#sorry folks got behind on crossposting

[thedaywemetcomic]

Chapter 2, Page 3

#sorry folks got behind on crossposting #the day we met #furry comic #comic #webcomic #my character

[silver--linings]

Reborn (A Journey’s Terminus)

[Crossposted on AO3]

Word Count: 3122

Characters: Akari/Rei (Player), Hisuian Zorua, Zorua, Haunter, Samurott, Kamado, Irida, Adaman, Volo (last three briefly)

Rating: Teen and Up, Gen

Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Tags: Based on Fanart (Will Be Linked in Replies), Character Death, AU: Volo Never Finds The Player Character, this one’s kinda fucked folks, Blood, Blood and Injury, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Dark, Sorry :(, I teared up while writing this but im proud of it, bad at titles and also summaries, its good just trust me, Not Beta Read

Summary: “...the Zorua perished, unable to survive the harsh Hisuian environment and strife with other pokemon. Their lingering souls were reborn in this Ghost-type...”

“I must ask you to leave.”

Crunch. Crunch.

“You are no longer welcome in the Galaxy Team.”

A heavy breath, two, three, clouds of steam emitting from their mouth.

“Consider yourself banished from the village until you can explain why these calamities keep befalling our good people.”

A shiver, a shudder, stiff arms moving to try and get any semblance of warmth. Their hands were ever so slightly turning from red to blue. They couldn’t take out their pokemon.

None of them remained except for one.

“No – until you’ve restored our world to its rightful state and proven your innocence beyond doubt!”

Their partner’s ball rattled, sensing something wrong. They ignored it. The cold winds made their eyes tear up, and their body was subjected to another aggressive bout of trembling. Their next breath came up short, making them let out a series of wracking coughs. The pokeball at their hip shook harder.

Our good people…

They never were one of them, were they? Never one of their people. Nothing else explained why they’d be thrown out like this, forced to survive off of scraps and try to solve… whatever this was. They didn’t know how. It didn’t matter.

Blowing into their hands did nothing. Their breath was hardly warmer than the chilled flesh. The crunching of their footsteps was loud, and they knew that the Icelands were probably one of the worst places to allow caution to slip.

It was too cold for them to care.

It was a mixture of the cold and the fatigue that got them caught unawares.

There was a mighty hiss behind them, followed by a strange, unnatural sound. Teleportation, their mind told them, but they were too slow. Their sluggish turn only got them a slash from a furious Haunter, searing across their side like it was nothing more than butter. It knocked the breath out of them, and they fell backwards into the snow.

A trembling hand came to hold their side, where the gash had opened and begun to bleed. They couldn’t feel their hand or the gash.

Adrenaline washed through their veins, and they tried to back away, to run.

The Haunter was quicker.

It shot them in the back with a weaker pulse, knocking them back into the ground they’d tried to scramble up from just seconds before. Their pokeball rattled violently, but… she couldn’t help them. Not now. It was best to leave her in her pokeball, where she was safe.

They rose again, struggling, their back and side burning and their whole body shaking. They can’t die here, they can’t. They aren’t done!

A few more staggering steps away from the Haunter rewarded them with a scratch – a Shadow Claw, their mind supplied uselessly – across the full of their back. It slid deep. Their whole body stuttered, finally collapsing as the Haunter gave another attack to their weak legs.

On the ground, they stared up at the Haunter, its red eyes appearing hazy in their delirium. Ah… they thought, mind moving slowly, this is it, isn’t it?

They felt their side shake as the lone pokeball on their waist burst open, a shadow appearing over them with a snarl that only registered seconds after the fact. They blinked, static creeping towards the edges of their vision. Samurott gave a yell towards them, but they knew that she would be better off without them.

As their pokemon leapt at the Haunter, both of their shapes turning into colors, they felt… they felt anger.

Our people. Our people. Our. Our. Our.

Not you.

Never you.

White on blue on purple began to fade to black. The red in the snow began to freeze.

As the faint breaths exhaled from their mouth slowed, they found themself feeling only the cold fury of unjust hate accompanying them.

Why? What did I do to deserve this? Why? Why? W…h…y…    w…

— x — x — 

Samurott leapt over her trainer’s prone form, a protective growl over their behalf hardly even phasing the Haunter. This… the Samurott felt a sudden pit in her stomach, this Haunter is strong.

Its eyes gleamed with malice, and it did not speak to her. The blood on its spectral claws dripped into the disrupted snow, and Samurott had never before been consumed with such fury. Her trainer was hurt, and it was because of this. This beast.

She launched at it with a roar, claws and horn trained on the Haunter. It was a stupid attack, she knew, fueled by emotion over logic, but… but… her trainer could not command her. Samurott could fight on her own, yes, but it wasn’t nearly the same as fighting in tandem with her partner.

It easily dodged to the side, launching a Shadow Ball at her as she passed it. It connected, sending her careening with a pained shout. She blinked, and it was close to her, and it was only by the grace of Sinnoh that she narrowly dodged, the following attack grazing her flank and sending static bolts of pain along her spine.

Samurott turned quickly, conjuring one of her Dark blades. Without letting the Haunter get too far from its position, she darted forward with a Ceaseless Edge attack. It gave an enraged cry, flinging her away from it with a weak, reflexive Thunder Punch. Still, she gave an answering cry of pain, shivering at the feeling of electricity arcing through her veins.

As they both shook off their respective super-effective aches, Samurott looked to her trainer to check on them.

The otter pokemon stopped short.

They weren’t breathing.

The world’s turn ceased for her, at that moment. This… no, no, it couldn’t be real. They’d come this far. They’d crossed the lands on foot, they’d been through the literal end of the world together, they’d, they’d…

They… they were… dead. Their partner, their trainer, at her side since she was an Oshawott… dead. Dead in the snow. Alone. Exiled. A l o n e.

For Samurott, it was like her heart had stopped beating alongside theirs.

Slowly, so slowly, she turned to the Haunter.

And she charged.

The two exchanged blow after blow, Dark blades cutting deep into spectral essence and Electric punches charring blue skin to black and red. A few Shadow Claws here, cutting deep in the way that only fiercely strong pokemon could, a few Aqua Tails in return there.

By the third Thunder Punch she received, Samurott knew that she would not be leaving this fight alive.

By the fourth, she’d resolved to take the Haunter with her. She was already dead. How could she live without her partner? The least she could do was avenge them.

It was a final Ceaseless Edge that had done the Haunter in, the look of shock in its red eyes as it faded into dust satiating the rage in her soul.

All at once, her ambition leaked out of her, and she swayed, falling to the side before catching herself with a stagger. Oh… she blinked, her vision swimming, I’m dying.

The pokemon’s legs gave out, and she fell hard onto her chest and chin. A pained keen left her, but… no. Not yet. She… she had to…

Slowly, painstakingly, Samurott dragged herself across the ground. Behind her, splotches and streaks of red blanketed the ground, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. No, what mattered most was getting to that blurry blot of red and blue she knew was closer than it felt.

Samurott only allowed herself to rest when she’d reached her trainer, her hind legs no longer moving to help drag her heavy body. Every movement increased the weight, but she forced her forelimbs to give her one last push.

As she laid her head on her trainer’s still chest, the snow around them an abstract painting of red and white, she let her eyes close. It’s okay, she told them in her head.

I’m here now.

— x — x — 

“Where. Are. They?” Irida hissed, staring Volo down. She was easily much shorter than him, but he felt intimidated all the same.

“I told you, I don’t know! They weren’t in the Fieldlands, nor were they in the Coastlands or the Mirelands. They can’t have gone to the Highlands, and the Icelands have been weathering a snowstorm for over a week!” Volo snapped back, frustrated. Everything was going wrong. The kid was nowhere to be found, and the Red Chain couldn’t be completed without them. The situation hadn’t worsened, not yet, at least, but no one knew how long it would last.

“They are a child, one who is alone in the wilderness!” Irida yelled, exasperated and incredulous in equal measure. “Every second we aren’t looking for them could be a second closer to their death, Volo. We’re failing them.”

“You think I don’t know that, Lady Irida?”

“Okay, enough.” Adaman stepped between the two. “Look, if we’re going to find them, we can’t be arguing. We don’t have time for that. Kamado is already onto us as is, and we’re lucky he hasn’t intervened.” Certain he had their attention, he continued. “Volo. You said you had combed the Fieldlands, the Mirelands, and the Coastlands in their entirety, right?”

“Correct,” the merchant exhaled, “the only places we haven’t been able to search up and down have been the Highlands, due to their proximity to the anomaly, and the Icelands, due to the snowstorm.”

“Irida.” She looked up from where she’d been taking a few, deep, steadying breaths. “Would they have gone to the Icelands?”

“I…” The fellow clan leader stopped, thinking for a long moment. “It’s not outside the realm of possibility. There are hot springs there that they could have tried, and it’s possible they had thought to shelter in one of the ice caves.”

“Okay. Okay.” Adaman rubbed his eyes. “...Okay. We’ll go to the Icelands. Irida, I know we have our differences, but would you allow me into your domain to help search? I want them found just as much as you do.”

Irida blinked at him. “Of course. This takes priority, no matter whatever strife we have or have had. The storm should be letting up, so–”

“And what, exactly, are the three of you planning to do?” Irida and Adaman flinched at Kamado’s angry tone, but Volo just leveled him with a glare. “Retrieving the child, the fugitive, with some futile attempt at subtlety?”

Irida was the first to speak. “The. Child.” She enunciated each word, “the child that you sent into the fucking wilds to die. You expect any sane, rational person to stand idly by while you’re responsible for their death?”

Adaman followed shortly after. “Irida is right. You sentenced them to death. There is little time to debate, here. We need to find them.”

Kamado stared at them for a good, long moment. His hands clenched and unclenched, suppressed rage clearly indicated through the action. He looked as if he were deciding whether to punch them or to let them go.

“I admit I acted somewhat rashly.” Volo waited for the ‘but’. “However–” ah, there it was, “– I retain the opinion that they are in no way innocent in this endeavor. They’re an outsider, and…” the Commander weighed his words, before deciding that they needed to be said. “Perhaps it would be best if they perished out there. Maybe that would fix it.”

Volo had hardly blinked, but Kamado had somehow ended up on the ground holding his nose and Adaman was now standing above him, shaking his hand as if it hurt. Ah, well. Volo could hardly blame Adaman. Irida looked seconds away from doing the same herself, even.

“Do not ever–” Adaman began, his tone clipped, “insinuate that someone’s time should be cut short before it is due. I have let many things slide on your end, Commander Kamado, but I will not be so lenient this time. Are we clear?”

As Kamado stood, still holding his nose, something like begrudging respect flickered in his eyes. Arceus above, Volo thought, does this man only respond to violence?

“We are clear,” Kamado responded, and Volo had to hold back a laugh at how nasally it was compared to his normal voice. Definitely broken, then. “I will not stop you, but there is one condition to my approval of this fool’s errand.”

“State your terms,” Irida folded her arms, the sleeves of her robe swishing with the movement.

“I must accompany you on this search. If the child has not solved this on their own by now, clearly they can’t do it alone. As much as I distrust them, the longer the situation goes on the more risk we take onto ourselves. I do not want to risk my people any more than I already have.”

Both parties stared at each other for a long, long moment. Volo felt almost as if he could see electricity between Adaman, Irida, and Kamado, neither party wanting to budge.

“We’re wasting time,” Adaman finally said with a frown. “Fine. Get your nose splinted and meet us at the gate.”

Volo had to bite his tongue to not outwardly smile at Kamado’s expression, clearly miffed at being ordered around like a grunt.

— x — x — 

The creation of Rei was slow.

It started with an absence of pain.

Something told them that they should feel hurt, that they should be in agony, but it was all muted. They felt only the whispers of wind gliding across their being.

They next started to develop sight.

Around them was nothing but a white landscape, although red glinted in the sun when they looked at the right angle. Below them, they thought they could see blue, but they could not move to check what it was.

Next came the sensation of hearing.

Wind roared in their ears, and the distant sound of pokemon could occasionally join their new auditory senses. For some reason, they knew they did not like one of the cries in particular.

After they could hear, they found they could move.

They could not travel far, yet, their legs far too weak, but they could move their head and their limbs around for small periods. The blue they had seen was some four legged pokemon – why did their chest hurt looking at it? – and a bipedal shape that made them nauseous to behold.

They didn’t look at either shape for long.

The culmination of the being known as Rei was the return of their rage.

All at once, they felt an all-encompassing hatred, though they knew not what for. It overwhelmed them, filling their small body and overflowing into the snow. What had caused such rage? Why did they feel so much spite? They could hardly move from the shapes they existed close to, so how could they feel this angry?

Rei did not know how long it took to calm themself down, but they managed to force the anger to the back of their mind, a simmer instead of a rolling boil.

Their relative peace did not last long.

“&@%#?!” A voice in a garbled language cried out in the distance. It was… familiar.

Two more voices, both equally familiar, joined the call. They repeated the same thing, over and over. Was it a chant? A name?

Rei next noticed that there were four sets of footsteps but only three voices.

Behind them, unrecognizable but understandable voices chirped up.

“Friend?”

“Sibling?”

“New.”

They turned, seeing three creatures behind them. They were taller than the creatures, but the three of them didn’t seem surprised. Perhaps it was common to be different sizes.

“You.” The third one, who had stepped forth, addressed them. “Zorua. We, Zorua. Still look like old self, a bit. Will fade with time.”

The other two… Zoruas, she’d said, had approached. They looked at the bodies next to Rei. “Are sorry,” the first frowned, “becoming… never happy affair.”

The second nodded, “is sad. But family, we are,” she smiled at them. “Alone once, not longer. But… people come. Danger.”

Rei looked at their… claws? Hands? They were white, tipped with black, and it almost reminded them of frostbite. Rei did not think about how they shouldn’t know what frostbite was. “Hear them.” They said, voice rough, “familiar.”

The third, which seemed the oldest, came up next to them. “Want to see?” She asked, although it did not feel entirely like a question. Rei nodded, the wisps of their body flickering slightly. “You cannot meet them. Cannot move. But we… we lead. They come. Meet you.”

Rei looked at her, long and steady. “Thank you.” All three nodded, and scampered off together.

— x — x — 

The Zoruas did not take long, Rei noted. The people must not have been far.

As they flanked the new Ghost’s body, the oldest Zorua came to rest in a defensive position next to them. The other two watched, wary, but did not move to an aggressive posture yet.

The first person Rei spotted was pink.

She wore a pink and white attush robe, a flute on her hip and a red hairpin in her blonde hair. She had bracelets, they saw, but they then registered that the woman looked… devastated. Her hands covered her mouth, her eyes welled with tears, and her legs shook as if they’d give out.

Next to her, a man in blue had a bandaged arm held to his face. His eyes were wide, and he looked as if he’d be sick. Clear despair swam in his eyes, already full of tears, but the rest of his expression was blank with utter shock. He, too, looked as if he could fall over at any moment. The pink woman collapsed into his side, and he held her shoulders fiercely just as she held his side.

Something told Rei that they held no anger towards these two. All three – four? – Zoruas turned, then, to the man clad in black.

Rei felt their wisps flare, glowing red with their rage, and their claws of frostbite clenched into fists. Him.

The eldest Zorua bared her teeth at him, and the other two rose to all fours. Rei felt flashes of memory, all of them only serving to madden them more, their fury once again overflowing from their short body.

Our people…

Never should have trusted them…

Banished…

Your fault…

Could die…

Knew they were…

The two younger Zorua darted around the man – Kamado, their mind hissed – and tugged on the other humans’ robes. Even the Zoruas knew their brethren did not want innocents hurt. They did not know why they knew. They did not care to find out.

Revenge was important to their species.

Family was even more important.

Rei and the elder Zorua stared at Kamado.

“…  &@%#?” He asked, faintly, in foreign syllables.

Rei lunged.

#silverlining.txt #silverlining.pdf #trainer rei #rei pokemon #akari pokemon #trainer akari #zorua #hisuian zorua #this ones dark yall #notes: #my playlist also fits here #the spec scene of samurott laying on MCs chest while both r dead/dying wont leave my head. i rly hope i portrayed it well. its my fav part - #-and i teared up so bad writing it. probs one of my fav scenes ive EVER written #i dont like #kamado #commander kamado #it goes from no names to rei bc thats a common ghost name! #the garbled text is 4 characters bc rei is 3 and akari is 5. so. middle #irida pokemon #clan leader irida #pokemon irida #irida #clan leader adaman #adaman #pokemon adaman #adaman pokemon #volo #volo pokemon #pla #pokémon legends arceus

[petersthree]

Hey guys! I have another fic out for Luther & Allison’s dynamic - I’ve tagged folks who liked my excerpt post, please message me if you want to be untagged! :) 

Thank you to @ginnxtonic & @superhero-bastards for beta-reading! 

Crossposted to AO3 (properly formatted here!) 

Summary: Luther and Allison have been doing things in reverse their whole lives, so it’s no wonder that it applies to their relationship as well. A character study on Luther and Allison’s journey to being romantic, to friends, to siblings again.

Note: I wasn’t entirely sure how to tag this fic so I thought I’d describe it here for people to determine for themselves if they want to/can read it. For shippers - this fic does not support or promote their relationship; I believe that Luther & Allison’s dynamic formed as a trauma bond and I really wanted to explore that concept, so this might not be the fic for you though if it is, great! For non-shippers -  I wanted to explore their relationship and see how they could become genuine friends/platonic in canon. As I’m going through their dynamic there’s going to be incestuous undertones for the first part in particular. 

Whichever way you fall on that please just be warned on that before you read, as your own comfort when reading comes first. Thank you! 

Fic: The Days that Were (And Are to Come) under the cut!

Number One found out that Number Three was his soulmate on September 26, 1996. 

The six-year-old had been sitting with Mom, watching Cinderella again - their favorite movie. Well, Mom’s favorite, he reminded himself. He liked Superman and King Kong, but Mom really liked Cinderella and none of the other siblings really liked watching it so One would sit with her, his eyes tracing between the sparkling spirals as Cinderella got her magical dress and his mother sighing contentedly when she did so. 

“Sublime,” his mother would say, every time without fail. One didn’t understand why she would choose this routine, of sitting on the couch and watching the same movie, having the same reactions night after night after night after night, but the content smile on his mother’s face told One that there was something there for Mom. 

The rest of the movie went on as planned. Mom would clap in delight at the pumpkin getting changed into a carriage, sing along to all the songs, and sigh and say, “Look, darling, she’s meeting her Prince,” when Cinderella and the Prince locked eyes. 

Except for September 26, 1996, when Cinderella and the Prince locked eyes, Grace sighed, and said, “Look, darling, she’s meeting her soulmate.” 

One looked away from the screen, a brush of panic hitting him. He didn’t know that word. He racked his head for every word his father had taught him, every language he could think of, but his mind was blank. Mom looked over and frowned (a frown that looked more like a smile, it seemed like Mom’s default mode). 

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked, and One looked up. The smile was back on her face when he looked at her. The light of the television reflected back onto one of her eyes like a monocle of light. It seemed wrong, threatening somehow, and something about the image was screaming to One that he couldn’t tell her that he didn’t know what the word meant. 

Besides, he was Number One, he was supposed to know what every word was. He took pride in it every time he got to show up Number Two in their lessons and Dad told him, “Good job, Number One,” when he explained the difference between arthropods and molluscs, while Two had sulked in the corner with his head down. He couldn’t just not know something now. 

“Nothing,” he said in response, and ran upstairs, ignoring Mom’s call asking him if he was okay. He was running down the hallway when he bumped into Three, and the two of them went sprawling onto the floor. 

“Sorry,” One said, getting up and holding out his hand to Three. 

“It’s okay,” she said, grabbing his hand and using her free one to rub the back of her head with a wince. “Where are you going?” 

“I…” One paused, debating if he should tell her, but then Three smiled encouragingly. It was a true smile that reached her eyes, and there was no...wrongness to it, like there was for Mom. 

“I need to look up a word,” he admitted. “Mom said soulmate. I don’t know what it is.” 

Three tilted her head to the side, her nose scrunching up in thought. “Me neither,” she said, and she turned, walking towards the library. “Let’s find out, then.” One looked at her, walking confidently towards the library room. She didn’t even seem to really care that she hadn’t known, just seemed set on finding out, and One marveled at that confidence as he followed behind her.

It was at the library that they pulled out the large dictionary and searched painstakingly until they got to “soulmate”, and One read: 

A person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament

A person who strongly resembles another in attitudes or beliefs

“Well that doesn’t make sense,” One sighed. “Mom was talking about Cinderella and the Prince. I don’t think they fit this.” 

“Why don’t you just ask Mom?” Three asked, and One shook his head, the same flash of panic he had felt earlier rising up in his chest again. 

Three must have sensed his panic because she reached over, taking One’s hand. “You can trust Mom,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Mom is here for us. She’s not going to be mad.” 

One looked down at their hands, thinking of Mom’s plastic smile, illuminated by the pale glow of the television screen, her posture upright and her limbs looking not-quite right. He wasn’t sure if he trusted her, but he did trust Three. 

“Okay,” he said, and squeezed back. 

Three didn’t join him, saying she needed to help Four - or Mallory, the name he was trying out for the week - pick out another name, so One slowly walked back downstairs alone. Mom was still there, hands clasped in her lap and the movie still playing, the smile still on her face. If One looked closely he thought he could see something glistening in her eyes, but it was probably the reflection from the screen. 

“Mom?” he asked, and she turned from the screen, her smile widening when she saw One. 

“Sweetheart, where did you go?” she asked, reaching out to cup his face, and One moved back instinctually. Her hand paused and dropped to her side, but the smile never left. 

“I needed to look up a word,” he said slowly and stilted. “Soulmate. You said it earlier, but I still don’t know what it means.”

His mother laughed, the noise somehow blending in perfectly with the music still blaring from the television. “Oh, silly, you can always ask me!” she said. 

“A soulmate is…” she paused, and her eyes looked far off and her smile dropped ever so slightly - probably, One assumed, to download information on everything there was to know about soulmates for him, and just as expected, her eyes cleared and she looked back at him, looking sure of herself. 

“A soulmate is someone who loves you entirely, and you love them the same. You both support each other, trust each other; that bond cannot be broken, no matter what or no matter how much time passes. That person is your person for life. Does that make sense, sweetheart?” 

One nodded, and she smiled brightly again. “There. It’s like I said, you can always ask me, sweetie,” she said, and she moved, slightly slowly, to envelop One in her arms. He let her this time and he heard her sigh happily, but One was barely paying attention to her, his own smile wide on his face. 

He had heard the definition and knew without a doubt that he already had a soulmate. He always knew their bond was important, but after Mom told him what soulmate meant he knew that it was more than he ever thought about. 

A soulmate, he thought to himself as he walked up to his room. I have a soulmate. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bad love, bad love and misery….

The song droned on through the radio as Three and One looked through the baby naming books. 

“Hm...Kurt?” One asked, and he and Three looked at each other, imagining it, before shaking their heads in unison. One sighed, placing the book on an ever-growing pile next to him. 

“I’m never going to find a name, Audrey,” he groaned, and Three tried not to flinch at the name. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Three said. “Klaus changed his name tons of times before he picked one, Five and Seven still don’t have one.” One didn’t seem convinced, so she went on. “And hey, I don’t even know if I like mine,” she confessed. 

One sat up, his face rapt with attention. “You don’t? But you were so excited,” he said sadly. “You were saying how much you love Audrey Hepburn and this would be a great name for yourself.”  

Three sighed. “I thought it’d be nice, but it just doesn’t feel like….me,” she said. She hadn’t even realized what the issue was until she had said it - it felt like she was just wearing the name, not that it was hers. She wanted something that was hers, completely and wholly. Aubrey wasn’t her, it was a costume, a mask that she could put on as easily as if it was the mask on her uniform. 

“Do you want to change it?” he asked, and Three thought to herself. She had been feeling it for a while, but she had told herself that when she announced her name, that was it, it would be the only one and that was it. She had gotten excited, told One all about it, then told the rest of the family and they all said how wonderfully it fit her and by the time Three realized that it wasn’t working for her anymore it had been so long that it felt dumb to change it now. 

But One was looking at her, his eyes wide and non-judgemental, just filled with concern and understanding, and Three couldn’t think of what she was worried about. 

“I actually have one in mind,” she admitted, and One’s eyes perked up, encouraging her to go on. “I think one of my favorite things about the whole name thing is trying to find one with you. Listening to Luther Allison’s songs on the radio, going through all these books over and over and over again, it’s all really...they’re my favorite moments,” she said, feeling shy all of a sudden - no clue why, One wasn’t going to be mean about it anyway. “And I think I like Allison, for my name,” she admitted. 

“I think it’s great,” One said, smiling at her, and Allison smiled back. 

“Then I’m Allison,” she said brightly, and she looked back at One. “I think there’s even a name there for you, if you ever want it.” One locked eyes with her, and she knew, she knew that he got what name she thought would work for him. It was how soulmates worked, as One had described to her only a few years ago. She knew he understood her as much as she knew that he would choose that name eventually, just as she knew that he wasn’t ready to use it right now and not be Number One all the time, but that he’d get there anyway. 

“Maybe,” One said softly. “Maybe...you can just call me it when we’re alone? For now?” 

The thought of Allison being the only one to call him by his name made her heart beat a little faster. No one else would know - it’d be their own special soulmate secret, something so special and unique that even Dad wouldn’t know about it. 

“For now, Luther,” she said, and Luther smiled. The two leaned back on their spots on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, the only sound being their namesake’s music and the sound of each other breathing. Allison couldn’t see him, but she knew Luther was smiling just as she was smiling. 

She closed her eyes and leaned her head towards Luther, glad to have her safe strong beacon here with her in this moment. She reached out until she felt his hand, interlocking it with her own, and they stayed there, quiet, away from the rest of the world.  

We have it, she thought to herself, giddy with joy, knowing, knowing Luther was thinking the same.

A name.  

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Allison had known a surprise was coming, but she hadn’t thought it was this. A part of her wanted to tease Luther and say that he just had to show her up, after she had decorated their little hideout into a beautiful tent scene, but looking at the necklace in her hands she couldn’t find the words. 

No one had ever gotten her a present before, ever. She remembered this necklace, they had killed some robbers at a jewelry store weeks ago and Allison had peered over while Luther threw a robber through the window, had gasped at how pretty the necklace was, and squealed when the terrified clerk said, “I c-can engrave it for you, on the house.” 

They had contained the scene and Dad had swooped in, so Allison had gone off to talk to the reporters and rumor one into taking some headshots of her, but she had noticed Luther hanging back, and now, looking at the necklace that just said A+L she knew why. 

“Do you like it?” Luther asked. He seemed nervous, though Allison couldn’t figure out why when she was so happy it had to have shown on her face. 

“I’ll never take it off,” she said, and she meant it. She smiled down at her necklace and then back at her brother. “Oh!” she said, getting up for the rest of her surprise. “I almost forgot. I brought one more thing.” 

She put on the record and outstretched her hand towards Luther. She had seen him on their designated fun and games nights, whenever Mom would put on her Disney or romance movies. Luther always watched with rapt attention, even when he was pretending not to, and he’d sigh wistfully whenever there was a ball, looking longingly at the screen as the prince and princess glided across the ballroom floor. 

Allison didn’t have a fancy ball gown or a prince’s outfit, but Luther didn’t need a costume to feel that way anyway, and she thought she could give him this. 

He was about to grab her hand when Dad burst in, telling them what a disappointment they were, that he never wanted them in here ever again, and Allison flinched, moving ever-so-slightly behind Luther. Dad left and Allison slowly packed up her things, turning off the lights that she had so carefully strung up earlier that day and getting ready to take them off when Luther stopped her. 

“Don’t,” he said. “Dad...didn’t say the lights and tent couldn’t be up.” It was a rare bit of not-quite disobedience from Luther, and Allison looked back at him and nodded. 

“Yeah,” she said. “We can keep them up. We can come back on Saturday.” 

Luther gave her a weak smile back. The two walked back silently to their rooms, and Allison stopped Luther, giving him a kiss on the cheek. She felt him still briefly before he relaxed and grinned, bringing his hand up to his cheek. 

“Good night,” Allison said, and Luther stammered out a good night back. 

Allison curled into her bed, clutching her necklace and smiling as she dozed off to sleep. 

In her dreams, she saw herself in a long red dress, dancing with Luther clad in a suit, and the twinkling lights shining bright in the background. They twirled in the moonlight, her A+L necklace spinning with the two of them, and when he dipped her, Allison would hold his cheek and lean in, and he would as well. They’d kiss, just like in the movies they watched, and Allison would lean against him and just take in the moment as they swayed together, only enjoying each other’s company. 

In her dreams, they danced all night. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Diego leaves a few weeks after Ben’s funeral, yelling at their father in a way that reminded Luther all too well of a small cocky thirteen-year-old who had slammed a knife into the table four years ago. 

“We’re kids,” Diego had said, pointing his finger at their father. “Kids. You’re supposed to protect us, we’re not supposed to do anything else but live our lives.  You’re the one who failed us and Five and Ben, you piece of shit. We deserve better, we can go,” he had said, looking around at his siblings. Vanya was huddled in the corner, staring straight down at the floor, and Klaus seemed only vaguely aware of what was going on, his eyes an all-too familiar glassy shade that indicated that he was really only there physically. Allison locked eyes with Diego, and Luther puffed out his chest, standing next to Dad. 

“If you want to leave, Number Two, you can,” Luther had responded, and Allison and Diego stopped their staredown.

Diego had looked at them all and sighed. “Whatever,” he said, grabbing his duffel bag. “You can all go to Hell. You especially,” he said to Dad. “They don’t know any better but you do.” With that he went off to the hallway, lingering a bit to say something to Mom, and then the door slammed and Diego was gone. 

His father was silent and turned, walking back to his office. 

“Wait, don’t you have anything to say?” Allison asked, anger overwhelming her voice. 

“Training will be at 7:00 AM sharp tomorrow,” came the response, and the door was shut. Klaus laughed, muttering out a figures, and sprawled onto the staircase, staring at an unseen ghost and mumbling something about Ben. Vanya had disappeared from her corner on the stairs; Luther hadn’t even noticed when she had left. 

Allison clenched her fists, strolling over to the office, and Luther grabbed her arm right before she could turn the knob. 

“What are you doing?” he hissed, and Allison narrowed her eyes at him. 

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Either Diego’s coming back home or we’re not having training tomorrow, it depends on my mood when I walk through the door, okay?” 

“You can’t,” Luther whispered. 

“I can if you let go of my arm,” Allison said. The two stared down at each other, and Allison narrowed her eyes. “I-”

Luther dropped her arm. “Allison,” he said, looking at her. “Please.” 

Something flashed in Allison’s eyes, too quick for Luther to properly figure out, and she dropped her hand from the doorknob. “Fine,” she said, turning around and stepping easily over Klaus as she left, not turning back once. 

He found her later in their usual spot, crying and picking at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” Luther said, sitting next to her. Allison’s fingers stilled. 

“For what?” she asked. 

“For making you mad,” he said, and Allison sighed. 

“It wasn’t you, Luther,” she said. “It was Dad. We’ve had nonstop training since Ben died, and I just want - we can’t go on like this, Luther. Diego got that.” 

Luther pushed down the reflexive annoyance at the comment. “Diego doesn’t know anything,” he said breezily. “He thinks that just because he has a few friends outside the academy that he’s better than us. He’ll be back groveling for Dad and the rest of us in no time.” 

“But what if he doesn’t?” Allison said, resuming picking at the thread on her shirt. 

“Then we don’t need him,” Luther said. “Allison, we don’t need anyone except each other, okay? It’s just like when we were kids, I always had you, and you always had me, right?” 

“Right,” Allison said. “Yeah, you’re right. I always feel safe with you,” she said, looking up at Luther, her brown eyes wide and earnest. “Like nothing in the world could ever get to me as long as you were there.” 

“I don’t want to lose that,” Luther said, and Allison nodded. 

“Me neither,” she agreed, and there was a content silence, until Luther broke it with a question he had been wondering for the entire day. 

“Allison, were you going to...rumor me this morning? With Dad?” he asked. Allison had used her power on their other siblings before, he’d see her trying to use it on Klaus to fix his addiction (something that would last about a week before it wore off), or to tease Diego; back when they were young she’d use it on Five so he couldn’t leave arguments when they were going back and forth. He hadn’t thought she’d ever use it on him, and the thought had made him feel special. 

“I…” Allison sighed, putting her head in her hands. “I’m sorry Luther, I was. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“Not try to rumor me?” Luther tried to joke, but it came out flat, and he cursed himself for the insecurity leaking through his voice. There was an awkward silence, and he reached over, gently clasping both of Allison’s hands in his own. They hadn’t done that before but he had seen it in movies and thought it’d feel awkward. It did, kind of, but it felt nice too, and Allison smiled at the motion, which gave Luther the courage to say what he needed to next. 

“Allison, I will always have your back,” he said. “You can always count on me, okay? But I need to count on you too, and I need to know that you won’t rumor me.” 

“I won’t,” Allison said, the answer coming so quickly and easily that it made Luther’s heart swell. 

“I...also need you to not rumor Dad,” he said, and Allison wrinkled her eyes in confusion, and he felt her hands twitch ever-so-slightly under his own. 

“But I thought you just said that we’d always have each other’s backs,” she said slowly. 

“We do,” Luther said, trying to figure out where the confusion was. There shouldn’t be an issue after all, if they were together, they were in the house, and Dad knew what was best for both of them. There wouldn’t be any problems, he and Allison and whoever else wanted to stick around and listen would be heroes. They’d live a good life. 

“It’s either I don’t rumor you, or I don’t rumor Dad,” Allison said, moving her hands away from Luther. Her eyes steeled over, and Luther found himself reeling back a bit from her. She couldn’t do both? 

“I can’t do both,” Allison continued, as if she had heard his unspoken question. “I’m sorry, I can’t, Luther. Not even for you. I just need to know which one you’d rather I do, okay?” Her tone was softening, and she looked at him, but it didn’t comfort him. For the first time Luther felt like he couldn’t figure out exactly what was going on in Allison’s mind. There was something in her face, a desperation, her eyes searching for an answer that Luther didn’t think he had. It was as if he was getting one of Dad’s pop quizzes, and he hadn’t prepared for the possibility of one. 

Which one would he rather have? 

He thought about telling Ben that his powers were good enough for him to fight, and Ben’s casket getting lowered into the ground. Of Klaus, talking to friends no one else could see at the dinner table and the glint in his father’s eye, and the next week when Klaus came back quieter, and the months after when he started rolling joints under the table. Of Five, who had told their father how much better he had gotten at using his powers, and his portrait, hanging over the mantle to showcase his mistake for four years and counting. 

“Don’t rumor Dad,” Luther said, and Allison nodded.

“I won’t,” she said, though it seemed less sure than the first time she had promised, and then she sighed, bringing her hand up to massage her temple. “I have a headache, I’m sorry, so I’ll be - I’ll be off,” she said. She smiled at him, but it seemed weak, not reaching her eyes, and Luther couldn’t help but feel like he had just failed whatever test he’d been given. 

She brushed past him and stopped at the door, her hand on the knob. “For what it’s worth, I don’t want to ever rumor you either,” she said, and then she turned the knob and was gone. 

Luther sighed, and turned to leave. It was fine, he thought. This was the better decision. It was. It was a good decision. He gripped the doorknob and turned it, telling himself that he didn’t mess up, that there wasn’t anything wrong, that there was nothing he was missing, and by the time he exited he stood a little taller and his chin was up. The moment was difficult and hard but it had to be done, and he knew he and Allison would come through it stronger than ever. He knew, he knew, he knew. 

It was a good decision. It was. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re leaving?” Luther asked, staring at the bags Allison had packed. 

“Luther,” Allison said, her eyes filled with pity and sadness. “We knew this was coming.” 

“No, we did not,” Luther said, even though he knew, deep down, that there wasn’t much shock there. Allison’s smile had seemed more strained lately, and she had locked herself in her room when Klaus had gotten kicked out a year prior, even longer when Vanya had unceremoniously left a few months later. The comments that she and Luther should run away together had increased, now no longer something she’d say in the safety of their hideout but something she’d say freely and carelessly: after missions, disposing of bodies, after Dad would turn a corner. 

Luther would remind her that they had each other, hoping it’d be enough, but he guessed he wasn’t. 

“I need to go out and live my life,” Allison said. “I’m just…” she sighed, searching for the words. “I’m just Number Three here, or the Rumor outside. I just want to be Allison.” 

“You’re Allison to me,” Luther said, and in his mind he saw Allison’s eyes light up with the realization, that he saw her just like she saw him, that it didn’t matter what name anyone else thought of for them because they had each other, and she’d run into his arms and he’d hold her and they’d keep each other safe. She’d promise that they’d never leave each other like the rest of their siblings that had abandoned them, that she couldn’t even imagine that she had been about to do it. 

Yeah, he could see it now, them dancing in their attic with the twinkling lights, playing some Luther Allison on tape. He hadn’t danced with Allison since Dad had interrupted them all those years ago. He’d do it for real this time and not let anyone interrupt, even Dad, because Allison was important. Allison was his soulmate and soulmates never left each other, ever, they protected each other and stuck through all the hard times and never wanted more because their soulmate was that more. 

Allison shook her head no, shattering the plans already forming in Luther’s head. “I’m glad I’m Allison to you,” she said, walking over to him, suitcase in hand, using her other hand to gently cup his cheek. “But I need to be more than that.” 

Luther shook his head. “No,” he said. “If you leave then, I’ll be-” he stopped, wanting to say he’d be alone but not feeling like it was right, somehow. He’d have Mom, he’d have Pogo - Pogo was his best friend, he wouldn’t be alone but there was something about Allison leaving that left him with a vast emptiness inside anyway. 

“Come with me,” Allison insisted. “We can go somewhere, together. We know where the others are, we can see them from time to time but it’ll be the two of us, just Luther and Allison. Not Space Boy and Rumor, not One and Three, just Luther and just Allison.” 

Luther tried thinking about it, a life outside the house. He didn’t even know what he would do, and the thought of it scared him. Allison didn’t know either, she was just stepping out into a world that would gleefully rip her apart if it could, just as it did with Ben, and Five, and Klaus, and what he was sure it was doing to Diego and Vanya right now. 

“We’re better off here,” he said. “Allison, you have to stay here.” 

He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a command but it did, and Allison sighed. “Luther, you have to let me leave,” she said, and Luther hated the resignation in her voice, and for a moment he hated her for having it. It wasn’t him wrecking their life, it was her, she just couldn’t see it clearly. 

“No,” he said. “Allison, I - I won’t let you leave,” he said desperately, trying to think of how to get her to stay when it hit him. Of course, of course - he’d take her dancing and do whatever else she wanted for the day, just a few more moments and she’d get it, she’d understand, they could fix this, they could fix this.

“Luther,” Allison said, and Luther was pulled back to the Allison in front of him, tears pricking at her eyes as she touched her forehead to his, and Luther sighed in relief at the motion, and smiled when she said, “I love you, you know that, right?” 

“I do,” Luther mumbled. He loved her, and she loved him, and their love was stronger and more important than anything else that was thrown at them. It was going to be alright. They were going to fix this. 

“I heard-” Allison started, and Luther backed away, his eyes wide. He shook his head, shooting a rare look of anger at her. 

“Allison,” he said, the pleading in his voice evident, and Allison gripped her suitcase, seemingly steeling herself. As if she was the one who was hurting here. As if she wasn’t intentionally throwing their world upside down because she couldn’t handle a few more years of Dad. 

“I need to leave. I’m sorry,” she said. “I heard-” she started again. 

“No,” Luther said, but Allison went on, the tears already clouding her image of Luther and the betrayal clear on his face. 

“- a rumor.” 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A baby.

Allison had a baby. A baby girl. Claire. Claire Green, Allison had said after a beat. Luther tried not to wince at the full name but he was sure Allison felt it all the way over the phone and there was a five-second-pause that felt like the five years Allison had been gone. Allison was as flawless as ever, however, picking right back up to describing her daughter and steamrolling the pause to the ground. 

“It’s amazing, Luther, she’s amazing,” Allison said. “Her hands are so tiny, but she’ll grasp onto my finger and won’t let go, and then it feels like she’s the strongest thing in the whole world.” 

Luther stored that in the back of his head, knowing it was metaphorical but wondering all the same if Claire shared a power with him, and the thought made his chest ache. 

“I’ve heard kids can do that,” he said, chuckling a bit, and he could hear the smile widening on Allison’s face. 

“You know, I always kind of shook my head at people talking about how having their kids is life-changing, but they’re right,” Allison said. “I was scared, I was so scared Luther, this entire time about being pregnant.” 

Luther hadn’t known that, but he nodded along as if he did and as if she could see him. 

“When I went into labor, God, it’s stupid but I kept getting so worried Luther. I even thought that maybe I could just rumor her to stay in a little longer because I wasn’t ready, but then she was out and they put her in my arms and…” she sighed, and he could imagine the same faraway smile she had when she had announced to their siblings that her name was Allison now, soft and sweet and eyes sparkling with opportunity. “They put her into my arms and I realized something. I’ve never loved anyone more than I love that little girl.” 

Luther’s mouth was thick, the aching in his chest getting tighter and tighter until he choked out a strangled, “I’m so happy for you, Allison” and a more sincere, “You deserve this.”  

“You should come visit,” Allison said. “Diego and Vanya said they’d come, and Klaus…well, he’s Klaus,” she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice before it softened again. “I would love for you to meet her.” 

Luther imagined visiting, seeing Allison and Claire and...him, even. He and Diego could be civil for a day or two, he could make small talk with Vanya, and most important of all, see Allison. Allison and his newfound niece. He hoped she’d like him. He had seen videos of babies being placed in strangers’ arms and immediately sobbing and he had the sudden image of Claire being placed into his arms, locking eyes with his form, and bursting out into tears. His eyes shifted from the phone to his arms, the skin black and wrinkled and bushy. 

“Luther?” Allison asked. 

“I ah….” Luther drifted off, but on the other end he heard a man’s voice. “Babe?” the voice said. 

“Sorry Luther, I have to go,” Allison said quickly. “It was...good talking to you. I missed you,” she said. 

“I missed yo-” Luther started, but he heard the line click and the dial tone of the phone. He hung it up as gently as possible, and shuffled back to his father’s office, knocking quickly at the door before entering. 

“Allison had her baby,” Luther said. “A little girl named Claire.” 

Mom gave a gasp of joy and clapped her hands, and Pogo smiled, his face softening with the news. 

“Isn’t that wonderful, sweetie?” Mom asked Reginald, and she looked back at Luther, her eyes twinkling. “I’m a grandmother, we have a beautiful little girl named Claire!” 

His father didn’t look up from his desk. Save for his pen stopping midway through whatever notes he was taking, Reginald didn’t seem to give any indication that he had even heard Luther. “Does the child have abilities?” 

“No,” Luther responded. 

The pen started up again. Mom’s smile stayed plastered on and Pogo’s face wrinkled back into his neutral sad state, and Luther waited, allowing the silence to overtake them all. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Moon sure is beautiful tonight, huh baby?” Ray asked, and Allison ripped her eyes away from the window. 

“Hm?” she asked. 

“The moon?” Ray repeated. “You’ve been staring at it for the past few minutes.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Allison said, smiling at her husband. “It’s beautiful.” 

Ray looked at her for a bit, knowing something was up, but he didn’t press on, and Allison loved him for it. He had been so understanding and patient with her, accepting her, “My life is...complicated,” as an answer to who she was. He had told her that it was all right, that he was planning on sticking with her for as long as God gave him on this Earth and that when she was ready, she could tell him.

She had kissed him then, smiling through her tears because here she was, offering nothing to this wonderful, kind man and being given the world in response. 

It made her feel wrong, somehow, not telling him about her family. They’d find her, one day, and she didn’t know how Ray would react to meeting them with no warning, or when Five would inevitably fix the problem so they could go back to 2019. He’d probably come with her - she hoped - but then he’d have to adjust to 2019, and meet Claire and… Allison clutched the dishrag in her hands, forcing herself to think about anything else but her baby girl. She’d think about her every day, missing her daughter’s warmth, her smile, even her tantrums that Allison had so foolishly gotten irritated at so long ago. She would give everything up, her abilities, her life, her marriage if it meant she could hold her daughter for just one more day. 

It hurt too much to tell Ray, and she wouldn’t even know where to begin. With the powers she had, the other siblings who were probably somewhere else right now causing havoc? She could hear him now, asking about all of them. How could she explain Ben without breaking down? How could she explain Luther? 

It was easier to just keep quiet, even though every lie by omission felt like another bandage was placed across her throat, building and building until she couldn’t breathe anymore. 

So she looked at the moon, and imagined her siblings were out there staring up at it as well. Sometimes she’d look up and imagine it breaking apart, the pieces hurtling towards her, and she wondered if Vanya ever looked up at the moon and felt a sense of dread. She’d look up and remember cursing at it when she had gotten Luther’s message that he was going on a special mission to the moon, looking up at it and hating that he was there, alone, hating Dad for sending him there and hating Luther for going and always wondering if it was so he could avoid attending her wedding and meeting Claire. 

Her thoughts were filled with all her siblings, but Luther took up the most space, almost as much as they did of Claire and thinking about him filled her with both longing and guilt. She told herself it was fine, just her thinking of her favorite sibling, but in her most desperate of moments she knew that thinking about a favorite sibling shouldn’t make her feel like she was cheating on her husband.

She had been asked once, from one of her colleagues, if she had ever had a significant other and Allison had hesitated before saying no. It had felt like a lie and her friend had raised her eyebrows, disbelieving, but had let it drop. When Allison mentioned her siblings and brought up Luther the same look had crossed her friend’s face, and after an awkward silence, her friend mumbled out, “Well hey, no worries, at least you guys aren’t really siblings.” 

That hadn’t sounded right either, but Allison couldn’t pinpoint why and trying to think about it more made her feel like she was standing back at the Academy right before Dad was ready to scold them, so she just nodded and said, “Yeah, technically we’re not siblings anyway.” 

She could imagine the hurt on her other siblings’ faces, but saying she and Luther were only siblings felt wrong too, as if she was betraying someone no matter what she said. 

How could she explain any of that to Ray? He may be the world’s most understanding man, but there was only so much that any person could accept. How could she explain that she loved him, really truly loved him, but that she had this bond that she couldn’t shake and didn’t think she wanted to shake anyway? How could she explain that Luther existed in this odd in-between of relationships in her life, a not-quite something but a not-quite nothing, that saying that he was her brother felt like a glorious truth and a stab in her heart at the same time? She couldn’t explain it to herself, much less Ray. 

Ray walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I’m going to go to bed, all right?” he said, and Allison nodded, the thoughts of Claire and Luther and the rest of her family taking up too much occupancy in her mind for her to properly speak without breaking down. He kissed her cheek and untangled himself from her, and Allison heard him walk up the stairs to go to bed. 

One day she would tell him. She would sit him down and explain everything, start to finish, and hear what he’d have to say and accept it, no matter what it was. She would. 

For now, though, Allison stared at the moon. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A file. 

Luther’s life had been reduced to a short, one-page file. Or well, his new life. His new timeline life? He wasn’t too sure. 

Either way, his name was Tom now, and he was a mechanic living in town. He had a twin brother living in Europe, he was British now, apparently, and he was dating a woman named Amy. 

It was short, but apparently all that Dad could find on their new selves. He’d clearly invested as much time finding their alternate-selves as he had in ever raising them with any care in their lives. Not that it was any big difference from their own timeline’s father, Luther thought, remembering the reports he had found under the floorboard, with only a hint of bitterness. He had given up a life, love, his body for his father’s mission, and Dad had just tossed him aside like garbage and found a new group of children to raise. 

He choked down his bitterness - it wasn’t going to help his siblings, and there was no use trying to hash out his issues with a father who didn’t care, anyway. 

“Find out anything about yourselves?” he asked. Five looked down before tossing his file on the table. 

“I’m galavanting around Europe, apparently,” he said dryly. “This me is a…. hippy who wants to backpack across the world,” he said, the words dripping with venom. 

“Philosophy professor in Florida, which is horrifying,” Klaus groaned. “Philosophy professor is bad enough, but Florida?” 

“I’m in Mexico,” Diego said, and when the siblings looked at him to expand he looked down and shrugged. “I do interior design, and if anyone makes fun of me -”

“-I’m dead,” Vanya interjected, trying to be casual, though the wobbling of her voice betrayed her. “Just died as a baby, according to my file.” Klaus started to move towards Vanya, but she shrugged him off. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to be a thing, it just came out. We can move on from it.” The now was unspoken but clear.  

There was an awkward silence, and Allison spoke up. “I’m in town,” she said, trying her best to sound cheery, even as she shot her sister a concerned look. “My name is Amy Jackson, and it doesn’t say much else about me.” 

Luther looked at her, then back to his file. “Well that’s funny,” he said. “My girlfriend’s name is Amy.” 

The silence got even louder and awkward, and Allison stared at the floor. Five sighed, and Vanya broke the silence.

“Okay, I think I’m fine with being dead now,” she said, and Klaus laughed. 

“Hey, at least you two can do your whole, ‘technically we’re not related’ thing in this timeline!” Klaus added, and Luther opened his mouth to argue, and then stopped. Did he want to argue? 

Allison grabbed his file from him and was reading it over. “It doesn’t say a last name,” she said. “It doesn’t mean it’s me. There’s a lot of Amys in the world.” 

Diego opened his mouth, ready to tease, but Five interjected, saying that love lives didn’t matter but that they should at least check out the leads, and that they had the most information on Luther so they’d go and find him and go from there. 

Luther was glad to have Five there, and even more glad when Allison said that she wanted to keep an eye on the rest of the Sparrows and the rest of their siblings agreed, leaving just Five and Luther to stalk his other self from afar. 

The ride to the not-him’s house was short and quiet. Luther sprawled himself in the back seat, looking out the window as Five drove, not even caring enough when he saw people staring in shock as they drove by. When they pulled up to the house, Five turned to Luther. 

“You know, when you see him, he won’t look like you, not exactly,” he said, and Luther shrugged. 

“I know, I’ve thought about it,” Luther said, though he hadn’t, really. His thoughts had been wrapped up in Allison-slash-Amy and he hadn’t remembered that, save for being slightly stronger than other people, he would be normal in this life, in more ways than one.

Five looked at him, and turned back without a word. 

They waited for a while, until Luther was sure that maybe his other self wasn’t going to ever leave his house, and then the door opened and he stepped out. He was whistling a tune, not a care in the world, absentmindedly checking his pockets and then turning at a woman’s voice yelling, “Wait, babe!” and the door opened yet again. 

A young Asian woman ran out, holding out car keys, and his other self laughed and thanked her, and she kissed him quickly on the lips before going back inside. 

The relief that Luther felt was immeasurable. It’s not Allison, he thought, giddy with the knowledge, and then the guilt and shame washed over him immediately. It wasn’t a bad thing if it were her anyway, because it was okay here. Allison was his rock, if she was his rock here it’d be even better. Right? He loved her, she had taken up every thought in his head every day that he had been without her, so why did he feel so much relief knowing that his other self wasn’t with her? Was he only in love with her in their own fucked up world? Was that why he was happy that he wasn’t with her here? 

The revulsion grew in Luther’s throat as he remembered his father’s voice in his head, telling fifteen-year-old him that he was unnatural. Maybe Dad hadn’t turned him into a monster. Maybe he had just exposed what was already there, an abnormality that was already festering the shape of a human, and just made it obvious to the outside world. 

Five didn’t say anything on the ride back home, instead just shooting him glances when he thought Luther wasn’t looking. Maybe he thought Luther was disappointed, or he could tell that Luther was conflicted - or rather, conflicted about not feeling conflicted. Luther wasn’t sure - he never knew what was going on in that little guy’s mind, but he was thankful all the same for him. Five wasn’t going to push for Luther to talk about his feelings, and Luther wasn’t exactly even sure about what those feelings were. 

All he knew was that he needed this timeline fixed soon. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the timeline is fixed and they get their own Ben back, it’s the miracle of miracles, and Luther allowed himself to swoop up his siblings, lifting them up off the ground as he enveloped them all in a bear hug.

Allison went back home, briefly, promising to come back with Claire, and the thought filled Luther with anxiety but he nodded and smiled and told her to come back soon. 

She did, and it all came crashing down again for Luther. 

There was a little girl, about five years old now, holding onto Allison’s hand. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at them all with nervousness and excitement. Ben had approached her first, cautiously saying that she didn’t know this, but that he’d seen her as a baby with their Uncle Klaus. It was as if a dam had broken, and the other siblings gathered around their niece, some for the first time and others for a second. 

Luther backed out of the room as quietly as possible and went back upstairs, to his hideout. 

Allison found him there, half an hour later, and Luther sighed when he saw the sadness on her face. 

“I’m sorry, Allison,” he said. “I want to meet Claire. I do. It’s just…” he trailed off. 

“Just what?” Allison asked, sitting down across from him. There wasn’t any judgement or resentment in her voice, just sadness, and it occurred to Luther that no matter what he said, Allison was probably feeling it just as much as he was. 

“What are we?” he asked Allison, and she looked down at her hands. “I feel like -  I know that we’re siblings, but there’s….” he trailed off again, trying to think about it. His mind went back to Jack Ruby, sliding over Allison’s information with the comment, “You really know how to pick ‘em,” which had rubbed Luther the wrong way but he knew he’d be a fool to snap against. 

Everything about that had felt a little wrong, from Jack knowing where she lived to him asking in the first place. When he had asked Jack to find her, Jack had asked if she was an ex, and it didn’t feel particularly right to Luther (she was his sister after all, and besides that she couldn’t be an ex if nothing ever happened between them, technically), but it had been simpler to just go, “Yeah, something like that,” in response. When he had heard Raymond Chestnut say Allison Chestnut, the words had been a punch in the face, but surprises of surprises, Raymond was kind to him and when Allison didn’t want to leave, Luther had felt another punch, but this time for Raymond and the overall unfairness of the world that Allison couldn’t be with the man she loved. When he had given Allison CPR, he’d felt the relief of her living, the thrill of almost-kissing someone, and then the immediate shame and awkwardness as he desperately tried to apologize.

He hadn’t known when that conflict happened. Maybe with the wrongness of asking Jack’s help or meeting Raymond, or maybe before that when he had bulldozed Vanya in his quest to avenge Allison in a revenge plot that she hadn’t asked for, or maybe long before that, in the back of his head even when he’d gravitate towards Allison with their soft touches and lingering looks. He’d always known she was his sister and he always knew that he loved her, but both had existed in two separate spaces in his head until somewhere along the way the cognitive dissonance had disappeared and something that had seemed so simple and easy to Luther suddenly felt complicated and uncomfortable. 

They weren’t a relationship, but they weren’t a normal pair of siblings either. 

“You feel like we’re in an in-between type of space?” Allison asked. “Like - we know our other siblings are our siblings, but that with us, it’s just a little different?” 

Luther nodded, the relief hitting him as Allison spoke. “Yes, that exactly. And it makes me feel weird, Allison, because I’m thirty-two now, technically, and I’m only just now realizing that it’s not a normal thing. And I just-” he sighed, and the rest of his words came out in a panicked rush. “I want to meet Claire. I really do, Allison, I swear. I want to be the best uncle that I can be, but I think about her calling me Uncle Luther and I just can’t handle it.” 

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t worry,” Allison said, reaching out to grab his shoulder, and Luther stopped rambling. “I know,” she said, and he saw the tears in her eyes but they refused to fall. Instead, her grip only tightened on his shoulder. “You don’t need to see her now, and we can wait until you’re ready.” 

“What if I’m never ready?” Luther asked, staring at the floor, and Allison sighed, though her hand never left his shoulder. 

“Then that’s fine too,” she said, and Luther knew she meant it, that if need be she’d always tell Claire that Uncle Luther had something to do and wouldn’t hold it against him, because she was far more adjusted than he was even if she felt the same bond, and far kinder and forgiving than Luther ever was. 

It wasn’t fair to her, though. It wasn’t fair to Claire. It probably wasn’t even fair to him, though he couldn’t think of why it wasn’t. 

“Allison?” he asked, ripping his gaze from the floor. “Can you rumor me?” 

Allison blinked, and her hand finally dropped from his. “I - rumor you?” 

“Rumor me,” Luther said. “It’s okay, I want it. Just rumor me, and I can be around you and Claire without a problem.” 

“It’s not how that works, Luther,” Allison said. “You know it’s not. My rumoring only lasts a week, tops-” 

“Bullshit,” Luther said, and he didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh but it did. “Vanya’s block lasted until 2019.” 

“She was five, Luther, and Dad kept her drugged up and kept gaslighting her to think that she was normal, this is different, you’re an adult. I’d have to rumor you every single week to not have feelings.” 

“Then dammit, Allison, do it!” Luther cried, hitting the floor with his fist. The motion made Allison flinch slightly and the tent to finally collapse around him, and Luther put his head in his hands, trying and failing to stop the tears. 

“Luther,” she said, leaning back towards him. “I did this to Vanya. I did this to Klaus. It doesn’t work. I don’t want to control another sibling, okay? I won’t do that.” 

“Please, Allison,” he said, trying to wipe at the tears that just kept on coming. “I just want to be normal.” 

“Stop saying that,” Allison said, and he looked when he heard the anger and the break in her voice. “You keep saying you’re not normal, you are. Maybe we’re a bit unconventional, sure, but you’re not some monster.” 

“But-” Luther started, and Allison shook her head, wiping furiously at tears starting to form. 

“And if you are then I am too, so stop saying that, okay?” 

Luther didn’t think he was all that normal if he was a half-gorilla man who was in love with his sister, but he never wanted Allison to feel that way either, so he nodded, and Allison softened. She started moving the collapsed tent away from Luther, letting it fall on the ground in a heap. 

“Look... I used to get therapy, sometimes,” she said, untangling the string lights from the tent’s cloth. “I probably should have gone more often than I did, and I rumored half of them, but for the times I didn’t it was... good.” 

“You think I need therapy?” Luther asked. That didn’t feel like something a normal person got to him. 

“I think we all need therapy,” Allison said, wrapping the lights around her hand. “And it’s great, Luther, it is. You pay someone to just sit there and listen to you talk, and they’re not there to judge. Their entire job is to just help you.” 

Luther was quiet, and Allison moved on to the crumpled cloth on the floor, folding it neatly and putting it next to the string lights. 

“Rumoring you isn’t going to work long-term,” she said. “And it wouldn’t be your own thoughts anyway. Claire deserves better than that. We deserve better than that.” 

Luther wrapped his hands around his knees, thinking. “You’re getting therapy too?” he asked. 

“I’m getting therapy too,” she affirmed. “Think about it.” 

With that, she reached out her arm towards his face but then seemed to think better of it, opting instead to pat his knee before going back downstairs, where their siblings were still talking and Claire was yelling with laughter. 

Luther listened to the sounds, wishing he could go downstairs, and he wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. He wanted to be able to talk to Allison the way he did Klaus, or Diego, or Five. He wanted to see his niece, and give her a piggy-back ride and be an uncle. He wanted to have a family. 

Maybe therapy wasn’t a bad idea after all. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Therapy was weird. 

It was good too, Luther thought, but mostly weird. He liked Dr. Martin, so that was good. In their first session she had asked him about why he had come to therapy and he had talked to her about Allison, and the moon, and his body. He had expected a “and how does that make you feel” and had been ready to bolt right then and there, but she had just said, “The moon? Interesting, tell me more about how you lived there,” and he had perked up and talked. They had spent the rest of his first session talking about goals for Luther - a “be able to feel like I can meet Claire” goal at first. 

She hadn’t even broached the body stuff until a few sessions later, and then slowly as they went on she asked more about his siblings, slowly getting to Allison along the way. 

Luther was learning a lot about himself. Mostly that he carried a lot of guilt, like Dr. Martin suggested. He should have been the protector of the group as Number One. He hadn’t protected any of them, not even Allison, she had told him what she wanted loud and clear with Vanya and he had bulldozed over the both of them, so wrapped up in thinking that he was protecting them, all of them, that he had hurt his siblings all the more. Alongside the “be able to meet Claire” goal he added another one: Apologize to your siblings. 

He wrote all this down and more in the journal that Dr. Martin had given him (he needed to ask her for another one, the book was down to its last few pages and Luther had so much more to say). He had written about his childhood, and growing up in his house, and he had been upset, at first, when he read it all out. There was so much that he had thought was beautiful and special about growing up in the Academy, but reading it out on paper just felt so…sad. He wondered if this was how Vanya had felt when she had written her book, and the story that felt like a traitorous ramble started feeling more like an insight into her mind, and he wrote another goal in his journal: Re-read Vanya’s book.  

He was also starting to get his relationship with Allison. “Have you ever heard of trauma bonding?” Dr. Martin asked. 

Luther had blinked, taken aback by the word. “Trauma bonding?” he repeated, trying to bite back the initial thought he had. I don’t have trauma. The thought still reverbated in his mind from time to time, but he’d only have to take one look at his journal to remind himself that he felt sad for the child in the journal, and that if he felt sad it probably wasn’t a happy childhood. 

“Trauma bonding,” Dr. Martin said, nodding. “When two people grow up in a toxic environment, they may develop bonds with one another. This may be between an abuser and their victim, or individuals suffering the abuse together. I think it sounds like what happened with you and Allison. You were both a safe space for each other that you couldn’t find anywhere else in your home, and these strong emotions were interpreted as attraction.” 

It sounded beautiful, in a way, even though Luther didn’t think it was meant to be taken that way. It also made sense, if Luther were to think about it. They had always been pillars of support to each other, had been one another’s confidants and shared their hopes and dreams with one another, always circling back to each other when they were upset and hurt, which in their home was almost all the time. Their entire relationship fit so perfectly and neatly into two words. 

It was on Luther’s mind when he and Allison met up later that month, as they did nowadays. It felt off, planning their meetups, and Luther constantly had to remind himself that it wasn’t a date, but it was also something to look forward to rather than how they used to meet. He had gone from seeing Allison every day to not seeing her for years, to the random pop-ins with the apocalypse and all and it was nice, knowing there’d be a day designated to talking to Allison, hearing updates about Claire, and them both talking about therapy if they wanted, and how they were doing. 

The lunches were hard, at first, there was so much that was still so difficult to say between the two of them, but then one day Allison had started showing him new photos of Claire and telling him stories about how she had Five wrapped around her finger, which Luther found hilarious, and they were slowly getting back to themselves. They talked, slowly, about therapy and how it was going, and each lunch got a little bit easier and a little less sad each time, and Luther was excited, for once, to share something from therapy with Allison.

“Trauma bonding, have you heard of it?” he asked after a quick hello and hug, and Allison nodded. Luther grinned. “It’s what we have!” he said, leaning back in his chair. “There’s a whole name for it, something that other people have and share, and we have it.”  

“I’ve heard it,” Allison said. “I don’t love it, though,” she admitted. She saw Luther’s face fall and added, quickly, “I’m not saying that you can’t, Luther. You can. Maybe one day I’ll like it more, maybe I just don’t like the phrase, I don’t know. It’s okay if it works for one of us.” 

“Oh,” Luther said. It felt a little confusing, for him to cling so happily to the phrase while she did not, but he thought he understood. “What do you think of us?” he asked. 

Allison picked apart the cookie on her plate, until it was crushed into small crumbs. “Do you remember when you told me we were soulmates?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Luther said, feeling a bit apprehensive. He remembered being a six-year-old hearing what a soulmate was and all he could hear was trauma bond trauma bond trauma bond, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t tell Allison that it was so clear to him now what it was. 

“I think...we’re still soulmates. Not - not in that way, I’m not saying I think we should get married or that I even want to - no offense -” she added, as Luther’s face betrayed a bit of offense at the comment. “I just think, well - dammit why is this so hard?” she asked, crushing the last bit of her cookie. 

“I know,” Luther said softly. “I don’t think it’s ever going to stop being hard.” That was something else he had to come to terms with in therapy. He had thought that having a name to his issues would make them all go away - body dysphoria, child abuse survivor, trauma bond - but while they helped him figure out what was wrong they didn’t make any of those feelings actually go away. “Maybe a bit easier, but always just a little bit hard. We have each other, Allison, and we always will. It’s okay if it’s hard to say.” 

Allison looked at him and smiled. “That’s why I think you’re my soulmate, you know that, right?” she said. “I don’t think they have to be romantic, they’re just people who are always going to be with you and support you. I feel safe with you, Luther, like I can be myself completely, like if I fell off a cliff you’d be there to catch me and help me and that I could do that same for you. You’re my soulmate, Claire is my soulmate, the rest of our siblings are my soulmates. That’s what I mean.” 

“I think that sounds beautiful,” he said, and he meant it. He wasn't sure he agreed, but he was starting to get what Allison meant about them having different definitions and that being okay. He had a trauma bond, she had a platonic soulmate. There was something there that intersected and he tried to figure it out. A trauma soulmate, he thought briefly, but he didn’t say it because it felt a bit stupid to say out loud and he didn’t want to minimize the moment. Instead, he took a breath and said the other thing he had wanted to tell Allison. 

“I think I’m ready to meet Claire.” 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Claire looked up at him with wide eyes, her neck craning up as she tried to meet Luther’s face, and Luther laughed despite himself. 

“Hey Claire,” he said, crouching down and smiling at his niece. “I’m your Uncle Luther.” 

The words still felt like a punch in the gut, but nowhere near devastating as he thought they’d still be, and when Claire smiled and said, “I knew that!” he felt a warmth that made the punch worth it. 

They spent the day at the house, Claire asking every single story about their old missions and space and Luther happily obliging. She grabbed onto his hand at one point as she looked around his room, pointing at the replicas of rockets he had hanging around and pulling him forward as she looked at all of them. Luther let her drag him around in a daze, as Claire kept on talking and asking questions. There were no questions on why she hadn’t met him before, no shrieks of fear at his size, no expectations besides fun stories about the Academy that she had already heard a million times before from their other siblings. 

When Allison said they needed to get Claire back to her father’s house, Luther felt a pang of disappointment, but it went away as quickly as it appeared when Claire said, “This was fun! See you later Uncle Luther!” 

And he did, over and over and over again. Sometimes he’d be with her and one of their other siblings, sometimes it’d just be Allison and Claire only, sometimes Allison would let him babysit and it’d just be Claire hanging out with her Uncle Luther, which was the nicest of all. 

One day they were out at the aquarium, Claire pointing at different fish and oohing and aahing at how pretty they were (Luther agreed), saying she thought she’d love to be a shark (Luther would rather be a dolphin), scrunching up her nose as she tried to read the descriptions and asked him what on Earth a mollusc was (Luther didn’t know). It went on and on for every exhibit, and Luther loved every moment of it. It was when Allison was letting Claire pick out something from the gift shop that a woman walked up to him, beaming and saying that she thought they had the cutest family. Luther blinked once in confusion and looked back at Claire and Allison before saying to her, “Oh, no, that’s my sister and my niece.” 

It was later, when Allison was putting down a tired Claire to bed that he thought about what he said, and he paused before admitting to Allison that he hadn’t ever said she was his sister to someone else that easily and quickly before. It had always come with a bit of hesitation in his mind, a weird little pause before he’d mutter “yeah, kinda” to whatever the person’s assumptions were. He told Allison about it and she smiled. 

“I’m proud of you,” she said, smiling, and she bumped his shoulder with her own when he didn’t reciprocate the smile. “What’s wrong?

“It feels good to hang out with Claire. It makes me feel...happy,” he said. “She doesn’t have any bad memories of me, and she just thinks of me as fun Uncle Luther. That’s it. I like being that person.” He frowned then, and went on. “But I also feel like I lost something, you know? Like I’m mourning the fact that I didn’t hesitate. And I’m getting there with you, it’s like every day it’s a little bit easier and I start thinking of you like I do my other siblings, but it feels like a...loss, somehow?” he finished lamely. “Sorry, it’s dumb, I know it’s what we want.” 

“It’s not dumb,” Allison said, a twinge of annoyance clear in her voice, as it always was whenever Luther said something self-depracating. “I get it. I’ve been going through the same thing,” she said, and Luther looked over in surprise. Allison had been honest about therapy and her feelings, but she had seemed so put-together since she had started. She’d speak about everything in her sessions with such a certainty. Besides, out of the two of them she was the only one with previous husbands, and she had gone on dates here and there with other people with such ease that Luther had assumed that she had managed to quickly work through whatever feelings she had for him. 

Allison got up, grabbing a bottle of wine from her fridge and pouring it into two glasses before setting one in front of Luther. “I’m glad,” Allison continued. “I’m glad we’re friends now, and I still feel like I can tell you everything, but you’re right. Things are different now.” 

Luther nodded, and a silence fell between them, though he couldn’t determine if it was an awkward one or not. 

“I think,” Allison said, looking past Luther and at Claire’s closed door. “That it’s okay though.” Her eyes moved from the door to Luther and she smiled. “It’s like our relationship with Five, or Ben, or Vanya now. They’re never going to be the same as they were before Five disappeared, or Ben died, or Vanya didn’t know about her powers, and maybe that’s okay. It’s not a relationship dying, it’s just...taking on a different form.” 

“Huh,” Luther said, mulling it over. “I think I like that.” Maybe he wouldn’t have that hesitation before saying Allison was his sister anymore, and maybe a part of him would always feel a little bit guilty about that. Maybe one day he’d find someone who he could actually be with, genuinely and completely, and he could talk freely and openly about it as much as Allison did to him, and maybe it’d be a little bit awkward, but they’d get through it all the same. 

And maybe that awkwardness wasn’t bad either. Clinging onto the past had proven unhealthy for them, but trying to brush it under the rug and ignore any lingering jealousy or awkward moments wasn’t the way to go either. He liked the thought of building this new bridge with Allison, an awkwardly built one that probably looked a little lopsided, but a strong foundation all the same, and mentally, he added a new goal to his journal: Appreciate this new relationship with Allison, always. 

Allison raised her glass, smiling at Luther. “To moving forward,” she said. 

“To moving forward,” Luther repeated, and the two clinked glasses. 

Tagging: @let-the-whump-commence @pennsylvanya @uaklauslovesdave @hamdehlesmis @odrantheseeker @angel-starbeam @dykerory @rulerofturtles @milkylai @of-sunshine-and-sea @superbandnerd99 @tuafives @kalinara @challengerblue @trulyalpha @ostentatiousalibis @thingsanthoughts-on-lifeanfandom @imarealdad @sparrowchristopher @the-maidofmischief @daisyrose1966 @soaring-falcon @adelheid32  @69-octane-69 

#tua fanfic #the umbrella academy #luther hargreeves #allison hargreeves #tua fic #janie writes stuff

[florenstry]

Wild Birds Fly (Bastion)

Word Count: 4.5k+ Trigger Warnings: Alcohol, (minor) canon-typical violence Crossposted on: (n/a)

Just a little background fic about my Bastion OC Lanius, with some world building about the Wilds because that area and its fauna has always interested me when I played the game! I haven’t written something this long in a while, but I enjoyed it.

- - - - -

A wild bird’s gotta have a few nests to keep. For Lanius, Caelondia was a first, but after the Calamity he knew everything that had been built was gone. The Tazal Terminals could count as a second, but could you really call it a home if you’ve never been to the place?

Maybe in spirit it could be considered. The Wilds was where he was now, and as much as it was the “home” it just seemed to tolerate his presence, treating him just like any other fauna living off of it. So what was home for a lost bird? Well, a long day of work always had him coming back to an old distillery just between Caelondia and the Wilds; it was abandoned enough for him to call it his own, but intact enough for him to use. It was better than being out in the open under a tent that could be attacked at any given moment.

Lanius sat with a bottle of Werewhiskey in his hand. It was close to midnight, and a yawn escaped him. Thistle, his Fledgling with a purple crest, flew into the room where he sat tending to a small fire. In her beak was part of a Lunkhead’s stony eggshell, and she dropped it beside him as if to give a “gift”. Thistle was one to collect shiny objects and stones, which ended up being kept for her to play with when she was bored.

“Thanks,” he chuckled, petting her head as she relaxed by his side. They heard a Pecker’s call from afar.

Another Fledging arrived—it’s Thorn, Thistle’s brother but with an orange crest. He had a dead Stinkeye in his talons, and he dropped it in front of them. The Stinkeye writhed for a moment, before the Pecker pierced through it with its beak for final measure. Lanius felt somewhat sorry for the green eye; Thistle liked to hunt for food and always seemed to be hungry, and that little guy just so happened to be caught by the bird.

Thistle waddled over to her brother for the both of them to eat. Lanius watched as the birds pecked away at their food for the night. He was planning to eat some fruit before bed, but decided that he’s lost his appetite at the sight of his birds going at their own dinner. He took a long swig from the bottle, sighing as he finished the remainder of it. The alcohol kicked in slowly, and his eyes wandered lazily to the two other bottles he had finished before Werewhiskey. He’ll make some more in the morning with what he collected from the day’s hunt.

As his mind wandered, memories of the Calamity came back to him. Lanius would never forget the day that the Old World crumbled around him. One moment Lanius was pouring himself a shot of cider for a long day ahead, and the next he’s sprinting out of the Misty Cenote Distillery for his parents. It wasn’t like anything he had seen in the Wilds, and he’s seen a lot of things given the dangers living in a place where you are the hunter… or the hunted. The vivid pictures of the world falling shifted to his parents, both of them smiling down at him. He smiled to himself, succumbing to the effect of his drunken stupor. The sounds of the Wilds faded around him, and the last thing Lanius saw was his Fledglings hopping over to his side to watch over as he drifted to sleep.

<<<

“Hey, Lan.”

The 13-year-old boy looked up just as he was about to stab a fish out of the water. He watched as his father Hirun, a Caelondian man in his late 40s, walked over to him with something in his hands. Lanius rushed over to him as Hirun knelt down, showing a small purple Pincushion. It was still growing, about a few weeks old based on the grey spikes that barely grew from within.

“You can tame a Pincushion, y’know?” Hirun said. Lanius looked up at him in confusion.

“Th’ only taming I can do is by killin’ it, Pa,” Lanius huffed, remembering the time that he fell into a grey Pincushion and had to have his mother take the small pins out of him for hours.

Hirun laughed, “You can tame anything from th’ Wilds if you get it to trust you.”

His father instructed him to put his palms out. Lanius held his breath as the Pincushion was put into his palm. He fully expected to be pricked, but instead was disoriented by the soft, pillow-like texture of the plant. Hirun laughed at his expression, watching as his son’s confused face turned to one of excitement as the boy poked at the baby Pincushion.

“Pincushions are just plant pillows without their spikes,” Hirun explained.

“Even th’ growing spikes are duller than a used-up pike.”

Lanius tested it, and it was true; the greyish spikes were dull, almost bendable, but decided against hurting the growing plant. Pulling one spike from a Pincushion caused it to bleed, as its internal makeup only allowed for the spikes to be released by their own pressure. Plus, a Pincushion’s blood was toxic, and Lanius didn’t want to deal with that at the moment.

“I knew a man who got Pincushions to shoot by command,” Hirun said, motioning for his son to follow him back to the campsite. Lanius placed the baby Pincushion on one hand while he carried his pike in the other, trailing behind Hirun as they walked back to their camp.

“How’d he do it? Lanius asked, still poking at the Pincushion. The spikes protruded slightly whenever it was poked, but not enough to be shot out.

“He grew his own,” Hirun laughed fondly.

“Th’ man was crazy, but no one could get past his barrier once all those little spikes had grown. It was as if Hense smiled down on that man to have th’ Pincushions under his command.”

“Do you think I can tame one?”

Hirun didn’t turn back, but Lanius could hear the smile in his father’s voice.

“You got a big heart, and an even bigger bite, son,” he said.

“I know you can tame th’ Wilds better than your mother and I have.”

Lanius beamed, looking back to the baby Pincushion on his hand as they continued walking back.

They had set up camp in a clearing a few meters away from a lake. As they got closer, the faint sound of strumming filled the air. Lanius’s mother Lusci, an Ura woman also in her late-30s, was playing her lute with her eyes fixed on the instrument. The fire that she sat by had a small metal cauldron hanging above it and a spicy fragrance wafed from it. Hirun walked over to the cauldron to give it a quick stir, a small sip, and a few spices from his pack. Lanius skipped over to his mother who gave him a smile but still continued to play a slow and graceful tune.

“A new friend, hm?” she asked. Lanius presented it to her, and with a giggle Lusci poked at it gently before telling him to put it down.

“If you press right in the middle, all the spikes will come out, but won’t fire. Think of it like a button for a trap.”

The boy did as she said. After putting the plant on the mat they sat on, he pressed the top of the Pincushion. The rounded thorns of the Pincushions protruded out like a trap. Lanius clapped in delight, eyes with excitement as the Pincushion’s spikes retracted after sensing no danger.

Hirun sat beside Lusci, giving her a quick peck on the lips. Lanius stuck his tongue out at them in playful disgust at their display of affection but gave into a family hug. When the son pulled himself away, he got a good look at both of his parents. Being frontliners of the war made them look older than they were, but both were still young and curious at heart. Lanius had the Caelondian complexion, but had his father’s platinum hair with streaks of black from his mother. This look didn’t help with fitting in. All the other children his age would spread rumors about him and his family, all of which fell into deaf ears because of his parents’ positions in the army. He didn’t see the need to fit in with the rest though—was more than happy with his family who, even as a Brusher and a Trapper, always made time to spend together.

“Lanius?”

He snapped out of his thoughts with a blink, and Lanius realized he was crying.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” Lusci said worriedly. The boy wiped his tears, laughing weakly as he tackled his mother into a hug. His father patted Lanius’s back comfortingly.

“I’m sorry, Ma...” he choked out.

“…I’m just really happy.”

“And we’re happy too,” Hirun said, ruffling his hair. Lanius whined about his hair, to which his mother swatted her husband’s hand away to “protect” her son from his grubby hands.

They laughed in the end, the night filling with their voices as they passed their time with a hearty soup and cheerful music. Hirun played his guitar, Lusci played her flute, and Lanius played his panpipe; the mix of strings and winds collectively merged into the calls and sounds of the Wilds around them.

It was midnight by the time Lanius was tucked into bed by his mother as Hirun was outside putting out the fire. Lusci kissed her son’s forehead with a goodnight, but before she could leave he was called back.

“Ma… could ya tell me more about th’ Gods?”

Lusci paused for a moment before shaking her head with a smile. She sat cross legged beside her son, the only lightsource in the tent being an oil lamp on the corner of the tent.

“I’ll tell you about Olak, the God of Chance and Whim,” she started, resting her chin on her palm as Lanius listened.

“He was called ‘The Carefree Son’, kinda like you, don’cha think?”

“Maybe,” Lanius yawned.

“When he saw an opportunity, he took it without a second thought. If you were in a situation that needed a good outcome, he was the one to turn to. Only the ones with fearless, wild hearts were blessed with the luck of the young god. Wherever the wind blew, Olak followed with it.”

“Is that why th’ pinwheel is his symbol?”

“That’s what my father told me, but a couple of other folks may tell you otherwise.”

Lanius rubbed his eyes, feeling the drowsiness kick in, “I wanna follow th’ wind wherever it goes, Ma.”

By this time, Hirun quietly entered the tent. Before he could speak Lusci held a finger to her lips before pointing a thumb to their sleepy son. He smiled before going over to the side of the tent to fix their bedrolls.

“You wanna follow the wind?” Lanius’s mother said amusedly.

“How’re you gonna do that, son?”

“Dunno. I’ll just fly and let th’ wind take to wherever it thinks is best.”

“And what if it ain’t pretty?”

“Just ‘cause it ain’t pretty doesn’t mean we can’t get somethin’ outta it.”

There’s another big yawn, and Lanius snuggled into his bedroll.

“I’ll… I’ll make th’ most outta it. ”

Lusci watched as his son’s eyes closed, and she smiled to herself as he fell asleep.

“That’s my boy,” she giggled, getting up and walking to her bedroll to rest for the night as well.

>>>

The morning came harsher than expected. Lanius was awoken with the loud screeches of Peckers, and his instincts got him reaching for his weapons before he realized both Thorn and Thistle were gone from his side. The sun was barely peeking out of the horizon as he kicked himself off the floor and out of the distillery. From there, he saw his two Fledglings fighting off a figure with a… Cael Hammer?

Lanius doesn’t have time to take it in as Thorn was hit with the brunt force of the hammer. Panic coursed through his veins as he ran over to the bird in a dash. The attacker paused, not expecting another human in the Wilds as he watched Lanius crouch down and cradle the Fledgling protectively, carbine out and loaded.

He had the gun pointed with only a few feet of distance between the boy and the barrel. Lanius gave a shrill whistle, to which Thistle followed by whizzing over to sit on the man’s shoulder. The purple-crowned Fledgling cawed menacingly at the boy. With a standstill, Lanius had time to get a good look at the attacker.

It didn’t take a genius to see that the boy was a Caelondian. With white hair and tanned skin, the built figure, numerous scars, and worn-down armor was enough to tell Lanius that the kid could put up a serious fight. He had a firm grip on his hammer, and it looked like he wasn’t going to put it down anytime soon.

“I’ll drop my gun if ya put down th’ hammer,” Lanius suggested, lowering his carbine. There was hesitation, but the boy’s hammer was lowered from a readied attack. Lanius cussed in Ura, looking down at Thorn who was chirping weakly at the man.

“You pack quite a hit with that thing, huh,” Lanius muttered, carrying Thorn in his arms as Thistle chirped worriedly. The boy didn’t reply; he didn’t look like the talking type. He also looked worse for wear, with his clothes and bandages cut in several places as caused by his Fledglings. With a sigh, he gestured to the distillery.

“Come in. I’ll treat you to some tonics to get you patched up.”

Lanius didn’t wait for the stranger to answer. He headed straight for the bar and behind it, opening some of the shelves to reveal supplies and drinks. Thistle landed on the bar table as the stranger took a seat, and began to peck at the boy in anger for attacking her brother. Lanius silenced her with a quick whistle, and the Fledgling deflated in defeat.

“Here,” he said, passing over a shot of Bastion Bourbon and a full Health Tonic.

“I made ‘em myself,” he explained, putting Thorn down on the table. Thistle immediately hopped over to her brother, pressing her head against him in worry.

“They got more of a kick than what most distilleries have, and I assume you can taste th’ difference. You look like you take tonics on a daily basis.”

When Lanius collected a few medicines for his bird, he turned back to the stranger to see him examining the bottles with uncertainty. He couldn’t blame him honestly, maybe the boy thought he would get poisoned from them.

“C’mon now, I don’t spike my drinks with anythin’,” Lanius pouted, walking over to where he laid Thorn to work on the bird’s wounds. The stranger was still cautious, and Lanius chuckled to himself before pouring a shot of bourbon from the same bottle.

“Cheers.”

A moment passed, but the boy picked up his shot and clinked it against the man’s glass. They both downed it quickly. He isn’t one for drinks so early in the morning, but you couldn’t go wrong with Bastion Bourbon. The distiller watched as the boy popped open the tonic and drank half of it in one go. Lanius could figure out a person by the way they drank, and this one was clearly a fighter with nothing to lose.

“Th’ name’s Lanius,” he started as he began checking over Thorn’s wounds. Other than some missing feathers, nothing was broken.

“Yours?”

The stranger told him to call him Kid. It probably wasn’t his real name, but it would have to do.

“What brings you this side of the Wilds?”

He shrugged and gestured to Lanius as a way to deflect the question.

“I live here,” he stated as a matter-of-fact. Lanius paused as Thorn started to thrash in pain at the salve on an open wound. He heard a quiet sorry coming from the Kid, to which he waved his free hand to dismiss him.

“I don’t blame ya for attacking them, I would’ve done the same if they were wild Peckers,” Lanius said.

Once the salve was applied and wrapped over, Thorn pushed himself out of his prone position before jumping down to the floor. He chirped for his sister, and Thistle hopped down in suit as the both of them began to play with one another. Lanius glanced over to the Kid. He had an expression of curiosity.

“Purple one’s Thistle, the orange one is Thorn,” Lanius said, resting his chin on his palm as they watched the birds play.

“I rescued them just before an Anklegator could get to the abandoned nest. The mother left them there to die after seeing a big threat.”

The Kid grunted in affirmation.

Lanius took it as a sign of warming up.

“Sorry to be a bit forward with you, but are there other survivors?”

The Kid turned to him and nodded. Lanius thought he would be ecstatic about more people who were alive, but why did he just feel pain?

“How many people reached the Bastion?”

Four fingers. Lanius assumed the Kid was a part of that four.

“Are two of those survivors... a couple? About 50 years old by now, a Cael and an Ura?”

The answer was a no, and Lanius slouched unto the table. He knew it was too good to be true if his parents had reached the Bastion. On the day of the Calamity, they were gone without a trace. If they had to fight something or someone they wouldn’t go down without bloodshed, and if they turned into stone then he would’ve found their statues (or ashes) by now. Lanius held his hair in frustration at the thought, before something was pressed against his arm.

Lanius looked up to see the Kid pushing a City Crest to him. His eyes widened, and memories of his time in Caelondia flooded back to him. He picked up the cog carefully, examining it. It was a genuine Caelondian City Crest, and despite being worn down the Kid definitely held it in high regard.

“What’d you do to get this?” Lanius asked.

The Kid took a swig of the Health Tonic before answering it was earned from two shifts on the Rippling Walls.

Immediately, Lanius slammed his free hand on the bar (he was conscious enough to not slam on the crest). The impact wasn’t enough to topple anything, but it was enough to shock the Kid. Thistle and Thorn squawked in surprise, their feathers ruffled by the way their keeper raised his voice.

“So you’re th’ one who took two terms!” Lanius gasped. The Kid simply blinked at him.

“By Pyth—that’s insane! Why?”

The Kid’s eyes looked down to his glass. He doesn’t say anything, but it was clear it was a sore subject.

“I... I apologize,” he apologized quietly, feeling a familiar sting in his chest at the thought of it.

The Kid shrugged, not to brush it off completely but to assure Lanius.

He picked up his empty shot glass and gestured it towards the distiller. He commended Lanius’s craftsmanship in his spirits.

Lanius chuckled, “I was trained by th’ best.”

Wherever the “best” was anyway. Lanius didn’t know where Griffin, the old man who ran the distillery he worked in, ended up in. If he ended up in ashes, they were probably blown unto the oblivion caused by the Calamity. If he was alive, then chances were slim for a man of his age and physicality to reach the Bastion. Griffin would’ve probably been in his 60s if he was still kicking.

He stood up straight before going over to the shelves. The distiller opened a cabinet to reveal a selection of several spirits, and even some that the Kid didn’t recognize.

“Anything that catches your fancy?” he asked.

The Kid asked for the best. Lanius caught a small crack of a smile, and in his mind he wondered if they both of them would’ve gotten along back in the days before the Calamity. They seemed more similar then one would think.

“I make a great Stabsinthe. Only with th’ meanest Stabweeds around.”

He took a half-full bottle from the shelf and placed it on the table. Unlike the usual bottles that were given in most distilleries, the neck of the lid was colored pink that faded into green and then black. Lanius popped the bottle open and poured its contents into both of their glasses, showing a transparent lime liquid with a strong floral and citrus scent.

“Im’ma let you in on a secret,” Lanius said as he finished pouring. The Kid tilted his head at him.

“Most distillers just take th’ thorns, which is understandable, that's how everyone makes ‘em… but what they don’t know is that th’ rest of th’ plant brings it all together.”

Lanius took his glass and swirled it in his hand. The Kid followed.

“If you look real close, the drink’s got some pink sparkle within all that green. That’s thanks to Stabweed flowers--in the base of the lil’ thing contains some nectar, which most distilleries end up selling to flower shops and the like. Have at it, but be careful,”

Their glasses clinked.

“It’s sharp.”

They downed their drinks. Lanius finished with a content sigh, feeling the slight burn of alcohol and citrus fade into a sweet drink. He watched as the Kid took a moment to settle, and the only response he got from the silent stranger was a strong huff. Lanius laughed as he let the Kid spit some small thorns off to the side. The man does the same, turning away as he spat the thorns to the floor.

“Probably hadn’t had a drink that good before, huh?” Lanius chuckled.

Before the Kid could answer, he’s cut off by Thorn and Thistle who land on his shoulders. Both birds were curious about a newcomer who kept their keeper in a good mood. The Kid shuffled through a side pouch on his bet before taking out a couple of seeds. Both Fledglings immediately puffed their feathers as they jumped on the table, excitedly waiting for a snack. Lanius watched quietly as the stranger and his birds played around.

The Kid was younger than him definitely, possibly by a decade. His white hair probably didn’t do him any favors, just as Lanius’s blonde and black hair did. His eyes are strong and determined, but hold deep scars and sadness from the Calamity. Whatever made him take two shifts on the Rippling Walls, travel as far into the Wilds as he is now, and open up to a stranger like Lanius was beyond him. The Kid’s probably seen a lot more than Lanius, and that was saying a lot. At least his birds liked him; the instincts of an animal were better than a human, and if they didn’t see him as a threat anymore then that was a good sign.

Once the birds were satisfied, they wandered off to play again. Lanius went to pour another shot of Stabinsthe for the both of them, but stopped short of the Kid’s glass when he placed his hand over it. The distiller looked at him puzzled.

The Kid shook his head and asked if Lanius wanted to return to the Bastion with him.

“I never considered the Bastion to be true,” Lanius answered, capping the bottle.

“I assumed that it fell along with th’ rest of Caelondia.”

The Kid thought the same thing, but now it was airborne, with three other survivors with space to spare for more. Lanius thought the airborne part was a joke, but the Kid didn’t look like the type to joke around on matters such as this. He asked once more if Lanius wanted to join them.

“Not sure ‘bout that, Kid,” Lanius said honestly.

“I’ve been livin’ off the Wilds ever since the start of the Calamity. Call me crazy, but it’s a home.”

Lanius was questioned on whether or not he wanted to explore more than just the Wilds. The man considered it for a moment.

“I’ve always wanted to fly, I guess... past th’ winds of the Skyway.”

The Kid offered the chance at flight then. He didn’t need to stay if he didn’t want to, but his chances at surviving at the rate of the Calamity was slimmer if he stayed on falling ground. Lanius commended the Kid for being rather convincing, and the reply was a shrug.

Lanius sighed, walking over to the side of the bar to pick up some things.

“Thorn. Thistle.”

Both birds perked up at the call. They flew over the counter on either side of the Kid and waited patiently as Lanius placed two small satchels. The bags seemed to be modified so as to not deter their flight.

“We’re moving out again.”

They chirped affirmatively.

“But not to the Wilds.”

Thorn was silent, and Thistle chirped in protest. They immediately turned to the Kid, who raised both his hands in defense. Lanius chuckled to himself, lugging a pack over his shoulder with his pike and carbine with him. The Kid asked what he would do with all of his drinks, and Lanius glanced to the shelf.

“Might as well leave these here for any passin’ soul,” he said, checking inventory. There were about one of each drink, and a couple of tonics. It wasn’t a problem; Lanius always left the extra he made. Maybe the Kid had put them to good use when he traveled the Wilds.

“You better have a Distillery back at th’ Bastion, or I’m leavin’.”

The Kid nodded.

From there, they headed out. Lanius directed the Kid to the safest and fastest path to a Skyway, in which he thanked him for. As a Trigger he stayed behind the Kid with his hammer, with one bird flying just to their left and right. It was somewhat nostalgic, to go through the Wilds with someone—it reminded him of his days before the Calamity. Lanius looked back at the distillery he was leaving behind; the one home he had after everything went down, and he was now moving off to somewhere permanent.

Just as they reached the Skyway, the Kid pointed up. There, Lanius gaped at the looming shape of an airborne Bastion. From atop, he could see three figures waving down at them. They were too far to be recognizable, but their friendly gesture was enough to bring a smile.

Lanius watched as the Kid took off, carried off by the winds and up to the Bastion. His fledglings followed after without question. Lanius stood just a step away. The breeze blew over him, its whispers speaking to him. One side of it telling him to turn back to the Wilds, and the other beckoning a new wind.

The wild bird has had a few old nests in the past, but he figured it was about time to settle for something new. Lanius imagined that the God of Chance and Whim was smiling down at him at this very moment, and who was he to defy Olak’s blessing in the form of a chance?

He was always one to follow the winds, and with a smile he did.

#bastion (game) #supergiant games #the kid #bastion oc #writing #i wasn't gonna post this at first #but then i went: fuck it #cuz i already posted art of lanius anyway #i honestly wanna write ALL ABOUT THE WILDS #i have so many headcanons for everything in it #i also didn't expect the word count to reach 4k..... writing this was kinda fast ngl #oc: inks on tealeaf #writing: inks on tealeaf

[letswritefanfiction]

Lost in Halloweenia! Ch6

Crosspost from ffnet and AO3.

Summary: It’s Halloween! Ash and the gang are living it up trick or treating when they stumble upon a strange house with some strange artifacts. What mysteries do they hold and…wait, who are those three lurking behind them?

Word Count: 3,423/27,343

Previous chapter here

Next chapter here

Chapter 6: Boo!

Midnight is fast approaching in Halloweenia and Ash and the gang have too many things to do! Find the crown, find Togepi, find a portal and get back home! And Team Rocket…doesn’t know any of this. Ugh, what a mess.

A tall figure teetered in the dark, only yards away from the castle. The only thing that lay between the two was a wide moat. Only this moat wasn’t filled with water; it was filled with sand. Which would have been harmless enough, had it not been for the Sandile creeping around in it. Just beyond them, by the front door, were two Golett standing guard.

“This could not be less comfortable.”

“Oh yeah?” came a muffled voice. “Try having to carry both of you!”

Brock’s head poked out from the middle of a long trench coat, drinking in sweet oxygen. Misty was sitting on Brock’s shoulders and Litty, comfy in his jack-o’-lantern, was the head of the strange monster they were embodying.

“Hey, you wanted something that would work, right?” Litty said. “Well, this will work!”

Shaking his head, Brock buttoned himself back in, steeling himself to carry Misty and Litty the rest of the way. “Seriously, this seems like a plan that Team Rocket would cook up.”

“Well, I don’t know who they are, but they sound like stand up folks to me!”

Misty sighed. “Right.”

“Look, I’m not sure how much longer I can hold you guys, so can we get a move on?”

Litty jumped up and down in his jack-o’-lantern and shouted, “Giddy up!”

Brock took a few shaky steps forward before Misty yelled, “Stop! What about the Sandile?”

Brock’s legs seized immediately, not eager to be bitten by any Pokémon today.

“Oh, right; silly me.”

Then, purple waves began emanating from the eyes and mouth of Litty’s jack-o’-lantern, targeting all of the nearby Pokémon. Abruptly, all of the Sandile and the Golett began dizzily tripping around, running into each other, and falling down. Litty hooted with laughter.

“Oh boy, that never gets old! Anyway, now it’s safe to go. Just don’t step on one of them!”

“That doesn’t seem very nice,” Brock mumbled to Misty as be began walking carefully through the sand.

“Well, neither was stealing Togepi.”

Misty wanted to grumble or have some kind of conviction come through in her voice, but it wavered as she did all she could to hold on to Brock’s neck and shoulders as he wobbled through the sand. Eventually she found purchase in grasping at his hair.

“Watch it!”

“What, afraid your hair is going to look like Ash’s?”

“No, I’m afraid I’m not going to have any hair!”

“You’re about to hit the door!”

“Ow!”

Litty called out his warning just a moment too late as Brock and Misty’s noses found the large wooden door to the castle. They both pulled back, Misty and Litty nearly falling off of Brock in the process, and rubbed their noses, causing the torso of their trench coat to wiggle inhumanly.

“Knock on the door!”

Misty was the arms to their giant and she reached up to knock, only hitting the air a couple of times without her eyes to guide her. Finally, she found the door and gave it three hearty raps, to which it swung open almost immediately.

Or should we say to witch?

Opening the door was a Jynx with a green face and a long, hooked nose. She looked up at the towering monster and then past them at all of the confused Pokémon. She narrowed her eyes at Litty’s jack-o’-lantern.

“Litty?”

Litty poked his head out of the jack-o-lantern. “Hiya, Linda!”

“Did you really have to do that?”

Litty shrugged. “It’s Halloween!”

“And what’s with the costume?”

“Uhh…it’s Halloween?”

The Jynx, however, was not having it. “Right. Let’s have a look and see what’s under that costume.”

“Now!” Litty shouted.

Suddenly, Misty’s head popped out of the top of the trench coat and she held Litty far above her head. Then, all at once, she thrust the pumpkin down on the Jynx’s head as Litty made a flying leap out of it.

The trench coat fell to the ground at Brock’s feet and he looked at the Jynx who was now flat on the ground. Stars were spinning over her head and her eyes were reduced to swirls as she moaned.

“Did we really have to do that?” Brock asked.

“Uh, no,” Litty answered honestly. “But what’s Halloween without a few tricks? Anyway, now we have to go.”

Without his jack-o’-lantern to hop around in, Litty toddled forward on his stubby legs, navigating through the wide hallway.

It was slow going, and spooky. For a big, fancy castle, it sure was empty. Brock and Misty’s footsteps echoed loudly, providing the only sound save for the flickering of flames lining and lighting the walls. That was, until a few minutes later when they heard a dull sweep, sweep, sweep behind them.

They turned around and spotted a broom, upright and swinging this way and that against the stone floor as it followed them.

“What’s happening?” Misty asked, her voice wavering.

“That’s just Broomba,” Litty answered casually, “Linda’s broom. Don’t worry about it. It’s just lonely, looking for companionship until Linda wakes up. So needy.”

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever as Litty led them past door after door, without so much as stopping to check a single one.

“Litty, you do know where Blair and Lassie would take Togepi, right?” Brock asked for reassurance.

“Togepi’s just a baby,” Misty added anxiously.

“Do you happen to know why Blair took your Togepi?”

“She said she would give Togepi back after we brought the crown back,” Brock offered.

Litty abruptly stopped in his tracks, looking uncharacteristically serious. “The crown’s missing?”

“Yes,” Misty answered. “Now do you have any idea where Togepi is?”

“Now hold on there, missy!” Litty eyed Misty and Brock carefully. “Did you take the crown?”

“What? No!” Brock exclaimed.

Litty held his gaze for a few moments, as if to test their conviction before he backed down. “Good. Because that crown isn’t just a crown. It provides Halloweenia with its whole life-source.”

“Life-source? What do you mean by that?” Brock asked.

“The King uses his roots to connect all of Halloweenia’s forest-land. The plants and trees take in his life-source and send it into the air for the rest of us to breathe. It keeps all of the creatures in Halloweenia alive. Without it, we die. All of us.”

Misty and Brock’s eyes grew wide. “No wonder Mantar was so worried,” Brock said.

“What’s this got to do with my Togepi?” Misty asked earnestly.

“Well, Fairy Types have life-source too, just like the crown. The King could use your Fairy for a bit in place of the crown.”

Suddenly, Misty looked very angry. “You mean to say that your King is draining Togepi’s life-source?”

“Er…well, it’s not quite that simp—”

“LEMME AT HIM!”

Ash was doing the best he could to follow the mysterious people and Pokémon he had spotted; unfortunately, he was more used to the role of the one being followed, so he was struggling. And subtlety wasn’t exactly his strong suit. He was hopping through the crowd, craning his neck to keep an eye on the blue and red hair until he decided that crouching down and running through people’s legs would work better. That way he could keep an eye on the Umbreon and the Meowth.

The partygoers, however, were not very fond of this decision.

As Ash pushed through the crowd, there were grumbles and complaints, even a few drinks spilled here and there. Then, of course, there was poor Pikachu, who was being jostled and, in some cases, just plain squished by all of the rough movements. Not to mention the fact that he had to stay silent, lest he draw attention to his hidden position in Ash’s backpack.

Needless to say, Ash would be receiving an earful later.

Nevertheless, he quickly learned that truly the best way to get to know a town and its features is to try not to bump into them as you’re bumbling around.

Not that he was very good at that…

“Whoops! Sorry! Excuse me—wait is that a Gengar?! Oh, sorry…Coming through! Aah!”

Eventually, Ash got to feeling more like a pinball hitting against bumpers as he just tried to keep from falling. Fortunately, the crowds drew thinner and thinner the further they traveled. Finally, he was able to stumble along without having to worry about being trampled to death. Pikachu, in particular, was appreciative of this.

Halloweenia, Ash was noticing, had a strange layout. In the center of everything was the tower of the king to which Brock and Misty were headed. Then, rippling outward from that was surprisingly barren space in terms of buildings; almost like that of a park with fountains and even monuments. Ash learned that the hard way when he almost landed face first into a fountain bubbling with orange liquid. This was where the party seemed to be centered. And Ash didn’t know if they were always there, but today there were tons of tents and booths and vendors selling drinks, providing places to sit, or hosting Halloween-themed events.

Continuing outward, the party waned and the park-like atmosphere transformed, autumnal trees turning to buildings and grass turning to stone. Ash was grateful for this part of town; there were less people for him to bump into and make angry. As he sneakily pressed his body against the buildings, shifting along in the dark like something out of a spy movie, he guessed that they were both businesses and houses interspersed. At least, that’s what they looked like. Most houses seemed to be pretty similar to Mantar’s—wooden individual homes.

Before Ash could think any more about it, suddenly his mysterious companions slipped into one of those very houses, one made of dark wood with a flat roof that almost seemed sunken in at places. The house had only one door and just a few windows. Ash’s first instinct was to knock on the door and introduce himself, but a thought gave him pause.

He was still potentially in danger. And more importantly, he had to protect Pikachu by laying low. So it wouldn’t hurt to just peek into one of the windows and get a closer look at who these people were, right?

They had finally reached a point in town where nobody was around—the houses all seemed dark, even deserted; everyone must have been at the party—so there was no one to see as Ash crept to the side of the house and stood next to the window. He retrieved Pikachu—who did indeed chatter angrily into his ear about the many sharp elbows to the gut he’d received—from his backpack.

“Shh, Pikachu.” He pointed to the house. “Let’s look.”

Ash held Pikachu as he crouched down so that just their eyes peeked over the windowsill to see inside the house. And both of their eyes nearly popped out of their heads!

Through the perfect view of the window, Ash saw the Umbreon’s eyes glow red, casting a wash of light over the Meowth who transformed in color all at once. Suddenly, his body became a creamy white, although his feet, tail, and ears remained gray. But, more than that, Ash was able to see the faces of the humans who accompanied them.

“It’s Team Rocket!” Ash whisper-shouted.

“Pipi kachu!”

The interior of this particular house was rather sparse in terms of furniture, as Mantar’s had been, although it had far more in the way of clutter. But what drew Ash’s eye immediately was an off-white sack on the floor by Jessie’s feet. He gasped.

“I bet they’re the ones who stole the crown!”

Pikachu nodded vigorously in agreement, black cheeks sparking as he growled at them through the window. The electricity brightened the dark night and Ash saw Jessie and James’s heads begin to swivel towards the window. Ash immediately ducked, taking Pikachu down with him.

“Whew, that was close,” he said. After wiping the sweat off his brow, he looked to Pikachu with full determination. “Now, how do we get that sack?”

Meanwhile in the house…

“I don’t know why we have to paint Meowth,” James griped as he dipped a brush into some light gray paint. “That disguise you created was just fine.”

“And much easier than dis.” Meowth shivered as the cold paint touched his fur. “Dis is da pits.”

“Hold still,” Jessie said as she swiped her own brush right over Meowth’s eyes, causing them to swirl unpleasantly.

Kitsume was wandering around the room, messing about with the many knickknacks that were lying about. She seemed to have a vast collection of random items in identical glass jars that were scattered about on various shelves and the floor. Not only that, but she had a great many books, including notebooks, scattered hither and thither, spines broken as they were cast about without much regard for organization.

As she rooted around, she said, “It takes a lot of effort to hold up a disguise like that; I wouldn’t be able to keep it up forever. So while this may be a dab harder for you, it’s much easier for me. And I prefer that.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be the ones that like to do things the easy way?” James whispered to Jessie. “This Pokémon is encroaching on our territory!”

As Jessie shrugged, not willing to dignify that comment with a verbal answer, Meowth gave Kitsume the side-eye. “I didn’t even know an Umbreon could do that.”

Kitsume seemed to smirk. “This world will be full of surprises for you.” Then she walked over to Jessie and James. “Now how about those Pokémon?”

“That’s the finishing touch!” James announced as he swept a dab of paint across Meowth’s last whisker.

Meowth jumped onto a windowsill and looked at his reflection in the window. He struck multiple poses, checking himself out. “Hey, ya did a pretty good job, Jimmy!”

“You know,” Jessie began thoughtfully, “if Meowth gets to dress up for Halloween, then we should too!”

With matching grins, Jessie and James stood nose to nose for a second before jumping back and pulling fabric as if from nowhere. A moment later, Jessie was dressed as a devil, entirely in red, and James—with a long, black wig—was a very feminine witch.

“Oh, James, you look fantastic!”

“Not so much as you; why, Jessie, you look devilishly beautiful!”

As Jessie and James stood complimenting each other and Meowth continued modeling for himself, a vein pulsed on Kitsume’s forehead. Her fur was standing on end and she was grinding her teeth down to nubs. Why had she decided to go for such imbeciles?

“Show me your Pokémon!” she finally shouted.

“What’s that?” James asked.

“You agreed you would show me your Pokémon if I helped you. Well, here I am helping you, and I don’t see anything besides a lousy Meowth.”

“Lousy!” Meowth exclaimed, suddenly finished looking at his beautiful self. Suddenly, his claws were out, gleaming in the yellow light of the room. “Why I oughta!”

“Oh, just see them?” Jessie rolled her eyes. “You expect us to believe that?”

“Well, no,” Kitsume said plainly, shocking Team Rocket with her bluntness. “But I’m not going to steal them, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Alright,” Jessie grumbled suspiciously as she reached for her PokéBalls, “But I’m watching you.”

Kitsume grinned. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Her tail swished and her smile became toothier and toothier as Jessie and James each grabbed two PokéBalls from their ‘Belts, releasing all four Pokémon at once.

“Riiiiiiiiii!”

A high pitch screech was heard and—before it was even fully formed—Victreebel jumped on James, and began snacking away.

“No! Not the hair! This is a brand new wig!”

Meanwhile, Jessie smacked her own forehead and the other Pokémon just sweat-dropped and waited for it to be over.

Suddenly, Kitsume pounced, running over to James and Victreebel, and smacking her tail against them. Trainer and Pokémon both went toppling over and James was finally free, gasping for breath.

“That one,” Kitsume said, landing gracefully on the ground. “I want that one.”

“Want it?” James screamed, his girlish shout matching his black dress. “You can’t have my Victreebel!”

“You said you didn’t want to take our Pokémon,” Jessie stated, approaching Kitsume threateningly, raising a fist to strike.

“I don’t want to take your Pokémon. Just have it use some Attacks, capiche?”

“Um,” James scratched his head. “Like what?”

“Anything!”

“Okay…Victreebel, use…um, Stun Spore?”

Jessie and Meowth ran to the far wall, not eager to feel the effects of the paralyzing, yellow powder any time soon. They didn’t know what in the world Kitsume was thinking!

To their surprise, suddenly Kitsume had a vacuum cleaner strapped to her back and used it to suck up every last particle of Stun Spore into one of those little glass jars that were strewn about the house.

Kitsume’s eyes lit up as she unscrewed the jar, looking at it like it was the love of her life. Then she turned to James, exhilarated beyond belief. “Another one!”

“Oh, okay…Victreebel, use Razor Leaf?”

Victreebel began shooting leaves from the arm-like leaves on its sides.

“More, more, more!” Kitsume shouted as she sucked them up, hopping around the room to ensure that she didn’t miss a single leaf.

“Sleep Powder?”

Meanwhile, Jessie and Meowth—who were still at a safe distance—were looking at each other with confusion. Kitsume seemed to be going absolutely crazy. And poor James was too lost to do anything about it.

“I’m sorry, what are you doing?” Jessie finally called over when her bemusement got the best of her.

“Pokémon Attacks are used for spells,” Kitsume explained as she sucked up the glowing blue powder. “In Halloweenia, there’s a very limited supply of Pokémon and Attacks available. So anytime a foreign Pokémon shows up, everyone wants a piece of the pie. I’m just taking my piece now!”

“Oh, like dat one twerp dat turned the main twerp into a Pikachu!”

“And that lousy Aipom,” Jessie grumbled, still salty that they hadn’t managed to get a spell to work themselves.

“Why does everyone want these spells?” James asked, patting a tired Victreebel on the top of its head—only for Victreebel to try to take a bite of his hand. “We’ve only met one person in our whole world who cares about Pokémon magic.”

“Everyone uses magic here,” Kitsume explained. “We need spells for nearly everything. People and Pokémon here can’t breed, so the only way we can even get new blood around here is to use a spell to fuse two together or separate one into two. Things like that.”

“You mean dere are nevah babies?” Meowth asked.

“Never,” Kitsume affirmed. “We don’t have a life cycle here.”

“So if new Pokémon are so exciting for you,” Jessie began, “why didn’t you ask for anything from Meowth when you first saw him?”

Kitsume shrugged off her vacuum. “A Normal Type can’t offer much, seeing as how you can’t exactly bottle up Physical Attacks. They can’t provide much more than a hair.”

Eyebrows raised at her own words, Kitsume darted over to Meowth and plucked a hair before he even knew what was happening.

“Me-yoooooow!”

Kitsume dropped the hair into a bottle and then went back over to her vacuum. “Now let’s see about your other Pokémon. Perhaps a Poison Gas Attack from that Weezing?”

Suddenly, the only door in the cabin slammed open. Unfortunately, that had been the far point in the room that Jessie and Meowth had been standing in front of, so they went flying into their Pokémon and James, so that everyone tumbled onto the floor.

The person who opened the door shouted “Boo!” dramatically.

Grunting, Jessie, James, and Meowth turned their heads and their jaws dropped when they saw who it was.

“It’s the twerp!”

Just then, the clock tower struck.

Eleven o’clock.

Oh, no! We all know what that sound means! Ash only just found Team Rocket—how is he supposed to save Halloweenia and find a portal before time runs out? And what is the King doing to poor Togepi? Will Misty let him survive long enough for us to find out? All this and more, next time in the world of Pokém—oh, I’m sorry—Halloweenia!

#pokemon #pokeani #anipoke #pokemon fanfiction #pokemon fanfic #pokemon fic #ash ketchum #ash ketchum fanfiction #ash ketchum fanfic #ash ketchum fic #pikachu #team rocket #meowth

[hegemoneapple]

Basilisk Eyes: Chapter 4: Fried Tomatoes

Crossposted: Basilisk Eyes by Hegemone | Completed: Chapter 4 out of 157 | T | AO3 | FFN | WATT | HPFF

Summary: As Harry Potter slays the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, blood and venom get in his eyes, mostly blinding him. While Harry learns to adapt, he makes some new friends. But this is more than a story of adaptation and friendship as there are threats... and Harry isn't the only one with a past that haunts him.

oO0OooO0OooO0OooO0Oo

Harry woke with a start and opened his eyes, blinking against a bright light. He closed them quickly again. It was too bright.

Something had woken him up, he realized—a loud noise. Then he heard Hagrid’s booming voice, except he was clearly trying to whisper.

“How’s Harry doin’?”

“He’s sleeping,” Madam Pomfrey hissed.

Harry grimaced. Not anymore, he thought.

“Hiya, Hagrid,” Harry sat up and groggily called out to his big friend. Then he tried to look around the room to see if he was waking anyone up, but he could barely open his eyes against the bright light. 

And he remembered. He hadn’t seen anything since his encounter with the Basilisk, well, not much anyway. Just bright lights and shadows. 

Today. Today we’ll get it sorted out. Madam Pomfrey will talk to the healers at St. Mungo's and find someone who knows what to do.

He swung his legs out of bed and felt around with his feet for his slippers. Not finding them, he located his wand and muttered the slipper spell.

He tried to open his eyes again and decided just to keep them closed.

Hagrid’s steps shook the floor as he approached Harry and he heard him settle into the bed next to his.

“How you doin’, Harry?” Hagrid asked. “Why you got yer eyes closed?”

“It’s too bright in here to open them,” Harry stated, turning toward Hagrid. It occurred to him that he must be “looking” right at Hagrid’s belly, so he angled his head up a bit to line up with Hagrid’s face.

“Oh, yeah. I heard you got venom in yer eyes,” Hagrid said. “But wait, does this mean you can see again? You can see the sunlight comin’ through the windows?” 

“Naw,” Harry made a calming motion with his hands. “It was like this yesterday, too. I can see some lights and really bright lights hurt, but I can’t see anything except the light. People kept lumos-ing their wands in my face yesterday… ” 

Talking about his lack of vision made his stomach seize up, so he cast around for another subject, “So, you were released!”

“Yeah,” Hagrid said. “I bloody hate that place.” 

“Wizard prison?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. Sucks the life right out of you… ” 

Harry could hear Hagrid rubbing his big hands together as he said this as if to warm them.

“So, why'd yer kill the Basilisk fer? Couldn't you have spared his life? Harry?” Hagrid moaned. “The poor creature.” 

“Hagrid, the monster was trying to eat me!” 

"Well, yes," Hagrid acknowledged. “So, you goin’ down to breakfast?” 

Harry’s stomach rumbled in response. He had heard Madam Pomfrey swishing around in her robes and guessed that she was close by.

“Madam Pomfrey, may I go down to breakfast?” he asked.

Her clipped footsteps approached him and he turned his face toward her but kept his eyes closed.

“Yes, Harry. We’ll be going to St. Mungo's at 7:50 am. I set up an appointment. Hagrid can take you down to the great hall for breakfast, then you need to be back here so that we can floo from the fireplace at 7:45 am.”

“What time is it now?”

“It’s 6:25 am on Monday, you slept through Sunday,” she said. “Your clothes are cleaned and folded at the end of your bed. You were missing a sock, so I duplicated the one you had. I’ll put up the curtain again,” she paused murmuring and Harry tried opening his eyes to see if the curtain helped.

“Does the curtain help with the bright light, then?”

“Yes. That’s better.” Harry sighed. For whatever reason, he felt more comfortable with his eyes open, even though they didn’t give him much more information than when they were closed. He could feel the air better with his eyes open, he realized. He could feel the gentle currents of air as people moved their hands and wands in his vicinity.

“Let me fix up your glasses, then. I can make the lenses opaque.” 

She bustled by him and he heard her tapping his glasses with her wand. She was quiet for a moment, and there was a pregnant pause. He looked up at her questioningly, wondering what she was doing.

“Oh, right. Here you are, Harry.” 

She seemed a bit embarrassed. He realized she must have been holding them out to him. He grasped them and put them on.

He was glad to have his glasses back on as he always felt a bit naked without them. He rose and went to the end of his bed, felt around for the curtain opening, and stepped into the corridor to see if the opaque lenses helped with the intense sunlight. He was relieved that they did. 

“That’s great. Thanks, Madam Pomfrey!”

Hagrid touched him on the shoulder as he passed Harry and Madam Pomfrey also left the curtain enclosure. 

“Okay, good. Harry, don’t eat too much or too fast. Take it easy, okay? And I’ll see you at 7:45,” she said as she walked away.

“I’ll just wait out here while you get dressed, Harry.” Hagrid seemed a bit teary.

“Hey, Hagrid, is anyone else still here in the infirmary?” Harry was curious.

“Naw, just you. I’ll be betting that everyone’s still sleepin’. The feast yesterday went on for a while. Lots ter celebrate,” Hagrid said.

Harry went back through the curtain to his bed and found his clothes. It took him a bit longer than normal to put them on, but once he stopped thinking too hard about it, it was easier. He realized he just needed to pretend that he was getting dressed in the dark to sneak around the castle in his invisibility cloak. That brought a smile to his lips.

“Okay, I’m ready, but can you take me to the loo?”

“Sure, Harry. It’s right over here.” 

Hagrid turned Harry by his shoulders and shoved him forward. Harry stumbled and then found his footing and started walking forward until his outstretched hands found the door. He was glad it was a small bathroom and he was able to find his way around it pretty easily. Harry got a little unnerved, though, when he wondered if Moaning Myrtle was watching him from the U-bend. He didn’t like the idea that people could watch him and he wouldn’t know it. 

He emerged from the bathroom and asked Hagrid if he was ready to go to breakfast. Harry was dreading it a bit, but maybe there wouldn’t be many people down yet.

“Yep, let’s go,” and Hagrid started walking down the corridor. Harry started following behind, walking from bed to bed as he had last night. He heard Hagrid stop.

“Oh! Harry! I shouldn'ta done that. Jus left yeh,” Hagrid said as his big hand clasped Harry’s shoulder making him lurch forward. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s all right. Just, let me hold onto you, Hagrid,” Harry said as he reached for Hagrid’s shoulder, then gave up and settled for his forearm. He ended up just holding onto the fabric of Hagrid’s shirt, his forearm too broad for Harry to get a hold.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he remembered that the hospital wing was on the first floor and that he didn’t have to navigate the moving staircases or the trick stairs just yet.

Harry held his breath as Hagrid opened the doors to the Great Hall and waited to hear if anyone noticed them coming in, but it seemed pretty quiet. He could tell there were at least a few people in the room from the sound of silverware and quiet conversations, but no one seemed to stop when they came in.

Hagrid led Harry over to the Gryffindor House table and his usual spot.

“Thanks, Hagrid,” said Harry as he found the table with his hand and lowered himself down onto the bench, swinging his legs over.

“You all right here, Harry?” Hagrid asked. “I’ll be headin’ up to the High Table.”

“Yeah. Is anyone else at the Gryffindor table?” Harry asked.

“No, just you. Though Percy’s sitting at the Ravenclaw table with that Prefect who was petrified. Not many other folks down here. Like I said, they’ll be lyin’ in today. Okay, I’ll be leavin’ you now.” 

Harry nodded and listened as Hagrid clumped toward the High Table.  

Harry waited for a second and listened for the pop of breakfast magically appearing on the table before him. He felt around for his plate and silverware, then carefully slid his hands forward on the table to locate the dishes. He could smell bacon and kippers and tried to discern other foods by their odors, but the kippers were drowning out all the other aromas. His fingers collided with his goblet and he grabbed it quickly before it toppled, though it splashed a bit of pumpkin juice on the table. He found his napkin and tried to mop it up as best he could and get the stickiness off his fingers. He sipped his pumpkin juice and put it down carefully to the side so that he could try finding the other food again without knocking it over.

He found a dish and pulled it close to his plate and felt around the rim until he found the serving spoon. He poked around the dish with the serving spoon and leaned close to sniff to see if he could figure out what it was. It smelled like fried tomatoes. He tried to spoon one onto his plate, but it kept slipping off the spoon. He finally gave up and shoved it back, casting around for another dish. He found the bacon and gave up trying to use the tongs to get a couple pieces and just fished them out with his fingers, hoping no one was looking. Next, he found toast. He wasn’t willing to try getting the fried tomatoes again and settled on plain toast. At least with toast and bacon, he reasoned, he was less likely to end up wearing his food.

Nibbling on bacon and toast, he listened as footsteps echoed through the hall nearing him. He felt the bench rock as someone sat down near him.

“Hello?” Harry asked, curious about who had joined him.

“Good morning, Harry,” said Percy in his usual formal manner. “How are you doing this morning?”

“I’m doing okay. How about you?” Harry asked. He wasn’t used to Percy talking to him.

“I wanted to thank you for what you did for Ginny,” Percy said.

Harry shrugged and made a half-hearted attempt at a smile. He wasn’t sure what kind of response he should give. He was saved from having to come up with words by thundering footsteps.

“Blimey, Harry, you missed a crazy feast yesterday!” Seamus’ voice exploded into the scene, as he rocked the table sitting down.

“Say, why are you wearing sunglasses?” Seamus blurted out, his mouth already full of food. It sounded like he was dragging half the platters toward himself and piling all sorts of food on his plate. Harry had eaten across from Seamus enough to know what was going on.

“I got some venom in my eyes last night, and it made my eyes really sensitive to bright light… ” Harry explained.

“Wicked!” Seamus exclaimed through a mouthful. “I heard you killed a Basilisk! With a sword!”

“Yep… Say, Percy are you going back to Gryffindor tower,” Harry turned toward Percy.

“Um. Percy’s gone, Harry,” Seamus said soberly.

“Oh, right,” said Harry, embarrassed.

“So, what? You’re blind? I thought you said the light hurts your eyes,” Seamus asked.

“I’m not blind,” Harry was indignant. “I just can’t see right now, okay?” 

“Sorry, mate. I didn’t… ” Seamus’ response was eclipsed by a high pitched squeal.

“Hair----rrry!” Harry was relieved to hear Hermione’s voice as she came running toward him, her hair swishing into his face as she embraced him clumsily from the back and settled onto the bench next to him, knocking him sideways in her hurry. She clung to him.

“Did Madam Pomfrey fix your eyes, then?” she asked.

“No, we’re going to St. Mungo's this morning,” Harry replied. “Say, what time is it?”

“Just a little after 7,” replied Hermione. He could hear her dishing food on to her plate.

“Hey, Hermione. Can you put a scoop of fried tomatoes on my toast? I couldn’t manage it earlier,” he asked quietly.

“Sure, here you go,” she said. “Do you want me to cut it up, too?”

“Nah, I think I can handle it,” he said poking around his plate with his fork and knife, locating the slippery tomatoes on top of his toast and cutting through them to stab them. He managed all right, though a few bites fell off his fork, he leaned forward hoping they fell onto his plate and not in his lap.

Seamus and Dean (who had joined them at the table) were bombarding Harry and Hermione with questions about what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets. He could hear other students coming into the Great Hall, too. Harry did his best to recount the events, but it was hard to do and eat at the same time. He resorted to nibbling on bacon and sipping pumpkin juice. He was distracted, though, thinking about the trip to St. Mungo's. 

As the Great Hall filled up with students, it was harder and harder to hear the students around him or follow the conversation.

Ron finally joined them, sitting on his other side and was really enjoying talking about what happened in the Chamber, even the parts that he didn’t witness.

Everyone was super excited that final exams had been canceled (well, except for Hermione) and that Professor Lockhart had left to try to restore his memories. Gryffindors were even more elated because they had been awarded the house cup with the addition of the 400 points earned by Ron and Harry.

Ginny, sitting next to Hermione, was pretty quiet, though, and Harry was worried that she was still blaming herself for what happened. Especially as Ron’s descriptions got more and more dramatic.

Harry leaned forward, hoping to catch Ginny’s attention and said, “Hey, Ginny. Could you take me back to the hospital wing? I need to go to my appointment at St. Mungo's.” 

Harry wasn’t sure Ginny had heard him and he was about to ask Hermione to get Ginny’s attention for him, when she answered in a small voice, “Sure, Harry.” 

He heard her sliding off the bench and felt her small hand on his shoulder.

“Your sunglasses look nice, Harry,” she said with a sniff.

Harry hoped she wasn’t going to start crying again.

“Thanks. Madam Pomfrey changed them so that the sun doesn’t hurt my eyes so much.” 

He stood up and she guided his hand to her shoulder.

Out in the corridor, Ginny turned her head toward him and muttered, “Harry, I’m really sorry about your eyes.”

Harry squeezed her shoulder gently. “Ginny, please stop blaming yourself for this. I’m going to be okay… they’ll be able to sort it out at St. Mungo's, okay? And even if they can’t,” he faltered here at the thought… and for Ginny’s sake, went on, “it isn’t your fault. You didn’t ask to be possessed by Voldemort or taken captive in the Chamber of Secrets. You have to forgive yourself, okay? I think we’re all just lucky to be alive right now, you know? It could have been much worse. Will you promise me you’ll stop blaming yourself. Please?” 

“Okay, Harry, I’ll try. But if they can’t fix your eyes, it’s going to be really hard,” she said.

They had stopped and Harry guessed it was because they were outside the door to the hospital wing. He pulled Ginny into a clumsy hug, “I was scared we’d lost you, Ginny. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she said and pulled open the door.

#blind harry potter #blind #fanfiction #Harry Potter #Hogwarts

[greyias]

FIC: Traditions

Title: Traditions Summary: It had been the fourth time that the Alliance’s commander had seemingly disappeared from the base. Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Genre: Mostly Fluff Word Count: ~4600 Author’s Notes: Just some lighthearted fluff I found myself needing to write in between the angsty pieces that keep trying to turn into epics.

Crossposted to AO3

He finally found her above the military hanger on the outcropping overlooking the clearing where the Defender was parked. It had been the fourth time that the Alliance's commander had seemingly disappeared from the base. The previous three times Theron had contacted her by the comm, and she'd eventually made her reappearance after being summoned. He could have done the same this time, but his curiosity was piqued. He had spent the past hour asking various personnel the last direction they'd seen the Alliance's commander heading in, and followed the mismatched directions like a treasure hunter following a badly written starmap. It was probably the most inelegant game of hide and seek ever conducted, but Theron wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

She stood poised near the rocky ledge, and either didn't notice his approach or was too focused on her task to pay him any mind. She was barefoot, the toes of one foot digging into the loose, rocky soil as the other was drawn up, balanced against her knee. Her palms were pressed together, fingers woven together in front of her as she balanced on the one foot, unmoved by the mountain breeze rushing past her and tossing her blonde hair up into the air. She had foregone her usual bulky, ornate armor, opting for a simpler, more relaxed set of vestments he'd spied her wearing during a few sparring sessions. The wrappings showed a small sliver of skin, which sent more of a rush of heat through him than he'd like to admit to.

Subconsciously he softened his footsteps, footfalls hardly making a noise as he approached. It wasn't exactly sneaking up on her, as that would be possibly unwise with someone who could be quite as deadly as her when she put her mind to it. Not that she usually put across those airs to most of those around her. There was more of a quiet serenity about her that he was hesitant to disturb. He was still a few meters away when she finally spoke.

"Hello, Theron."

Chagrinned, he flashed her back a sheepish smile. "Heard me coming?"

"In a way." She didn't break her stance, and her voice was quiet, as if coming from a far off place. It was possible that she had felt his approach more than heard it. He had a feeling that whatever she was up to had more to do with attuning to the Force than simply enjoying the fresh mountain air.

 "It's a nice view," he mused as he came up by her side.

"Mmhmm," she said noncommittally, but as he spied a little closer, he could see that she had her eyes closed, concentrating on something else other than the valley and vistas beyond. 

"So this is where you've been getting off to," he kept his tone light, "was starting to wonder if you had dug out some secret tunnel back when you guys were constructing the base."

"That would just be silly. Not to mention architecturally unsound."

"Well, you wouldn't want to offend the engineers. They're a touchy folk."

"Did you need something, Theron?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Nothing that can't wait a few more minutes."

"Do you always walk so far for things that can wait?"

The beginnings of a smirk quirked at the edge of his mouth. "Well, I didn't want to disturb you over something minor."

Her serene composure started to crack, brow furrowing ever so slightly in consternation. It was clear she was still trying to concentrate on whatever she was doing, despite his continued efforts to lure her into conversation. He should have probably just have returned back to base after satisfying his curiosity about her whereabouts — but restraint wasn't exactly one of his strong points. Especially where this little blonde Jedi was concerned.

"Can I ask what you're doing?"

"Meditating. Or attempting to."

"Attempting?"

"I was doing better before things got noisy up here."

"A true master can tune out all distractions."

Her brow creased into a full frown, lips pressing into a thin line as she took a deep breath to calm herself. "Some distractions are louder and more persistent than others."

"If you say so." Out of habit he hid his grin behind his hand, before realizing that with her eyes firmly shut she couldn't see it. "I guess I should have been more specific. Why are you meditating out here? And not the Enclave?"

She let out another deep breath, this one bordering on a sigh. "It's quiet out here — or used to be." That was clearly directed at him.

"Sana-Rae never struck me as the loud type. Or are you trying to tell me you guys throw secret Force raves when the rest of us aren't looking?"

Her lip twitched, clearly trying to suppress whatever reaction he was engendering. Whenever she found that modicum of calm she was so desperately trying to project she spoke again. "It's quieter here. Both in sound and people."

"Is that a subtle hint for me to make my exit?"

She remained quiet for several more long moments before responding. "No, it's fine. I just... sometimes like to come out here when it gets hectic.  Clear my mind, ground myself and reconnect to the Force."

"And you need to be barefoot to do this?"

"It's a Togruta tradition," she said simply, as if that explained everything.

"Yes, of course."

She apparently picked up on the not-so-subtly disguised sarcasm in his tone, and added. "They believe that the land is spiritually connected to them. Wearing shoes cut themselves off from the their bond with the land—"

He leaned over into her space, miming into the air as if he was trying to grasp something invisible over her head. The slight crease in her forehead transformed into a full frown, and her balance wavered ever so slightly.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking for montrals."

That finally did it, and she cracked open an eye at him, deep frown marring the previously serene expression. She looked so incredibly irritated and grumpy he couldn't help himself, and leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her lips, hands ghosting down her sides to rest on her hips.

"You're being very distracting," she murmured against his mouth.

"You said I could stay."

"This is not what I had in mind."

"I'm improvising," he murmured back, and kissed her again, feeling her press into him as she rebalanced on both feet, arms looping around his neck and frown slowly melting away.

"You did that on purpose," she accused quietly as she broke away. Their was no venom in her tone, just a quiet resignation.

He didn't check the cheeky grin he flashed her. "Maybe a little."

She leaned into him, face burying into his chest as he let her rest all of her weight on him. "Why did you come looking for me?"

"You kept disappearing. I didn't know if something was wrong." After he said it, he realized that she probably was asking what Alliance business had prompted his search. He flashed her a sheepish look, but she was eyeing him in a curious way that made his chest tighten a little.

"I'm sorry," she said, voice soft, "I sometimes forget how long things were for you."

"That's not what I meant," he returned, absently brushing his thumb at the soft hairs at the base of her neck, "but... yeah, it was."

"What did you mean?"

"We kind of sprung all of this on you. Fighting Zakuul. The Alliance. Sometimes I worry it's asking too much."

A shadow of something passed across her face, as if maybe he had hit a little too close to the truth. He thought about pressing her, but experience had taught him that the best way to get her to open up was to not press. It was frustrating at times, but there was already too much on her shoulders. He wasn't going to force her to bear the burden of his impatience. When she was ready to discuss it, she'd come to him. At least he hoped she would.

So instead, he gave her an out in the form of a change of subject. "I don't recall Togruta footwear being a part of the Jedi syllabus. Then again, I didn't exactly have the normal Padawan experience."

She flashed him a grateful smile, apparently aware of what he was doing. "I didn't either."

"Look, just because you failed one meditation session doesn't mean you still weren't the star pupil of your creche."

Her eyebrow arched delicately. "You certainly have invented an interesting backstory for me."

"Well, I certainly can't imagine you as the bully of any group."

"I never was a part of any creche," she said, nose wrinkling. "With all that research you did on me back before Korriban, you're telling me you didn't look into my childhood?"

"No," he frowned, "it didn't seem relevant."

She let out a quiet huff of laughter as she rested her cheek against his chest. "And here I thought you were thorough."

"Most of the time I am." He thought about mentioning that he had gotten distracted by the redactions in her file, but seeing as they were from the time in her life she'd rather forget, he decided to let that slide. She was at least smiling right now. "I just seem to make exceptions for this one Jedi."

"Hm, I'll have to ask her for her secret."

"Let me know if she spills them for you," he said lightly. "I keep trying to figure out how to do that."

"You could always ask."

"Be straightforward?"

"You could try."

"All right, I suppose there's a first time for everything." He gave her a measuring look. "If you weren't a member of the Bergruutfa Clan, then what did happen?"

"After my parents were..." She trailed off, and he felt the muscles in her shoulders tense, her eyes getting a far away look in them. She shook her head after a moment, took a deep breath, and then let it out. "I was taken in by a Jedi Knight when I was young."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No, it's okay. I'm not sure why I never mentioned it before," she said quietly. "His name was Thyos Dae. I guess you could say he raised me."

The name was vaguely familiar, but Theron couldn't immediately place it. Probably cropped up in the history books somewhere. "I'm going to guess that he was a Togruta?"

He felt her nod against his chest. "I didn't realize it at the time, but I think he was breaking a few rules teaching me instead of taking me to an enclave. It's kind of funny. He always seemed to be such a stickler for the rules."

"Yeah, things seem different when you're a kid," Theron mused, memories of Nagani Zho surfacing, "but I guess he had his reasons."

"Maybe." Her shoulders shrugged lightly under his hands. "We traveled a lot at the time. The first war was still going on, at least for the first few years."

Theron nodded, remembering his own youth, much of which had spent in the crowded interiors of starships zipping about the galaxy. Those memories ended abruptly at the end of the war, when his path had taken a decidedly different turn than hers. A sudden chill ran down his spine, as he remembered exactly what had happened during the treaty that ended the war. "You weren't near Coruscant during the Sacking, were you?"

"No, but I... felt it. I think all of us Jedi did." She lifted her head from where it had been resting, eyes searching his face for something. "Were you there?"

He shook his head. "I was in the Outer Rim. Master Zho said that the Force had called him elsewhere. That was... the end of my training."

A frown creased her forehead. "What? He left?"

Theron pressed his lips together, the usual sour feeling that settled in his gut when he thought of his time on Haashimut was chased away by a light warmth brought on by her mildly indignant expression. Her disapproval at Nagani Zho's decision to leave Theron behind was written on her face. Without even realizing it, he was already pressing a soft kiss to her forehead to ease away the frown. "It's in the past."

"But..."

"He and I made our peace with it," he assured her.

One brow delicately arched ever so slightly told him that she may not have quite believed that. He really didn't want to get into all of the events that happened in the Vesla Sector with Darth Mehkis. Even all these years later, he still felt the loss of the man who raised him keenly. He supposed he always would, people tended to leave their mark on those around them whether they realized it or not.

"So Orgus Din wasn't your only master?" he asked, tone possibly a little too light as he tried to redirect the subject.

She shook her head. "I had a few over the years before Master Orgus. I was with Master Dae the longest."

That far off look had returned to her eye, making him wonder exactly what he had missed by not digging further into her past when he'd had the resources at his hands. Sure, he could just ask right now, but like with whatever was weighing on her mind about the Alliance, he suspected it wasn't something she was ready to share yet. She readily accepted the boundaries he set on his own past, it was only fair that he do the same for her.

Even if she had lit the fires of his curiosity.

"We traveled a lot," she continued after a long pause, "I stayed on the ship most of the time when we would dock planetside, at least while the war was still going on. But before we left, we always tried to sneak in one meditation session."

"You couldn't do that on the ship?"

"We did," she flashed him a slightly impatient look, as if he was slow to catch on, "but it's different, surrounded by metal and hyperspace. There's so much more life on each planet."

"There's life in the dirt?" he asked disbelievingly.

"More than you'd think."

"I'll have to take your word for it."

"You don't have to. I could teach you how," the offer was quiet, as if she wasn't sure she should have been saying those words, "if you want."

There was about a hundred things that Theron would like more than spending his time on than digging his toes into the hard rocky soil beneath their feet, and caking layer upon layer of dirt under his toenails as he pretended to "connect" with his surroundings. But as she stared at him with that hesitant, but slightly expectant expression he couldn't think of any of them. As closed off as she was about her past, she was willing to share this piece of it with him.

"I think I'd like that," he said, and the brilliant smile that lit up her face told him that had been the right response.

Without a word she tapped his boots with one of her bare feet, knocking a little dirt on it.  She flushed slightly, but they had seen far worse on their best days. He flashed her a smirk all the same which caused her cheeks to redden further, but obliged the silent request by slipping his boots and socks off so that he was mirroring her state of partial undress. When he quirked an eyebrow at her in expectation, she motioned for him to turn around and take up the spot where she had been standing. He followed her silent direction, his larger footprint obscuring the deep impressions she'd already made in the ground.

"All right," she said softly, "first close your eyes and concentrate."

He followed her instructions, and took a deep breath, before letting it out. If he concentrated, he could feel the sensation of dirt pressing between his toes. He could hear the distant chirps and growls of the Odessen wildlife. He could feel the soft mountain breeze as it caressed his face. But those were all sensations that he was easily aware of both wearing footwear and with an eye on the horizon. Nearly forgotten words echoed in his mind, Nagani Zho's final frustrated lesson—

"There is stillness. Yet like ice on the surface of a lake, the stillness only conceals movement. Feel the wind stirring the dust. Smell the water flowing through..."

But he couldn't feel the wind stirring the dust. He could only feel it gently tease the sweat dotted at his temples. The Force could have flowed through every fiber of his being, and lit up every dark corner of the galaxy. He was still as blind to it as the day he was born, and no amount of stripping down or communing with earthworms was going to change that. He'd always be blind, deaf, and dumb when it came to the larger universe. 

His frustration must have shown, because he heard her let out a small noise of disappointment, before he felt a hand lightly rest on his shoulder. "Take a deep breath, and think less. Just focus on what you can feel."

This was an exercise in pointlessness, but he could at least pretend to follow her instructions. It didn't hurt for him to look like he was trying, and if he gave up in frustration he had a feeling it would probably hurt her feelings more than if he failed after trying. Besides, the point of this wasn't for him to magically become a Jedi Knight and start throwing things around with the Force. It was her sharing something deep and personal for her, even if he didn't quite get it. So he took another deep breath, and just focused on the ground beneath his feet.

It was cold, but was starting to warm ever so slightly the longer he stood there. As they were in the shade the morning dew hadn't completely dried, and the damp granules seemed form a deep trench under his weight. Small pebbles littered the soil, sharp and unworn by the elements. His large toe brushed across the rough edge of one that had been disturbed the deeper his feet dug into the ground.

"What do you feel?"

He almost said something about the long shower he was going to take when he got back to his quarters, but stopped himself. "Dirt?"

"Anything else?"

"There's a nice breeze today."

"There is," she admitted. "Anything else?"

"Not really. Should I be trying to strike an acrobatic pose?" He attempted to mimic the pose she had been trying to maintain when he had found her, but didn't really have his feet set right so he wavered slightly. "Does that help somehow?"

She let out a soft huff of laughter, and he felt her arms circle around his waist to balance him. "That's for when you're trying to achieve balance."

It was a credit to his long training as a spy that he didn't laugh at the absurdity of that. "What are we trying to do here?"

"Let's just focus on connection for now," she said, pressing in close. Her chest rested into the curve of his back so that he could feel every breath she took. "Let me help. For now, just concentrate."

That suddenly became a much taller order than it had been a minute ago, as her close proximity sent a thrill from his spine straight down to his nether regions. He pursed his lips, trying to focus on everything but the feel of her breath tickling against his ear, and the way her palms slid across his arms as she readjusted his stance.

"Just focus on breathing," her words were barely a whisper, but sent a shiver through him all the same, "and open your mind to what you feel."

He nodded ever so slightly, knowing with her close proximity she'd feel the affirmative. Instead of the environment around him, he turned his attention to the person with him. He decided to just focus on the deep, calming breaths she took in, unconsciously mimicking her actions until they almost breathed in and out as one. He focused on the feeling of her palm pressed into his, on the light breaths puffing against his neck. He focused on the way she molded against him perfectly, like two halves of one whole.

And as he focused on that, perhaps it was just his imagination, but for just the briefest moments, despite the fact that he had his eyes closed he could have sworn that he saw the most brilliant burst of light, like every sunrise he had ever seen had been rolled up into one beautiful kaleidoscope of sensation. He grasped onto that moment, trying to stretch it out as long as humanly possible, not wanting to let the warmth and light fade.

He wasn't sure how long it was, but at some point he opened his eyes, feeling her weight press into him from behind, as if she was taking a rest after a particularly taxing kata. He gently took a hold of her hands, intertwining their fingers together as she let her head rest against him, feeling the dotting of perspiration on her forehead as it rested against the sensitive skin on the back of his neck.

It felt wrong somehow to break the silence, but the fleeting sensation of that brilliance he'd experienced hadn't quite faded away. "Is it always like that?"

"No." He felt the smile press into one of his shoulder blades. "I... may have been trying a little too hard to help."

"I like your help."

The corners of her lips drew up into what he assumed must have been a beatific expression. "Did you feel something other than dirt?"

He had no idea if it had been wishful thinking, his imagination, or something else entirely, but that brief moment was burned into the back of his mind. "I think so."

Her lips twitched against his neck, as if she were trying to suppress a wider smile. "Good."

He gently readjusted his position so that they were facing each other, and her cheek once again rested against his chest, and he had looped his arms under hers so he could take her weight on. He had a feeling she wasn't so much tired as just settling into the moment, but he didn't mind it one bit.

"Thank you," he wanted to say for what, but those words didn't quite form. How could a blind man describe a sunrise to an artist? Anything he could say wouldn't do justice to the tight ball of feeling in his chest.

She nodded quietly, as if she knew those words anyway, without him needing to say them. "Sometimes I wish we had more moments like this. Is that selfish?"

"No." The response was immediate, instinctual. She tucked her head under his chin, the soft hairs that had escaped her ponytail tickling against his sternum, and the tightness in his chest eased some. "There has to be something in between all the action."

"I thought you lived for that."

"Used to." He took in a deep breath, feeling the weight of her chest press against his, and then let it out. "Didn't have the moments in between like I do now."

Her head rustled against his chest, as if she was nodding ever-so-slightly. "Me neither... at least not quite in the same way."

Theron wondered exactly what downtime had looked like with her and the previous crew of the Defender. At least before they had been scattered amongst the stars after her disappearance and Zakuul's conquest of the galaxy. Was the companionship as quiet and calm as they shared now, or had it been more boisterous and lively? But perhaps, he realized, that time her life was something unique. Her old crew had made its mark on her just as Nagani Zho left his on Theron.

His fingers found a bare patch of skin between her vestments, feeling the tight coiling of the muscles beneath, and gently kneaded the knots there. That time before Zakuul, before all of this, that was something he couldn't replicate, no matter how much he wanted to try and give her back something of what she had lost. All he could do was offer was what he could in the now.

"I get it, though."

"Hmm?"

"Needing a break," he said quietly. "The galaxy seems to be throwing a lot our way."

"A Jedi doesn't—"

He cut off the familiar retort before she could even get into her normal stride. "There's nothing wrong with needing a little time to yourself."

She didn't respond, but he felt the annoyed exhale of breath at being interrupted.

"I've got your back, you know that right?"

"Of course." The reply came out fond, if a little exasperated. As if he had been asking if she needed oxygen to breath.

"Then if you need a few minutes, a few hours, a few days... hell, weeks or months, just let me know. I'll make it happen."

"Theron..."

"No, I told you I'd take care of things, I meant that. If you need a break from the responsibility, the Alliance, even me, just say so. I've got you covered. No questions asked."

"Why would I need a break from you?"

"I don't know," he said as lightly as he could manage, "but... I'd hate for you to feel like you need to—disappear—I mean, drop off the radar for any reason. Lana and I can hold down the fort for a little while if you need a breather."

She pushed away from where she had been reclining against him, the soft pressure of her pushing her hand into his chest pulling his attention down to her searching gaze. "I'm not going to just leave you holding the bag on your own."

"Hey, I can handle things on my own," he met her gaze evenly, "at least I can if I know you're all right."

Her eyes darted from his, searching out a distant point beyond his shoulder. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"I know," he ran his fingers through the bangs flopping on her forehead, "and I try not to. It's... I just got you back."

"I don't plan on going anywhere."

He managed the barest ghost of a smile for her. "Offer still stands, despite that. Just... please let me know if you need a little time?"

He hated the pleading note in his tone, but it was impossible to keep out completely. Just like it was impossible to describe that brief moment they'd shared, it was as equally difficult to communicate the suffocating feeling that overtook him when he couldn't confirm that she was still here, still real. He wasn't even sure it was fair for him to let her know that. So he held it in, hoping he could convey some small measure of what he was feeling.

One of her hands cupped his cheek, pulling his focus down to those wide blue eyes. "I will. I promise."

He should have said something suave, something that would have distracted her from how close she had managed to dig in with that simple acknowledgement. But that was as impossible as finding the words that often escaped him. So instead, he just dipped down to capture her lips again in an attempt to communicate what he couldn't say.

And as brief as it was, he could almost have sworn he'd found another sunrise in that small moment.

#swtor fanfiction #fanfic #theron shan x jedi knight #Theron Shan #Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #oc: greyias highwind #swtor #greyfic

[akiwisfics]

In the Middle Chapter 5

Notes: Cross-posted from AO3. If people get annoyed by this, please savior “kiwi crossposts” to save your eyes.

Description:  The war's over, but the mess is still left behind. Kasumi finds herself among the wreckage with unexpected companions and questions that seem almost impossible to answer for. Life keeps moving forward, however, and the surprises it leaves behind aren't always pleasant ones.

Pairings: KasumixSha’ira

--

She liked parties.

It was sorta thrilling, watching how everyone around her unwound after a few glasses, let their voices grow a little louder, their emotions a little wilder. She was usually gifted with looser tongues that would slur something valuable-- whether a good tip for a heist or just a juicy story she could mull over or humorously share later. It was that little bit of madness and companionship that both unified and ripped people away from each other.

The party in Shepard's apartment hadn't been so different, though Kasumi had never been accustomed in sharing in the festivities. 'Sharing' being a very loose term for it, if her own observations in how parties were supposed to be were any indication. When she was still a little foolish, still more green than master, she had been more open with her enjoyment, letting herself get thrown in the music and the drinking, and the dark, slippery temptation with it. But mistakes were easily sown in that, so even with a few drinks in her stomach, it was easier to watch from... afar. Sorta afar. Mostly just the cloak.

Now though, her stomach was starting to churn into an ugly build-up of acid and god knows what else, and there was something sour burning the back of her throat, promising a more restless night once a bit too many drinks were passed, and people were a little too dead to the world to be entertaining.

She laid on her stomach against the soft sheets and mattress of Shepard's bed, trying to absorb its warmth so it could embrace her tightly and perhaps then, sleep would come to her. Another roll of her stomach promised little in that endeavor, though perhaps, Shepard wouldn't be pressed to move her either.

In fact, there was a small patter of footsteps, haphazardly followed by a thump against the doorframe. The stench of alcohol and whatever Vega was cooking in the kitchen was thick enough to taste-- bitter, spicy? something else with it, but nothing appetizing. Something else had been mixed in her drink. Dairy? Why now?

She didn't bother to look at the visitor with the new turning of her stomach.

"Kas~, don't tell me you're the first out tonight," Shepard whined, drawn out before she slumped on the mattress beside her, just an inch or so away. She wiggled a moment before setting her chin on her palms and presenting a stern pout to Kasumi. "I know you're better than that."

She shut her eyes tightly and groaned meekly into the sheets.

"Don't give me that!"

"Get a better bartender next time."

"What? Like you? Your drinks were too weak."

Kasumi huffed. "I could've given you ryncol, and you would've complained, Shep."

"Okay, well, maybe." A brief pause then, introspective if Shepard had the capacity for it at the moment. She was a little doubtful of it, but still, her face had drawn into itself, something frustrated and pensive before she sank fully in the mattress with a long, drawn out sigh. "There is one thing you have over Vega."

"The ability to break into a casino without some double-agent bumbling through it?"

"You tell better stories," she gave her a silly smile, even though the hushed voice gave away all the exhaustion that seemed to just come with the act of laying down-- traces of a yawn being pushed back. "You're not afraid to talk yourself down a little bit for the sake of a good time-- or to admit when you lost."

"I think I told you a little too much honestly."

She laughed and turned her head to face her, excitement brimming in her eyes. "Can you tell me one now? Just for old times."

"How long has it been?"

"Mmm. Seven mo-- no eight. Or was it nine?"

"The war seems to stretch forever, huh?"

She waved a finger, tsking with a stern frown. It looked even more ridiculous with the flush on her cheeks. "No, no, we're not talking about that. This is my one night. One. Night. That I don't have to think about that fucking work. So tell me a story."

There were a hundred ones that they shared between each other, some with excitement and thrill, laughter between each other, other days more with grief. A lot of grief. Maybe for tonight, they could go with something in between.

"You wanna know how my eyes got so messed up?"

"They're messed up?" Shepard glanced back with the bright scarlet eyes, the glow something weird and unfamiliar, but still familiar with the way she looked in the mirror sometimes to see the glint of something amber. The laughter was so joyous that followed though, removing some tension that had came with the question. "So. I'm guessing a ship didn't blow up you and you didn't die first?"

"No. Not nearly as dramatic. Sorry about that."

"But interesting?"

She chuckled. "Please, Shepard. I'm one of the best storytellers in this galaxy."

--

The rain had cleared, but the clouds remained grey, misty and dreary. Still, Kasumi felt... well. It wasn't often when she slept so well, felt a peace and quiet settle inside of her from the moment she woke up. Usually there was an odor of ash and metallic, something that triggers just enough to chase sleep away-- or a thought that would possess her, only leaving when it reached its end, usually in the form of an invention or a modification. Always something to do, to work.

But no. A good memory instead-- one of the last she had before Earth. She didn't know what having a family really meant, but the Normandy. The Normandy had been close, still is. Some of them were still out there. As distant as she felt, Shepard wasn't the only person she could trust on board. It would be harder to reach out, but she-- she was in control of that. They had no way to reach her, but she can. It was the nice thing about it all. Control.

She stepped out, lazy and still a little groggy, black hair brushed back. Maybe the drinks between them had facilitated it all, or the ease of the conversation from the night before had been enough to distract her.

The streets felt cool on her bare feet, still a little damp from the night before and the morning dew, but it was really the best feeling. Even as a little girl, more servant than human, the earth against her feet was always a welcome comfort. Back then though, it had been in caverns that held the promise of fortune. Which meant hard, sharp stones and the bits of metals from tools that were left behind in their broken state. She still had little nicks and scars, though far too many and far too faded to count now at 28.

The streets of London weren't so different, though at least, they had made some attempt to clear away the glass and debris around their campsite, making it slightly less hazardous to do so. Slightly. She doubted that if a shard of glass had been stuck at the bottom of her foot, she would feel it until hours later. On her feet too much.

There was a street corner not far from her tent, still with a little sign on it-- though the metal was so charred and nearly off the pole that reading it was impossible. Just barely a hint of green left. It wasn't a bad place to sit down and watch the streets for a little while, just before everyone would meander their way through the morning routine, and sometimes, eventually, to breakfast. It was still always easier to watch rather than actively participate, but her presence was there, maybe felt, and if they wanted her, they likely knew how to find her at this point.

The red salarian was relaxed, seated with his back against the street sign with a cigarette between his lips. His eyelids had drooped, still showed the sleep in his eyes if whatever little she could study with the amphibious glare in it. Now that she got a good look at him, he did look a little familiar. The web of scars across his face was certainly unique and he red tinge of his smooth skin was all too reminiscent of old rivals. He glanced over with her arrival though, and gave the best grin he could with it still in his mouth.

"So the recluse reaches out, huh?"

"I remember you. Sorta."

The salarian laughed before offering the pack of cigarettes to her, something she very quickly declined with the wave of her hand. Kinda needed her lungs. Good for cardio and all that. "We were on different parts of the project, I think. But I saw you. Even helped me out a couple of times."

"Did I?"

"Don't tell me you don't remember meeting the STG at some point."

Sure, openly once or twice. Usually in whatever clothes that had convinced the Alliance to allow her near all of the expensive and valuable stuff. "... You don't seem the type. No offense."

He took another drag before shrugging. "I was a medic."

"Then...," she struggled for a second before waving to the cigarette. "… Is that really a, uh, wise choice?”

“Eh. It's that whole cycle thing. I'll just make it up the next life. Your folks have that too right?”

“Sorry?”

“You know,” he waved in some direction, eyes far off to the distance. “Way over there. Where your name comes from?”

“The Japanese?”

“That's the word! Them.”

Why did she think socializing was a good idea? The heritage was a nice cover if anything else, or a set up for a flirty remark or two, but the culture was far removed from her mind, and by the state of the country, most everyone else's. Get the buildings back up first, and maybe then, she wouldn't have to be the only person worried about the cultural side of it. “I'd have no idea,” she said simply. “I'm not from there.”

“Oh.” He flushed slightly, a first for him. Guilt wasn't something that came across his mind often, she thought. “When you came with us, most of us just sorta assumed-- where are you from then? Here?”

“You like telling stories, Sal?”

“Sure.”

She smiled. “Make up a good one for me. We'll see after that.”

He scowled, and to her disappointment, wasn't so easily dissuaded. “No fair. I get that the Consort has her... talents, but--”

“You're gonna stop there.”

“Believe me, we've noticed,” his voice dipped low, mischievous, only sparing her a moment as he put out his cigarette. “You humans always have very tell-tale signs when... the night before was nice.” He grinned and stuck a tongue out. It took far too much self-control for Kasumi not to yank him with it. “How is she? You hear the rumors, but that. Well, I'm sure you know your basic salarian biology.”

“I think you've demonstrated your point well enough.” The voice came from behind her, but Kasumi didn't bother to look back, only tried to hide the satisfaction that came in Sal being caught, and fortunately, the conversation's interruption. Sha'ira weaved between them with grace and a well manner that was near regal in quality-- standing straight, shoulders back, hands folded between her. This was a steely demeanor that wasn't so familiar to her, and that in itself was a welcome treat. “Before anymore rumors start up, perhaps you can explain to the group that my intentions here are and will remain platonic.”

“Uh, Consort...”

“Please.”

He gave a small nod before retreating closer to the circle of tents, rubbing one of his horns in furrowed though. Kasumi sighed, slumping into the spot that was now vacant. “Thank you.”

Sha'ira's smile was thin, expression laden with heavier thoughts than she seemed to be willing to share. “Those rumors are just as damaging for me as they are for you,” she glanced back carefully, possibly to ensure their privacy in the matter before seating herself beside her. “I have had plenty enough with slander to last me, I think.”

She probed. Just a little. “Is that why you want to quit?”

“Among other things.”

“Like what?”

She stayed quiet for a long moment, refusing to meet her eye. It stretched out, tension rising the longer it stayed between them. Just as she had given up on an answer though, Sha'ira's jaw clenched. “Tell me. Have you ever thought of stopping?”

“Once.” There wasn't any sense in lying about it. Whatever consequences that would come from the situation had with Khalisah's blackmail. No details, but the skeleton. The skeleton always worked. “I forgot who I was, so I tried looking elsewhere. … That sorta life's not really for me.” It was boring. She was boring. And empty. The mystique and fun that came with being a thief was all she really knew, if it ever came down to it. Even now, she wouldn't even know where to start in trying to be something else and having it stick.

Sha'ira chuckled dryly. “I suppose in your position, it would be difficult even if you wanted to.”

“Honestly, could you do anything else?”

“I don't know.” Kasumi wasn't expecting the honest answer, but the way she seemed to withdraw as it escaped; she knew it couldn't be any less than the truth. “But I would like to give it a try, at least once. … If we become so wrapped up in what we do, I am not so sure we know who we are without it. Something tells me you already knew that though.”

She did. In other ways, some of it taken from her, other parts just cut away because it was inconvenient. However, she didn't know if this was the same sort of thing. Whatever reputation she gained that could be damaging, well that. That was good for her. It kept people from from following when they felt like it. “... Do we really need to be anything more than what we do?”

“If we weren't, you would be dead, Ms. Goto.”

That had been true enough. Their conversation from the night before was still fresh in her mind, and in a way, she ha been sorta honored by the idea of someone trying to get to know her underneath, but that was a rarely touched part of her, something that she had chosen to give little thought to herself. It was better that way for everyone, had been. Maybe this wasn't something she could answer for-- but lying always worked too.

She could see the way she looked at her always so very often. It should've been patronizing, thoughts and opinions that not long before would've been bitterly fought against. Just that idea that someone could look at her with a knowing, yet gentle gaze. Promise was rarely held in someone that thought they knew their answers already, but the moment Sha'ira spoke, she couldn't discern the truth from the lies. Khalisah would call her a snake, but Kasumi couldn't help seeing opportunity in it. She did always like her games.

She was about to come up with a response, something cool and to keep the banter going, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see the priest shambling up to them, a hollowed expression adorning his face. Well, more despaired than usual. Sha'ira had followed her glance, and with a well-hidden sigh, stood to greet him. “I suppose we'll have to postpone this for later, Ms. Maeda.”

“It wasn't a conversation you wanted anyway.”

She looked back with a well-worn smile, one that did nothing to hide the exhaustion that she knew had been buried since they first touched down to London. It seemed so odd to feel for her in that moment, enough so where she almost had to wonder that the brief flash of honesty had been more for Kasumi's benefit than hers. It vanished quickly though, just as soon as the priest was within earshot. “Priest Darshan, I wasn't expecting a visit from you today. I would've waited closer to camp.”

“Ah...” He glanced Kasumi's way before ducking his eyes and giving a quick bow to both of them. A sign of humility from a priest? Those that she met would've never humbled themselves so quickly. There was a story behind him. She could look into it later maybe, if she could stomach speaking to him again longer than five minutes. “I had other plans today myself, but it seems we have a … a problem.”

“Really?”

He gulped. “Katul has yet to return to camp.”

“What? From last night?”

The priest nodded.

That was odd. That was the turian widow, eh, probably. That wasn't really in his nature, not when they worked together. Usually, he was the last one to come home during the day, and at times, she was long already secluded in her tent by the time he would return, listening to his heavy footsteps against the mud and asphalt as he made a pass around the campsite before finally retreating to his own cot in the dark hours of the early morning. He was one of the first to wake up as well, and usually, far out of sight before Kasumi could even become aware of him. … Well. After they finished the communications tower anyway.

“Are you sure you just didn't miss him or something?” Kasumi spoke up, though she wouldn't stand, not yet.

“He usually checks in with Marin when he comes back. He hasn't yet.” The... pilot maybe? Maybe she should've learned a couple of names before this whole mess started. She could see the taut lines of his frown though, and the way he seemed to fumble with his hands. Sha'ira as well seemed perturbed, but their conversation wasn't too optimistic in itself.

“Have the rest of the group been informed?” Sha'ira asked.

“You two and Sal were the last to be told.”

“Split the group up and search around the campsite. We don't need to assume the worst yet, so please, try to make sure that the rest don't panic in the meantime.” She looked back to Kasumi for just a brief second. “I will search with Ms. Maeda. If you get the chance, ask Marin to take the shuttle to search as well.”

“Yes, ma'am.” And off he went, scurrying back to the circle of tents. They let the silence sink in for a moment before it was finally broke with a long low sigh that escaped Sha'ira.

“Sounds like you're boss now.”

She shrugged, shoulders heavy. “I am not sure this is a better role or worse.”

“No one gets better being boss, believe me. When something goes wrong, they're going to be looking at you.” She'd seen it plenty of times with Shepard, perhaps too many times. All of those expected and hopeful looks given to her, the idea of her just fixing everything without any problems or anything. And here they were, sitting among trash and dirt, and their hero was very dead somewhere in the trash and dirt.

Sha'ira laughed before turning on her heel and offering her hand to Kasumi. “Either way, my actions will always be judged. Perhaps it suits me after all.”

“Bitterness rarely suits you, Consort.”

“That rarely suits anyone, Ms. Goto.” Still, something about it eased both of them, she thought-- just that change in the name. Their earlier conversations were far from being finished, but for now, it was easier to simply set aside. Kasumi had never been one to dig too far in personal wounds anyway, because it invited others to do the same to her, and that, that was never fun. “I'll leave you to finish getting ready. Could you meet me by my tent?”

“Just need to make a call.”

“The turian again?”

She paused. “I was wondering if you heard that. He's a... a good man. Promise.”

“I wouldn't worry,” the smile she gave was quiet, soft around the edges. “I covered because I trust you. Though I believe you are intelligent enough to avoid instigating STG again.”

Sometimes she didn't think so. In any case, she was having second thoughts about having those programs run automatically like that, but the STG was always fun to use, whether as a source of information or a challenge. There weren't many places for her to learn still, not when she rested so far at the top. She kept her thoughts quiet though. Sha'ira had been too much of a gifted horse for her to look it in the mouth for the sake of it. Instead, they parted ways.

Her tent wasn't a bad sight, sure, but her mornings were hers. It was one of the few things that remained from her old introverted habits. As cheesy and corny as it was, the way her morning shaped up could change how the rest of the day went. Her mind, emotions, ideas ready for her, and the time she had for herself to simply... be. As alone as she was in most days, she still needed to act a certain way, be a certain person, or death would be calling her faster than she would have to time to change it. That was mostly her, yes, but to have the morning to be and recognize all of her was something to be cherished.

She didn't have that here. It wasn't unlike having 11 other roommates, or hm, dorm-mates perhaps? Even Sha'ira was more of a stranger than the few friends she had made over the years. A cover for a few months, and that thought made it easier. Still though... it would be nice to have a little more space.

She ducked inside the tent, breathing a heavy sigh, and resisted the urge to fall flat on the cot, as tempting as napping the rest of the morning could be. The QEC was easy to find underneath her pillowcase. It just sucked to make the call at all. If there was someone that could reach out farther than they could, solve this little issue a little faster, then she supposed approaching Khalisah wasn't the worst idea to have. Disguise it as a friendly warning and perhaps, she wouldn't try to use it against her. That would be nice.

Khalisah answered faster than she thought. Her demeanor was relaxed, but occupied with a pensive frown. It didn't surprise her to see that she was already primed and dressed like any other time they had met. She stayed professional at least. “Morning,” Kasumi greeted with a sideways smile.

“I didn't think you'd miss me so fast, Ms. Goto. I could spare five minutes to insult you.”

“Are you doing anything other than sitting on your ass all day and looking at that camera?”

“If you had my spot, you wouldn't move either. Spying is always better in style.” That she would have to agree with, but still Kasumi stuffed down her snort. She wasn't about to give Khalisah the satisfaction of it, not yet. “So seeing as there isn't a bullet hole in your head, I can guess the rest of yesterday went fine?”

“Excluding the whole blackmail business? Sure.” She waved it off. Deflection was a manner that was habitual for her. “Not why I'm calling though.”

“I'm sure it's important.”

“One of our group has gone missing.”

“So the idiot got lost.”

“It could be a tad more complicated. If it is, I thought you'd might like the heads up. Just in case they notice a particularly bitchy journalist hanging around.” Humor. Always a good tool to keep people from thinking too much about it. She was smart enough to know that it was more than the warning for her call, but the warning painted the real question a little better. As laughably false it really was.

“The backhanded insults really show you care, you know.”

“I try.”

“And?”

She sighed. “The camera might be a little useful.”

“I'm surprised you don't have something similar already.”

“Confiscated, remember? You recorded the whole damn thing.”

“... I suppose I can keep a look out.” Oh finally. She was a little surprised by how easily Khalisah caved in to the request, but there was a heart in there somewhere, she guessed. It was just going to take a little digging to find. “You think he reached this far?”

“I have no idea, but you know, just in case.”

Khalisah sighed, and massaged a temple before abruptly switching the QEC off. Whether it was to do what she wanted hadn't mattered too much, she guessed, but the gesture had been made. It still... it wasn't like the turian widow. It wasn't like they talked every day, but something kept him chained to their group, and there was the debt they all shared. If something had happened to him... now that would make the trip interesting, but nowhere near what she wanted for it. Murder investigations were more like Omega's deal, and there wasn't much use, killing some worker out in the middle of nowhere like this.

The sky was clearing up too. The sun would greet them later in the day, and perhaps with luck, an easier way to spot those dark plates among the rubble. She hoped for the voice that would return their greetings.

---

“You forgot who you were once?”

She kept an eye on the ring of clouds above them, white and fluffy-- as if the earlier dreariness never existed in the first place. The concrete had a wet, dew smell stuck to it, leaving darkened stains against the brick. She caught Sha'ira stumbling once or twice through their walking, unused to the changes in elevation through their path. If she looked hard enough, she could argue easily that those flats were hardly appropriate for a trip like this, but there was something to admire about her adamant professionalism. It's not like she could say anything though. Traversing difficult ground was just as natural as walking by itself. She would slip through the shadows, no matter how high or low, no matter how comfortable it could or would be.

The sun was harsher than she remembered. Each one felt different depending on the system, but Earth's sun seemed so harsh. Perhaps she was just a little sensitive to it. Working in the mines had always been rough with little water for comfort, but it was so worse when she was working outside. She had passed out once, back when she was... 11 years? 12? It was hard to say. Had some kind of fever too. Someone had prayed for her, poured water. The voice was heavy and gruff like a batarian's, but not green boots. Kasumi wondered who that was.

“Ms. Goto?”

“Once, yeah.”

“Are you worried?”

She wasn't sure if she wanted to answer at first. It was easy to shrug things off if Kasumi thought of better things, like the weather, and the way there were blades of grass growing between blocks. Life was easier to see in the small corners. “A little,” she admitted. “It doesn't seem right.”

“Out of everyone I thought that would do this, he was on the bottom of the list,” she hummed in thought before another misstep. She barely caught herself that time.

“And me at the top?”

“Nora.”

“Uh?”

She chuckled. “The drell. You should make a habit of learning their names, you know. It'll give you less trouble.” The smile she passed over to her was sweet, and made her seem younger than she really was. Maybe both of them in a way. “She has a certain... eeriness to her. I trust your self-control. I'm not sure I trust hers.”

“So she's offered you a bird?”

Sha'ira blanched. “Every morning... where is she getting those?”

She shrugged. “I imagine she was in ops back during the war. They're all a little weird like that.” Those from the Terminus Systems anyway. They all developed little habits that helped them survive their careers, and if not, they were dead long before Kasumi could ever be aware of them. And she always kept an eye for that sort of thing, see who could compete with her, who could become an issue. Not much trouble since Quarn though.

“So do you put yourself in that category?”

“Might as well. I might get less approval, but it's all the same in principal.”

“I imagine it'd be nice to get the government funding though.”

“You find investors.”

“With someone at your rank, I'm surprised you would need one.”

She studied her. “Oh, so you're looking for the person behind this? You're in for a disappointment: I'm single.” Good deflection, one to make things awkward if pursued. Kiera wasn't a fun topic, not something she wanted to talk about on a clear day like this, or to focus on finding their missing member. Thinking about it only brought anger, and questions about why she was really on Earth in the first place.

“Quite a shame.”

“What makes you say that?”

Sha'ira looked away, quickly and quietly. “When you have to hide so much of yourself every day, it can help to have someone you can be honest with.”

“You don't exactly either, you know.”

She laughed quietly. “That's true. But when you forgot who you were, do you think you were more honest or less?”

“Dunno.” There was less pressure there to seem bigger than who she was, but in a way, it was just another role that she had to play with. An escaped slave, or someone that seemed a tad more normal, put together than she really was. The pavement crunched under the sole of her shoes as the path sloped upward, a reaper-made hill in the middle of the small neighborhood street. The buildings were more intact than she thought they would be around here, only hollowed out by the wear and tear of war. She hadn't gone past the crest of the hill yet, but she had focused on repairing the communications tower for most of the week. It would be nice to explore a little, but another day, when there wasn't much else to think about. “I did bartend for a while,” she admitted after a moment.

“I bet you'd be a great one.”

“I hated it honestly.” Well, only a little. “I don't think I could ever do what you're doing. Just listening to customers there drove me nuts.” Now small parties? That was different. When she was with Shepard, that was easy, because if anything else, Shepard was easy. Give her a few ryncols, and she was just happy as a clam. Just needed to tell a few stories in between was all.

“Oh, I think you could do better than you know.” She raised a brow with a small, almost cheeky smile. “Silence can speak better than any word. Just need the right mood.”

“I usually stumble on those. If I'm not trying to get what I want anyway.”

“You have far less chances than I do, I suppose.”

There wasn't much point behind it. It was easier to observe and let people talk for her, but... she got it in a way. Someone was going to react differently in a high-class party than they would be meeting in a back-end alley within the depths of Omega. She looked for people in different places for different sorts of information. But to involve herself personally in the conversation meant giving information that she wasn't willing to let go. Lying helped with that certainly, but she never found a verbal game as helpful as just sitting and waiting. Someone else almost always saved her the trouble.

Now this was... Verbal sparring was a bit too serious of a phrase, as if she was looking to win a game-- though she sorta was with Khalisah, but Sha'ira had been different. Not quite socializing, but something close to it. The idea of a friendship wasn't undesirable, but there was a slow-moving waltz between them between the little gives and deflections. She just wasn't sure who was leading. Though sometimes, and only sometimes, it wasn't so bad just swaying along with the rhythm.

Over the hill wasn't so different from the blocks that they had wandered through before, except Kasumi could at least note that it seemed more put together than the other streets. A reaper corpse blocked the street from across, nearly completely demolishing the buildings that served as its bed. While the left building was impossible to slip inside, the right... there was something oddly colorful about it, over by an outstretched claw.

“What is that?”

Sha'ira squinted for a moment. “I admit, I haven't been this far out myself. … Who knows? Maybe he'll be over there.”

She laughed. “I don't think we need an excuse for it, sweet as it is.” Anything colorful that stood out in a city like this was well worth checking out. And truly there was a marvelous series of colors against the walls, reds, blues, oranges, yellows. She wasn't so idealistic as to think that some street art survived this whole mess, but still maybe something intimate-- something to remind her that life was there. In that sense, Kasumi couldn't help how her pace quickened to the sight, to so quickly want to see something that was familiar to her, more akin to her nature.

What awaited them was so much more intimate than she expected. The lines of colors were names, dates that followed one another. The first, at the top of the wall was from an Alliance soldier, sergeant, dated two weeks after the reapers touched down London, and then it followed afterward of different names, different races of not just humans, but every sort in the galaxy. She traced a delicate finger against the lettering as it went down the wall, mouthing each new name that she copied. A sign of life here-- just as she had been hoping for, but not just life, but their survival through the impossible. Was it a checkpoint for others? Just a small thought left behind to let people know they weren't alone? The latter seemed likely as the names continued past the actual war.

A name stopped her, about midway through. Nobuo Kurosawa. It didn't seem likely, but there it was, sometime back in February. Ah, for another day perhaps. She felt the eyes watching her, and could imagine the easy, slow content look that would spread on Sha'ira's face.

“Find something you like?”

She stood, brushing off her pants. She could still smell the chalk, and just that small simple reminder could almost make her forget what surrounded it, and what she was actually doing out there. “If only I could take it with me, but no... it should stay here.”

“So the rumors didn't exaggerate your sentimentality with art.” She stepped up beside her, arms behind her back with a pleased look in her eyes. “I'm a little relieved to know this.”

If she had the dignity, she probably would've blushed. Probably. Instead, she grinned. “Do you mind taking a picture with it? Ah... Souvenir.”

She laughed before standing by the edge of the graffiti wall. “You don't need to make excuses, Ms. Goto. I'm honored.” Almost immediately she straightened into the image of professionalism with her hands folded in front of her and a thin stoic smile replaced the earlier teasing. She took a few steps back, making sure that all of the names were in frame but still legible, while Sha'ira was still visible in it too. She was dressed plainly for today, but that in itself was fitting for the image. She couldn't ask for it any other way, though even as the photo was finished, it was easy to say that there was just a way that Sha'ira carried herself that made it apparent that she was... different. Perhaps she stood a little straighter, or the way she looked in the camera. When it came down to it, there were parts of themselves they could never fully hush away.

Her hips swayed just slightly as she walked over, the smile returned in full force. “I suppose it would be too much to return the favor later?”

“Maybe not. You'll have to charm me a little first~”

She laughed breathlessly, eyes wide. “That's quite the challenge, but... I think I could manage it. I know it'll be worth it.”

“All this over a photo? I'm impressed.”

“And how many of those exists, hm?”

“Blackmail seems unlike you.” Static filled her ear, and Kasumi quickly held a finger up to her before pressing against the earpiece. She could make a few good guesses on who it was. “Tell me it's good news.”

“I don't know about good.” Khalisah. Immediately, she glanced up to see if she could spot the camera. “But I found someone.”

“Turian?”

“Yeah. She's not moving any.”

Her brow furrowed briefly. “She?”

“Oh, well. Have another surprise, I guess. Look up?”

She spotted it, maybe about five or so blocks away. It hovered there aimlessly circling one particular area behind the crushed building. “How the hell did they get over there?”

“I'm sure you can figure it out, but if you don't mind--” There was a brief pause, then a shudder, one that she could tell the journalist was doing her best to hide. Oh, so there was a weakness in there, somewhere. “... This... This is not really my thing.” If she wasn't moving, Kasumi could guess easily what she was referring to. It wasn't good news, and it wasn't their guy, but she wasn't bad enough to just leave someone lying there. Who knows. Maybe one of their group members got trapped hunting for the other missing guy. It wasn't impossible, though she hoped the crushed building in front of them wasn't a precursor to more that surrounded the place. There were a few old skyscrapers that she thought would be impossible to rebuild in this mess.

She turned off the mic and looked back to Sha'ira, who had waited patiently during the exchange, the earlier light mood gone. She looked heavy, unmasked and showing troubles that likely awaited both of them for whatever was in store. “A friend of yours?”

“Something like that.”

“They found something then?”

With a sigh, Kasumi began to lead both of them. Too much like business, and she had been hoping to get away from that for a while. This on its own made it difficult to leave the graffiti wall, as if saying farewell to a good, old friend. At least she could hold onto the reminder that the small signs like those were what made the trip so worth it. She couldn't blame gems being left behind, but the personal touches and stories-- those were the ones that needed to be kept and cherished. Not stupidity. Not being lost in a goddamn city and having the entire group go looking for you.

They rounded the corner of the crushed building, shimmying between a decrepit alley and the head of the reaper. As cold as the metal about it had been, just being near those things stung, and reminded her of old voices and recordings, and how even a dead god could still change the mind so gradually, so unassumingly that no one would notice until it was far too late to do anything about it. She hated those things, and perhaps she would for the rest of her life.

Once they reached the tip of the reaper, the buildings hollowed out, only leaving shambles of concrete for them to stumble over. It reminded her more of junkyard piles she'd see on old Earth vids sometimes with the way it seemed so haphazardly put together, but buried in the slabs, there might be a treasure in there. Certainly damaged by the disuse, but she wasn't unfamiliar with restoration-- a skill she had picked up through the early years of her career. Art wasn't always with responsible owners, and more often than it should, she spent time grieving for a masterpiece that was beyond saving. That was the true need for investors. Where her arm ended, another could reach out and take up where she left off.

“You seem tense.” Sha'ira's voice was distant, but after a good mental shake, she steeled herself.

“Just wondering why they came over here.”

“... It would be a dangerous place for someone accident-prone. Perhaps that was their train of thought.”

No. She still didn't like it. This was a trap waiting to happen, but no one had seemed like the type from their group. Kasumi wasn't stupid, and neither was Sha'ira. If she hadn't done some kind of background check before joining this thing, the consort sure as hell would've. A lot of them were weird, a little creepy, but not the randomly mass kill-y sort of way. So that left someone stupid to get themselves hurt and the salarian seemed like the only one dumb enough for that.

The silence was suffocating, but that could've been more smoke somewhere, making London a permanent home for its stench. She hated fire. It was a niggling stupid thing to latch onto, but god it drove her nuts to see how other people-- the vorcha mercenaries in particular!-- seem to think it was the best solution to their problems. Fire was stubborn, nigh uncontrollable, and engulfed anything and everything. Not suitable for a delicate job like being a thief-- explosives included. Sure, there was a personal bitterness involved in it, but just, ugh.

Eventually they made it past the large clearing to a small row of more rectangular buildings (housing projects maybe, old ones; far too outdated), and she noted, just barely, a red light stretching from one end of the alleyway to the other. She slowed to a stop, scowl forming on her face. Sha'ira hadn't. She couldn't blame her. It was very close to the ground, designed as some sort of trip wire.

It was done without thinking. Just a step too close in those fine heels, and she heard the clicking of a proximity mine. She didn't say anything, just lunged forward and yanked Sha'ira's dress sleeve. She saw just enough of Sha'ira being thrown against the concrete behind her before the beeping stopped, and her vision had been filled with dirt. It was enough to blow her back hard against another discarded slab. There was a sharp pain, not unfamiliar in the back of her head and chest with all she could smell and taste was just dirt and metal and smoke. Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear the calling, heels digging into the upturned soil.

Sha'ira cradled her face, but the crying of her name was too far away to reach her.

–

“So was it from some Robin Hood deed?”

She wasn't a hero. “Hardly.”

“Oh. I like those stories.” Shepard studied the ceiling above her, one that likely seemed a little unfamiliar to her too. “It reminds me that you hate titles sometimes too.”

“You like it when I seem bigger than I am.”

“So what happened?”

Chotha happened. He was an icy color with this strong, calculating look in his eyes. It was one of the first times she ever acted like someone she wasn't to get what she wanted. Be the friendliest bunch and the contacts and intel would naturally follow, or so she was told. It wasn't wrong, true, in that by the time she was caught, his organization had been more hers than his, but that too, like now, had been a collection of mistakes catching up to her. Show a little mercy and it always bit her in the ass somehow.

At least it had been easy to see it coming. As soon as she answered the dinner invitation and walked in, saw that turian sitting all chummy with him at the table, she knew she had been caught. It had been one of her favorite restaurants in Illium too, a swanky ritzy place that never asked too many questions and kept their head down. It maintained a very nice power structure that too often Kasumi wasn't on the top. Decadent with an emphasis on white décor and flora that was reminiscent of her few trips to Thessia, it had been cold comfort during the year she spent under Chotha's heel.

Out of the things she regretted inadvertently destroying, that was probably on the top, next to the prizes she had been forced to let go to survive. As soon as she sat down, the guns and the commandos came down. No one wanted to be alone in that sort of situation, not with all the guns pointing at them and just them.

Blowing the gas tank wasn't a bad idea, not when she had about five shots in her side already, and goddamnit if she was going to die so was it going to be that cloaca bastard. It was not accounting about the five other tanks that had been near it. And then, it wasn't so different-- that ringing in her ears and the sound of someone screaming, but there too came the intensity and the heat of the worst sun she could imagine. How it took so long to realize the screaming wasn't just them, but her too, and how even as the fire died down, everything was far too bright to see.

And of course, Chotha was still alive. Barely, but she had been told that he had managed to drag himself to safe company after the explosion hit both of them. And her eyes looked a little different now. And how that was how Kiera and Keiji met.

She followed Shepard's gaze to one specific spot in the ceiling, the drunken, dizzy smile waning to a taut grimace. “... I was stupid.”

#kiwi crossposts #mass effect #fanfiction #multichapter fics #kasumi goto