SKETCHES
of Clara’s clothing. Will do school uniforms eventually
headcanon under the cut
Also, after the whole fighting-Ranrok thing (gotta happen in March, right? still snowy out), Clara is wounded via knife slash to her ankle, also twisted same ankle, got walloped by a troll, scratched up her legs something awful sliding on rocks, and then watched her favorite professor die. She’s in hysterics when Sharp and Prof. Onai are trying to corral her up to the hospital wing. She keeps trying to escape and go find the entrance to the mined tunnel.
Pls keep in mind, she’s 15, been awake for like 36 hours straight, and just lost someone important to her (again, so like, old memories of her sister dying are resurfacing). Obviously, she is a pillar of calm and collected sanity.
Additional Information: When the tremors with the Ancient Magic started, the Profs who did not go to help fight were herding students into the Great Hall, like when Sirius scratched up the Pink Lady’s portrait. So a not insignificant number the student body heard Clara’s screeches, snuck to the door and saw the floating cot with a body under a sheet, the haunted looks on the professors as they return.
Rumors circulate. As they do.
So two mornings later, when Sebastian has worked up the nerve to actually talk to Clara (he heard her parents were summoned in the middle of the night, also heard she lost her mind, that a dragon lived under the castle, castle was almost blown up, etc... who knows what’s true). So. He’s going to talk to her. Which he’s talked to loads of girls, and talked to Clara loads of times. Except that she’s refused to talk to him since the Uncle Solomon incident, and that’s why he’s nervous and trying to talk himself into seeing her.
Instead he Lurks (defintely lurking) outside the hospital wing, unsure if he wants to talk to her or not. He sticks his head into the door, half hoping she’s still sleeping and half-hoping she’ll see him and all that awkward guilt will vanish.
Sebastian is treated to a view of privacy curtains halfway down the wing. And through a little gap, he gets a glimpse of her lacing up her corset. Just for like, 1 total second.
5 minutes later, a bunch of second-years watch him sprint out of the castle and dive headfirst into the lake.
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I stayed up too late last night thinking thoughts about this AU and turning the dialogue I'd written into an actual scene, so here you go.
**********
"So…the illustrious Blue Team," Roland chuckles. "The brass must've liked what they saw on my CSV."
"Must've," the Chief echoes back.
Her eyes are still scouring him and he rocks back on his heels in the beat of silence that follows, searching for something else to say. "Class II, huh? Been in this outfit for a while."
She nods. "And you're a fresh one. Hot off the assembly line."
There's a hint of…something in her voice, but Roland can't pinpoint it. He takes his chances. "...feel like clarifying that, ma'am?"
Her eyes finally break from his and she turns back to the storage locker. "There are a lot more Spartans these days than there used to be. That's all."
The lull in conversation stretches just long enough to get awkward before she speaks again. "Have you ever been paired with an AI, Roland?"
"No, ma'am. Should I have been?"
"Not necessarily." She removes her helmet from the locker and turns to face him, once more staring him down with those eyes that were just a little too blue. "But you will be. A personal AI is one of Blue Team's many perks."
Roland swears he can see a ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. He whistles. "Prestigious."
"And expensive, so take it seriously. I'm not sure who you'll be paired with, but I've been working with mine," she slips an armored housing chip out of the back of her helmet, "for a while now."
Roland tries to keep his expression neutral, but the thought of having someone else, something else riding shotgun all the time… "And it's…" What was the word he was looking for? "...you like it?"
She answers with another brisk nod that leaves no room for misinterpretation. "He knows me better than anyone else. We're seamless together." She must've caught the look that crossed Roland's face against his best efforts, because hers softens. Barely. "I can introduce you, if you're curious."
Roland shrugs.
Taking that as enough of an answer, Cortana holds the chip out in her palm.
Less than a second passes before the two of them are bathed in a warm green glow. A small hologram of a human man hovers just a hair above the chip. He's wearing simple fatigues and boots, but his jacket is open to a tank top underneath. He's objectively handsome, Roland supposes, taking in the short-cropped hair, the strong features, the sharp, serious eyes. He even catches some freckles on the hologram's cheekbones.
Roland had seen a few Smart AIs in his time, not many, but the practical mundanity of this one catches him slightly off-guard. They could choose to look like anything and this one had chosen that? Nothing with a little more flair, a little more whimsy?
"Roland, meet John. John, Roland."
"...the new recruit?" The AI's voice is low and husky and he's not addressing Roland but he also hasn't stopped looking at Roland since he appeared. And Roland, caught under the scrutiny of two pairs of very intense eyes, is beginning to understand why this AI paired so well with the Chief. "He's young."
Cortana makes a noise in the back of her throat. "I didn't pick him. Apparently his service record speaks for itself, and I get the feeling he's more than capable of speaking enough for himself and everyone else."
The AI—John—snorts.
"...I'm right here," Roland mutters. But even through the prickling annoyance of being talked around rather than to, he can't help but realize that was the most he'd heard the Chief say since he'd met her.
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[HPHM] Charles Cromwell Moodboard
Fancasting Jeremy Irons as Charles // done because this is R’s leader in my canon, not that bloody “Peregrine” bloke
“Hey, little songbird, you got something fine --
You'd shine like a diamond down in the mine.
And the choice is yours, if you're willing to choose --
Seeing as you've got nothing to lose --
And I could use a canary...”
~“Hey, Little Songbird,” from Hadestown
x~x~x~x
“Your brother belongs to R, Carewyn Cromwell – and therefore, to me,” the Leader said pitilessly. “His membership is for life, however much he might try to fight it. And so you see why it’s pointless, to try to oppose us. Since he’s been expelled from Hogwarts, Jacob is meant to never cast magic again – meaning that every time he so much as levitates a feather, he adds to his list of offences. This makes your brother a criminal…just as much as we are.”
“Jacob is nothing like you,” spat Carewyn.
The Leader raised his wand that bit higher, and Jacob crumpled up that bit more, gasping in pain. Carewyn brought up her wand to Jacob’s face, trying to access the wound even while Jacob’s hand still covered it.
“Vulnera Sanenteur – ”
But the light couldn’t seem to make it through. Something almost confused rippled through Jacob’s expression – then he very quickly put on a grimmer expression.
“…Healing spells won’t work,” he murmured. “Only another person with R’s mark could make the pain stop…if they were willing to take that pain on themselves.”
Carewyn went a bit paler as she looked around at the other members of R. Their fear, self-preservation, and selfish ambition rippled around her in a formless mass – even Tonks, hiding amongst them, peeked around as if hoping beyond reason that someone would speak up…but no one did.
None of them would take on the pain meant for Jacob. No one, in this whole organization, could look at a man barely 18 and move as if to help him…
“No one cares about your brother enough to protect him from me, Carewyn,” said the Leader softly, “except you.”
Carewyn’s head shot up abruptly as she stared at him. Immediately the man’s mind sunk its claws onto hers, making images come flooding in – dozens of people, cowering before him – a man getting his neck snapped with magic – a house on fire – Patricia Rakepick herself, with a claw-like hand around her neck –
“There is but one way to protect your brother. And you know what it is.”
The images became more fantastical and surreal – imaginings, rather than memories. Carewyn saw herself, kneeling before the Leader – wearing a dark red hood of her own, casting spells at faceless strangers – sitting at a long table in a cold, grand, dungeon-like manor, surrounded by other people with similarly blue eyes –
“Submit to me – and you’ll be with your family again.”
~Excerpt from Double Trouble: A Rewrite of Y6Ch35: Infiltrating R
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