#i eventually escaped into a side lab with less regulation

[wereshrew-admirer]

I imagined Broun as a cluttered workshop-for-a-room type of person, and only just had the realization of how much of a change living with asepsis must have been?

they're really pushing asepsis as a moral-purity type of divine this season but it started out as an evil space roomba, so i'm just imagining poor Brnine finally gets their space ship but then being forced to keep it in this minimalist easy-to-clean style...

#i am projecting (as a filth animal that ended up with a career in a cleanroom lab) #i eventually escaped into a side lab with less regulation #but going from caterpillar ecology to a cleanroom was a significant culture shock that i'm still haunted by #kalvin brnine i feel for you

[gaeilgeoirgay]

SpideyTorch Week Day Three Alternate Universe

For Day Three, I chose an alternate universe in which our favourite couple are the villains! This one is a bit darker than usual, and there’s a mild instance of torture, that isn’t explicitly described near the end, so do watch out for that

Ao3 Link 

@spideytorchweek

 they don’t question our violence

“Hello, Spidey. Nice of you to swing by.” Comes a mocking voice from behind him. Peter almost swears, his Spidey Sense hadn’t even warned him, the traitor! Clearly it doesn’t think of Morning Star as a threat despite the fact Johnny has tried to kill him on several occasions. Maybe. To be fair, the Dock Incident was Peter’s fault and Morning Star hasn’t attempted murder in ten months, coinciding with the new depths of their relationship.

And it’s not like Peter is a complete angel either. The Wolf Spider is a name synonymous with death and blood- at least Morning Star tends to stick with arson. Peter is a mercenary, it’s not like he can judge his pyromaniac boyfriend.

“Hi, starlight. I have a job for us, and we get to explode the place afterwards.” Peter says, turning around to smile at Johnny, who perks up at the idea. He lets his flames fizzle out and lands next to Peter, who gratefully accepts the kiss he’s given. It’s freezing right now, and even the slightest bit of warmth makes a difference to Peter’s non-regulating self. There’s also the fact he’s kissing Johnny. That’s a big factor.

He turns fully around to kiss Johnny properly, taking care with his fangs so his venom doesn’t enter Johnny’s bloodstream. He rather likes his boyfriend and he doesn’t want to kill him. Johnny eventually pulls back to smile brightly at Peter.

“What’s the job, Fangs? I like the sound of it already.” He says. Peter beckons him up onto the vent protruding from the building they’re on, hopping up himself to swing his legs childishly. Johnny joins him, feet tapping impatiently.

“I met Remy Le Beau downtown a few days ago. He mentioned that there’ve been a few disappearances lately, mainly mutant children living on the streets that don’t appear on official records. I did some digging and it turns out there’s a lab set up in the Bronx that’s been experimenting on mutant kids.” Peter explains, scowling now. “Officially, it’s a gene lab where volunteers donate samples to be studied for cures to various diseases. There’s about twenty kids there now from what I can tell. Remy can’t blow it to hell himself without attracting attention to Xavier but if we free the kids and then happen to torch it, people won’t question our violence.” He finishes.

Johnny is frowning now too. “What excuse are we giving for the attack though?” He asks and Peter laughs. “That’s the best bit. We’re not giving an excuse, we’re telling everyone they were experimenting on children. Their encryptions are ridiculously bad and there’s already been a call for an inquiry into them by S.I. They’re subsidised by Oscorp and it’ll damage their stocks once it gets out that not only did they block the investigation, they funded the lab too.” He explains and Johnny grins.

“Two birds with one stone. Save the kids and piss off Green Goblin. I’m down.” He says and Peter stands. Johnny does too and Peter challenges him to a race across the city. They may be supervillains but they can still have fun.

The building is near deserted when they get there, other than a few dedicated workers and the overnight security guards. The employees aren’t aware of where their samples come from, only the top scientists know about the mutants and the security guards were never told they were guarding people instead of chemicals so they’ve agreed to leave them mostly alone.

Johnny silently melts a window on the top floor and they sneak into the building, avoiding the admittedly meagre defences.

 They soon find a bright red door labelled DANGER and according to the blueprints that Peter acquired, the kids should be behind it.

They crumple easily under Peter’s enhanced strength and Johnny groans at the display. “I love it when you break metal with your bare hands.” He whispers and Peter smothers a laugh. They step over the ruined doors to find the kids in chains.

“Oh I can’t wait to set this place on fire.” Johnny growls harshly and Peter shushes him. There’s a computer terminal by the door so he plugs in a device he built himself that will copy the information on the mainframe to his personal store while deleting every other existing copy. He’ll probably delete his own copy once he goes through it, but he’d prefer to know if some sort of power-killing virus was made before he gets hit with it. Probably by Ross, may he die in agony.

The two of them set to work on the chains, Peter snapping them and Johnny turning them to molten slag. The kids are utterly silent, even when the two villains are reassuring them softly and Peter vows to hunt down every last disgrace to science that was involved in the lab.

Finally, the last chain clatters to the floor and all the kids are free. Remy had promised them assistance from two X-men who would be able to get the kids out of the lab so Peter and Johnny could get to burning it down.

They herd the kids to the window they broke in through and are met by the dark form of Archangel. The mutant’s normally pure white wings are covered in dark metal to blend in with the night but he’s still gentle with the children and they seem a bit less scared to see someone who’s so obviously like them.

Peter watches one little girl with red, scaly wings looking in awe between herself and the hero and smiles. He glances at Johnny and a thought comes to him. He wants that. Him and Johnny, with a kid each, maybe one girl and one boy or two of the same gender.

Hmm. That’s something to consider later. For now, he watches Archangel fly the kids one-by-one to a nearby safehouse where Nightcrawler is waiting to bring the kids to Xavier’s mansion the next morning. They deserve a good nights rest before moving somewhere completely different to everything they’ve ever known.

Archangel returns after the last child has been delivered to Nightcrawler and perches on the windowsill, regarding Peter and Johnny with a slight measure of respect.

“I met Nightcrawler in a mutant fighting ring. Neither of us wanted to be there but we never got the chance to escape. I got hurt and Mystique spirited him away but we never knew what happened to the ring. These kids though, they’re not gonna have that.” He plucks a metal feather from the edge of his wings, the edges razor sharp.

“Hurt those monsters and hurt them well. Maybe some of the more sheltered mutants at home won’t understand but I do. Slit their throats with that and leave them to choke. It’s more than they deserve.” Archangel says solemnly, rage glinting in his eyes. Peter exchanges looks with Johnny and then grins.

“Maybe heroes can’t be caught torturing people but there’s a reason I walk the other side of the line. We won’t make it quick.” Peter promises and Archangel returns the smile. Peter has no doubt that any scientists he and Johnny fail to find will turn up with mysterious wounds soon enough.

Archangel flies off to join Nightcrawler and Wolf Spider and Morning Star stalk back into the labs. The head scientists have been staying in a penthouse apartment above the labs while they run their tests and that’s their destination.

The elevator lets them up after a few key strokes from the Spider and they emerge into a wide-open space, the complete opposite of the small room the kids had been chained in. There are doors off of the main room and the Spider quickly matches them up with what he found in their database.

The third door to the right should belong to Henry Lawson, the torturer in chief. Morning Star melts the lock and they slip into his room silently. The bastard is sleeping peacefully in his bed but it won’t be long before that changes.

Morning Star fingers the metal feather Archangel gave them and slowly starts to heat it up. It’s made of strong stuff and even though the metal is glowing red it’s not metal. It serves as a rude wake-up call when it’s pressed to Lawson’s jaw.

He squeals like a stuck pig and the Spider thanks God for soundproofing. They’re nowhere near done with Lawson just yet.

An hour later, Lawson is thoroughly deceased and they move onto their next target. All six die painfully and Wolf Spider takes a twisted pleasure in it. Still, they have a job to do and they can’t spend as much time on their other targets as they did on Lawson.

Johnny plants his favourite explosives and Peter carelessly pulls the fire alarm. They find a good vantage point on the building across from the lab and wait until the last heat signature leaves the building and emergency services are seconds from the scene to trigger the bombs.

Johnny floats in front of the lab for a few seconds before he unleashes a torrent of flames into the already-blazing building. It only feeds the raging fire and Peter knows it will take quite some time to put it out, Not his problem. He’s too busy planning their next hits on the scientists that hadn’t lived above the lab.

Johnny lands on the roof next to him with a sharp exhale and Peter drapes himself over his back. “Twelve people left on the list, starlight. I vote we eat, have a fantastic night in bed and then brutally murder them all. Their dirty secrets are set to be released to the public in four and a half hours, just in time for the news cycle.” Peter says, tracing letters on Johnny’s back.

“You give the best presents, my Spider. I can’t wait to hunt.” Morning Star replies.

#spideytorchweek2021 #spideytorchweek #day three au #spideytorch #tw mild torture #tw violence #peter parker #johnny storm #warren worthington iii

[twstdreams]

Halloween Haunting: Magicam Mess

Warning: Spoilers for Halloween event; canon divergent CYOA, length: 1K 

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Your personal rule is that if everything is going to fall apart it should be after you’ve had a good meal, but the lightning raining down from the sky indicates lunch is going to have to be put on pause for now.

“Hey! They never told us about any thunder! I hate when my fur gets all staticky,” Grim complains. Wheels churn in your mind as you try to formulate a plan that gets you and the tourists out alive. While you’re sure an electrocution or two would teach them a lesson, it’s a little too early to be an accessory to murder.

“I need your help. Just agree with what I say and help me spread a rumour,” you instruct your familiar.

“What? Can’t we just leave?” Grim rebuttals.

“This stamp rally is at our dorm. If things go wrong, the headmaster will punish us too and I know you hate cleaning.” Grim grumbles about this and that but by now you’re a pro at tuning him out. You looked at the top trending hashtags and decided which one to hijack. #perfectflower it is! You upload a photo of a petal, artsy and vague enough to support your lie.  

“GREAT SEVEN! I’M GONNA MISS THE SUPER RARE FLOWER!” you scream. Your best acting? No, but it gets everyone’s attention so you blunder on.

“The night-blooming cereus would definitely trend! It only blooms once a year at night. Night Raven College even has a special one that looks like a galaxy,” you add in a voice that most definitely would not be appropriate indoors.

“What’re you talking about?” a tourist beside you inquires, magicam app open on their phone. You refrain from letting the smile on your face turn into a smirk.

“Don’t you know? Near the entrance, beside the big tree, there are several of them planted there. The Pomefiore students take care of them all year and then they bloom around Halloween. It’s why #perfectflower is trending!” you explain, giddy that someone took the bait.

“Let’s go there next after the Draconia challenge!” someone chimes. You grit your teeth to stop yourself from blurting out an insult. If they tried the Draconia challenge, they wouldn’t have a living body for much longer.

“Tonight the holographic one blooms but only for 30 minutes! They don’t exist in the wild, it’s only because of the students. You have to leave right now or you won’t make it in time!” You notice the hesitation as people look in the direction of the entrance and back to Malleus’ casting a storm of spells. While you could stand in awe about their lack of survival skills, truly is it that hard to choose between a pretty rare flower and being murdered by a dragon fae, you decide they need a little push.

“I’m going now. If I take a picture before everyone else, mine will be most popular.” You turn around and start walking with so much faux confidence maybe even Vil would compliment you unlikely but Rook would. You’re rewarded with the sound of fast footsteps, a couple of people even breaking it out into a run. There aren’t any flowers there, but you hope that the people regulating the front gate will be able to kick them out.

By the time you loop around, out of sight of the Magicam Monsters you just tricked, you notice Lilia and Malleus talking. Luckily the sky has cleared up and you don’t see any charred corpses on the ground, yet the bitter expression on Malleus’ face remains. You approach his side but the magic words to turn his frown into a smile escape your mind. Even after Lilia greets you, you’re unsure of what sentence is the right answer, so you hope sincerity is enough to carry you through.

“How are you doing?” you ask. It’s not anger or annoyance you’re met with, but the forlorn look in his eyes pierces your heart.

“I apologize. I chose Ramshackle as a stamp rally location. I just wanted you to enjoy Halloween too. However, I never imagined that it would bring so much trouble,” Malleus admits. 

“It’s not your fault. It’s theirs for not following the rules.” Your words are true but they don’t seem to placate the dorm leader given the tight line his lips form. “Let’s go for a walk. I think we’ve both had enough of crowds for now.” 

You tug on his hand and Malleus unexpectedly follows without resistance, though you’re unsure if the pink dusting his cheeks is from exhaustive use of magic or something else. You let out a complaint and Malleus reciprocates with one in turn. By the time you’ve wandered far away from the bustle of the stamp rally, neither of your problems are solved, but you both feel better after confiding in each other. Your hands are still linked together, your fingers aren’t intertwined but your grip isn’t loose either. 

Eventually, the topic turns to lighter topics that bring a smile to your visage. Comparing Halloweens, stories of lighting things on fire, pumpkin carving, favourite treats, promises to try pumpkin pie ice cream together. But all good things come to an end and the serenity comes to an end saying that you HAVE to go to the Main Street.

And it turns out, your horrid day hasn’t ended because the Great Seven statues are toppled over and missing. Accusations are thrown and both student and staff alike are in shock. It’s one thing to litter waffles, it’s another to destroy statues of renowned magicians who represented the proud dorms.

“Tomorrow, the Halloween party might have to be cancelled,” Crowley adds. Troubled expressions morph into ones of shock and outrage. Disagreement is abound but the staff don’t budge due to concerns of students being harmed.

“The party will be held if the Magicam Monster problem is solved, right?” you ask. When Crowley gives you the confirmation, you plaster on a disappointed look as the wheels in your brain turn. The staff leave to gather the others and host a meeting but from the look in Jade’s eye, you can tell the other students are on the same page as you though Jade seems to always have that calculating gleam in his eyes.

“You have a point,” Azul acknowledges.

“We just have to chase away the Magicam Monsters from our campus,” Jade agrees and you can see several people around you having a lightbulb moment.

“We can confirm if they’re Magicam Monsters by seeing if they violate rules,” Vil states, dispelling worries about how to accomplish such a task.

“I’ll punch them away!” Deuce exclaims. You’re sure he’d follow through and that’s the problem.

“That’ll just make this a problem with the police,” Ace counteracts.

“We can’t just use magic attacks on them either, they’re going to figure out it’s not a security system,” Idia rebuttals when a couple of students suggest just flinging Magicam Monsters across campus. You know Idia’s right but you think it’d be very satisfying to toss yeet them away like garbage.

“Haaahaahaha!~” Floyd laughs, “You’re thinking so hard about this. The answer is easy to figure out.”

“Now, don’t laugh at them,” Jade chides while chuckling and baring his teeth. You’ve never seen someone act less sincere but you know better than to antagonize the leech twins. 

“It is eating a delicious meal with everyone!” Kalim declares. You’re certain that’s not what the Octavinelle trio is thinking, free food is never their first bet, but you appreciate his sunshine disposition.

“Haaah... Rich kids really are impossible. We should make them feel uncomfortable and scare them away,” Ruggie explains.

“A night hunt under the moonlight! Magnifique! I can’t wait,” Rook exclaims. He has the same dreamy look in his eyes as when he envisions capturing his prey.

Which team do you want to help scare away the Magicam Monsters?

Heartslabyul’s Graveyard: Time to bury some secrets and maybe even a Magicam Monster or two

Savanaclaw’s Pirate ship: Who says the swords are fake even if the curse is?

Octavinelle’s Lab: Few are as good at deception at this dorm, and you’ve been itching to throw some Magicam Monsters into a personal sci-fi horror story

Scarabia’s Wereworlf curse: You hate bugs with a vengeance and scaring away rude tourists is better than lighting school property on fire. But will Kalim be able to scare everyone? 

Ignihyde’s Spooky Night: Otakus wronged and the tech to bring horrors to life makes for an interesting combo that’s sure to leave a couple of people scarred.

Diasomnia’s Haunted Scare: Will revenge be as sweet as ice cream? You’re about to find out. The Magicam Monsters wanted so badly to get into your dorm, might as well let them in and have some fun with it!

Main Street’s Ghostly Hunt: If they’re bold enough to topple statues and take pictures on their pedestals, surely they can face a grim reaper after their life?

#twst x reader #twst CYOA #twst halloween event #twstdreams #haunted dreams #long fic

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 7

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Last time, Saelhen and Looseleaf continued their scouring of the evil torture wizard's evil torture tower for clues as to the identity of the murderer terrorizing the towns of Barley and Wheat. They found a bunch of mysterious documents of ominous character, but they've yet to check out the tower's hidden basement- and the ne'er-do-well lurking within...

The basement doesn't immediately contain any horrors, unless you're the type to get the jibblies from a messy room. There's dirty dishes (recently used), empty beer bottles from a Zeishus Brewery, and discarded clothes everywhere. It's very lived-in, and whoever lives-in here doesn't seem like they were expecting visitors.

Saelhen takes a look at the desk nearest the stairs, next to a well-used recliner and a recently-extinguished candle. She gets a nat 20 on her Investigation, and finds that the desk has been rotated to face the wall, concealing a drawer that doesn't look like it's been opened in some time, judging by the cobwebs.

What's inside is mainly more of the sort of thing they found on the sixth floor- technical notes on neurology and pain magic. With the critical success, she's able to piece together that the odd numbers on the abrasive letter found upstairs were some sort of pain measurements the letter-writer was providing to Lumiere.

They also find a less academic, more personal note, expressing frustration with his own research.

"Why would the Burnscreamer's rituals require Abyssal? Even a god like him shouldn't have any connection to the demons- what is he playing at?" "If I could just correct the sigil, I could bypass so much of this nonsense..."

Saelhen then gets a nat 1 on her Religion roll to know what that means, and assumes the Burnscreamer is the frontman for a metal band her dad likes.

As they search the rest of the room, they notice- at the bottom of the central shaft- a circular basin in the stone floor. It's stained red, but it's dry- not as much blood as you'd expect to see given the carnage on the sixth floor, so it seems like it's been recently emptied or cleaned out.

Oyobi, meanwhile, checks the locked door by the stairs, and finds it... cold? I wonder what that means vis-a-vis-

The extremely sneaky +9 Stealth person hiding braced against the walls of the central shaft fucks up right about then, and slips a little, letting out an involuntary "Gh- shit!", alerting the party to his presence.

Saelhen tries to chase after this person by parkouring off those same walls, gets a 9, and faceplants in the blood basin, leaving the issue to the party member who has wings. As the hider flees through one of the doors in the shaft, Looseleaf uses her darkvision and 24 Investigation roll to pick out the right door and give chase.

(Meanwhile, the rest of the party heads up the stairs normally- and Saelhen orders Orluthe to bust down the front door, so they can go outside and catch anyone trying to escape by rappelling down the side of the building. This turns out to be unnecessary, because when Looseleaf detected that the front door was magic and assumed it was a trap, this was incorrect.)

Benedict I. (GM): ("who knows what kind of trap could be on this magic door? better go up and through the window into the room full of traps, instead") (i was laughing so hard) (it's just an automatic door!) Looseleaf: Honestly, the people in town oversold this place. They made it sound like such a deathtrap and really it was just a bunch of spiky bots. And knives. And comfy pillows. Benedict I. (GM): Well, when they were there, there was a living evil torture wizard actively trying to take them prisoner and torture them.

Looseleaf botches her Investigation roll to search the torture lab she emerges in, but... that doesn't stop her from just checking each and every possible hiding place one by one, manually. She alights upon the correct solution swiftly- checking inside the broken remains of the iron maiden.

bBenedict I. (GM): Anyway, Looseleaf, inside the corpse of the iron maiden, you find. A rather heavy man, performing a downright heroic feat of contortionism to suspend himself inside the door without getting impaled on the spikes. Arnie: "Uh." "Can you pretend you never saw me?" Looseleaf: "That depends on what you're doing here, I guess. Who are you and what are you doing here?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: oh that is a nervous man Arnie: "No one. Nothing. I'm, uh, supposed to be like, dead, probably." "So I'm not here." "Yeah?"

Arnie Zeishus is the deadbeat husband of Cassie, the innkeeper from Barley, who fled town a while back. He explains that after fleeing his responsibilities in Barley, he tried to set up shop in Wheat running a brewery, but got in trouble flouting the brewing regulations of the Ecumene of Harmony. So after getting arrested there and breaking out of prison, he decided to sneak into the torture wizard's tower and lay low as a squatter in the guy's basement. He figured he might get caught and tortured, but it couldn't be worse than what the townspeople wanted to do to him.

Except, as luck would have it, the torture wizard was already dead when he arrived! So he's been making a home of the place with Lumiere's old animated housekeepers, using the torture wizard's fearsome reputation as a way to keep anyone from tracking him down and making him do stuff like clean up a distillery explosion or pay child support or what have you.

On the other hand, someone has been sneaking around his tower doing something sinister on the sixth floor that results in blood pouring down into the basin periodically, and he's stressed out of his mind wondering who the hell is doing that and how he's supposed to avoid getting caught and/or killed by them.

(He notes that the "KEEP SHOUTING" sign was his attempt to get intruders to at least give themselves away by making noise, after they were clearly ignoring the "KEEP OUT" sign he put up.)

Looseleaf also takes the time to ask if Arnie here knows anything about someone named Choss.

Arnie: He looks surprised. "You know Choss?" Looseleaf: "Let's say that Choss is a figure of importance in this investigation." "Anything you could tell us about how they arrived in town and what they did in town would be appreciated." Arnie: He shrugs. "Choss was there before I was- she's a real weirdo." "Knows how to party, but- gotta say, her stuff's a little too strong for me." "A crazy high at first, but it gets- whoof, intense." Looseleaf: "She's an apothecary of some kind?" Arnie: He laughs. "You could say that. She's got herself a little drug lab in town, always smells like burning. Don't know how she gets away with it- some of that stuff's gotta be illegal." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "And how old is she, approximately?" Arnie: "Eh? She's- hard to tell with lizardfolk, s'not like you can read the wrinkles..." Looseleaf: Ah, of course. Lizardfolk. Saelhen du Fishercrown: yep Arnie: "Seems youngish, though? Party girl through and through." "Just, uh, if she offers you a blend, don't take it unless you're ready to spend the next hour feelin' like fire ants are chewin' their way out of your skin." He shudders a little. Looseleaf: "Hm. Sounds painful." Arnie: "You have no idea," he laughs.

They also inquire about the locked freezer room- and why Arnie would hide out here, in dangerous torture tower, rather than just running off to a city, which is a little weird that he didn't do. Arnie claims there's just groceries in there, and no stolen wine bottles whatsoever, he certainly isn't a thief and he definitely hasn't been lying low out here because if he goes to a city some old pals from Thunderbrush might find him and want him dead, no sir! He would never ever commit a crime, ["wink wink" in hand-signed Thieves' Cant].

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Of course. I can't imagine we have any thieves here." [Nudge nudge.] Looseleaf: "In the meantime, Mr. Zeishus, you mentioned having done something that.. makes going anywhere where you might meet someone from Thunderbrush a dangerous thing?" Arnie: He fidgets. "Uh, well..." "I, I try to leave all that behind me." "You just... don't want to get involved with the ghost dryad mafia. Just a tip."

He drops a little bit of exposition about something that may be coming up- apparently, Thunderbrush used to have these huge skyscraper-sized trees, but they got chopped down in some sort of war or raid a while back, and now the Stumps are ruled by the necromancer ghost dryads of those trees who used the last vestiges of their power to cheat death. Apparently Arnie was strongarmed into doing crimes for various ghost dryad mafiosos and made too many enemies, so he fled to Barley to shake the heat.

Looseleaf also comes to a realization regarding some hints dropped earlier in the townsfolks' tragic backstories:

Looseleaf: (actually, wait, i just realized: choss is probably chitch's daughter, the timelines there line up perfectly and maybe this whole dragonborn business is a total red herring we invented for ourselves) (what the shit, lumiere, you kidnap a guy's daughter and raise them as your own child? that's fucked.)

Looseleaf occupies this Arnie guy by interrogating him about these things, while Saelhen slips downstairs to try to pick the lock to the freezer room.

Eventually, after a bunch of failed rolls and more small talk from Looseleaf to keep Arnie occupied, Saelhen pops open the lock. Inside, she finds a fairly large and frigid room. There are meathooks hanging from the ceiling, empty. There are shelves lining the edges full of frozen food.

And to her right, there's another door- this one out of place with the rest of the construction, made of a strange stone shot through with rivulets of glowing orange. There's a symbol on a stone circle embedded in the door:

Before she checks that out, though, she checks the darkened back of the room- which contains some tubs filled with ice.

And those tubs have corpses in them, with the four-pointed wounds.

It is not especially likely that Arnie had no idea these were here, in a room he claims to use to store groceries and has the key to.

Looseleaf, meanwhile, attempts to read Arnie's spirit to determine his alignment and general intentions. His Deception beats her Insight, but what she does manage to get is...

Arnie is afraid. He is filled to bursting with terror and desperation more intense than you've ever felt from anyone before. And the fear does not seem directed at you.

Meanwhile, Saelhen tries to get that door open. What's the deal with that thing, huh? There's no handle, so... she has the bright idea of slapping her mysterious god icon bracer (the one that when previously slapped against a magic thing opened a pit to infinite bats) against it, see what happens. And I get very excited, because ohohoho, I didn't expect that, I had to think through the ramifications of doing that, and...

...then I work through those ramifications, and what I realize is that, as far as the players would know, the end result is just that the door slides open, and nothing else of note occurs.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Why am I even here I just wanted to help a nice little girl show up her dipshit inquisitor mom now I'm in a pain room investigating pain machines..." Looseleaf: (looseleaf warned you about getting involved in the case, she warned you dog)

There's also a bunch of weird machines, and more of Lumiere's notes, which Saelhen goes and nabs as many of as she can. Then she beats feet immediately, not wanting to spend any longer than necessary in the hell lab. The problem is, she doesn't want to leave any sign she was in there, so...

Saelhen du Fishercrown: Does tapping the exposed bit of stone with the bracer again close the secret hell door? Benedict I. (GM): Nope. Saelhen du Fishercrown: hmm. poking it with her finger? Benedict I. (GM): Ouch. Nope. Saelhen du Fishercrown: physically pulling the stone upwards while muttering "fuck fuck fuck ow ow ow"? Benedict I. (GM): Oh, hm, yeah, that would work. At first there's no effect, but as you continue to pull and the pain gets worse and worse... Roll me a Constitution save. Saelhen du Fishercrown: 16 CONSTITUTION SAVE (3) Benedict I. (GM): That'll do it! Your pain feeds the door, and, satisfied, the mouth closes. Looseleaf: How extremely concerning!

Cool!

So Saelhen goes back upstairs, the party secretly confers and exchanges information, and... something has to be done about Arnie.

His expression changes, suddenly.

Arnie: "You don't know what you're talking about." "This doesn't have to happen."

Looseleaf continues to try to offer help to this guy, inferring that he's being forced to do someone else's dirty work. She rolls a 20 on Persuasion! So... what happens following them cornering and exposing the culprit is not the rolling of initiative. Still, though...

Arnie: Arnie... backs up a step. "You're morons." "You have no idea." "You're talking like you can help me?" "That's impossible. No one can help me." "I- I'm fucking cursed, dammit!" Looseleaf: is he? i have magic sense, he is clearly not actually magically cursed, right Arnie: "What are you clowns going to do about it? Nothing!" "What are you going to do, kill a dragon?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "You are entangled here. If Looseleaf says so, then I trust her intuition and her investigative prowess. This doesn't necessarily mean you're entangled in such a way that there is no way out for you." Saelhen shrugs. "Theoretically, the device on my arm is responsible for drowning a small city in vampiric monsters from beyond the stars. And yet there was a way out of that, and a genuine silver lining into the bargain." "I want you to understand that I am absolutely sincere when I say: There is always a way out." Arnie: "That's- there's no way! There's only one way out!" "He'll free me from the curse if I do what he says, and that's the only way!" Looseleaf: ...That is not how dragon-curses work at all. Benedict I. (GM): Not as far as you're aware, no. Doesn't seem like anyone's told Arnie.

They continue to try to convince him that there's hope, that he doesn't need to do what the dragon says, that they can help him. And Arnie just keeps pushing back, refusing to acknowledge any of it, weeping and shouting and doing whatever he can to avoid believing that he didn't have to do any of that, that there was any other way- because if there was, he'd be a monster, right?

Meanwhile, Vayen... is standing a ways away and staring at them all, as usual... but this time, he's smiling. No one here has ever seen Vayen smile before. He looks like his birthday came early. And as they're on the verge of a breakthrough...

Arnie: "Fucking- you don't think I know that?" "I know that! I know he's manipulating me!" "But what else do I do?" Vayen: "You could kill yourself," Vayen suggests. Looseleaf: "Vayen what the FUCK?" Arnie: "What the fuck- shut up, asshole!" "I'm not dying! Not here, not nowhere!" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...Vayen, you are placing a remarkable number of ticks in the 'leave you at the side of the road' column." Vayen: Vayen shrugs. "It's the most reliable way to neutralize a dragon's curse." "It's the sensible thing to do, if you don't want to cause collateral damage."

It's as though he deliberately picked the one thing to say to ensure that this argument would keep happening, and not reach a friendly resolution. The hell is his problem?

Still, the party keeps trying to talk this guy down.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "And -- Arnie, surely you don't think the dragon would hunt you down? Dragons don't go out of their way to punish us; they just use us to accomplish whatever it is they're planning. He'll make it someone else's problem." "I know the type. Arnie, it wouldn't care enough to hunt you down. What seems like a personal connection, like it caring about you -- if it tries that at all -- it's just an implement. It's a way of getting you to do what it wants. Go to ground effectively, and it won't bother to spare the effort." Arnie: "What are you, talking like some kinda dragonologist? The hell do you know about dragons?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...I am not a dragonologist, no," admits Saelhen. Looseleaf: "...Are you a dragonologist?" Arnie: "Of course it could hunt me down! Damn thing's got magic items out the ass and it flies faster than I can run!" "As soon as it saw me going somewhere it didn't tell me to, I'd get turned into a midnight snack!" "And then I go to ground, and the curse kicks in, and I end up dead or worse anyway. Sounds great." "Or, I stay here, gut a few self-righteous fucks who treated me like dirt for a while, and maybe the thing keeps its end of the bargain and lets me go!"

Yeah, that's a confession, and like, not one that makes him look great. Still, given this guy's weirdly high rolls on physical stuff, and his apparent aptitude for murdering people, they're not super sure they want to fight this guy- on top of just, not exactly wanting to fight this guy.

What are they going to do? They have to come up with a plan- and their plan has to take less than three weeks to pull off, since Arnie only has six corpses left in the bathtubs, and the dragon wants two corpses a week to prove he's still doing the job.

(And is it even worth going to all that trouble just to protect this guy from the consequences of his actions?)

Next time: a plan is hatched, and the party gets back on the road.

#twofaced jewel #tfj log #d&d 5e

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky (Ch. 8)

Summary: The South Pole Station is equipped for research and Edge has always made sure things run smoothly for the inhabitants. His charges are meant to follow his rules and regulations, and in turn, he makes sure they survive in the arctic temperatures. It takes plenty of hard work and determination and Edge, along with his crew, can handle both.

He wasn’t counting on one of the newest researchers. He wasn’t expecting Rus.

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Arctic AU, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: So, bourbon came up with an amazing AU and did some lovely art for it: please look at it and love it.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Read Chapter 8 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Leaving Rus sleeping alone in his bed was one of the more difficult things Edge had done in recent memory. He only slept briefly himself, persuaded by Rus’s warmth and the unfamiliar comfort of holding someone in his arms, but in the end, it was early in the day and Edge was too restless to stay in bed as long as Rus should.

Instead, he carefully eased away from his bed companion. Rus made a soft sound of complaint and Edge froze, waiting until he settled again. He looked small buried within the blankets, the shadows beneath his sockets still dark and obvious. He was covered from his chin to his toes, as chaste as a fresh apple, and yet somehow, simply watching him sleep was a temptation. Edge shook away the urge and took a moment to tuck the covers warmly around him before escaping the room. Hopefully Rus would sleep for a few hours yet.

Outside the door, he straightened his clothes so they looked a little less slept in. If Undyne saw him looking like he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed, she wasn’t going to keep her opinion to herself and Edge didn’t need a dose of her crowing glee today.

Today was one designated for necessary maintenance and when he went out to the building that housed the Core generator, Red and Undyne were already there, working together in companionable silence. They both looked up at him as he walked up and whatever greeting Red was about to give died as his sockets narrowed.

“you smell weird,” Red said in lieu of a good morning. He pushed up the protective goggles that replaced his normal sunglasses, his entire face scrunched in distaste. “doesn’t he smell weird?”

“You see a nose on this face?” Undyne grumbled. She shut the maintenance door before pushing up her own goggles; the Core was damagingly bright and Undyne didn’t have an extra eye to lose. “Weird, how?”

“I do not smell weird,” Edge snapped. Predictably, they ignored him, looking him up and down suspiciously. Honestly, it was becoming obvious that he needed to add more duties to their schedules if they had this much free time for speculation on their hands.

Red only shrugged, scratching at the stocking cap covering his skull. “i dunno, just weird, sort of sweet. like sugar, maybe, or honey? where’ve you been today?”

“He took the fashion victim breakfast earlier—" Undyne trailed off, her eye widening. “No. You didn’t.”

Edge sighed at the dawning awareness on both their faces. “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened in a way that left you smelling like snack cake?” Red asked with gleeful scorn.

“All I did was convince him to get some sleep.”

“and offered yourself as a mattress?” Red prodded him in the knee with a sharp elbow, easily dodging the kick Edge aimed at him. “gotta say, boss, that’s right neighborly of ya. anything else you felt like giving him? or maybe you need to borrow a cup of something sweet, bet he’s got a few things he could offer.”

“I didn’t come out here to discuss my proclivities, Red, I came out because Alphys told me you haven’t been in to use the machine. You need to—” Edge stopped and sighed. The space where his brother had been standing was already empty.

“Gettin’ soft, Boss,” Undyne said dryly. She sank back to sit on the floor, her hands dangling between her knees. “Usually you would’ve had that bad puppy by the scruff of the neck before you said a word. Maybe you needed a longer nap.”

“I didn’t need a nap at all,” Edge said, irritated. But she wasn’t wrong; his distraction with Rus was throwing him off un unexpected and very unappreciated ways.

“Maybe you need somethin’ else.” She ducked but Edge’s swipe at her was only halfhearted.

“We may as well finish this; he’s not going to come back as long as I’m here.”

“I could nab him for you, boss.” Undyne smiled widely at him, her needle-sharp teeth gleaming in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“No,” Edge shook his head. “All that would get us is a tendency for him to run from you as well. I’ll corner him eventually. I wish I understood why he hated the machine so much; it’s helping him and using it is painless.”

“Dunno, boss.” Undyne dug through the toolbox, hefting up a heavy wrench. “He’s never been too fond of the lab, though. Weird, ain’t it, he was the one who helped us get this gig.”

“I know,” Edge murmured. When they’d been cast out of the Monster community, they’d been allowed into the Human world as neutrals, for whatever the worth that ‘allowed’ offered. After a few months of what could loosely be called surviving, Red was the one who told them about the Institute’s offer. Edge couldn’t have said how he even came across it; after his injuries, Red had been confined to the squalor of their cramped, shared apartment while the rest of them struggled to earn any coin they could in a world that often despised them for existing.

At first, it all seemed entirely too good to be true. His brother somehow contacting the Institute and all of them being offered employment? Despite his reservations, Edge had cautiously agreed, with Undyne and Alphys following at his heels. They’d been given funding and resources to come to the station on a strict six-month contract.

It hadn't taken them long to prove themselves, handling the workload and temperatures far better than the Humans before them, and between Alphys’s energy experiments and Edge’s strict policies, they’d come to be known as a safe place for scientists to work without fear, either of the elements or anything else. The Institute handled the roster and funds, they handled the rest.

That six-month contract quickly become a year, then two, and they were coming up on a third with no end in sight. His contacts at the Institute offered respites for them frequently, even suggesting to temporarily shut down the station for them to take a vacation to warmer climes.

Thus far, each offer had been refused. Even Alphys, whose appreciation of heat was well known to them all, made no bones about the fact that leaving what had become their home held little interest for her.

They might not own the station, but there was no questioning that it was theirs.

And right now, they had a Core to maintain.

“Let’s get this finished,” Edge picked up a set of goggles, readying to open the maintenance door again.

“You got it, boss.”

~~*~~

Red managed to avoid him for most of the day, sly bastard that he was. He’d always had a sort of preternatural skill at avoidance, for work, for confrontation. If it was something his brother didn’t want to deal with, then he simply wouldn’t.

Except for while Edge might lack his brother’s skills in wiliness, he made up for it with an excess of stubbornness. A plan was slowly forming to capture his brother and he only needed an extra pair of hands to do it.

His phone chimed and Edge paused, retrieving it from his pocket with surprise. They weren’t able to use the actual phone function on the devices but so long as they were in range of the WiFi, it could be used for messages. Not that they gave their personal information to any of the scientists, it was strictly for in-house communication and emergencies, or in his brother’s case, the terrible puns and memes that caught his attention. So who…?

It was a further shock to see the message was from Alphys. He had no doubt that Undyne and Alphys sent each other horrifically sappy messages all day, but he couldn’t think of any occasion of Alphys messaging him in the past.

The message was brief: Rus is outside, on the back side of the station.

Alphys hadn’t included so much as an emoticon, so the sly insinuation Edge was feeling was probably only in his own mind. He still mentally set aside the plan he was working on and went to pull on his outdoor gear.

True twilight had passed an hour before and outside the velvet black sky was strewn with stars. The aurora wasn’t visible tonight, but the sight was no less stunning, so long as one paused to look up. Hundreds of stars caught in the pale web of the Milky Way, chasing away the darkness.

Edge walked to the southern side of the station, his boots crunching on the hardpacked snow. The lights of the station set a glaring halo around the buildings and it made the dark surrounding it all the starker. Outside the circle of lights, he could see unfamiliar shapes not far away, one of which was likely his target.

The facility was never completely locked down. Rus wasn’t the only one whose research could be time sensitive, but scientists were supposed to use a special sign out alert if they were working outside alone. Edge hadn’t checked if Rus used it, though he probably had. Not that it mattered; Alphys had plenty of ways to get information, more even than Red.

His footsteps were ample warning of his approach. Rus didn’t look at him, his attention was on the device in front of him, a telescope, although unlike any one Edge ever saw before. Strange dials and extra lenses dotted it and Rus was adjusting them briskly with gloved fingers.

His laptop was sitting on a small camp table, the screen dark. Next to it was a pad of paper and a pencil. Edge barely glanced at it; it was impossible to say if the notes were in an unknown language or if Rus’s penmanship was simply that terrible.

Edge was the one who broke the silence, “How long have you been out here?”

With a final twist of one of the dials, Rus looked up at him. His pale eye lights were amused but there was no mistaking the dark circles lingering beneath his sockets. “well, hey, good afternoon to you, too. not too long, boss, i’m fine. besides, bonnie gave me a thermos to take out with me. keeps me toasty from the inside out.”

Hearing that their cook was giving special privileges to her obvious favorite was no surprise. To hear Rus calling him boss did give him a prickle of discomfort; after hearing his real name in that sleep-husky voice, he’d distantly hoped to hear it again in sly cheer of his waking hours. Perhaps he didn’t remember; Rus had been nearly asleep. It didn’t seem right to bring it up again, not right now.

Rus poured out a steaming cupful into the cap of the thermos and held it out teasingly. Edge took it and sipped, grimacing almost immediately. It was sweet enough to send a cramp through his tongue and he handed it back with haste, ignoring Rus’s grin.

“Don’t stay out here too long,” Edge warned. Though he might check on him again; Rus seemed the type to lose track of time, absorbed in whatever data he was getting from the star-strewn sky.

“i won’t,” Rus made a little ‘x’ over his chest with one finger and when Edge started to turn away, he added lazily, “what, no goodbye kiss, edge? you already shorted me one earlier. sneaking out while i was sleeping,” Rus shook his head sadly. “i missed your whole walk of shame.”

Edge stopped. His breath fogged in the arctic air and here in the darkness with the heavens staring down at them seemed like a moment for honesty.

“What do you want from me?” Edge asked bluntly. They’d shared words, kisses, and even a bed at this point but answers were few and far between. Rus, his conundrum, his puzzle who offered kisses and yet was shocked when Edge offered to nap with him.

A look at Rus found his easy flirtation faltering. He looked up at the glimmering stars, his own breath clouding around him as he said, with unusual sincerity. “right now? a kiss. we can see about tomorrow later.”

He’d be gone in a few short weeks and Edge wouldn’t see him again, unless he came back for another rotation and even then, that could take a year, longer. He was, in no particular order; a distraction, an astronomer, a fashion victim. A student. A temptation.

Edge leaned down and took his kiss.

It was nothing like the short, sweet touches they’d shared. He swallowed Rus’s startled moan, pulled him suddenly to his feet to better ravage the sweetness of his mouth. The feel of Rus in his arms only filled Edge with the urge to pull him closer, to learn how to tease more of those breathy, startled cries free.

Until his tongue curled against Edge’s with stunning intent, forcing him to stifle a moan of his own. Rus tasted of sickly-sweet coffee, of his own softer, delicate sweetness and they stood there in the icy blackness of night, sharing it between them with a desperate press of teeth and tongue.

It was far too cold for any more than this, dangerously so, and with great reluctance, Edge drew away. Only to catch Rus as he wobbled on his feet.

“oh,” he mumbled, panting in foggy gusts. Color was burning high in his cheek bones and his soft eye lights were temptingly hazy, but this time Edge resisted.

“Don’t stay out too long,” Edge repeated. He straightened Rus’s scarf, carefully rewrapping it.

“hah, actually, i’ll head in now, i've got my data.” Rus gave him crooked smile, but his eye lights were back on the stars. The flush in his cheekbones was lingering. “bet you’re busy all day, anyway. playing chaperone for anyone?”

An idea occurred to Edge then, so beautifully simple it was bound to work. “No, but actually, I could use your help with something.”

“really? me?” Rus seemed stunned, almost absurdly so.

“It won’t take long, but I don’t want to keep you if—“

“no, no! i can help!” Edge watched in bemusement as Rus hastily began packing his gear, only stepping in to help when he was sure it was safely stowed. He slung the carry strap for the telescope over his shoulder, wincing at the weight. Rus didn’t even protest, only gathered the rest of his equipment.

He was entirely too excited for a simple favor and Edge only hoped he didn’t regret offering. Red was not the easiest to deal with in the best of moods and if his plan worked, he was going to be very angry at them both.

Hopefully, it would be worth it.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #beneath an aurora sky #arctic AU

[cherryreid]

Anko and Karin as muses. Or: Sam has a thing for emotionally complicated women and is going to rant about them.

On the surface level, it always feels to me that Anko and Karin are fairly similar. They’re both loud personalities, intelligent, and full to the brim with trauma and poor emotional regulation. But once you start separating them, the differences are fairly vast. There are a few defining differences that I always have to remind myself of when I write them. Especially if I am going back and forth from writing one then the other.

Anko wants recovery. It takes an extreme situation to finally push her to the point of wanting to fully self destruct. She is in pain and it is an agony she doesn’t know how to stumble through, but she wants to stumble through it, she wants to reach forward and find that bright future for herself. She wants friendship, trust, someone who loves her, someone to love in return. She wants intimacy. Everything she seems on the surface level to push away she is actually desperate for. To her, those things are only attainable once she begins the process of healing.

Anko wants to heal. She wants to feel like herself again. She has her moods, but Anko is generally a high spirited person, who would rather laugh than everything else. She misses that about herself.

Karin does not want any of that. Or, Karin doesn’t know how to want it. Where Anko came from a stable background prior to Orochimaru hurting her, Karin did not have the luxury of such stability. She escaped with her mother and then her mother died. She has only been treated well when she was deemed useful. And I believe that the people who took advantage of her abilities did so in extreme ways -- she was useful and so she was rewarded for that usefulness, but when she wasn’t the punishment for her limits was severe. Generally isolation.

Orochimaru is a savior to her in the fact that he pulls her out of that situation. But he’s still coming and manipulating a child, even if she doesn’t see it like that. She sees it as another opportunity to be useful and continue on until tomorrow. She doesn’t see the situation she is in as wrong, so she is unable to anchor herself in it and understand it. The true fault of any situation almost never lies with who it actually belongs with when it comes to Karin.

The world exists in extremes to her. She is either useful (and thus loved) or she is useless (and thus unlovable. She is either in bliss or in the depths of sorrow. Her emotional regulation is absolute shit, which can be seen in how she handles both Sasuke and Suigetsu. Her obsession with Sasuke stems from how he is someone in her peer group who acknowledges her for her skills. Yeah, he’s attractive, but the level of devotion she has to him is because she thinks that is the only way to remain in his life and to continue to feel like she matters to someone. Sasuke’s approval means the world to her. Him trying to kill her is devastating. But really, her response to that attempt is almost less than her response to smaller issues, like say his disapproval of one of her theories.

With Suigetsu, she doesn’t know how she feels about it. Sometimes she feels like he could be a friend and she feels the fierce devotion to him that she feels towards Suigetsu. Other time he says his usual bullshit and she is convinced he hates her, that he is a traitor, that she was stupid to fall for the idea of someone remotely caring for her. Combined with the fact that I always see Suigetsu as a character who is very emotionally detached, he can sometimes be just as violent of a trigger for her moods as Sasuke can.

She oscillates in such extremes that she has a very hard time managing it. And these extremes make it very, very hard for her to focus on a future for herself and decide what it is she actually wants.

Does she want a future with a partner? Does she want to stay in the lab? Is she OK staying with Orochimaru, is that the kind of usefulness she will accept? Is she ever going to grow out of the idea that usefulness is the same as love and that is the only way she can get someone to love her?

My verse for Karin is post-war because I like to think that she eventually comes to better understanding that something does not work right in her head. She doesn’t have the diagnosis of borderline personality disorder to play around with, but that’s what she has. She begins to see that for all of her intelligence, she is emotionally inept, and she needs to find a way to account for her own shortcomings if she wants to make a future for herself where she is healthy. Maybe not happy, but healthy. She’s smart enough to understand that some things will never belong to her. Happiness is one of those things.

Post-war Karin has a small notebook she keeps with herself. She’s still not the best at regulating her in the moment responses, but afterwards she has gotten into the habit of breaking down situations she has found herself in.

What happened? What did I feel because of what happened? Why did I feel that? Were my feelings a realistic response to the situation I found myself in? If so, why? If not, why not? Did I consider the other person and their motivations and that they might not have meant what it I thought they said?

Ultimately, the biggest contrast between Anko and Karin is how well they can trust themselves as narrator’s of their own experiences. Anko is unreliable, but less so than Karin. Anko had a childhood that allowed her to grow a faith and understanding of herself that she held onto through what happened with Orochimaru. She got tossed around and beaten up, yes, but ultimately the little girl who knew she was a brilliant, wonderful child, and so full of potential is still there. She just needs to crawl out from all the dirt she is buried under.

Karin will never have the ease of knowing her perception on things is the right one. Ideally, with a healthy relationship, she will find someone who she can trust enough to be an anchor for her. Someone who she can come back to and trust to at least help her manage her way through her own emotions. But the headstrong, brilliant little girl that Karin was as a child did not get a chance to take root. There was no reward or reinforcement of any of her behavior in a way that made it stick. She doesn’t know how to understand her experiences because she doesn’t know herself.

One of her biggest fears is someone realizing that. She is terrified of being alone again. Convinced that she will be and that she can’t stop it, but absolutely terrified for the day it will happen. This is why she handles it so poorly.

At the moment, this is what makes Karin the more interesting muse. She is terrified of moving forward and I am a writer who wants my muses to move forward. I want that healing for them and I want that bitter understanding. 

She’s fighting tooth and nail against that. And I can understand it, because she’s convinced that the moment this side of her is shown that the people she has let close will begin to step away. I’m hoping that this fear won’t prove to be true, but even I can’t tell yet. She’s not easy. In fact, she makes Anko look like a fucking walk in the park. 

Anko wants help. Karin doesn’t know how to want help. That difference between the two of them is wider than a canyon. 

#long post #character study

[tornrose24]

Three worded password (A CU Portal AU oneshot)

There’s a hidden test subject in the facility and George and Harold have no clue that three strange discoveries are they key to her freedom.

There’s a lot to discover when you have two sets of portal guns, two naturally curious and determined but easily bored boys, and a sadistic maniac forcing you to do test after test without stopping. The sterile look of Aperture Labs will eventually get to you and you will welcome any change of color besides the dull monochromes and blues and oranges.

George and Harold managed to ‘ruin’ another test as an act of defiance against Krupp to the point that they could hear him screaming and throwing a terrific tantrum in his domain, which meant he was not focusing on them. They took their chance to use the portal guns to sneak up into what appeared to be another hidden area that was barely in view. Careful aiming and timing granted the boys a brief moment of freedom and a new area to explore.

“It’s like you’re trying to give me a headache! WHICH IS WORKING!” They could  still hear Krupp’s projected voice. “I’m going to explode from a headache no thanks to you two! And then you’re going to have ‘committed a murder via headache induced by stupid reckless behavior’ on your files!”

The boys just laughed and continued on their way into the secret room. But upon entering it, they stopped laughing when they saw what was on the wall.

Painted upon the wall was a mural of a stick figure in some sort of strange metal and glass container. Whoever made it was a terrible artist and made Harold look like Rembrandt.

“Huh, wonder what it is.” George stated as he and Harold looked at it. “Hey... have I seen that before?” George struggled to think as Harold continued looking at the image, but nothing happened to make them remember.

Harold turned his head and saw something written on the side wall next to the mural. “‘George, look.” He pointed to the message.

“‘Can’t use this test subject.’” George read the frantic, yet desperate message. “‘No matter what, can not use it. Too valuable. Not fit for testing. Don’t let him free the subject.’” The last part had a line drawn under it for emphasis, followed by ‘save subject!!!’

“George, is there... you don’t think there’s another test subject like us in Aperture?” Harold nervously asked. “I thought we’re the only ones. Krupp said so.” 
“Krupp says anything.” George pointed out before noticing another message. “Azure skies, denim jeans, sapphire seas, cobalt space, cerulean oceans, robin’s egg... what do we all have in common?”

“Ok, now this is getting weird.” George shook his head. “Some weirdo must have made this.”

Harold stared at the message and tried to think. What did these things all have in common? He struggled to think–he barely remembered what a sky was supposed to look like. He didn’t know what a robin’s egg was. Sapphire... that was a jewel right? It almost reminded him of when the portal gun produced a certain colored portal–

“Blue!” Harold exclaimed. “These are all just another way of saying blue!”

“Really?” George was impressed before frowning. “But that still doesn’t make sense.”

“WHERE ARE YOU BRATS?! IF YOU GONE AND KILLED YOURSELF, THEN IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT NOT MINE!”

The boys gave each other a knowing look and sighed. It was time to head back.

They didn’t think too much of that until they found another room. Krupp had been distracted once again and they took their freedom as fast as they could.

They were happy to get a chance to rest–only to find the same mural of a figure in that container and it was just as bad as the last one.

“Again?” Harold raised an eyebrow at this as George read the message.

“‘Couldn’t save you in time, I should have told you to leave me. Now you’re stuck here in this nightmare with me. Can’t expect forgiveness. Can’t trust myself–too cowardly to risk it. I’m going to burn for this one day.’”

“Seriously, who made these?” Harold shuddered before George read the message at the bottom.

“‘Friends are a pair, splitting leads to twins, a team is a duo, lovebirds are a couple, eight minus six is–’” The rest was a blank.

George thought about this message and raised his hands up to count down with his fingers. “Eight minus six....” He paused and thought as he counted down his fingers with each one going down.

“Two.” He looked up. “This message is talking about twos.”

“So it’s like how that last message and all the things in it had something in common  with each other.” Harold thought.

They both didn’t think too much on it and sat down to rest for a few minutes.

By the time they found the third hidden room, they were more than sure that Krupp was feeding them lies.

They didn’t remember anything before they woke up as if their lives had been a blank. Despite whatever Krupp told them (that their parents abandoned them, that the world outside was a wasteland filled with useless, stupid people, that all they were good for was for testing and not drawing or telling stories) they had a feeling it was all a lie long before they figured it out. Much like the promise of freedom that they craved for than anything.

He was making it point clear that he would be keeping them locked up in this awful, boring place, no matter how many tests they had done, and he wouldn’t say why other than “Because I say so!” when pushed too far. Also the ‘tests’ were getting worse to the point that both boys had been pushed beyond their limits and were almost shot by turrets that were shaped more like toilets (to which the pain in their neck admitted that he didn’t know why they were designed like that, but they were a metaphor waiting to be used on the two if they didn’t hurry it up).

The only consolation they had was each other, and it was getting to the point that Krupp was noticing. The tests had less cooperation involved then usual. It was only a matter of time...

Both boys were sweaty, dirty, and George had a hole in his t-shirt from a close call by one of the turrets when they came upon this room. Once again the same mural greeted them along with another strange message.

“I want to see you again. I can’t see you again. No, too dangerous. Must forget these locations before the itch comes on. I want to see your smile and hear your voice.”

The boys didn’t bother to read the other message until they rested up for a few minutes and were too exhausted to even talk. Harold took out a small, but strange gray-white sphere with a blue light in it that he and George found earlier and tossed it in his hands for a bit while George stared up at the ceiling and tried to imagine life before this (he could barely make out two faces in the haze) before either of them looked at the next cryptic message.

“Will I ever again see the sky? Would I ever know what it’s like to fly? Perhaps it’d be better if I die? Perhaps the end is nigh. I hear myself sigh. Did I make her cry? Sometimes I ask myself ‘why?’ All they told us was a lie. They away so much, including my–”

Under the bizarre poem was a series of words to chose from and to fill in the blank space for the last line. This time both boys figured out what the missing word was within a few moments.

“Eye.” Harold pointed to the word in the word bank.

“Yup, it’s ‘eye.’” George agreed before grimacing. “They... took away my eye?”

“George this is freaking me out.” Harold shuddered. “Let’s leave this place.”

“Hang on a minute.” George turned to Harold. “What was the point of these puzzles? How does this relate to a missing subject? And how come Krupp never mentioned it?”

“Maybe he doesn’t know about it.” Harold thought over this. “We should mention it to him next time–”


“No.” George denied. “I have a feeling he shouldn’t know. Especially if there’s something we don’t know.”

Harold hummed as he traced his fingers against some lettering on the sphere: ‘Intelligence Dampening Sph–’ the rest had been rubbed off. Had he known that the object was going to be one of many keys to freedom, he would have treated it with more care.

Neither boy would be able to solve the mystery anytime soon–especially when they finally confronted their tormentor in his domain and saw him face to face. He almost looked more machine than man though being connected to multiple cables and wires woven through a mechanical ‘throne’ thanks to what appeared to be ports scattered across his back and in the back of his head. One quarter of his face was seemingly taken over by a white and black thing with some sort of yellow optic where one eye should have been (forcing him to see in binary, numbers, and the world around him in yellow monochrome, alongside what his more human-like eye could see).

Especially when he tricked them into destroying the morality core shoved into his chest via a nearby incinerator–the very thing that forced him to follow ‘their’ rules and regulations and not lash out, no matter what the name implied–which he himself could not, thanks to a restraint that had been forced into his mentality. Now he was at the point that he didn’t care if the boys lived or died (for whatever happened to them would be revenge upon their parents for not stopping those who ran this place in time).

Especially when the boys used all they learned against him and pulled off a prank (with the help of the portals) by shoving the Intelligence Dampening Sphere into his chest where the morality core used to be. When the whole area exploded, when they found themselves gazing at the sky before an escort robot could drag them back to be put in stasis.

But they both would chose each other over freedom. They could not imagine escaping at the cost of leaving the other behind.

Soon they’d be awakened at some point later on by a cheerful face who was both familiar and not quite. A face with a slightly altered appearance with a blue light in his eye and a familiar sphere shoved into his chest.

It was only after a few hours of exploration, a moment of revenge by taking the core in and out of their new friend to turn him back to his old self with each removal, that they would come upon a familiar sight.

The boys were now in a unique area filled with stasis chambers and these ones were different. Located in a small room that seemed surprisingly well cared for, these chambers were all familiar to them–they were the chambers that were depicted in the murals that once puzzled the boys, yet only one was occupied.

“George, look!” Harold pulled his friend to look at this particular chamber. A woman in her very late twenties to early-or-mid-thirties was sleeping inside, with dark hair covering half of a face that had a light sprinkle of freckles, and she was dressed in a dark pink dress with an apron bearing the Aperture logo across her chest. There also seemed to be handprint smudges upon the outside of glass that sealed her in, but the boys were drawn to what was smack dab on the middle of the container.

It looked like a keyboard with letters and numbers with a screen on it.

“I guess there was someone down here after all!” George exclaimed as he and Harold didn’t know whether to be excited or horrified for the sleeping woman’s sake.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Harold then went up to the keyboard and tried pressing something to see what would happen. The screen flashed red colored words against the black screen in response.

‘SUBJECT WILL ONLY AWAKEN FROM STASIS UPON ENTERING THE CORRECT THREE WORDED PASSWORD. TYPE IN PASSWORD TO AWAKEN SUBJECT. PRESS ENTER’ FOR EACH WORD.’ The screen then displayed a blinking red bar.

“Oh wow,” Harold grimaced as he looked at George. “I have no clue what that could be.”

“Aperture Science... Labs?” George suggested and typed it in.

‘ERROR.’

“Ok, not that one.” George shook his head.

“Cake is lie?” Harold typed in, only to be greeted with ‘ERROR’.

“Dance banana dance?”

“Krupp’s a jerk?”

“Furry taco shell?”

“Lemons are explosive?”

“Wicked wedgie woman?”

“Potato powered battery?”

“Bird’s the word?”

Each one was met with an ‘ERROR.’

“ARGH!” George threw his hands in the air. “It could be anything!” He and Harold struggled to think of the possible passwords in addition to wondering why it had to be so hard to awaken the woman inside.

“Wait a minute.” Harold thought back to the murals and how this chamber looked like the ones that were depicted upon the walls. “Remember those murals from awhile ago? I think they might have to do with this. There were three in total–”

“They were giving us the password!” George caught on and his eyes sparkled. “Those messages must have been giving us the answers!”

Harold struggled to recount. “The first one listed different kinds of blue... one of the words is ‘blue.’”

“Ok, ok,” George thought. “The second one was the use of two... the answer was ‘two!’”

“And then the last one was a poem.” Harold struggled harder. “What were the words used? Fly, lie, cry, sigh– eye! The word was ‘eye!’”

“Blue... two... eye...” George thought on this. “Eye... two... blue... two blue... eye... No if there was more then one it would need to be ‘eyes’ not ‘eye.’”

“Well, lets give it a shot.” Harold was optimistic and steeped aside to let George type it in. He nervously typed each word in (the words that spelled out ‘two blue eyes’) and after pressing enter one last time, dots appeared on the screen and he stepped back towards Harold.

There was a click and the lettering became green. ‘PASSWORD ACCEPTED. AWAKENING SUBJECT.’ The screen said to the joy of the boys who felt victorious at the accomplishment.

A blast of hair blew into the woman and made her clothes ripple before the door swung open. Whatever kept her suspended mid air vanished and made her collapse into a crumble upon the floor.

“Quickly, let’s get her out!” Harold rushed to her aid and with the help of George, they got the woman out as fast as they could. She was heavy, but they managed to get her out with much care.

“We did it!” George cried out when they rested the woman on the floor.

“We did!” Harold exclaimed as the woman began to stir. “We–she’s waking up!” He freaked out as the woman’s eyelids began to flutter open, revealing a striking set of the bluest eyes that the two had ever seen.

“Hey, are you ok?” Harold knelt beside the woman who was struggling with wakening up.

“Where... am...” She voice was weak from lack of use as she tried to look at the two. “Ben.” Her voice became urgent. “Where... where’s Ben... where....?” She pleaded.

“Hey guys, what’s taking so long?!” A cheerful voice from down a hallway asked.

The woman could see that the boys panicked a little at the sound of the voice. “Do you think we should–?” Harold asked.

“As long as we don’t take the sphere out of him.” George turned to the woman. “Hey it’s ok, we’ll get you out of here!” He promised her.

“No...” The woman felt sleep coming over her. “Ben..jamin... they still have...”

The woman heard someone charging down the hallway and she couldn’t get her eyes to open when Harold called out. “We need you to help carry someone!”

The woman then slipped in and out of consciousness as she thought she heard a somewhat familiar voice talking to the boys. The last thing she recalled before falling back to sleep was someone–a man, she guessed–picking her up and gently cradling her in his arms. She was close enough to fell his heart beat and the last thing she could make out when she opened her eyes a crack was something blue on his chest before the darkness took over again.

The woman was fine for now and would soon wake up. Unfortunately for her and the boys, her rescuers did something they probably shouldn’t have done–awoken the test subject that Krupp had wanted to awaken for a very long time.

Just not while the addiction to test was still a part of him.

-The itch is also known as the ‘urge to test’ in Portal 2. I combined what I knew of both games for this one. I don’t intend on making a full on fan fic (plus I have some things that need to be finished, like the Corpse Bride AU). But it would be a good AU to revisit. Also, now you know what the password is. :)

#captain underpants #cu portal au #george beard #harold hutchins #mr. krupp #principal krupp #edith the lunch lady #egg casserole #kruppxedith

[writesandramblings]

The Captain’s Secret - p.53

“In for a Penny”

A/N: I apologize for this blatantly ridiculous chapter, which is fairly long. I especially apologize for Groves' existence. He prides himself on being ridiculous. But there's a good reason he's along for the ride. We'll need him later.

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 52 - The Danger Within 54 - Finger on the Trigger >>

Lorca eventually sent Saru off to update Landry on the status of the investigation and remained in Lalana's room, bouncing ideas off her.

"Do you think they want us to realize something about the spore drive?" he wondered aloud. Lalana's rooms were warm enough that he had taken off his uniform tunic, shoes, and socks. The t-shirt underneath was regulation black, as always.

"Perhaps the point is the development of the 'anti-spore' you mentioned. Certainly the crew would not be undertaking that if we were not in null time." Lalana was sitting on the hammock directly behind the couch. This put her out of eyesight unless he tilted his head back, which he did now.

"So, somebody freezes time to force us to develop an anti-spore? How could they even know we'd try that?"

"Emellia said her husband's work was decades if not centuries away from practical application at the level displayed by the shadow-man." This was Lalana's term for Lorca's saboteur. She still rejected the idea of it being outright sabotage. "Perhaps he is from the future, so he knew what we would do."

Lorca tilted his head back down. "You're talking about creating a time loop. It's chicken and the egg. How could the shadow-man have known the outcome of null time before he caused it?"

"Because he's from the future."

Lorca sighed. The logic was fully circular, but there was something to it. Either they were being visited by a time-traveling saboteur, or someone was running around the galaxy with a vast temporal power and had chosen to employ it on Discovery for unknown reasons.

"Do you know, your grey hairs are showing."

"What?" Lorca sat up, alarmed, and self-consciously touched the side of his head where the grey tended to appear. "They are not. I don't have grey hairs."

She clicked her tongue at him. "Of course you don't, Gabriel, not yet, but if we do not get out of this situation soon, others will start to notice when eventually you run out of hair dye. I do not think you have fully taken this into consideration."

Lorca covered his face and groaned. She knew him too well, she really did, and she was having a good laugh at his expense right now.

Her tail flicked down and brushed the top of his head. He peered out from his hand and wrinkled his nose at the motion. She said, "If you bring me the dye, I will fix it for you with such precision you will not run out for many months."

He tilted his head back again and looked up at her. "Appreciated, but it's not needed because we're getting out of here soon, so I can use as much as I damn well please."

"I believe that you believe that," said Lalana. A perfect non-statement. It wasn't even clear if she was referring to his belief they would escape soon, or the idea that he had no need to conserve the tools of his own vanity. Probably it was both.

"I don't mind a few grey hairs," he said pointedly.

"Yes, you do," she said. "As usual, you protest hardest at the truth."

"Right, well, to get back to the topic at hand, what do you think the shadow-man wants us to do?"

"Perhaps it is not us. It could be anyone on the ship."

"Be honest. You think you're so special it must be you," he said in jest.

Lalana chose to take the statement at face value. "I am not special. I am background radiation. That is the opposite of special. The one who is special is you."

"You think I'm the key?" It was hard not to be swayed by the flattery, but Lorca suspected if any single person was the key to this, it was Mischkelovitz. She had the prior connection to the chronitons and the technology in play. He sat up, said in mock seriousness, "Shadow-man! Let us out! That's an order from your captain!"

Nothing happened except Lalana clicked her tongue.

"Not me," concluded Lorca, settling back. "We can also rule out making Mischkelovitz cry, because if that was the secret, we'd have been out of here five times over by now." He started laughing. Lalana clicked her tongue and swatted his head lightly with her tail.

"That was mean, Gabriel!" managed Lalana, but her tongue kept clicking.

"It doesn't make it wrong!" He ended his laugh with a yawn. "It's getting late."

"You can stay here if you like and sleep on the couch."

"Your quarters are a little too warm for my taste." This was an understatement. The temperature could be described as tropical, even if the humidity was slightly lacking.

"Then take off more clothes." He blinked in disbelief. Lalana's tongue started clicking again. She was joking with him, of course. "Go on, then. Maybe Ellen will still be up." It was just after midnight, so probably not, but a lot of crew schedules were getting disrupted absent the meaningful passage of time. Forcing people to live by the ship's clock only went so far when more than half the crew was on standby with nothing really to do besides manual busywork that served only to pass the time.

Lorca sighed and pulled on his socks and shoes. A thought occurred to him. "What if it were Milosz Mischkelovitz, come back from beyond the grave?"

"How would that even work?"

"Honestly? I don't know." The spores clearly had some temporal properties, so maybe a time ghost wasn't completely out of the question.

”I think that would be sad," said Lalana.

"And if it were me, back from the dead to haunt you?"

"What is dead is dead."

Another non-statement. Lorca sighed again and went to the door. "Goodnight, Lalana."

"May your sleep be unencumbered," she said.

"And tomorrow be a brighter day," he finished. Everything on the ship was beginning to feel so predictable. He preemptively closed his eyes as he hit the door controls, expecting to find the lab lights on full.

The lights were dim and the lab was empty. Mischkelovitz seemed to have already gone to bed. Lorca made his way out, slipping his tunic back on in the outer chamber as he waited for the doors to cycle.

O'Malley was standing just outside, apparently waiting for him. "Captain," said the colonel. "A word?" Allan was on shift as well, looking pointedly forward and ignoring them both in the manner a true security professional.

"It's late, colonel," said Lorca.

"I am aware, captain. But as you're here..."

Lorca yawned again. "You have three minutes."

O'Malley motioned for them to move to the next section of corridor and closed the containment doors on both sides for privacy, alarming Lorca. O'Malley was armed with a phaser rifle. Lorca was armed with wit and good looks. In a fight, the phaser rifle seemed to have the advantage. O'Malley said, "Right. What exactly are your intentions regarding Emellia? Are you going to take her off the ship?"

"Not if I don't have to," managed Lorca, yawning again.

"Here's the thing, captain. I think, and maybe it's a bit mad, but she seems happier here than she's been anywhere else since Milosz died. I know Saru has concerns, he's mentioned as much to John, and John certainly has strong feelings, but I'd appreciate it if you'd continue to give her a chance. I realize she's... herself..."

That was one word for it.

"But she really is brilliant, and if anyone can crack this cloak detection problem under these circumstances, it's her."

"You're assuming we get out of null time in one piece," pointed out Lorca.

"Oh, absolutely. Of that I have no doubt. Too many bright minds on this ship for us to fail. So then, I'll have your word, captain? You won't remove Emellia from Discovery?"

Lorca did not answer immediately. There was really no telling what the future might hold and any promise on the subject was potentially a lie. "You have my word."

O'Malley extended a hand. They shook on it.

"What does it matter to you what happens to Mischka?" asked Lorca.

"You might say our fates are tied. Goodnight, captain." O'Malley opened the doors and returned to his post.

Lorca watched O'Malley go. The man was a question mark in a lot of ways. Internal security personnel files were notoriously sparse on detail, and O'Malley's was no exception. Lorca knew less about him on paper than almost anyone on the ship. He could tell O'Malley and Mischkelovitz had history, and O'Malley's words seemed to imply it went back to some point before the Battle of the Binaries, when Milosz had been alive. Was O'Malley responsible for taking away Milosz's work on temporal mechanics and was now guarding the widow out of a guilty conscience?

It was too late to figure it out now. Lorca resumed his trek towards bed.

Based on the single frame, they determined the shadow-man to be between five-foot-eight and five-eleven. This range included most of the male population of Discovery, including Lorca, and several of the women, though the silhouette felt more instinctively male. It conclusively ruled out O'Malley, who was too short unless he had taken to wearing stilettos, and Larsson, who was too tall. Not that Lorca had ever seriously entertained the idea of the Swede of all people being involved in some sort of temporal shenanigans. Larsson was rather like a cinder block. Even time could not move him.

Saru, Landry, and Mischkelovitz were also excluded. Again, not real candidates. That still left Groves as an option, and as ridiculous as it sounded, the idea of Milosz's ghost, because Lorca had no idea how tall the deceased scientist had been. Not that Lorca seriously thought it was a ghost. Perhaps Milosz had discovered some way to encode himself into a temporal plane and created a time remnant as part of his research. At this point, nothing was really off the table.

Except for fungicide. "We cannot use fungicide," said Stamets. They were at another meeting of the senior science staff in astrometrics and Kumar had come up with the idea. "For starters, the spores are trapped in time, so they probably won't even react to an external force of that nature. Then there's the issue that fungicide doesn't just negate spores, it causes a reaction, and adding energy to the system is the reason we can't use a tachyon beam. Right?"

Mischkelovitz nodded her head once.

"How is fungicide different from an anti-spore?" asked Groves.

Egorova explained. "In this instance, an anti-spore isn't really a spore so much as it is a set of particles that possess compatible characteristics to the mycelial particles. When they interact, they re-bond the mycelial particles into a non-mycelial configuration. Theoretically." The word was not intended as a slight against Stamets' lack of progress, but Stamets glowered all the same.

Groves squinted. "What about an anti-chroniton? Negate the temporal particles instead of the mycelial ones."

"If we had the capability to measure the temporal particles, I'd be all for it," said Egorova, "but we don't."

"And we don't have the technology to generate exotic temporal particles," said Saru.

Egorova had some new ideas of her own. "I've been thinking that we might be able to disrupt the field by transporting particles. It would take a very particular beam configuration, but it might work. There also may be a way to draw energy from the system, which would hasten the time it takes the mycelial field to reach the point of collapse."

"That, I like," said Stamets.

"It's interesting, actually," said Egorova, a clear sign she was heading into an aside. "The temporal particles would have naturally detached by now except the mycelial spores provide an excellent power source. Honestly, I'm beginning to really appreciate your research, Paul."

"Thank you!" said Stamets, completely forgiving her for the "theoretical" remark earlier. "It's nice to be recognized." He tilted his head sharply, shamelessly directing this dig at Lorca.

"Kumar, update me on the rationing and power consumption," said Lorca before the conversation devolved into more flattery of Paul Stamets.

After the meeting's end, Lorca held Groves back, waving Mischkelovitz out.

"If this is about me being in these meetings," began Groves as the door closed.

"It's not." Lorca found Groves a useful inclusion, even if he mostly served as a sounding board for the scientists. "I'd like to invite you to dine with me tonight."

"I'll let Mischka—"

"No. Just you."

Groves squinted at Lorca. "Are you hitting on me?"

Lorca rolled his eyes. He regretted this already. "No. Nineteen hundred hours. Dismissed."

Groves walked out looking dazed. Lorca heard Mischkelovitz ask him what was discussed but did not hear the reply. Culber was waiting to enter. "Could I speak with you a minute, captain?"

Lorca waved his hand in assent.

Culber was growing concerned about the crew's mental state. "People are getting stir-crazy, captain, and it's only been a week. From what Paul tells me, we could be stuck in here for months."

"We'll get out of here before then," said Lorca.

"I wish I had your confidence. As it is, I think we need to seriously consider what the crew is doing while they're off-duty."

Lorca raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Are we running out of contraceptives, doctor? Personally, I'm not a huge fan of abstinence." He chuckled.

Culber did not find it funny. "Captain."

"Well, I hear board games are all the rage," said Lorca. The classic pastime was enjoying a sudden recurrence as an allowed recreational activity that consumed no active power beyond the initial fabrication of parts.

"The crew can't play board games for weeks on end."

"What would you have me do, doctor?" asked Lorca. "If we try to bring more systems online, then you'd better hope I'm right about us getting out of here." As it was, Lorca was doing everything possible to maintain a sense of discipline and order in a situation where there seemed to be no immediate point. He was personally overseeing the most trivial of assignments to ensure compliance and maintaining as strict a schedule as he could for everyone to remind them this was a military ship with a highly-trained crew. For the most part, it seemed to be working, but the majority of the crew were on shorter shifts out of necessity. There was barely enough work available for everyone to feel they were contributing in any meaningful way.

Really, the person he was most failing with the schedule was himself, because he'd restlessly stayed up late too many nights in a row at this point, and he was starting to feel it. He was puffy-eyed and short-tempered.

"We should organize activities," said Culber.

"Like a pleasure cruise?" said Lorca distastefully. He had made every attempt to avoid having his commands devolve into such frivolity. Now fate had decided to make him eat his words.

"If that's what you want to call it. We keep people active, engaged, and happy."

Lorca exhaled heavily. "Fine. Congratulations, doctor, you just nominated yourself for the job of cruise director."

"I'll have a full list of suggested activities for you tomorrow."

"Don't bother. Just do whatever the hell you want, so long as it doesn't consume any power."

"Thank you." Culber started to leave, then hesitated. "Captain, I can see this is taking a toll on you. I'm here to talk if you need to."

Lorca closed his eyes and touched a hand to his forehead. "Thank you, but no," he said.

"You're a part of this crew," said Culber.

"Dismissed, doctor."

After Culber was gone, Lorca learned on the base of the astrometrics console and sighed heavily. Culber was right, unfortunately. This was taking a toll. He had never been so stuck in his life. The idea they were getting out of here soon was the only thing keeping him going. He couldn't even turn on the starmap and mess with it as a distraction like he usually did. It would be a waste of power.

How desperately he missed the stars.

Groves arrived ten minutes late. "Sorry, I didn't know if I was coming," was his excuse.

"You were ordered to come," said Lorca.

"That was an order?"

"Anything a captain says to you is an order."

"I just don't see it," said Groves, with a shrug. "This is why I never joined Starfleet."

"You're in Starfleet now."

The captain's mess was a very nice room, even with the lower lighting Lorca preferred. The colors were silvery and the table could seat six comfortably and eight without trouble. There was none of the sentimentality and warmth that had been Georgiou's trademark in her dining room. No wood, only metal, and recessed lighting with a blue hue. There were curved lines in the surface of the table that felt halfway between abstract and geometric and provided a visual point of interest. The only actual decoration was a schematic of the Buran on the best-lit wall of the room. Groves looked at it curiously.

"That's the Buran. Your ship that was destroyed," Groves noted.

"To serve as a reminder," said Lorca. He offered Groves a glass of wine.

Groves waved his hand. "Just water, thank you."

They sat down. Groves whistled when he took the cover off the plate. "We're on food rationing and you're..."

"Eating the perishables," said Lorca, smirking.

"I'm pretty sure steak keeps a long time in cryo," said Groves. "Not that I'm complaining." He smiled at the plate and picked up the fork and knife. "So what am I doing here, other than keeping you company?"

"I was hoping for the chance to pick your brain."

"Oh? What on?" Groves expertly sliced into his steak. Not the type to wait to get to the meat of things, it seemed.

"Your colleagues."

Groves froze with the fork halfway to his mouth. He took the bite and chewed a little too thoroughly before swallowing and reaching for his water. "And you thought you'd ask me instead of them?" He took a long draught of water for good measure.

Lorca was disappointed to see Groves so quickly rattled. He covered his annoyance with a liberal dose of charm. "Yes, well, aside from the news coverage, I found Dr. Mischkelovitz's file to be a little bare for a member of Starfleet, and I'm curious about the good doctor. You seem to know her well."

Groves set his water down. "I suppose."

Groves had clearly sussed out that this dinner was in fact an excuse for an informal interrogation, and, in typical lawyer fashion, he was offering short, spare answers. Though this was Lorca's intention, he knew he was unlikely to get far with Groves in this state of mind. "No need to be defensive, counselor, I'm just looking for some insights. I know Saru's spoken to you about Mischkelovitz continuing aboard Discovery once we're out of this little predicament."

"Little predicament" was not the words Groves would have used. "He said you intended to keep her on."

"Unless there's reason not to. Or is this in violation of client confidentiality?"

"Probably," said Groves. "It's a tricky line."

Contented as a cat, Lorca said, "A line you seem to have crossed already."

Groves frowned at Lorca and picked up the water again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Groves. You sleep with all your clients or just the ones with dead husbands?"

Groves choked on his water and started coughing. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he said when he was recovered enough to speak. "I'm sorry, what!?"

"Did you think I didn't know?" asked Lorca, maintaining an impressive level of calm. "Emellia was very open about sharing your bed."

Something changed on Groves' face. His eyes went wide and his mouth contorted into a smile that threatened to turn into a laugh. "I'm sorry," he said, breathless and seemingly ecstatic, "say that again?"

"I'm aware that you've been sleeping with Dr. Mischkelovitz," said Lorca, managing admirable restraint in light of Groves' rising hysteria.

Groves began to laugh. Pure, unbridled, hysterical laughter. It was higher-pitched than Lorca would have expected. "Oh my god!" he cackled. "I know I said I wasn't ethical, captain, but even I have to draw the line somewhere!" He doubled over, slapping the table with his hand. "This is—this is perfect! Computer, computer. Where's O'Malley?"

"Colonel O'Malley is in corridor 9-B." This was the corridor outside Lab 26.

"Computer! Groves to O'Malley!"

Lorca stared in complete shock as Groves violated every rule of order and the most basic manners by calling O'Malley in the middle of dinner.

"O'Malley," came the reply.

"Mac! Mac! You'll never believe what the captain just said! Okay, okay. He just suggested I was sleeping... with Mells!" Groves started laughing again.

"Right, well, that's amusing and all," said O'Malley, entirely unamused, "but I still don't care. Wait. Aren’t you with the captain right now?"

"I can't even describe his face to you. He looks so angry!" reported Groves, delighted.

It was true. Lorca was positively incensed, napkin gripped in his hand and jaw tensed with anger. His eyes were filled with a dark foreboding.

"John! Knock it off! O'Malley out."

Groves continued laughing hysterically. "I'm so sorry, captain! I just, I just... It's not that I wouldn't sleep with a client, I've done that plenty of times, but you think I'd sleep with my own sister!?" He laughed again.

The revelation washed away much of the anger as Lorca put the pieces together. A mildly amused surprise rose in its place. "She's your sister?" He would never have guessed it. Not only was there no information in either of their files that indicated as much—they didn't have a shared parent listed and they were born on different planets—but they looked nothing alike. Groves was tall, brown-eyed, with medium brown hair. Mischkelovitz was short, blue-eyed, and had dark brown hair. Even their skin tones weren't very similar. There was some resemblance in the nose, and the matter of their secret little language.

"Half-sister, but, that doesn't mean it's half-okay to sleep with her. I mean, come on! But, uh, don't tell anyone she's my sister, okay? It's not exactly public knowledge, and I'd like to keep it that way. For appearance's sake."

"You appeared to be sleeping with her," Lorca pointed out.

"Don't feel bad, captain. You're not the first person to think we were. It just gets funnier every time!" Groves chuckled. He really seemed to enjoy having one-upped Lorca, even if it was in a completely useless context.

Lorca decided to skip to another line of inquiry. "Then you can tell me about her husband?"

Groves froze. "Mischka? What about him?"

There was no reason to waste any more time on Groves than was necessary. Lorca sat back and crossed his arms. "How tall was Milosz Mischkelovitz?"

"Five foot?" said Groves, sounding uncertain.

"Five foot what?"

"No, just five feet. Maybe four-eleven, if I'm being honest? What the hell does it matter. He's dead." Groves was entirely flippant about the death of his brother-in-law.

There went the time remnant ghost theory. Lorca squinted at Groves, wondering what it took to shake him. "Then, Emellia and O’Malley," Lorca suggested. There was an almost lyrical cadence to the combination of names. Given the rather tense relationship between Groves and O'Malley, Lorca was hoping the statement would break Groves' proverbial stride.

It did not. "Wow, captain, you are bad at this," said Groves. He really had no sense of decorum, or even apparently any instinct for self-preservation. "Like, tremendously. I'll put you out of your misery, because Mac does not find this as funny as I do. So, Melly's mum left Mac's dad and had an affair with my dad. Ergo, Emellia. You follow?"

Lorca followed completely. It was Groves who was failing to understand the situation. "You’re dismissed,” said Lorca.

"I'm not your enemy, captain. I left a very comfortable—not to mention safe—position to come to a warzone, of all places, just to repay a debt I owe a dead man."

"Dismissed," repeated Lorca, the word a hiss through his teeth. "If you prefer to go to the brig, that can be arranged."

Groves did not look intimidated in the slightest. "On what charges?"

Leave it to a lawyer to think there was due process involved. Lorca smiled. "This is my ship, Groves. What I say, goes." Not technically true, but a blanket charge of insubordination would suffice under the circumstances.

At last, Groves seemed to grasp the balance of power. He grabbed his plate, went, "Thanks for dinner, captain, it's been weird," and fled with his prize.

Lorca sat unmoving for several seconds after Groves was gone. Refusing to be put off his meal by the antics of an apparent madman, he stabbed at the steak and chewed it, glowering across the empty room at an invisible point in the distance. This week just kept getting worse and worse.

Groves was definitely not ruled out as the saboteur. If anything, he had just jumped to the top of the list.

Over the course of the week, Culber organized jogging, meditation, and debate activities. It helped, but not completely. If this went on for much longer, what other activities would the ship end up with? Cooking class? Choir? Origami? They could fold and unfold the same pieces of paper endlessly as they waited for the end of time.

Someone used their fabrication ration to make a one-thousand-piece puzzle that had taken over a whole table in the mess hall. Lorca tried to decide if he should come down upon the crew like the unholy hammer of god or let them continue using the extra hours of free time most of them now had however they saw fit. "Let them be, it's harmless," was Lalana's advice. "Humans are not as good in captivity as lului. They do not find watching walls an engaging activity."

"You like staring at the walls?" asked Lorca, genuinely horrified at the prospect.

"Where you see a wall, I see many things," said Lalana. "There are better things to look at, yes, but a wall will do when there is nothing else."

Meanwhile, Stamets continued to make slow progress no matter how many impossible deadlines Lorca saddled him with. "I can't make this go faster than it's going," he said miserably. Lorca noted the cultivation bay was beginning to look like a proper forest and suspected Stamets was not working hard enough. Examination of the security footage revealed that Prototaxites stellaviatori grew quite quickly on its own in the right conditions.

Stamets really was doing his very best to get them out of null time and not be distracted by his grow room. He just wasn’t having much success.

In the security footage, Groves turned out to be in the mess hall at the time of the sabotage. There were no phantom smudges to indicate he had anything to do with it or any sign he possessed any sort of device. Nothing turned up in the search of his quarters, either. Lorca decided to keep an eye on him anyway.

Groves was a spectacularly uninteresting man to watch. He spent most of his time in Lab 26, off to the side, totally uninvolved. When he wasn't there, he was in the mess eating, in his quarters sleeping, or shooting hoops in a storage bay with the basketball he'd used his allotted fabrication ration to make. Occasionally he would meet up with Egorova in her quarters. No secret what was happening there, though it was apparently a recent development stemming from their meeting during the current crisis.

It would have been a complete wash except watching Groves gave Lorca the chance to observe Mischkelovitz firsthand and see exactly what had so concerned Saru.

Mischkelovitz never sat still, which Lorca could appreciate. Up, down, left, right, manic to panicked, she was a walking disaster. She was constantly bouncing between half a dozen different things and talked to herself. Sometimes she seemed to be talking to her dead husband. Sometimes she just made funny noises, seemingly because she found it enjoyable. There was never any telling what she was going to do from one moment to the next.

In a temporal bubble where nothing seemed to change, having something so utterly unpredictable was an unexpected delight. It was funny, watching her work. Lorca left the feed up and running as a sort of petri dish of human instability for his own entertainment.

Lalana appeared on the feed, too. She seemed to enjoy watching Mischkelovitz as much as Lorca did. They would listen to music and talk while Groves sat doing seemingly nothing in the corner, Lalana providing her usual brand of pithy fortune cookie insights. Mischkelovitz treated these as mini-challenges to unravel.

On the subject of null time, Lalana said, "A problem is like a cloud. You cannot see the shape of it when you are standing inside it."

"But the cloud is the same shape as the ship," said Mischkelovitz, describing the spore field they were trapped in.

"Is it?"

Mischkelovitz thought about that. Then she exclaimed, "No! It isn't!" This sent her off along some sort of research tangent involving mapping the precise shape of the mycelial field with particle-level precision.

Lorca also observed a marked difference in the way Groves and O'Malley interacted with Mischkelovitz. Groves sat in constant vigilance but ignored her unless specifically directing her to do things like eat, wash, or calm down. O'Malley kept his distance and spent most of his time on guard duty outside the lab, but absolutely doted on Mischkelovitz when they were together and never seemed to do more than faintly suggest she ought maybe to go to sleep if she felt like it. Neither method, thought Lorca, was wholly effective.

The most interesting things were what happened when Mischkelovitz was totally alone. In those moments, she was entirely unencumbered by the need to be anything other than what she was. It was a rare thing to be able to observe a person with such intimacy, to see the person they truly were absent all society.

He should have turned off the feed and allowed her the privacy she thought she had, but there was something beautiful in the brokenness.

Pacing was everything. As Lorca's footsteps echoed down the corridors and sweat dripped down the side of his face, the universe was reduced to the sound of his own breath in his ears and the sensation of his feet striking the ground.

He passed a small group of joggers going the other way. They moved aside and stood at attention. He did not acknowledge them; to do so would have broken his pace. When he was past, the group turned around to run in the same direction. He was the captain. His direction was their direction, even if their little social club was not equal to the brutal pace he set for himself.

The other joggers meant it was 0700. Lorca came to a halt near the turbolift, putting a hand out against the wall and breathing heavily from the exertion. He wiped a hand across his forehead and it came away sopping wet. It had been a good run.

"Hey, Captain."

Lorca did not have to look up to recognize the voice and jocular informality belonged to Groves. He was holding his basketball and dressed accordingly. He bounced the basketball towards Lorca and Lorca caught it on sheer instinct.

"How about a little one-on-one?"

Lorca was a sweaty mess, clearly on his way to a shower, whereas Groves was newly-woken and fresh as a daisy. Lorca snapped the ball back to Groves with a glare.

"Nevermind, then," said Groves nonchalantly, and continued on.

Lorca stood a moment, frowning faintly in thought.

He made a quick pit stop in his study before heading to the storage bay where Groves had set up a makeshift basketball hoop using some spare cables and magnets. Groves was shooting three-pointers with decent accuracy and seemed pleasantly surprised to see the captain. Lorca held his hands out for the ball. Groves tossed it over.

Lorca reached behind his back, took the Reptilian blade he had stashed in the band of his running shorts, and stabbed the basketball. Groves looked momentarily pensive. Lorca dropped the deflated carcass of the ball onto the floor and walked away.

"Would you prefer squash!?" Groves shouted after him, laughing.

Part 54

#Star Trek Discovery #fanfic #prequel #fanfiction #basketball #Gabriel Lorca #Captain Lorca #Paul Stamets #Hugh Culber