#viceroy my arse

[trexalicious]

OMF'INGG!!! Exclusive from River...I can sooooo believe H expecting to be Viceroy!

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #12: Dowdy

The captain of the Queensguard knocked on her door for the third time with far more forceful insistence.

"If you don't come out from there in two minutes," she snapped, "it'll be my head on the line."

Vera's lord husband was a patient man in many respects, but he did not abide tardiness in any form - unless, of course, it came directly from the emperor. Every bell of his schedule was accounted for; he even blocked out time for how long it would take him to traverse the corridors of the palace. He had expected the same discipline in Vera ever since their wedding, the same rigid punctuality, and would make it quite clear to her whenever she failed in his eyes.

And despite their name, the Queensguard very much reported to the viceroy.

"I'm finishing my makeup," Vera explained for the umpteenth time.

The doorknob rattled - then there came the sound of the inevitable key scraping in the lock, and the door flew open. Fordola stormed in with all the fury of an invader. "You've been 'finishing your makeup' for twenty bloody minutes. I've watched you do it in under five most mornings this week."

"Sometimes, believe it or not," said Vera, unable to keep her voice from rising, "people make mistakes. And outside of washing one's entire face, mistakes in kohl are not so simple to undo." Even now, she had to hope that no one would look too closely at the slight smear under her right eye.

Fordola levied one of her signature scoffs and crossed her arms over her chest. "Enough of this. You look fine - beautiful, even." The venom in her voice made it clear what she thought of such a distinction. "Is that what you need to get your arse moving, my lady?"

"I need," said Vera, "just another moment of silent concentration. Before my hand slips again."

Blessedly, Fordola gave it to her, and without any of the huffing Vera had come to expect. With only another couple of strokes of her brush and a single line of her pencil, she was finished, her shadows perfectly balanced. "And there we have it. I'm ready."

But Fordola did not move. She continued staring at Vera, and herself, in the ornate desktop mirror that had allegedly once belonged to Mad King Theodoric's mother. "Why even bother?" she muttered.

"What?"

At first, Vera could only interpret her words as referring to her impending meeting with the viceroy in the throne room. Then she saw where Fordola's gaze had fallen: to the ceramic bowl of kohl powder atop the table, its lid still off to one side.

"Don't be daft. I know you hear what they say about you - Livia and all the rest. You'll never be Garlean enough for any of them. It's why His Radiance married you off and dumped you here."

Vera did not stand from her stool. She stared back into the mirror at Fordola's face, at the bitterness clenched in the curve of her mouth, and realized only then that she could not find it in herself to be angry at Fordola for the words she parroted. "I don't wear makeup to look Garlean, Fordola," she said. "Besides, it was Ala Mhigans who invented it."

The young captain could only stare at her, as if she had spoken in some language that belonged to neither of them.

"Thousands of years ago, we wore eyeliner and eye shadow to protect our vision from the sun and, yes, intimidate our enemies on the battlefield. From our ancestors, it spread to Thavnair and Ul'dah through trade. Only now that the Garleans have deemed it a luxury do they think themselves the arbiters of its use." She made to pick up her brushes, to set the lid back onto the kohl, and hesitated at the look on Fordola's face. "…You should try it. See how you like it."

"Absolutely not," she snapped.

"I think it would suit your features."

Something in that statement stunned Fordola enough for Vera to guide her onto the makeup stool. For Fordola, she scarcely needed a plan: she employed bold strokes above and below the eyes, traditional yet masculine in a way that made her irises seem to shine with the same colors as the tattoo upon her cheek. She was finished within a matter of seconds, not minutes; all the same, Fordola took only a moment to admire herself before standing with a scowl. "We're late. And now everyone will see the reason why."

"Or," Vera shot back, "they'll see we look like warriors."

All the same, they rushed to the throne room with as quick of a stride as they could muster, turning the heads of the guards more for their haste than their aesthetics.

The viceroy sat upon the throne, much as he usually did at that hour of the day, and the first petitioner had already been granted admission. His words faded into silence as she approached, until the echoes of her heels against the polished tile filled the chamber.

"Vera," said Gaius van Baelsar. "My instructions were for you to join me for petitions at noon. The time is now twelve minutes past."

Behind his shoulder, Gaius' Undercity minder sneered at her. The prick in red armor whose name she could never remember whispered something to Livia, who bit back a snort of laughter.

Vera readjusted her stance, trying to channel every ilm of her father's posture. "I was tending to an urgent personal correspondence."

Gaius' brow furrowed. "More urgent than your attention to your people? The people for whom you and I are responsible?"

She turned back to the Ala Mhigan man standing, his hands clasped together in front of him, at the foot of the throne. "…No," she conceded. "I apologize, my lord."

But Gaius said nothing in reply, and merely gestured to the man before them.

To him, Vera inclined her head. "I apologize, countryman-" It would have to do, as she had arrived too late to hear his official imperial rank. "-that other matters prevented my timely presence."

The wording was petty, and she knew it; later, she would hear an entire lecture from her lord husband on accountability, and the burden of rule. There would be entire missives sent to Solus and her father about her impertinence, and her selfishness, and a host of other imagined failings. For the time being, Gaius merely sighed and said, "Fordola."

"Yes, ser."

"…See that vanity is removed from her daily schedule."

[caliath-ffxiv]

FFXIVWrite Day 6: "Onerous"

[G] Day 6: "Onerous"

Relationship: Cagalli / Aymeric

Characters: Cagalli, Aymeric

Spoilers: 4.0

Aymeric awoke to the sound of his office door slowly squeaking open. 

“Ab… …ievable,” he heard someone mutter. 

Groggily, he pried an eyelid open, squinting in the dim candlelight. He felt the light move around him as his visitor carried the candleholder elsewhere before setting it down with a soft thunk. 

Aymeric closed his eyes again and felt gentle fingers strip away his pauldrons before replacing them with a soft fabric that wrapped around his unarmored shoulders. He sensed them rub the nape of his neck affectionately before drawing away, which was enough to adequately coax out his lucidity and he opened his eyes once more, now nearly fully conscious. 

“Go back to sleep,” Cagalli hushed. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself.” 

“Only if you do,” Aymeric murmured back. “I doubt you’ve slept much yourself as of late. Am I wrong?” he accused lightheartedly. 

“I did, actually, as a matter of fact,” Cagalli responded, smirking. “Right before we liberated Doma and Ala Mhigo.” 

“And after you did?” 

“After Ala Mhigo, yes.” 

“And Doma?” 

“In my defense, my countrymen were busy shoving their finest sake in my face in celebration.” 

“Fair enough.” Aymeric stood up slowly and stretched, feeling his joints pop with every movement. He started for the door, ready to return to Borel Manor, knowing resistance in his present company would be futile. 

He was nearly in the hallway when he noticed he was not being followed. 

“Are you disinclined to join me?” he asked, his tone all but accusatory. 

Cagalli shrugged. “I won’t be able to sleep anyways. Best let you get a good night’s rest even if I can’t.” 

“And why would that be?” 

“Work,” she said simply. 

“You bloody hypocrite.” 

“Maybe.” Cagalli glanced at the chronometer on the wall. “It’s past midnight already. Go to sleep.” She made a small motion as if to shoo him along with her hands. 

“Only if you tell me what manner of business is keeping you up this late as well.” 

“Oh, now I have to bribe you like a toddler, do I?” Cagalli sighed. “I guess that’s fair.” She sat down atop an empty patch on Aymeric’s desk. “To put it bluntly, the Scions are afraid Zenos’s corpse has gone missing.” 

Aymeric silently raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, I’m aware how that sounds. ‘By Emperor Solus, that hurt, now I will carry on with my day like a normal Garlean viceroy after being mauled by the Warriors of Light,’” she mocked. “But, in all seriousness, if his corpse has gone missing, that means there’s a trigger-happy grave robber walking around Ala Mhigo or Ascians are involved. As much as I wish it were the former, it’s probably the latter. So, no sleep for me.” 

“The Ascians again…” Aymeric sighed, rubbing his temples. “Damn them and their schemes.” 

“Are you just saying that because they robbed you of the chance to sleep with me?” Cagalli teased. 

Aymeric flushed. “I mean—” 

“I kid. But… Perhaps I have the time,” she murmured. “Just until you fall asleep. That’ll get you off my arse about being a hypocrite,” Cagalli hummed. 

Aymeric smiled. “That would be… Most lovely,” he said. “I would like that very much.” 

“We have a deal.”

[that-angry-noldo]

So we were doing a project in school about Ukraine, and the bois were like, "D, what can we put on the poster?" (i'm the only Ukrainian in class) so I said, "well, you can write about cossacs" - "well, who exactly?" and I immediately answered "Ivan Sirko"

there was silence while they typed his name in the search tab, followed by immediate "oh", "my god", and other sounds of amusement

I figured out not many people know about cossacs, so here you go

The man the myth the legend Ivan Sirko

For me, he's one of the most badass people in the Ukrainian history. He was a cossac otaman. He won 65 battles he took part in. Legends say he was a characternyk, a cossac familiar with magic, who could turn into a wolf (that's why there's a wolf painted behind him on the last image). My man laughed in the face of GODDAMN TURKISH SULTAN when he told them to surrender (are you familiar with the painting "Zaporozhians" by Repin?)

As the Sultan; son of Muhammad; brother of the sun and moon; grandson and viceroy of God; ruler of the kingdoms of Macedonia, Babylon, Jerusalem, Upper and Lower Egypt; emperor of emperors; sovereign of sovereigns; extraordinary knight, never defeated; steadfast guardian of the tomb of Jesus Christ; trustee chosen by God Himself; the hope and comfort of Muslims; confounder and great defender of Christians — I command you, the Zaporogian Cossacks, to submit to me voluntarily and without any resistance, and to desist from troubling me with your attacks.”

O sultan, Turkish devil and damned devil’s kith and kin, secretary to Lucifer himself. What the devil kind of knight are thou, that canst not slay a hedgehog with your naked arse? The devil shits, and your army eats. Thou shalt not, thou son of a whore, make subjects of Christian sons; we have no fear of your army, by land and by sea we will battle with thee, f##k thy mother.

Thou Babylonian scullion, Macedonian wheelwright, brewer of Jerusalem, goat-fu##er of Alexandria, swineherd of Greater and Lesser Egypt, pig of Armenia, Podolian thief, catamite of Tartary, hangman of Kamyanets, and fool of all the world and underworld, an idiot before God, grandson of the Serpent, and the crick in our dick. Pig’s snout, mare’s arse, slaughterhouse cur, unchristened brow, screw thine own mother!

So the Zaporozhians declare, you lowlife. You won’t even be herding pigs for the Christians. Now we’ll conclude, for we don’t know the date and don’t own a calendar; the moon’s in the sky, the year with the Lord, the day’s the same over here as it is over there; for this kiss our arse!

– Koshovyi otaman Ivan Sirko, with the whole Zaporozhian Host.

(I mean. Yeah. Ukrainians knew how to direct their enemies down the route of russian warship long before the russian warship.)

In conclusion: people, if you don't know about Sirko or cossacs in general, you're missing a lot.

[deshima]

the Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks

In  1676 sultan Mehmed IV send a letter to the Zaporozhian Cossacks, a Cossack host that lived around the lower Dnieper in current Ukraine.  In this letter he asked them to surrender and submit to the Ottoman empire despite  having been only recently defeated by said Cossacks.

 The letter went  like this:

Sultan Mehmed IV to the Zaporozhian Cossacks: As the Sultan; son of Muhammad; brother of the sun and moon; grandson and viceroy of God; ruler of the kingdoms of Macedonia, Babylon, Jerusalem, Upper and Lower Egypt; emperor of emperors; sovereign of sovereigns; extraordinary knight, never defeated; steadfast guardian of the tomb of Jesus Christ; trustee chosen by God Himself; the hope and comfort of Muslims; confounder and great defender of Christians – I command you, the Zaporogian Cossacks, to submit to me voluntarily and without any resistance, and to desist from troubling me with your attacks.

— Turkish Sultan Mehmed IV

The Cossacks obviously knew it for the bullshit it was and send a brilliant “fuck you “ letter back:

Zaporozhian Cossacks to the Turkish Sultan!

O sultan, Turkish devil and damned devil's kith and kin, secretary to Lucifer himself. What the devil kind of knight are thou, that canst not slay a hedgehog with your naked arse? The devil shits, and your army eats. Thou shalt not, thou son of a whore, make subjects of Christian sons. We have no fear of your army; by land and by sea we will battle with thee. Fuck thy mother.

Thou Babylonian scullion, Macedonian wheelwright, brewer of Jerusalem, goat-fucker of Alexandria, swineherd of Greater and Lesser Egypt, pig of Armenia, Podolian thief, catamite of Tartary, hangman of Kamyanets, and fool of all the world and underworld, an idiot before God, grandson of the Serpent, and the crick in our dick. Pig's snout, mare's arse, slaughterhouse cur, unchristened brow. Screw thine own mother!

So the Zaporozhians declare, you lowlife. You won't even be herding pigs for the Christians. Now we'll conclude, for we don't know the date and don't own a calendar; the moon's in the sky, the year with the Lord. The day's the same over here as it is over there; for this kiss our arse!

— Koshovyi otaman Ivan Sirko, with the whole Zaporozhian Host

The current clusterfuck of spectacular proportion in Ukraine created by Putin is obviously a tragedy of the highest order and like any sane person I can only condemn it and express my support to the Ukrainians. I can also notice that they don’t seem to have lost that Zaporozhian Cossack spirit judging from the tragically ballsy reply of the soldiers  of Snake Island and the texts of their brand new roadsigns.  I sincerely hope that someone finds a way to send an updated version  of the Reply  of the Zaporozhian Cossacks to Putin.. In the meantime here is the old version  as read by  Peter Capaldi, may it bring some laughter...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQTlT8-qYUk

[zertzertzhang]

I Need a Hero (Literally) Chapter 2: Deal

The viceroy was a small man. 

By that, Nezha meant no taller than four feet. Yes. He was that tiny. 

It made Nezha want to excuse himself and forget he ever accepted the case. 

“Ahem,” Viceroy Chen cleared his throat. The proud haughtiness that shrouded him minutes before had drained from his body, leaving a puddle of apprehension in his wake.

Nezha could practically hear the gears in Viceroy Chen’s head turn as he debated if he should even trust him.

It was no secret the Viceroy held the same, if not, worse opinion regarding Nezha. The way his beady eyes bulged like he saw the grim reaper himself was comical if under different circumstances.

Though to be fair, Nezha found glee with the fact his mere presence could silence the imp-like man of all arrogant pretense.

It warmed his heart to think that the Viceroy would shut up as soon as he realized he was under the looming shadow of the much taller young man.

“I would like to express my appreciation, once again,” Viceroy Chen emphasized. “For offering to save my bride from the hideous dragon. I will be forever in your debt!”

Staring down at the groveling man, Nezha snorted at the saccharine monologue. If there’s one thing he learned about Chentang Pass over the years, it was the discouraging amount of genuine gratitude and appreciation the people really held inside.

Viceroy Chen was the hallmark of all that. And Nezha would rather choke on a tang-hulu than hear another fake thank you from the old man.

“So you’ll speak to the town on my behalf to allow me full freedom to roam Chentang without the headache from villagers.” It wasn’t a question, more like an affirmation.

Never in his life would Nezha ever find it in himself to beg for favors. He always assumed the silent agreement between him and anyone else would be respected, lest someone wished to become the next barbeque for the community picnic.

“Y-yes!” The Viceroy stretched his grin a bit too wide, compensating for his chattering teeth. “Bring my bride in one piece and your wish is at my command.”

The pompous confidence of the man was the last straw. Nezha didn’t bother to hide his contempt as he leered down at the four-footed Viceroy.

“Don’t get too excited,” Nezha snapped. “She ain’t your wife yet. Who knows maybe the dragon gobbled her up after all these years.”

His outburst earned him a hard slap upside the head from Lady Yin. The mother sent him a dirty look, stunning the young man into momentary silence.

“My apologies, Viceroy!” Lady Yin exclaimed. “He woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. He’s usually a sweetheart, I guarantee it!”

‘Sweetheart’ and ‘Nezha’ never existed in the same sentence. The fact that his mother, someone who his very existence tormented since day one, was the first to suggest so made him burst out cackling.

He never asked for compliments.

Slinging his waistcoat over his shoulders, Nezha blew out a whistle. “Whatever. I’ll get it done. Ya better pay up afterward or you’re dead meat.” 

Viceroy Chen whimpered a meek ‘of course’ before hitting the ground on his knees once more. Nezha wasn’t sure if he was begging for his life or repeating his broken record of thanks. 

Stupid. Tsking, he stepped out of the manor, ignoring the angry chatter from Lady Yin. Nezha hadn’t the heart to tell her to shut up, so he resorted to blocking the babble from her. One of the many perks of the reincarnation of a spirit orb.

His thoughts trailed back to the quivering Viceroy Chen, tangling into a throbbing mess that pulsed against his skull.

Whoever was in that pagoda was not going to have a happy wedding. Nezha still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact Chen had somehow become the Viceroy amongst all people. 

He shuddered at the thought of anyone willing to throw themselves at Chen. 

But Nezha was quick to jump over the negatives. At least the woman won’t be cursed anymore, so that’s a plus...He guessed.

Unlike him, no one was going to send a few kisses over and rid him of his problems.

There was no reason to feel sorry for some random stranger who had it better. Pushing the thoughts aside, Nezha found himself strolling near towards the beach, away from Li Manor. 

The sun was more than halfway done with its descent behind the mountains, reminding Nezha of the long journey from the Viceroy's manor. 

He craved a good stretch after sitting on a horse for hours on end.

Lady Yin noticed his change in route and was on edge in an instant. “Wait Nezha! Where are you going?”

Said man didn’t bother to turn around, rather waving a hand. “I need some time alone. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“But-”

“Relax, mom!” Nezha snapped. “I’m not gonna eat the kids.”

It wasn’t like Lady Yin was in the condition to stop him anyway. No one could. Nezha was off his steed within seconds, darting into the woods before anyone could open their mouths to protest. 

The night had just made its entrance not long enough when Nezha found his way back to the beach. He prayed it would help smooth the firing nerves he held down for the entirety of the morning, it usually did the trick. 

But the unrelenting growth of an uncomfortable churn in his gut stayed, not budging an inch. It drove him to a mental frenzy knowing he couldn’t control it.

“Ha! Knew you'd be here!” Taiyi’s face popped into Nezha’s view upside down without warning, nearly sending the young man flying backward.

“The hell old man?!”

Nezha almost felt a yelp escape him, but was thankful that it failed to do so. There was no telling what would happen to Taiyi if he caught Nezha ‘acting out of character’ again. 

Recalling the last time he wanted to beat Taiyi’s ass in, Nezha’s mind somersaulted before landing back to reality. Right, he promised himself he still had to set Taiyi’s pants on fire.

Unfortunately for Nezha, the slight gleam in his eyes revealed too much.

His master picked up on the red alarms in a second’s notice. Giggling, the deity bounced back a few feet, wagging his finger in Nezha’s face again.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Taiyi said. “I just got these last week on sale, too! You’ll have to wait a bit before you rip ‘em.”

Nezha snorted. “Sure. Be prepared for the double debt. I’ve wanted to go at you for a while now.”

Taiyi widened his eyes with comical intent, putting a hand over his chest in a horrid attempt to look heartbroken.

His student wasn’t impressed.

“You know gods don’t have heart problems right?” Nezha added. Raising a brow, he gave Taiyi a thumbs down.

Grumbling a string of unintelligible words, Taiyi glared. “You know you’re really petty right?”

“Nice to meet you too, kettle,” Nezha retorted, revealing his canines in a sharp smile. A smug look was rewarded to Taiyi, who’s face went through three shades of red.

“Garrrrgh!” Taiyi plopped down next to the youth, out of breath and comebacks. “You win.”

Nezha knew him well enough to know that the deity wasn’t just there to bicker over who had the best debating skills. But he wasn’t interested in beating around the bush this time.

“Seriously, what do you want now.”

Grabbing a pebble from the sand, Nezha made a neat toss to the waters, letting it skid across before sinking to the dark depths.

He waited, all the while digging his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Saw you didn’t come back,” Taiyi said. “Thought you died or something. Viceroy Chen has a very spiky reputation.” 

“Piss off!” Nezha growled. He rolled his eyes and trudged further into the water. “He nearly shat himself today.”

Taiyi didn’t relent. “Hey, I was just worried! You never come here for nothing.”

It was going to take a broken tooth to get Nezha to cooperate, and it was obvious it wasn’t going to be today. The deity sighed, flicking his feather duster in exasperation.

Oh, how he wanted to whoop that kid’s ass.

“Just thinking about things,” Nezha replied. Letting out a loud exhale, he continued, “Wondering how that friend would do if he were in my shoes.” 

His sudden response had Taiyi’s brows arching in inhumanly shaped degrees. Nezha never revealed his deepest notions without putting up a fight...Maybe ‘never’ was a stretch, but still.

Taiyi looked like he wasn’t sure what to believe. His perturbed pout of the lips reminded Nezha of a stunned fish out of water. 

“Dude, you look like you’re gonna kiss somebody,” Nezha joked. But his antics flew over his master’s head.

Clearing his throat, the deity threw him a look, not bothering with an argument of his own. The shift in Taiyi’s gaze turned to one of apprehension as if he was afraid of the conversation’s direction.

“You thinking of that old friend again? The one who played shuttlecock with you?”

“Yeah,” Nezha admitted. “It’s been a year since I’ve seen him.” 

He kicked another rock into the sea, whistling as he did so. Despite being a proficient master at masking his discomfort, Nezha had times when even the great bastard child himself couldn’t hide the unease on his face.

His fingers traced the wet sand, mindlessly painting creases onto the smooth canvas, then letting the tides wash it off. 

A curse gets lifted, someone gets married, and I get to fight a dragon. What’s not to like? 

The nagging pit in his stomach returned, tugging at Nezha’s mind like an unrelenting leach. Embarrassment had his cheeks flaming red, reminding him of his inability to even think straight. 

He prayed it wasn’t guilt he felt, given that his motto since day one was to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The uncomfortable pressure in his chest was a pain in the arse, especially when there’s nothing to feel sorry about. Or at least he hoped.

Nezha was so into his head that he failed to detect the nearing footsteps above him. A pinch of his ears sent him howling, clutching at the pointed tips like they’d been cut off.

An overreaction, for sure, but Nezha wasn’t going to admit that.

“You know you still have me, right?” Taiyi asked. His lack of remorse over Nezha’s ears did him no favors as the latter scooted away in an instant.

“Of course,” Nezha grounded. “A wonderful friend who is so obsessed with me that he stalks me wherever I go.”

He hissed at him to make a point.

Taiyi whimpered. Nezha was positive he was seconds away from a breakdown, with the old man’s eyes enlarging into spheres the size of apples. 

The deity stomped his feet. “That’s because I care about you, ya little ingrate! I wiped your mess so many times I lost count. And here I am, thinking that we’re pals.”

Nezha wished his eyes would stay stuck to the back of his head. Thank god Taiyi was sober. He wasn’t down to haul a god with his magnified sensitivity back home at this time of day.

“Quit the guilt-trippin, old geezer.” He handed a spare handkerchief towards his master but made sure he stayed as far away as possible. God snot was not sparkling rainbows as people should know. 

Taiyi was back to his old self in a flash, completely disregarding his previous stance. Snatching the cloth away, the deity’s face lit up like a midnight lamp in the dark.

“See! We are friends! I bet I’m the only sappy old man to ever make you offer tissues,” Taiyi insisted. 

Nezha glowered. “Shut up!” 

His master beamed his vast mouth of teeth at him, inching closer while he was at it. “Ok la!” 

He plopped himself right next to Nezha, wiggling his butt into the sand as he tried to find the perfect position. After what felt like hours of him grunting and shuffling for the right comfort, Taiyi found the equilibrium.

Then he fell silent….Very silent. 

For once, Nezha thought even the crickets were the loudest things on Earth.

He could feel Taiyi’s eyes boring holes into the side of his face, but he held his ground, refusing to look back. The serene peace was much appreciated; he’d rather not break it.

If only he wasn’t that naive. If only he didn’t speak that fast. Because Taiyi couldn’t make it past five minutes. 

“So...When are we gonna leave?” The deity prodded him with his feather duster, oblivious to the twitching muscles on the youth’s face.

Nezha allowed himself to fall backward onto the sand face up, defeated.

He sighed. "Tomorrow."

Then it hit him straight in the chest.

Wait. What?! We-?

“Who’s ‘we’?” Nezha whipped around to Taiyi so hard he heard his neck snap. “Who’s ‘we’?!”

The deity twirled his feather duster, avoiding eye contact. 

“Well, y’know. With all the fancy dragons and whatnot, I gotta come with you,” Taiyi said. When he saw the darkening shadows spread across Nezha’s face like wildfire, he backpedaled. 

“Plus, it’s more bonding time!” the deity added.

Nezha wanted to hit himself with a brick and pass out. He’d be lucky if he could even find a rock that could accomplish such a thing. 

“That’s what I meant,” he retorted. “You’re a literal stalker.”

Kicking a wave of sand at Taiyi, he stood up afterwards to dust himself off. His master paid no attention to the weak assault and continued his barrage of explanations.

“Why do you make it sound like I’m so desperate,” Taiyi wailed. “I’m simply doing my job of protecting my student and making sure he’s improving.”

Nezha snorted. “Yeah, right. More like making sure I’m on a leash.” 

Taiyi rolled to a standing position, albeit teetering back and forth. “I’m serious! I gotta keep an eye on you. Besides, I’ve got a bunch of magical treasures that could come in handy!” 

The attempt to convince Nezha tumbled into a pool of dung. But the last remark struck a reminder in Nezha. A lightbulb lit in his head as he came to a conclusion. The young man smirked as he stepped closer to the deity, an arm stretched out with an expecting hand.

“Give me the spear and sash and we’re good, old man,” he said. 

Taiyi shook his head at the offer. Clutching his belt like his life depended on it, he did his best to scowl at Nezha. “Nuh-uh. That’s not happening.”

The deity’s stubbornness made his student laugh. 

“Don’t make me light your ass on fire again,” Nezha warned. He held up a finger, a small flame already dancing around his hand, waiting for its command.

The color drained from Taiyi’s cheeks as he gulped down a big lump.

“Can’t do that. I Locked ‘em in a secret stash for emergency use.”

Nezha huffed. “Then unlock it.”

Crossing his arms, he stared down at the shorter god, not in any mood to drop the case. Under the circumstances, one would think Nezha could tower over a grown man. 

But that didn’t move Taiyi one bit. “I said I can’t. It’s got a password.”

By that point, Nezha lost all hope for any sense of normalcy. He needed to smash a rock. Badly.

Slapping a hand to his forehead, the youth threw a burning glare at his master.

“You forgot it didn’t you?”   

Taiyi rubbed the back of his head, mumbling something under his breath. “I don’t think so. I swear it’s on a paper somewhere back home.”

Realizing that there wasn’t going to be a way around him, Nezha slumped back. Taiyi was smart if he wanted to be. Whatever it was, he wasn’t getting his precious spear back. 

“Fine. You can come,” Nezha said. “Just don’t fuck things up.” 

“When did I ever?!” Taiyi complained. He extended the feather duster, trying to whack Nezha. There wasn’t a need to dodge it. The latter snorted, not impressed with the lack of effort. 

Nezha sighed. “Nevermind.”

He reclined back onto the sand, hands propping him up. The twisting feeling in his gut waned, but the residual spasms were still there. 

Getting married to a viceroy wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a woman. And from the looks of Chen’s estate, he wasn’t lacking in the financial realm. 

Nezha smirked. It was probably the only height of his character, if he had any of that in the first place, of course. That princess was a lucky one.

Fuck it. No one ever thought of it. So why should I?

Shoving the last thoughts around Chen to the back of his mind, Nezha exhaled and rolled to his side. 

The cool gust of wind caressed his cheeks, whispering their soothing lullaby. Sleep was inviting him to its cave, and after a day like this, Nezha didn’t have the mind to refuse.

He was that close to closing his eyes when a tap on the head brought him to the surface of reality.

“Hey don’t fall asleep here!” Taiyi scolded. “Your mother’s not gonna let me live it down.”

Nezha felt the rush of burning flames course to the tips of his finger. A devilish grin broke into his lips. There wasn’t anyone there to rat him out. 

“You asked for it, old man.”

“W-wait stop! Help!” Taiyi shot up into the sky, a blast of light trailing after his rear-end like fireworks. 

In Nezha’s defense, the deity created exquisite colors. His only regret was not doing it sooner.

“You filthy lil’ brat!” His master’s voice rained from the top. “I told you this was new!”

But all Taiyi got in return was howling laughter from the young man below. Remorse wasn’t that popular in Nezha’s vocabulary, so an apology wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

A hint of a smile tugged at Nezha’s lips. At least he felt much better now.

Now that he thought about it, gods made really good fireworks.

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

Ao Bing watched as a general scrambled for the tower’s exit.

In just one year of guarding the East Sea Pagoda, he was able to draw a rough idea of all generals within the lands. They were crude, arrogant, boastful, and mannerless. 

The one taking his leave had created a new label all for himself; stupid. It wasn’t a word Ao Bing was proud of using. In fact, a tiny part of his pride cracked the moment he realized the man had tried to use a demon-repelling spell against him.

It did the general zero favors when he came bursting in while proclaiming his undying love for the maiden like he had known her for all his life. 

He waxed poetic about her smile, which he hadn't seen. He sang praises about her laugh, which he hadn’t heard. He went on for miles describing her hair, which he never touched. 

Furthermore, he made Ao Bing’s head throb with pity for whoever may have caught the monstrosity of a speech. 

The rescue party ended much worse compared to the others. If he was being honest, Ao Bing wouldn’t even want to consider it an attempt at all. 

He didn’t get the chance to practice his Thousand-Year Frozen Palm technique. There was no point. A single punch would’ve sent the general packing.

Humans were a double-edged sword. One moment they were the kindest souls, and the other they were hideous beings with no self-control whatsoever. 

Ao Bing was beginning to understand the unified distaste towards them from his clan. Take a man like that general and multiply it by the thousands and humanity would be littered with scum that could still call themselves a ‘man’.

Claws retracting, the dragon prince turned his head towards the room at top of the pagoda. 

The princess was staring at him. Her full lips pressed into a grim line, disappointment painted all over her features. A small voice inside Ao Bing’s head hoped she didn’t hear the other colorful things the general said.

If he himself couldn’t hold back the urge to vomit at the words of the man, he didn’t want to know how she would react if she did.

Thank god he never appeared in his human form in front of her, the guilt on his face would’ve eaten him alive.

She let out a visible exhale, before closing the windows with a hard thud. Ao Bing felt the rattle through the core of his bones.

It was surprisingly hard to tell whether or not she despised him. Even with the reality of him being her jailor, she had tried to get him talking multiple times since he started his mission; mostly pointless questions around mundane things. 

As per Shen Gong-Bao’s request, Ao Bing never turned up in human form, never spoke back, and never initiated a single interaction. It was a good idea, though. He couldn’t have his emotions blocking him in the long run.

The curse wasn’t for him to break. There was nothing he could do.

But the cold sweat of shame ran down his spine, seeping into the skin of his back. It made him queasy, though he didn’t dare voice it.

Ao Bing sighed, padding across the palace. It was easier to think of his people whenever his mind wandered too far.

Yes, He was doing this for them.

Ao Bing’s thoughts rang a bell, as the familiar footsteps of Shen echoed in the hallways as soon as he finished his musings.

Forming from the shadows like a phantom of the night, the leopard demon morphed into the shape of a human. His yellow eyes glowed beyond the dark like burning amber. The brewing colors hid the storms of thunderous unrest despite his master’s poised exterior. 

“I-I-I assume you h-have mastered the T-Thousand-Year F-froz-z-en Palm technique?” Shen inquired. His spindly fingers thumped against one another in frantic dance, betraying his calm veneer.

Ao Bing made no attempt to hide his progress, saluting Shen with a confident bow.

“I have, Master. I’ve perfected bloodstream paralysis of pressure points. It can now be done in one strike.”

Shen Gong-Bao was elated. His eyes narrowed into crescent-shaped moons as he clapped his hands. Even Ao Bing had to admit it was very rare to see his master genuinely smile. 

It raised the young dragon’s spirits somewhat.

“E-excellent!” Shen rested a clawed hand on Ao Bing’s shoulder, patting him with good nature. “You’re o-on the right t-track-k! You’ll be able t-t-to overpower the d-demon orb s-soon enough!”

The mention of the demon pill sent Ao Bing’s horns vibrating with nervous anticipation. There was no room for him to mess up.

All he had to do was track down the reincarnation of the demon orb, hold him off long enough in front of thousands of humans to be struck by lightning, and then win the Jade Emperor’s favor. 

His father would be freed, and it would be worth all the blood he shed along the past three years. 

Shen broke into his thoughts once more, rattling his trail of plans out loud. 

“Who knew th-that this girl’s c-curse would serve as the best t-tr-training g-ground for you. I-I’d have to thank w-w-whatever s-stupid god that did it.”

Ao Bing forced a smile to the surface. He wasn’t too keen on getting into the details of the curse. The less he knew the better. 

But his body failed to find a muscle to refuse the beaming leopard demon in front of him. He hated to disappoint, and over nothing at that.

Glancing up at his master with stifled unease, Ao Bing waited for the next command.

“Y-your father would be p-pr-proud of you,” Shen continued. “You’ve a-accomplished more th-things than any members of y-your clan could dream of. You j-ju-just have to defeat the demon orb now. I-I have faith in your s-success.”

A calculating gleam flashed across Shen’s eyes, silencing the doubts in Ao Bing’s mind. The young dragon felt a cold wave of resolution wash over his back.

His master was right; winning was the only choice. Ao Bing couldn’t have anything in his way. 

Life was never known for its fairness in all the years he’d been alive. What did he expect?

  The dragon prince felt the corners of his lips tug downward. He should be grateful for how the events turned out, worse things could’ve happened. 

It was as good as it was going to get for everyone.

[thepanicoffice]

To Catch an Editor

...

Fellow mortals* – it will come as no surprise that, like many other entrepreneurs who have grossly overleveraged themselves, borrowing against the value of one of their many tropical islands (I’m looking at you, Branson), this pandemic has hit me hard financially. The Panic Office, once thought too big to fail, like Lehman Brothers or Woolworths, is now on its knees.

While I may lack the breath-taking audacity required to ask the Government to be bail me out (Why do you keep catching my eye, Branson?) I fortunately do possess the slightly less breath-taking audacity required to attempt to furlough myself. 

I did so to recoup 80% of my salary – or at least up to the flimsy limits that the scheme allows; my salary is currently about 7/8ths of the total £6.8m Office budget – to see me through these difficult coming months in my toilet paper palace (I just can’t seem to get through the stuff quick enough even though I am as irregular as a plasticine clock).

Naturally, I then set out to find a temporary managing editor to do my work on the cheap. I’ve also got to spend much of my time fending off fresh charges of seditious rhyming schemes and improper use of iambic pentameter levelled against me, but that’s only a passing problem.

Of course, not any old managing editor would do. No, the Office demands a certain someone. Someone combative and regressive; someone with innumerable character flaws ripe for exploitation, and a litany of malefactions for me to hold over them; someone to vigorously castigate the staff when they have grown numb to my own drunken reprimands; someone phlegmatic and unflinching in the face of amorality, malfeasance and depravity; above all, someone with a working knowledge of the arcane and constantly shifting rites, regulations and lore of the Office itself.

In short, I needed Jones.

And so, a scheme was hatched, and orders disseminated through the remaining Panic networks, demanding the immediate identification and capture of all cadaverous, bearded men in the region, backed of course, by a substantial financial inducement.

14 hours later, Jones hurled himself through my office window - 12th floor mind you; the pigeons were most distressed – stating that he had apprehended himself and demanded payment.

The following is an (in)complete, (de)unexpurgated transcript of the job interview/disciplinary hearing which followed:

----------

RM: Interview Begins, the time is 15:67 on the 45th of July, nineteen ninety…sixteen. We are located in conference room L, overlooking the Waddington Quad. Chair of proceedings, the right honourable Viceroy & Lord Protector, Sir Reginald ‘Richard’ Wyndham Maslin III, Editor in Chief presiding. Please state your full name for the record.

RJ: …

RM: Come on now, there’s a chap.

RJ: …

RM: State your name or I’ll forcibly loosen your tongue.

RJ: …

RM: Listen you defiant wretch, it was you who devised the deprivation of liberty clause for the contracts of employment. Now state your damn name.

RJ: The defendant is Lord Professor Ríkharð Tiberius Arcturus Jones, latterly Associate Deputy Editor. 

RM: May I remind you that it is strictly forbidden for any employee except the Editor in Chief to refer to himself in the third person.

RJ: Clause 42, amendment 67/F of the Appropriate Comportment & Acceptable Conduct act of ’79, which superseded the traditional agreement that whosoever was loudest and drunkest had the floor. You just can't bellow and booze like old Reggie could.

RM: 67/G actually. ‘F' was the clarification to the ban on frottage between officers of unequal rank during budget reports. Now, you’ve wasted enough of my exceedingly expensive time already, the moment for grovelling prostrations, convoluted extenuations and enormous bribes is rapidly retreating. If you intend to weave an elaborate fiction with which to shield your hide then be quick about it.

RJ: No, that’s 76/G. 67/G permits amendments 4 through 19 to be disregarded in the event of an inadequate soup dish. But what was 76/F?

RM: You have nothing to offer in defence of your actions?

RJ: I believe my intermittent drunken missives speak for themselves.

RM: As you wish. Question the first, where the ruddy arse have you been?

RJ: I’ll ask the questions here. Now where were we? Ah yes, tell me, are you any better at dodging ashtrays than you used to be?

[a startled grunt followed by a violent crash is heard]

RM: Well I suppose that was to be expected. If only you could be induced to direct your ire towards the lower end of the social scale with any degree of consistency. I ask again, where have you been?

RJ: Stewkley. Compassionate leave.

RM: Compassionate leave? For the best part of 3 years?

RJ: Well, the office is well known for its compassion.

RM: But Stewkley of all places?

RJ: Mm, rather convenient actually, I’ve been needing an excuse to go for some time. I had several items of a …sensitive nature to recover from a buried strong box. Jail sentences do seem to fly by when they’re being served by others, don’t they? I shall need the number for your chap in Cairo, and I don’t suppose you happen to remember the name of the amoral sea captain who got us out of that spot of bother in Venezuela?

RM: Ah, Venezuela! Seems like another life doesn’t it? I shall have Snivellsby look into it. I think I have a man called Snivellsby anyway. Don’t think this settles matters though! You can’t just breeze back in here like you’ve never been gone - there must be ramifications!

RJ: Surely you’ve not forgotten amendment 76/F? It is of utmost importance that there should be seen to be ramifications for poor conduct and bad form, and that this takes precedence over all other considerations, including the institution of any actual sanction.

RM: Well, it is a most irregular reading of the amendment, but not without legitimacy... 

RJ: Exactly, just write it up and file it with the others. I’ll be in my office.

[RJ exits the room; or, to give it the due Shakespearean level of flounce: Exeunt. RM pours himself a dusty glass full of cognac]

RM: Oh yes. He’ll do.

___________ *For what has this whole ghastly period taught us if not of our own frailty? The value of community? The importance of the low-paid to the effective functioning of society? Bah - of course not! It has taught us that the mortal coil is narrow, treacherous underfoot, and we are wearing impractical clown shoes.

[thestarswillwatch]

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ thank you @montparnasse-the-arse for tagging me!!!!! it’s been ages since i’ve done one of these

1. are you named after someone

sometimes my mum says i was named after Amy from Little Women but i don’t think that’s right (and i don’t really like her) so no ??

2. when is the last time you cried

i shed like 2 tears when i saw Viceroy’s House (but i never cry in movies so this is equivalent to like 10 minutes worth of crying). before that idk? but it was probs about schoolwork or work-work

3. do you like your handwriting

okay so when i take my time my handwriting is quite nice but my normal and exam handwriting is so bad its infamous with my grade and teachers

4. what is your favorite lunch meat

all lunch meats can suck my ass except for salami (unless i don’t actually know what lunch meats are)

5. if you were another person, would you be friends with you

i think so? like i’m pretty nice i reckon but i might annoy myself a bit

6. do you use sarcasm

all the time and often people can’t tell

7. do you have your tonsils

yes bitch

8. would you bungee jump

i haaaaaate that feeling in your stomach when you’re falling so no but i really like ziplines

9. what is your favorite kind of cereal

i almost every type of cereal dry so i don’t really like it but probs milo cereal (which i have with like 2cm of milk)

10. do you untie your shoes when you take them off

who has the time for that kind of shit

11. are you a strong person

physically definetly 1000% not, but emotionally/mentally i’d like to say yes? i hate crying in front of people so that helps, but i also cry every time an authority figure tells me off for anything so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

12. what is your favorite ice cream flavor

boysenberry all the way

13. what is the first thing you notice about people

idk if this is just at work but whether or not they look friendly/open to conversation? physically probably face

14. red or pink

both are nice i guess? soft pink is good

15. what is your least favorite physical thing about yourself

my chin and jaw are kinda weird and my teeth are a bit yellow bc i lived in Dubai and the water there is fucked

16. what color are your pants and shoes

i’m still wearing my work stuff (ew) so those ugly ass black suit pants from target and no shoes

17. last thing you ate

chooclate

18. what are you listening to right now

the too-loud sounds of Die Hard bc my family is watching it underneath me

19. if you were a crayon, what shade would you be

probably that nice green or purple

20. what’s your favorite smell

frangipani !!!!!! it’s this GORGEOUS australian flower that blooms in summer

21. last person you spoke to on the phone

my mum

22. favorite sport to watch

all of them are pretty boring but i like watching the olympics? and afl is okay if you’re at the stadium

23. hair color

not quite dark brown

24. eye color

brown with maybe a tiny bit of hazel?

25. do you wear contacts

nah

26. favorite food to eat

hmmmmmm donuts, peas, or cake maybe? and lasagna

27. scary movies or comedy

i don’t really like scary movies so comedy i guess? a lot of times i don’t like them either tho

28. last movie you watched

i watched like 20 minutes of die hard and before that spiderman homecoming (!!!!!!!!)

29. color shirt you are wearing

my Coles ™ shirt, which is like beige and white stripped with a lovely coles emblem on it

30. summer or winter

winter!!!!!!!!!! i get chronic chillblaines at 20˚C but who cares

31. hugs or kisses

hugs!!!!!! i love them so much!!!!!!! also i’ve never kissed anyone

32. what book are you currently reading

Wild Swans by Jung Chang for school ((but it’s really interesting) and Our Dark Duet by VE Schwab

33. who do you miss rn

the only person i haven’t seen in a few weeks is a friend from school who i love? so them

34. what’s on your mouse pad

touchpad for life

35. what’s the last show you watch

australian ninja warrior which is waaaaay better than i thought it would be i love it

36. what’s the best sound

i like the sound of nightime in the bush next to my house? or else the sounds of my friends talking and laughing tbh

37. rolling stones or the beatles

i don’t care for either of them but a few of the beatles songs are good?

38. furthest you ever travelled

i lived in dubai which is pretty much the opposite side of the globe? so we flew back and forth from there a few times

39. special talent

i can wiggle my ears which FREAKS everyone out

40. where were you born

sydney, australia

the only person i know who hasn’t been tagged is @sabainism so them and anyone else who wants to do it!!!!!!

[onwesterlywinds]

Noble Gold and Silk

Part of my Godhands series.

Features Madelaine Lachance, a character from @llymlaenscompass.

"It's good to see you," said Élodie. The girl had brought flowers - an array of Rhalgr's gold - and as Sigrid accepted them, she lifted them to her face to take in their scent: wild, fresh, shaped in the terrain and breezes of the Peaks.

"So kind of you," she said, and meant it. Yet for all the clutter in the house, she could think of no vase in which to place them; instead, she held them upon her lap and resolved to find a worthy carrier at the market. "And I appreciate your coming."

"You're truly leaving Ala Mhigo, then?"

Sigrid had found her resolve a week ago, and the truth of it had yet to fully sunk in. She had made few preparations for the house - her linens sat unwashed, the pantry remained full, and her parents' relics sat untouched in the loft - with the result that the place looked much as it had when her father had still been alive. Sigrid had wondered for a time if the ghosts of the past would abate if she were to live under another roof, and she had gone so far as to find lodgings in an inn to put the theory to the proof. Yet her dreams had only grown worse. Better to imagine her father's curses and bellows from the basement forge than the whisper of an Undercity lord stirring her from her dreams.

"I must, Élodie." The words pained her, but they carried with them the promise of liberation. She could not stave off what she knew she must do because it would hurt.

"Who else knows? Ashley, I assume, but-"

"You're the first I've told. I meant to send word to Marco later today."

Élodie tucked a strand of her dark hair, so very much like Sigrid's own, behind her ear with a shy smile. "...I'm honored," she said at long last. She carried herself differently in private, with a youthful sort of slouch. Sigrid had once been much the same: accustomed to stooping through Undercity passages, or else lowering herself for the shorter men in her vicinity. Hopefully Élodie, too, would grow out of such habits; Sigrid's heart clenched with the knowledge that she would not be around to see for herself.

A silence drew out between them, and Élodie did not sit. She stared around at the crates stuffed with tomes and the faded rug and everywhere except at her, and her pale eyes had begun to fill with tears.

"What is it?" Sigrid asked her gently.

"Was it not enough?" Élodie blurted out. "Was it all for nothing?! After so long, why do you have to-"

"Because, Élodie," she replied, as firmly as she could muster, "there is a world far beyond Ala Mhigo that I could not even have hoped to conceive of as a servant. My mother was a learned, well-traveled woman; I have always sought to follow her example in that regard. I've gathered excerpts from her diary - records of the places she loved best, and others she never saw." Places with names like Voor Sian Siran and the Sea of Spires. "I wish to see them as well, before I am too old and too afraid to take the chance."

"It doesn't have to do with-"

Sigrid shook her head, a gesture sufficient to cut off the remainder of Élodie's sentence. "If it has to do with anyone in the city, it's Theodoric. Though I suppose I should thank him. He was as good a reason as any to go into retirement."

Élodie offered up a smile, though the expression did not reach her reddening eyes.

"Come here." Sigrid took up the flowers from her lap as she stood, and opened her arms; Élodie threw her own around her, and her lanky frame shook from unshed sobs. "I'll have to write to someone of my adventures, won't I? Marco's whereabouts change by the bell and Ashley hardly ever responds, so it'll have to be you."

"I want to hear from you every week."

"You know I won't be able to promise that." She hesitated, still holding the young woman close. It was perhaps the warmest embrace she could recall in her recent memory, at least since her stint in the Undercity. "...I had hoped to leave the house to you."

Élodie did not break the contact, yet the whole of her body stiffened. "I know what you mean to do."

"Élo-"

"It isn't going to work. I'm embedded now - living in the Undercity full-time."

"Élodie, please."

"I'm making my living, for the first time in my life, and I love it."

Sigrid held the girl at arm's length, staring her straight in the eye for a time before she spoke again. "I, too, loved the Undercity when I was a girl. Even when I was your age. I hungered for it - for its thrills, its dangers, and the things it could show me about myself. But it steeps you in things that no woman as compassionate as you should ever have to endure." Élodie made a noise that might have been a cough, but Sigrid resolved to maintain her contact. "Whatever the Undercity offers, it comes at the cost of a life full of bitterness. It is too much for any one person to change alone, or even to try. I... I meant to step away from it all, even my mother's sigils, when I found Brynhilde. I say this knowing that I would never seek to order you onto any given path, but I hope that you will listen and heed me."

"I am listening," said Élodie. "I listen, and I will remember. But I will not accept this house."

Sigrid's heart sank.

"Leave it to Ashley," Élodie continued. "Or Marco. Or even the both of them. They'll appreciate it, and they'll put it to good use."

Leave it to Ashley. For all her love for Brynhilde, the idea of giving her late partner's son a house to replace the one her death had taken away had not occurred to her. The suggestion settled somewhere deep in her gut, along with all of her suspicions that she was now giving up the last of her father's hopes for her - and she nodded her agreement.

The captain shuffled across the Merlose's deck, uneasy despite their mooring. Madelaine Lachance could hear her steps all the way from the bow. The woman's stealth had been legendary only a few moons ago, to the extent that many wondered if she could teleport throughout the ship at will for the purpose of delivering rebukes; yet her fall had taken much and more, including her mobility, and her full recovery was yet an uncertain thing.

Madelaine breathed out a little sigh but turned to greet her superior nonetheless. "So much for staying in bed."

"I ran out of water and didn't want to trouble you." Sure enough, as the captain approached unsteadily toward Madelaine's vantage in her favorite silk dressing gown, she held a full glass between her bony brown hands. "Lovely morning."

And it was at that, for nothing on Hydaelyn could compare to a sunrise in the Diadem. The region had an atmosphere of its own, as unpredictable as any sea; the aether all above and around them offered different marvels with each waking and with every turn of the head. That morning, the day dawned in a burst of heavy pinks and violets, like the bloom of some all-encompassing flower.

It was only the two of them aboard the Merlose, at least for now. The crew had been small from the first, and comprised entirely of women - less through strict doctrine like the Sanguine Sirens, and more through a string of pleasant coincidences. The other crew members had all departed within the past fortnight, however, to make their preparations for other ventures - leaving only a hold full of plunder, the captain, and Madelaine in the unexpected position of being first mate without any inclination of how long she herself was to remain aboard.

"Where to from here?" Madelaine asked. "Ala Mhigo?"

The captain tilted her head, as if to listen to the wind, but she shook her head. "Not yet."

And for a time, that was all she said as they watched the aetherial sunrise and sipped at their respective drinks. Madelaine was content to stand in silence, a buffer to the northerly winds as the captain's silvered hair whipped across her shoulders.

"Thank you," said the captain at last. "For accommodating all of my dallying. And I hope you know you're under no obligation to follow me to Ala Mhigo."

Madelaine shrugged. "Someone has to help you bring the Merlose into port."

"Perhaps so," the captain replied dryly, as if unconvinced. "A note of sentimentality, then: of all the regrets I've carried throughout my life, perhaps the heaviest of them all is that I often did not express thanks to those I loved before the chance to do so was long past."

"That is sentimental."

"Blame it on this beautiful sunrise. Now, when was the last time you dropped a line to that ranger of yours?"

Madelaine whirled around to the captain in time to see a lock of hair obscure a very self-satisfied smirk playing across her Highlander features. "Don't you try and turn this back onto me."

"I'm quite serious."

Madelaine rolled her eyes. "I imagine now that Ala Mhigo's been freed, he'll be returning at the rearguard." Timing had never been among Sairsel Arroway's virtues. "What about you? Who's waiting for you back in the capital?"

"No one anymore." Somehow, it was the definitiveness with which the captain spoke that struck Madelaine, more so than the bitter reality she conveyed. "Which means that while I may consider paying a visit to your good friend the Grand Steward, I'm in no hurry to return."

If the stories were true, Ashelia Riot had led her force against the Garlean viceroy himself. Perhaps that tenacity would be enough for her to handle whatever business the captain had with her.

"I'll be here until you're ready," Madelaine promised, and found herself meaning it. "But we'll be going nowhere until you park your arse back into bed."

Again the captain scoffed, though she began her slow retreat back to her cabin. "Oh, very well. Boss me around all you'd like, while it's just the two of us; I imagine you've earned it."

Madelaine fired up the Merlose's propellers and charted their course through the resplendent color before them, and only much later did it occur to her that the captain had expressed her love in no uncertain terms.