#he can fuckign. die from falling and never been seen again or whatever

[convenientalias]

omg omg okay. platonic Raoul/Christine soulmates plus "The soulmate goose of enforcement AU" (with Erik misunderstanding Everything)

fuckign gold.

Posted on AO3 here.

The Opera Populaire was packed nearly everyweek, if not every night. As such, many peculiar things had happened in it.Soulmate geese did show up from time to time to hassle poor audience membersout of their seats, down the row and into the city, to the cheers or boos ofthe rest of the audience and the annoyance of the actors who had to deal withthe distraction. However, it had never occurred before that a soulmate gooseshowed up in the middle of a performance and landed squarely in the middle ofthe stage.

Christine had seen the goose flying in, and shehad not faltered in her singing. She hoped it would be out soon, and whateverpoor soul it chased would be gone with it, and the show could go on. But now,with the goose squinting at her, she paused.

Carlotta, already pissed at being forced to playa supporting role, glared at her. She took up her song again. The goosesquawked. It projected almost as well as she did.

Then it lunged for her legs. Today she was in atrousers role, worse luck—less to protect her calves and thighs. She dodgedquickly, sending a nervous grin at the audience, trying to make it look like adance. The goose pecked at her again and again, sending her across the stageand back.  She finished her solo hastily.As Carlotta began to sing, she hissed down at the goose, “Not now!”

The goose honked and landed a solid bite on herknee. She screamed.

Carlotta was fed up. “A pause!” she called outto the director, who obligingly called the music to a halt. She took the fanshe was using as a prompt and hit out at the goose. “Out! Out! Can’t you tell we’re in the middle of a show? Good lord, I’ve neverseen the day…”

She seemed more annoyed than Christine, even.Christine wondered with a wince whether this was because the goose hadobviously not been chasing Christine towards her, and there had been thosecouple of times they had hooked up—nothing serious, they both knew, but to haveit rubbed in her face…

The goose flapped its wings. It lunged atChristine again, but Carlotta was ready. She stepped in front of Christine,grasped the goose by the neck, and hurled it offstage.

It barely recovered before hitting an audiencemember, flapping its wings and still landing less than gracefully. For amoment, it stared at Christine, beady eyes menacing. Christine sweated. Shecould go backstage, maybe, and they could get her understudy… a bit of a blow,with this being the opening night for this show, but it it was necessary…

Then the goose turned and took to the air.Every person in the audience tracked its flight, up to one of the privateboxes, the de Chagny box, where it landed in front of Philippe and Raoul deChagny. It didn’t hesitate before grabbing Raoul by the collar and lifting himstraight up out of the box.

Soulmate geese were, after all, stronger thanthe average goose.

As the startled Vicomte flailed his legs andheld on tight to his collar—he almost fell out of his jacket and into thecrowd, a far fall—the goose swept back to the stage and dumped him right infront of Christine. It then circled around Christine and shoved her on top ofhim.

The audience was completely silent.

Christine tried to get off Raoul—she was surehe had at least some bruises from the way the goose had dumped him, and shedidn’t need to squash them—but the goose made this difficult by jumping up anddown on her back. At last, with a final triumphant squawk, it launched into theair again and flew out the open doors.

Christine got off Raoul. “Raoul! Are you allright?”

“Perfectly. I’m sorry to interrupt your show—I’llbe right off—” He was already scrambling to his feet.

“You’ve cut your forehead!”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

Christine glanced at Carlotta, who was stillglaring. “Shall we go to my room?”

The audience had erupted into murmurs—well, tocall the talk merely murmurs would be generous, as it ranged from loud gossipto actual hooting. It would take time to call them to heel, and perhaps anunderstudy would be best after all. For tonight, even her face would be adistraction.

Raoul flushed. “You can’t imagine—”

“Shh.” She pulled him along with her, off thestage. “I mean what I say, no more. Our minds needn’t be as dirty as theirs.”

“Of course.”

She squeezed his hand. “For what it’s worth,there’s no one I’d rather have. And we would always have been friends anyway.”

He was blushing now. Declarations of friendshipembarrassed him as easily as romantic overtures. She shook her head. “To myroom, before we are attacked by the press.”

The noble class heartily disapproved. Everyoneshaking heads and tutting. Most of them secretly enjoying the scandal—a Vicomteand an opera girl, how rich!—except for a few who had been considering Raoul asan eligible bachelor. Philippe was the most put out—“So there’s nothing betweenyou and the Swede, hm? Really, Raoul…”—but he was also one of the few who wouldbelieve it really was just a platonic bond. Probably because that was all hewanted it to be. He still had hopes of Raoul having a proper marriage.

Everyone outside the noble class, of course,was having a ball. The newspapers didn’t run it as a headline because there hadbeen a lurid murder that week, but it still hit the front page. Every womanwith dreams of a Cinderella story for herself sighed over the romance of itall. And everyone at the opera house congratulated Christine for an excellentmatch, except for Carlotta, who Christine managed, with some difficulty, toappease. So it went.

Christine didn’t try very hard to quiet therumors. No one would believe her, anyhow. Platonic bonds were a well knownphenomenon, but they were only expected between men and men or women and women.Between a man and a woman? One could claim what they wished, but still eyebrowswould raise and whispers would circulate. Sooner or later it would all diedown, and in the meantime it was good publicity.

She only regretted her failure to clarifymatters when, four days after the event, she received a rather menacing notefrom Erik. Summoning her down to the tunnels to visit—where, he said, hersoulmate would be waiting for.

She pinched her nose in exasperation. Whycouldn’t the soulmate goose have stayed around to chase off troublesomephantoms? If it was so invested in her and Raoul’s eternal bliss… But the goosedid what it was called to do, and the rest was left to mortals. With a sigh,she headed out.

“You chose thisover me? This?” Erik flapped a handangrily at Raoul, who was currently tied to a chair and not looking veryamused.

Christine’s hands were on her hips. “TechnicallyI didn’t choose him at all. The goose did.”

“You told me I had nothing to worry about from—”

“I told you I wasn’t interested in men at all,so I don’t see why you’re acting like his rival.”

“Not interested in any men, and yet yoursoulmate is a man. You told me he was a childhood friend…”

“I told you the truth and nothing else. Myaffairs are none of your business, at any rate.”

“Christine would never lie,” Raoul put in. Hedidn’t seem all that intimidated despite Erik’s looming. In fact, he mostlylooked a bit tired. Poor Raoul. She’d barely seen him since the goose hadpushed them together, but she knew what a lot of badgering he was getting. Allthat and this on top of it… she should have seen it coming, really, but poorRaoul…

“Shh,” Erik said, not looking back at him. “Well,Christine? Explain yourself.”

“Oh, you’re not a cheated husband. Stopgrandstanding.” She was tired too, and irritated. “Raoul and I have been bestfriends for years. I already told you that—we didn’t need a goose to…”

“Geese,” Erik said, “don’t come to best friends.”

“And yet you told me one once came to drive youinto the arms of your Daroga, and the two of you were only friends.”

Erik angrily sat down on the chair next toRaoul’s—they were at a table with four chairs total, more guests than Erik hadprobably ever had at a go. “Don’t presume to know my relationship with Nadir.It is none of your business.”

Raoul and Christine exchanged glances. Well.This was almost worth it for that tidbit. Christine and Raoul had suspectedErik had some romantic connection to Nadir in the past for sometime—the twowere awkward enough about it—but Erik would never give a straight answer.Though this was hardly proof positive; he might just be avoiding the questionas always.

Now was probably not the time to probe.

Christine cleared her throat. “Well then, wecan agree that one’s soulmate is a private matter?”

“Minx,” Erik muttered petulantly.

“Don’t insult Christine,” Raoul said.

“Oh, you shut up.”

“We can agree on that?” Christine said, raisingher voice slightly.

“Fine, yes. I’ll admit to the possibility of…friendship… between you and this goose-driven piece of—”

“That’s my soulmate you’re talking about,”Christine warned.

“…Vicomte,” Erik finished. “But if I hear aboutthe two of you getting engaged in a couple months, you’ll see the consequences.Don’t think I’ll be soft just because you’ve found your soulmate. You made anoath to follow only your career, to never love a man…”

“Then we’ll talk then.” Christine smiledtightly. “And for now, would you mind untying my soulmate from that chair?”

Erik huffed. But he obeyed, and grumblinglyoffered them the use of his gondola so they could take the watery shortcut out.

“You know,” Christine mused, as they made theirway down the stream, “it wouldn’t be the worst idea for us to get married.”

“Philippe,” Raoul said, “would murder me. Oryou, more likely.” He smiled apologetically.

“You’re probably right. Might be funny, though.”

“Christine.”

“I’m joking, dear. No need to work yourself up.Do you want me to row for a while?”

“If you don’t mind.”

She took the oars. “Of course not. Now tell me,have any reporters been to see you since last time we talked? They haven’t leftme alone… of course it’s easier to approach a singer than a Vicomte, you haveyour distance from the press, but that’s all the more reason you should beprepared, you have no experience…”

So they went on, following the flow of thewater. Far away, on the banks of the Seine, a goose was gobbling down waterrushes. It needed the energy. Only the next day, it had been assigned a moredifficult target: Carlotta Giudicelli, a woman who had already swatted it once.It grinned—as much as a beak could grin—thinking of the challenge. Ah, a chanceto use its teeth on a worthy opponent! And to be in the public eye again. Itpreened the feathers of its wing, thinking of how the audience would stareagain. Oh, but these were delicious rushes. Better not to get ahead of onesself. It took another bite of greens. One lived for small pleasures, after all,not merely for fame and victory: the savoring of a quiet dinner, the pleasureof a job well done.

#christine daae #raoul de chagny #i wrote a thing #still open for crack prompts btw #thanks for the prompt!

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

I’ve had some dreams since the new year started so I better write ‘em up before I forget :P

In the first one (that was also on the first I think) I had some kind of small computer on me... kinda shaped like that Rotom pokédex. Anyway, it detected errors of some kind? Or plot holes in a script maybe? It was black and the also dark display had green text appear on it. That’s all I can remember tho.... #debugging2018

Then there was a scene in our yard; dunno about the details anymore, but the cherry tree in it died and you could pull the bark and inner parts apart like.... hmmm... like bone marrow and bone, is the best comparison I have. I also caught two lizards in our garden, it might have been part of this dream. The second one glittered all golden, and once I held it and looked at it, it had about 6-8 small fins instead of legs on its sides! Was really pretty. I released it afterwards.

Then there was some dream where the only detail I remember was that mom already died, like, probably way back. I think that’s about all there is to it by now... actually, no, I also remember travelling around my old dormitory in Budapest in that one. It’s late fall or winter, I’m at a bus stop at one point.

Then I was late for my, uh... degree awarding ceremony once. (Is that what you call it? I’m a few months early to worry about that lmao, anyway, that dream is from the 4th, before I traveled up to take 2 exams.) I’m positive I was in the dream iteration of the hill with the many vinyards around my father’s place. Which means it looked much more pleasant than it is. I’m p sure my subconscious is molding it together with my short time on my grandpa’s plot, where you could actually see a lot of various flowers planted around. It was oddly close to where I was supposed to go in town, and there were trams. Obviously, I took the wrong one. The settlement looked more like my home town, however, the street was a lot like Sycamore Row with the plants it was named after. I eventually did reach the building, it kinda was a mix of the place we went to for St. Nicholas’ day and my elementary school, there even were those low benches that had seen a lot of wear. Before I could actually catch up to the others after changing(?), I woke.

Then, two days ago on the 7th, I was dreaming of some Egyptian tomb, at least that’s where my memories start... someone killed a dude, and another vaguely pyramid head looking guy got gutted with a longish knife. After the killer hid the stuff happening bahind a blanket, for some reason. The staircase behind them however was already school building-y, and the scene turned into the university building I’m in a lot nowadays. Turning back and removing the blanket, the guy himself is gome and the guts are all shriveled up; there’s a small machine attached to one of the organs, like... a way too oversized pacemaker. That looks like a transformator tbh. Anyway, next thing I know some of me fellow students are there, the first one of them is Adam, and for whatever fucking reason the things on the floor are “his”, and he’s slowly dying on me because his heart stopped and his organs don1t het oxygen anymore. He starts turning purple and all that; spots on his hands and around his mouth, then there’s a cartoony deadness-level also appearing on his head, slowly crawlying up his face. As is customary in dreams, you turn around once and he’s another person, this time Matthew, another student. It was fine watching him/them die and just talk about shit until the friends of his arrived who were all emotional and shit and dream-me caught up tobeing like that soon enough, too. It’s all as if he would have died soon anyway, because he has two sweaters, one for greeting 2018 alive, and one for 2019. (wow I jsut realized how close 2020 is... geez). Anyway, then the next and last thing is that me and the girls are miffed about the staff removing the fuckign coffee machine. (Let’s be honest, the whiplash here is hilarious.)

And today on the 9th... it was a brief one... I remember walking around in the dark, talking to some kids about ghosts and such... then I walk into a house. I’m a maid or something? Maybe? Either way, apart from the one room I start in, everything is fucking dark and creepy, only the lights from outside show the way... you can basically feel the amnesia dude on your back all the time. And all the walls are covered in switches that don’t work. Like, fuck me, right? Needle in the haystack... then the owner dude arrives, and I look for a toilet. Guess I had to go already irl, anyway, there are none and I walk out of the building to some park that also has none. The place has small-ish buildings themed from all around the world, I remember a castle and a Japanese pagoda + shop. It was Japanese because there were geishas painted on it, okay? Okay. Anyway, I make my way back through the street and my system doesn’t really keep any other info, I wake up shortly.

(The street view itself reminds me of another dream I had, from around summer... it was Christmas at a university that I positively never attended before. There was some kind of gifting among the students near the enthrance inside, and a big-ass tree next to the staircase. I go outside; it’s already dark in a big, dirty city and there's snow. I walk along the street, looking for someone. There’s a bridge I cannot cross. The sun rises with some orange-ish hues beyond the bridge and the city centre, it’s relatively cloudy.)

(The previous one also made me remember another recent dream, from last year. I was with, like, a class, but the teachers were the uni professors. We walk deeper and deeper inside in a wannabe-tournament, kind of like the running race from Boku no Hero. I get a regular old gun for hunting with who knows what kind of bullets to shoot at anyone when I come in among the first people in one stage of the race. The gun doesn’t work and I give it back to the dude who handed it to me; I go after them and enter a very Bloodborne-y part of the building. It looks like underground stables, I think thre’s also cows. Since I see noone, I decide to go back and I run into Jeb, our American teach. He leads me to an elevator to lead me out, but does not join me and just sends it down instead of up. As the thing opens a lot of people try to get in; they press some floor up, but the thing goes down again. The mild panic of the people gets contagious at this point ngl- everyone is obviously trying to get up. The next stop is some elementary school place- I follow a teacher to show us the way, but it’s just a dumb joke she draws on the chalkboard. I laugh and get back to the elevator, but take the stairs next to it instead, because fuck this, and I’m gonna get so fucking fit anyways. Except it only takes one floor to get back... I’m at the main entrance with the receptionist. Turns out the entire fucking building is, like, cursed or haunted or whatever. Jeb was just some ghost or something taking up his appearance, and the panicking people around the elevator are more lost students who have been erring around since god knows when. I see the worried professors sitting around near an office and ask them for how long we’ve been gone. Idk what they answer tbh... after a bit more erring around trying to fix things I wake up.)

#names are ~englishized~ where necessary lmao #Kate has dreams

[isaacathom]

also almost hundred percent that Tsitas’ ancestor (not the condesce - Tsitas isn’t the Heiress. mostly because i dont want to fuck with that) had a very strong relationship with Endlyn’s. 

Endlyn’s (The Lawmaker, at present) did what you’d expect - Made Laws. This is because she’s fairly middle on the spectrum, low enough that she understands low blood thinking, high enough that the blue bloods stand her. But she has limited reach - she’s basically completely restricted to Lowblood Policy. That is, until Tsitas’ ancestor (the Director? Eminence? idk which) finds her. A lowblood notable for her extreme loyalty is a prize indeed, and what better claim for a high blood? She essentially sponsored the Lawmaker, allowing her job progression unlike any of her caste, while making it clear she was her pet. The Lawmaker was hers to command. What the Director wanted as law, was minted as such. It’s likely this sort of activity is what got the Lawmaker killed - while following the Director’s instructions, she stepped on the toes of another highblood (likely Iliyas’ ancestor), perhaps ordering him to do something for her. It didn’t sit kindly. The Director had much blood on her hands when she was finished taking revenge for the murder of her ‘pet’. The relationship was likely somewhat closer than that - it would have been publicly restricted by the perception of caste distinction. The most the two could ever have been is moirails, leaning on and aiding the other. The Lawmaker was a shoulder to cry on, an unjudging soul - how could she judge those of such high status? The Director was a bringer of unholy vengeance. They worked perfectly together.

Meanwhile Iliyas’ ancestor is his damn near inverse in terms of personality. Iliyas’ selfishness and exploitation of others brought to the forefront, made truly manifest. A greedy seadweller, a Conqueror (but that /doesnt fuckign fit/. Champion?), who took what he desired and cared little for its effect. Such was his mistake to take the life of the Lawmaker, unaware she was the Director’s property, only aware that the possession of the life of they who writes law was a treasure, indeed. Before this fatal error, he likely took from many of the other ancestors. Rhiana’s would be a strong contender for that position - perhaps she too was slain at the Champion’s hand. But in that instance, it was likely the event that gave him this title - her ancestor was almost certainly a rebel, however minor. (I want to say Guerrilla, but with Serren’s quirk combining double r’s? for an 8 set). A leader? Unlikely so high. But she had influence, she had power, she had appeal to the people. Her death - and the subsequent deaths of those who had aided her - made him a Champion. She was not a martyr, however, for she had as yet done little. An idea. Her death was quiet, a nameless among many. A ghost of what could have been. That, or perhaps she HAD succeeded - the Lawmaker, responsible directly for a lot of suffering through what she wrote, slain by a vicious rebellion. Rightful retribution from the Champion. Which then begs the question - how does the Champion fall? Perhaps this is where Lyndel’s ancestor comes in. A long and twisted revenge for a lowblood lover. A straight forward slaying and self banishment, a soul never again seen by the law and indeed by the stars.

ok how about the flowery leaves. lets make it simple. So, the Director takes in the Lawmaker as a sort of sponsor, allowing the Lawmaker a great amount of power. As a figurehead (and comparatively vulnerable), the ‘Guerrilla’ slays the Lawmaker as part of her rebellion. This backfires, as the Director sends her Champion to wreak retribution. The Champion is then likely himself slain by Lyndel’s ancestor, in a display of absolute back stabbing fuckery rarely seen. What power. She excuses herself from proceedings and is assumed to die alone in the wastes.

so thats 5. that leaves three - Junzha, Dahnte, and Zekari. There’s more to the Director’s lifespan (shes nigh fuschia, after all) but. yknow. fuck em.

You’d assume Dahnte would be her Champion, and perhaps thats how Dahnte actually envisions himself - as Tsitas’ Champion, since Iliyas is so.... lackluster. but that was not his ancestors role. Dahnte’s ancestor was himself the lackluster one, a weak highblood who formed relationships with lowbloods in order to survive. He surrounded himself with the psychically superior, safe in the knowledge that they couldn’t affect him personally, but that they could hurt his enemies. Among these is almost definitely Zekari’s ancestor, who isn’t a particularly powerful telekinetic, but strong enough to attract the attention of the needy. Whether this also includes Junzha’s ancestor, im unsure, though to figure that out i need to figure out what the fuck power Junzha actually has now. lets assume Yes for now.

SO he has this squad of powerful lowbloods to defend him from people who would do him harm. It is then not difficult to believe that he gets cocky with his army, picks a fight with someone he shouldn’t (perhaps Champion, perhaps Director herself?) and his group is summarily completely destroyed. He flees. He is, at this point, the Recreant. A coward, a fool. What happens once he flees is unclear - perhaps he encounters the Apostate, Lyndel’s ancestor. Though if we have it be that the Recreant attacked the Director (and got one or both of Zekari and Junzha’s ancestors killed), i think that the Guerrilla’s campaign should be for their justice. Rhiana is a spirit of vengeance. this is why her ancestor isn’t a martyr - theyre a reactionary, and theyre just as violent. Slaying the Lawmaker. leading to the Champions subsequent mass slaughter of bronze and burgundies. Leading to the Apostate to swap sides - she relates to the Guerrilla’s struggle, even if she had disagreed with the method. She openly betrays the Champion, killing him in his own hive, in his own base of power. It’s a fucking powerful move. And then she flees.

So like, woulllld they meet beyond that point? The Apostate and the Recreant, alike as traitors but distinct by their courage. They both basically disappear from history at this point, so its not IMPOSSIBLE. its also not impossible that the Recreant already had his shit pushed in before that point. like in the gap between his army’s defeat and the betrayal of the Champion is completely possible that he just fucking died somewhere. the Apostate seems far more capable, though her death likely comes swiftly as well - she won only through subterfuge.

ok, so say thats their ends. Junzha and Zekari. whats up, lads.

i think a god idea for Junzha’s is a man conscripted into the Recreant’s foolhardy gang. His talents lie not in combat, but in civility, in aiding the restless and the weary. It allows him to protect himself, but few others, when the Director’s fury rains down. He rises amongst the bodies of his fellows, alone. She claims him as a trophy of her conquest, and he is given new purpose. His talents bolster the Director’s own forces, ease their sufferings. But never his own. His soul is always black, and further still when the Champion claims it was his capture that caused the death of the Lawmaker. he is the Catalyst. he allows others to act, causes it. but he is confined, constrained. his service is loyal, but not out of love, and he is the one ancestor who dies of completely natural causes - alone but for his work. he is sometimes known as the Destroyed - for naught remains of his mark, except the knowledge that it never existed.

which leaves Zekari. i think, perhaps tie him back into the lawmaker. something she had done directly, which might invite the Guerrrrrilla’s vengeance. a law she passed. was it on the Directors command, or her own deduction? its unclear. whatever it was, it put his ancestor into hot water. the sort of hot water a high blood patron can rescue you from. A noble Indigo blood, perhaps? It was desperation that forced him to join the Recreant’s ill fated guard, and he certainly never enjoyed the position. but were he to leave, what would be left? Jail, culling, or a position in a worse army, that of the Director or Condesce herself. She had a place for telekinetics like him, and he wanted no part. So he played along, followed this would be captains orders, and found himself at the end of the Directors weapon. The wrong end. the Dead end. Forced for no other choice, slain by his only other opportunity. He would have found use in the Directors army, but he would have been equally unfulfilled by his role as the Destroyed became. poor souls. The Desolate, perhaps. ofc it does sorta depend what he did to end up in a situation where his only option was to becoming the Recreants whipping boy. Based purely on Zekari’s character it makes sense for it to have been him trying to help - trying to help someone. Who, specifically? hmm. doing it for the Destroyed could be an interesting idea - an extension of Zekari <> Jun. and also how the Desolate ultimately fails, because the Destroyed ends up in the army with him, ends up seeing him die, and ends up withering away in some back tent for another army. yknow. cause you fucked it. nice going, homie. he basically loses time and time again. perhaps he caused someones death? that could be fun. basically killed a guy to save the Destroyed’s life. but, of course, its a high blood, and on the Lawmakers respect for the hemospectrum, this is a crime of an extreme degree. the punishment? oh, they vary, and the Lawmaker almost salivates at the thought of all that could be wrought upon those who do not heed her words. thats fucked up. holy shit.

so yea. The Desolate kills a high blood. unrelated, just. some guy? some asshole. probably just straight up flattens him. lift, drop, splat, instant warrant for arrest/culling/what have you. so how does he get away? by basically signing away his life to the nearest highblood willing to employ his services, who promises not to work him to the bone. he doesnt have much choice. if he can claim being in the employ of someone, its a substantially lesser crime, or something like that. at that point, its just High Blood Business. all for ol Destroyed over there, who is then promptly recruited himself for his general skills, to the Desolate’s dismay. had he known the fate he was going to give his friend, he’d have let the highblood kill them, and then exacted revenge. 

ok. lets say thats all good. thats, in descending order by blood - The Director, the Champion, the Recreant, the Apostate, the Lawmaker, the Desolate, the [a bunch of screams], and the Destroyed.

ok, naming the Guerrilla. it doesnt work with her quirk, purely because i cant think of any good reason to combine the two rs, even though Serren has two rs as well? it doesnt make sense to me. lets find something else. the Fugitive? describing how she spent a nice chunk of her time on the run. it also makes her sound more guilty, which i like (how often you got an innocent fugitive, yknow). i think i like that ok, The Fugitive she is. nice.

ok, thats all of them? now the big one - how does the Director die? she’s nigh fuschia (high enough to enjoy status, NOT high enough to be killed by the Condesce YET). lives long time. she cannot die naturally, unless all these ancestor events are so positively ANCIENT shit. so she has to die somehow. from what? the ideal candidate for bloody murder is the Apostate, since her whole deal is that she was on their side and betrayed them following the culling of the Fugitive and those /remotely/ connected to her. but she cant kill the Director quickly - that interferes with the Destroyed’s slow death in her service. unless she bides her time. which i do kind of dig. but if she bided her time and then slew the Champion in his own hive (or office, i guess), theres still the issue that its..... highly unlikely she could overpowers the Director, just by pure virtue of being a Teal Blood vs a Nigh Fuschia. the raw strength is just off the charts. especially for a desk pushing Teal whose main job in the Director’s service was to pass messages. Errand boy. so it would require EXTREME planning, like beyond cosmic coincidence, to give her to chance to kill the Director. perhaps this is a confrontation that passes wholly into myth - all that is known is that the Director died. whose to say the Apostate didn’t expire in causing this? it is only assumed that she escaped and lived free the rest of her days. Maybe she beat her in a battle of wits. maybe she blew them both up. maybe she tricked the Director into a building and levelled it on top of her. who knows? both ‘died’ that day, one way or another. for the Director lay slain and bloodied by the side of her Champion, and the Apostate was noone to be seen. perhaps the two died together, the Champion to the end fighting to defend his ... yknow. thingo. theres a word. charge? fuck it. He died defending the Director, a round, loyal success. in contrast to his descendant, whose loyalties would skew to the other end of the hemospectrum. nice.

that works.... well enough??? nice.

#story blogging #homestuck stuff #this post has been open for 4 hours so now whether it will posts is in gods hands i guess #at least i figured some shit? now i know the ancestors to some extent i can maybe work out signs for the kids #building off some themes and shit. mb some surnames lol