from the sun? What about dying? Iann wouldn't let her die of course - or, well. Not directly, he wouldn't kill someone else. Even her. But his eyes widened when she spat that pelts grew back and Iann's hand dropped from his mouth. "They do?" Iann said, then nodded, telling a mild white lie. "I have one kid, a girl," he said, thinking of Bellamy. "Did you have all your children for their usefulness to you? That would take some hella long-term planning." He glanced up at the sun, and then turned on the hose, letting it spout near to Wendy but not near enough. "So you had your pelt taken, and you grew it back...must take a lot to grow back. Or is it just time?"

Wendy found herself pathetically trying to lean in the chair toward the water splashing uselessly on the ground beside her. "A girl. What's she like? Would you die for her?" She shot Iann a glare at his accusation. "I loved my children," she said, her voice shaking a bit, but she got it under control just as quickly. The fact that she was flip-flopping so heavily on her convictions was going completely over her head. It wasn't like anyone talked to her about the logic of her situation on the regular. Like there was any logic to be had at all....She groaned as a cramping pain hit her side and snaked up into her chest, and her breath turned shallow. Usually she'd never overheat this quickly, but it was such a hot, cloudless day. "It takes time. I'm not here to give you a biology lesson, human. Read a book." She spat onto the ground in front of his feet.

The sun was a lot for many humans and other landfolk, and Iann could only imagine how painful it must be for seafolk right now. Especially like this, out in the open without any reprieve. He frowned when she said she loved her children, wondering if that was the peek of that inner, buried Wendy that he'd desperately hoped to spot. Desperately, because Iann knew full well that there were still River's siblings out there, alive and trying to survive. He knew he couldn't let Wendy go, and he knew he couldn't kill Wendy. So all he could do now was hope there was some way to end this. Carry on River's legacy and all the hard work the poor young thing did in trying to save her siblings and herself. It broke Iann's heart to think about it, but he just turned away and did a pace around the roof to try and recheck his emotions, before he returned and picked the hose back up again. "Truth is most books on selkie are written by landfolk, go figure. Landfolk, writing books made of paper...I always go to the source if I can to confirm." He looked down at her spit. "I don't think you should be wasting that...." and then Iann exhaled, and shook his head. "No, I don't think I would die for her. And you wouldn't die for yours either, obviously. They're just challenges to you."

Wendy raised her eyebrows. “You wouldn’t?” She honestly did sound surprised. “Would you kill for her?” Iann’s words cut her like a knife. Like the knife she’d used to cut into her little girl. She let out another groan, louder than the last, shaking her head wildly as she fought with herself. She looked like a rabid animal, jerking in the chair as it creaked underneath her. “No, I w-would. I want to. I want to d-die for them.” She looked up to Iann, pleading in her eyes suddenly. “Kill me. Do what my husband couldn’t.”

"No, I wouldn't kill for her. Does that make me worse than you? You killed your children, Wendy! For what? To protect them?" Iann came forward, kneeling in front of her and holding firmly to the lawn chair. "Why do you want to die? Don't you want the challenge, isn't that what you enjoy?" Something was happening to Wendy, some sort of inner conflict, some conflation between that outer shell and whatever still possibly lurked within. Whatever real conscience was there, forced into hiding. It was...well for Iann it was not unlike dealing with someone possessed by a demon. Two sides - the demon, and the innocent soul that was tortured by the demon's actions and consequences. "I know, I know before you say it - I don't understand." Iann rattled the chair. "Tell me what I don't understand!"

Wendy was still shaking, partially from the effects of the sun on her body, but also because the curse was trying desperately to regain control. "So I can't hurt...Die. I want to....I want them to die." It won. It always did. No matter how vehemently Wendy fought, the curse always won out. She looked up at him with flaming eyes as he knelt in front of the chair. "You don't understand the feeling," she lulled her head back lewdly and licked her dry lips. "The feeling of ripping your daughter's eyes out...of stabbing your husband in his sleep...of slitting the throat of your little girl!" Her voice was a twisted mixture of pleasure and a twinge of remorse as the real Wendy pounded on the surface, tears streaming down her face even though she didn't have the moisture to spare. "Whatever you think you know of Calloway...forget it. You've no idea what he's capable of."

So close. He had gotten so close and then in an instant Wendy was gone, replaced by that....monstrous outer shell. Iann looked down and sighed then stood back up. "I'm sorry Wendy, for whatever you got into that made you do this." Iann put the awning over her and watered her down. "I'll be back to feed you and a bathroom break in a bit." Once Iann found someone sane to assist him. That was when Ruby texted.