#he did nothing because he was a child not equipped to deal with those politics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goblinkingdomsblog · 3 years

Note

Bts as mafia series ask

What will they do after kidnapping agent yn who is not willing to give info

What will they do after kidnapping agent y/n who is not willing to give information

Members: all BTS.

Genre: mafia!AU, reaction.

Premise: you are a police agent who was captured by one of the most influential members of the criminal organization you have been investigating for weeks. He's trying to get information out of you through interrogation, but you're not going to give in, no matter what. So he needs to think of a new plan.

TW: a little bit of (V) = Violence, but more of (S) = Safe for reading and (Sg) = Suggestive.

Mafia Series Masterlist

Mafia Series Plot

I don't know if this is exactly how you imagined your request, but I hope you enjoy it. ;)

"Precious information is always worth it."

Namjoon:

You were tied to the chair for a long time, until he came and released you. You immediately thought about the easiest escape route, but the abandoned, damp pavilion in which you were, behind huge boilers, seemed to have no end.

He smiled calmly, standing a few feet in front of you with his arms crossed.

- Agent Y/N. What an honor. - his voice was sympathetic, lulled by a hoarse and low tone - I've been looking for you for a long time. I heard you're trying to get me in trouble.

You laughed bitterly, spitting on the floor to get rid of the taste of the gag that had been in your mouth just minutes before.

- I feel really sorry that I didn't cause more problems, then.

Surprisingly, he laughed back, as if he were in the presence of a rebellious child who he needed to educate.

- You didn't answer the questions my subordinates asked you, did you?

- I will never reveal anything. You can send those dumbasses back and make them punch me more. - you touched your aching jaw with your free hands, without looking away from the one who you knew were the leader of the Organization - I can deal with them easily.

With his arms crossed, he rubbed his expensive shiny shoe on the floor, lifting his index finger.

- Oh, no, no. That was my mistake, caused by a wrong choice of members. Let's say they are not exactly the smartest members of our... company. I'm sorry about that. - he laughed quietly, adjusting his glasses over his nose with the casualness of someone who was shopping at the supermarket.

- So what are you going to do, you bastard? - you grunted, trying to distract him just to have time to think of a good way to get out of there.

He laughed again, a short, somewhat dangerous laugh.

- Courageous. - he murmured, with a sharp gleam in his dark eyes. He stared at you for a long moment before proceeding - Well, violence is almost never the best option. It is always better to treat the guests with whom you want to have a conversation with calm and courtesy. And, of course, without haste.

Feeling a cold shiver down your spine, you stayed still.

- I have all the time in the world, my dear. I can wait until you're ready to start. - with a singing smile that exposed two deep dimples, which now seemed sharply malignant, he turned to the darkness - Ah, and don't even think about running away. If this place already seems big to you, know that it is bigger than you think. And there are some rather interesting obstacles around here.

With one last look over his shoulder, the faint moonlight that came in through the windows reflecting off the lenses of his glasses and preventing you from seeing his eyes, he clicked his tongue.

- But, if you insist on trying to escape... - he pronounced, as if he considered the whole situation a great pleasure, and not a threat - I wish you good luck.

Seokjin:

You were in a small house, surrounded by at least 4 tables full of electronic equipment, computer parts, baubles and dust.

The man seated in front of you, with his chin in one hand, kept his eyebrows raised. By moving your hands tied behind your back, you tried to free yourself from the wheelchair in which you were trapped.

- Stay still. - he murmured, harshly. His expression was divided between apprehension and irritation.

- I am still. It is kind of difficult to make any movement while you are tied to a chair.

Without paying any attention to you, he rolled his eyes.

- I don't know why they thought of me as the right person to fulfill this mission. As if I had nothing more important to do. - his face, beautiful as a carved brilliant, was extremely expressive - And now, to make things worse, you still don't want to collaborate with the interrogation!

You smirked, shaking your head in the middle of the room with brown walls and orange lamps.

- I'm sorry for being a stone in your path. I bet if you let me go, you would be relieved. - your tone was acidic.

Bitting his lower lip, he snapped his fingers. With an impulse from the floor, he slid the wheelchair in which he was sitting to one of the tables, turning on one of the computers.

- Actually, I have a better idea. - he said, his plump lips curving into a smile as his fingers typed quickly, as if he were thinking of a joke that only he understood.

After a few quiet seconds, in which the only noises in the house came from the computer, he turned towards you and rotated the computer screen to your direction, so that you could view it entirely.

- I think you will be the one relieved when you collaborate with my questions. - he murmured, pointing the image on the monitor: the security cameras on the street in front of your family's house, recording everything in real time. It was even possible to spot your mother through the window - It's not that hard to find out certain things on social media, you know? I would recommend you to be more careful from now on.

Your smile died on your face, replaced by an expression of fear.

Yoongi:

The stone basement under the busy bar was a much darker place than it had seemed at first. The endless noise of parties was able to hide the most diverse noises.

The man standing at the door, talking to two others who remained in the shade, seemed completely calm. Which was the total opposite of how you felt.

Trying to shake your body to get rid of the rope wrapped around your entire torso, you groaned. You knew that dozens of bruises would form on your arms because of the effort, but you couldn't stop trying.

Dismissing the two henchmen, the man near the door turned in your direction. Approaching with his hands in his pockets, he stopped a few inches away, bending to reach the height where you were trapped.

- As you didn't want to answer when I asked patiently, I decided to change my approach. - with a slow, almost lazy, gummy smile, he took his hands out of his pockets, revealing a pile of pills.

Knowing what "industry" he was in, you were sure those pills were drugs. Although you were afraid of what might happen, you would never let it show.

- What are you going to do? Forcing me to swallow and kill myself from an overdose? - you almost spat, bending forward in an attempt to hit him with your head.

He laughed, and his laugh was a little choked. He smelled of cigarettes, both in his baggy clothes and on his breath.

- Don't be so hasty. I already said that I am very patient, so I would never force you to take one of them. - he shook the pills in his closed fist, letting them make a noise - I'll let you choose one of them.

Grunting, you turned your head.

- The choice is entirely yours. You may take a sweetie pill, which just makes you more relaxed to answer my questions... - his expression went from amusement to a somber seriousness, while he averted his eyes downwards - or you may take a poisoned one that will kill you. Sadly you don't have the option of not taking any pill.

Smiling again, exposing his gums in a way that made his expression frighteningly youthful, he shrugged.

- I hope you have a good eye for analyzing pills. Or at least a good tolerance.

Hoseok:

He was smiling in your direction for good 3 minutes now. Sitting upright, his knees 5 centimeters away from yours (that were tied to each other), he looked like an experienced dealer wanting to convince you to buy something.

You were already so tired that you felt almost ready to "buy it".

- If you tell me some very simple details of the investigation, I promise you will be released without any injuries. - his face was soft and friendly, and he spoke with such conviction that it was easy to accept.

You were sweaty due to the fact that you had been struggling in that chair for hours on end, trying to break free. That damn apartment seemed to be in the end of the world, because no one on the floors above or below made a sound.

It was time to try something different, to put pride aside. You had full faith in your ability to act.

- Do you... really promise? - you asked, in a weak voice and with an innocent expression, which made apparent the tiredness you were feeling (on purpose, of course).

He broke into a big smile, crowned by his shiny, aligned teeth. He looked cheerful as a child who had just won a candy.

- Of course, my dear. - he replied, lightly touching your hand tied on the arm of the chair. His fingers were warm and soft.

You smiled back "timidly". You would lie masterfully, until you convinced that man to let you go. You knew you were able to do that, because it was a necessity.

- Then... I will collaborate.

Caressing your hand briefly, just before letting go and looking you in the eye, his smile lessened a little.

- Just know that liars are not treated so politely. - he murmured, in a practically humming way - And I always know when someone is trying to deceive me, my sweet. Always.

Suddenly, the touch of his fingers no longer seemed as gentle as before.

Jimin:

The man's eyes seemed to burn in his face, just as the hate burned inside you. He was lying beside a round table, stripped, staring at you through half-closed lids.

- This is kind of kinky, don't you agree? - he asked, breaking the silence, his legs spread in a careless pose as he watched you.

You wanted to scream. You pulled your arms out, listening to the clink of the metal rings and then feeling the physical immobility. Being chained to a cement wall by your wrists and ankles, standing for hours, was far from any pleasurable idea. That was a fucking torment.

- Fuck you, you crazy bastard! - you grunted, your voice hoarse in your scratched throat - If I ever have the opportunity, I swear I'll kill you!

He didn't smile, but something in the curve of his eyes exposed the fact that he was enjoying the scene. In a leap, he rose from his chair, an evil idea igniting in his mind.

- What if that opportunity reveals itself now? Could you kill me? - he purred, approaching cautiously. You didn't know if he was teasing or threatening you, as his body movements were unreadable.

- Chained here? How fair is this clash? It is obvious that you will win. - you spoke through, your head hanging forward. You were an accomplished fighter in the police, but no one with their arms and legs trapped would be able to win a hand-to-hand fight.

- Of course I'm going unchain you. I'll even give you some time to warm up. I like fairness in this type of game. - the way he spoke, with pleasure, showed an insatiable desire for combat. You wanted to punch him.

- How can I be sure that you will not cheat? You are a fucking mafious.

This time, he laughed sharply, putting his hands on his stomach.

- I promise you that our fight will be fair, based only on the skills of each one. Especially because, if I win, my only prize will be to chain you back on this wall right here. - he got close enough to hold the sides of your waist with his hands, more firmly than expected. You forced yourself not to shudder - And while I really appreciate the sight, it is nothing that I haven't already seen.

You thought about attacking him right there, but it was better to wait a little more. Using his hands on your waist as a support, he started to unchain you.

Taehyung:

The boy was standing, his back against one of the only walls of the ruined building. The empty terrain you were on was extensive and the wind was blowing strong, turning all that vastness into a damn desert of grassy ice.

You were standing a few feet away, with nothing to hinder your movements. Still, you couldn't move, as you knew he had confiscated your loaded gun and was now keeping it in his pants pocket, ready in case any attempt was made to escape. You didn't want the same thing that happened to your two coworkers, now two bodies lying on the ground in the woods, to happen to you.

- Will you tell or not? - the man asked, boredom evident on his face. His voice was low, peaceful as a lullaby.

- I won't. - you said, shivering from the wind and nervousness. Nothing mattered now, not even your life: you had vowed to keep the investigation a secret, and that's what you would do. You would die with honor, just like the others.

Arching one of his thick eyebrows, he remained still. His mouth went up in one corner, in a angled smile.

- Ah, too bad.

- Shoot fast, can you? - you shouted back, extremely tired of it. You wanted it to end fast.

- I will not shoot you. You are useful, unlike your unintelligent colleagues who tried to attack me.

You clenched your teeth, the sound of the wind almost deafening your ears.

- What are you going to do then?

Wiping the hair off his forehead, which insisted on sliding in all directions, he waved a hand, turning the loaded revolver in one finger.

- Ah, I decided to let your teammates answer the call that the... deceased agents sent on the radio. They will get here behind this wall, as it is the easiest way to access the terrain. - observing the barrel of the gun and then opening the magazine to see how much ammunition was inside, he continued: - It is always good to practice my shooting from a long distance, just to not lose the practice.

Wide-eyed, the scenario in which your colleagues were killed one by one by shots from a hidden sniper crossed your mind. It was terrible.

- But, if you like your colleagues very much and decide that your willingness to offer information is greater than my intention to play target shooting, it may be that things happen in a much easier way. - he stated.

Jungkook:

He almost never looked up from the ground, and when he did, his eyes kept hidden under the brim of his hat. Not that it was easy to spot anything inside a dark and metallic bunker, in which you could barely move because you were handcuffed to the table fixed on the floor.

After hesitating for a long time, the man with tattoos on his fingers sitting in front of you finally spoke:

- You have to answer. I am here just following orders, and you are delaying my other appointments. - if there was something behind which he could hide, he would probably do it. But not out of fear... it was for another reason.

- I already said I won't tell you anything. You can kill me already, dumb child. - you almost roared, the rage accumulated in hours of silence revolting inside you.

Yes, even though he was partially hidden by the shadows, the fact that he was young was evident. More a shy boy than a silent man.

His eyes widening in shock, he stepped back a few inches. With an increasingly wheezing breath, he got up and walked to a door in the corner of the bunker.

- You're making things more difficult for both of us. - he said, with a dangerous tone.

Opening the hidden door with a single movement of his drawing-covered hand, he revealed a gagged figure, struggling and muttering in a useless way: your partner in the police and best friend, Denyel.

You gasped with fright when his figure became visible, his body covered in sweat. With a sudden tug, the tattooed man dragged your friend over to the chair where he himself had been sitting before, forcing him to settle down.

- With each denied answer, a little bit of his life is gone. - the boy's voice was now expressionless, and his hands moved quickly as he took dozens of knives from the belt under his coat and placed them on the table, with a clang - I can make it drag on for hours, believe me. I know exactly how much "life" to remove until there is no more of it left.

That's it for now! Did you like it? Tell me your opinion and your suggestions, my dear reader.

If you want to request anything, send me your ideas!

The images used on this post are not mine. Credits to the owners.

Kisses from the Goblin Kingdom! :)

138 notes · View notes

yusuke96universe · 3 years

Text

Sky's Insecurities

I had this big Linked Universe prompt I spent the last 2-3 hours on, but then Tumblr erased it all because I moved some tabs around and now I am sad. Here the gist of what I remember.

This is a follow up from the Cal's Chain Dynamics prompt I made yesterday.

Calamity has been all over Sky ever since he discovered that he is the eventual first King of Hyrule and due to his upbringing as a knight in training since he was little, it is ingrained into his being to serve the royalty to the best of his abilities, but he is extremely oblivious when it comes to people's comfort levels.

So when Sky leaves the camp site with a lame excuse no one bats an eye, until Wind noticed he, of all people, forgot to take Master Sword with him. Wind offers to deliver it to him real quick, but Warriors says he'll go with him because he feels like Sky is going through more than he simple frustration with Cal and is a little worried.

They find Sky who was has been playing a beautiful melody on his harp, but Wind claims that this is the saddest song he's ever heard Sky play before and that something must really be eating away at him.

Warrior takes a step back, but the snapping of a twig gave away them away, so Sky jumps into action using his Gust Bellows to blow them out of their hiding places and already had his Scatter Shot ready to fire.

Both come out with their hands up, promptly. They comment on how they thought he'd have trouble without his beloved Master Sword at his side, but were proved wrong.

Sky takes a quick look, but has to look away from the sword. Which is unusual for him. And tries to feign a smile that neither hero buys for a second.

They offer to leave if he just needs a little more time alone to get his bearings or their help by lending Sky an ear if there is something he needs to get off of his chest because it's not a good idea to internalize problems allowing them to fester and eat away at you, or else you'll end up like Time or Legend.

Sky admits that they're right and that this is unusual behavior from himself as he hesitantly takes up the sword and gently sets it down away from him. (that's weird they note)

When questioned if this is about Cal annoying him or getting invasive, Sky denies these claims, and says while he appreciates his dedication to the crown, his presence, along with this blade's, as he gestures the Master Sword, are constant reminders of something he's been trying to ignore since they started this adventure together.

That he'll one day be the first King of Hyrule. Sky doesn't feel equipped to be a leader with people diligently serving him like Cal does, let alone being the Founder of a great Kingdom that will withstand through and overcome countless trials and tribulations. He doesn't even feel like his status as a knight measures up to the likes of Calamity or Warriors. Since his version was more like going to Knight Academy for training and being the security with routine patrols over the small floating island known as Skyloft. Which, even though they took pride in that status they worked hard to achieve, he feels it isn't nearly as impressive as going to wars with battle tactics at play or shouldering the responsibilities of commanding soldiers on and off the battle field with politics involved. When comparing the two, Sky believes he has only been playing knight with his friends like a child.

Sky looks at the sword and continues.

I am not fit to be a King. Even the title of Hero is too lofty for someone like me. I am merely a swordsman. One that got cursed by Demise and brought hardships and troubles to all of you and the people of Hyrule throughout time. It's my fault someone like Ganon even existed in the first place.

Warriors takes a deep breath. He tells him that as a commanding Knight, he has helped a lot of rural knights who have gone through similar feelings of inadequacy when compared to those of Castletown. What Sky's going through when he sees both Warriors and Calamity is actually very common, but it's also very easily fixed when changing their perspectives a little.

He would tell those knights that Hyrule needs every person, including mere swordsmen from the countryside to help. For they bring the people ease and peace of mind as knights are the ones to put in the effort to diligently train to protect them in times of danger. Knights are willing to give everything for all of Hyrule's protection, not just the Capital. And if they are able to keep the civilians out of harm's way and with a virtuous heart give them hope. Then those are deemed the highest of quality Knights, at least in Warrior's eyes that is. And Sky. You are one of the finest specimens of a gallant Knight exuding valor that he has ever come across in his countless battles.

This shocks Sky.

Now, Wind jumps in.

Yeah, besides. That curse got broken a while ago in my time. So it's not like it'll last forever! Even, if you did fail to prevent Demise's curse you can't blame yourself for his actions. You need to give the proper amount of blame to people's actions. Take you. You have the strength to admit your failings and are looking to the future by building Hyrule with your Zelda on a land you two found. That is an awesome start! I should know, I am currently doing the same thing with Tetra.

Listen, you don't need to be some perfect figure of power or wisdom to be king. You're allowed to fail and have those shortcomings. Just keep focusing on the future of Hyrule and it's people. You already know you can't bear those burdens alone since you said you turn to your Zelda and your friends when things get too hard. You're already in the process of becoming a great King. And it sounds like your Zelda would be doing most of the leading anyways so you can just focus on what only you can do along with everyone else. You're going to make an amazing Kingdom one day, so you have nothing to fear!

Sky takes a minute to process everything that they've said. His bright and cheerful smile returns.

You're both right. I've just had my head too high up in the clouds and been overthinking things again. Thanks for bringing me back down to Earth. I needed this wake up call. -Sky

Though, I still don't know how I will deal with Cal's enthusiasm. hahaha -Sky

They all have a good laugh and head back to camp. Sky now has the Master Sword on his side, proudly displayed again, and unbeknownst to them,it flashes a blue light.

That's it. I hate how I lost the first half, but I hope you guys can enjoy. I was surprised at how Calamity opened up a few doors for Sky's development. Tell me what you think of this?

#lu legend #lu wind #lu warriors #lu calamity #linkeduniverse #linked universe #skyward sword

47 notes · View notes

mvnvgedmischief · 3 years

Text

unremarkable days.

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it's wildly unremarkable.

chapter: 4/?

characters: sirius black, regulus black, wolfstar, background marauders

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services, abuse

words: 3. 8 k

read it on ao3 here

read the last chapter here

Sirius knew that work was going to be high stress all day. He felt sick to his stomach, thinking about the way he would continuously have to talk to people, when all he wanted was some peace. He wanted downtime. Time when he didn’t have to think about how he needed his paycheck to put food on the table, clothes on his brother’s back, pay bills to keep his lights on, wifi for homework. Regulus occupied his thoughts at all times, protecting him was Sirius’s only priority these days. He didn’t have time for anything else. Not his friends, not his interests, not music. Nothing could come between his focus and his brother’s wellbeing, because if it did, Sirius would never forgive himself. The consequences were too dire. So instead, he just wished for downtime that wouldn’t come, and prayed for the weekend to approach even faster.

The weekend, when he could finally sleep again, albeit not well. The weekend, when he had the time to take a breath, even if it was only brief. Because his weekends were also spent finding ways to better equip his apartment for his younger brother, going to long grocery runs so Regulus had lunch to take to school, meal prepping all of the things he couldn’t bring himself to eat for dinner. He was definitely tired of all of the ways his mind was spiraling out, he didn’t have the time. He didn’t fault Regulus for it, it wasn’t the teen's presence in his life that was causing all this stress. It really was his own fault. A bit of crying at that first hearing had given Walburga and Orion the satisfaction of a victory over him at that first hearing, and they seemed to crave more of that chaos. They wanted to watch their children suffer, and this was how they chose to do that. So instead he spiraled in the privacy of his own home, because he could practically hear the words they burned into his mind whenever he saw them, and feel the ache of old beatings.

But it was only Thursday, and that meant he still had to do this all day, and then get berated by the rest of the team for not attending their weekly bonding happy hour. If he was lucky, no one would ask him to go. He knew he should be less terrified of them asking, most of the people on his team were his friends. There was simply the question of Remus, and Sirius didn’t have the time to be thinking about him in the first place.

He didn’t have time to think about the way his hair curled just the right way to fall into his eyes when he slept, or the way his caramel freckles made him look sunkist. He didn’t have time to think about the pink scars that ran down Remus’s face or how they got there. He definitely didn;’t have time to think of the comfort of his hand combing through Sirius’s own mop of unruly curls. So instead, he needs to put all of that out of his mind. It wasn’t going to help him do well at work. It wasn’t going to solve his problems. He didn’t have the time for this, nor did he have the emotional bandwidth. Perhaps that was why Sirius was conveniently avoiding the idea that he had asked Remus on a date. With some luck, Remus would think he was just an asshole who ghosted him. That was definitely complicated by the fact that they worked together, that he couldn’t just disappear. He wanted to, he really did, because there was simply no time.

He set up his deliverables as though he had made tons of them, because his employment in this company rode on it. Just two months ago, he was pegged to be promoted within the next two cycles, and now he could barely hold on to his sanity enough to handle his workload. He was so fucking tired, and he had so much on his plate. He needed to mentally prepare himself for the long day of meetings ahead of him. He had no true motivation to do his job right now, all he knew was that his exhaustion was no excuse. He knew that his boss, Alice, was giving him a whole lot of leeway right now. She was probably doing more than she should to help him. Being a mentor on the senior design team didn’t mean she needed to keep tabs on his personal life and pick up his slack.

“Sirius–”

When Sirius focused back into the meeting he was calling into, it occurred to him that they’re talking to him. So he did what he always did, blamed it on a shoddy connection.

“Oh, sorry, can you repeat that? My audio cut out.”

“Remus was saying that some of the poems could probably use illustrations, and he was wondering if you had any ideas on which ones needed it.”

“Thanks, Peter.” Sirius was glad that he knew the people on this team, that Peter and James were as close to him as anyone could be. Because otherwise, he’d probably be fucked.

“So I was looking through them, and I was thinking Bite, Magick, and Love I could probably use larger scale illustrations. But at the same time, we don’t want to crowd the book. How attached are you to the current order or page arrangement?”

It felt too close, but he was lucky that he had at least read the titles of some of the poems in the first half of the book. Sirius knew Remus didn’t actually know what his level of involvement was. He thought it was just doodles, but Sirius would be responsible for presenting everything from kearning and font choice within the pages, to illustration and cover art to the design team. He was integral to the success of this book as a product, and he needed to start acting like it.

“I’m pretty attached.” Remus sounded cold to Sirius, and he wondered what exactly he had done wrong in this meeting. And yet, he didn’t have time to think on it. He needed to keep things moving, keep getting valuable information out of the author. Hook up be damned, Sirius needed this book to actually get off the ground.

“Okay, well we should get a meeting on the calender to discuss. What poems and what scale of illustrations you want–”

“Shouldn’t you be deciding what the illustrations look like and the logistics of those. Isn’t that what you get paid for?” Remus really wasn’t making this easy on Sirius. But he had dealt with bigger demons and divas then whatever this attitude was. So he put on a light and airy smile, one they’d never know didn’t reach his eyes over the low quality webcam and nodded.

“If you’d like to take a hands off approach with the design work, that can absolutely be arranged. But in the case of a fledgling project with a new author, the design team, myself included, really hope to prioritize your artistic license so that we can get a better sense of your vision for your literature, should Quill move forward with other publications in the future. We can provide a completely in-house service, with as much input as you feel necessary during the design process, and deliver collateral towards the end of the project when final edits are done, if you would prefer, Mister Lupin.”

Sirius practically wanted to scream. He needed Remus to stop fucking with his job, with his livelihood. He couldn’t lose this project. He needed all of the billable hours he could get if he was going to justify the overtime he needed in order to provide for his brother. This was ridiculous. But his clinical and polite answer must have thrown Remus, because he didn’t get much more attitude out of him. The back and forth had ended. So instead, Sirius pulled up his deliverables for the week, which included new iterations for the covers, and twelve illustrations for the three poems he had mentioned.

He noticed the way Remus looked at his drawings, like he was pained by whatever his thoughts were, and Sirius wants to scream that he’s under no obligation to think that they’re good. But then he remembers that Remus seemed to be nitpicking on purpose, based on his critique of the design system itself. Sirius didn’t have the time to deal with that level of petty, just because he hadn’t been answering. He was too busy. He had too much on his plate. So instead he continues his presentation.

“I don’t like any of these. Maybe you should start over.” Remus sounded vindictive, even mean. Like he was doing this out of spite. Sirius could feel his heart drop in that moment. He didn’t want to start over. He didn’t have the time.

“What do you not like about them?” Sirius is trying to salvage his work while he can.

“The vibe is off.”

“Oh, is there something specific that throws it off or...” Sirius trailed off, wondering what exactly he needed to change.

“No, it’s the whole thing. All of them are just off.”

Sirius needed to think quick on his feet. He didn’t have the time to start from scratch, so he pulled up his original thumbnails that he had discussed with Remus.

“These are the original sketches we discussed. I moved forward with the ones we talked about. I’m happy to rework those sketches,” no, he wasn’t. “But if there’s another sketch that you think would fit your vision better, please let me know.” He felt like he was pleading with Remus not to hate his artwork. He’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t a blow to his self esteem to hear that everything that he did was bad.

“No, I would suggest you start over.”

Sirius nodded, his mind immediately whirring with ways he could start over and re-design this project. He really didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to do hundreds of thumbnails to get set on thirty, only to be destroyed in a meeting again. Especially when Remus seemed so excited about all of his illustrations before the meetings. It felt like too much. He didn’t have the energy for this kind of behavior.

Luckily, Marlene directed the conversation away from Sirius’s work. The rest of the call went on without a hitch, like the only person who’s work Remus had a problem with was Sirius’s. He knew that it was more likely for Remus to have a problem with him, because design work was usually something an artist thought of as easy; however, this felt calculated and cold. If Sirius had been avoiding Remus before, it definitely wasn’t about to get better. So instead, he listened to the end of the meeting, and started the project all over again. He could do this. It was an unremarkable critique. It didn’t matter.

23 notes · View notes

remmushound · 3 years

Text

Beyond the Bay Chapter 20: Family friend

Summary: Leonardo calls a family friend in to help assess Mikey

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry @dakotafinely

Content warning: mild swearing

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Leo’s knock and voice snapped Leonardo out of his daze. The teen blinked first, and then shook his head to rattle his thoughts back into place.

“I hope you don’t mind my intrusion.” Leo said, coming further into Leonardo’s room.

“Not at all.” Leonardo lied, because he did mind the intrusion in his personal space but he wasn’t going to say that! Besides, this face was exactly the one he had been planning to seek out. “But I’ll have you know my thoughts cost no less than a dollar a piece, I know my worth.”

Leo sat on the bed and it gave a loud groan under the strain of his weight; the leader snorted a forced laugh through his nose and shook his head.

“I think I’ll have to pass, thanks.”

“He’s fine.” Said Leonardo.

Leo blinked, cocking his head. “Pardon?”

“You came here to ask about your father, right?” Leonardo asked. “He’s fine, stable and resting. We’ll know more when he wakes.”

“Is it advisable to leave him alone?”

“Your Raph’s sitting in with him. Figured he'd appreciate seeing a familiar face when he wakes up and not this.” Leonardo motioned to his face. “As beautifully handsome as it is, it’s not his son.”

“Right.” Leo nodded. The box turtle had picked up on Leonardo’s lie of not minding his presence and was quick to try and justify himself. “Well, I just noticed you in here alone looking like you just kicked a puppy, so I figured I’d check on you. I— I can go.”

“No.” Leonardo grabbed Leo’s hand to stop any escape. “Don’t go. I was actually wanting to talk with you.”

Leo sat back down. “You have my full attention.”

“With all this stuff going on, your dad and… and that dino dude and… and Mikey…and I mean, there’s only so much me and Donnie can do. We— we’re not trained physicians by any means and we don’t have all the medicines and equipment that one might need to treat him—“

“What are you saying?” Leo prompted Leonardo to just get to the point.

“I was just considering that it could be beneficial to start looking into more… mystic solutions.”

“Mystic— like, like those Yokai in the Hidden City— like, Draxum?”

“I take dad to them all the time! And I know mutants and yokai are like, waaay different, but there are a few younger doctors who are learning experimental procedures to specialize in mutant care!”

“Key word being experimental?” Leonardo’s words left a bad taste on Leo’s tongue.

“Everything’s experimental before its effective— mutants haven’t even been around a decade yet. The work they do is surprisingly advanced for such a short period!” Leonardo argued

“You’re suggesting using Mikey as an experiment?” Every sense of protective nature surged through Leo in that moment, eyes of ice boring into Leonardo’s sapphire and ruby one.

“No, I’m suggesting we take him to someone better equipped to handle him. Someone more… familiar with seizures. Donnie and I are just making stuff up as we go along, and that’s not what's best for Mikey…”

“If you’re not qualified to help him, how could you possibly be qualified to state any opinion on the matter?” Leo crossed his arms, “You’re your team's medic! You're supposed to heal, so heal him!”

Leonardo only smiled his dumb smile and rested his head on his hand. “You’re not very bright, are you?”

“What?” Came Leo’s bitter response.

“I am a medic, and in my humble medical opinion, he needs someone better than me! Two seizures in two days can’t be good, not for a person and not for a mutant. Just think for a second what would be best for your brother.”

“Are you accusing me of not thinking about that?” Leo let his perfect white teeth show a sharp threat. “Mikey is fine where he is!”

Leonardo’s eyes turned cool, like a layer of soft mist had laid over them and softened his voice several degrees until it came out like a gentle winter sound. “Are you willing to risk Mikey’s life for it?”

Leo felt his blood run cold, the collected chi inside him shattering and dissipating to the farthest reaches of his form. His throat was too dry, even to swallow, and he could hear his blood rushing in his ears. Leonardo knew in that moment he was victorious, for he leaned forward and entwined his fingers together, his smug smile not near as perfect as Leo’s, but just as confident.

“Fine.” Leo’s bitter relent came, “Call a specialist.”

“I got one on speed dial.”

Leo deadpanned. “Is it Baron Draxum?”

“N-no!” Leonardo lied, then immediately said, “It’s Baron Draxum.”

***

“Hm.” Baron Draxum mused as he looked over Mikey. The entire Clan was gathered in the infirmary, apparently too close for the faun’s liking because in the next breath he said, “Could I please get some peace and quiet?”

“We’re… not talking.” Raph pointed out, and nobody moved.

“I meant that as a polite way of asking you all to leave me alone.” Draxum said slow and sharp, like he was talking to a dense wall.

“Like hell we’re leaving you alone with him!” Leo snarled, and there was a determined chorus of agreement from his brothers.

“Why, do you not trust me?”

Draxum turned his full attention to the rest of the Splinterson family, his lips pulling back in a sneer. He started to walk ever so slowly around the beds of the infirmary, dragging hooved hands across the beds holding Mikey, who was disgruntled at being forced into another exam, and Splinter who still sleeping off his trauma. Draxum’s hands traced over Mikey’s arms and Mikey winced and pulled away as if the fingers were knives. As Draxum circled around to do the same to Splinter, who in his unconscious state couldn’t retreat, Raph stepped forward with both hands on his sai, ready to gouge and destroy.

“Draxum, cut it out!” Michelangelo scolded, hand on his hip and cheeks puffed out like a middle aged grandmother scolding her grown child.

Draxum rolled his eyes, but gave into grandmother Michelangelo’s demands and stopped his slow taunting walk. Raph returned his sai to their holsters, but kept forest eyes fixed on the yokai menace.

“I still say some privacy would be preferable for my assessment. I don’t do well in a crowd.”

“Why did it have to be him, again?” Leo asked in a sharp and bitter voice as he motioned to the faun who couldn’t appear more bored if he tried.

“Draxum’s a family friend— we trust him!” Raphael tried to reassure everyone, including himself.

“But I don’t.” Leo said simply. “Not around my brother alone…”

“Leo, I’m fine!” Mikey complained, “Honestly, you’re all making a big deal out of nothing!”

“A seizure isn’t ‘nothing’ Mikey.” Donnie sighed and shook his head.

“And nothing is exactly what I can do if you keep crowding me.” Draxum’s vine snared around Donnie’s belt to pull him away from Mikey’s bedside, much to the ire of the box turtle.

“How about this?” Leonardo interrupted before another argument could break out, “Leo, why don’t you stay here with Mikey while we take Donnie and Raph on tonight’s patrol? We missed last night’s, we can’t miss another.”

“Yeah!” Raphael immediately agreed, but louder, stealing the show and the attention from his younger brother. “That’s a great idea, Leo. We should get ready to do that now, actually.”

“Raph, Donnie.” Leo said, nodding to them as he addressed them. “You heard the snapper. Suit up.”

Donnie was quick to rise and obey, eyes on Mikey until the very last second when he left the room. Raph didn't move from Mikey’s side.

“Raph.” Leo said again, this time louder.

“I’m not leaving him.” Raph’s voice was low. He tightened his grip.

“I wasn’t asking.” Came Leo’s sharp retort. “Raphael asked you to go on patrol with him, and I told you to suit up.”

“It’s okay Raphie!” Mikey said, and he knew he could get away with it; Raph wouldn’t rebuke him when he was in a med bed after all! “Go knock some heads in and chill. I’ll be fine!”

Raph shook his head and clicked his tongue but his eyes held nothing but playful mischief. “You know I hate that nickname.”

“Duh!” Mikey slung a lazy arm around Raph to hug him one last time before giving him a push to start him on leaving the room.

When the entire group was finally ready to depart some five minutes later, it was Raphael who put a delay on their plans. It seemed the minute they were about to leave, he had a million and one things he needed to say.

“April’s here to help you if you have any questions.” Raphael said, practically doting over Leo like he was one of his younger siblings.

“Understood.” Was Leo’s simple response.

“And— and there’s some pizza you can make if you get hungry— if dad complains about being hungry, you can make him a snack but no big meals until breakfast. Leo likes to keep close eyes on his calories. Dad really likes the sweet stuff, so make sure it’s sugary.”

“Will do.” Leo nodded.

“But if you do get him a snack, make sure you mark down how much he eats so we can adjust his intake, otherwise we’ll be all thrown out of wack.”

“Alright.” Leo couldn’t help but smile at Raphael’s anxious rantings.

“Oh, and he— he goes to bed at twelve, could you just make double sure that his door alarm is set?”

“Raph.” Leonardo grabbed Raphael by the arm.

“It gives a little ring whenever it’s opened so he can’t wander off…”

“Raph.” Leonardo’s patience was weining.

“And make sure you get him up at four for a bathroom break or else he’ll have an accident. And sometimes he has trouble sleeping—“

“RAPH.” Leonardo reached up and grabbed Raphael by the cheeks, dragging the snappers head down to his level. “They’ll be fine. Draxum and April are here with them.”

“I know…” Raphael said and his words came out a low whisper. Still he didn't move.

“Come on.” Leonardo said and he didn't give Raphael a choice in the matter. He yanked and yanked on Raphael until the turtle relented and followed after him, and when Raphael tried to look back and add one last thing, Leonardo only tugged harder. “We’ll be back before sunrise.”

Leo only nodded and waved as the two mutants disappeared after the rest of the patrol, and for a long moment Leo couldn’t help but think that it was Leonardo doing the leading...

8 notes · View notes

coldflame96 · 3 years

Text

To Move Forward

Summary: Kyo and Akito come to an understanding. Post-manga and pre-Another.

Rating: T

Can also be found on AO3 and FF.net

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to go down there right now?” he asked his wife for the umpteenth time.

“Hmm?” she cocked her head adorably. “We go down there every summer.”

“Well, yeah, but we’re supposed to reach record high temperatures down there this week.” He gave a fleeting look towards her stomach area. “I don’t want you to exert yourself too much.”

She kissed his cheek. “I’m fine, Kyo-kun, really. And I promised Akito-san I would go and visit.” She frowned sadly. “She’s having a really rough time with the pregnancy and she’s due in only a month or two.”

He wanted to argue that Akito’s issues weren’t Tohru’s problem, but he knew it was a losing battle. His wife was always trying to help everyone and had so much love to give. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

“Fine,” he sighed. “But if you’re going to the main estate, we should leave Hajime with the rat. That place is oppressive and I don’t want him to deal with it.” And I don’t want him near Akito either.

Tohru paused for the briefest moment, chewing her lip thoughtfully. She probably had wanted Hajime and Akito to meet, and maybe they would one day, but not now. Not if he could help it. He wanted to preserve his son’s innocence for as long as he could.

“Alright,” she agreed quietly. And then she smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes and clapped her hands. “I’m sure Yuki-kun won’t mind. Mutsuki-kun loves Hajime-kun.”

He could tell she was disappointed, but he curbed the instinct to cave in. She was friends with Akito and trusted her and he respected that, but she was always a much better person than he was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s so hot!” Tohru gasped, her movements heavy with the heat.

He nudged her gently on the head with his fist. “That’s why I told you to bring your sun hat, dummy.” She’d left it behind at Dad’s place because she’d insisted she didn’t need it. “It’s not that far a walk, Kyo-kun!”

“Dad,” Hajime whined from his other side, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are we there yet?”

He ruffled his hair. “Yeah, we’re almost there.” And then he pointed ahead. “Look, there’s Mutsuki’s house right there.”

Normally the walk from the train stop to Yuki’s wasn’t too horrible, but in this heat, it was practically unbearable. Living up in the mountains really spoiled them.

He approached the door with lead footsteps and knocked quietly.

The door slid open a little too fast to be natural, the child behind it gasping with wide eyes.

“Jime-chan!” Mutsuki yelled, launching himself at Hajime. Jime-chan? What kind of nickname was that? Hajime seemed to share the same sentiment as he wrinkled his nose, but was kind enough not to actually say anything. A trait he clearly inherited from his mother.

“Mutsuki,” a woman who sounded like Kuragi scolded from the hallway. “Don’t leave them all standing out in the heat.”

“Sorry, Mom!”

The small child grabbed Hajime’s hand and Tohru’s at the same time, dragging them both inside while Kyo followed.

Kuragi appeared, face impassive as usual, but she did smile softly. “Sorry you had to come down in this weather.”

Tohru waved her hands. “Oh, no, it’s no problem at all!” Then she looked around curiously. “Yuki-kun’s not here?”

“Him and my stupid brother went to the store. Can I get you anything?”

“No, that’s okay! You’re already doing more than enough watching Hajime-kun for us.”

Kuragi’s eyes were sharp and she smiled wryly. “It’s not a big deal. He’s a good kid and he keeps Mutsuki occupied.” They both watched as Mutsuki grabbed Hajime to drag him towards his room. And then she looked to him and nodded. “You guys are raising him well.”

He nodded back. “Thanks.” He never knew what to say around Kuragi, she was typically pretty quiet, especially compared to her brother, but she was nice enough, he supposed, and Tohru liked her. But then again, Tohru liked everyone, even creeps like Shigure, so that wasn’t saying much.

“Hey, senpai,” she was addressing him now. That was another thing that was weird about her. She always called him ‘senpai’ like they were still in school and not fully grown adults with children. She got a teasing glint in her eyes. “Yuki should be home soon if you wanted to wait and say hi.”

He snorted, not rising to the bait. “No thanks, I’m sure I’ll have to deal with him later when we pick up Hajime.”

“Oh, really?” she cocked her head a bit too innocently. “But he’ll be so disappointed he missed you. Kakeru too.”

He twitched and Tohru spoke up, bowing. “Thank you so much for your help, Machi-san. We really should be going to the estate, but I’d love to catch up with everyone later!”

Kuragi smiled, more open this time. Tohru did have that effect on people. “Yes, I would like that. I’m sure Yuki would, too. We’ll make sure Hajime gets back to you in one piece.”

“Thank you so much!” Tohru bowed again, and if this continued, they’d be here all day.

He put his hand over her face gently, dragging her away. “C’mon, Tohru, we gotta get going.” It was already past noon.

“Right! Thank you again, Machi-san!” she said, while she was being dragged away, “Tell Yuki-kun thank you too!”

Kuragi gave a small wave and then they were out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even after all these years, going into the main Sohma estate made him...uneasy. The few times he’d interacted with Akito here as a kid never meant anything good. It was where he made that bet...he looked to Tohru, who greeted all the maids politely and smiled to himself. Without that dumb bet, he never would’ve met her.

He thought nothing about Akito would’ve shocked him more than when she came out in that kimono all those years ago, pledging to turn over a whole new leaf, but he was wrong. The sight of her pregnant and sweating, lounging around in her sleepwear and looking absolutely miserable, was more of a shock.

Her eyes widened and she looked so innocent he had to look away completely.

“Tohru,” she breathed, “You made it.”

Tohru smiled softly. “Akito-san!” And she went to hug her, taking care to be gentle. “It’s so good to see you!”

Akito grunted in response and Tohru frowned. “Are you alright?”

Akito paused and then mumbled, “No.” Her voice trembled. “Tohru? Please help me. I’m scared. I’m so, so scared.”

He was never good at handling crying people, not even when that crying person was Akito. “Tohru?” he called out gently, catching his wife’s attention. He gestured to the door. “I’ll be outside.”

Akito stiffened and then stared at him, dark eyes lingering which made him shift uncomfortably. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had only just noticed him. It was so...stifling in here all of a sudden. Hot, even. It was when he closed the door behind him as he stood out in the hallway, he allowed himself to breathe again. He slumped down on the floor, energy sapped away.

He was glad he’d stuck to his guns about bringing Hajime here. The last thing he needed was for his small son to see how weak his dad was. It was stupid, the way just hearing Akito’s voice made something start clawing at his throat, made him freeze in place...like a coward.

“Were you banished to the hallway?” A familiar, irritating voice asked, and he looked up to see Shigure staring down at him curiously, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. Of course he would be here.

“Leave me alone,” he sighed, “I don’t have the energy to deal with you.”

Shigure being Shigure, he instead took that as an invitation to sit next to him, much to his annoyance. “I’m assuming Tohru-kun is in there then?” He nodded. And then Shigure asked, “How did she look?”

He gave him a weary look. “What do you care? You’re spoken for already.”

“I was referring to Akito.”

He furrowed his brow. “Shouldn’t you know? She’s your wife.” And he still had a hard time wrapping his head around that. After everything Akito put them through, what was Shigure thinking? Then again, it was probably better he didn’t know.

Shigure gave a carefree shrug, but if Kyo didn’t know any better, he would say he looked...bitter. “She’s been cooped up in there for days and refuses to let me see her.”

He scoffed. “What? And you just listened? It’s not like she’s God anymore.”

He got a dark look in his eyes. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

This guy’s flippancy really pissed him off sometimes. He tried to imagine what he would do if Tohru refused to see him for days. Especially if she was pregnant with his child...break down the door, probably.

He recalled the wide, trembling eyes he’d gotten a glimpse of before he left the room. “She looked...terrified,” he finally answered.

He heard a light thump against the wall and saw Shigure resting his head, a defeated look. “Yes, I was afraid of that.” He smiled ruefully. “Despite how far she’s come, she’s still afraid to be seen as weak in front of me.”

And yet you’re her husband and you’re just letting her cry alone. Scumbag. He glowered at him.

Shigure chuckled nervously. “Hey now, what’s with that ‘you’re a horrible person’ look?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growled. “Your wife is in there, crying and scared, and with your child, and you’re out here shooting the breeze with me while my wife does your job?”

Shigure stared at him coldly, mocking, all friendly pretense gone. “I didn’t realize you cared so deeply about my wife.”

“I don’t!” he snapped. “I just hate that I have to be here because of you when I could be spending time with my own family.”

“If I recall correctly, it was Tohru-kun’s idea to come, was it not? No one forced you to be here.”

“Yeah, well I’m not a prick like you so of course I wasn’t gonna leave her alone!”

“That’s all well and good but you and I are not the same. I’m not a nice person, and comfort is not my strong suit. Never has been.” His eyes were hard. “Akito knows that.”

He was almost starting to feel bad for Akito and that was not a feeling he was equipped to deal with.

“Whatever. You piss me off. I don’t get you at all.” He wanted to storm off but he didn’t wanna leave Tohru alone and he didn’t have much energy to really do anything except lean against the wall.

Thankfully, Shigure took the hint this time and didn’t say anything else, so they both just sat in a tense silence. “Terrified, huh?” Shigure mumbled so quietly Kyo was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it. “That makes two of us.”

He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t say anything. Even if he tried, he would get brushed off. But he did silently feel a bit of solidarity at that rare instance of vulnerability. He remembered how terrified he was before Hajime was born, that visceral fear that he would fuck him up like his own biological father did, that maybe the curse would come back somehow, and that feeling never quite went away.

He only vaguely registered the door being opened behind him and then a gasp. “Oh! Shigure-san!”

“Hello, Tohru-kun!” Like a switch, the man next to him laid on the charm. “You’re looking as radiant as ever. I would even say you’re glowing.” Shigure smirked in his direction and that moment of sympathy was gone.

Tohru blushed. “Oh, really?” She scratched her cheek shyly. “You think so? I don’t think I look any different than usual.” She really was glowing...and gorgeous of course, but Kyo was biased.

He stepped in between the two. “You ready to go?” he asked his wife softly.

“Yes!” she confirmed. “I just have to use the restroom real quick!” And then she pecked his cheek before running around the corner.

She left the door open and out of the corner of his eye, Kyo saw Akito slumped over a table, hair and clothes half askew.

She looked so small. Pitiful, even. It wasn’t an image that went with what he always knew about her. That she was someone to be feared. .

“Shigure?” she called out weakly.

“Yes, my flower?” he responded, tone playful but strained.

She didn’t look up. “Get Hatori.”

If Kyo didn’t know any better, he would say Shigure looked almost disappointed by that.

“As you wish,” he responded, and to Kyo’s surprise, he actually obeyed. There was more going on there than he cared to know about...He made to follow the direction that Tohru went.

“Kyo?” Akito called him and just like when he was a kid and he was still wrapped up in the curse, he froze.

Akito lifted her head, looking paler than usual, almost ashen, as she attempted to get up slowly, the weight of her stomach hindering her, and if Kyo had to guess, the heat probably wasn’t helping.

He should just walk away. He didn’t owe her anything and he had no reason to talk to her. He should walk away.

She padded her way to him slowly and it was like his feet were stuck inside the floor.

“My little monster.” The cruel tone rang through his ears and his eyes widened.

“Don’t come closer!” he burst out. He expected her to keep coming anyway like she would’ve before, but to his surprise, she stopped, still halfway across the room. Her expression was unreadable. And from his experience, that was always a bad thing. But she was barely holding herself up and she certainly didn’t appear hostile, so he allowed himself to relax, if only a little bit.

He took a deep breath. “Did you need something?”

She averted her eyes. “No.”

He nodded and prepared to walk away again when he heard behind him. “I appreciate you bringing Tohru here.”

He gave her a cool look. “She came here of her own choice. I don’t control her.”

She had steadied herself enough to look in his eyes, gaze steady. “But you came too. I’m sure that wasn’t easy.” He wasn’t sure what to say to that, this was the last thing he wanted to be doing right now, so she took that as her cue to continue. “I know it doesn't mean much at this point, but I wanted to-”

“Save it,” he cut her off, already knowing where this was heading. “I never expected an apology, and I don’t need it either. It doesn’t change anything.” He clenched his fist. “I just...want to move forward.”

She looked surprised. “I see. I never expected this from you of all people.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he responded as neutrally as he could. “I’m only here because of Tohru. That doesn’t make us friends.”

He saw those eyes darken in anger for just a flash and flinched away, waiting for a blow that never came. But Akito just wilted in defeat, her eyes turning sad.

“I understand.”

Tohru sure was taking a long time. Maybe he should check on her. He nodded to Akito, but she called him back.

“Kyo?”

He looked at her expectantly, but she smiled, a shy, broken thing. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Your honesty. You were never much of a people-pleaser, always saying exactly what was on your mind no matter how much trouble it got you in.”

He felt himself bristle, “Look, you-”

“I never said it was a bad thing.” she cut him off coolly, her eyes steely, but not angry. He felt himself deflate. She was...complimenting him? It was weird and backhanded, but it was a compliment, wasn’t it?

“I’m finished!” Tohru came back, breaking the tension. She grabbed his hand. “We can get going now.” And then noticing the thick air, she frowned. “Was I...interrupting something?”

Akito smiled at her warmly, which was something Kyo didn’t think she was capable of until now. “I was just thanking Kyo for taking the time to come visit.” And then her eyes shifted to him, sharp and calculating. “Right, Kyo?”

Well, it wasn’t a lie. “Yeah.” And then he turned to her. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, “This mansion is so huge I got a bit lost.”

Figured. “You should’ve asked one of the maids to help you.”

“Oh, but I didn’t wanna trouble them! I found it eventually.”

“Tohru?” Akito called softly. They both turned to her and Kyo had to be dreaming because it looked like she was...blushing. Akito. Blushing. “Thank you...for coming. I hope you can meet Shiki one day.”

She grinned. “Oh yes, I’d love to! I’m sure he’ll be adorable!” It was just then that Shigure returned with Hatori in tow. Kyo wondered if he took so long on purpose.

Tohru bowed. “Thank you for having us, Akito-san! Good luck with little Shiki-kun!”

Kyo didn’t bow or say anything, but he did dip his head in acknowledgement. Akito gave them both a grateful look.

Today was a weird day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was quieter than usual on the train ride back to Yuki’s. She’d been quiet ever since they left the estate now that he thought about it. He wondered if something happened between her and Akito. Did they fight? He felt a surge of protectiveness. He wouldn’t hit a woman, and especially not a pregnant woman, but Akito better not have done anything to his wife or she’d be sorry.

“Tohru.”

She jolted like she’d been spacing out. “Yes?”

“Did you and Akito get in a fight or something? You’ve been really quiet.”

Her eyes widened. “No, of course not!”

Well, if it wasn’t Akito then…”Did Shigure say something weird to you?” One of these days he was gonna send that guy flying for real.

“It wasn’t Shigure-san,” she mumbled.

Then did that mean…”Was it something I did?” She stiffened and he felt the dread in his stomach. Was she mad at him? Was it because he left the room? He hoped she didn’t think he was trying to abandon her..

“You and Akito-san…” she started, “What were you talking about before I got there?” Tohru normally didn’t ask questions like that, so he felt he owed her to be honest.

“Exactly what she said. She was just glad we came to visit.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. Why?”

“It’s just...you seemed really tense. I was worried that maybe…” She didn’t need to finish that sentence. For someone so openly trusting, the fact that she was willing to doubt one of her friends for his sake was...touching. He always found a new reason to fall in love with this woman. He put an arm around her, kissing her hair.

“I was tense,” he admitted, holding her close, “But she didn’t say anything bad.” Tohru leaned her head against his shoulder in response. “Actually, she complimented me, I think.”

She blinked in surprise. “Oh. Really?”

He nodded. “I guess she really has changed.”

The grip on his arm tightened. “I’m glad.”

He wanted to share that sentiment. He was glad Akito had changed for the better, especially since she was bringing a child into the world. For once, it had felt like they were on equal ground, no longer a God talking to a lowly monster. But even still...when she looked at him, he couldn’t quite forget how she’d used to look at him before, with pity and hate. He’d told her today they weren’t friends and that was true, but he’d also said he wanted to move forward. How could he do that if he only ever saw her as who she used to be and not who she was now?

“Maybe in the winter,” he found himself saying, “Hajime could meet his new cousin.”

He heard a light gasp from next to him. “That...would be okay?” She almost looked skeptical like she was waiting for him to say ‘sike!’

“Yeah, I think so. It’s his family, right?”

The look of pride on her face was too much for him to deal with. “Right.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was early evening by the time they made it back to Yuki’s and the heat hadn’t let up at all, but Tohru hardly seemed bothered at all by it this time around. Hell, she was practically skipping to Yuki’s house. He suspected that what he told her on the train had something to do with it…

In a repeat of this morning, they were knocking on Yuki’s door again, only this time it was answered by...

“Oh hey, it’s Kyon!” an overly cheerful voice greeted. Manabe. Of course it’d be him.

“I told you not to call me that,” he grunted in annoyance.

“Good evening, Kakeru-kun!” Tohru greeted cheerfully. “Can we come in?”

He shrugged, “Sure.” And then he shouted across the house. “Hey, Yun-yun! Your mom’s here!”

Tohru blinked in confusion and Kyo resisted the urge to hit something. What did Yuki see in this guy?!

And like he was the devil himself, Yuki appeared with a dangerous glint in his eye and a sinister smile. “Kakeru, I will literally send you flying into the sun.”

Manabe started laughing but then his eyes went wide as saucers. “Oh shit,” he muttered, “Kou no, that’s not a toy!” And then he ran around the corner, out of sight.

“Yuki-kun, it’s so good to see you!” Tohru said sweetly. “I’m so sorry we missed you earlier.”

He gave her a warm look, stepping aside so they could go further in. “You can thank that idiot over there for that,” he gestured towards Manabe, who was wrestling with a toddler, “He forgot the grocery list so it ended up taking twice as long. It’s good to see you, Tohru.” And then his gaze cooled towards him and gave him an amicable nod. “Kyo.”

He nodded back. “Where’s Hajime? I wanna make sure you didn’t corrupt him.”

Yuki got that sinister look back. “Oh? Is this how you typically repay favors, stupid cat? And to think I took my entire day to watch your son for you.”

“What, was a 6 year old so difficult you needed four adults for him?” He fired back. “How pathetic.”

“You say that and yet you’re the one who apparently couldn’t handle him. Hence why he’s here.”

Tohru looked like she wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or amused and then a flash of sandy orange bolted behind his legs.

“Hajime-kun!” Tohru cooed. “Did you have fun?”

Hajime pouted. “No.” Then he pointed at the two kids chasing after him. “Michi keeps trying to make me play dress up!”

Oh right, Manabe’s daughter. The girl in question frowned adorably. “Oh, c’mon, Jime-chan! You’ll be so cute!”

“I don’t wanna be cute! And stop calling me ‘Jime-chan’!”

“Yeah, Michi-nee!” Mutsuki strutted in, wearing a dress and looking way too proud of himself. “Jime-chan’s a scaredy-cat so just forget about him!”

Hajime’s face flushed in embarrassment and Tohru started giggling. He pinched the bridge of his nose, huffing in amusement. His poor son would have no dignity left by the end of the night.

“Don’t call me a scaredy-cat!” Hajime bristled.

“Well, then put on the dress then,” Michi mocked, “Scaredy-cat.”

“Fine, I will!” And then he stomped over to the other two, snatching the dress from the smug looking girl. Well, that was easy bait. He could see Yuki staring at him and just knew he was about to make a smart ass remark.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Don’t what?” he asked innocently with that damnable smirk. Bastard.

Kuragi appeared at that moment. “Komaki went to get us dinner. Did you want to stay while the kids are having fun?”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to intrude,” Tohru tried to backtrack.

“You’re never intruding, Tohru,” Yuki smiled at her, a genuine one. “You’re always welcome here.”

He saw Tohru about to protest again because that’s just how she was, always worrying about being a nuisance, and gently covered her mouth. “We’ll stick around for a bit. Thanks.”

There was a dull thud from the next room over where the kids went and Yuki’s smile dropped. “I’ll go check on them.”

When he was gone, Kuragi turned to them. “Did you want some tea, Tohru-san?”

Kyo pulled out a seat from the table for her as she said, “Oh, that sounds wonderful. Thank you!”

Kuragi nodded. “How about you, Kyon-senpai?”

He glowered at the nickname and muttered, “Just water for me.”

Her lips twitched in amusement and he rolled his eyes, pulling the chair out next to Tohru.

These people all drove him crazy.

But...he supposed...as his wife turned to him to smile warmly, and as his son played with his friends like the normal child he himself never got to be...and how in a few months, his family would be just a little bit bigger...he supposed they weren’t all bad.

"Hey, stupid cat!" Yuki came back in, eye twitching and holding a ripped piece of fabric. "You owe my daughter a new dress."

Scratch that.

The damn rat was still the worst.

#kyo sohma #akito sohma #tohru honda #shigure sohma #kyoru #fruits basket

22 notes · View notes

fantasticstoryteller · 3 years

Text

New Amsterdam Chapter 113

“Sir, I have new information you must hear.” JARVIS’s voice rang quietly through Tony’s earpiece.

Tony tapped the button the side of the earpiece to turn on the blue light and make it look like he was on a call. “Yeah?” he asked as he flipped through his plans for the house he’d bought.

“The facility Project 23 was broken into,” JARVIS said calmly in Tony’s ear.

A lot more calm than Tony felt. “What?” he demanded as he grabbed the wristbands that hooked into one of his suits.

“All of the adults of the facility are currently missing and there is an alarmingly large smear of blood in one corner.”

Oh no. Tony felt his heart constrict, despite the fact that he didn’t have one anymore. “And the children?” he asked as he raced down the hall to the elevator.

“The children are, for the moment, unharmed. They are currently locked in individual rooms with no outside access.”

Meaning that if they didn’t get to the children soon, they would die. Or be retaken by SHIELD and moved to another facility. “Shit!” he swore as the elevator opened.

“Ms. Potts has already informed the team. They are on their way with the jet.”

They were heading out to rescue the children. Tony changed direction and headed towards a window he knew opened fully—because he’d designed it that way just in case of something like this. He jumped out of the window and simultaneously called for his suit which enveloped him as he fell before thrusting off in the direction of the facility.

“JARVIS, open a line to the manor,” Tony said.

“Mr. Stark, what in the world are you doing?” asked the cultured voice of the professor.

“Change of plans,” Tony said grimly. The world flew by him as he slowly (relatively speaking, of course) converged on the jet. “Something’s happened at the facility the children are in, and we need to get them now.”

“I’ve seen your plans, Mr. Stark,” the professor said firmly. “There isn’t anywhere for them to stay yet.”

The suit automatically swerved to one side to avoid running into a flying eagle that screeched at him. “Rude bird,” Tony muttered.

“Mr. Stark?”

“I was hoping I could impose on you while we’re putting the finishing touches on our own mansion.” Such as making sure the roof didn’t leak and finding out whatever was causing the red stains on the walls. “I’ll pay, of course.”

“I’m offended you’d ask. But I feel certain your scholarship foundation will find some likely young mutants to sponsor to our school.”

Tony grinned. “I’m certain you already have them picked out,” he said calmly. “Thanks Baldy; we’ll be there soon.”

The courtyard of the facility was a mess. There was a double chain-link fence topped with generous spirals of barbed wire, a mass of charred toys and playground equipment to one side, and a mess of blood, bits of skin, and tiny shreds of (mercifully) unidentified meat.

He was joined by Clint. “Something inhuman broke in here,” the spy/tracker said as he looked around the yard.

Natasha agreed. “There was a human here. Stood here for almost the whole thing. Maybe took three steps. Small feet,” she said pointing to indentations in the bare earth of the ground.

“Whatever took the guards had smaller feet, and were larger,” Clint added as he pointed.

“Looks like the humans were separated into two groups.” Natasha gestured towards a smooth area with her gun, an area that was free of blood. There were odd scratches and gouges in the dirt. “Not sure what happened there.”

Tony frowned. “All right,” he said firmly. “First order of business: secure the kids. I think we can all agree we need to get them out of here.”

“Where are they going to go?” asked Steve as he stepped into the courtyard. Bucky was right behind him, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes hard at what he was seeing.

There was a little bit of a static buzz as Pepper tapped into the coms. “We’ve got word from Professor Xavier that he’s ready to take care of these kids until we get our own mansion up and running,” she said.

“Right. Second order of business: grab everything that looks like it might hold any kind of information on it; I don’t care how trivial it looks. Think of this as a data dump Ladies and Gentlemen and rest assured that I won’t be asking any of you to pour over it. Ready?”

“No.” The cold voice came from someone between Bucky and the Winter Soldier. The eyes pierced Tony’s through the suit. He felt ice in his chest at the thought that the man might backslide. He hadn’t even considered that a possibility! “When we’re done—we level the place.”

“Fair enough,” Tony said with a nod before turning back towards the facility.

Natasha gestured him towards the building. “After you,” she said wryly.

“Thank you,” Tony said as he reached forwards, grabbed the door with one armored glove, and yanked it off the hinges. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said as he stepped inside.

The place was eerily quiet. The floors were tile that cracked under the armor and looked as though they may have been white at one time, but there was now an almost pinkish look to them. And to the walls. Tony didn’t want to think too hard about what happened.

The halls weren’t just quiet—they were almost silent. The only noises that Tony heard were the ever present humming of the electricity through the lines and the sounds his team made as they went further and further in. Images of reaching the children only to find them already dead, nothing more than their own bloody smears began to race through Tony’s head. He wanted to ask JARVIS for reassurance, for proof that the children were still alive and he wasn’t walking into a murder scene—but no. No, he still did not have complete trust in Natasha, Clint, Steve, and Bucky. They couldn't know about JARVIS, so he had to do this the hard way.

The facility was broken up into sections that were divided by more chain-link fence—that had been ripped through. Fearing the worst Tony maneuvered the suit through the wreckage towards where he last heard the children were. He wasn’t sure what he expected.

It certainly wasn’t rows of children in coffin sized cells made of Plexiglas with huge lights above them. It certainly wasn’t seeing those same children stand, at perfect attention, at the front of the cells in front of the doors. The broken door didn’t even register as he looked at all these children in perfect military stances.

Suddenly he was glad that Clint’s wife had gotten a battalion of therapists on standby. These children were going to need more therapy than he’d thought. There was no way his people, or the professor’s people, were prepared to deal with this.

There was a slight hiss as Steve followed him into the corridor, eyes switching between a lithe blond and bulky brunette. Tony wished he couldn't hear his friend’s heart breaking as he took in the absurdly accurate military stances the children were in. Or how the children barely seemed to be breathing.

“We got enough room in the jet for,” Tony did a rough count and, oh God, did he ever get around to telling Daredevil about this? “For about twenty children.”

“If you fly separate and take one of the others with you, we do. It’ll be tight, but we’ll make it.” Tony nodded grimly as he looked around the hall. He didn’t know what to do.

Steve did. “At ease,” he ordered. As one unit the children braced their feet and tucked their hands behind them. “Fall out,” Steve ordered.

The difference was startling. The children broke their ranks and walked up to the doors of their cells, looking out with curious eyes. Some of them looked fearful. Others wary. But most, particularly one child that looked too much like Tony for his comfort, were curious.

“Hi,” Tony said, waving.

“Hello,” the boy said politely. “Are you Iron Man?”

“I am.”

“I’m supposed to be you when I grow up,” the boy said calmly.

The realization that this boy was being raised not just as a soldier, but as a replacement floored Tony. It made sense, of course. What better way to get into Stark technology than by using someone who was already a Stark? Someone who had been trained from a young age to obey and not to think too much about things like consequences—or people.

“Well, maybe,” Tony said as the possibilities reeled inside his head like a death march. “If you want to, one day,” he said.

The boy looked confused. “If I want to?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Tony slid the face plate open so that the boy could see his face. “Being Iron Man is a choice, you know.”

“It is?” The boy looked—uncomfortable with the thought.

“Oh, yeah. But don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time to decide if you want to be Iron Man. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be someone greater.”

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool #interlude

5 notes · View notes

emachinescat · 3 years

Text

Knock

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 10 - “I’m sorry, I didn’t know”

Summary: It is common knowledge in Camelot that one should never, under any circumstances, enter Sir Owen’s chambers without knocking. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell Prince Arthur’s new servant.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Sir Owen (OC)

Words: 4,618

TW: PTSD episode/flashback

Note: Early days for our boys. :)

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, pease consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this!

Everyone in Camelot knew about Sir Owen, and everyone who had met him loved him. He was an old warrior, a man of honor and valor with a keen sense for battle and a veritable treasure trove of wisdom. He was old and gray now, and limped from the festering aches of old battle wounds, but he always had a smile and time to chat with anyone he met, nobles and servants alike. After he had retired from knighthood, Uther had awarded him quarters in the castle and a life of luxury.

The kind old man received regular visitors to his spacious rooms and always gladly welcomed them. Lady Morgana brought him a vase of flowers every week, new knights would often visit for advice and encouragement, many of the maids would stop for quick chats between chores, and Gaius brought him his medicine for his old battle wounds and nightmares every evening before bed. Once or twice the king himself had been seen visiting his old friend, and he too always departed with a smile.

There was something that every one of Sir Owen’s many admirers and visitors knew, however, and honored without compromise: Never, under any circumstances, should you enter Sir Owen’s chambers without knocking.

More specifically, no one should enter his chambers without loudly and clearly announcing themselves first – a light, polite knock wouldn’t do, especially not now that he had lost all his hearing in one ear, with the other ear quickly following suit. You had to knock loudly and aggressively, and if he still didn’t hear you, then you had to proclaim yourself as loudly as possible when you eased the door open to peek in. Ultimately, the last thing anyone wanted to do was to sneak up on the beloved Sir Owen, because if he was taken off guard, if he thought he was being ambushed, he became a completely different person.

Sir Owen had fought valiantly for Camelot for many decades, and in that time he saw horrors of battle and the worst of humanity. He’d been gravely injured protecting his fellow knights on no less than three occasions, the final of which had forced him to hang up his chainmail for good. And though he was a perfectly pleasant gentleman when he was in his right mind, in those moments of fear and panic – like when he thought he was being snuck up on or ambushed – he shifted back into the fearsome warrior who had felled scores of Camelot’s enemy’s over the years. And though he was old, he was still strong for his age, and crafty, and his confusion only fueled the desperate strength within him.

Sadly, his moments of lucidity had declined rapidly in recent days, and sometimes he struggled to remember who was his enemy and who was his friend during normal, mundane conversations. He only became violent when he was scared or surprised, however, which was what made announcing one’s presence of the utmost importance when calling upon him.

Every servant in Camelot knew this, as did all the knights and nobles who paid him regular visits. Well – all of the servants except for Merlin, Prince Arthur’s new manservant, who had just been ordered by his prince to go to Sir Owens’ chambers to escort the man to the training grounds. Arthur had asked him to oversee the newest recruits on this crisp autumn morning, and to his delight, the old knight, who had been staying in more often than not, had agreed to do just that. Merlin was happy to have a job other than hefting all of Arthur’s heavy equipment to the training grounds on his own (and all in one go, because Arthur was too impatient to allow Merlin to make multiple trips and very clearly cared nothing for Merlin’s well being in the slightest).

Merlin had never met Sir Owen before but knew that he was a bit of a legend around the castle. He’d heard whispers of some of the brave deeds and epic battles the man had fought in Camelot’s first days. He also knew Morgana brought him flowers to brighten up his chambers, and that he was supposed to be a very kind man with great advice and a smile that would brighten every room. Sir Owen sounded a positive delight, and Merlin had jumped at the opportunity to fetch him for Arthur so that he could meet this amazing man for himself. He sounded like a breath of fresh air in the stuffy citadel – but then again, most anyone who wasn't the prince of Camelot could claim that title, in Merlin's book.

Although Merlin had never been good at the niceties of court when dealing with Arthur, he did make it a priority to remember to knock if he were at anyone else’s door – as Gaius had told him on many occasions, if he just barged into the wrong person’s chambers, he could be in trouble so deep that even Gaius couldn’t bail him out. And so, when he reached the old knight’s chamber door, Merlin made a point to reach out his fist and give a few hearty knocks on the door.

No answer.

Merlin waited a short time before knocking again, but again, no one answered. Pressing his ear against intricately carved wood, he thought could hear something from inside of the room – a faint shuffling, as if someone were moving around. The warlock shifted anxiously on his feet, warning bells clanging in his head. If someone was in the room, why didn’t they answer the door? At the very least, why did the person not call out? Merlin could only think of two possibilities: Either the person in the room could not answer, or was not supposed to be there. Either way, something was off, and Merlin had to check and make sure the old man he was meant to fetch was okay.

Merlin tried the door – locked – and, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, directed a pointed stare at the lock, felt the heat of magic swell within him, and heard the rewarding clunk as the door unlocked itself. Quietly, Merlin eased the door open and peered inside, looking for any sign of trouble. “Sir Owen?” His calm, quiet voice contradicted the furious beat of his heart, that instinct that warned him of danger.

No one seemed to be in the room that the wary servant could see, so Merlin inched his way further inside, taking in the elegant but sparse furnishings, the headless training dummy in old old but obviously well-cared for armor, and the weapon rack mounted on the wall that seemed to be missing its occupant. “Sir Owen?” Merlin called again, this time a little louder.

He didn’t even have time to turn when he heard the quiet rush of footsteps from behind. The next thing he knew, Merlin was facedown on the warm woolen rug that spanned much of the stone floor, the breath completely knocked out of him. Pain lanced through his upper back, sparking like lightning between his shoulder blades. Something had hit him – hard – and Merlin’s instincts warned him that whoever it was that had attacked him wasn’t done.

Only sheer force of will allowed the warlock to heave himself over on his back just in time to see Sir Owen himself, with his normally friendly, laugh-lined face twisted into a ferocious mockery of itself, gray hair come loose from its tie, and a hefty longsword, dulled with age but still deadly, brandished in his right hand. Merlin noticed that the sword, and the hand that held it, shook slightly moments before the old man – still in incredible shape for his age, as Merlin’s screaming back proved clearly! – lunged again, this time with the point of the blade and not the flat.

Merlin rolled to the side, lungs still heaving for air after being winded by Owen’s first hit, and the point of the sword cut a frayed line in the rug right where Merlin’s head had been. Struggling to his feet, the disoriented servant tried to appeal to the knight’s sensibilities; he gasped, “Sir Owen! I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Another swing of the sword, and Merlin ducked out of the way in the nick of time. “I did knock!” he insisted.

Sir Owen’s eyes, Merlin noticed, were clouded, and when the man spoke, it became obvious that he was seeing a completely different scene than what was actually going on around him. Somehow, it seemed, he thought he was back on the battlefield, fighting a deadly opponent, instead of cornering a frightened servant who had done nothing to harm him. “I won’t let you do it!” the man roared, and his voice cracked under the pressure of the rage and sorrow. “You killed my men – you take no one else!”

He advanced again, this time slowly, methodically, and Merlin backed away at the same pace, all too aware of the corner he was trapping himself in but afraid to bolt and frighten his confused aggressor into doing something he’d later regret. Raising his hands, Merlin spoke like he was addressing a small animal or a frightened child, “Sir Owen, my name is Merlin. I’m Prince Arthur’s servant. He sent me here to fetch you for the –”

He was cut off as Owen slashed forward with the sword unexpectedly, and this time Merlin wasn’t quite fast enough. Even the dulled edge was enough to slice through Merlin’s shirt and into his upper arm, and fire erupted in the wound. Blood, warm and sticky, oozed from the cut and meandered down his arm. He ignored it, more focused on staying alive.

“Liar! Traitor! Murderer!”

Merlin didn’t want to use magic on Sir Owen – from what he’d heard, the man was a genuinely good person, though something seemed very wrong with him now. On top of that, if he realized that his opponent had used magic after the fact, Merlin would be killed anyway. But the idea of being run through with a dull sword was so unpleasant that Merlin decided to take the risk. He turned to run from the next attack, allowed his eyes to flash gold, and heard his pursuer curse as his weapon somehow tumbled from his hands and skittered across the room. Hopefully, if he remembered this at all, he would put it down to losing his grip.

Now that the sword was out of the picture, Merlin felt a bit safer, but he couldn’t decide if he should try to help Sir Owen himself or run to get someone else instead. His choice was taken away from him, though, because he hesitated a second too long – in the time that Merlin had been debating his next course of action, the keen knight had made up his mind and charged bravely into battle. Sir Owen was the kind of warrior who would continue to fight with his bare hands against an entire heavily armed battalion until the very end. He never gave up, never let a little thing like losing a sword stop him.

And so he charged.

To Merlin, it was like Arthur’s prized steed had barreled straight into him, such was the force with which Sir Owen slammed against him. For the second time in ten minutes, the wind was driven out of him from the force of the blow, and he sprawled, stunned, on the chamber floor, his head rapping painfully against the stone.

Bright lights flickered in his field of vision and he tried desperately to get his body to move, but his arms and legs weren’t listening. He watched as the old knight, fury in his dark eyes, approached him, having abandoned the sword all together now that his enemy lay helpless at his feet. Merlin should have been glad that he wasn’t using the sword, but he had a very unpleasant feeling that Owen did not need a weapon to kill.

Seconds later, his unprotected side exploded in agony as Sir Owen drove his boot forward in a merciless kick. Afraid to use his magic again, forgetting everything but his basest instincts to survive, Merlin curled in on himself, nearly crying out at the pain the movement caused him. Another kick, this one to his back, and Merlin rolled away the best he could, panting in pain. Halfway to his feet, on hands and knees, almost there –

Another kick, this one to his gut, and he gagged, falling forward, face-first onto the floor. Blood welled up in his mouth – he must have bitten his tongue.

Merlin scrabbled for purchase on the cold stone, trying to regain his bearings even as every part of his body rebelled against him. He felt the man’s toe beneath his torso and sucked in a painful breath, but this time, all Owen did was flip him over. Merlin lay on his back, breath wheezing from his chest, and he was sure he had a broken rib, maybe more. Slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world at his disposal, the old man knelt next to his fallen foe and leaned in close. Merlin could smell breakfast on his breath – the stink of aged cheese mingled with the sweetness of fruit – as he man hissed, “You’ll die for this – sorcerer!”

Fear crescendoed, overshadowing the symphony of pain, as Merlin realized that somehow, Sir Owen had figured out what he had done, what he was. Helplessness took hold of the warlock. It didn’t matter if he survived this encounter – which was looking less likely by the second, unless he used his magic again – his life in Camelot was over. Might as well use his magic to escape. The giant lizard was wrong, then. It couldn't be his destiny to serve Arthur and bring magic and peace to Albion. He would be on the run for the rest of his life.

Merlin focused on his magic through the pain and felt it rise within him. It slipped out of his grasp as something latched onto his hair and dragged his head up. Merlin got a single look up close at Sir Owen’s eyes, filled with the kind of suffering no sword could inflict, brimming with regrets and hatred and death, before the man slammed the back of Merlin’s head into the ground. A flash of white light – intense pain, swirling darkness.

Merlin may have blacked out for a few seconds, but it couldn’t have been long, because when he regained a semblance of awareness – he couldn’t move, so much pain, vision blurred, he was going to be sick – Sir Owen had retrieved his sword and had it poised over his helpless victim’s heart. “Rot in hell, sorcerer,” he spat, and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, partly against the pain, mostly in preparation for death.

A voice sounded from somewhere close by, first annoyed, then panicked: “What the hell is taking so long Merlin? I– what – NO!”

The fear in the last word, unexpected and guttural as it was, was enough to convince Merlin to open his eyes. Through the haze his vision had become, he saw a red and gold blur tackle Sir Owen, heard through ringing ears the sound of a brief struggle and the angry accusation “Sorcerer!” and then there was someone kneeling over him again, and Merlin struggled to sit up, to get away. He managed to turn over just in time to vomit all over Prince Arthur’s clean boots.

To his surprise, the prince didn’t yell or order him to scrub them again, right then and there. Instead, with surprisingly gentle hands, the man eased his servant back onto the ground and began checking him for injuries.

“You idiot,” Arthur said as he probed the back of Merlin’s head, eliciting a cry of pain and frowning at the blood staining his fingertips. He moved on to check Merlin’s ribs (“Three broken, at the very least, but we’ll have Gaius look at you.”) and arm. “It’s fairly shallow,” he said, and Merlin thought he must have been giddy with pain and exertion at this point, because it sounded like the prince was actually relieved. Arthur stood, stepped out of his boots with a grimace, and ordered, “Stay there. I mean it – don’t move. I’ve subdued Sir Owen for the moment, but he needs Gaius.” A deep crevice between his brows, the prince added, “And so do you. You’re a mess.”

Merlin didn’t hear if Arthur said anything else after that. He didn’t even see the prince leave the room. The darkness had claimed him by then, wrapping its welcoming arms of comfort around him and staving off, if only for a little while, the pain and the fear of what was to come.

***

When he awoke, it was in his own bed, in his room, and he was alone. Merlin’s head hurt more than he could ever remember it doing before – even more than the time he and Will had climbed on top of his roof and he’d fallen through the thatch. He’d smacked his head on the kitchen table when he’d landed on it, but the pain he’d been in had been nothing compared to his mother’s wrath. Now, though, it was not an ache or even bursts of sharp pains – it was like a drum, and every beat increased the agony he felt. It was the kind of headache that turned your stomach against you, too, and made the world around you lose its crisp edges and stole your ability to concentrate on even the most simple of tasks. His arm, now bandaged, stung fiercely, and the gnawing ache in his ribs turned into a cacophonous mass of torment any time he thought of moving.

So he didn’t move. He lay there, head pounding, body hurting like he had been run over by a horse, and allowed his mind to wander, though with the headache he had, he really did not have much control over the direction of his thoughts, anyway. In the end, every wandering pathway of his consciousness, every thought and question and memory, all led back to the terrifying realization that Sir Owen had seen his magic – somehow – and had probably already told Arthur and the king. Any moment now, guards would barge into his room and throw him into a cold, dark cell. Or maybe they’d skip the cell all together and toss him on a pyre. They wouldn’t even have to tie him to it. He was too weak to move.

The door opened, and Merlin jumped in a mixture of surprise and terror. Even the small movement caused all of his injuries to flare up and he slumped back, face beaded with sweat, panting in exhaustion and pain, waiting for the inevitable and wondering if he should try to fight back with magic since his secret was already out anyway.

It was good that he didn’t, because it was Arthur who entered, and he was alone, and there was a strange look on his face – if Merlin didn’t know better, he would have said it was somewhere between worried and guilty, with a healthy dose of discomfort sprinkled in for good measure. “Merlin,” the prince said in surprise, and it occurred to Merlin that he hadn’t expected his servant to be awake yet. Arthur stayed in the doorway, uncertainty rolling off of him in waves. “I – Gaius stepped out for a moment, to check up on Sir Owen. He’s been in quite a state, really disoriented and worried that he hurt you badly.”

Merlin frowned, and even that hurt. “Gaius?”

Arthur stared at Merlin like he’d grown another head. “No, you moron. Sir Owen. He feels terrible about what happened.”

Perhaps it was the head injury, but Merlin found himself thoroughly confused. “So… you’re not here to arrest me?” He could hear the slur in his own words and realized that he probably looked as bad as – if not worse than – he sounded. Arthur appeared to be as baffled as Merlin. He finally moved beyond the arch of the door and into the room, awkwardly taking a seat in Merlin’s chair, near the bed.

“Why would I be here to arrest you?” His blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What did you do this time?”

“Uh, Sir Owen, he said…” Merlin’s thoughts were as fuzzy as his sight, and he felt that distinctive curdling in his stomach that told him he was going to be decorating Arthur’s shoes again very shortly. Arthur must have seen that tell-tale paling of the face and whitening of the knuckles, because moments later, a bucket had been shoved under his nose and he threw up into it, vaguely surprised that there was anything left to expel. Arthur had produced a cup of water from somewhere, and when Merlin finished, the prince helped him take a sip. The water was bliss, cooling his raw throat and chasing away the sour taste in his mouth.

Nausea under control for the moment, Merlin cleared his throat uncomfortably, not meeting Arthur’s eye after the strangely intimate moment (if he had been looking, he would have seen Arthur studiously avoiding his gaze as well). Merlin picked up where he’d left off, his voice cracked and timid. “Sir Owen called me a sorcerer.” Arthur did look at him now, Merlin felt his eyes, but the warlock didn’t reciprocate. Instead, in a rush, he said, “If he told you that, you have to understand–”

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice held no malice, only concern and a heaviness that the servant did not understand. “You don’t have to explain to me that you’re not a sorcerer. Yes, Sir Owen said something about it when I was pulling him off of you, but I know he was confused.”

Cautiously, Merlin pressed, “How do you know?”

Arthur laughed, a harsh, clipped sound. “Are you saying that you are a sorcerer?”

Merlin’s stomach flipped over on itself. “No,” he lied, not sure why he had even mentioned Sir Owen’s accusation in the first place. He was making himself look more suspicious; it was just hard to control what came out of his mouth – harder than usual, anyway. “I just want to know why you believe me over a respected former knight.” There. That was reasonable, right? Merlin’s head ached, and he just wanted to go back to sleep, but he had to know, had to have some kind of concrete assurance before he could rest.

Arthur sighed. That same weight tugged at the next words he said: “Sir Owen… he was a great knight, and incredibly brave and strong – still is, for that matter–”

“You can say that again,” Merlin muttered, wincing.

Arthur glared at him, daring him to interrupt again, and continued, “But he has seen some horrible things on the field of battle. And if he thinks he’s being attacked, he lashes out. Gaius says that he somehow finds himself back in the middle of a war, fighting off his worst enemies and watching his men die around him. It’s like he’s reliving the worst days of his life. And that’s why he attacked you – he thought you were trying to ambush and kill him.”

“But that doesn’t explain–”

“I’m getting there, Merlin. For someone who looks half-dead, you sure can run your mouth like usual.” Merlin grinned, despite himself. “Oh, don’t look so proud,” Arthur ordered irritably. “It’s incredibly irritating.” But his own mouth had stretched into a half–smile as well.

“Anyway – the last battle, the one that ended his career… A sorcerer who was fighting against Camelot nearly crippled him. He lay there, helpless, and had to watch as the sorcerer killed at least a dozen of his men. One of them was his only son.”

A grim silence settled over master and servant, and a sick pit had formed in Merlin’s stomach. It was the kind of hollowness that could only exist in misery and pain, and he found himself wishing for the nausea to return.

“He thought I was that sorcerer,” Merlin clarified, heart aching for the man that had nearly killed him. “I didn’t know”

“How could you?” Arthur asked. Then he added, his voice taking on more of the guilt that Merlin had thought he’d heard earlier, “And I – well, it’s my fault,” he hedged lamely. “That you got hurt. Because I didn’t even think to warn you to knock before you entered the room. I was so focused on getting to the training field that it didn’t cross my mind that you didn’t know about Sir Owen’s flashbacks, as Gaius calls them.”

Merlin’s eyelids were heavy, and everything hurt, and he could feel sleep calling to him, but he insisted stubbornly, “I did knock.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Wonders never cease. But,” he clarified, “if he doesn’t hear you knocking and doesn’t know you’re coming, then it doesn’t even matter if you did knock. I should have told you to announce yourself, or had someone go with you that knew what to do.”

Somewhere in the other room, a door opened and closed.

“That’ll be Gaius,” said Arthur, standing up. He looked down at his battered servant, hesitated for the briefest of moments, and then said, “Sir Owen sends his apologies, and he hopes to meet you under better circumstances once you’re both feeling up to it.” In a rush, he added, “And, for what it’s worth, I – I’m sorry too.”

Merlin blinked in surprise, knowing how hard it had to have been for Arthur to admit he had made a mistake, let alone apologize for it. And even though the servant truly didn’t think the prince had anything to apologize for (after all, Merlin forgot important things all the time), it was touching, and he could tell that despite his discomfort that Arthur really meant it and needed to know that all was well.

Arthur leaned over, gave Merlin’s shoulder a gentle squeeze – even that sent bolts of agony through Merlin’s body, but the gesture was appreciated, even cherished. “You did… surprisingly well in holding him off until I found you,” he admitted as Gaius’s footsteps were heard ascending the short set of stairs behind him.

“He beat me to a pulp and nearly sliced me in half,” Merlin deadpanned.

“Yes, but you’re still alive, and that in itself is almost impressive,” Arthur said, and Merlin couldn't tell if the prince was serious or not. “Anyway,” he said, backing away and making room for Gaius, who was puttering into the small room balancing a tray of medicines and broth. “I need to get to training. Gaius, make sure he’s back to work the moment he’s well enough, but… also, not a moment before he’s ready.”

Gaius nodded, patted Arthur on the shoulder in thanks, and began to treat his patient. Merlin watched Arthur leave, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest that had nothing to do with the broken ribs. He barely even heard Gaius’s lecture about propriety and taking care of himself and knowing all the facts before he walked in on a situation. His wandering, aching mind was too busy thinking about the prince.

When he’d first come to Camelot, Arthur never would have apologized for anything. Already, amazingly, Merlin was beginning to see a change in the other man, a spark of something that made Merlin the tiniest bit proud to know him. And it may have been the head injury talking, but right now, despite the irritation he so commonly felt toward his new master, the idea of this destiny the dragon had prophesied suddenly didn’t seem too terrible after all.

Maybe Arthur wasn’t so bad, either.

24 notes · View notes

atamascolily · 4 years

Text

let’s talk about the Bene Gesserit

When Paul meets Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohamian of the Bene Gesserit, he identifies the order’s purpose right away: “Politics.” The Reverend Mother is surprised, and gives Jessica the side-eye to see if Jessica has spilled secrets, but Jessica denies it. I don’t know whether to believe Jessica or not here because Jessica has told Paul all kinds of things, but I’m going to assume Jessica is telling the truth here, and this is supposed to be yet another sign Paul is super-smart, super-observant, the Chosen One, etc, etc.

But I want to know: what does the rest of the galaxy think the Bene Gesserit do?

Pretty much every female character in Dune who’s not Fremen is Bene Gesserit, or at least has some degree of training from them. All of them are linked to powerful men: Jessica is a ducal concubine and mother of his heir; Margot is wife to Count Fenring (and presumably only allowed to marry him and be a Lady in her own right because the Count is a “eunuch” and can’t bear children); Irulan is a princess and the Emperor’s daughter. Even the Reverend Mother, once the superintendent of the Bene Gesserit school on Wallach IX, is now the Emperor’s Truthsayer. And the narrative goes out of its way to mention that Thufir Hawat specifically purchased Jessica for Duke Leto, and cleared her for the Atreides household.

So, are the Bene Gesserit seen as a religious order? A finishing school for ladies of the ruling class? Are they the futuristic equivalent of medieval nunneries, except with less embroidery and more manners? All of the above?

In reality, the Bene Gesserit are all-female order on a self-directed mission to provide “a thread of continuity in human affairs”. They do this by a secret breeding program, separating humans from “animals” by means of various tests (one of which Paul undergoes in the novel’s opening scene). The Bene Gesserit schools are filled with the (presumably female) offspring of this breeding program, as well as any other genetic lines they’re interested in manipulating. Many, like Jessica, are kept ignorant of their heritage by the higher-ups so they can secretly breed back into the line (ironically, a standard technique in animal breeding!). Apparently, the BG have found out the hard way that outright incest is a hard sell, so they keep the participants in the dark, which is... horrifying. The BG’s stated goal is to create a Kwisatz Haderach, a man who can look into the void that no BG [female] Truthsayer can see, “into both feminine and masculine pasts”.

Leaving aside the irony of an all-female organization seeking to create a man more powerful than they are, I don’t understand why the Kwisatz Haderach has to be male; it seems like a female Kwisatz Haderach who can see into both her male and female ancestral lines ought to be equally possible. Even if you argue that those male ancestral memories are inextricably linked to a Y chromosome or some other vaguely scientific rationale, it’s a) never explained anywhere in the book that I can recall, and b) Paul’s sister Alia will have this ability--and in fact will be haunted by at least one male ancestor to her extreme detriment. Maybe the BG are trying to create a male Kwisatz Haderach because they think men are easier to manipulate and control? Or do they not know what they’re talking about?

The Emperor knows the BG are useful; that’s why he has a Truthsayer and presumably was okay with them training his daughter, but he doesn’t seem to know the BG are manipulating his wife and concubines to make sure he has only daughters, so they can marry said daughters to a match of their choice. The BG orders Jessica to do the same thing, and she defies them because Duke Leto really, really wants a son. Does that mean the BG are always supposed to bear female children to keep the order going, or did Jessica and Irulan’s mother receive special orders on account of their positions? I don’t think this is ever made clear, and it bugs me.

I also don’t understand why the BG don’t... do something (anything!) when Jessica defies them and has Paul instead. Granted, Paul is the duke’s heir, he’s protected from assassins in general, but it seems like the BG might have had some way of influencing/punishing Jessica for her disobedience and they... don’t. At all. And I don’t get it. If Jessica’s act is so courageous--as Irulan later assess that it is in her history--what are the consequences?

The Reverend Mother sarcastically says Jessica defied the orders and had a son because she was arrogant enough to think she could produce the Kwisatz Haderach at last. Jessica says she suspected the possibility, but what made her think that? She doesn’t even know who her parents are! She hasn’t passed the final tests to be a Reverend Mother (and her defiance presumably knocked her off that track because the BG can’t trust her with that level of power), so why would she think HER SON would be the Chosen One? I don’t get it. Is Jessica being sarcastic here, too?

The Reverend Mother says Jessica did it because she loved Leto and didn’t want to disappoint him, which Jessica admits to. The Reverend Mother’s mostly angry because her plan was to wed an Atreides daughter to the Harkonnen heir and maybe put a stop to all the infighting between the two families (or compound it further? or for other reasons that only make sense when you learn who Jessica’s father really is?) Now with Paul as the heir, that’s not possible--because marriage is all about biological progeny, property, and heteronormativity in this book--and the Reverend Mother is annoyed mainly because the BG might lose both bloodlines in all the forthcoming violence.

I guess this begs the question of to what extent a BG agent is their own operative, and to what extent they are controlled/under the influence of the order as a whole? The Reverend Mother seems sympathetic to Jessica, saying, “Each of us must make her own path,” which implies some degree of independent agency. She also sees that Jessica has been teaching Paul the BG Way, and “I’d have done the same thing in your shoes and devil take the Rules”. And she encourages Jessica to train him in the Voice, because she thinks that’s the only way Paul’s going to survive the Harkonnen treachery to come (which she knows about because she’s presumably privy to much of the Emperor’s behind-the-scenes scheming with the Harkonnens).

And then the Reverend Mother walks out “with not another backward glance” and we don’t see her again until the final scene. “The room and its occupants already were shut from her thoughts.” And Jessica is freaked out by the fact the Reverend Mother is crying as she walks away.

Why is she crying? Does she genuinely love Jessica as her “own daughter” as she claims, and she regrets that Jessica is either going to die or be a fugitive with a price on her head once the Harkonnen trap is sprung? Is she upset about what could have been, and wasn’t? Is she regretful of all the genetic material and possibilities, thousands of years of careful work and preparation obliterated by forces she has no intention of stopping? All of the above??

I don’t know why the Reverend Mother shows up to test Paul’s humanity at the beginning. Is it because she’s curious? Or does she have no choice given Paul’s lineage, and her suspicions/Jessica’s assertions that Paul really might be the Kwisatz Haderach? Did Jessica ask for it, because she knows Paul needs this test in order to move to the next level in his training and she’s not emotionally equipped to administer it? All of the above?

And the Reverend Mother looks straight at Paul, saying outright that she sees the possibility/potential for him to become the Kwisatz Haderach and walks away... why??

Conclusion: The Watsonian explanation is that the BG talk a mean game, but they’re not as smart as they think they are. The Doylist explanation is that Frank Herbert wanted to set up his plot just so and didn’t care if the BG looked stupid in the process.

But this got even weirder when I realized there was an appendix in my edition (which I had never read before) claiming to be an in-universe “Report on Bene Gesserit Motives and Purposes” written for Lady Jessica “immediately after the Arrakis Affair,” which comes to the exact same conclusions.

The report does clarify that the BG expected the child of Jessica and Leto’s daughter and Feyd-Ruatha Harkonnen to have a high probability of being the Kwisatz Haderach. So Jessica’s decision to skip ahead on the program a generation wasn’t such a long-shot after all.

Except: “For reasons she confesses have never been completely clear to her, the concubine Lady Jessica defied her orders and bore a son”. So Jessica herself doesn’t even know why she did it...!! But she must have known some of this, because why else would she train/test Paul the way she did, or admit to the Reverend Mother she thought it was possible in the first place?

The writer goes on to note that BG knew teenage Paul had prescient dreams, the Reverend Mother failed to mention that his humanity test had broken records in her report (not mentioned in the book itself!!); that the BG knew that spice could amplify psychic powers... and did nothing to stop Jessica and Paul from going there and eating a fuckton of spice; and didn’t make the connection that the rumors of a guerilla prophet leader born of a Bene Gesserit mother and destined to be the savior might have some connection to the two people who had disappeared shortly beforehand (!!!); plus some stuff about their dealings with the Spacers’ Guild and the complications of a higher-order nexus they couldn’t see past, which ought to have alerted them that someone more powerful than they were was messing around with the future.

“In the face of these facts, one is led to the inescapable conclusion that the inefficient Bene Gesserit behavior in this affair was a product of an even higher plan of which they were completely unaware!”

And on that note, the report ends and I just... cannot believe that Herbert deliberately lampshades the BG’s incompetence--and then concludes that “God [aka the author] did it”. Because unless I missed something important and Paul meddles with the past somehow, I don’t know how else to interpret this...

I suppose this report might be written by an unreliable narrator--like every other in-universe document in this book--but then what is even the point if we never get any answers..?

#dune #dune meta #bene gesserit #what is canon

50 notes · View notes

brokasteltranslations · 4 years

Text

Fate/Requiem: Chapter 3

The next day, I paid a visit to a certain information broker. I brought Pran with me, and this time he was not refused entry.

–

On the surface, it appeared to be a cosy little luxury hotel catered towards tourists. In a corner of the austere Renaissance-styled lobby were two concierges. Cesare, the elder, and Lucrezia, the younger: the Servant duo known together as the Borgia siblings.

Calculating minds housed in youthful bodies. The kind of Servant I was worst at dealing with.

The two were all but identical in stature and visage, as though they were twins. A boy and girl, slim and graceful, the image of angelic purity. They answered to their Master, the ageing hotel manager, but it was common knowledge that almost all of the management of the hotel was left to them.

Cesare, the elder, who in life had been the right hand of his father the Pope, and with the rank of Archbishop had wielded authority both within and without the Holy See. Lucrezia, the younger, who armed with her heavenly beauty had married over and over into political advantage. The siblings' names were infamous even today, mostly in connection with the mysterious and untimely deaths met by many who opposed their ambitions.

–

“My, if it isn't Erice!”

“Good evening, Erice.”

The pair smiled at me, with their elbows resting on the marble reception desk.

“We thought it was about time for you to pay us a visit.”

“That child you have with you – so he's the Masterless Servant everyone's talking about?”

I turned a blind eye to their proddings. The boy must have taken a shine to the antique goggles in my apartment, because he'd worn them all the way here.

The siblings nonchalantly slid me a shot glass across the counter as they greeted us. The sharp scent of spirits wafted through the air.

“I can't. I'm underage.” I would have to choose my words carefully, and be cautious in my every move with these two. They offered some juice instead, and Pran reached out for it. I placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pulled him back behind me.

“Would you happen know anything about it?”

Lucrezia gently crossed her legs on the tall chair behind the desk, and shook her head. “Unfortunately not. Or at least, nothing more than what's available on the municipal network.”

“But that aside... perhaps you might be interested in this.” Cesare placed a storage device on the desk. It couldn't have been bigger than my little finger, and was equipped with a magical lock. Anyone designated as the key could access the information it contained directly, without the need for a smartphone or similar device, but it was otherwise very difficult to hack.

“What am I looking at?”

“A list of citizens who have attempted to conduct unsanctioned summonings, ranging from the day before yesterday to several days prior. With particular emphasis on those whose rituals failed or ended prematurely.”

“...I see.”

This would have to be the first step in any investigation, barring an extraordinary stroke of luck. It was precious information that would ordinarily take a great deal of time and effort to gather, and now it was being offered all too easily. Unsanctioned summons were illegal, of course, but the invasion of others' privacy also carried heavy penalties in Mosaic City – although if one balked at the notion of invading others' privacy, the profession of information broker perhaps wasn't for them.

“What a curiously generous offer.”

“We're simply glad to be of service to you, Erice.”

“I'm delighted to hear it.”

These siblings would often require payment in more than money. In the past, I'd had to let slip secrets I'd learned of the criminal underworld in exchange for their information. More than a few times, it had later come to light that a Servant I had disposed of had been someone they considered an inconvenience. I didn't like to admit it, but odds were good that I was playing an unwitting puppet on invisible strings.

So caution was vital.

I gently withdrew the hand I had extended towards the storage device. It was alluring bait, but more than likely poisoned.

“Actually, it's not because of him that I'm here today.”

“Well then, what are you here for?”

“Chitose came here, didn't she? Sometime last night, most likely.”

The siblings' expressions were inscrutable. They were waiting to see what move I would make.

“I've had my assignments from Caren suspended, so I'll be closing up business for a while. There isn't much I could do for you even if I wanted to.”

Cesare measured up myself and Pran, his chin resting on the palm of his hand. “Business, eh? You know, Erice, there are many people who suffer because of your work, and a scarce few who benefit from it. But above all...”

Lucrezia continued where her brother left off. “You yourself gain nothing from it, do you? What's wrong with taking this opportunity to enjoy a little vacation away from it all?”

“If it's retribution from people you've crossed that concerns you, we can show you a wonderful safe house. Although it might weigh a little heavy on the wallet.”

“A safe house, you say.”

Well, this clinched it. Chitose had come here, and coerced them. Threatened them. But it seemed like they had no intention of concealing that fact. So what did that mean?

There must have been something else they were hiding. I had no choice but to show my hand.

I heaved a theatrical sigh. “You know, I had a little chat with the relic salesman in the Akiba Department Store. He mentioned that when Kundry attempted to procure the materials for an unsanctioned summoning, a certain information broker intervened to vouch for her. An interesting story, don't you think?”

It wasn't a bluff. I had returned to the relic shop after parting ways with Karin on the previous day.

“I've also heard that there have been some new traps on the market recently. Ones that leech power from ley lines, that have proven very popular among less savoury times. If you know anything, I'd greatly appreciate if you could share it. It's very important I be properly prepared, just in case, you understand. Well? How about it, Signor? Signora?”

Their expressions stiffened for the slightest of moments. Even if I wasn't currently on a direct assignment from a municipal administration AI, I still had just cause to take immediate action if I personally witnessed an attempt to interfere with the city's infrastructure.

“Ahaha... Oh, Erice. You best us yet again.” Lucrezia gave a tinkling laugh as she leaned over her brother's back. Stretching over his shoulder, she took back the storage device on the desk, before setting down a new one. Surprise and a hint of protest marred Cesare's otherwise unreadable expression. It seemed that this time, the sister had read one move further ahead.

“They do say that there is no word “no” in a concierge's dictionary. Is that not so, Cesar?”

“So it is, Lucrezia. So it is.”

These Servants lived their lives atop the thinnest layer of ice. If I were to start asking the wrong questions, they would be finished as information brokers. If they wanted to avoid that fate, they had had no choice but to reveal their own hands.

With my work here done, I departed the lobby. I felt no desire to stay. This was a tranquil and beautiful place, but it was not one to remain in for long – its noxious atmosphere made it hard to breathe.

Three spouses and eight children...I wonder what that feels like.

There was no end to the mysteries surrounding these siblings, and I found my thoughts turning to the sister in particular. Historically Lucrezia had been nothing more than a pawn used to engineer political marriages, but I wondered how much influence she had really exerted over her brother, Cesare, and her father, Pope Alexander VI. I wondered if they had not in fact been her puppets, dancing on the strings of the spider at the heart of the web.

–

“'Til next time, Reaper.” “We look forward to your next visit.”

The siblings waved goodbye as they saw me off from behind the counter.

“Goodbye.”

Pran waved back in polite response.

----

We decided to take a break at a nearby coffee shop - the Bookshop Cafe Borges, where one could relax surrounded by a veritable forest of tomes from the old world. It was one of my favourite relaxation spots.

The first floor comprised a cafe area, a wide space for pleasant conversation. An open stairwell led up to the second floor, where innumerable bookshelves stood crammed together so tightly that it looked like the floor might give out. Sofas and chairs were placed between the labyrinthine shelves, on which one could fully immerse themselves in the pleasure of reading.

On a whim I asked the ageing, mild-mannered shopkeeper, and learned that they did indeed have a first-edition English print of “The Little Prince” in their collection. It may not have been a personal artefact of the man himself, but it could certainly have been a sufficient catalyst to summon Saint-Exupéry. However, when I showed the manuscript to Pran, he exhibited no special response. In the end, all I learned was that he was capable of reading and writing English. The quirky illustrations at least seemed to capture his interest, although as usual he reacted poorly to the snake.

I was far from giving up on the search for his true name, but I could not justify pursuing the Saint-Exupéry connection any further out of anything but my own wishful thinking.

Over a light lunch, I decided to check the storage device the Borgia siblings had given me. And the shock I felt on seeing the news recorded therein was enough to obliterate any trace of lingering attachment to Saint-Exupéry.

–

They called it the Command Seal Hunter.

A chain of murders had visited Mosaic City, connected by a common thread: all of the victims had died with their Command Seals stolen, forcibly severed from their body with the appendages that bore them. No reports had yet been issued from Akihabara, but people had been found dead in other wards – and the victims were not the kind of underground magi that I was used to tangling with. They were ordinary citizens.

In this new world, where illness and death had been conquered, the most common place to see the names of people who had died was in murder reports. Some things could not be avoided, even with the protection of the Holy Grail.

I thought that was what I was here for...

One of the most unusual aspects about this particular series of crimes was the amount of time that had elapsed before they were discovered. If the victims had been killed and their bodies concealed, finding them would have been comparatively easy; that was what the Caren series was for. However, that was not what had happened. Instead, for several days after being stripped of their Command Seals, the victims had continued to live their lives as normal.

One of them had the Command Seals on his right hand stolen, and he just wore a glove to conceal the wound. A glove! And what's more, there's no record of those Command Seals being used in the interim...

There were even records here of conversations they had had with neighbours, meaningless small talk. Each and every one of them had concealed the wound they'd suffered – some skilfully, others very poorly. The truth was often only discovered after they suddenly collapsed unconscious in the middle of whatever they were doing. Or perhaps some task in their daily lives had required the use of a Command Seal, and only then had others pointed out the abnormality where their Command Seals used to be.

Some sort of drug to dull their sense of pain? Perhaps incredibly powerful hypnosis? No, impossible. Some of them lost whole limbs, for crying out loud! How could someone not realise their own throat had been torn out? But then...they must...

I shuddered. The victims must already have been dead at the point when their Command Seals were taken. And then their lifeless bodies had continued to act out their everyday routine.

This was a case unlike anything I'd ever seen. My appetite slowly disappeared as I read further. Was a Servant responsible for these murders, or a magus? Both were possible. And with the rate that these cases were appearing, and the time that had elapsed before their discovery...

It was more than possible that other victims were walking the streets of Akihabara right now. This wasn't something I could ignore.

I gulped, and cast a glance around the cafe. My gaze lingered involuntarily on a woman with gloved hands. At a customer wearing unusually thick clothing.

–

Then I saw the Command Seal glowing on the back of their hand. They were merely communicating with their Servant.

–

The Command Seals of the pre- and post-war worlds were supposedly very different. In a true Holy Grail War, their use would be limited, and they would be visibly divided into a number of distinct strokes; usually three. Three strokes, with one use per stroke, for a total of three uses before they were gone. Or so I had heard, anyway. The past was often less convenient than the present, I supposed.

Command Seals in this new world were different on almost all counts. For a start, they were not divided into distinct parts. At first glance they may appear to be partitioned in three, but closer inspection would reveal they actually comprised a detailed, interlinking pattern that would fade on usage proportional to the amount of mana expended. Secondly, a faded Command Seal would recover with time, courtesy of the Grail replenishing its mana. The recovery time varied a little from person to person depending on their aptitude for magecraft, but broadly speaking it would take only a few days.

Thirdly, while (as the name implied) Command Seals were traditionally used to command one's Servant, temporarily strengthening their abilities, this had become less and less of a necessity as a result of the dramatic change in Master-Servant relationships. Nowadays, they were often utilised as a simple mana source, a means of granting the Master access to thaumaturgy. If anything, in today's world, that had become the more common usage.

Only two people in this city did not possess a set of these Command Seals: myself, and Manazuru Chitose.

Chitose, however, still retained the Command Seals she had obtained during her own Grail War. Perhaps that made little practical difference in everyday life, but it was still more than I had.

–

A group of three entered the cafe: two tall men, and a young girl barely half their height. The girl exchanged a few words with one of her companions, and grinned. She wore a familiar-looking white coat draped over her shoulders.

“Haruko? What's she doing here?”

She swept her gaze around the cafe, and gave a small start; clearly, she had seen me too. The child seated next to me probably hadn't helped make me any less conspicuous. I noticed that the hat she usually wore low over her face was absent today.

For their part, her companions were visibly muscular, and exuded a distinctive aura. It was obvious at first glance – to me, at least - that they were Servants. In the lead was a cheerful-looking man in the late throes of middle age, with copper skin and a lush beard. The other man trailing behind was almost his polar opposite: a young man with sickly pale skin and a melancholic demeanour, and silver hair drawn together into a rough ponytail that cascaded down his back.

“A friend of yours, Koharu?”

“Um, of a sort. We attend lectures at the same community college-”

“She's the Reaper, you know. Get too close, and she'll steal your soul.”

“Galahad! Shush!” Haruko was quick to meet the pale man's sardonic interjection with a quick rebuke; he acted nonplussed, but said no more. She seemed very different from the way she usually came across during class. However, more to the point...

They know I'm the Reaper... Wait, what? Galahad? He looks nothing like that knight I saw onscreen... Although... Yes, that's right. I suppose he wouldn't, would he?

“One of your classmates, eh? Well, why don't we pull up some chairs and get acquainted?” The middle-aged man spoke to Haruko – Koharu, had he called her? Is that her real name, then? - with odd familiarity. She nodded in assent, albeit a little hesitantly.

–

We moved over to a round table further inside the cafe. The middle-aged man sat next to Koharu opposite Pran and I, with his stout, hairy arms rested heavily on the table, grinning at the two of us. He was dressed in a short-sleeved safari shirt and a pair of shorts, and looked for all the world like a visiting tourist. The intellectual air lent by his round-framed glasses made for a curious contrast with the rest of his outfit.

Galahad sat at the side, leaning back disinterestedly on his chair. He wore a deep purple – indigo? - dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, and black skinny jeans. The shirt lay open at the collar to reveal a chest even paler than his arms.

Their arrival at the cafe had caused an evident stir. The rest of the customers had shrunk back from our table, and I could feel their glances burning into me.

This is... awkward...

This must be life when you were a celebrity, a Grail Tournament winner. Only a few minutes ago I had been overwhelmed by the terror and panic of the serial killings, but for the time being those feeling had been shut away firmly in a box and neatly shelved.

The man leaned forward with an amiable smile. “I must say, it came as quite a shock to learn Koharu was classmates with the famous Reaper.”

“Not as shocked as I am”, I replied. “It's hard to believe I'm sitting across the table from Hannibal of Carthage.”

I felt a little uncertain how to react to someone I had only just met referring to me as the Reaper, but my words – and my respect - were sincere. Even if I was talking to a participant in the Grail Tournament.

“Hannibal's the commander of the team I've been assigned to”, Koharu supplied, a little hesitantly.

“Your team? You mean the next Tournament is going to be a team battle?”

“Indeed it is.” Hannibal folded his arms with evident confidence. “And the newest member of our team won the Rookie Tournament handily. Our victory is all but assured.”

“H-Hannibal! I, um... I'm not... I'm not that good...” Koharu shrank back, red-faced. I could hardly blame her. If a general as famous as Hannibal had placed me so high in his estimation, I probably would have done the same.

Don't worry, I get it. Although it's a bit of a surprise to see that even you can look embarrassed once in a while.

“And I get to cart around the kid and her great-grandad. I'm telling you now, I don't do bedtime stories... or hospice care.” Galahad chipped in with another snide remark, and Koharu rounded on him again, teeth bared in a hissing snarl.

–

In tie, I learned that Hannibal's Master was currently negotiating conditions with members of other teams. Koharu had shown the trio to this cafe during a break in the discussions. Expanding a Servant's range of independent action in this way was among the most common uses of Command Seals.

The sheer volume of information flooding in from across the table was overwhelming, and it was difficult to know where to even begin to reply. Until yesterday, I had barely even known what the Grail Tournament was.

I cast a sidelong glance at the Knight of the Grail. He was preoccupying himself with his meal in haughty silence, although I noticed that he was only picking at his roast beef and yorkshire pudding, and was focused primarily on his glass of red wine. Again, the polar opposite of Hannibal's healthy appetite. It occurred to me that if Koharu had been attending the Pre-War Human History lectures, Galahad had also likely been present in spirit form. It was likely that he already knew me. We had probably passed by each other any times without my knowing it.

“Planning to stare all day, Reaper? If you want a bite, you only had to ask.” He made to push his plate towards me, and was only stopped by Koharu's grip on his arm.

I'm not sure I envy her this one.

–

Karin's words from yesterday came back to me: “How sincere other people are isn't something you get to decide.”

Many Servants had gotten accustomed to life in this new, peaceful world. However, others had spent their entire lives on the battlefield, and dedicated themselves wholly to the craft of war. It came down to the individual whether they had had their fill of fighting or still lusted for blood.

Hannibal, it seemed, was the latter kind - which meant that was the fate indicated to his Master by the Grail. The Grail Tournament was a precious opportunity for such Servants to let themselves loose to their hearts’ content in pursuit of exhilaration and glory. I supposed that was, in its own way, a kind of freedom.

But that's not why Koharu is here. She isn't like the rest of them. She's different somehow...

----

The Grail Tournament was yet to officially publicise any information regarding the background of one Koharu F. Riedenflaus, but my own investigations had borne some modest fruit.

House Riedenflaus was a family of Magi associated with the Clocktower, with its roots in the necromantic traditions. They were low in status compared with the elite of the Magus Association, and their history spanned only a few centuries. However, it seemed that their longtime occupation of the seat at the foot of the aristocratists' table had been enough to grant them entry to the city.

The promoter of the Grail Tournament was none other than this House Riedenflaus. In other words, they were actively and brazenly flouting the first precept of the Magus Association, the Concealment of the Mysteries. I was curious as to how their mentality had evolved to suit this new post-war world, but it was something else I uncovered in the course of my investigations that had really drawn my interest: that their family's magic revolved around the creation of artificial life forms, or homunculi.

Koharu's youthful appearance had initially led me to assume that she was a member of the next generation. However, now that I knew her surname, I was beginning to wonder if it indicated something else entirely.

–

Hannibal regaled us with anecdotes of his past exploits as we ate. I listened, half fascinated and half starstruck, as he spoke with good humour of the great defeat his army had faced on the field of battle. The tale also seemed to have caught Pran's interest, because he listened cheerfully. Eventually, he chimed in with an unexpected question.

“What's a 'war'?”

Not only myself, but Koharu, Hannibal and even Galahad stared at him with mouths agape.

“What's a 'war'?”, he repeated.

“Um, well... It's a war, right? Like a battle?” I knew that hardly constituted an answer, but I was at a loss as to how to respond. The idea of a Servant ignorant of the very concept of war had taken us all by surprise.

“Like killing?”

“That's right. Lots of killing. More than you can ever imagine.” Hannibal's voice was composed, but his gaze was chilly through his round-framed glasses. “And yet we humans never seem to tire of it. It's just a part of who we are.”

Not a single day in all of human history had passed devoid of war. A Heroic Spirit who doesn't know what war is? Impossible.

A part of me hoped for another sarcastic quip from Galahad – anything to change the subject - but none were forthcoming. He sat with mouth pursed firmly closed. The gazes drilling into Pran were beginning to make me feel distinctly uneasy, and I hurriedly asked Hannibal for another story of his time as a general. It was at times like this that I appreciated Karin's power to effortlessly lighten the mood.

–

A few minutes passed before I noticed that Koharu was gazing at her lap in listless silence. I thought to call out to her, but my mouth had only gotten half-open before her eyes suddenly snapped to me.

“Is something the matter?”

“Um, Miss Riedenflaus? I was wondering-”

She raised a hand to stop me. “Please just call me Koharu. I'm the youngest here, after all.”

“I see.” My next question almost tumbled from my mouth before I could stop it, but I managed to bite it back just in time.

What are you thinking? You can't ask her that! What are you even expecting her to say? “Why yes, I am a homunculus, thank you very much for asking”?

It would have been bigoted, self-centred and an invasion of privacy all in one. To probe people who had caught my interest for their weak points was an unfortunate habit of mine.

“I... I saw footage of you fighting. At the Rookie Tournament. Watching you fighting to the bitter end against an opponent like that... It was amazing. I'm not sure I could do that even if I had the strongest Servant in the world beside me.”

“Um... Thank you very much.” Koharu lowered her eyes, blushing fiercely. “I know I got very lucky, but managing to win... made me really happy...”

She gave a smile that was mostly bashful, although somewhere in there was a flicker of pride. Watching her struggle to contain her delight, I could wish her only the best. Half of what I had said had been borrowed from a certain JK, but I had rewatched the video since, and my admiration was the real thing.

“I'm sorry about yesterday. I was very rude to you.” She spoke sheepishly, eyes fixed firmly on the fingertips she was pressing together.

“Eh? Oh, that. Don't sweat it. I get that you were in a hurry.”

“Thank you. I was in such a rush, it just kind of came out...”

This girl was modest to a fault – and perhaps that was that sincerity, the warrior's pride she displayed in spite of her age, that invited me to lower my guard. Whatever the case, I got ahead of myself, and asked something I would not even have put to Karin.

–

“I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

I wanted to know more about that armoured knight I had seen onscreen. Perhaps, I wondered, there might be something I could learn from her about my own curse.

“Could you tell me a little more about that “Possession” they mentioned on the programme?”

“My Possession? I, um...” Koharu cast a hesitant glance at Galahad.

“Now wait just a moment, you two.” For a while Hannibal had been content just to watch us, but now he interrupted. I could see half-chewed food still in his mouth as he spoke. “If you wish to learn more of her abilities, you must see them for yourself. We are not scribes, with pen and parchment. We are warriors, with sword and spear and fist! Come to the Colosseum, Erice, and watch us do battle. It should not be long before our next bout.”

“You mean you're inviting her to spectate? Aren't the tickets all sold out? I suppose we could hope for cancellations, but there are always so many people waiting...”

The notion of acquiring tickets through anything other than official channels seemed to genuinely not have occurred to Koharu. Hannibal, laughing heartily, informed her that there were always other ways.

And so, I ended up exchanging contact details with Koharu F. Riedenflaus, the celebrity. She promised to inform me as soon as she had gotten hold of tickets, although she seemed a little bewildered by the way things had transpired. It was comforting to know I was not the only one who felt that they had lost control of this conversation.

At this point, there's no way I can tell them I don't really care all that much about the Tournament...

–

For a while I phased out. In the end, it was Galahad who brought me crashing back to reality.

“Spend too long entertaining the elderly and you'll be one of them before you know it, Reaper.”

“Um... Galahad?”

“If you've got something to ask, just ask it. Koharu'll jump at the chance to trade it for anything you've got on the Stigmata, I guarantee it.”

Utter silence. For a moment I struggled for a response... and then, with a clatter, Koharu grabbed her fork, lifted it, and drove it back down towards the table with all her might. Directly in its path lay Galahad's hand. My and Pran's eyes widened in shock. An attack from an ordinary human would appear as though in slow-motion to a Servant, and I felt sure that he would dodge it with ease, but as I watched it became clearer and clearer that he had no intention of moving a muscle.

Thud. The fork slammed down just between his fingers, with barely a couple of millimetres to spare.

“You should learn some manners, my lady. Just look what you've done to our round table.”

“...My apologies. I promise I'll pay for it.”

Koharu apologised for her poor behaviour, and hung her head in silence. Hannibal stood up, apparently unfazed by the discord between his compatriots.

“I'm sorry, but I will have to depart. My master is calling for me.”

The trio finished paid the proprietors for the damage to their table, and left the shop.

----

Left alone with Pran once more, I found myself wondering what sort of person Hannibal's Master might be. The two were bound together by the fate indicated by the Grail. Would they be Hannibal's equal, carefree and bold? Or would they be his opposite, a stern, cold tactician?

Masters... and Servants...

Sometimes, like Koharu and Galahad, their relationship was impossible to understand from the outside.

I tried to return to my previous train of thought about the Command Seal Hunter, but something from the previous conversation continued to niggle at me.

You're being silly, Erice. Stop overthinking things.

There was no logical reason that they, likely the strongest warriors in Mosaic City, had put me so ill at ease. But...

“If you've got something to ask, just ask it.” On the face of it, Galahad had simply been referring to my questions about Koharu. However, I felt something deeper there, something urging me on.

Maybe Chitose and Ms. Fujimura don't want me involved in this, but I can't just sit here and do nothing.

On a sudden impulse, I left Pran in the care of the shopkeeper and dashed out of the cafe.

–-

Luck was on my side, and I managed to catch up with the trio on the road to the Colosseum. I flagged them down and came to a stop in front of them, my breathing ragged.

“If you know I'm the Reaper... then let me at least give you a warning.”

While keeping my voice low, conscious of being overheard by passers-by, I told them everything I had just learned about the Command Seal Hunter. About the mysterious, indiscriminate murders that were even now being suppressed from the municipal information network, and the Servants who had become collateral damage.

“If you want to know more, it's all on this data drive.”

“Are you sure?”

I released the lock on the storage drive and replaced it with Koharu's personal signature. She extended out a grateful hand to take it.

“Thank you.”

“No worries.”

I didn't know if I had managed to fully convince them of the gravity of the situation, but they had at least taken me seriously enough to listen without bursting out in laughter.

“Even if no victims have yet been discovered in this ward, we cannot risk any harm coming to spectators. It may be tricky, but I will see about raising the matter with the security staff.”

“Thank you, Hannibal.”

“In any case, we cannot allow anything to interfere with Rome's downfall!” The general set his fingers to his chin and flashed a brilliant smile.

“That sounds awfully confident for you of all Servants...”

“Wha...? Don't tell me you're a Rome supporter, Erice?!”

“Eh? But our next opponents aren't even Roman.” Koharu cocked her head, puzzled.

“Just ignore him.” Galahad's tone was as sardonic as ever. “Start giving old men the time of day and they'll never shut up.”

“Please do come to the tournament, Erice.” With those parting words, Koharu turned around and headed back towards the arena with her companions. She did not look back.

#Fate/Requiem #Fate #translation #light novel

86 notes · View notes

vicunaburger · 4 years

Text

Imperfect and inhuman, are we?

Fandom: School of Rock: The Musical (AU Verse) Chapters: 1/? Pairing: Dewey Finn x OC (Magdalena Newton) The Players: Dewey Finn, Magdalena Newton, Ned Schneebly, The School of Rock Students Word Count: 1,978 Warnings: M for Future Things

Notes: Y’all remember when I said I was going to play in in the Dewey Finn + vampire universe? WELL...here we go. Trying out a new “free-form” scene by scene chapter format, rather than a standard chronological order. We’ll see how this plays out

Chapter 1 - Night - Routine

The alarm went off at precisely 8:14pm.

From under the massive pile of blankets covering the twin-sized bed, an arm slithered out, feeling along the nightstand in the dark. The vibrations from the cellphone led the fingers toward their goal, tapping the screen - a few misses - before the noise finally ceased. Finished with its task, the arm retreated under the blankets, tucking itself inward like a snake retreating to its den.

At 8:17pm, the alarm went off again.

This time, an entire body followed the arm out of the blankets, turning off the alarm with one hand, and turning on a small desk lamp with the other. With a wide yawn, they stumbled out of bed, shuffling along the carpeted floor until they reached the bathroom. Luckily, this room had an automatic light fixture, the space filling with a soft white glow. Another automatic feature kicked on around the same time; a TV screen built-in to the vanity mirror taking up most of the wall. At once, the familiar voice of the weather channel anchor echoed around the tiled bathroom.

Magdalena Newton looked a mess when she woke up.

Her only saving grace was the fact she had the forethought to plait her long hair into a braid every night, or else she would have to deal with a rat’s nest besides the general unkept-ness of her appearance first thing in the morning. Absently, she untied the ribbon in her oil-black hair, watching the weatherman as she started to untangle the strands.

Sunrise was at 6:28am that morning; a good amount of time to take care of her errands.

Magdalena tapped the center of her vanity mirror and another screen snapped to life, along with some ring lights attached to a small camera. Within a few seconds, she could see herself in the mirror’s surface, as clear as though she were looking in the actual glass.

Technology was a marvel.

Her reflection was always such a strange thing to look at, to be honest. There were moments it didn’t seem like she was the one looking back at herself, only recently getting the ability to see herself within the past few decades. It was centuries before she could recall what she truly looked like, relying only on a painted portrait or a lover’s descriptions.

Both of which were never accurate.

Wincing at her haggard appearance, Magdalena started to work on fixing herself up for the night. No use going out looking like you just rolled out of bed… even if it were true. She was raised to be a proper lady when in view of other people, and that took some care and effort on her part. Besides, one never knows who you might see wandering the streets so late at night, or whom you might be looking for.

—

Was it just him, or did the sliding door of his van sound louder when it was dark outside?

Checking his watch in the circular beam of the streetlamp, it was just around 9:00pm when he parked his van outside of his apartment building, sliding open the door to start moving equipment from the vehicle to the home. It had been another late-night practice session at the concert venue with his students, which meant he had spent the last hour or so of practice getting berated by parents for keeping their kids so late.

The gods of rock care not for simple mortal concepts like time. Or calling parents in advance. Or responding to the last 15 text messages you got.

Eh, he knew they would shut up about it once they saw all the hard work the kids were putting into the show. It was shaping up to be quite the epic mid-summer concert spectacular he had seen in his dreams. The uptight little bastards were really doing him proud.

Dewey Finn stuck the handle of his guitar case between his teeth, trying to balance the bottom half with his knee, and simultaneously grab his satchel from under the front seat. It was a good idea, in theory, had it not been for the fact that the angle of the guitar case was preventing him from reaching into the van. He wasn’t about to set his prized guitar case on the street, nor did he feel like making two trips up and down the building’s stairwell.

He lost count of how many times he had sent angry emails to the supervisor about the busted elevator, only to be told it would “take some time” because it was a “historic building”.

Historic was a polite word for collapsing at any given moment.

Dewey couldn’t complain too much, all things considered; the apartment’s mysterious landlord company gave him a break on the rent due to him using the space for education. Apparently, whoever own the place was a fan of music, which gave them an upgrade in the landlord scale from Hell spawn to Minor Annoyance.

Shifting his weight to keep the guitar case balanced, Dewey tried again to reach the satchel, muttering a slew of curses with a mouthful of leather handle.

—

Magdalena heard the van door before she even rounded the corner, which made her take pause during her speedy trek down the sidewalk. Pulling out her phone, she checked the time: 9:07pm. He was a little earlier than she anticipated, putting a significant kink in her plans for that evening.

For the two and a half weeks, she had clocked him arriving at his apartment no earlier than 9:39pm, which would leave her plenty of time to scale the fire escape until she reached his floor. Nothing scandalous ever happened during her vigils; she was more than content to listen to the sounds of life from his apartment. His weighty footsteps padding around the creaky floors, rummaging around for something to eat, playing video games late into the night. Speaking with other people either in person or on the telephone.

And her favorite hobby of his: singing.

Was it still considered voyeurism if one didn’t actually look at their object of affection? Listening was more than enough. Hearing him plunk out little tunes on his guitar and sing classic rock ballads were something she could have listened to all night if she had the opportunity. She would risk staying out beyond daybreak if he had stayed up all night singing; her own private concert, and he didn’t even know anyone was listening.

For now.

Still, she was debating if it was too early to introduce herself. What is in doing so, she was committing a grave miscalculation of her plans and would therefore have to resort to… unpleasant measures? What if he didn’t want to know her? What if he ended up not liking what he found out?

What if it was something mundane: she wasn’t the right type? The right build or height? The right gender? He hadn’t brought anyone into his apartment save his friend - Nathan? Nolan? - that she could tell. However, his daytime activities were as of yet a mystery, which could have meant this entire plan would end in utter disaster if he were spoken for.

Nope. There was no use thinking the worst of things without even making an attempt.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

—

The more he struggled, the more his jaw began to ache.

Dewey was stubborn more than anything, which his best friend Ned always pointed out just how illogical it was for him to be such a damn slacker 90% of the time when he would get into his hellbent fits of motivation. He was going to make it up the stairs in one go, and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself doing it.

Such delusions of grandeur can only go so far before one’s hubris decided to take the driver’s seat.

Dewey’s jaw finally gave out, causing his guitar case to tip over across his knee and gain a bit of air before starting to fall to the dirty sidewalk below. The whole thing was like a slow-motion sequence in a movie; Dewey reaching out his hands, fumbling for purchase on the leather case, and ultimately sending it further away from him when he failed to grasp it tight.

Unable to watch the carnage, he screwed his eyes shut tight, waiting for the inevitable crashing of his precious instrument hitting cement-

-which never happened.

Cautiously opening one eye, he peeked out in the darkened space beyond the streetlight, seeing his guitar case being held oh so carefully by a pair of delicate hands. Fully opening his eyes, he followed those hands up their respective arms until he came face to face with his savior. A woman, about his height, stood next to his van with the case secure in her grip. It was hard to see her in the shadows, even more so with her face obscured by the neck of the guitar case.

“Clumsy.” The woman said, her voice clear and crisp in the still air.

Dewey was immediately taken aback by her speech, his overly sensitive musical ear picking up a mix of accents he couldn’t place, and a soft, rounded lisp near the front of her mouth. Within a few seconds, however, he was far more concerned with the welfare of his guitar, reaching out and gently taking the case from her.

“You… you saved Tawny from certain death. My precious axe. My baby.” He cradled the case like a small child, setting it down in the van with great care. “I was such a fool to treat you so carelessly.”

The woman tilted her head, “Tawny?”

“Tawny. Ya know, like the girl from the White Snake video? Only the hottest woman to ever dance on the hood of a car.” Dewey replied, “Not… not that it was her only quality.”

“Never met her, so I couldn’t say.” She replied, a bit of laughter lilting through her voice this time. “She was attractive though, no shame in saying it.”

Whirling around on his heels, Dewey finally turned his full attention to the woman, almost falling over into the passenger door of the van once he got a good view of her. He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t… her.

“Snow White” was the immediate image that popped into his head. She looked pale as a ghost in the dim shadows, with dark hair tied intricately with braided bits gathered into a low ponytail, and her bright blue eyes catching the light like some nocturnal creature. The stark difference between her skin and her inky hair, coupled with her all black ensemble gave her the appearance of a living black and white image. The only color visible in the darkness with a bright, robin’s egg blue scarf tied in a bow around her neck.

“Uhhh…. I… you… wow…” Dewey leaned against the van, trying to act casual. “I mean, w-what’s a girl like you doing on a sidewalk like this? It’s late for a casual urban hike.”

“Protecting defenseless musical instruments from certain death.” She mirrored his stance, placing a hand on her hip. “I moonlight as a vigilante.”

He nodded, holding out his hand in a friendly gesture, “Ah, well, consider me a grateful citizen oh Superhero- Lady- Ma’am. Wow- you know what? That was lame. I’m just gonna show myself out before I embarrass myself any further.”

Dewey started to take his hand away, but not before the woman took hold of it, shaking it with a firm grip, “All in a night’s work, fair citizen.”

The woman - reluctantly- let go of his hand, stepping around him and continuing her way down the sidewalk. As though finally discovering that: yes, he had a brain, and yes, he should use it immediately, Dewey jogged a couple paces to try and catch up to her. She stopped when she heard him approaching, which made him bump into her softly, having not anticipated the sudden pause.

After steadying himself, Dewey ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, “Listen. Maybe… maybe we can start over? Because this whole night is gonna keep me up for weeks if I don’t try and regain my dignity. I’m Dewey Finn.”

Laughing softly, though she covered her mouth delicately with the back of her hand, she nodded. “Fair enough, Dewey Finn. I’m Magdalena.”

Writing Tags: @amywright @mrgeuse @hoodoo12 @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @a-subconscious-manifestation @asriells @missihart23 @heknowshisherbs

#school of rock musical #school of rock broadway #school of rock fanfiction #school of rock AU #dewey finn x oc #writing time

24 notes · View notes

keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky ch. 17

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

~~*~~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

~~*~~

Read Chapter 17 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge’s prediction that they’d be sleeping close in Rus’s narrower bed was proven very true, but so was his assertion that he wouldn’t mind. After they were done cleaning up the Rec room, their own mess and what the others left behind, they went back to Rus’s room to put his shower token to good use.

The bed itself was smaller than Edge’s and the mattress not quite as firm, but it had a definite bonus in that Rus was in it. Warm and sleepy, snuggling readily into Edge’s arms. Tired as he was, sleep did not come to Edge right away. He lay awake, quietly focused on listening to Rus breathe. He didn’t know what time he finally drifted off, but he woke when Rus’s alarm blared, or at least he thought it was an alarm. A loud male voice yowling out that it was ‘peanut butter jelly time’ certainly woke a person up. Edge might have leapt out of the bed and readied an attack if his limbs weren’t tangled with Rus’s.

As it was, Rus’s heartfelt groan was definitely a shared sentiment. He managed to free an arm from both the blankets and Edge, flailing out to find his alarm and turn it off. The clatter of it hitting the floor was a good indication that he was more invested right now in staying in bed than rising to face the day, and that was not an ideal that Edge shared.

He pressed a light kiss to Rus’s brow bone and murmured, “I need to get up.”

That got a reaction. Instantly, Rus’s arms tightened around him and through the muffling blankets came a surly, “no. you stay. here. ”

It was difficult not to smile. “I can’t. I have work. You have work.”

The wordless grumbles sounded less than enthusiastic at that truth and Edge decided to try a different approach.

“Breakfast will be ready soon,” Edge coaxed. “And as much as I don’t care about gossip, I would rather change my clothes beforehand.” Especially since they could use a good wash after that particular movie viewing.

A deep sigh came from the depths of the blankets, and finally Rus’s skull emerged from beneath the blankets like a creature from the deep, although his roar was more like a yawn. “okay, yeah, food would be good. lemme throw on some clothes and we can head out.”

The sensation of having Rus squirm free of the bed was a delightfully new experience, if an unexpectedly stimulating one, his bones scraping lightly against Edge’s in several rather sensitive places. They’d slept bare and a faint flush tinged Rus’s cheek bones as he stood by the bed in nothing but his own bones. Edge shifted to sit against the headboard to watch.

Rus paused as Edge made no move to follow him upright. “you gonna get dressed?”

“In a moment, thank you,” Edge said politely.

Rus’s mouth pursed suspiciously, his expression wavering between amusement and irritation, “are you really going to sit there and watch while i get dressed?”

“Yes.”

That blush brightened, a lovely honey orange, but his face settled on sweetly pleased, “heh, okay, but if you’re hoping for a reverse striptease, i couldn’t win a dance competition against a moldsmal.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Edge murmured, watching as Rus’s glossily pretty bones slowly disappeared beneath his clothing. The wriggle of his pelvis as he pulled up his pants, the complex shift of his spine as he slipped on a shirt. “This is perfectly fine.”

It was difficult to pull his gaze away from Rus to glance at the time, but Edge managed. Breakfast wasn’t for over half an hour. Hm.

“there!” Rus announced, sitting on the side of the bed to pull on his socks. “happy? now you can--eep!”

His startled cry was caught beneath Edge’s mouth as he was hauled back onto the mussed bed, but there wasn’t a single protest after surprise faded, only sweet enthusiasm.

The bed was quite a bit narrower than his own, but as it turned out, it was perfectly serviceable. For all their needs.

~~*~~

Despite Edge’s better intentions, they did end up a few minutes late to breakfast. All the researchers were already there and halfway to clearing their plates by the time Edge and Rus took their seats.

A few scattered greetings came their way, which he replied to in kind, along with Undyne’s smirk, which Edge resolutely ignored. Rus sat at his left on the end of the table to prevent a war of elbows while they were eating and when he boldly settled his right hand on Edge’s, those phalanges cautiously tracing his own, Edge simply turned his hand over and twined their fingers together.

He did not think of how little time they had left, focusing on the now. Tomorrow would have to take care of itself and while the sex was certainly enjoyable, very much so, this was very nice. Sharing the breakfast together that they should have had the first morning after, rather than painful arguments and accusations.

Thinking of which, it did not escape his notice that his brother’s chair was empty again. Something needed to be done about that.

Most of the researchers were already gone by the time they finished eating, though a few lingered, their laptops in front of them while they dawdled over their plates and coffee.

“Where are you off to today?” Edge asked as he and Rus washed their plates. The roster would clearly state where Rus was signed out to go, but he may as well simply ask rather than creepily slog through the paperwork.

“outpost #2 so i can pull the latest numbers,” Rus said, setting his dishes in the drainer. “be a couple of hours, then it’s back for calculations,” Rus heaved out an exaggerated sigh. “it’s a shame how much of astronomy is actually math. no one told me that when i was still in striped shirts. see ya at lunch, boss.”

His sockets widened as Edge leaned in, brushing their mouths together. “Be careful,” he murmured.

There was something charming about seeing him stunned by a simple kiss, considering what they’d done the night before. Rus swallowed hard and nodded, looking as if his skull was somehow wobbly on his vertebrae, then fled the room as if afraid Edge might try persuading him to stay. Or perhaps he was afraid he wouldn’t resist if Edge did.

Edge turned back to the table to find an entire studio audience watching, researchers and Undyne alike and every one of them wore an expression of great interest. He scowled at them, to no avail.

“If you don’t mind,” Edge said politely. One of the glaciologists,-- what was her name, was it Nadine?-- only beamed at him happily, for all the world as if movie night horror shows had morphed to an early morning rom-com.

“We don’t mind at all,” she grinned, but went back to her breakfast with a last sly glance.

Honestly, this was why relationships with the researchers was an awful idea. No one knew how to mind their own business.

Speaking of which.

Edge waited until after the others left, then headed into the kitchen. As he wasn’t given a ‘special plate’ today, he could only assume he was reasonably forgiven. But recent events were proof that assumptions only led to trouble and he honestly liked Bonnie. She was a private person and often kept to herself, but she was a very important member of their team. They’d always had a certain comradery that Edge found he was missing.

He found her at her workstation, ingredients laid out around her. Lunch often included some kind of soup, warming and filling, and she was dicing up root vegetables before tossing them into a large stock pot.

She pointedly ignored Edge even though he was standing well within her field of vision. He waited patiently until she sighed and laid her knife aside, her chin raised as she met his scarred gaze with her own.

Anyone who believed that speaking in hands was blandly impersonal was one who needed a great deal more experience in the language, because there was remorse in every word Edge signed, I know you were angry with me. I am sorry.

Bonnie’s mouth pursed, her good eye hooded as she looked at Edge consideringly. He wondered how much she knew about the argument, though he wouldn’t be surprised if she had a damned transcript of it. One couldn’t spend as much time around Red as they all did without picking up a trick or two.

Her hands were slow, reluctant, as she signed, He’s young.

That held an implication that he didn’t care for; Rus was no child or even a virgin, by his own word. By the name of the cursed dead King, he was working on his damn PhD. Edge forced himself not to bristle as he signed curtly, He’s no younger than I am.

That didn’t seem to be the answer she wanted, her frown deepening as she glared at him. You are older in knowledge! Bonnie signed agitatedly. He doesn’t know many things. He has a good soul.

That much Edge could agree with. He does.

He should stay here. Safer here than out there.

Ah, and there was the crux of it, wasn’t it. He didn’t know what she’d been through, what she’d suffered. But he did know that Buns usually came from very large families, many generations living together, and Bonnie had come to them alone. She’d kept her distance in one way or another for the entire time she’d been here, but something about Rus broke through her reticence and pulled the familial urges she’d set aside years ago to the fore.

Carefully, Edge signed, He can’t.

He could! You tell him to stay! Accusingly and there was a temptation that did not need to be considered.

He is not that young, he can make his own choices. As gently as he could, his fingers moving like falling petals. He deserves sunshine.

She blew out a noisy breath, seeming to realize there was no point in arguing. She turned back to her chopping but before she picked up her knife, she reached out and grabbed another cutting board, slapping it down on the counter and signing curtly, Help me dice the potatoes.

Allowing himself a faint smile, Edge began rolling up his sleeves.

~~*~~

Lunch was well underway by the time he left the kitchen, soup bubbling in the pot and bread dough set at the back of the counter to proof, a tacit indication that he would be welcome back that afternoon to help with kneading.

There was one more thing that needed to be done before he could start on the mountain of paperwork waiting for him.

Bonnie hadn’t offered a single comment when Edge left her to lunch preparations and began making sandwiches despite the still-early hour, smearing on plenty of mustard atop the leftover meatloaf. What she had done was disappear into the pantry, coming back out with one of her smaller canning jars that was filled with the pickles she made from the little cucumbers that grew in the hydroponic gardens. Red was particularly fond of them and the two of them had a lively ongoing battle of him stealing jars whenever he could sneak one while Bonnie came up with new and sometimes bemusing places to hide them. Edge still remembered finding one buried in the middle of a large bag of flour, carefully wrapped in plastic and nestled inside.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed Red was skipping meals and no matter how annoyed she might be, Bonnie had her own ways of showing she cared.

Edge added several pickles to the plate before carrying it off in the direction of the living quarters, to a door that was the furthest possible from the researcher’s quarters without physically being in another building. The lock was changed frequently, but Alphys made sure to give him a new key just as often. She refused to keep one for herself and at least one of them needed to be able to go in without breaking down the door, if only for safety reasons.

Edge knocked once before unlocking it, saying loudly enough to be heard through the door. “I’m coming in.”

There was no response, but he truly hadn’t expected one. He took a deep breath, let it out, and opened the door.

His brother’s room was more like a cave than living quarters. He didn’t have a bed frame, only a bare mattress laid out on the floor covered in an overflowing pile of blankets and pillows. If Edge’s room was sparsely furnished, Red’s more than made up for it with sheer masses of clutter. Shelves filled with gewgaws and machine parts, one shelf was entirely filled with dusty shot glasses from every gas station they’d ever visited while they were living amongst the humans.

Another was filled with circuit boards, switches, and gadgets. Edge couldn’t begin to guess at what any of those little devices did and it usually seemed safer not to ask.

His brother was sitting at his workbench, the lamp there was the only light in the room, casting him in a sodium-yellow glow. His knit hat was off, revealing the full extent of the damage still on his skull. To Edge’s knowing eye, they looked a minuscule amount better after his last healing treatment. A few more and the bone would be healed. Any other healing would simply take time.

Red didn’t look at him, his attention on whatever he was working on. Edge watched him work for a moment, nimble fingers flying over whatever he was creating, tiny screwdrivers and tools chosen and then returned to their chosen spot. The rest of the room might be disordered chaos but his workbench was pristine, a place for everything and everything in its place.

It was honestly relaxing to watch, but Edge was here on a mission. He set the plate at Red elbow with a deliberate thunk. “You weren’t at breakfast. Or dinner last night.”

“i ate,” Red grumbled. That didn’t stop him from picking up one of the sandwiches, stuffing half of it into his mouth in one bite. Through his mouthful, he said even as he chewed, “saw you and the fashion victim are back on.”

“Yes,” Edge agreed, warily.

Crumbs fell to the floor, mustard smearing Red’s teeth, but despite his messy habits, Red kept back from the small device on his worktable. Red wasn’t the scientist Alphys is, but he was an engineer in his own right and he kept most of the machines and vehicles in top working order. None of the researchers here knew that Red had his own PhD, none of them realized the brilliance held in his small body and that was the way Red preferred it.

But Edge knew. His hand itched to stroke over that cracked skull, to take reassurance in knowing that his brother might not be quite whole but neither was he about to fall apart. He resisted the urge; Red likely wouldn’t appreciate it and he wanted his brother to eat.

Which he was, watching Edge suspiciously through the corner of his socket as he started on the second sandwich. “been thinking about what you said about your honey. about if i knew what he’d been through.”

Of course he had. “I also said to leave him alone,” Edge sighed.

How convenient that Red ignored that. He’d discovered the offering of pickles hidden behind the bread and the last sandwich was abandoned half-eaten as he snatched up the entire handful, popping two into his mouth at once as he spun his chair around to face Edge. “ain’t much in the information packet he gave us, you know. address is in ebott, goes to the university, no surprises there. so i hacked into the embassy records to get a better peek.”

“You what??” Edge sputtered. He swore his soul went still in his chest, skipping an entire beat, “the point is to not draw their attention, what were you thinking?”

Red’s easy grin did not fill him with any sort of confidence. “relax, this ain’t my first rodeo. i know how to cover my tracks and his file was easy to find.” He leaned in, pickles forgotten as he said, low, “bro, he didn't exist until two years ago.”

“What do you mean?” Despite his intentions, Edge was reluctantly interested.

“he didn’t exist,” Red repeated, “nada, nothing, no info from the underground. monsters have been up on the surface for four years now and change. so where did he come from before he showed up in Ebott two years ago and then took the long way around to our front door?”

Where, indeed. But for all his affinity for puzzles, this was not one Edge was interested in answering. “I don’t care.”

“boss—”

“I don’t care!” Edge insisted. “Brother. Please. He��s not stealing, he’s not sneaking around. If he’s hiding from something, it’s not on our account. Let him be.” He could see Red’s protests bubbling beneath the surface, his brow bone lowering, and Edge added, softly, “I’m asking you to let him be. Let me be happy with him while he’s here.”

It was a low blow and Edge knew it, watched the emotions fluttering across Red’s face until he looked away, stuffing the last pickle into his mouth and mumbling messily around it, “okay, boss. i’ll let it go. where is he, anyway?”

There was no reason not to tell Red, not when he could simply check the roster. “He went out to outpost #2, he should be back for lunch.”

“then i’ve got some time,” Red wiped his hands on his shorts and spun his chair back towards the table. “hit bricks, kid, i can’t think with you staring through the back of my skull.”

The thoughtless joke made Edge wince; once he would have been able to see through the back of Red’s skull and even if that horrific damage was mostly healed, he did not appreciate the reminder. He gave in his clamoring urge to settle a gentle hand on his brother’s skull, lightly tracing the remaining cracks.

Beneath his touch, Red stilled, then blew out an impatient breath, shaking him off. But it was gently done. “get your worry fondles in later, i’m busy.”

“Yes, boss,” Edge said lightly, teasing, and Red snorted loudly.

“don’t even fucking think it, that’s a threat and a half. i ain’t getting cursed being in charge of all these asshats.”

“I’ll see you at lunch?” It teetered between order and question.

“if you get out and lemme finish this, you will. Beat it.”

Edge reclaimed the plate and did as he was told. His soul felt lighter than it had in longer than he cared to remember, and despite having just eaten, he found he was looking forward to lunch so that he could spend a little more time with the cause of it.

~~*~~

That lightness lingered as he did his paperwork, surging when the lunch hour came and he went to the dining hall to find Rus already there. He was immersed in his laptop and only offering a quick, distracted smile, but even that was warming.

All the researchers were in attendance along with Undyne and even Alphys, all gathered in one moment of seemingly perfection. Until Red came in, pushing open the door so hard it knocked into the wall behind it.

His knit hat was pulled down over his skull, his sunglasses abandoned for once and a hush fell over the room as he stalked right up to Rus’s seat.

Who didn’t even notice until Red was standing right next to him, flailing back in surprise as he looked up to find crimson eye lights far too close to this own. Edge hastily caught him, steadying him before he tipped backwards off the bench. Red only waited patiently as Rus settled back into his seat and then set a device right next to Rus’s plate.

“heya,” Rus said, warily, and that he would speak to Red without anger or accusations settled some of Edge’s churning worries. He wouldn’t have blamed Rus if he’d chosen to stay away from Red for the rest of his tenure and Edge wouldn’t make excuses for his brother nor ask for apologies, but he...he cared for both of them. He didn’t want hatred between them.

“here,” Red said gruffly. It was what he’d been working on that morning, Edge realized, an unremarkable black box with what looked like several USB ports and a few dials. “should help you get your work done a little faster. hook it between your laptop and the telescope, and you’ll be able to run your calculations while you’re stargazing or whatever it is you’re doing.”

Rus picked up the box, turning it over in his hands first with caution, then disbelieving wonder, “that…that adapter costs a fortune, how did you—thank you,” Rus said dumbly.

Red lifted one shoulder in a shrug and hopped into his own seat, reaching for the serving spoons. His disregard didn’t stop Rus’s from blathering on excitedly, his smile bright, and Edge only watched, a smile of his own only barely held back.

“did you make this?” Rus demanded, holding it out, and Red shrugged again.

“something like that. ain't too bad with my hands, fashion victim.” Rus didn’t react to the nickname, only smiled happily, and it was obvious that even without the words the apology was given and accepted. Around them, the conversations slowly resumed while Rus inspected his gift, mumbled beneath his breath about calculations, his own plate forgotten.

“seriously, though, this is amazing!” Rus laughed. “my bro would flip over this, dings is always fighting for funding, he ends up making his own gear half the time, too.”

“dings?” Red’s head jerked up like a wintry prairie dog, mashed potatoes falling messily from the sagging spoon to his plate as he stared at Rus with shrunken eye lights, “your brother is wingdings?”

“um, yeah,” Rus agreed, some of his delight fading as he looked at Red with understandable wariness; he and Red hadn’t been besties even before the incident and there was no mistaking his shock.

“wingdings gaster?” Red said in disbelief.

“you know my brother?” Rus’s confusion only deepened, his pale eye lights flicking from Red to Edge, who could only shrug. The name wasn’t familiar to him.

“i ...guess maybe i do,” Red said slowly. His tongue flicked out over his teeth. “didn’t know he was your bro. how’s old dings doing, anyway, it’s been a while.”

“fine, i suppose,” Rus glumly. His eye lights drifted down to his own bowl where he stirred his soup listlessly. “we aren’t really talking right now, he wasn’t happy about me coming here.”

“heh, that sounds about right,” Red chuckled. To Edge’s hearing, it sounded forced, strain leaking through. “sorry to hear that, bet you don’t even have a picture of him to keep you company.”

Rus laughed and shook his head, “you’d win that bet. he never shows up right in pictures, something about his magic messes it up, doesn’t matter if it’s old school film or the latest iphone, he looks weird.” He hefted the device again and his smile was easier, filled with gratitude. “anyway, thanks again, this’ll speed up my calculations a lot!”

Red’s smile eased into something more genuine. “No problem, kid.” he jerked his head towards the door, “go give it a try, i’ll take care of your plate for you.”

Rus only hesitated a moment before hastily gathering up his laptop. He only paused when he turned to Edge, eye lights flicking to Red, but he still leaned in and took a light kiss, sweet and devilishly tempting, before fleeing out the door with his arms filled with his laptop and the little device in hand.

Edge watched him go, then wordlessly turned back to his own plate. Eating calmly, waiting until the last researcher left him and his brother alone.

The moment the door swung shut behind the back of the last one, Edge spoke, quietly, “You know his brother?”

Red nodded, slowly, and his expression was not one that Edge liked, strangely agitated, “yeah, but. somethin’ ain’t right here, boss.” He licked his teeth again, eye lights sliding aimlessly around the room, lingering over nothing as he whispered, “wingdings gaster is dead. has been for years, what the fuck is going on?”

Dead. That was a puzzle that could not be ignored. Edge closed his sockets, pressing a knuckle between them where a headache was starting to form.

“Could he have faked his death?” Edge asked, clipped and low, “That would explain why Rus only showed up in the radar recently, if his whole family was in hiding.”

“faked falling into the core?” Red chuckled unpleasantly and shook his head. “don’t think so. look, i know you like the kid, hell, i like him, he’s got jokes. and i’m sorry i hurt the kid before. but there is something fucked up going on here, bro, and i ain’t so sure rus is the one hiding anythin’. we can’t ignore this one, let me check into it. ”

Rus’s tearstained face, pleading his innocence to them. Begging for their trust.

That headache loomed, throbbing in Edge’s skull, “You bring anything you find to me, first. All right?”

“yeah, you got it. we ain’t going through a redo,” Red pushed back from the table and stood, saying with as much gentleness as Red possessed, “there’s more than your love life at stake, boss.”

“I know.” But if things went poorly this time, Edge didn’t expect forgiveness again.

His brother walked out, leaving his own plate along with Rus’s for Edge to wash, but he did not care. It was a simple, mindless task that was not enough of a distraction, not at all.

One day of simple happiness was all he’d gotten and Edge wondered with helpless, dark humor if it was worth it for a few weeks of Rus in his arms.

His answer came in a memory of that morning, of Rus’s soft cries and delightful sweetness as they made love. The smiles he offered Edge, the wonder in his expression as he gazed up at the aurora as it danced across the sky. Worth it, Edge decided, and he offered a silent, foolish prayer to an Angel he didn’t quite believe in that his brother found nothing.

“Please,” Edge whispered to no one at all. There was no answer, but that was all right. It was exactly what he expected.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell undyne #underfell alphys #arctic AU

44 notes · View notes

cocoaberi · 4 years

Text

The Doll Father

She lay naked and bloody on the forest floor. Her eyes so swollen she could barely see anything. Her head pounding and her body pulsing with pain all over. She wanted to scream but could only grunt. Her throat was soar she remembered from being choked nearly to death. He meant to kill her...she was for sure he intended to kill her now.

Earlier this very day he invited her to the woods for a picnic. He proposed to her and put a ring on her finger. He looked up at her triumphantly...then she said "No" and handed him back his ring. She was sorry for refusing him...but she knew they were not meant for each other. She turned around to go home when he snatched her by the hair and slamming her delicate body to to the ground. Jumping on top of her, he punched her in the face three times. At this point her mind and body were in shock, she could not move but she could still feel. She was aware vaguely of being stripped, then angrily assaulted, cursed and choked until he had his fill of her. Spitting on her seemingly lifeless body, he walked away.

Nine months later, her body mostly healed and now big with child, she sat on the porch with her rescuer and friend, peeling potatoes. He looked over at her and smiled. She sensed him looking at her and looked him in his painted eyes and smiled back. Her friend, Ash, was a peculiar thing...a man made out of wood a doll actually. She did not know if he was magical or cursed, she did know that she loved him for saving her and her unborn child.

Ashe's smile widened as his eyes stayed on his lady, Lena's face. She blushed under his gaze, then shyly asked, "What are you thinking about?" He was thinking of making her his wife, of being one with her. He wanted to raise her child as his own. He was thinking of them as a family. Loudly sighing he finally replied, "I was thinking ...what are you cooking me for supper?" She looked a little stunned then laughed and threw a potato at him. "Fine" she said with laughter still in her voice , keep your dirty thoughts to yourself! She tried to stand up from her chair when she felt a sudden pain and water gushing down her inner thighs. She screamed,"Ashe!" but before she could finish his name he had her in his arms running her to the midwife's house. She looked into Ashe's face as he carried her and her unborn child away thru the woods. He was moving at an inhuman speed with inhuman strength but then he was not human. Still she felt no fear in the arms of this living doll. She peacefully closed her eyes as they neared the midwife's home.

Lena was putting the finishing touch on their son's birthday cake. Ashe sat in a chair near the fire...but not too close. He sat quietly thinking of the night he ran his now wife and son to the midwife. He watch his boy being delivered...he shook his head in disbelief of his good fortune to have a beautiful loving wife and wonderful adoring son. He smiled at her as she fussed over the cake. Lena looked up and caught his eyes on her. She smiled back at him. She thought of how wonderful a husband and father he has been. They married soon after their son's birth. The midwife, Sarah, performed the ceremony. They did not have a "traditional" marriage. Lena was so brutally rapped that she was unwilling to have intercourse and Ashe, did not come equip with the tools to perform, but that did not matter they loved each other beyond physical limits and expectations. She knows she should have died naked and alone on that forest floor, yet she was blessed with an abundant life. She never took that for granted.

Gently shaking her head out of deep thoughts she called in their son, "Woodward!" Ashe got up and stood by his wife. Their son walked into the room..."Yeah mom what is it?" he then saw the birthday cake. He hugged and kissed them both then sat at the table ready to eat cake. They laughed and talked about everything and anything well into the wee hours. Ashe marveled at how tiny and precious his son was 20 years ago, now he was a big handsome strapping young man. Ashe taught him much about fighting and hunting. He was a frighteningly fast learner. Ashe was most proud of teaching his son to be respectful and polite toward others and to not pick on the weak. He watched his boy grow over the years with a great sense of pride and honor. He could never have imagined a wooden doll like him, would become a father.

Woodward wanted to make a name for himself and help support his aging parents. Though he was an only child when everyone of his friends had many siblings and he had a father that was mysterious and frightening to others always cloaked and covered in public, the boy had a great childhood.

Two weeks after his birthday he packed his bags and kissed his mom and dad goodbye to find his glory. Their son did make a name for himself. His hunting and fighting skills were unmatched, thanks to his father's lessons. Soon he caught the attention of the King and the eye of the king's daughter. Woodward sent a message and carriage for his parents. A messenger read the letter, " Dear mom and dad...I am getting married and you are invited. I want you to attend the wedding and pack up all your things and move into the palace with me. Your loving son Woodward."

Ashe and Lena arrived at the palace a few days later. They loved their old home but it was falling apart so a new home was just what they needed. They had a guided tour of the palace and met the countless staff and assistants. Finally they met their son and his bride to be. Woodward's eyes searched for his loving parents as they were ushered into the room. He recognizing them immediately...his mother older and more beautiful and plump than ever. His dad tall and threatening with his concealing cloak on. Woodward always understood why he had to wear it ...to hide his body from prying eyes else he and his parents could have been accused of being demons and witches and burned alive by a mob. Woodward was happy he could finally take care of his parents for all the wonderful things they did for him. He proudly lead them to meet his boss the King himself.

Upon entering the King's chambers, the king turns to greet his future son-in-law and parents when his face drains of color...at that instance Lena's face crumples and looks like she will scream. Ashe's face is full of rage. The king approaches Lena and looks at her as if she is a ghost. He stands stunned and stuck to the floor. He mutters over and over ..."I thought you were dead." Ashe no longer able to contain his fury, He did not know this man, but his wife's reaction when she saw his face, spoke clearly that he was the man who had rapped her nearly 30 years ago. Ash in a rage grabs the king and slams him against the wall and pounds his face and chest. Woodward pulls his dad off the king...horrified and confused he yells out, "What is going on?" Lena explains to her son that the King is the man that assaulted her those many years ago. She begins to cry, "I'm so sorry I did not tell you about it, but I wanted to forget about it all. He told me his name but he apparently lied about it to conceal who he really was. I'm so sorry my son". Ashe, stood up beside his son too...sorry my boy. I never met this man but I have always hated him for what he did to your mother. I could not help myself, he deserved to hurt like her those many years ago. Woodward smiled at his parents and looked at the King, "Is this true King?" he asked knowing it was already truth. The king nodded as he spit bloody teeth out of his mouth. The King ordered Woodward and his parents to stay put until he was well enough to talk. Within a month they were called to the court again. The Majesty, ordered them to not speak. He stood up before them and said quietly, "Please let me speak without interruption." He looked at Lena and remembered her before and after his horrific attack on her, "You know Lena I really did love you. Your refusal sent me into an abyss of sorts. I could not see you being with anyone but me. I wanted to kill you and I almost did."He looked at his son Woodward, "My son, I knew who you were the moment I saw you. I did not know who your mother was but I knew you were mine...because you looked just like my older brother before..." The king stopped abruptly and smiled. "Son, you can still marry my daughter she is not a child of my loins...she was adopted and beloved as a daughter but not a daughter. It seems Lena gave birth to my only true heir... you." The King walked slowly over to Ashe as he rubbed his jaw remembering the blows he took from the wooden man. The king laughed, "You know only my elder brother could hit me like that. It's time I bring my big brother back. The king waved his hand and Sarah the midwife stood suddenly before them. Gasps followed her unexpected magical visit and regal appearance. The King looked at Sarah and said sadly, "Sarah bring my brother home, he is the true king after all." Sarah immediately stepped forth on the king's orders and kissed Ashe on the lips so fast no one knew what happen. The cloak that concealed Ashes wooden body from public eyes fell away ....and everyone was shocked to see a wooden doll standing before them who was magically replace with a tall man that looked very much like the king. Sarah took Ashe by the shoulders and forced him to look at her as he tried to make sense of what happened. She shook him a little , " Ashe...your brother wanted the kingdom so much that he bound me to a deal that turned you into a wooden man and erased your past. I watched over you though. You saved Lena and made a family and happy home when you should have had nothing. The King put the crown on Ashe's head and all the people said , long live the king!

I could not sleep and decided to write this...it needs lots of changing I just did not want to loose my thoughts on it. will update it soon.

#story #fairytale #doll #wooden man

6 notes · View notes

thenightgazer · 4 years

Text

The Epistle of Forgiveness

Almost a month after the event of The Finding of Almagest, Vergil takes his visit to the library. Instead of reading, he wants to apologize to Lyra. What will Lyra do? Will Vergil get his forgiveness?

The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

-Oscar Wilde

The Literarium looks a little bit crowded today.

It’s not a regular view for Lyra.

Some guests are reading and enjoying coffee at the reading sections. Others are gather around sale section. Some of them approach her to ask for book location or her book recommendation. While walking around the reading sections to offer coffee refill, she spots her co-worker—Nate— is busy flirting with a group of school girls, completely forget his duty to rearrange book display. Lyra rolls her eyes in disgust, but do nothing since she doesn’t like being bossy.

Lyra was going to change her direction to the Rare Section before she remembers the loyal guest of that section isn’t present today.

Almost a month, she ponders. New record.

She starts to think that maybe she made a mistake for trusting a stranger.

Because the truth is, she knows that Vergil gave her a fake ID on their first meeting.

A true bibliophile won’t betray another bibliophile, Mr Steiner had said that. A way too innocent perspective, but this time she believes it.

Maybe because it’s Vergil, not anyone else.

“Your eyes, Librarian,” she remembers Vergil’s odd words. “Those eyes spoke nothing”

Lately, she finds herself drown to those vague words. No, more like haunted. Why did he say that? What does he mean about ‘I’ve seen thousand stories behind every eyes, but yours telling me nothing’? Does he sees something in her that she herself can’t see? But whatever it is, Vergil said that with suspicious tone. A kind of tone which Lyra translates as a potential danger.

But how could that man be a danger to her? He is indeed an intimidating man, but what she sees is just a gentleman who has a divine passion in literature and using poems as his unique way to express his perspective towards the world like a man of letter. A man with profound knowledges who held flowers delicately— a lenient manner which reflects nothing like his stern appearance at all.

Is it a mistake, she laments. To offer him a friendship?

“Lyra!” Mr Steiner shouts from receptionist table. “A little help here, please.”

“Just a second!” Lyra hurries her steps back to the receptionist table, making mental note to not accidentally spill anything about Vergil and Almagest in front of the owner of the library or she would get herself into bigger trouble.

The elder son of Sparda is furious.

He was on his way to take a brief visit to The Literarium after weeks of exhausting mission at Fortuna before a sudden demon attack ruins his day. Doom will always come upon those who try to mess with him, and that demon chooses the wrong person to deal with.

But this time is different.

Because the demon scatters something important for him.

He slaughters that demon out of rage, unlike his usual calm demeanour when he’s fighting. He wasn’t just stab it; he sliced it into dusts.

I was angry with my foe

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

He sheathes the Yamato and mentally curses himself.

Will I ever get my atonement?

As much as she loves her job as a librarian, Lyra loves closing time more than anytime.

It was almost an hour since Nate left this place, and yet Lyra hasn’t finished her task to account today sale. Tomorrow is Saturday, so she takes no haste in her work. Not that she has plan for weekend—in fact, she rarely has any plan for anything— she just prefer to do her things in her own pace. That’s why working in this small library suits her. It grants her more personal space without abandoning her passion of literature.

She grunts in annoyance whens she hears the doorbell is ringing.

“Sorry, we’re closed.” Lyra says, her eyes still focus on her paperwork.

Her suspicion grows when the person says nothing as she sees a shadow of a tall man looms behind her. She turn around to see the man and gasps excitedly.

“Oh! Hello again, Vergil!” Lyra greets him. “What a surprise! You know it’s closing time—wait, tell me it’s not blood on your glove.”

Vergil glances at his stained glove, “It wasn’t my blood.”

“Uh… good then,” Lyra nods anxiously when she sees Vergil is holding the Yamato. “I thought you were hurt.”

“I did not,” the hybrid assures her. “And you may put that thing away. I mean no harm at all.”

Lyra lets out a sigh and reveals a cutter she hides behind her back, “My apologies. You look like a hitman who wants to rob this place, by the way.”

“So I’ve been told,” Vergil admits, sending the Yamato into thin air. “I didn’t mean to scare you in any way. Please put that thing down. You have nothing to fear from me.”

“I don’t fear you, Vergil. I’m only making a prevention. Though I assume the cutter won’t have any effects on you,” Lyra lowers the cutter and put it back on her desk. “So… what brought you here, all that with katana, blood stain, and pale face?”

It’s difficult to instantly get a direct answer from Vergil’s stoic face. For a moment, the hybrid doesn’t say anything but flip his hair frustratedly. Expressing feelings isn’t easy for a man who avoids any interactions like him. He’s a man of action, not words. He might have the ability of memorizing and reciting poems in splendid way, but poem is poem. He recites because he can’t find any better words for himself. For once in his lifetime, he regrets his choice of mastering demonology and martial arts rather than improving his communication skill.

He sighs more than three times in less than a minute, must be a terrible problem, Lyra thinks suspiciously. She actually wants to rant about how Vergil could send his katana into thin air like magic, but she holds her tongue.

“Uh… do you want a cuppa? If that could help you a little bit relax,” Lyra offers. “I can brew it now if you—“

“No, thank you,” Vergil declines hastily. “I need to tell you some—“

They hear a crack from the office door. Mr. Steiner’s whistling as he wears his coat. The old man stops his whistle when his eyes catch the presence of a tall, menacing man who looks like he wants to murder someone. He glances doubtly to Lyra, who’s hiding her panic behind a polite smile.

“Mr Vergil here wants to return a book,” she explains in white lie. Her hand quickly grab a book from her desk as she reads its title, “The Interview with the… Vampire? Right, Mr Vergil?”

She counters Vergil’s unapproval glare by glares back at him, like she’s trying to tell him to be quick and answer before Mr Steiner suspicion gets any higher.

“Yes,” he finally answers without stopping his glare to the librarian.

“I’ll take care of this quickly, Mr Steiner. Don’t worry,” Lyra reassures her boss.

Mr Steiner nods slowly, “Alright, then. I want all the entries done for Monday. Lock the door when you’re about to leave.”

“Understood.”

“See you around, child. Don’t sleep too much.”

“Be careful on your way back home, Mr Steiner.”

“Good day,” Mr Steiner says to Vergil as the hybrid steps back to let the old man make a way. He and Lyra wait in anticipation until the owner of The Literarium heads out from the library and they can’t see his figure anymore.

“Whatever is that vampire book from all the books you could come up with?” Vergil scolds.

“I just grabbed whatever book I could grab at that moment!” Lyra surveys the front cover of The Interview with The Vampire. “Anyways, do you still want to tell me your unfinished story?”

“… about that… I’m obligated to tell you… my sincerest apologies.”

The man looks terribly grim, like he’s choked by his own words. Whatever reason behind his apology, Lyra can spot a heavy guilt inside his voice. His absent for almost a month and the sudden, buffling arrival give her an amount of hunch. Perhaps he lost the Almagest? If that’s true, I swear—

“For what? You lost the Almagest? Or broke it into pieces?” she chuckles jittery, half-hoping that her hunch is nothing but a mere negative thought. But her smile is fading when Vergil says nothing, confirming her question.

“I didn’t lost it,” Vergil takes out the Almagest from the back of his coat. The book looks horrific with the front cover is almost ripped off entirely, revealing the front page of the book. “I was attacked. A demon clawed the cover off. I managed to save the rest of the book, but still…” he sighs frustratedly. “I will pay the fine, no matter how much it takes.”

Much to his surprise, Lyra doesn’t even make a sound. She takes the book and inspect it carefully, flipping pages in silent. Her silence isn’t really a new thing for Vergil, since she isn’t a loud person. But this time is different. The silence is colder. There is no serenity behind it up to the point he finds her demeanour… almost intimidating.

Look at that eyes, Vergil surveys. It’s getting more hollow than usual.

“… well, well,” she mutters after a quite long silence. “Aside from the front cover, the contents are still complete. I guess this is your lucky day.”

“Which means?”

“I won’t charge you the fine.”

“… thank you?”

“You’re welcome. But you are not going anywhere before I fix the cover, sir. Hurry up!”

He follows her to the office, which is larger than he thought it would be. There are dishwasher, pantries, coffee brewer, old bookshelves, a large desk and a set of traditional bindery tools. Lyra tells him to take a sit while she collects some equipments.

“So… you are a devil hunter?” she asks.

“Apparently I am.”

“Ahh! Now I remember where I thought I’ve seen you around before! About five months ago, there was a devil hunter who has the same hair colour as you exterminating demons in the neighbourhood. His stature somewhat looks like you, except he has longer hair and rugged face. But I know it can’t be you. He talked too much.”

The picture of Dante bragged around this neighbourhood makes Vergil gets dizzy, “How unfortunate for you to meet my brother in such a manner.”

“Oh that’s fine. I wasn’t the one who call for his aid,” Lyra giggles as she cuts the strands of old binding threads of the Almagest to separate the old cover and the sections of assembled pages with a scalpel before she realized that Vergil just said something about ‘brother’. “Wait! That man was your brother?!”

“A younger twin brother, to be exact.”

“Ahh, so both of you are sons of Sparda!”

The half-devil narrows his eyes, “How do you know that?”

“The wealth of information of this neighbourhood is quite impressive. When your brother was around, they whispered something about ‘son of Dark Knight Sparda’, ‘strongest devil hunter’, ‘owner of Devil May Cry’ and ‘the legendary devil hunter’. I remember they mentioned his name, but I can’t recall it…”

Dante would blabbered rubbish if he heard this.

“Then you realized I’m a hybrid,” Vergil concludes.

“Righty-ho.”

Vergil waits in anticipation. People who know about his true identity mostly will pretend he doesn’t exist because being a descendant of Sparda means danger and dangerous. Only a few of them will taking interest in him for the sake of power and benefits, like Arkham and The Order of Sword to Nero. He’s ready for whatever Lyra’s reactions after this confession, but the librarian does nothing but cutting strands from Almagest. He catches no apprehensive reactions from her.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” he murmurs curiously.

“Should I?”

“Most of people do. A common reaction when they discovered that I’m son of Sparda.”

Lyra shrugs, “I don’t find any reason to fear you.”

“Even when you saw the blood on my gloves and my sword mere minutes ago?”

“Told you already, I was only making prevention. And to be honest, I actually suspected it since our first meeting. I heard Sparda’s human form had white or silver hair like yours. No wonder you try so hard to cover your true identity.”

“You know my ID card is fake.”

“Yup.”

“And you still made me a member card, knowing I could be a threat to this library.”

“I just wanted to know what are you going to do in this library, yet nothing happened. You read and borrow books like normal people. You were never late to return the books and never complained. You bought one and two books with real money. Had you do something malicious to this library, I would’ve report you to the authorities. Though I doubt they could handle you, but at least this library has insurance,” she giggles mischievously.

“You could let a man cause trouble because of your curiousity, Librarian.”

“But you didn’t. And that’s that,” she winks. “Now I’m going to make a new cover. We don’t have modern equipments to make this process quicker. So this is the only way. Cutting the strands of all seven-hundreds pages.”

“I… uh… sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. It’s been a long while since the last time I do the bookbinding. It’s fun, actually. Strengthen the philosophy of never judge a book by its cover, because cover is replaceable.”

“All readers have different understanding of the book,” Vergil adds.

“Ahh, you are right!” Lyra glances at Vergil. “Like all books, you may find people who’s not interested in you, fear you, taking advantages from you. But it will take fewer people to really understand you, flip the pages carefully and waits for another chapter from you. You could change your cover, Vergil, but you are what you are now. As you said earlier, all readers have different understanding of the book. But that doesn’t mean the book is ill-favoured. The reader can only concludes the essence of the book, and decide whether they’d like it or not.”

“Your point is…?”

“That you being a hybrid and all doesn’t change anything to me. You’re still my friend.”

Will you still consider me as a friend, Vergil recalls all horrible things he did in the past. If you know I almost destroyed this world twice?

Yet he can’t deny the relief in his heart when she said that. Once again, he finds her philosophy charms him. He admires how she always perceives things in different point of views, never judges anything easily. Her silvery voice always calm him, as if it assure him that everything’s fine. His lips curve up into a subtle smile as he thanks her for her understanding. She just give him a playful wink in return.

“Let me guess then. Your brother’s name is…” she watches Vergil’s stoic expression attentively, searching for a clue. “… Dante?”

The half-devil says nothing.

“For real? Dante?!” Lyra laughs. “I was just having a thought about The Divine Comedy and guessed if you are Vergil—or Virgil, then your brother must be Dante!”

“It’s a common deduction,” Vergil’s eyes are soften. “My father fancied Dante Alighieri and my mother had an odd obsession of Virgil. She recited Aeneid for our bedtime story.”

“It’s better than those silly bedtime stories. My mother once read me Cinderella and I told her the prince was an idiot, because he searched for a girl based on her shoe size! He was supposed to be a king! He could have describe her face to a painter or distributing pamphlets, anything but running around the whole country and wasting resources only for searching a girl whose glass slipper was lost!”

Her cynic commentary amuses Vergil up to the point where he practically covers his mouth with his palm to hide his uncontrollable smile, “Since you said that, I guess you’re right about the prince.”

“Ugh—!”

“What’s wrong?”

“This shear machine is broken,” Lyra tries to operate the machine, but it fails to properly cut the papers. “I need to cut the extended part of pages to make the edges neat. But it looks like the shear wasn’t sharp anymore.”

“Let me handle this,” Vergil summons the Yamato and draws it. “Where is the part you want it to be removed?”

“Over here,” she points her mark on the page, then gazing to Vergil’s sword. “Please be careful. You don’t want the cut goes too far from the mark—“

— and a second later, the pages are already neat and free from the extended parts.

Vergil puts the Yamato back into its sheath, “Was that enough?”

The librarian blinks her eyes in disbelief, “That was… quick. Thank you.”

A smug grin curves on Vergil lips when he watches an awestruck Lyra, who’s still processing how fast Vergil’s slash was that her eyes alone can’t even follow its motion.

Lyra puts the pages into a book presser and draws lines across the spine of the book. Then she saws each lines carefully to make a groove of binding cord. Once she’s done, she reconnects the pages on a sewing frame. She sews a linen thread horizontally, looping it around the cords, linking each pages.

“Do you want to try sew it up?” Lyra offers, notice Vergil is silently observing her work. “It might seems complicated at first, but soon after you try it, it will get easier.”

Vergil doubtly glance at the sewing frame. His experience of sewing is zero, moreover to sew a book he just broke a moment ago. But again, guilt consumes him. He takes off his gloves and approaches Lyra as she immediately teach him how to sew and connect the pages. He feels something weird in his heart when his hands accidentally touches Lyra’s fingers. It’s getting weirder when his eyes meet Lyra’s. This kind of physical encounter always torture him since his body isn’t familiar with any physical contacts with humans for years except with Dante and Nero.

“You’re getting better, Vergil. Keep it up!” the librarian praises him, oblivious of Vergil’s reaction. “I’ll make the cover. Let’s hope we still have some leathers left here… ha! Here it is!”

As he sews, Vergil silently observes her measuring the cardboards and leather. She seems to enjoy her work, despite the fact that she should’ve leave for home at this time. I guess I owe her a little too much.

“By the way,” Lyra says all in sudden. “Speaking of Dante, I know a book that has the same theme as The Divine Comedy, but approximately 300 years older than it.”

“I thought The Divine Comedy was the first of… eschatological tourism in literature?”

“Well… according to the historians, this book was composed by an Arabic poet named Al-Ma’arri around 1033 while Dante’s The Divine Comedy begun circa 1308.”

“And what, pray tell, is the title of this book?”

“It’s called Risalat al-Ghufran in Arabic, but here we call it The Epistle of Forgiveness, or A Pardon to Enter the Garden. Some academics say that Dante was inspired from Al-Ma’arri, but there’s no evidence of it. The Epistle was completely unknown in Dante’s time, but those books have something in common; the journey of the protagonists through Heaven and Hell, as well as the encounter with the souls of illustrious people.”

“Curious… I’ve never heard about that book.”

“The book was banned for hundred years from its own country because many considered Al-Ma’arri as a heretic. He was famous for his skepticism and nihilism towards common beliefs and religions. Even his statue was beheaded by fanatics out of hatred!”

Vergil furrows his eyebrows, “Fascinating.”

“I can understand his bitter perspective. He was blind, bullied and underestimated by fellow poets. But in my opinion, he was one of the greatest freethinkers and his works are extraordinary!.”

The half-devil smirks, “Then prove your conversance. Recite one of his works for me.”

“Wha— no!” Lyra blurts. “Declamation isn’t my… thing.”

“Then I will take your explanations as nothing than a babbling chatter,” he grins smugly. He knows the librarian doesn’t like being considered as incompetent. His smirk grows wider as she stops her work and cross her arms.

“Fine. One poem it is.” Lyra clears her throat fitfully. She holds the urge to not slap the hybrid’s smug face as he pauses his sewing work. He leans himself on the chair in challenging demeaonour, ready to hear the librarian’s recitation.

The librarian takes a heavy sigh before she starts to recite :

“Had men followed me, confound them,

Well had I guided them to truth

Or to some plain track

By which they might arrive there soon.

For here I’ve lived until I’m tired

Of Time, and it of me;

And my heart has sipped

The cream of life’s experience

What choice has a man but solitude and loneliness,

When fate grants him nothing that he craves?

Do what you will, make peace or war

The days with arbitrary hand bestow

Their measure to warrior and man of peace.”

Lyra takes a slow exhales once she finishes reciting, her head turns over to Vergil to see his reaction. Poetry has never become her speciality, even though she is fond of it. That’s why she admires Vergil’s way of recitation. She pins it in her head, how remarkable he was when he recited poems on their last encounter. Her self-confidence drops to the lowest point when she notices Vergil isn’t even looking at her. His eyes focuses to nowhere in a weary manner, as if her recitation bores him.

“Ummm… Terra to Vergil?” she chuckles and waves her hand in front of Vergil’s face. “Am I that bad?”

“Interesting…” the hybrid mumbles. His voice is low and his brows are still drawn together in a frown, yet the blue eyes of his spark in enthusiasm.

“Pardon?”

“This poet Al-Maa’rri… he welcomed death and loneliness like old friend,” Vergil states. “He even craved for it. Even if he was blind—“

Lyra’s brown eyes widens as she continues Vergil’s statement, “—he saw things in the opposite perspective—“

“— and that lead him to see the true beauty of life itself. His bitter point of view wasn’t precisely tell people that everything is meaningless, in fact it was the other way around—“

“— he tried to correct human’s hypocrisy with his irony. Telling them that everything they do, it will measure—“

“— and create the person they are right now.”

There’s a quiet pause among them before the room surrounds by laughter.

“Blimey, Vergil! Did you just read my mind?” Lyra tries to hold her giggle.

“I thought you were the one who read mine,” the half-devil grins. “Now you are successfully making me want to read the book.”

“Oh, we have it! Have a look at it on the sale section!”

“Is this how your marketing technique works? Alluring your customer into deep discussion and out of nowhere, you mention a book you want to sell and trap them with your enthralling knowledges?”

Lyra’s giggle turn into louder burst, “That’s what all salesmen do!”

It’s strange for him. This small talk, the joke, the easiness of letting himself to interact with a human. Hell, he smiles and laughs even more than he ever did in his life! He watches Lyra laughs while she continues her cover-making work, wondering why he doesn’t even get annoyed of any jokes she throws at him. Maybe this is how friendship works—enjoying each other company by talking about anything and wisecracking. He thinks it’s good for his mental health, keep him sane and grounded.

Don’t ruin this, Vergil warns himself.

“I’ll give you The Epistle for free,” Lyra’s eyes twinkles in mischief. “Only if you agree with my terms.”

“I’m listening.”

“There will be syzygy tonight. Commonly known as ‘planetary alignment’. We can visibly see Jupiter, Mars, Saturn, Venus and Mercury at once. All the planets sit on a flat plane but have different yearly cycles, so for those planets to line up is something worth seeing! The trouble is, it isn’t visible from this town. Thus, if you still interested in obtaining The Epistle of Forgiveness, join me to see the syzygy as my bodyguard.”

“And why would you need a bodyguard?”

“Because I should see it from nearest city that has a clear landscape and it’s quite… dangerous.”

“Which city?”

“Red Grave.”

Speak of the devil and he doth appear.

“The city was abandoned since the tragedy of mysterious tree nearly two years ago. It’s basically a necropolis now, but I heard there are still some homeless people looking for shelter and fortune there. Not to mention demonic presence that still haunts the town. But since it will took only 30 minutes with train from here, I guess I have no option left but choose Red Grave.”

If anything in this world that Vergil wants to avoid the most, it will be returning to his hometown. Not because he hates his childhood memories, but mainly because Red Grave was his most abominable sin. He destroyed that city and killed hundred thousands of the citizen for the sake of the fruitless Qlipoth Fruit.

“Well… what say you?” Lyra asks. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

One must deal with his sin. It’s settled. He can’t run off forever from the past, “Alright then. I do believe we have a deal.”

“Great! You can go take The Epistle. It’s on the first line of left shelf. Here, I’ll continue the sewing. I’ve finished measuring the cardboard and the leather anyway.”

“It’s already done.”

Lyra examines Vergil’s work in awe, “Bee’s knees! This is the fastest book sewing I’ve ever seen! Thank you, Vergil. Now give me some space to work.”

The hybrid shrugs as he takes his step to open the door and goes to pick the book from the sale section. It takes him no time to find The Epistle. His knowledges about Middle-East literature isn’t much, although he did read Rumi in his youth at Red Grave library out of boredom. Luckily, the book has comprehensible footnotes and glossarium to help his lack of understanding about Middle-East references and vocabularies. He takes the book back into the office as he spots Lyra creates a headband and sew the threads in order to attach the headband to the spine of the book.

“Do you need help with that?” Vergil offers.

She shakes her head, “Thank you, but this pattern is a little bit complicated. I’d like to handle it myself. This won’t take long.”

“If you say so.”

While waiting for Lyra to be done with her work, Vergil starts to read The Epistle in silence. He appreciates Lyra’s understanding for being always super quiet whenever he reads. For a moment there is only the sound of their breath and flipped pages. Occasionally, he will glance to Lyra just to see what’s she doing right now.

“It’s written in prose,” Vergil mutters. “I thought The Epistle was just for the title purpose.”

“Yes, it’s an epistle written for a grammarian named Ibn Al Qarih who mocked Al Ma’arri. He replied Al-Qarih’s hypocrisy by imagining he has died and arrived in Heaven but had difficulty to enter it, thus he must seek the answer from poets and philologists from the past, various heretics, and the Devil.”

“This book is rich of linguistic complexity and concentration in grammar rather than depends on precise language like Comedy.”

“That because in Al Ma’arri’s age, writing became complex in its methods and syntax. Most academics see the complexity of language was intentional to hide his irony,” Lyra answers while sticking the book on the cover she has just made. “In the Comedy, Dante used simple and direct language in the poetry, which is easy for common reader to grasp his ideas. The Epistle, however, depicts Al Ma’arri proficiency but prevent the readers from understanding his real beliefs and intentions.”

Vergil’s nod concludes his approval for the explanation. He continues to read until Lyra finishes her work.

“Behold, the new face of Almagest!” she announces proudly. She shows Vergil the entirely new leather bound hardcover with beautifully written typography on the front cover; Almagest by Claudius Ptolemy. “Since you are the tallest person in this room, would you mind to put it back on Rare Section? I’ll clean up here, then we can go to Red Grave.”

It’s not a secret anymore that Vergil is a man of proud. If Dante or someone else asked him to do something, he will absolutely grumble and mostly refuse to do the favour. Why should he do something for anyone? He should be the one who tell people to do. He is the master of himself! Yet, right now, he put the book to the shelf just like Lyra’s instruction without any hesitation although he mentally curses himself for obeying a human.

“Ready?” Lyra says as she prepares to head out from library.

“Where are you going?”

The librarian furrows her brows, “To lock the door, of course. Then we go to the station.”

The hybrid sighs, summoning the Yamato and open a portal, “Get in.”

On four seconds, Lyra fixes her gaze from the Yamato to the dark portal. Her face show a mixture of excitement and confusion, “Is that…?”

“A portal. The Yamato cuts anything, including the space. The portal will lead us directly to Red Grave. Now, do you want to stare at it for eternity or free yourself from wasting your time for running to the railway station?”

“No—no, wait! You made an Einstein-Rosen bridge only with your sword! It’s not something I could see everyday! How could you do that?!”

The hybrid rolls his eyes, “We can discuss about it later. Now get in. Don’t waste my time.”

He leads the way to reassure the still-in-awe librarian that he mean no harm and that the portal is really heading to Red Grave. He can senses Lyra’s creeping behind him until they’re arrived at the exit; a wide, flat horizon at Red Grave. A bit far from the city’s ruins.

The dark sky is clear and free from any light pollution. For a minute in silence, Vergil solemnly admires the night sky. He immediately catches the syzygy; the five planets almost align in a straight line with Jupiter being the pole of the alignment. They look brighter than the rest of the stars.

“In Roman mythology, the god Jupiter drew a veil of clouds around himself to hide his mischief,” he mutters. “It was only Jupiter’s wife, Juno, who could peer through the clouds and reveal Jupiter’s true nature.”

“Must be easy for her. The clouds on Jupiter are only 50 kilometers thick. Below those clouds, it’s just hydrogen and helium, all the way down.”

“And even though it’s rich of hydrogen and helium, Jupiter can’t become a star,” he adds, remembering some astronomy facts he read on the internet. “It doesn’t have nearly enough mass to trigger a fusion reaction in its core.”

“You did your homework,” Lyra affirms as Vergil observes her takes out a binocular from her backpack. It seems to him that even though he can clearly see the syzygy with his advanced eyes, it won’t be satisfying for human if they don’t use binocular or telescope to look at it even better. “And the Red Spot on Jupiter’s surface is a huge storm on Jupiter. It has raged for 350 years.”

“I wonder if my father witnessed the origin of Red Spot 350 years ago.”

“Surely he told you bits and bobs?”

“He never talked about himself and back then, I didn’t know he was a demon until one day I found a book of folklore about him. Here, at Red Grave Library.”

The fact hits Lyra immediately, “You should’ve tell me this city was your hometown. I should’ve realized it when I saw your hesitation at my office! Now I’m making you sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Vergil shrug off.

He really doesn’t feel sad about his family. The memories are always too far off like a shattered dream with a glimpse of familiar faces; Dante, Eva and Sparda. It’s getting worse after Mundus and his life in the Underworld, yet he cherishes it. He just can’t tell anyone his fear and guilt for going back to his hometown, Red Grave. The silent witness of his crime.

“Why didn’t the Dog Star laugh at the joke?” Lyra abruptly asks after a long silence.

Vergil narrows his eyes, “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a riddle.”

“Didn’t I tell you I don’t like riddles?”

“You did. So, what’s the answer?”

If you are not a person worth my time, I’d certainly eliminated you. “I give up.”

“I never thought you would give up this quick!”

“Because I refuse to play your game.”

“That explains why you look like the gloomiest person in the world. Anyway, why didn’t the Dog Star laugh at the joke? Because… it was too Sirius.”

The hybrid can’t help but try his best to swallow his laughter, “That was the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

“But it makes you smile!”

“I am most certainly not!”

“You are!”

After a minute of struggle, finally the half-demon has retained his stoic face, “You are an annoying little creature, Lyra.”

“I take that as a compliment.” Lyra snickers before she looks at Vergil’s icy eyes. “Pardon my terrible joke. You look terribly sad. I thought I should breaking the ice. I’ll think for better jokes later.”

That wasn’t your fault! Vergil screams in his head. Is his sadness too obvious that it reflected on his face? Whatever it is, Lyra clearly notices it. She turns to observe the syzygy with her binocular, but in truth, she actually waits for him to spill his burden. She’s just too polite to ask. Vergil almost could sense the flight or fight instinct around them.

You tell her, and it will be endgame.

Yet he says, “I was here when the mysterious tree appeared and destroy the city.”

Lyra puts down the binocular, her brown eyes fixates on Vergil.

“In fact,” he continues, sensing the change of atmosphere between them. “I was the one who summoned the tree.”

He tells her everything. His childhood, his resentment towards Dante, his regret for not being able to save Eva, Temen-ni-gru, his defeat from Dante, his years of torture in the Hell, the creation of V and Urizen, Nero, and his time in Hell again with Dante. All of his sins. Unfiltered.

If Lyra hates him after this, it will be perfectly normal. Vergil appreciates Lyra so much that he couldn’t bare to hurt her in any way, so if leaving him could spare her from the burden for being his friend, he will do it. His sins were too despicable, repugnant. He feels like he doesn’t deserve any form of kindness, moreover from her.

Much to his surprise, Lyra still stands beside him. Her head motions small nods as she lost in her own mind.

The hybrid waits for her to say something. Anything is better than a dreadful silence. At least he will know what to do rather than just standing there like a statue.

“You… just….”

Here it is.

“… described me the extreme effect of a whole new level of dissociative identity disorder.”

What in the seven hells— “Pardon?”

The librarian shrugs, “Dissociative identity disorder. Some people call it multiple personality disorder. In the case of human, it characterized by alternating between multiple identities. Often this identities may have names, characteristics, mannerisms, and voices. It usually develops as a way of dealing with trauma and long-term abuses. Of course your case was different, not an actual DID but similar… splitting yourself into your human part, your nightmares and demon part because trauma and abuses…”

She’s still describing the overview of DID in almost child-like manner, a contrast with Vergil’s perplexion. He just told her about his sins, and all she does just describing a mental illness? She doesn’t even react to his crimes! Is she always this oblivious whenever someone tell her their secrets?

“I’m afraid I have to interrupt your explanation,” he says. “But, with respect, didn’t you think—“

“Do you expect me to get angry and insult you for your horrendous crime?”

The hybrid can’t find any words to reply the question. He doesn’t want her to get furious and leave him, of course. But he deserves it, and it’s totally a normal thing to do if anyone knows his secret. Yet her reactions aren’t exactly what he expects from her. She’s unpredictable and Vergil should’ve hate it, for the uncertainity is dangerous thing. Yet with Lyra, he doesn’t know why he let her surprise him.

Realizing Vergil won’t answer, Lyra continues, “Alright then. You are obviously a nutter. All those massacres and efforts only for a power fruit. You slaughtered thousands of people who weren’t even responsible for your family drama.”

Dante had mocked him about that too, and it still stings Vergil— he caused the devastation of thousands people and he might never get away from his sins—

“But that’s a good thing,” the librarian adds in softer tone.

“How could you say that?” Vergil bristles, his tone is harsh. “What is the good thing of massacre?”

“None,” she replies. “But should you never do that, you wouldn’t have realized what a scroundrel you were once.”

Vergil sighs dismissively, “It justify nothing.”

“It justify nothing,” Lyra repeats. “Yet you helped those humans in that tragedy. Trying to atone your crimes. You realized, if I may quote, ‘the gravity of crime’ you made. Your selfish agenda of using your son to defeat your demon turns into compassion and a vow to protect him forever. You put down your pride and rekindled your relationship with your family.”

“That’s still nothing but a selfish action. The fact that I did the genocide won’t change anything.”

“It won’t. It’s unexcusable, but I can’t fully blame you. Sigmund Freud said, ‘unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways’. And here is why; you are the eldest child and supposed to be the protector of your family since the disappearance of your father. You were not in the condition to know that the death of your mother was not your fault and clearly not your brother’s fault. All of you were attacked abruptly and there was nothing you could do but survival. You hate yourself for not being strong enough, and that lead you to swore an oath to never be powerless again and you will gain more power, no matter what the cost. Now I understand why you hated humans, because you saw them as a powerless being—a reminder to you that your mother was a human. And you were all alone that time. No one guide you. No one to support you or correct your mistakes. You thought you were right all along.

When Dante defeated you, he also defeated your ideology, your path of life, your beliefs. I won’t judge your resentment towards him. It’s normal, because what are we without what we believe? Then you jumped to the Underworld to validated your beliefs, yet you lost and tortured in Hell like… 20 years? No human would survive for two seconds there, but you did and still wanted to prove that you are right. That Dante was wrong. That humanity part in you is unneeded. That your nightmares are just obstacles. See, your humanity part, V, was everything you wanted it to be wrong and perished, but then your son showed up, proving that you were wrong. That even Urizen, your demon part, can’t even defeat Dante and Nero’s beliefs and forced to re-emerged again with your human part. Because you are one and the same. That you wouldn’t become Vergil without each other.”

Vergil stands astonished. It’s not just that Lyra shows no sign of anger or disgust towards him, but she also depicts his subconsciousness and predicaments in simplest way. She admits his crime, yet she also sees the reason behind it.

“Now, you see,” she continues after taking a deep breath. “I can’t really blame you. You already wrote your epistle of forgiveness.”

Then she does something which Vergil never expects her to do—she smiles at him. A warm, genuine smile, not a polite or playful one like her usual habit. She turns to look at the sky again, “Do you know what I like about syzygy?”

He can’t bring himself to answer.

“I always believe in the concept of synchronicity rather than calling it ‘coincidence’. I know the existence of time itself is debatable, but it still doesn’t change the fact that everything will happen in time and in sync. No matter how far those planets are from each other, they will be always synchronized in alignment eventually,” she states. “What you did was just in time, Vergil. Should you never do that, you would never find yourself again.”

The irony bites him, all these years he wanted to get rid of his humanity yet humanity saved him over and over again. All this time, and you still don’t get it, Dante had said to him—as Urizen. Now he’s being psychoanalyzed by a human who barely knows him but capable to summarized his entire journey in five minutes. It bites him, how humanity always give him more point of view to see the world.

“Thank you,” he finally says it sincerely. “You see right through me.”

“Think nothing of it. I was just trying to give you some insight.”

“And you did. You never fail to surprise me with your wit and the use of apotelesma philosophy.”

“Apo- what?”

“It amazes me that you, an enthusiast of astronomy, have no information of what apotelesma is,” he remarks. “It means the influence of the stars on human destiny.”

“Aah! Apotelesma… that’s an exquisite word!” Lyra exclaims. “It’s magnificent, isn’t it? What stars could give to humanity? Whenever we look at the sky, we look at the past— the very relics of the universe.”

“They guide humanity by simply existing. We are stardust brought to life, then empowered by the universe to figure itself out—and we have only just begun.”

“We are stardust brought to life...” she repeats.

Vergil shrugs idly, “I read it somewhere.”

“Speaking of the stars, I have another riddle.”

The hybrid groans in frustration, “I don’t want to hear another of your terrible riddles.”

“Why did the star get arrested?” she completely ignores Vergil’s caution.

“I’m warning you—“

“Because it was a shooting star!”

“I’m leaving,” Vergil walks away without waiting for Lyra, but he’s just teasing her. He hears her following him, giggling and pleading to wait for her.

“Alright, no more riddles then. But I have this short story,” she offers, following Vergil’s steps. “Copernicus’ parents might deserve some credit for his discovery.”

“How so?”

“At his teenhood, his parents said to him; ‘Copernicus, one day you will realize that the world does not revolve around you!’”

“Your jokes have potential to cause severe headache.”

“But you laugh at it!”

“Because no one will laugh at your jokes except me.”

“Is that a compliment or sarcasm?”

“Go figure it out yourself.”

“A compliment, then.”

“Whatever.”

They walk on the dark footpath through the ruins of the city. Vergil spots some homeless people taking shelter inside a building. They watch him cautiously, but do nothing. Those people just want to survive and live in peace. This view stings him. Even though he embraces his human part, he is still indifferent about human life. He cares a little about them, except for his family and a few of his acquaintances. But these humans in this ruins are victims of his greed. It’s his responsibility. He looks away, thinking of how tremendous the effect of his destruction, before he quickly catches a group of children. Lyra notices this too—glancing to them sharing their food. One of them approaches and gives her a stargazer lily hairpin. She realizes the boy hopes for a trade.

“Here,” Lyra takes out some of her money and a packet of gummy bears from her backpack. “Share it with your friends.”

The boy timidly turns his sight to Vergil, hoping for some trade too. His innocent face reminds him of Nero and Kyrie’s adopted children whose cheerful behaviour isn’t compatible with Vergil’s cold nature, but he tolerates them because children do childish things. The hybrid’s hand reaches inside his coat, then he hands the boy an amount of money.

The boy smiles delightfully, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

As the boy takes his leave, Lyra turns her head over to Vergil and takes the palm of his hand, much to his surprise. Then she pours a little amount of gummy bears on his palm, “For you. It’s blueberry.”

The half-devil frowns and presses his lips, “This is the most childish thing someone had ever gave to me.”

“If you don’t want it then return it to me.”

He eats them all in one swallow, “Absolutely not.”

Lyra smiles smugly and eats her candy.

“It’s been almost two years after I escaped the Underworld and I still can’t get used to these taste of food…” Vergil contemplates, chewing the candy as his tongue tastes the strong mixture of sugar and blueberry extract.

“Do hybrids need to eat?”

“Physically hybrids don’t need to eat. But we can eat human’s food if we want. My foolish brother has an appetite for pizza and anything included strawberry.”

“I see…”

The two of them head out to the empty road as Vergil unsheaths the Yamato and open up a portal back to The Literarium. This time she allows him escort her to her house, which is quite far from the central of the town, located in a secluded suburban. He takes a note the distance between Devil May Cry office and Lyra’s house, calculate and store it inside his brain, just in case he needs a portal to her house someday. After almost forty minutes of walk, they arrive in front of a minimalist house, but seems comfortable with a small garden and pleasant fragrant of homemade foods. This house belongs in The Shire, Vergil ponders.

“Thank you for today,” Lyra smiles. “Next time maybe I’ll hire you as my bodyguard again.”

“I’ll think about that,” The hybrid says. “Besides… you are a pleasant person with whom to… spend time.”

Lyra chuckles, “I’m glad to hear you chose the word of ‘spend time’ rather than ‘waste time’.”

“Probably because you’re less infuriating than the rest of the people.”

“Well… thank you?”

“You are very welcome.” Vergil shrugs, silently happy to see a delightful smile on Lyra’s mouth. He notices the eyes of her twinkle in amusement. That suits her, he thinks. I’ve never imagined I have to do this ridiculous bodyguard roleplay to spark some joy in her eyes.

“Thank you,” the librarian cackles, tightens her grip on the strap of her backpack. “For being a great company.”

“The honour is mine.”

“See you tomorrow,” Lyra gives him a small wave before she turns around to get inside her house.

“What happened to your leg?”

The question sounds like a storm inside the librarian’s ears.

“Oh right, I forgot you’re a hybrid. You must’ve easily recognized my limp,” Lyra glances at her right leg. “I fell from a tree when I was seven. My landing position wasn’t exactly very comfortable. Then… voila,” she mimics her limping. “It was getting better time to time but somehow I could never get rid of this limp. Thankfully, it’s too subtle for human eyes, so people won’t notice.”

The hybrid has seen too many scars and injuries to know that her limp will be most likely permanent. The fall changes her bone and joint structure. Even if she was transfused by demon blood or planted demon cells, it won’t change anything because it was an old injury. Although magic or witchcraft might manipulate her leg to work properly, but it won’t cure the wound.

“I’ll get inside then,” her solemn voice shatters Vergil’s contemplation.

“Very well. Auf wiedersehen, Lyra.”

“Auf wiedersehen, Vergil.”

As the librarian closes the door, Vergil turns his back to the lonely road. The moonlight illuminates his way as he receives a call from Dante, who invites him for dinner with Trish and Lady. By dinner, he means more pizza and beer. Before Dante could finished his question about his twin brother’s whereabouts, Vergil quickly answers he’ll soon arrive at Devil May Cry. He draws his sword, staring to the dark portal. His face is somber.

Because when she told him the story behind her injury, he knows those eyes of her speak different thing. It’s not sadness nor joy. Not even a void one.

It’s the eyes of humans when they feel threatened. Or worse, when they tell lies.

“You didn’t finish your story,” his voices sounds like a whisper wind as he walks through the portal. “What are you not telling me, Lyra?”

We grow accustomed to the Dark

When light is put away

As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp

To witness her Goodbye.

List of mentioned poems and quotes:

A Poison Tree by William Blake

What Choice Has Man? by Al Maa’rri

Astrophysics for People in a Hurry by Neil deGrasse Tyson

We Grow Accustomed to the Dark by Emily Dickinson

In case you wonder Vergil’s expression when Lyra gave him gummy bears, @drusoona captured the perfect angle :

And thanks to @andieperrie18 for this extraordinary work of art!

Special tags : @queenmuzz @drusoona @harlot-of-oblivion @andieperrie18 @shiranyaaww @lovemadnessharleyquinn

48 notes · View notes

jess-rewatches-prodigalson · 4 years

Text

Episode 7: Q&A

Let’s just dive right into this. Spoilers are heading your way.

1:00 - Malcolm why did you try to talk to the strange man in the dark?!?! It’s not safe you giant doofus.

1:33 - Gil looks very annoyed and concerned here. This is a man who would ground Malcolm’s ass if he could.

1:51 - See how Gil’s hands are on his hips? That’s exactly the position Malcolm was in when he was talking to Dani when he was high. Coincidence? I think not. Pretty sure Malcolm is subconsciously trying to imitate Gil whenever he can because Gil is Malcolm’s definition of a good man.

2:24 - Another instance when Dani directly asks Malcolm if he’s okay.

2:35 - Edrisa is one strange lady. She doesn’t even look mildly grossed out by the state of those bodies.

3:53 - Check out JT’s face here. He looks somewhere halfway between annoyed with and concerned for Malcolm. Gil on the other hand is too busy trying to keep Malcolm from jumping off the deep end to be annoyed with him.

4:25 - Does anyone else find it odd that mother and daughter are sitting so far apart on this bench? I mean, I know they’re fighting right now but still.

5:00 - “I am far more worried now.” She should be. Ainsley is trying to out manipulate Martin. That’s concerning because a) Martin is a dangerous psychopath and b) Ainsley, to a certain degree, is exhibiting behaviour that probably reminds Jessica of Martin.

7:00 - I’m starting to believe that Edrisa might be on the autism spectrum. She seems to have trouble reading the mood of a room. She often rambles. She is socially awkward. She talks with her hands a lot. She is very intelligent. She’s a functioning adult but many people with autism are functioning adults if they had proper support as children. Then again, it’s possible she grew up in a home with stereotypical Asian parents who forced her to study most of the day and severely limited her opportunities to socialize in a non-academic setting.

7:11 - hahaha Gil’s face here. He’s like “Why do I like these two freaks? Why do they look borderline excited in the middle of this morbid situation?”

7:46 - I love the moment when Gil and Malcolm realize that they’re looking for a serial killer. Gil looks guilty. Like he’s blaming himself for not noticing that this murderer was loose sooner. Malcolm looks upset too but it looks like he’s more upset about the effect this is having on Gil than he is about the fact that there’s a serial killer on the loose. Both of my boys need a hug.

8:23 - They are waaayyy too lovey-dovey inside of Ainsley’s serial killer father’s prison cell. Like did they forget that they’re inside of a psychiatric facility for murderers?!?

9:00 - The fact that this interaction between Tevin and Ainsley is possible annoys me. I know it was necessary to forward the plot BUT why would two different secure doors be randomly wide open when a guard is moving a dangerous prisoner through the halls? I’m sure those doors are legally required to be heavy enough to close by themselves if no one props them open for safety reasons. (Just my small annoyance. Carry on.)

10:00 - hahaha I love JT. He clearly cares about Malcolm but he also doesn’t know what to say to a dude who is so manic and troubled.

10:22 - I love Dani going on a rant. It’s really sweet. It’s almost as if she knew that if she went on a rant Malcolm would be able to calm down and focus. Look at Malcolm’s reaction to her rant. He immediately calms down and tries to comfort Dani. He refocuses on the case. They are really good for each other’s mental health. They ground each other and I’m so grateful that they’re in each other’s lives.

11:05 - If Edrisa is technically part of the team - why doesn’t she just walk into the room? Why does she wave through the window to get Malcolm’s attention?

11:51 - We have reached a tipping point in Malcolm’s mental health. He just willingly admitted that he’s not okay. Someone sound the alarms. This will not end well. Our boy is going off the deep end....but at least he’s self aware?

12:00 - The first part of this interview (before Malcolm shows up) is hard to watch. It hurts to watch Martin twist everything into a positive about himself. It hurts to watch Ainsley try to twist everything in the opposite direction. These characters are more similar than I’d like to admit. They’re both obsessed with their outward appearance to the world. They’re obsessed with their own success. They’re driven by ambition. Sure, Ainsley is capable of empathy, and I don’t think she’d ever kill anyone but she’s definitely narcissistic. More so than Malcolm, whose isn’t narcissistic so much as he is obsessed with finding out the truth. More so than Jessica, who really just wants to be less lonely since the world abandoned her twenty years ago.

13:20 - This is a really interesting point that Martin brings up. He’s technically mentally ill. Does he deserve sympathy for it? I mean, he killed people. I have anxiety disorders and chronic depression. I have a bipolar uncle. A narcissistic grandmother diagnosed with manic depression with psychotic elements (actually, in a lot of ways my grandmother is like Martin Whitly). I understand mental illness. But the second that someone kills another person...that’s where my sympathy ends. At that point I don’t care if you’re mentally ill - you took someone else’s life for pleasure. You shouldn’t be getting fancy therapy and an all-expenses paid trip to a psychiatric hospital. You should be getting the electric chair. (Sorry if this is getting political - I’m generally against the death penalty but psychopathic serial killers and child abusers are the exception to my stance).

13:38 - The darkest of nights?!?! Martin you are making me so angry right now. You sleep like a baby. You have no conscience. That’s literally the definition of a psychopath. You have no dark nights. Your son on the other hand. UGH.

14:10 - *sigh* look at this. He’s making everything about him. In doing so he’s actually belittling his daughter and her career choice. What kind of a loving father does that?

15:44 - This little moment when Ainsley tells Malcolm that she’s staying is concerning to me. She is so desperate to find her father’s affectionate side that she watches her brother interact with him. She genuinely believes that she is the least favourite child.

16:30 - In this scene Martin says he’s never been to the Bronx. But by the end of this episode we find out that Martin briefly worked at St. Edwards Hospital in the Bronx. Just more proof that Martin is a liar. I don’t know what else to tell you.

17:10 - Look at that face. That is a man who doesn’t care about his son. That is a man who will say anything to keep Malcolm in the room. To play with Malcolm’s head. That is not a father. That is a monster. Look at how sad Malcolm looks by the end of this interaction. How upset. How scared. He is genuinely starting to believe that he might’ve helped his Dad hurt someone.

18:56 - Ainsley’s excitement to walk back into that room is concerning. There is ambition and there is obsession. She is obsessed. It isn’t healthy.

19:25 - “I’d like to discuss one more. Malcolm.” This scene absolutely shatters my heart. For multiple reasons. a) Ainsley just put her career before her brother. She is intentionally starting a conversation that she knows will upset her brother (in front of her brother) because she believes that it will get the results she needs. This is one of the reasons I believe Ainsley is the Whitly child most similar to Martin. AND b) look at Malcolm’s reactions. He is utterly heartbroken. He feels betrayed by his sister. Embarrassed that his father knows about his diagnoses. Embarrassed that this discussion about his mental health is being filmed for television. He looks so sad and defeated here. I just want to hug him. AND FINALLY c) Martin is incapable of even acknowledging that his action have had any sort of negative impact on Malcolm.

20:15 - And there he is. The most honest form of Martin Whitly. Angry. Explosive. Violent. Things aren’t going his way and that’s unacceptable to him.

20:53 - Another moment that annoys me about this episode. How convenient is it that the alarm starts going off JUST as Martin finishes his little outburst? It’s just timed a little too coincidentally. I know I know. It’s necessary for the plot and the time constraint of the episode.

21:24 - Look at that. Three people concerned about your shaky handed boy. My heart is full.

22:18 - Ainsley and Malcolm laughing over their Mom’s phone calls is cute. BUT I feel like Malcolm should be a little more upset with Ainsley right now. I know they’re in a lockdown situation and he probably doesn’t want to fight with her in case that something bad happens to one of them but still. Siblings fight. She treated him poorly. He should be mad at her right now. Malcolm’s acting like nothing happened.

23:55 - Martin is the worst. He really refuses to answer his children’s relevant questions until the camera is rolling. Ugh. Mr. David is not getting paid enough to deal with this family.

25:40 - It’s absolutely disgusting that Martin is so unconcerned when both of this children are in danger, in his presence. Also can someone please explain to me why there was a crow bar in the camera equipment bag? Like for real? That’s not a thing I can see Claremont security approving to enter a serial killer’s cell.

27:00 - It’s not often that I believe that Malcolm is the most rational person in the room (excluding Mr. David of course) but Ainsley and Martin are positively crazy in this scene. Ainsley is desperate and scared but Martin is manipulating her. At least Malcolm has enough common sense to keep a knife away from a serial killer.

28:34 - The flashback. Martin is holding Malcolm’s hands, guiding the knife. Did Malcolm fight his father before this moment? Was Malcolm drugged into submission? I really need to know more about this. Malcolm looks terrified in the flashback though - he definitely didn’t take the knife willingly.

29:00 - Look at Malcolm’s face. That is pure terror. That is internal conflict. He wants to help his sister. He would do anything for her because he’s her big brother and big brothers are protective. BUT he’s also terrified of giving his father a knife. AND he’s terrified of the flashback that he just had. Look at Malcolm’s face when Martin takes the scalpel. Holy crap. That boy is not sleeping tonight.

31:02 - Another instance where I really don’t support Ainsley. Video tapping the un-consented surgery (yes it was an emergency, I know) performed by a serial killer on her boyfriend. Like. Dude. No. So not appropriate. But she’s doing it a) to try and earn her father’s love and attention and b) she thinks the story will help her career. It’s all about her. And that scares me.

32:45 - JT and Dani look concerned again. They’re like “What’s the dumbass going to do now?”

33:00 - I love this scene. Gil and Jessica. This conversation is sweet, and intimate in a way that only people with a shared concern can be. How many conversations do you think they’ve had over the years about Malcolm and Ainsley? They’re both worried about their kids. It’s precious and I love it. Also - another example of how Jessica’s heart is in the right place. She really does love her children.

35:15 - New York Direct News?!? I thought Ainsley worked for American Direct News? Did Malcolm purposely use a different network name?

35:55 - Is Malcolm giving that look to Ainsley or Martin? I can’t tell.

37:40 - I feel you Jessica. I feel you girl. He’s playing with both of your children’s hearts now. You are justified in being livid.

38:18 - Concerned Papa Gil for the win! :) <3

39:24 - I’m really glad that Malcolm is at least aware that his father is playing with he and Ainsley.

40:55 - I love how this episode ends. A rare, intimate moment between Malcolm and his mother. A softer side of Jessica we rarely see, comforting her upset son. Followed by a confused, terrified and equally vulnerable side of Jessica going to the basement.

Dang. This one got long. Sorry. Thanks for hanging out. I’ll post again soon.

20 notes · View notes