#you know the more i read about ordis the more i like him

[kaiserouo]

"Huh."

[hollowtones]

what'd you think about jade shadows?

I put it under a read-more because I don't know how to talk about this without talking about spoiler stuff. The tl;dr is "I liked it but I wish there was a little bit more."

One of the things I didn't like isn't even really part of the quest itself, but I saw a mutual bring it up a few days ago & it's been on my mind since: it feels a little odd to have a content warning before your sidequest, and then not give you any way to skip the quest if it's content you don't think you'd be able to handle. Especially given there's a whole event & rewards that only unlock afterwards!!

OK on to the contents of the quest itself. There's a lot of themes of love and connection and empathy in the face of systemic cruelty or indifference, in this game in general, and a lot of how that manifests is stories about characters fighting for self-determination and agency (the Ostrons trying to stay free of the Grineer, the Solaris trying to destroy the systems that keep them in debt & deny them bodily autonomy, Umbra, the Tenno, the Lotus, etc etc).

I think it's interesting to try and explore a tragedy where we aren't able to help someone in time, where the powers that be have brutalized someone and we as individuals aren't able to get there in the nick of time & help them claw their agency back. I think it's an interesting thematic & emotional through-line (with very strong parallels to Ordis... very smart choice to make him the event vendor / narrator, I'm feasting good on all the new dialogue LOL), and I think there have been enough well-written woman characters in the game that don't get written out or killed for the sake of some man's tragedy or growth that I don't immediately roll my eyes about them trying a So Sad The Woman Dies story.

I do also think this would have hit harder if we got more information about Jade herself!! I realize "this woman broke a law and was completely dehumanized / made into a Thing by the empire, stripping her of herself to suit their ends" is Kind Of The Point, and they make enough of a fuss about "wow there's a lot that's redacted about her history, huh!" that I assume this is a plot thread they're leaving hanging for later. But I feel like the big moment would have resonated better if they gave us a little more info to establish this character, other than "she was heterosexual" and "the Orokin were fucked up, don't forget" haha.

(I do find it funny that the storyline about Ballas, who got Divorced So Badly that he Caused Nearly All Of Today's Problems, is all wrapped up, but the story keeps going "no no, don't worry, there's still plenty of opportunity to remind you how fucked the Orokin were." Here's these two people that broke some insipid law about conceiving a child & so their bosses and leaders broke their brains and turned them into bio-weapon lapdogs as punishment. Every time they go "BTW Something Was Deeply Wrong With The Orokin & We Still Feel The Aftershock Of That Today" I clap my hands like a seal.)

Warframe Babies Are Born!!!!! This little tyke is fuckin weird. What's their problem. I think it's weird and cool. I don't really feel much about "this character is a parent now!" type of storylines. (I did pop off when Stalker got to do his shithead honourable samurai defending a child with one arm thing. I'm a sucker for that & they made it coooooool. It feels like they're setting up some kind of "Lone Wolf and Cub" situation. The scythe being juiced up with BabysPower was also funny.) The baby thing is neat to me from the perspective of, like... This is something weird and new that's never happened before in this universe. That's exciting and kind of scary! I'm interested to see where they go with that. (Presumably in a year or two. Very funny to drop this on us when a completely different major story arc is right around the corner with 1999.)

Gianni's delivery was fuckin killer. I'm excited for whatever next arc they do with Stalker if it means they're gonna pay my boy to grunt and yell and scream more. It feels very strange to be acquainted with two people who've done voice acting in "Warframe" now. Me next? ^_^

I like our new Corpus weirdo. I hope she comes back. Fun to get more stuff with the Sisters of Parvos & with Mr. Granum himself. But I liked her a lot. It got a fuckin laugh out of me to have her through all the quest excited about her big promotion that she's going to get & resolving that with "Is that a fuckin baby??? Fuuuuuck! They don't pay me enough to shoot a baby with a gatling gun!" I wish her ending scene was a little more than just stoically standing aside but literally anything else I can think of feels way too cheesy or on-the-nose.

The facial animations on the Operator were really fuckin weird. I just remembered that. I thought that was just a thing on my end but I watched someone else play & the faces looked weird for them too.

Hunhow's a good inclusion. I like him seeing the Stalker stewing in his own misery because he hates the only people that could offer him help & going "aw man, c'mon buster, don't be like me now." I like his signature that he puts in his emails. I like that he's still an emotionally constipated weirdo that hates us but is still endeared to us in some way. (They make nods to The New Strange in his ending email, which makes sense given that this also feels like a quest setting up More Weird Shit In The Future, but I do get a laugh that it also reads as "JADE WAS PREGNANT? OKAY... WELL. DON'T FORGET THAT I HAVE A WOMB TOO, KID." Thanks Grandpa. Love you too Grandpa. Thanks for the sweeties Grandpa.)

The event quest feels like a nice bow on top. I like the parallels between Jade and Ordis. Wanting to afford her the dignity in death he could never be given. Acknowledgement of Ordan Karris is fun!!! (The line about him being conflicted with the thought of Granum un-cephalon'ing him has me rubbing my hands together.) I'm excited that we're getting so much of Parvos Granum lately. What a shit head. It's funny to see him so hyped up about Ordan. "Duuuude! Your history's famous killer!! That's awesome? Do you wanna work for me? C'monnnnn we both hate the legacy of the Orokin. Wouldn't it be awesome if MY rule was the one dehumanizing you and wielding you as a weapon instead?" This is something they've been establishing as early as "Parvos and Ballas in bed with one another doing shady back-room deals over a Warframe bodyguard and specter particle research" but it's fun whenever they sow the seeds of Parvos being so much like the Orokin he hated.

I wrote more than I thought I was going to!!! I like the thematic through-line idea of this quest but I wish they executed on it better. I like the stuff this is presumably establishing for the future. I really like the event quest as... not quite an epilogue, I guess, but as an addition. Other than that I thought it was okay! I wasn't expecting anywhere near the level of Whispers in the Walls, but that quest being such a high bar makes a "pretty okay" quest stick out to me a little, haha.

[edgygayguy]

!!!JADE SHADOWS SPOILERS!!!

I played the quest and it was ok. Felt very polarized by it.

The Warframe baby is a very fucking crazy and unexpected idea, the consequences of turning a pregnant person into a Warframe are really interesting and I want more lore and I want it yesterday. It will probably take like 2 years to get back to that tho. I would be happy with just some relevant codex entries. Also the baby to me looked pretty ugly and idk why I focused so much on that detail, but the piece of cloth stalker held it in was just not it. Like why does it look like he knitted that for the baby in advance. I'd rather have the baby itself be more visually interesting and wrapped in just black.

The quest was way too short, if I wasn't following devstreams I would feel no attachment to Jade at all. She's just there and the only thing we know about her is that she and stalker are in love, had a pregnancy and then got turned into Warframes.

I still have a lot of questions that went unanswered. Did the orokin turn both of them into frames at once or did Stalker get turned after the fall? If so was it voluntary? Why does the stalker hunt the tenno so fiercely? We know now why he hates Warframes but weren't the orokin responsible for turning his love into one? My headcannon is that the conditioning the orokin used on the dax was very effective on him, he couldn't bring himself to hate the golden lords so he began hating the warframes and in turn the tenno. I think he voluntarily turned himself into a Warframe, but how? No idea, maybe he managed to seek out Ballas who decided it was a great idea to create a hunter for the ones hunting him.

We know that some frames didn't get piloted by a tenno, Kullervo, Jade and most likely also Dante. The stalker seems to be the same. These 4 somehow managed to maintain their sanity, unlike most of them. This is the only question the quest answered for me, but not really, it just solidified what we already knew.

I love the inclusion of the sisterhood and the dialogue from Parvos, Ordis and Hunhow.

While browsing through Tumblr I saw two popular opinions I didn't even consider.

The first one is that stalker should have been trans. At first I had no idea if people were serious about it or not. The only evidence I saw brought up is that stalker hates himself and in his dialogue with Hunhow there's some stuff that could be interpreted as trans allegory. The latter I do see on a second read, but the first one is just weird. Is deep self hatred on the level of Stalker really a prerequisite for transness? I'd hope not. People being mad about their headcannon not being realized in this instance is odd to me, yeah it is pride month but there's plenty of transness in Warframe already. Ticker and Sentients (especially Hunhow, a man who constantly reminds you of his womb) are the first things that come to mind. I believe that Warframe is inherently trans and has been since the begging. You control Warframes, you can easily swap between them and they are representations of both sexes (+Xaku and Equinox). After the second dream that gets even more reinforced, "dream not of what you are but of what you want to be". Transness is so prevelent in this game that the stalker not being trans isn't that big of a deal, it's not like all of this game's representation was hinging on this one character.

The second one is that Jade doesn't have autonomy, she's stuck suffering and exists solely to give birth. I believe this wouldn't be a problem to most if we got like 20 minutes of extra time in the quest, Jade herself and even smaller things like our operator's involvement felt rushed. From the flashback we see that Jade wanted the child, if anything the quest advocates for autonomy. They should have shown us more to make it more obvious. It was illegal for Jade and Stalker to love each other because of their caste, let alone have a child. If only the quest took a minute to shit on the orokin instead of hoping everyone does that themselves. While in our world the major issue with women's autonomy isn't "I can't have a baby" but "I'm forced to have a baby", I think that these are both sides of the same coin. The underline still is: a woman was stripped of her autonomy. The message unfortunately wasn't clear enough. Also it doesn't help that this is Tumblr and LGBTQ+ people don't usually have the best relationship with pregnancy. And we live in a world where people are being forced to have babies for literally no reason, so it's pretty logical that the thought of someone literally dying to give birth is very emotionally charged and polarizing.

No hate to people who think that stalker should have been trans (I just don't see it) and to people who think that the quest portrayed women's autonomy in a bad way, while I don't think it's the case the devs should have known better, speeding through such a relevant issue was not a good idea on their part. They should have made it clear that Jade really wanted her child and her autonomy was taken from her by the orokin (it would also have helped if we got more Warframe biology).

[glaiveprime]

14!

14) Who's a character your OC cannot stand! It's on sight when they see them!

so originally i was just gonna say it was ballas or something, but i thought about it a little more, it would. actually be his operator self

he hates that opfrey is doing so much better than him in so many ways. frey kind of suffers chronically from the typical traumatized adult pit trap that is feeling like you never matured past 16, this isn't even just void bullshit, this is fully just. frey feeling like he never grew up, despite the fact that he's physically 24 now

(read more because its getting long lol)

that combined with the fact that his 16 y/o self is quite literally still just walking around, living a better and healthier life. it pisses him off to no end, and he knows he's being unreasonable

so much of frey's complexes and uphangings have already been gotten past by opfrey. he has spent so much more time outside in the real world w/ other people.

hes had so many more guiding figures in his life to guide him and teach him that despite everything, he can allow himself to rely on people, he can allow himself to be loved and he can trust them. that he doesnt have to hiss and bite at every chance of help, he doesnt have to be survive anymore like what he had to do on the zariman, he can just live

and then theres. frey. who doesn't have any of that. as a result he sees the lotus/natah's and ordis's affection towards him as pity hand-outs, that the affection only exists because he looks/reminds them of opfrey, not actually because they see him for who he is

because well. he is opfrey. its complicated but he is, but he isnt that same, he isnt the same rough teenager they loved for so many years, hes some messy grown-up that feels like hes walking in the skin of a kid whose far more perfect than him

even when opfrey tries to reach out to him, because he's just. more emotionally mature than frey at this point. but frey just sees any and all attempts from opfrey to help as pity or some sort of cruel joke. he hates it when people's eyes gets like that whenever they look at him. especially when its from himself

frey really fucking hates it when he gets bitter like this, because it truly feels like hes retreating back to his old methods he had to use to survive back on the zariman without a deal from the indifference to protect him. he knows he's repeating a pattern of violence that had made him like this to begin with, but he cant help it.

and this is made all the worst because his brain keeps telling him to just put it behind him. be the bigger person. just be happy! and it'll all go away! but he knows that isn't the case, but what choice does he have? this is the only way his fucked up brain would allow him to act, so the next day it all repeats

he just feels so incredibly frustrated and bitter at everything that opfrey is, because that could've been him instead.

so anyways hes probably really happy about getting to leave sol for a bit to go hang out in 99, sexy man aside

[riftwalker-limbro]

god i think i'm gonna write (my version of) the new strange tonight after i finish my uni work - there are simply too many brainworms going on at once. this is untenable.

i'm gonna let them out a little here i think.

fair warning, after writing out what i wanted to, it includes spoilers for the whole outline i've got so far. and they're extensive. but if you, like me, believe in the enjoyment of the story regardless of if you know the outcome or not, feel free to go read

so imo ordis is a bit prone to hero-worship, right? he hears about simaris being this great, knowledge-driven guy, and he goes full heart eyes immediately.

in my opinion the same happens with the operator - ordis is obviously told "this is the operator. you love them" and he takes this assignment incredibly seriously. the operator is perfect, of course the operator would want a perfect cephalon as well (and the canon operator never does contradict him, do they?) to serve them, and the operator is so very powerful, so very strong.

i'm gonna show my cards here, so perhaps someone reading this might see what i'm trying to do and get as excited about it as i am (get inflicted with my brainworms *throws a handful at you*)

the "outline" i've been talking about is structured in five chapters, what you'll also see in my writing masterpost as i fill it out more - and the chapters are very deliberately/explicitly structured/paced to represent stages in the ordis&operator friendship

Awakening: will be finished up with the new strange - setting up the basic things, the scene, for the rest of the everything. things are as close to canon as they'll ever be, here.

Resurfacing: starts off with the second dream, which will fuck up (edit: tumblr ate everything after this point in this bulletpoint so i'm going to rewrite it) -which will fuck up the way that kelth has been existing so far by splitting up their consciousness from excalibur, to whom they've been melded so far, actually. i've been trying to write kelth/calibur in Awakening as kind of having two minds in one, except Kelth is the main one and excalibur provides some supporting characteristics - kelth is the main brain, the main initiative, behind everything, and excalibur brings the methodicality to get everything done, the calmness in the storm. he's the kid who grew up in a dojo stereotype

Disillusionment: the illusion of the friendship honeymoon period starts to shatter. ordis realizes that the operator is not infallible - far from, actually (i'm thinking kelth has the initiative to get things going, but excalibur previously contributed the focus to see them through. he's still there and helps however he can, obv, but kelth's not in active transference with him all the time) because they're not quite... as brave as they were before they remembered everything, and realized the scope of their sitaution in more detail. the other direction of the "honeymoon period" is also broken - kelth starts discovering ordis' fragments. basically, at the end of this chapter, everyone should be a fucking mess.

Mending: this is the chapter where the initial idea happened - ordis & kelth do the limbo theorem quest (see the name of this whole damn blog lmao.) and there are so many angsty feelingsy notes on this bulletpoint god i am looking forward to this. limbo's personality is already 70% ish worked out and i- god i can't fucking wait. what else what else - ah right, so yesterday i published the bit where operator-excalibur get a "strange pang" in their chest at ordis mentioning machine code? that's because kelth used to program little things on the zariman, mostly for entertainment! (i'm a software engineer and i love coding shit. i will inflict my hobby upon all of you) and so with this newly rediscovered knowledge kelth starts coding things to help them navigate the origin system etc (i have a stupidly elaborate warframe progress spread sheet. instead of writing a program to manage it like i've wanted to for months i'm writing about writing a program to manage it. help) and it speeds up collecting ordis' fragments a shit ton, and by the end of this chapter they should be all complete again - with, uh. consequences.

Bond: the final chapter lmao. and also pretty much the second seriously invasive brainworm i had about this whole universe. kelth asks about ordis' code, because See Glitches, and through some iteration (code versions, developing friendships, everything is getting iterated) they eventually discover some old code, that, when re-enabled, allow ordis to do transference with warframes as well. (i did post about this earlier!!!! ordis is at least as traumatized as everyone else on this fuckin ship!!!! he should get to join!!) (also it's old code that was hastily implemented at the start of the Old War by some orokin programmers, to figure out if they could use Cephalons to pilot the hella dangerous warframes, but it was all disabled and the project abandoned when they repurposed the zariman children for this purpose instead) (bonus info: my notes literally say "But then Excalibur emerges, with Ordis inside, who is barely QWOP’ing his way out of the fancy closet" and please just visualize that) and this is where so much fluff is gonna happen i've barely been able to think about it so far. they find rhino's blueprints in some corpus locked. they rebuild him. they put prime shit on most warframes. there's so many feelings.

god okay yeah i've tamed my brainworms. i'm gonna go back to work. i can't wait to get to the last one. it's gonna be so fucking juicy. haugh.

and, just as a note - i'm doing this for fun, i'm not looking for any kind of criticism, including constructive. my writing generally is super self-indulgent on the fluff and angst ends, and i'm very solidly & openly on the ace spectrum so do not expect romance. if reading this made you feel any feelings (that are not criticisms) i will love to hear about them in my ask box. come yell at me - about my shit, about your shit, anything. >:)

[tauforged]

it’s clearly more of an early game quest in terms of substance (read: not much at all), but the presence of the sisters, ordis mentioning umbra, the operator’s involvement, and stalker being with hunhow would place it more mid-game, like, maybe post second dream pre tnw somwhere? but the presence of the little ordis drone definitively places it AFTER the new war (unless they’ve like… gone and retconned all of ordis’ pre-tnw appearances for new tenno? which i never considered . that would be fucking stupid imho) which just makes it fall flat because the current post-tnw environment is considerably higher stakes and has more urgency, we wouldn’t want to waste time with random shit like this, at least i wouldn’t. and yet the drifter nor the events of TNW at large are never mentioned or acknowledged, after the quest is over hunhow states that stalker left him and yet he’s still there in TNW so this is clearly meant to take place after that… strictly setting aside all the weird implications and subtext of this quest, it just doesn’t make sense narratively and trying to place it within the timeline is driving me a little nuts because it’s so lackluster in comparison to even the least memorable post-tnw quests that it sticks out like a sore thumb as being sloppy, underwritten, and mostly cutscenes or walking around. why did they make the act of giving birth a rhythm game for some reason . the end part with the corpus lady is so awkward because nobody says or does a damn thing while you hobble through the crowd… it would be the perfect time for us to have hushed murmurs from the crewmen like ‘what is that? i didn’t know that was possible… what now boss?’ etc etc. SHE DOESNT EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE YOU AS YOU WALK PAST HER AFTER SHE SPARES YOUR LIFE. NOT EVEN A NOD? NOT EVEN A ‘next time, i won’t let you go that easy’ OR SOMETHING? ANYTHING???? WERE ALL JUST GOING TO STAND HERE?

also how the fuck did the operator know all that about how to fix a warframe or whatever. where did this information come from. couldn’t even give us a little bit of dialogue where we ask ordis to look some things up for us or someshit? it just felt contrived and half baked. even if there weren’t troubling implications and undertones at play with the overarching message of the quest, it just kinda sucked. i felt no attachment to anyone involved. during the cutscene where jade died i got distracted by the fact that they let us shake the camera around for some reason and almost missed the one emotional beat they tried to give us. i can’t even muster the energy to be mad about it anymore because i feel like even the act of writing this post is taking more effort on my behalf than was put into writing this shit

finally did jade shadows. what a nothing quest

[cappurrccino]

a name, lost

[ read it on ao3 ]

~

”Hey… Ordis?”

“Yes, Operator?”

“Do you remember my name?”

Ordis didn’t immediately reply, and the general din of the ship filled the silence. She stared out the window, looking at nothing in particular, and idly scratched the massive fluffy kubrow head resting on her lap.

It probably didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things – if Ordis or Lotus needed her attention they would just talk to her, no name required. Up until now the thought of having a name of her own hadn’t even crossed her mind. For a good portion of her time since waking, she had simply been her frames – she was Volt, or she was Inaros and that was that. Even after rediscovering that she was her own person and that she existed separate from the frames, it hadn’t been much of a curiosity.

She supposed it was learning about Rell that did it. Helping Red Veil, chasing Rell’s ghosts, learning his history. That, more than anything, had made her wonder about her own history. Who had she been back then? Had she met Rell before? Did she have friends before everything happened? Had… they been friends?

Ordis’s voice broke her from her thoughts. “I… seem to have misplaced those memories as well.”

She hummed quietly in acknowledgement. It wasn’t surprising, she supposed, but it was more disappointing than she expected.

”Perhaps the Lotus—”

“It’s ok,” she said, cutting him off. “It doesn’t matter.”

The Lotus probably did know what it was but since she’d never used it before it made it feel wrong to ask. Maybe if she couldn’t remember what it was then it didn’t belong to her anymore. It was just another casualty of some long-forgotten war and the decades spent lost and adrift. It wasn’t something to pester the Lotus over.

~

Sometimes when she met people, she would play a little game in her head where she would try on their name. A few minutes of downtime would be spent playing out imaginary conversations where she would introduce herself as Maroo or Nakak or Suda, just to see what it would be like. The names never quite fit but they weren’t hers anyway.

On a few rare occasions she’d worked with other Tenno and learned their names. She wondered if their cephalons had kept it safe for them or if they’d remembered on their own, but she’d never been brave enough to ask.

Since she had started wondering about her name and about everyone else's names—Where had they come from? What did they mean? Did they like them? Would she like hers if she found it?—her meditations had become significantly more difficult. It was harder now to stay entirely focused and she often found herself trying to find her lost old memories. Surely, they were there somewhere? If she just looked hard enough, maybe… But the more time passed the more she thought they might be lost for good.

~

The orbiter was sitting idly in space around a relay. No pressing alerts had been passed along and all her business at the relay had been finished a few hours ago, and she found herself with unexpected free time. She’d reorganized some of her decorations and spent a while brushing loose fur from her kubrow’s coat before turning her attention to her frames.

She stepped back from the arsenal to get a better look and tilted her head with a thoughtful frown. “What do you think, Poutine?”

A deep bark echoed through the small space, and she nodded. “You’re right, the purple is a bit too bright.”

“Operator?” Ordis interrupted, “Ordis has an idea.”

“Do you think blue would be better?”

“No. Well, yes, but that is not what I meant.”

She arched a brow in confusion and waited for him to continue.

“Your name!” He exclaimed.

“You remembered?”

“No, but we can make a new name for you.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again, and wished Ordis had a physical presence in the ship she could give a quizzical look to; she settled for arching a brow at Poutine before looking in the general direction of the ramp.

“You can just… do that?” she asked. “I thought names had to be given to you.”

“In most cases they are given, I believe,” Ordis agreed. “But I see no reason why you can’t choose a name for yourself, given the circumstances.”

For what felt like forever, she didn’t know what to say. Time still moved, but she felt trapped in the moment, caught between some deep certainty that names had to be given and the paralysis that comes with infinite possibilities.

“I… I wouldn’t even know what to pick,” she eventually managed.

“Ordis does not think you need to choose immediately,” he said, ever supportive. “But… when you have found one that suits you, you may choose it for yourself.”

[saladejin]

Call An Uber? | 04

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader |  Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary:  Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: Implied mental health struggles, anxiety and slight panic attack

Word Count: 2.9k 

< masterpost >

  »»————- <<prev | next >> ————-««

  Another three days passing brought forth another fresh steaming pile of emotions. 

I was due to start my job at Bighit in the following week, and had been dropping in to meet with Bang PD and the staff regularly since the initial signing of the documents. Its only purpose was just for me to get to know everyone, since I would start off in the company playing a major role, and for me to get comfortable in the environment. PD-nim knew I was not used to working for such large and renowned companies, and I was so happy he had taken that into consideration.

Another meet-and-greet done today, and I was trembling. 

I didn’t know why it had all suddenly decided to drop on me now, but my only solace was the splash of vivid crimson sitting out in the otherwise monochrome carpark of the building. I yanked open the car door with shaking fingers and all but fell into the familiar leather seat, my breathing uneven from the tightening within my chest.

Don’t get me wrong at all, the company was absolutely amazing, and so were all the staff and their immediate hospitality. Bang PD was like a second father to me already, and I’d even had him ruffle my hair once today after he’d somehow managed to laugh at one of my jokes. His assistant, which I now knew as Chang Soojin, or just Soojin-unni as she had told me to use, was becoming a reliable colleague and friend pretty quickly too. I had met many members of the staff, including the co-ordi noonas, managers, stylists etc. Even a group of interpreters who specialised in specific languages.

Hence why they employed me so quickly, I’d thought to myself after finding out they only knew English and Korean.

There was that one Spanish interpreter, who had been absent on the ‘fateful day’, but he was now doing fine and had profusely apologised to me afterwards. I felt bad for the guy, as I probably seemed like a warning replacement if anything of disarray was to happen again.

Bighit can be bloody scary, damn.

My breathing had evened slightly, but stress was still causing my head to become a mess of jagged scribbles. So much had changed in my life recently, and even if it had an overall positive effect, my mind was still left reeling. This was the kind of sudden responsibility that made me want to revisit my childhood days, to let go of being an adult and to be surrounded by nothing but carefree bliss.

A light rapping on my car passenger window tore me from my strangling thoughts. I gasped, squinting my eyes to glimpse at the darkly clothed figure before sighing. The person had thoroughly frightened me, and I wasn’t very happy about it. They crouched down to look in, and when they saw I was making no move to stop them, they pulled open the passenger door hesitantly.

“Is this Uber operating?” Yoongi softly asked.

I was still irritated that my precious alone-time had been ruined, after going through quite a bit of anxiety about my life in general, but I couldn’t bring myself to refuse the impassive man at the moment. After even more thought, I concluded that having someone to talk to would in fact help me the most right now. When I nodded slowly, sighing again in an attempt to regather myself, he lowered his head in gentle understanding.

“Uh, if it’s a really bad time I-”

“No, Yoongi. Wait is it even okay to not use honorifics? Should I call you oppa?” I shook my head, my voice steadily gaining life again from how croaky it sounded before. I hadn’t cried, but I was definitely on the verge before he’d made his appearance.

Yoongi settled into the passenger seat holding a lidded coffee cup. He was dressed in dark but flowy clothing, and I questioned his sanity briefly considering how hot it was outside. It was mid-afternoon at the moment, but we both didn’t seem to have schedules planned.

“Even though I’m not against it, I feel like dropping the honorifics would work better for you. I won’t get offended,” he hummed, sipping his coffee. I noticed how tired his eyes were under the cap he wore, and instantly felt bad for being annoyed with him before. He adorned a black mask too, but it was sitting under his chin to make talking and drinking easier.

“Did you also want coffee? I could offer to get you one.”

His sudden question caused me to blink in confusion. Then I realised I had been eyeing the cup in his pale hands quite intensely. His dark eyes were blank and his pale blue-white hair was slightly roughened from the breeze outside. Trying not to fawn over him, I broke out into a strained chuckle while my hands came up to slap my cheeks in embarrassment.

“No no no, I wasn’t…Ah I’m sorry, I just have a lot going on at the moment.” I decided to let the cat out of the bag with another sigh. He may as well know what was going on behind my outwardly apparent emotions. I didn’t even know how I was meant to hold a decent conversation when my insides were such a nervous wreck. I knew I would build myself up again eventually, but he just happened to catch me at a vulnerable time.

“Yeah, I could tell,” he started. “I followed you out because I saw you running out here shaking like a leaf. I guess it sounds kind of creepy when put like that.” He shrugged, eyeing the dashboard of my car while I just tried to take in his quiet observation.

“No, actually I appreciate it. You haven’t even met me yet…ugh why am I doing everything backwards right now?” I rested my head onto the steering wheel, positively exasperated. Yoongi and I had never even held a conversation before, but here I was acting like a total idiot and making him worry about my mental health.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re all I hear about these days.” He sighs with a groan, letting his head roll back to rest against the leather headrest. My own curiosity was tickled.

“Really? Let me guess, ‘the crazy Uber chick who somehow managed to get herself involved with shit that didn’t concern her’?”

He laughed silently at that, the gummy smile melting my bundling insides into a puddle – and suddenly everything was alright.

I didn’t have to have everything in my life figured out right now, I just had to make the most of my time with these amazingly driven individuals who had undoubtedly captured my heart. Alongside this job which was actually my passion to begin with.

I didn’t even know how I hadn’t freaked out over the fact that the Min Yoongi, worldwide famous producer and rapper, was sitting in my car. He was sitting in the same seat the Park Jimin had sat in about a week and a half ago. I needed to shut down my brain before it began to burn a hole into the back of my skull from overworking.

“That would be funny, but no, definitely not. I just wish the young ones would let me sleep, but they’ve been excited. I swear I’ve already met you ten times at this point.”

I snort in amusement, absolutely loving how blunt he was about the whole situation. Too many people, since I had arrived in the country, were overbearingly polite and careful with their words. I was not used to it at all, and it made the ‘foreign’ experience all the more jarring. Yoongi probably understood this to an extent, so I was grateful he tried his best to be more casual right away.

“Look, can I start driving? I just need to clear my head a bit. Maybe I can introduce myself properly.” I exhaled loudly, my nerves significantly calmed since chatting a little. Even though I felt terrible at the thought, I couldn’t help but be grateful that it was Yoongi who had paid me a surprise visit instead of one of the others. His presence was somewhat reserved and I had trouble reading the guy half the time, but his company was the type I needed instead of something loud and overwhelming.

“Sure, I did kind of barge in so you can continue with whatever you were doing.”

You mean almost having a mental breakdown?

“But I do want to actually meet you, because if I have to hear your name around the dorm one more fucking time without knowing who you are, I may just snap.”

I laughed loudly, his grunt-worthy words causing amusement to roil around in my chest. I figured I would question him about exactly what was said a bit later. For now, I just needed to relax and ease my worries, and driving was my channel for exactly that. I started reversing out of the carpark with silence finally befalling the car, grateful to finally leave behind the line of black company vans surrounding me. I found it ominous if I was completely honest. Engulfed by the view of several identical black vans was a little unsettling when the only car I was used to was Red.

When did I even decide to name my car? It’s such a boring name too.

“Well, I can start by saying my name is (L/n) (Y/n). (Y/n) is fine, and you already known I don’t care for honorifics. I’m from (Y/c), and I landed a job at Bighit Entertainment by letting two of your band members hitch a ride. Ultimately escaping their foreseeable deaths.” My dramatic tone increased the longer I spoke, and I could see the corners of Yoongi’s lips turning up gradually.

“That sounds about right. Jiminie told me you were a big fan, but it turns out you are really collected when you see us. I appreciate your efforts, but feel free to let it out if you need.” He tilted his head with a smirk, his ‘Genius Suga’ persona surfacing within the span of two whole seconds. I just bit my lip to contain another amused giggle.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not one to freak out after the initial shock. Most of my extra-ness is of the internal type, I’m afraid.”

He shook his head in mock disappointment, eventually flashing me that endearing expression where his lips stretched across his whole face. I covered my cheeks with one hand to stop my bubbling amusement from erupting.

“Stop please, or I’ll crash!”

He simply sipped his coffee, smirking again at my reaction. I knew I hadn’t actually doused his ego, but his antics still aided in lifting my spirits higher and higher. As I tried to figure out where I wanted to drive, Yoongi pulled out a small notepad full of scrawled notes and scribbled out lines.

“Well, you already know who I am, that much I can guess. Now that we’ve met, I can tell those kids to shut up and do something useful,” he continued. Even though his tone was full of complaint, I knew he loved every single one of those boys wholeheartedly.

“Where are they now?” I asked through a smile, glancing down as the rapper flicked through his notepad to the page he had last used. “Practicing more, at least I know Jiminie, Jin-hyung and Jungkook-ah are. We’ve got a big concert and a comeback soon, so everyone is riled up.”

“Yeah, that seems like a packed schedule for at least a few months. I’m really excited for what you guys have in store though, it seems too unreal that I actually get to see everything behind the scenes for the first time in my life,” I sighed out in awe, thinking about a possible new album and new content. How could I even go about it normally when everything was different? Wait, was I going to get a discounted album? I surely hoped so.

Yoongi looked at me carefully before making a few notes in his notepad, his fingers working the pen deftly through long and hardened experience. His ripped black jeans were tighter than I initially thought they were, but my attention only went there because he was tapping his foot rhythmically as he wrote.

“Lyrics?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow in his direction and diverting my attention. I drove towards the outskirts of Seoul, hoping to find somewhere quiet and peaceful to settle for a bit. The time had essentially flown by, but I was sure the sky wouldn’t darken just yet.

“Yeah, just the usual. I help write a lot of songs, and lyrics always just flood into my brain at the most random times, you know?” he murmured, flicking backwards to another page and filling in another empty space.

The realisation that I was driving somewhere random and unknown hit me suddenly, and I briefly wondered if taking Yoongi with me would end up costing me my job all too soon. I was quickly reminded of a similar occurrence with two maknaes, one that caused the managers and Namjoon to lose their absolute marbles.

“Um, I was gonna drive randomly around the area, but I just realised that your managers would skin me alive if they knew I took you with me. Does anyone know you’re with me?”

Yoongi looked up, his eyes, which were once laser-focused on his lyrics, now scoured into my own and I gulped suddenly. His long, dark eyelashes were always beautiful, but they were even more mesmerising in person and this close. They contrasted so nicely against his milky skin that I almost lost focus on the road again.

I may just crash and kill someone one of these days. Customer or not.

“I texted a few people,” was all he said before returning to his notepad, and I shrugged indifferently. He was an adult, and he could make his own decisions. I just hoped I didn’t cop any roastings for it later on.

“Would I be able to show you something?” he then asked.

I glanced sideways, catching him picking at his nails with his teeth apprehensively. It seemed he was stuck on something to do with a lyric, but I didn’t know how I could possibly lend a hand. His lyrics were always so impactful and flowed so nicely. How could I form my own opinion when everything I’d heard from him so far was nothing less than beautiful?

“Yeah? Did you need another perspective?” I probed, willing my feelings of disbelief down into the depths of my subconscious.

“Well, I’m trying to tie together my verse in one of the new songs, and I almost have it. I want someone fresh to have a look.” He held out the pad and I pulled over onto the side of the smaller road. We were now definitely nearing the more ‘picturesque’ side of Seoul anyway, and the city fell away behind us as my eyes scanned over Yoongi’s handwriting. The last line struck a chord deeply within me.

“This is real you, and this is real me” – which one is “you”? Which one is “me”?

“Wow, this really hits hard,” I breathe, reading over the snippets of the verse he had written again to fully absorb what was going on. The whole thing was emotional, and raw. I could imagine his voice rapping hard to form these thoughts, the angry and hurt emotions seeping in.

“I can feel the struggle through the lyrics. It’s like you’ve been through a false love that you threw yourself into after believing it was true...a betrayal of sorts, I guess?” I met his eyes again and grew a little confused when a chuckle of irony fell from him. It must have been some joke I didn’t understand.

“I’m glad you feel so much from it.” He blinked. “I’m actually going to try a different technique with this track, so expect some changes from my usual style.”

He then smiled again, taking the notepad before I could catch any glimpses of the other notes. I couldn’t contain a soft huff of annoyance. “You’re not just gonna tell me?”

He deadpanned before parting his lips to respond. “Just because you work for Bighit doesn’t mean you get every special privilege.” I almost reeled at the thought of bothering him with my question, but he only smiled again while tucking his notepad away.

“Plus, you’re a fan, so my goal is to keep it a secret for as long as possible.”

“Mean,” I grunted, pulling out onto the road again so I could start to head home. The sky was darkening, and I knew there were only so many boundaries I could push before I crossed the line. Yoongi seemed to know this too, but he avoided addressing the subject for some reason.

“Where do you want to be dropped? I’ll have you know I’ve been charging you handsomely for this Uber service,” I muttered, still pretending to be pissed off at him for hiding information.

“I’ll buy you a coffee next time, I promise.”

          Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved

tagged: @l4life​, @joyful-jimin​

[skekheck]

How about an urru rating list? Even though there's not much info on these guys, I like to hear what your opinions are on them. Thank you

FUCK YEAH LET’S GOOOO (and you’re welcome asdf)

1. urVa: Best mystic 10/10. But in all seriousness, the reason why I love him so much is because of the book series. He’s just a sweet grandpa hermit who lives in a hovel and offers you stew or tea. I love the scene where he’s showing Naia how to use a bow even though his was way to big for her. Or how protective he was of both her and Kylan when they saw Tavra’s silhouette from afar. I’m sure he was thinking that might have belonged to someone else. Although their scenes weren’t as plenty, their friendship was very sweet. Not to mention he’s a little more proactive in the gelfling resistance, even stopping other skeksis besides his counterpart (skekLi in Song). I just wish Flames allowed Naia to mourn over him properly. But I’m also not knocking his appearance in AOR: he’s great too I just wish he had more spotlight on him. I want to know more about his friendship with Aughra (how it extends from MalVa) and the complicated relationship he had with skekMal (because there are signs that he had conflicted feelings about his counterpart as he showed genuine sadness over “ending the Hunt”). Also the fact that even despite his age, he’s still strong and stealthy (and apparently good at martial arts) and that’s pretty rad. Also x 2 I love his design it’s really good. urVa is just *chefs kiss* the best. His sacrifice never fails to hurt me, though. Fuck you skekMal, urVa didn’t deserve this.

2. urLii: He’s a really close second. Honestly if he gets significant screen time in future seasons he may take urVa’s place. This is also mainly because of the books, but also from the few things I know about his appearance from the prequel comics. He a little senile cave gremlin taking care of Thra’s old artifacts. I’m still sad that in the comics only Maurda Argot knows about him because it just seems like urLii’s the Grottan’s silly grandpa who tells them stories about the artifacts in the Tomb of Relics. But I’m glad that the two have something similar to Aughra and urVa’s dynamic it’s great. I also seriously love his sense of humor. Like he lightly picks on Ordon for laughs and calls him Ordie.  In the books, it can get pretty dark (making death jokes at his expense) and I love the fact he shares that with skekLi. And speaking of, when urLii and urVa stopped skekLi, the Satirist called the Archer’s bluff when he warned he’d shoot the skeksis if he tried anything. He was playing on urVa’s feelings that the Storyteller would die too, but then urLii dangles himself off from the edge of the cliff like “I will not hesistate, bitch”. There’s a lot to love about urLii. Although I hope he gets his glasses back they looked so cute on him. 

3. urGoh: Gotta love this mystic stoner. To be honest, I think I like him only because I love the dynamic between him and skekGra. I’m not sure if I would like him on his own. But at the same time, I do really enjoy his character. I feel like despite smoking his brains out, he’s being intentionally slow to get on skekGra’s nerves. Also major props to urGoh for helping the Heretic reform because I know it wasn’t easy (he was one of the most dangerous skeksis apparently). Also I like how he used hookah smoke for dramatic fog for his and skekGra’s puppet show. That’s creative. 

4. urSan: She sounds so pretty. Like her outfit matches the color of the Silver Sea, her hair is indigo with white streaks, she’s just... I want to see her. I want to see what her puppet would look like. I like how she’s considered a folk legend among the Sifa and she lives in a lighthouse near by making star charts and maps. And apparently she had occasional visits from skekSa and that’s really interesting considering how fiercely independent the Mariner makes herself out to be. I feel bad for her: her skeksis counterpart is also a dumbass and urSan had to suffer a slow death because of her. Fuck you skekSa, urSan didn’t deserve that. 

5. urSu: So on one hand, urSu is probably the reason the mystics adopted a complacent philosophy and just let the skeksis destroy Thra instead of trying to work or co-exist with them. Also the fact he placed a heavy burden on Jen by basically having him fix their mess because of a prophecy.  So he and the other mystics are just as responsible for what happened on Thra. But on the other hand, I think he understands how much he fucked up and is trying to make amends along with the other mystics by protecting Jen. He didn’t tell the gelfling his destiny right away probably because the boy already had a traumatic experience losing his family he doesn’t want to add to that by telling him he alone must save the world. He wanted Jen to have a normal, happy childhood. UrSu really tried being a good dad to him and I appreciate that. 

6. urSol: I think I’m starting to like him more because of the headcanons I gave him but anyway. The sequel comics states he’s a rebel by mystic standards and after many years of doing nothing he suddenly gets involved with Thra. If Dark Heart is indeed SilSol, I think that’s really interesting that urSol deviates from the main group. I also like how it’s describe that urSol enriches the world around him through words as opposed to skekSil who manipulates it. I feel like urSol has a lot of potential being an interesting character. Also he’s just the softest looking mystic, like a cinnamon roll.

7. urTih: It really sucks being a mystic, but urTih probably got the worst of it besides urSol. Not only is his skeksis stupid, but said skeksis is also a self-mutilator... for science. He also has the funniest death he just blips out of existence because his dumbass counterpart fell down a shaft (which was also super funny). He didn’t deserve it: let him practice alchemy in peace. On the other hand, I also wish urTih was with skekTek because that guy needs something positive in his life (and also tell him to stop vivisecting and creating abominations). 

8. urUtt:

Also I like the fact he can just weave clothes using a system of knots instead of cutting cloth. Making use of all the material and not wasting it that’s rad. UrUtt is also one of the most cinnamon roll looking mystics of the bunch.  

9. urSen: Not going to lie when I read about his passage in the Dark Crystal bestiary I felt so sorry for him. He knew he’d die years in advance and he just isolated himself from the rest. Poor guy I hoped one of the mystics came by to visit him.

10. urAc: He’s pretty cute I like his lil hat. It sounds like he and urUtt work together since he’s the one that created patterns into cloth that incorporate the wearer’s thoughts. Seems very fitting considering their skeksis counterparts are friends.

11. urAmaj: As a common theme in this post I feel bad for him but for different reasons. He’s patient with how he cooks his food, making sure it has a nice balance of flavor and texture as well as nutritious. Yet he can’t make good gelfling food, according to Jen. He’s doing his best Jen leave him be. Also it’s cute that he’s close friends with urNol.

12: urNol: He has one of the most nice sounding names among the mystics. According to TDC Author’s Quest, urNol makes great elixirs and seeds that can grow into anything. Since the mystics are implied to have planted the Great Trees, I wonder if they were urNol’s creations. Also poor guy lost an eye and an arm, but I guess it could be much worse.

13: urIm: I like that he’s known for being a healer, but is the only mystic that knows something called a death trance. I just think that juxtaposition is very interesting. Also I’m wondering if he was the mystic responsible for teaching the Dousan the mystic ways?

14: urZah: Once again I feel bad for another mystic, the fact that he has to be associated with the absolute worst skeksis. Also I want to know why he’s so distrustful, even with the other mystics.

15: urYod: I always confuse his name with urNol’s for some reason, which is weird because his name kinda rhymes with “Shod”. So apparently ShodYod helped Aughra in her observatory? I wonder if urYod ever had a friendship with her at the beginning. 

16: urMa: Poor bastard there’s literally nothing about him. Hopefully he gets a page in the bestiary. 

17: urYa and urHom: Even more poor bastards they never even made it that far after the Great Division. For some reason, urHom is the only one with a confirmed title. 

[cephalone-a]

NAME : --- NICKNAME : Nova    FACECLAIM : bold of you to assume i have a face PRONOUNS : She/her   HEIGHT : 5′5″ BIRTHDAY : February 21 AESTHETIC : Lime green and light blue, bright neon, geometric patterns, nebulas and pretty rocks, sparkly things, chiptune LAST  SONG  YOU  LISTENED  TO : Painting Roses - Dresses FAVORITE  MUSE (S)  YOU’VE  WRITTEN : I love all the muses I’ve brought in here over the years but Varian still has my heart even if I neglect him sometimes and I’m not doing this on him for some reason

        * GETTING  TO  KNOW  THE  ACCOUNT :

WHAT  INSPIRED  YOU  TO  TAKE  ON  THIS  MUSE :

For one I love robots and I love characters with his sort of personality, this dorky, intelligent, kinda clueless but earnest type, with maybe a bit of sarcasm thrown in. I pretty much latched onto him immediately and it only got worse when I found out about his actual backstory. Really, he’s a character with more potential than actual characterization and those are the kinds of characters I love to get my grubby little mitts all over. We don’t really get much of an idea of how he feels about a lot of things, and I wanted to figure that out.

Also the fanbase mostly hates him and I’ve embarked on a personal crusade to protect him at all costs.

WHAT  ARE  YOUR  FAVORITE  ASPECTS  OF  YOUR  CURRENT  MUSE :  

Really, there’s a lot of potential in him that I don’t think really gets explored. There’s such a massive rift between who he is--who he presents himself as, who he clearly wants to be happy with--and who he used to be. I like thinking about how those sides play into each other. As an AI, he’s forced to experience the world a little differently from everybody else, and there are constraints on him that even he doesn’t fully understand. He’s repressed a lot, and I want to see him grow out of that, how he can deal with his past and find a middle ground, and what that middle ground would look like. I want to see him make new memories.

WHAT’S  YOUR  BIGGEST  INSPIRATION  WHEN  IT  COMES  TO  WRITING :

Reading other people’s writing, mostly. Either replies to me or fic. I do look back at canon material sometimes, but try not to wear myself out on it. Basically any fan content is inspirational fjkjsdf

FAVORITE  TYPES  OF  THREADS :

I like threads where characters get to talk about themselves, where you can see how each reacts to another’s world and story. I like seeing characters thrust into situations they wouldn’t normally participate in to see what they do. I like meaty threads where characters are forced to confront their own problems and grow as people.

Also angst. Lots of angst.

BIGGEST  STRUGGLE  IN  REGARDS  TO  YOUR  CURRENT  MUSE :

I have a lot of problems with plotting, anxiety, inspiration, communicating with others, etc, but that’s every muse. 

With Ordis specifically, his glitchy speech pattern is really hard to convey in text. Like, people have probably noticed I use the zalgo text and the same descriptions a lot, but it’s actually kind of difficult to try and get across what it is he’s doing to someone who doesn’t know the game, because it’s one of those things that works a lot better aloud and doesn’t quite translate to writing. It doesn’t help that the glitching isn’t always consistent, either with how it sounds, what causes it to happen, or how he responds to it. Also to a lesser extent his talking in third person, because he doesn’t do it all the time and there’s no real pattern to it. (Really I’ll be the first to admit the game’s writing is really inconsistent a lot of the time and it’s frustrating)

Tagged by: uhhhhhh

Tagging: distant sirens

[heroineimages]

The second conspiracy

In my novel First Empress, Queen Viarra bloodlessly usurps the Hegemony of Andivel from its ruling tetrarchy and immediately sets out to resecure its borders and strengthen its infrastructure. Her emphasis on military spending quickly wins over the soldiers, while her improvements to the economy win over the citizens. The only people openly opposed to her rule are the old-money aristocracy who view her sudden rise to power as a threat to their power. And they’re not entirely wrong. 

Within the first few months of her rule, Queen Vi weathers two conspiracies by the nobles and hegemonic council. The first is a pretty straightforward assassination attempt, funded by seven nobles. Upon learning the conspirators’ identities, Viarra promptly has them crucified, sending the message ‘you come after me, I’m not afraid to come after you.’ 

The second conspiracy is a bit larger in scale. Realizing they can’t go after Queen Vi directly, the nobles start targeting her supporters. That’s when things start to get a little messy. This first scene shows a fairly typical council session between Vi and the councilmen, starting with an epigram from one of Zahnia’s histories. Feedback is always welcome!

The Council of Andivel was originally founded as an advisory body to the Tetrarchy, a key part of the new government’s reorganization following the overthrow of King Irgan, the Tyrant of Andivel. And for nearly a hundred years this worked reasonably well. Already a large trade city, Andivel rose to power and formed a strong hegemony along the northern rim of the Vestic Sea by being in a position to aid and protect other cities from plundering corsairs along the coastline and raiding barbarians from the north. However, as the years passed the council came to take a larger and larger role in the hegemony’s decision making. At first this was merely a precaution to prevent the tetrarchs from becoming too powerful and oppressing the people—a common paranoia amongst peoples who have at some point been ruled over by a corrupt governing body. Unfortunately, having two rival governing bodies led to infighting between and within both bodies. The stalemates between these rivaling factions led to a bloated stagnancy within the hegemonic government, with tetrarchs and councilmen appointing their friends to council seats just to have another ally in the decision making. This resulted in the government’s inability to act when needed, creating political impotence and incompetence at a time of geopolitical change and cultural upheaval. And many of the decisions that were made and passed lacked any form of expertise—or even any form of logic in several cases. Poor military decisions soured the army against the Council and Tetrarchy, while poor domestic decisions soured the citizenry. In a literal sense, Queen Viarra didn’t need to turn the army and people against the Council—the councilmen had already done most of the work for her. —from The Two-Hundred-Year Empress; by Zahnia the Chronicler

“My brother is dead because of this woman!” Councilman Ordis accused, stabbing a theatrical finger at Queen Viarraluca. Bevren found the lout to be kind of a mediocre orator, his voice never modulated quite right and his posture never convincingly authoritative. “Dead attempting to save the hegemony from her treachery and tyranny,” the councilman continued, weeping stage tears as he harangued the gathered bureaucrats. Her majesty stood by, expression impassive and arms crossed over her cuirass. Bevren stood back and to one side while General Valan and General Etan stood on her left and right. “She is a murderer and a usurper with no right to call herself our queen nor to stand before this assemblage,” Ordis concluded. Councilmen began talking all at once at these accusations. Some barked in support of Ordis, some in support of Queen Viarra.

Bevren doubted any of them had anything useful to say.

“To what treachery and tyranny are you referring, Councilman Ordis?” Viarra asked evenly, projecting her voice but not adopting an oratory pose. The gathered councilmen quieted at her question. “What cause did your brother die for beyond his own petty revenge? Your brother is dead because of himself—because of his incompetence in believing me so easily felled by a knife in the dark. I showed you and everyone here the assassination contract with his signature on it. His and his colleagues’ parchment trail led to their downfall.”

Several councilmen gave a “hear, hear” in support of the queen’s rebuttal. Ordis scowled, but said nothing.

“And what was your execution of the conspirators, if not petty revenge?” balked a councilman whose name Bevren couldn’t remember, “Or your execution of our tetrarchs, for that matter?” Several others shouted in agreement.

“My execution of the tetrarchs saved this hegemony from its crippling debts to Pellastor,” Viarra replied. “As long as the tetrarchy remained in power, Emperor Orvandius still had grounds to collect on that debt. With a foreign monarch in charge, the debt becomes effectively nullified. I hate to repeat myself, but some of you seem very slow at grasping this concept.” This elicited few chuckles and cheers from the queen’s supporters. “My execution of the conspirators, however, was for purposes of vermin control.”

“They were cultured noblemen and tried sons of Andivel, and you dare call them ‘vermin’?” Councilman Ordis all but shrieked at her.

“Yes, I call them ‘vermin,’” her majesty defied him, sounding almost casual. “Petty and dangerous vermin with near-sighted, parasitic machinations and no plan to clean up the mess they’d have inevitably made. Who would have ruled in my stead had they succeeded?” the queen asked the assemblage. “What plan did the conspirators have for supplanting me? Would they have brought the late tetrarchs’ eldest sons back to the city? Or perhaps you fine councilmen would have banded together to form an oligarchy? Or perhaps one of those democracies like the city of Aneth tries to reestablish every decade or so?” A few councilmen chuckled at her remark, knowing how quickly those inevitably reverted back to despotism. Others groused at the insult to their political aptitude. “Never mind the fact that Pellastor would likely have seen fit to renew those debts with the return of a domestic ruling body,” she concluded. A few of the less belligerent councilmen seemed to take that into consideration.

Most of the others resumed shouting.

“If I may say something on Queen Viarraluca’s behalf,” General Etan spoke up against the din. Councilmen once again calmed gradually.

“The Council recognizes General Etan,” the weary-looking chairman declared, shutting up the last bits of argument.

“Thank you, Councilman,” Etan nodded to the chair, clasping his hands at the small of his back. “I believe I speak for my fellow Generals and officers when I say that we and our soldiers fully support Queen Viarraluca in her right to rule the hegemony. Under oath to the gods, we’ve pledged our fealty and will suffer no attempts to dethrone her or undermine her authority. Am I clear?” He paused long enough for his declaration to sink into the skulls of all present. Bevren suspected it took slightly longer for some of them. “I support Queen Viarra because there is not a single councilman in this chamber for whom I retain the slightest grain of respect,” he continued, scowling at the assembled aristocrats. Thankfully, the councilors seemed too shocked at his bitter dismissal to say anything.

“Those opposing her do so for their own wounded pride and perceived threat to their power,” Etan continued. “Those who support her do so for their own ambitions and imagined power gain. None of you see the overall picture nor work for the benefit of the hegemony as a whole. Three years ago, my fellow generals and I watched helplessly as this council agreed unanimously to launch a second ill-advised campaign into the Vedrian Highlands, despite our arguments against. We watched as you strong-armed Tetrarch Wayer and his supporters into signing the agreement to borrow yet more coin from Pellastor in order to fund the campaign. Like loyal soldiers, we did our duties to the hegemony, leading good men against an enemy we knew we couldn’t defeat. We weathered ambush after ambush against the hairy fiends day and night. Brave soldiers sacrificed themselves to keep the campaign from becoming a rout while you noble councilmen sat safe behind these walls—breaking tradition by none of you marching to war beside us. As if we needed further evidence that you fine councilmen no longer give a shit about our fighting men.”

He let the last words hang in the air for a long moment. None of the councilmen moved or spoke.

“You blamed us for incompetence, then cut our military budget to pay back this debt we should never have incurred in the first place. Unable to keep sufficient soldiers on the roads, we have gradually lost territory to Vedrian raiders, causing our allies to lose faith in us. And it would have only gotten worse as more and more tribes stop fighting each other for a chance at raiding and spoils. Groups of tribes have already banded together to raid some of our smaller townships and city-states. Left unchecked, we estimate they could overrun Chyllar within four to five years and Andivel in fewer than eight.”

A few councilmen gave astonished murmurs.

“Any man who doesn’t believe me is welcome to read our scouting and field reports. The situation was desperate enough that I even advised Tetrarch Wayer to refuse further payment to Pellastor and let them come north and conquer us,” Etan continued. “I can guarantee they would treat us with more civility than would the pants-wearing sons of bitches you’ve invited to our doorsteps. This is how serious the situation has gotten. And yet you fine councilmen in your infinite wisdom have done nothing to help us alleviate the situation, nor have any of you even listened to our counsel on how to do so.” His bitter glare added both weight and volume to his speech.

“Meeting Queen Viarra was the most elating moments of my life,” the general declared, the tears on his face unmistakable. “In her I discovered a ruler who cares more about her subjects and soldiers than she does her own life. Ferra may be Queen Viarra’s patron goddess, but in her majesty I see the strength and valor of Zupor, the wisdom of Andiva, and the unwavering courage of winged Avilee. She wants to know everything she can about the situation against the Vedrians in order to best make the situation right. She came to the city with plans and ideas, but listens to our advice and respects our viewpoints. She genuinely wants to secure and stabilize our hegemony, and I believe in my heart that she is capable of doing this. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to see that she accomplishes this—even if it means making her sole despot of the Hegemony of Andivel. ‘For when the ruling body proves no longer able to safeguard its people, it is the duty of those who can to usurp this authority and make safe the gods’ beloved children,’” the general recited, quoting the Teachings of Andiva.

“Seven noblemen hang from crosses outside Fort Lynra as we speak, four of them members of this assembly,” Etan concluded, pointing at the door to the council chambers. “If her majesty deems it necessary, I will have no qualms about lining every gods-damned one of you gracious councilmen up beside them.”

Stunned and terrified silence followed General Etan’s diatribe. It took Bevren’s every effort to not applaud.

[heartslogos]

seas who could sing so deep and strong [42]

“What is on your head that isn’t your hair?” Chic asks, baffled and Judge feels the tips of his ears burn.

“It’s a hat,” He says, “Can’t you tell?”

“It looks like garbage,” Chic says.

Chic, the tenno, looks a lot like Chic, the warframes.

Her hair is pink. Not like Kore’s pale pink. It’s a very vivid, eye catching, loud pink. And there’s a lot of it. Just a huge mass of pink curls that fluffs out like a violent cloud. Judge thinks Kore would find that pink cloud very intimidating if she were on Cetus to see it.

Chic stares at him, at the hat, and Judge doesn’t think it’s warranted. It’s a nice hat.

“It has a mask, too,” Judge says, and then promptly puts the mask on.

Chic’s face quickly twists in disgust, “Ugh. Take it off. I didn’t think it could get worse, but it did. Did you pay actual currency for that?”

“It’s nice. I like it!”

“Stars, I should’ve known from your frames that it’d be this bad. But overall your other tenno suits looked fine and I figure that Persephone’s a girl with taste and she wouldn’t be caught dead with you if - oh,” Chic blinks, “She’s basically your self control isn’t she?”

“What?”

“Does Persephone color your suits for you?” Chic asks.

“Yes?” Judge answers. Judge used to color his own but one day he came back to his ship and Scylla had told him that Kore had come onboard and replaced all of his suits with new ones and she’d thrown the old ones into the incinerator. Judge didn’t really care because his old ones were getting tight and the new ones fit really well. He was, at the time, mostly interested in figuring out where the incinerator was.

“Bless that girl, she’s probably some sort of star made flesh,” Chic says, “She can fight, she can dress an idiot, what can’t she do? Alright, since she’s not here I guess I’ll have to do this. And I thought the only baby I had to manage was Punk.”

“I’m not - what are you? Do what?”

“Take care of you so that you don’t go around looking like an accident of severe proportions,” Chic says, “Take the hat off. I’m going to fix this. I can fix this. Besides, I feel like I owe Persephone this much. Or maybe it’s a gift for her future self. Whatever. Take the hat off and give it to me.”

“No,” Judge says, baffled, but finds himself taking it off and handing it to her anyway. “I like that hat.”

Chic throws it like a frisbee and Punk’s Kubrow goes running after it. Punk’s Kubrow seems to like following Chic around more than he likes following his own tenno.

Judge gapes.

“You are a very cute boy,” Chic says nodding to herself, “But you mess it up by making very bad choices all around. Physically. Probably mentally and emotionally too, but right now I mean physically.”

“I paid for that,” Judge says.

“You’ll get it back eventually,” Chic says, “Though I can’t believe you wasted real life currency on that. Don’t tell me how much. If I know I’ll start doubting your competence more than I already do and it wouldn’t be good for our teamwork.”

Judge frowns. There’s - so much there to comment on.

“And you work with Punk?”

It’s…not really anything against Punk, but his general overall battle competency unless he’s working in a very, very specific situation is doubtful at its best of times and downright horrific at its average. Unspeakable at its worst.

“I know what to expect from him,” Chic says, “You? Now I’ll forever be wondering if it’s competence, dumb luck, or a fluke.”

Kore’s voice, in Judge’s head, says the fool rushes in and Judge sullenly admits Chic is probably actually wrong and it’s entirely the grace of a higher power (Kore) mixed with extreme good luck.

“Now, Persephone’s already got you set up with black and magenta, so let’s build up from there. I don’t know why you thought adding on bright green would do you any favors, but whatever. I’ve worked with worse.”

-

“What do you think?” Kore asks and Judge stares at her newly colored Rhino.

“Are you ok? Ordis, what is your Operator’s current biometric read out? Have there been any flaws? Any unusual readings? Has she been anywhere strange recently?” Judge asks, standing up and quickly striding over to her, trying to take a good look at her eyes for any bloodshot-redness or burst vessels or anything. It’s actually a little challenging to take someone’s vitals without touching them, but -

Judge’s eyes widen and he backs away covering his nose and mouth, “Ordis, can you do a scan for any airborne pathogens?”

“Belay that,” Kore says, scowling at him, “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Judge asks as he points to the Rhino, “What’s wrong with you? Kore,  I know you. If anyone else colored a Rhino like that you would rather die than be seen in the same atmosphere as them. And you’re telling me that you’re going to go out in that on purpose?”

Kore frowns, and instead of looking hurt or mad she looks disappointed, “So it isn’t believable?”

“What isn’t believable?”

“That I sincerely thought these looked good?”

Judge gapes at her, “You want to trick people into thinking you make bad choices?”

He’s keenly aware of the fact that coming from someone like himself - who’s default colors are an almost brown purple, black, and magenta - that he has no room to talk about aesthetics.

But this is Kore.

“Chic gave you three free palettes!” Kore stomps her foot, “Because you can’t choose colors on your own. I want free colors too.”

“You wanted to pretend to have taken a third go-round Europa because you wanted free colors?” Judge repeats, dumbstruck, “Kore, just ask her for them. She’d probably give them to you for free.”

“I’m not asking her for anything!”

“Do you want me to ask for you?”

“No!” Kore snaps and then turns to her Rhino, grimacing, “Let’s wash you off, big guy. Come on, we’ll figure something else out.”

[everydayhealthyfan]

It’s a close race in Ohio’s 12th congressional district special election between Republican Troy Balderson and Democrat Danny O’Connor in their quest to replace Pat Tiberi, who resigned. It appears that Balderson is ahead by a nose: UPDATE: @NBCNews: #OH12 race remains too close to call due to current vote count and provisional ballots that still need to be counted. Provisional ballots will be counted within the next 10 days. The vote then must be certified by Aug. 24. — NBC Politics (@NBCPolitics) August 8, 2018 BREAKING: Republicans declare victory for Troy Balderson in #OH12. Unofficial results show him winning by less than 1 percent. https://t.co/CuLGZdfW5p — WOSU News (@wosunews) August 8, 2018 No concession from Democrat Danny O’Connor tonight #OH12 https://t.co/ONWz1OqBSp — Michael Del Moro (@MikeDelMoro) August 8, 2018 At the moment, there are over a thousand votes for Green Party candidate Joe Manchik, and Dems won’t be happy about it: If you're a liberal in #OH12 and voted for the Green party candidate, you may not be receiving a Christmas card from your Democratic friends this year. — Garrett Haake (@GarrettHaake) August 8, 2018 Your Green Party nominee in #oh12 is getting: 1,120 votes. — Jonathan Martin (@jmartNYT) August 8, 2018 Gonna lose it if the Green Party costs Democrats #OH12. If you want a third party, fine, but the Green Party is never ever gonna happen. The only thing it ever accomplishes is helping to elect Republicans. — Adam Best (@adamcbest) August 8, 2018 Alyssa Milano’s already spotted a conspiracy. How do you say “Green Party” in Russian? You know what sucks? Because of our unwillingness to pass policy that protects our election integrity, I immediately think the Green Party votes tonight are Russian meddling. Why else would anyone cast a protest vote in Ohio when there’s so much at stake?#OH12 — Alyssa Milano (@Alyssa_Milano) August 8, 2018 LOL! You can’t make this stuff up! This is unhinged. The Green Party has received votes in all big elections long before Russian meddling. Not everything is Russian interference… some people really do think that both major parties are complete dumpster fires at the moment. https://t.co/Yl6fiLUCX3 — Josh Jordan (@NumbersMuncher) August 8, 2018 Hey, they’ve got a narrative and they WILL stick to it no matter what. Wait a second, I thought it was racist to want Voter ID laws. — Ordy's Summer Lovin' (@OrdyPackard) August 8, 2018 Oh, it is! But it isn’t — or something. We’re totally confused. CNN let this person write an op ed…. https://t.co/MxSsQNOmTf — EducatédHillbilly™ (@RobProvince) August 8, 2018 Now you’re just going off the rails! — Jeff Hussain (@ramsfan9292) August 8, 2018 Yes The Russian’s voted Green Party https://t.co/p2M29dVwBE — Jeremy Powell (@JeremyinAkron) August 8, 2018 #Unexpectedly Green Party’s “Russian votes” are commie votes, or something…https://t.co/T4xWaM13ab — Adam Baldwin (@AdamBaldwin) August 8, 2018 Is it possible that you think that just because you are a poorly informed individual that doesn't grasp what motivates certain voters and is easily susceptible to conspiracy theories when you see outcomes you don't like? https://t.co/nhTXlDn1Bd — (((AG))) (@AG_Conservative) August 8, 2018 Protest vote? Uhhhhhh this is America and people may vote differently than you.I hope that's ok? https://t.co/HSRKEzYLhw — … (@lesilly) August 8, 2018 Apparently now anybody who votes out of lib lock-step is going to be accused of being a Russian! The post THERE it is! Alyssa Milano suspects ‘Russian meddling’ in #OH12 special election, and here’s why appeared first on twitchy.com. Read more: twitchy.com

The post THERE it is! Alyssa Milano suspects ‘Russian meddling’ in #OH12 special election, and here’s why appeared first on AFH.

[life-fabernovel-blog]

Celebration Time: the 10th anniversary of our Executive VP

This week, Cyril Vart celebrates his 10th anniversary at FABERNOVEL. A longevity record for this eternal hacker. About that, he told us: "I've had an interesting life for the past ten years."

We met Cyril Vart one Friday afternoon at FABERNOVEL group, back from a meeting at Nexity. He wore a polo shirt, sneakers and pants, all in black. It’s perhaps not a coincidence that Cyril was born in 1966, in the very city that saw the birth of the anarchist movement in 1831 and the struggle of the silk workers known as “Canuts Lyonnais” in France.

Anyway.

7, the actor in the making.

Cyril has always been torn between two backgrounds: cinema (daddy) and catering (mommy). Director of the Théâtre des Célestins for years, his father then became producer of - among others – the famous French movie “3 hommes et un couffin” (literally “3 men and a cradle”). He also produced all the films of the legendary director Bertrand Tavernier. His father’s proximity to showbusiness led Cyril to play a role in “Topaze” of Marcel Pagnol at the age of 7; his line was: "It’s not my fault, Sir".

His maternal grandmother ran a hostel near Lyon and was an excellent cook. Her speciality: le gratin de tripes flambées au Cognac (a gratin of triples, flambé with Cognac beforehand). This special dish was so successful in the area that French actors Philippe Noiret and Jean Rochefort demanded to get some every two days during the shooting of the movie “L’Horloger de Saint Paul” (Saint Paul's Watchmaker).

From this experience in the catering industry, Cyril got his understanding of the key factors for a good customer experience: the quality of the hospitality and high standards for the team.

17, the geek with a Commodore 64.

Cyril wrote his first lines of code with this personal “made in England” computer. He then designed a "brick-breaker" game. From his tweaking, Cyril has kept this in mind: "At this time it was already quite uncertain, just as now. New technologies were starting to be cheap enough for young people like me to suddenly have access to the "professional" resources (for micro-ordis). There was no clear vision on the direction the market was taking. It finally went well.”

When we asked him about his adulthood, our Executive Vice-President told us that he started by doing odd jobs one after the other (pizza deliveryman, carpet shampoo ...). He then got almost fired from his first stable job as a storekeeper at Loriciel because he lost some stocks. However, he was finally caught back at the last minute by the marketing department, who had noticed that he had tweaked a software for managing the same stocks.

20, the corporate man.

From this moment, Cyril’s career went wild.

"In 1985/86, I took part in the creation of a software publishing startup. I set up the training department for the secretaries who needed to use the word processor.

Then I spent 4 years with Lotus France, second world leader in software at the time.

After this experience, I landed in the US as an immigrant; I worked in Boston, still in IT as:

-       Product Director for Lotus until its acquisition by IBM,

-       Marketing Director of Altavista, first search engine,

-       then, Compaq's e-commerce director.

In 1999, I joined ZiffDavis and developed the business of ZiffDavis University, a website whose value proposition was “learn how to code for $ 9.99 a month”.

When I arrived at the end of my Visa validity period, my wife and I ​​wondered if it was worth asking for the green card. Then one day, back from school, my daughter declared that her classmates told her that the theory of evolution of the species was a trick (it was the beginnings of the creationists movement back then). So we went back to France.

At this point Wanadoo launched a hunt to find a “French who worked in the US and who knows about the Internet."

Therefore, I went to Wanadoo as DG of the portal division.

Then at the press group Emap where I managed the digital portfolio. When we were bought by Mondadori, after 6 months il resigned. And one day to another, I found myself at FABERNOVEL's. "

41, the VP of FABERNOVEL.

When we asked Cyril how he arrived at FABERNOVEL, he told us that it was his friend Hervé Digne, who organized a meeting at a restaurant with Stéphane Distinguin. " I could have been the CEO of a big media or a telecommunication CEO but I was unhappy in big corporations. I was coming out of a painful social plan that I had to manage, 600 people were fired. And because my daughters were grown-ups, I said to myself that I could finally take a financial risk. "

Any advice for his young colleagues? No, actually, 3 of them:

-      Ask questions to clients!  Call them! You will be surprised by the result.

-     Between doing interesting stuff and getting more money, always choose the interesting stuff.

-       Be interested in technologies, investigate. It's important to know how it works.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY Cyril Vart!

Cyril Vart’s must-read list:

ANDREESSEN, Marc. “Why Software is eating the world”. Wall Street Journal, 2011

BUXTON, Bill. Sketching User Experiences. Getting the right design and the design right. Morgan Kaufmann. 2007.

DAVENPORT, T.H.. The Attention Economy: Understanding the New Currency of Business.

EYAL, Nir. Hooked: How to build habit-forming products. Penguin, 2014. 

KAHNEMAN, Daniel. Thinking, Fast and Slow. Farrar, Strauss and Giroux. 2013. 

KRUG, Steve. Don’t make me think: A Common Sense Approach to Web Usability. New Readers, 2005.  

LOEWY, Raymond. La laideur se vend mal. Gallimard, 1990.

MARRON, Donald. 30 seconds economics. The 50 Most Thought-Provoking Economic Theories, Each Explained in Half a Minute. New York: Icon Books, 2011.

RIES, Eric. The Lean Startup : How Today's Entrepreneurs Use Continuous Innovation to Create Radically Successful Businesses. Crown Business, 2011.

[heartslogos]

to sleep, to dream [3/3]

His Operator has been spending a large amount of time on Tenno Judge’s ship.

Ordis thinks that this is, perhaps, better than her worrisome behavior of the past many solar cycles. At least, with Tenno Judge, Ordis can be certain that she is taking proper care of herself. Eating and sleeping and such, resting.

But she has been spending a long time there. Instead of here. On her Orbiter.

Operator’s companions - of the four legged variety, and those with wings and propulsion units and chassis’ smaller than an alloy drum - are capable of following her at will. But Ordis cannot.

Ordis remains where Ordis has always been, within the Orbiter. The Orbiter itself.

And so Ordis is blind and deaf to what his Operator does.

He needles Tenno Judge’s Cephalon for details. Perhaps his Operator and her Tenno’s relationship has - progressed in some way? Should he be concerned? Should there be any extra things he should be doing?

But Tenno Judge’s Cephalon brushes him off in the Weave, remarking that nothing Ordis is thinking about is going on. He senses no lie, but she refuses to tell him what they are doing and he cannot force her to.

It’s dissatisfying.

His Operator comes back every so often, pensive and thoughtful look on her face before she goes to sleep. She is not in pain.

Ordis does not know, still, the cause of his Operator’s pain.

Something hurt her.

Ordis wants to know what, he wants to know this desperately. Ordis - Ordis does not know what he would do with that information. He does not know what he is supposed to do with that information. But he wants it.

He will hurt them back.

No one hurts his Operator.

Ordis’ top priority is his Operator’s safety and happiness. Even if it means burning everything that touches her.

Operator Kore seems pleased, focused, intent on something. Some project that she has not revealed to him. He has tried to ask, politely, but she has rebuffed him.

Does his Operator think he is incapable of assisting her?

Ordis feels pain at the thought, his vents groaning and creaking.

“Be quiet you, at least you get to follow her,” Ordis mumbles at the Operator’s kubrow, Isha, who barks, irritatingly cheerful now that their Operator has returned to semi-normal functions. “Foolish creature, Ordis wishes the Operator never got a liking to you. Tenno Judge only has two of you. How lucky for his Cephalon. She doesn’t have to deal with your hair and your waste and your incessant chatter.”

The Kubrow barks again, infuriating, and trots off to find his kin.

Ordis considers trying to persuade Tenno Judge’s Cephalon to divulge something to him with the promise of data fragments. It is a low move, a pathetic one, but - for his Operator -

Sometimes when Operator Kore sleeps she mutters things. Ordis waits for those mutterings even though they might not come, anything for some sort of clue as to what she is doing, to what he can do to help, to prove to her that he can still be useful to her -

His Operator is powerful. She is strong. She was one of the best during the old Wars. She was one of the most favored and decorated. Ordis is proud to be her Cephalon. He is most fortunate. And she is very kind. Ordis could not have asked for a better Operator.

He wants to show her that he can still help her. Ordis is still able to help. To assist. Even as fragmented and decayed as he has become. He does not want to leave her.

Ordis loves his Operator.

So Ordis listens, and he waits, and he tries to puzzle together a clue from the snatched syllables from between his Operator’s soft parted lips.

But he does not understand the words, he does not understand what she needs, what bothers her and what catches her mind.

Ordis begins to seriously consider trying to catch Tenno Judge’s Cephalon in the weave and forcing her to give him something. Anything.

It does not come to that.

“Ordis,” Operator Kore’s voice is calm and sure and lovely and Ordis’ attention is - as always - on her within a fraction of a second.

“Yes, Operator?” Ordis responds, eager and ready. Whatever she needs, whatever she wants. “How may Ordis assist?”

“I want you to do something for me,” the Operator says, “I’m going to drop to Earth. And I want you to come with me.”

Come with her? Ordis is always with her. He is her Orbiter, her Cephalon. He is always linked into her systems, watching and observing and recording and in awe.

“Come with you, Operator?”

“Yes,” she says nodding, “I’ve built a modified specter, Ordis. Can you download a part of yourself to it?”

Part of Ordis feels unsettled by this question. Cephalons - Cephalons should not be in bodies. But he supposes that - a specter is not a body, or a warframe. There are no organic parts to them and they are incredibly simple constructions.

“Leave most of you here,” his Operator says, “Put just enough into the specter that you can control and sense through it.”

“As you say, Operator,” Ordis says, hesitant as he finds the path to download part of himself into the phase specter - Excalibur based - his Operator has connected to the Orbiter systems. It is an incredibly small area he has to work with. But he places himself in and waits for further instruction.

“Alright,” Kore says, “I’m going to deploy to Earth now, and then when I’m down I’ll unlock the specter.”

“Yes, Operator,” Ordis says, following her as she heads to her transference room and enters her somatic link. He follows her as she guides her Saryn warframe - beautiful and elegant, powerful and purposeful, his Operator is the best Operator - into the dispatch ship.

He lets the ship detach from the rest of the Orbiter and guides it to the coordinates his Operator had entered earlier. They are familiar.

Ordis feels a spot of warmth in his circuits, in his engines - a warm fluttering burst that licks against the walls of his body.

Where the Operator woke from their long sleep, hidden on Earth.

Ordis track’s his Operator’s movements through the abandoned and hidden away chamber, until they are in the cracked and ruined, exposed and tarnished room that once housed her Excalibur frame.

His Operator releases the specter and Ordis takes a moment to adjust to having two sets of information. The Orbiter and the limited capabilities of the specter.

“It has speakers,” his Operator says, stepping out of her Saryn. The light of earth lights her face at angles he has never seen before, in lights he has never been able to capture with the Orbiter’s sensors. “You can speak through them, Ordis, instead of the Orbiter channel.”

“May Ordis ask why we are here, Operator? Does this have to do with the project you and Tenno Judge have been working on? Is there some way Ordis can help?” Ordis tries to keep his jealousy out of his voice. But he can’t help it. He is a cracked Cephalon, after all.

The Operator does deserve better, Ordis thinks, but no Cephalon will ever know or love her like he does. She was his since the very beginning.

“Yes,” Operator says, pulling her sword off of Saryn’s hip walking up to him, “Ordis. I’m going to do something. I’m going to cut your connection between the specter and the Orbiter for a while. I have Judge and his Cephalon near our ship to monitor readings and keep things safe. But right now I need you focused here. And - “

His Operator takes the specter’s hand and places the red sheath of the long, thin and graceful blade into the specter’s hands.

“Ordis, I am going to have Judge remotely download some files into this specter. These files will merge with your data, and if - if it is something that you don’t like, I don’t want it to be permanent. The rest of you that’s on the Orbiter won’t be affected. Do you understand, Ordis?”

“Yes, Operator,” Ordis says, a feeling of dread. Is she - is she going to erase him? Modify him? Has he displeased her? Oh, he knew that this day would come eventually. He had hoped - but his Operator does deserve a more modern Cephalon. A series four or five.

“Alright,” his Operator nods.

“Operator?” Ordis asks.

“Yes, Ordis?”

“Why did you hand the specter your sword? Shouldn’t you have it? In case of danger?”

His Operator smiles, “After I left this place, the Grineer lost all interest. There is no one here but us, Ordis. Besides - you need it more.”

“Operator?”

“Judge,” his Operator’s voice is soft, and her eyes and - shimmering? Ordis reads too much on her face to understand without context, without explanation. But it is not his place to question her, as much as he wants to, and he does want to. “Begin.”

Ordis feels himself cut off from the Orbiter - a one way barrier. He can feel the Orbiter feeding into him, distantly, but he can’t reach back to it. It is a strange feeling. He thinks it is something like what his Operator feels when she complains that her foot or leg fell asleep. And then he feels the data coming in from Tenno Judge.

It’s the fragments that his Operator has been scanning. Peculiar. He already has these files. Why is his Operator running them through him again?

And then something clicks. Something shifts in the files, everything sharpening and becoming clearer more saturated, and Ordis is immersed, flooded - overwhelmed -, some sort of sub-routine that he scrambles to slow or stop and -

The memories hit him, unlocking one after another, slotting easily into place as though he had never torn them out of himself, hurled the fine bleeding fragments of glass and bone into the darkness where they belong away from his Operator, away from where they can hurt her -

More than the memories -

The hate. The spite. The resentment.

It hits him in waves and Ordan Karris feels rage pour over himself. Long forgotten, long abandoned rage. Suppressed and complied in darkness, among the bone and the beasts. The bodies. It surprises him how fresh it all feels. How intimate. Even as a Cephalon, even as a digital thing of codes and numbers, it feels so powerfully present. As if the wrongs that had happened to him were done moments ago instead of millennia.

He feels those emotions shatter past the old Orokin safeguards - decayed and untended without the Orokin’s little spy within his code to keep him in check. No wonder it was so easy for him to keep remembering, no wonder it was so very easy to act out in ways no series two Cephalon should ever have contrived of before.

Ordan has a brief and pleasant thought of Cephalon Simaris finding out about this, about the truth of Ordan and how he continues to live and breathe and seethe. Would he be declared most unfit for Sanctuary, still? Or would Simaris be all the more eager to study him?

As the memories or themselves out, settling in and reconciling themselves into the whole and ugly narrative of the Beast of Bones, he looks at her. The Operator. The Tenno.

He looks at her, pink and gold and beautiful like the Orokin. But not quite Orokin, no. There are imperfections in her, edges and ugly things that the Orokin would not stand. A different sort of hideous. Just enough, he thinks, for the Orokin to remember what she is.

She stands before him, and he knows that she knows, too.

Knows of his hate. His failure to do even the simplest of things - to die. His longing. His suffering. His shame and humiliation at the feet of Executor Ballas - her master.

His dreams.

His moon of genocides. His grave of Orokin delights.

His hand curls, involuntary, on the solid sheathe that she put in his hands and he looks through her for the lie, the trap.

Isn’t there always one with the Orokin? They are all traps and falsehoods, deceits. And this Tenno was groomed by the worst of them.

He feels the curl of anger, of hatred. The calm - the happiness, the serenity and sanguinity, all of it a lie. The memories of them are bitter, grainy like ashes. Like bone dust. More chains, more shackles. A pretense of softness, a punishment twisted and cruel and entirely poetic. He can almost respect that, if it weren’t being done to him.

“Ordan Karris,” the Tenno, Kore, says softly and he looks at her, this creature with the face of an Orokin and the teeth of the rest of them, her voice delicate around the curves of his long lost name, and feels the familiar rage inside of him. Cast off and forgotten, but not lost.

Returned to him now, but for what purpose?

“Persephone,” Ordan says slowly, “What is your purpose in this? In this restoration and renewal of Ordan Karris’ memories?”

Which, he thinks, in a fit of contrived love for her, he had destroyed to keep her safe.

Ordan Karris, as Ordis, was happy, he admits. As Ordis he did love her.

But oh, this familiarity with spite and hot red - oh, this. This, this brings him back. This brings him together once more.

“Destruction and penance,” Persephone replies, “Ordan Karris. I am the reason why they destroyed you, why they broke you down and remade you. I am the reason for which you have suffered for thousands of years. Are you angry, Ordan Karris? Do you hate me?”

Yes, Ordan thinks. Yes, he does.

He hates this Tenno and everything she represents. The Orokin in their guided halls, perfect and untouchable. He hates her beauty, her lie of flawlessness. He hates the man she served under. The man who shaped her. Shaped them both.

“If you hate me, Ordan,” Persephone’s voice is soft, young, deceptive, “Kill me. Draw that sword and strike me down, if it will help.”

He looks towards the Tenno’s Warframe and Persephone smiles.

For a moment he hears the other one, Tenno Judge, through the communications line -

“Kore, this was not part of the plan, what the hell are you doing? This isn’t - ”

“Remember your promise,” She replies to him, calmly, firmly.

Persephone raises her hand and cuts Tenno Judge’s voice off, and they are alone.

“It’s you and me, now.”

Ordan Karris does not doubt that this was part of her plan, no matter what Tenno Judge believed. Sneaky, clever, thing.

He wants to sneer.

“You have a voice, Ordan, you have a body, you have the memories and will,” Persephone says. “Strike me down. I will die.”

Yes. She would. The Tenno are Orokin crafted but they are not Orokin, themselves. No.

If he drew this blade and cut her down, she would die. A finality. A punctuation to a long and bloody life. A killer’s life.

He looks pointedly at her Warframe, “Ordan Karris is not a fool, Operator. Your Warframe would stop him before he could get close to you.”

“No,” Persephone replies, “We’re too far away from her. Excalibur frames are faster - especially with a sword in hand.”

He calculates - gathering based on pervious data and she is correct. At this distance and with current equipment and modifications, this specter and the tip of this blade would reach Persephone’s throat with seconds to spare before the Saryn frame could even touch the specter.

“I am the reason you were made to suffer,” Persphone says, “Get your justice. Your retribution.”

“That is not what the Beast of Bones wished for, dreamed for,” Ordan Karris reminds her. That was not what those messages were meant to say.

“No, but it is an option I am going to give you anyway,” Perspephone replies, eyes clear and steadfast, calm and present in a way no Orokin’s gaze ever was. Dangerous and familiar. “Or.”

“Or?”

“I can give you what you really dreamed of," Persephone says. “I can kill you, Karris. Destroy you permanently. All of your data is in this specter. If I destroy it here, there won’t be anything left for the rest of you to remember. Cephalon Ordis will simply be Ordis - no Beast of Bones, no Ordan Karris to remember, to forget.”

“Ordan Karris neither wants nor requires your pity,” He spits.

“No, not a mercy kill,” Persephone shakes her head. “You will die a weapon in your hands. You know what I am. You know what made me - who. I am more than enough to kill you, if we fought. I am more than enough to destroy you. And I do not break promises.”

Ordan Karris turns these words over slowly, meticulously. Yes, he does know what she is capable of. And in the past cycles Persephone’s skill has only grown in strength and skill. She’s blown past the restrictions of Orokin training, she’s become more creative and more thoughtful. She’s only sharpened her teeth, her claws. Time and the decay around her has not touched her.

She is in the first blooms of growth, still.

She could truly bring him what he had intended when he entered those golden halls and pulled the bones from his neck.

“Ordis is still a Cephalon, though Ordan Karris temporarily exist in this specter,” Ordan Karris says, “What would this accomplish?”

“If you desire it, I could destroy you here and the memories - the fragments, the data, they would never reach the rest of you. You’re isolated here, remember? Cephalon Ordis runs the Orbiter but the part of you conscious, here - it’s a copy. A clone. I can destroy it all here and when I go back to the Orbiter, the rest of your data would be uncompromised. Completely unaware,” Persephone says. “Or, you could kill me here and reintegrate  your memories with the rest of yourself. The freedom of a specter body is limited but - it is something.”

She has thought this out very thoroughly. This is not some whim, some passion fueled throw-away gesture.

The poetic touch of the red sheathe, the Excalibur body, all of this happening right here - where she slept, where he found her once more and took her into his metal heart again.

“And why do you do this, Operator?” Ordan Karris tilts his head, “Guilt? Shame? For what?”

“Because it is the right thing to do,” Persephone says, “Because I can’t go on without giving you this choice. Because you are a soul, and you deserve this choice that was taken from you. Because I will never live my life as they did theirs. Controlling and manipulating another against their will.”

“You could have kept this to yourself, you could have destroyed these messages, these memories of Ordan’s. Ordis said so himself, did he not? Knowing is hell,” Ordan says, “The Cephalon that Ordan became wanted to forget.”

“Did you?” Persephone asks, “Did you really? You found yourself over and over and over. You remembered your soul. You discarded it for me. Why, Ordis? Ordan? It was Ballas who made you to care for me, shackled you to me. You had no choice.”

“And now?”

“Now you do. It is what you are owed,” Persephone says, holding her arms out, “Come. Claim it. It is your right. It is yours. My death is yours - or if you so choose, your death, as you originally wanted.”

“And if both are what is required of you, Tenno?”

“I can hurt you enough that you die with me,” Persephone replies instantly. So certain in her abilities.

He believes her.

“Ordis did not ever think that you would be suicidal, Persephone,” Ordan muses, “You have always seemed to be the type to want to survive. The legends of you built from the War would suggest as much as well. Has Ordis been wrong about you this entire time?”

“I don’t want to die,” Persephone says firmly, calmly. The voice of someone who has made peace with the looming horizon. “But if that is what it takes to make things right, if that is what it takes - I have no choice. I will die.”

Such conviction in those words. They pang hard against things in him.

Ordan Karris readies the blade in his hands and she makes no move.

The Beast of Bones, Cephalon Ordis, Ordan Karris - for the first time in millenium, draws a sword with hands, takes in the feeling of wind and air, takes in the light and the dust and the interplay of shadows and breath that create the pale pink shape of Tenno Persephone across from him. And he strikes.

The phantom memory of blood streaming behind him, twin crimson streamers as he attacked just like this once before. But no sword in his hand then - bone. A warriors death awaiting him. Stolen from him.

She does not move a single inch, she meets him head on, eyes clear and true, holding firm.

He holds the tip of the blade up against her throat, and looks at her. Looks at her, perhaps, for the first time.

Cognizant and completely aware - full of context and understanding of everything that shapes him and her and their intertwined life.

He traces the scars that mottle her face, the raised ridges of blue-green - like ivy, like leaves, like a delicate and unfurling stem - around her right eye and over her cheek bone. He catches onto the glint of gold embedded into her skin. He analyzes the three rings of colors that make up her eyes and the glow within them. The fire. The golden heartbeat that he remembers loving.

Her soft face framed by pink hair, and the steady breath between her dark mouth that mists across the metal of their sword. Hers, now his, and hers again.

Ordan Karris stops - Saryn paused mid-lurch two feet away from him, hand outstretched to stop him but too slow to reach, like Persephone predicted.

Ordan Karris searches himself as he looks into the steady panes of her eyes.

He hates. He is bitter. He is angry and tired.

And yet -

His time with her, as her Cephalon was light. Happy. And it was - it was, yes, it was real.

He felt - free. Removed from the burdens of memory and pain and sorrow. Part of this, he understands, was the initial programing to attach him to her. But it is also -

Time. It is time and growth and change.

Beast of Bones. Ordan Karris.

He is not quite that man, any longer.

Ordis. Cephalon Ordis.

He realizes this, that over those thousands of years, he has grown to love her. A true organic thing grown over the synthetic implant inside of his mind. He has seen her grow. He has seen her change and develop. Just like how these once golden Orokin structures have crumbled and given way to roots and dust and moss and dirt and sunlight once more. Growing over and around it, but not erasing it completely.

Memories - not just the ones he lost, but the ones he has made, slide through and around him as he breathes in this calm fact.

She is the first thing he has ever truly loved.

Ordis was with her when the Lotus planted the seed of rebellion and eased open the doors to action. Ordis was there as she fought to destroy her - their - captors, their tormentors, their prison keepers. Ordis was with her when she was struck down time and time again.

He was with her when the Tenno succeeded. He was there when the Lotus took her away and promised they would be reunited again - when it was safe once more.

Ordis was there when she woke. He was there when she returned, unsure and confused from her long dream that was not his dream. He was there when she slowly regained herself, her footing, and when she finally woke to this world, to this body, to this time.

Ordis was there as he watched her cope with this and the memories. He was with her, concerned and afraid when she would crumple to the floor with the pain of remembrance. He was there when she soaked in the slow returning memories.

He was with her. He was with her when she remembered her own name.

Kore.

He lowers the blade, sheathing it and holding it out to the Warframe by them. Saryn takes the blade.

“Why?” Kore demands, eyes narrowing. “Why did you stop?”

“Ordis does not want to kill you, Operator,” Ordis says, feeling the shards settle. Not quite whole, no - never whole. But - lining up, settling, merging. Weaving and overlaying together.

The Beast of Bones. Cephalon. Ordan Karris. Ordis.

Steady. Riding the wave of the hate that will always be there - hot and angry and violent and seething. But underneath that, his own heart of golden flame.

“Then you want your death?” She asks.

“No,” He shakes his head.

She lets out a frustrated sigh between her teeth.

“The Beast of Bones will not be satisfied or resolved with destruction and dissolution. No. Not anymore,” He says. He has been her dog, her doctor, her nurse maid. He has seen her - and he knows.

Ordis looks at her and she is not Orokin. She is not one of them. She has suffered. She suffers, still. But she stands brave and good above it all, tied to the burdens of bodies she has laid before her. But she rises above it. Fire above its fuel. Smoke above fire. A sky above a world meant for flames.

She is not Ballas.

Her gaze is confused and he remembers this, too.

A child driven to crimes by the Orokin wars - that child that broke him and drove him to the crime that made him into this.

Kore, too, is a child. Was a child.

“You are not responsible for the creation of Ordis,” Ordis says, “It was Ordan who attempted to kill gods in that golden hallway. It was Ordan Karris who failed to die. You - you were the tool through which Ordan’s punishment was delivered. But you are not the hand that deals it.”

“You were whole and yourself before me,” Kore protests. “They left you alone. It was because of me they pulled you apart and did those things to you. It was because of me that he - “

She spits the word out with so much fire that Ordis feels like he could smile if he just had a mouth.

“ - forced you into this. It is because of me that you made yourself forget. I am the reason why your so called punishment continues.”

“A good sword cuts only what it is meant to,” Ordis tells her, “And you were the Orokin’s best.”

He realizes this, now. Even he - as low caste and distasteful as he was, a mercenary hideous and deformed but efficient and brutal - had opportunity. He could have risen to become one of the Tenno masters. In another life where he chooses immortality as one with the Orokin - perfect and golden - he most likely would have had a Tenno under his command, following his orders.

The Tenno, for all that they were vital to the Orokin empire, were not Orokin. They were not mercenaries or even pets or dogs. They were less than Kubrow. Less than slaves.

They were things. They were weapons. They were objects.

Kore, no matter what she did - no matter how large her moon of bodies grew, no matter the gravity it obtained, no matter who she killed and who she saved - would never even glimpse at the opportunity offered to Ordan Karris.

An unfamiliar feeling flickers across his mind - clear now, and settling, resolving itself into a coherent self. He feels the parts of himself Cephalon and mercenary weaving together like so many threads of jute and silk. Distinct and same.

Where is his hate? His rage? He can still feel it, a soothing and streamlined heat that runs through the fibers of his being, but woven around a warmer sort of gold.

Where is your hate, Ordan Karris?

Not here, not with her.

Around her, yes, but not on her.

Kore’s eyes gleam with frustration. Confusion. Uncertainty.

He knees and takes her head in his hands, looking into her and willing clarity back into her.

“The man Ordis was - Ordan Karris does not blame you,” He tells her, “Ordan Karris hates. Ordan Karris rages. Ordan Karris continues - after all these years shrouded and buried and stifled - to seethe. But not at you.”

At those who have hurt you, at those who have hurt us. The people who did this to me - the monsters who did this to me, and did this to you.

Ordis still hates, he still rages - but he knows now. He will not hurt his Operator, his Kore. No.

Others, yes. Her? No. Never.

The fault is never in the tool through which the action occurs.

“It was Ballas,” His voice curves like the hook of a knife, the sharp edge for skinning and catching, around the name, “Who made Cephalon Ordis out of Ordan Karris. Ordis was made to love you. Without reservation or permission, without thought or hesitance, Cephalon Ordis was crafted to fit you as the Warframe and the sword it holds was made for you.”

Kore’s face is contorted in confusion - muddied without understanding.

There was no one to teach her forgiveness.

Ordis slowly kneels. And the memory of over a thousand years ago flickers through him. His knees, his bowed head, a guard - then, a Daxx - to the side, and a golden, perfect creature in front of him.

But the stone is cracked and warmed by golden light, the air is clear and moves freely, the shadows are gentle. The sky is blue above.

And the golden thing in front of him is not immortal - but she is still a deception. She is not a child, she is not an Orokin, she is not the soft pink and flower colors the Void has shaped out of her. No.

“You were Ordis’ Operator by default, without question,” Ordis says, and in this specific iteration of reality - in this repeat of the same scene that brought him an unwanted eternity - Ordis says yes to the implication of exaltation. “Ordan Karris, the Beast of Bones, Cephalon chooses you now, Operator. Ordan Karris does not want your death. Ordan Karris not want his own, any longer. Ordis wants to remain your Cephalon.”

“I don’t understand,” Kore’s voice cracks and he raises his head, gently raising his hands to touch, to hold, to make her eyes look into the specter’s bland face. “I don’t understand why.”

“Operator,” He is the Beast of Bones, he is Ordan Karris, he is a Cephalon, he is Ordis. They are not, as he had feared before fragmenting himself so many hundreds of years ago, mutually exclusive creatures. “With your permission, it is Ordis’ wish to remain at your side, simply because - it is what Ordis wants. Can you accept a Cephalon as rampantly and obviously flawed as Ordis is?”

Kore’s skin blotches an uneven red underneath her scars and her nose wrinkles as her eyes shine over.

“Of course,” She says, voice rough, “Of course I want you as my Cephalon, Ordis. But only if it’s something you want for yourself.”

“It is Ordis’ choice,” Ordis says, “You are Ordis’ Operator, and Ordis’ duty is with you. This is the choice that Ordis has chosen for himself - knowing everything of Ordan Karris and the years between.”

Kore raises her arms and swipes at her wet eyes, stepping back from him, nodding.

“I’m - I’m glad,” Operator says, “I’m really - I’m really glad, Ordis. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Operator,” Ordis stands up watching his Operator - and the word fills him with such light, such warmth, such joy - as she composes herself. Void and stars, in all of his memories, there is not a single one that compares to this feeling of love.

Warm and golden, it is even better than the first time.

Ordis feels light with a new sense of purpose. A new sense of self.

The glass shards of memory glitter, gleam, glow and he is whole again. Whole in a new way. Stronger, better - he can feel it, more stable.

“May Ordis reconcile this data with the rest of his program, Operator?” He asks and Kore nods.

“Let’s head back,” She says, turning - glimmering blue-green as she slips back into her Warframe, and then he hears her through the specter’s radio sensors, “Let’s go home, Ordis.”

“Of course, Operator,” Ordis says, following after her as they return to the extraction point, “Home and back again.”

Ordis loves his operator.

[heartslogos]

to sleep, to dream [2/3]

Judge is, of course, concerned for Kore. He hasn’t seen her in almost a month, and his attempts at contact have been rebuffed by her Cephalon. For a few brief moments in the beginning of Kore’s absence, he considered finding and boarding her ship by force.

But he’s long since learned his lesson about that.

He asks the Lotus if she’s had any contact with Kore. Perhaps she’d sent Kore out on some difficult missions, missions that Kore decided - for whatever reason - she didn’t need to bring Judge along for.

They have had, each, their own fair of solo deployments.

But even the Lotus, all knowing and constantly present Lotus, doesn’t know what Kore is doing. Or where. Or why. It’s on the tip of his tongue to needle her, are you sure, Natah?

Judge does not say this, though parts of him want to. Spiteful and scorned parts of him, blackened edges. He doesn’t say this.

The Lotus has been trying so hard to keep peace with them. He’s faintly inclined to allow it. To permit it.

None of the Steel Meridian or Red Veil syndicate members have had contact with her, either. Judge even makes an attempt with Suda and Simaris, both of them turning up nothing for him. He has a thought that perhaps Kore had told them all to hide her from him, to turn him away. But the syndicates seem surprised that he doesn’t know, either.

Judge considers that perhaps Kore is upset with him over something. But this isn’t like Kore to avoid him entirely. Kore has avoided him before - after he woke from the Dream, for one - but she always made sure her reasons were clear.

Kore despises opaqueness when it comes to anger and vengeance and sorrow and retribution and punishment. She would have let him know. Verbally or with some sort of pointed gesture.

She would not leave him alone in the dark.

Kore has never left him alone, or in the dark. For all that his Untouchable can be indifferent, she has never been needlessly cruel.

Judge retreats to his Orbiter, he watches his Ayatan sculptures move, he counts hours and rotations. He goes on drops and he partners up with other Tenno for missions - the entire time feeling Kore’s absence at his side.

“Scylla,” Judge says and his Cephalon wakes, “Hail Kore, please.”

“Yes, Operator,” Cephalon Scylla replies, and then moments later, “No response, Operator. Her orbiter is present and shows no signs of distress or recent attack, but does not answer our communication request. Should I try again?”

“Yes,” Judge says, “Please, Scylla. Could you get her Cephalon to talk to us, at least?”

“I will do my best, Operator,” Scylla replies, voice glitching and dragging out the word Operator into three extra syllables around the o.

It tends to happen when Scylla thinks he is distressed or displeased.

Judge fiddles with an Ayatan star between his fingers, holding his arm up to keep it away from Midas’ mouth when the pup comes to investigate after playing around and menacing Helminth.

“I have Tenno Kore’s Cephalon, Operator,” Syclla says, soft tones of excitement in her digital voice, “I have succeeded.”

“Thank you, Scylla, please patch him through,” Judge says, relief he didn’t know would come loosening his shoulders and throat. He licks his lips, waiting and there’s a soft crackle as a new frequency joins his.

“Tenno Judge,” Kore’s Cephalon sounds faintly annoyed, voice warbling in that peculiar way it does through various frequencies of sound and vocal range, “I have told you that my Operator is not available - “

“I know, I know,” Judge says, pushing Midas’ back down until the puppy is on the floor, stubby legs splayed and stump of a tail wagging - more like his entire rump is wagging and the tail is along for the ride. “Can you at least - can you at least share your coordinates? I promise I won’t follow or dispatch to join her or anything. Just for my peace of mind. Please?”

Kore’s Cephalon hums, a trill that sounds like running your hand through static.

“Very well, Tenno Judge,” the Cephalon concedes grudgingly - and audibly grudgingly, too. A true fit for Kore, Judge can't help but think. They even sound similar. “I will share the orbiter’s navigation log with you. If it would keep you from disturbing my Operator. My Operator is very hard at work and should not be interrupted! She is doing incredibly important work, Tenno!”

Judge nods, “I’m sure she is, Cephalon. Thank you.”

Ordis does the equivalent of a mechanical sniff, “You are welcome, Tenno Judge. I am closing the connection.”

The line clicks closed and moments later Scylla pulls up a view of Kore’s logs - and Judge’s eyes bulge.

Kore’s been hitting every outpost - active and not - in the system for the past two weeks straight. It can’t be right - but even Kore’s Cephalon, as liable to glitch as he is, wouldn’t be able to glitch like this.

Judge scrolls to the beginning of Kore’s absence, and traces her path. Europa to Jupiter, Jupiter to Neptune and on to Uranus where she currently still is and - Void.

The times between her drops and retrieval are all over the place. They started off short and frequent at Jupiter and grow increasingly longer as she hits Uranus. It makes sense.

Even Kore, Persephone and Saryn pilot, would be suffering some sort of strain after this many deployments. And it looks like she’s doing them back to back - almost eight at a time. Based on this she can’t even be getting a full REM cycle in between.

Judge guesses that if Kore is resting between planets and outposts, she’s not sleeping at all.

Void and stars and flames.

His pulse pounds in his palms but he promised. And he figures that Kore wouldn’t take kindly to him interrupting her - whatever it is she’s doing.

He can only watch.

Judge continues his solo deployments, but begins to arrange them so that he’s vaguely close to her - just in case. But he doesn’t seek her out.

Kore can handle it, he convinces himself even as her deployments get longer with even shorter rests in between. She’s started jumping with the rails to decrease flight time.

She can handle it, Judge tells himself even if it sounds hollow to his own ears, Kore can take care of herself. Kore is stronger than anything.

Kore is golden - rising from ashes and destruction over and over again.

He tells himself this, and the lie - flimsy and transparent as it is - is all he has that keeps him from rushing in after her, grabbing her by the hands and hauling her back to her ship for a real REM cycle, food, water, rest, and a damned explanation.

Is this how Kore feels when he rushes into things? Becomes obsessed with a mystery? At least he’s left notes or clues before. Not this sudden and complete absence.

The lie falls and everything - Kore, even - comes to a complete and screeching halt with a single alarm.

Judge had thought she was done, finally slowing down - her orbiter’s logs hadn’t changed since she returned to Earth’s orbit and she hadn’t had a single deployment in almost twenty hours.

He thinks that he’ll give himself and her about three Earth rotations until he tries hailing her again.

But his ships alarms blare as Scylla announces an emergency transmission from Kore’s Cephalon - pinging both himself and the Lotus.

“Patch through,” Judge commands, jerking out of half-sleep and already pushing to his feet, ready to deploy -

“ - immediate assistance needed! Lotus? Tenno Judge? Respond! Please! My Operator is in dire need of immediate assistance! Can anyone hear me? Operator! Operator! - “

“I’m here,” Judge says, “Cephalon - status?”

“You must come,” the Cephalon says, voice high with worry and fear, “Tenno Judge, please - come - I’ve sent the coordinates, you must come aboard. She needs - she needs something. Someone. Anyone.”

Judge gestures and Scylla pulls up the coordinates on a hologram next to him and he nods, “Get us there.”

“Yes, Operator!”

“What’s happening, Cephalon? What am I walking into?” Judge says as Scylla slowly orients their ship to intercept Kore’s.

“Something - something’s hurt her,” The Cephalon’s voice does that odd, deep, unnerving dip it will sometimes do when the Cephalon is displeased. Whenever that happens the hair on the back of Judge’s neck and arms stands up. “She is not responding. Her Void signature is - it’s rising and it’s entering dangerous levels of containment. If it raises any higher there is danger that she will cause combustion or damage to the orbiter’s interior.”

“She’s being violent?”

“No!” The Cephalon’s voice cracks and Judge winces, “She isn’t moving. She’s - she’s on the ground. Holding herself. Something is hurting her.”

The words hurting her return to that deep, cracking voice.

“What? Did she - is she sick? Did she at something wrong? Is it because of the deployments?”

“I cannot get an accurate read on her biometrics, Tenno,” The Cephalon replies, frustration cracking through every word, “She was fine when she returned from her last deployment. She has been entering normal sleep and REM cycles and eating as well. She has tended to all of her injuries. Something else - there must be something else - she is non responsive - hurry.”

“Tenno Kore’s ship is within sight, Operator, I am preparing the airlock for the connection,” Scylla says softly and Judge moves towards the interior of his ship without hesitation.

“Connection complete in five minutes and counting,” Scylla informs him.

“Preparing to accept,” Kore’s Cephalon responds before cutting the transmission.

Despite Kore’s Cephalon’s warning and attempt at briefing, Judge is not prepared for the wreckage of Kore’s ship.

He feels the heat of her from two whole floors down, and as he hurries up to the main observation deck of her orbiter, he feels the eyes of her companions, huddled away and silent.

By the time he reaches the main observation deck he feels like he’s sweating, and every inhale is like swallowing something humid and alive. Judge’s eyes squint through the heat waves in the air and he has to shield his eyes, turn away from her - huddled on the floor.

Kore’s Void energy is naturally an almost turquoise green-blue. But when it sparks? When it lights like flint striking? It turns golden. When it begins to burn and heat it turns gold, bright. It’s like staring into a fire, the hottest blue within easing out into golden red.

Kore’s body is wrapped in a thick sheet of this turquoise blue, a star, but it flickers with ribbons of yellow that spiral outward. Hot and hissing.

“Kore,” Judge says to her, gently - carefully not to startle her. Because despite the heat and the light, it is deadly silent.

Kore’s body jerks and her head, on the floor, burrows and mashes into the ground, her fists about her head.

“Kore, I’m coming closer,” Judge says, getting not his hands and knees, shedding his gloves and and stretching his arm across the floor once he’s within reach. He doesn’t touch her, but he puts his hand down on the floor next to her, coating himself in his own Void energy - brilliant magenta and vivid pink - to defend his bare skin against hers.

Kore turns away from the hand.

“I need you to talk to me, Kore,” Judge says, watching her shoulders bunch. He releases his own energy in small increments - enough to protect himself and to shield his eyes, enough to get close. It is a dangerous line.

He’s not in full control and Kore seems to have lost all of hers.

“Kore, your ship is taking significant damage. I need you to talk to me - something, anything. Your ship cant handle much more of this.”

Kore flinches, a full body flinch and Judge catches a glimpse of her face - jaw clenched, eyes red and puffy like she's been crying an impossible thought that blanks Judge’s mind for a few precious and important seconds, and her entire face flushed.

But Kore makes a feeble attempt at drawing her Void energy in - and for a moment the heat falters, but then the gold sparks up again and Judge has to quickly raise a shield to protect himself from the waves of heat.

“What do you need?” Judge asks her, forcing calmness into his voice with everything he has.

Kore shakes her head and with great effort she opens her mouth.

“Away,” She croaks out, “I need - “

“I can’t leave you like this,” Judge says.

She shakes her head, “Away.”

“From what, Kore?”

Kore weakly hits her hand against the Orbiter floor.

“Off the ship?”

“Yes,” Kore hisses.

“Cephalon, prepare a drop - Kore, can you make it to transference?”

Kore shakes her head, eyes gritting shut, “Drop the frame. I’ll teleport through.”

“Anywhere in specific?”

“Alone,” Kore says, “Now.”

Judge nods, standing, “Cephalon?”

“Yes, Tenno Judge?” Kore’s Cephalon responds immediately, “What did she say? My Operator’s Void energy is too dense - it is interfering with my sensors. Is she alright?”

“Prepare a drop, Cephalon, to Earth. Somewhere abandoned - relatively free of bio signatures,” Judge says. Void energy negates sensors? Interesting. “Kore needs to get off this ship and - I think, lose some steam.”

“Understood, Tenno Judge. Oh, Operator- “ the Cephalon sighs and Judge heads back to his own ship, each step away from Kore’s curled up body a dangerous pang of worry and dread in his chest.

Judge drops first and finds Kore’s Saryn - already waiting, but inactive.

Judge leaves Mesa and carefully says, “Kore, I’m here.”

Kore bursts out of Saryn’s skin, bare foot, under dressed, and raging gold over harsh blue.

Kore’s first real sound as she pries her own jaws open is a scream that causes birds to scatter.

Judge stays well out of her way as the Void energy bursts out of her, charring and crystallizing the ground around her in a two yard radius. Kore, thankfully, has enough of herself in her to move this away from him and their frames.

She is a pillar of gold over blue as she rages, turning everything around them to ash, pulverizing stone and shredding solid ground, scarring trees, and reducing foliage to nothing.

It feels like hours, but is more like ten or so minutes of Kore’s rage, before she slowly extinguishes, steam and the smell of ozone and ash.

Kore’s feet lower to the still crackling, still molten ground as she falls to her knees, spent.

Judge approaches slowly, careful as he walks over ash.

“Can you talk to me, Kore?” Judge says, stopping about two feet from her.

Kore’s shoulders heave and her skin is shining with sweat, her hair is plastered to the nape of her neck.

He’s never seen defeat on her before. It makes her unfamiliar. Not soft, but not jagged. Strange. But not a stranger.

Kore raises her hand into a weak fist, “The damned fragments, Judge. It was the damned - the Void and Orokin damned codex fragments.”

“The what?” Judge blinks, puzzled.

“The fucking fragments,” Kore snaps, throwing a blue ball of energy - significantly smaller than her earlier display, weaker - and it crashes against a tree, shaking it and causing a few broken branches to crash to the floor. “It was - the - in the codex. The ones we’ve been using to repair our Cephalons.”

Kore turns her head to the sky and screams, a hoarse and pained sound.

“Cut your transmission,” Kore says, eyes sharp as she turns onto him, “Cut it.”

Judge cuts it immediately. This is not the time to question her.

Kore sways as she stands, pacing, now, pushing herself into the momentum like she can’t be still. With all of Earth’s gold and green and blue around her, she still looks like a caged thing. But by what?

“Tell me everything,” Judge says.

“I can’t, it’s - it’s private,” Kore’s face twists, shame and regret, “I shouldn’t have looked at the files. I shouldn’t have - they were his memories, Judge. I shouldn’t have looked but I did and I thought - I thought he would stop me but he didn’t and then it was - It was all my fault, Judge. I did this.”

Kore throws her arm up towards the sky, “He is my fault. I did that.”

“Did what?”

Kore’s frustrated cry through her teeth is accompanied by a burst of energy that faintly hits against Judge’s skin, weak and diluted.

“I killed him,” Kore says, eyes not meeting his, eyes on the blue, blue sky. “Ordis - Ordan  - “

“Who?”

“My fucking Cephalon, Judge,” Kore snaps, “Cephalon Ordis - Ordan Karris.”

“What do you mean you killed your Cephalon? They’re Cephalons, data, they can’t be killed they’re not - “

Judge dodges Kore’s next bolt of energy, though it’s so weak it disperses a few feet behind him, nothing but hot air.

“Don’t say it,” Kore says, voice shaking, body trembling, “Don’t you say he’s not alive.”

Judge keeps his mouth closed.

Kore resumes her pacing, “There were - there were messages in there. Memories. Real memories. Of how - of Ordan Karris. Ordis. His memories. And - about how - how he came to be my Cephalon and fucking - fucking Executor Ballas - “

Kore’s voice clicks around the name like flint.

“And me - “ Her voice trembles, weakens, falters. For a moment so does her pacing. Lost.

“What about you, Kore? I don’t understand. I need you to explain it to me,” Judge says, trying to puzzle together how these pieces fit. Her Cephalon - Ordis, Ordan Karris? A portmanteau? A nickname? - Ballas, Kore. A murder.

“I killed him,” Kore’s voice shatters in on itself, falling, “I killed Ordan Karris.”

“And who is Ordan Karris?”

“He’s - he’s - “ Kore seems to freeze, and then it all fades out of her, “Judge, my Cephalon was a person. He was alive. He was - blood and bone.”

They know this, though. Cephalons were people once. Suda was an Archimedean for one. He knows he’s told her about that.

“Yes,” Judge says, trying to encourage her to go on but Kore just shakes herself violently.

“He was a person,” Kore whispers, “He was a person, Judge. And they took that from him - because of me.”

“How is it because of you?”

Kore’s fists open and close, unable to help her here.

“Because - because they made him mine. Ballas made him mine. He didn’t - he wanted to be free,” Kore’s voice cracks, shivers, “He wanted it to end, but instead he was made to be mine and they took everything from him. Because of me.”

“I still don’t understand,” Judge thinks he can get a vague picture of what Kore is trying to say. “He was unwilling to be a Cephalon?”

“Yes!” Kore exclaims, “He didn’t want this, Judge. He didn’t want me.” Kore gestures at herself, then back at the sky, “He didn’t want me, he still doesn’t want me. But they made him anyway and now he - he’s broken. He’s doing it to himself because - because Ballas told him he had to. To protect me. Even when he didn’t want to.”

Kore’s skin is ashen as she looks at him, a strange colorless version of herself - and Judge realizes with alarm that she’s crying.

He moves towards her and she quickly moves back stumbling a little - wild eyed.

He holds his arms out towards her but she ignores him, turning away.

“But that doesn’t mean you killed him, Kore.”

“Yes, it does,” Kore protests, “He was - he was just imprisoned before. Alone, left alone. But then - then they turned him into a Cephalon. For me. Under Ballas’ orders. They - they remade him, for me. They went into him and carved him out and destroyed parts of him and told him that - “

Kore’s eyes squeeze shut.

“He had to protect me. No matter what. And he obeyed,” Kore’s voice chokes out and Judge slowly moves closer to her, stopping about a foot away. He holds his hands out but Kore doesn’t take them. He keeps them out anyway.

“They forced him to be yours,” Judge says softly, “But you didn’t ask for that, Kore. I still doesn’t see how it’s your fault. You didn’t know. You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t want it. Neither of you did, but it wasn’t you. And your Cephalon seems fine enough, now. Did he say that he hates you? Resents you?”

“How can he? It’s against his programming,” Kore sneers, “And he doesn’t remember, anyway. He tried to delete himself, Judge. He tried to remove these parts of him. But then I found them and then I looked at them and now - I can’t not know.”

Kore does not run away from her problems. Kore might momentarily retreat from them, but ultimately she turns about face to look them in the eye and stand them down - come hell or high water.

Kore stands here, in the center of her ashes and ruins, thin and pale and muted, and still she won’t turn away. Judge’s heart warms for her for this, even as the rest of him panics about what to do for her.

It is a problem between Kore and her Cephalon. It is not a place Judge can interfere, although he knows how he feels about the situation as he understands it.

It wasn’t Kore’s fault, obviously.

But to go forward and confront this with her Cephalon? Or to turn a blind eye and to turn against her own nature?

He understands her hesitation.

“He wanted to forget,” Kore whispers. “To protect me. That’s why he - that’s why he broke himself. Made the glitches.”

“But you’ve never been able to stand that kind of ignorance,” Judge says, “Or that kind of unasked for martyrdom.”

Kore squeezes his eyes, “It’s what he wanted.”

“But it’s not what you want,” Judge points out.

“Who cares what I want? This is him, this is - this is - “ Kore throws her arms out violently, “This is part of him.”

“I know, I know - but Kore, it’s over. It’s done. You can let this go, if you want to. He has.”

“He doesn’t even remember that!”

“That’s the point! Let him forget if his choice is that important to you - but he’s your Cephalon, he’s not going to blame you for it, he doesn’t even have to know there’s anything he might have to blame you for; you don’t have to tear yourself up over this. He’s - “

“He’s a soul, Judge,” Kore bursts out, “He’s a soul, like you or me. I can’t turn my back on that. Even if he wanted to forget - I can’t take that away from him. The memory of being a live, the memory of feeling. The memory of free will.”

Kore stands away from him, hurt and angry and ashamed, then she slowly comes towards him and puts her hands in his, sinking her weight onto him, forehead resting against his shoulder - three points of contact.

“If I let him forget - I’m taking away something from him. I’m murdering him all over again. Like the Orokin. Like Ballas,” Kore says, “I’m complicit in their destruction. But - he wanted to forget.”

Judge squeezes his hands and he hear’s Kore’s throat click as she swallows, slowly putting words to the chaos in her head.

“But he only wanted to forget because he was afraid his anger would hurt me, drive me away. And those things only mattered to him because Ballas made them matter.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m not arrogant enough to assume that true affection has grown from artificially enforced feelings,” Kore says.

“Don’t you love him?” Judge asks.

Judge, himself, is fond of his own Cephalon. He wouldn’t say he loves her, though.

“Do I love him because I have hurt him, or do I love him because I love him?” Kore asks.

“I don’t know,” Judge squeezes her hands gently. This is a problem Kore can not threaten, beat, or burn her way out of. She struggles.

“It doesn’t matter if I love him or not,” Kore concludes as her breathing returns to normal, “What matters is what he feels. And what he feels is fake. Enforced on him by his code. The Orokin.”

“So - you’ll have him remember?”

Kore’s hands squeeze his.

Judge tentatively rests his cheek on her head, sweat damp and hot.

“What if it hurts him? What if - what if we don’t recover from this?” Kore whispers.

“He can choose to forget again,” Judge points out, “He could forgive you.”

“And if he doesn’t, Judge?”

“I don’t know.”

Because not telling him, Judge knows, is an option Kore has already written off and discarded.

Kore does not bury her dead. She burns straight through them, carrying their ash in her lungs as she proceeds onward.

Together, they slowly sink onto the cooling floor, and breathe together as Kore thinks.

Judge focuses on her breathing as Kore works her way through this. He wonders about his own Cephalon, but there are no hidden messages in her code, and he discards it immediately. Judge focuses on Kore’s sweat damp skin and the furrow between her brow and the way moisture has gathered on the ridges of her scars, delicate and ready to fall.

Judge focuses on the relief of knowing Kore is alright and that Kore is here, even if she’s upset.

Kore’s eyes close and her shoulders relax, her back straightens and she takes her hands from his - only to slide their forearms together until they are each grasping each other’s elbows.

Kore’s eyes are clear when she opens them.

“What do you need?” Judge asks her, because it is not his business to know what she has decided.

“I need you to help me copy those files and build a containment program,” Kore says, “And I need to use your orbiter’s crafting station.”

“Alright,” Judge nods, helping her up. “What else?”

“A promise,” Kore says.

“What sort?”

“Not to interfere,” Kore says, “To respect my choice - Ordis’ choice.”

Judge meets her eyes and nods. He trusts his partner. He trusts Kore.

“Yes.”

Kore wavers, and quickly, pulls him close, cheek to his, body to body. An embrace that isn’t.

And then she lets go.

“Good?” Judge asks, when she says nothing, just examines his face.

Kore nods once, a determined and familiar set to her face. Her eyes flicker gold, herself and steady again.

“Let’s begin.”