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second-chance-stray · 3 years

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RP Log: Rising takes Cravs out to skyfish. Egg fish.

Rising Lotus still looked a bit wobbly on her feet as they made their way through the aetheryte plaza. "Ugh, wasn't even a long airship trip..." she took a few deep breaths, trying to collect herself now that they were on solid land... more or less.

Cravendy Hound , in contrast, is in high spirits. She steps out onto the floating island with wonder lighting up her eyes, and she dashes out to an edge to get a better look. "Risin', ye got to work on yer sea legs...or air legs, in this case? Anyway, holy. Shit. What the 'ells keepin' all these rocks flyin' up?"

Rising Lotus: "Some sort of air crystals or somethin' I think? Some sort of aethery type of deal, someone explained it to me when I came here the first time but I don't remember the specifics." she shrugged ."It ain't too far from the spot...which is weird cause you think you could jus' cast out off any side."

Cravendy Hound shrugs. Magic didn't make much sense to her as well. She would follow Rising to whatever spot she was talking about, chatting along the way. "So, ye showed me that weird balloonfish last time, but what else could we drag up?"

Rising Lotus shrugged. "There's lots of different air fish. Some ain't really look like fish though, least not where I casted off here." she started down the way. "But I guess it counts as long as you hook it?"

Cravendy Hound: "I mean, if we're tossin' our 'ooks off a cliff, seems reasonable ye'd catch things other than fish. Like, birds, maybe." She pauses every once and awhile to observe the native flora and fauna around these parts, having never seen anything quite like it.

Rising Lotus approached the edge cautiously, looking out on the vast cloudscape. "Think over here was the place. I remember these weird plants." she plopped down, setting her tackle box between them. "Also careful when you go for some bait, it has a tendency to... uh float away."

Cravendy Hound: "What?" Cravs goes for Rising's tackle box and opens it, letting a couple of red balloon bugs drifting out. "What?!"

Rising Lotus was able to snag one out of the air as the others wafted away on the breeze. "See? You jus' wanna hook 'em..." she slid the hook into the body part instead of the balloon part, so that it still could float on her line. "Like this. So they can still float. You'll probably still pop a few though on your first try." She then casted her line out, line floating about with the stange bug hook on.

Cravendy Hound does her best to catch some of the bait before it flies away, but the wind blows away most of the escapees. Following Rising's lead, she stabs one a little too roughly through her hook. It's not floating at all anymore. That's not a good sign.

Cravendy Hound throws caution to the wind and decides, screw it. She casts off with the dead bug anyway. The chill really sets in once she begins waiting in earnest. "Eesh, it's colder than I thought up 'ere."

Rising Lotus snickered as Cravs had a deflated bait hanging from her line. "It's a little tricky, the ballon part is way bigger than the non-balloon part." she shrugged as she cast off anyway. "You think it'd be warmer since we're closer to the sun."

Cravendy Hound feels something tug on the other end and she pulls up a...weird? Purple circle? Cravs can't tell if this is a living creature or skytrash. "I think I caught this through pure luck."

Cravendy Hound: "Well, the tops of mountains tend to be cold? Maybe whatevers 'oldin' in all the warm air becomes thinner the 'igher ye go."

Rising Lotus reels in the same thing, unhooking it then tossing it away, watching it drift away. "Wonder what those things are, weird purple balls." she casted off again. " I got some other bait in there too, these giant bugs. But ya know, different from these bugs."

Cravendy Hound gives her Storm Core a confused squeeze and the thing begins to deflate, spitting out questionable liquid as it becomes as flat as a pancake. Cravs feels a tinge bad, decides to toss it off the cliff as if releasing a fish. The purple thing descends and disappears below the cloud layer. It's probably fine, she tells herself!

Cravendy Hound: "Other bait? Giant...bugs?" Cravs mutters apprehensively. "How big we talkin' 'ere."

Rising Lotus: "Well their body is small, but it has super long legs." she motioned to a small cage with Giant Crane Fly fluttering about. "...So...how did Riylli take... ya know.." she reeled in once more after asking, pulling in a small slug like thing with little wings, giving it a strange look. "...it's like some small angel thing."

Cravendy Hound peers over at the bait and lets out a breath of relief. "Oh, that's nothin', I thought ye were talkin' like, /big/ bugs. Like this bug." She spreads her hands a few ilms apart, invisibly outlining something the size of a loaf of bread.

Cravendy Hound: "She took it well enough...at least, don't think we 'ave to worry about 'er gabbin' to Momori anymore. I think it'd be good to keep 'er and Florus separated though, she still wants to tear 'im a new one."

Rising Lotus "Well yeah that was a no brainer...good though. I was worried 'bout her runnin' with Momori... an' her bein' as naive as she is at times...well..." she let out a sigh at the thought before reeling in another catch. It looks like a weird mass of cloth moving about. "Whoah.." she held her line up so she could look at its form better. Whiteloom

Cravendy Hound: "While most Eorzeans don't take kindly to Garleans, I think somethin' personal must've 'appened with Riylli to make 'er distrust 'em that much...and she's sheltered, too. Bein' in the woods for all yer life don't do the mind any good."

Cravendy Hound glances over at Rising's catch and lets out an amused snort. "Hah, did ye accidentally reel in someone's smallclothes?"

(Cravendy Hound) Buoyant Oviform UMM )) (Cravendy Hound) THATS JUST AN EGG?? )) (Rising Lotus) What's the lady's name they're trying to stop again?)) (Rising Lotus) and yes that's an egg)) (Cravendy Hound) Mindred Rot? )) (Rising Lotus) okay thanks I was blanking xD))

Rising Lotus looked again at her catch. "..Well them Ishgarde folk do wear that frilly stuff." She carefully unhooked it and tossed it over the edge only for it to start swimmin' back through the air.

Rising Lotus: "But aye... worried someone's gonna take advantage of that...someone like Momori or Rot."

Cravendy Hound: "Good thing Riylli's got us to protect 'er, then. Or try. She's pretty stubborn."

Cravendy Hound - Something tugs on the line and she reels in an egg of all things. Cravs holds it in her hand, stunned into a prolonged silence.

Cravendy Hound: "...AY. OKAY, NOW I KNOW YER MESSIN' WITH ME." She turns to Rising with the egg brandished like a club. "The purple beachball and cloth thing were fishy enough, but an egg?! What do ye take me for? Are ye, like, attachin' crap to my line or somethin'?!"

Rising Lotus was about to speak on the Riylli matter when Cracs pulled up an egg. "Huh... that is an egg." she cocked her head. "..so there are eggs floatin' 'round up here too? I mean... does it hatch into things?" she gave it a puzzled look, losing her own bait. "How in the hells would I do that? I'm right here with you!" she set herself up and cast out again.

Cravendy Hound: "I dunno, ye tell me! Did ye 'ire a moogle to loiter below us? Or maybe yer usin' magic. That shit can do anythin'," Cravs rambles as she grips the egg in her hand. "Well, the jig is up!"

Cravendy Hound tosses the egg against the ground, smashing it. A tiny, weird fish splats out of it and flops futilely as Cravs goes from confused to seconds away from losing her mind.

(Cravendy Hound) I have no idea but like - if eggs can fly.................. )) (Rising Lotus) These eggs can! If they're even eggs)) (Cravendy Hound) sus eggs ))

Rising Lotus "I don't know any magic! Aside from some of that blue kind I haven't practiced in...whoah!" she was jerked forward from the tug on her line, causing her to stand up and fight with it. "This ones feels big..." her eyes darted down to the edge nervously and inched back a decent amount of ilms. Eventually with a mighty tug a shark swooped up over the side, thrashing about as it landed on the edge before Rising.

Rising Lotus: "...It's a flyin' shark!" her face lit up, though the creature's resistance broke through, biting through her line and the fly-swimming off.

Cravendy Hound peels her eyes off of the questionable fish-egg and hurries to loop her arm around Rising's elbow. "Don't let it drag ye off! It's a long way down!"

Cravendy Hound: "Well, shit! That's a flyin' fish if I ever saw one," Cravs points out. "But like, a /real/ one, not just the glidin' type I see on the water."

Rising Lotus grunted as it flew off. "Well it was a fish.." she watched it fly off into the distance and back into the clouds. " Ain't ever had that happen before. You'll vouch for me that I caught a sky shark right? I'll vouch for your egg." she snickered.

Cravendy Hound narrows her eyes again. "Ye say that, and people'll just think yer loony. Damnit, I wanna hook a shark too." She stabs another balloon bug onto her hook and decides to change spots - maybe standing somewhere else, she'll have more luck?

Cravendy Hound: "Anyway, what exactly did ye promise to Momori? Somethin' 'bout takin' 'er to Idyllshire? Gods, I feel bad that yer stickin' yer neck out for me to begin with..."

Rising Lotus made her way down the way and cast out again. "Ugh... all I could offer was some connections out there, which even that I ain't thrilled about. Gotta warn 'em 'bout her." she sighed. "An' don't worry 'bout it...gotta look out for you to."

Cravendy Hound blinks several times at that last part, two parts dazed and one part embarrassed. Mixed in is also that feeling of fear you get when you look down a cliff - which /may/ be from literally looking down a cliff. She's not sure. "Ah. Well. I can look after myself...but I appreciate the 'elp anyway."

Cravendy Hound: "We look out for each other." Cravs pauses, then glances up to give Rising a shy smile. She finds her footing. "..A 'ound never 'unts alone.

Rising Lotus nodded, returning the smile as she idly reeled in her line. "Aye..." she chewed her lower lip, looking like she was fighting with something. "...I was alone for a bit before I joined up with Heartwood. Was...a bit hard...so.. ya know...you an' Riylli..." she trailed off, reeling in her next catch.

Cravendy Hound tilts her head as she listens to Rising, every word slow and careful. Which struck her as odd, but then again, Cravs figured she was feeling just the same way. "Yeah! It's good the three of us stumbled into each other. Ain't good bein' alone all the time."

Rising Lotus fished up an egg of her own, breaking the tender moment by by grabbing it and shoving it in Crav's face "See! I wasn't putting you on! There are jus'..." she looked at the egg in her hand "..these things floatin' about.." she shrugged and tossed it away.

Rising Lotus: "..b-but yeah...Thanks." she smiled weakly, though it looked like something was still bothering her a bit.

Cravendy Hound rolls her eyes with a smirk. "Well I'll be...ye also got one of them flyin' eggs. Either there really are eggs just out there, waitin' and willin' to be fished up, or we're both goin' crazy from bein' up 'ere too long. If they're aren't just a 'allucination, we should shove 'em in a carton at 'ome as a prank. See if someone bakes a cake with it."

Cravendy Hound: "Anyway, I'm gonna 'ead back. My nose's gonna be frozen solid if I stay out 'ere any longer." She packs up her rod and bumps Rising on the shoulder with a clenched fist as she begins to walk back. "Thanks for takin' me out. Shout if anythin's givin' ye trouble."

Rising Lotus nodded. "Aye, I think I've had enough of starin' off into...certain death." she stashed her rod away. " Glad we finally had a chance to go out here." she rubbed her elbow a bit at her offer, glancing back over the edge before nodding lightly. "..A-alright." she shivered a bit as the chill was finally starting to get to her as well. "..I wonder if they got a bar in that town back there.."

#ff14 rp logs #Rising Lotus #Cravendy Hound #it's literally just an egg #there is a surprising DENSITY of lore in fish descriptions and logs #I love it. I am blindsided and I want more

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ephrampettaline · 5 years

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google doc with @thatwhichbindsus; ciara gives ephram some help figuring out his newly-accessible witch magic. takes place before ciara goes to california.

She’d invited him to meet her in a small glade not far from the coast. Wild grass and native flowers in full blossom, pollinators buzzing around idly as she watched them. Far enough from local parks and paths, but not so far that either of them were isolated. Especially as, truth be told, Ciara didn’t trust Ephram’s declaration entirely. So few had held the cinquefoil and succeeded in sealing a demon to themselves. She knew little of it and much of the nature of binding magic. There was always cross contamination. Always.

There was part of him that was fundamentally demon now, Ciara believed it in her core, and that was if this wasn’t a trick by Anaxis. Yet, she could afford a little optimism, and had brought a kit of things for them to try together. Magic management, it seemed.

Ciara was wearing her witching uniform, but not the standard black she’d worn all year. This was a deep, deep olive green, a dress with bell sleeves that reached only past her elbow, tucked in tight at the waist, and the dropped softly to the ground. On her right arm there were three steel cuffs, each connected with filament chains that then webbed across the back of her hand to the rings on her fingers. On her left was nothing but the flutter of her sleeve, flashing over her Mark. It drew more attention than planned, but too late for that now. Either the sheriff knew what it meant, or he’d find out.

On the ground she’d spread a mat with just enough space for the, to both sit, and some magic toys not unlike the one she’d sent him yesterday. It was here she waited for Ephram to join her, flicking through one of her old Grimoire, breathing idle magic into the grass as she waited.

From the moment he caught sight of Ciara waiting serenely for him, looking every inch the witch in her flowy green dress and intricate jewelry and the Mark on her skin, thumbing through a book that looked much more beaten and worn than the one that he was toting, Ephram felt a thrill surge through him. It was a renewed energy and zest that he’d felt pumping through his body since he’d mastered the Cinquefoil and with it the demon, and although he knew in his more cautious, logical mind that he should maybe hold off on pitching woo over life and its loveliness, it was hard to suppress that feeling.

He’d lived so, so long with Anaxis and damnation and quiet, internal agony dragging him down. Right now, he felt the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground was how much he relished the corporeal. Everything physical seemed new and bright, exciting beyond limits.

“Hey there, honey,” Ephram greeted Ciara with a wide grin, stooping to hug her before she could object. He plopped down on the mat, crossing his long legs, and set his own blank grimoire to balance on one knee. “I feel like I ain’t seen you in forever. You look ... “ he considered, tilting his head to one side as he regarded her through a clear-eyed squint. “You look settled,” Ephram finally decided on. “It’s nice. It’s good to feel like you’ll be hangin’ round town for a while. Huh?”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded at Ciara, looking for confirmation.

Ephram had a genteel warmth to him, that she leant into as he hugged her. It wasn’t something he’d done before, but as he let her go Ciara found that she didn’t mind it at all. He wasn’t a threat, there was no demon in him nor her, and there was no point to her secrets anymore. She’d sat trial, and it was over. The brief brush of skin gave her a spark of what was to come, but she felt no dark stain on that flicked of green and silver. Good.

“Hey yourself. You look… rested”

“Depends on the day,” she replied wrily, but her smile was entirely genuine. “I have an apartment now, so I’m settled for now. We’ll see where this road leads. And in the mean time, you can benefit. I hope.” A promise to him, and a compromise - Ciara had never taught anyone before, not anything except herself. It would not be perfect, but it would be good enough.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ciara offered him her hand, palm and Mark up. She almost asked if he knew its meaning, but Ephram was so talkative it would come up on its own, or wouldn’t, and it wasn’t her problem. The limiting spell on her abilities was a bigger concern - it was possible, in all this, that Ephram was stronger than her right now.

“Let’s see what you’re working with here. Are you having any difficulty with it bursting out of you, or with more force than intended?” She asked, waiting for him to take her hand, already searching him for those tell tale signs of magic going awry. Skin that was mottled, or eyes different colour. Some things were obvious; singed clothes, wilting plants where he walked. Others were less obvious, like a fuzziness to his features, or a hum in the air around him, quieter than a bee’s wings. And sometimes it wasn’t noticeable at all, until it burst out of them, like opening the lid of a shaken soda bottle. “I’d love to hear about how you used the cinquefoil too.”

“If you’re stickin’ round town, I would call that a benefit whether or not I git the favour of you teachin’ me as well.” Ephram grinned at Ciara, adding the expression’s honest pleasure to the easy Southern charm of the accompanying remark. He could feel that her guardedness had lessened, even more so than their last conversation at the bar, and in turn Ephram banished the wary neediness that had coloured his own interactions with Ciara. They could start more-or-less afresh, a prospect that filled Ephram with effervescent anticipation.

The way he felt about everything, these days. “Feelin’ rested and refreshed,” he elaborated, nodding. “It’s a mite difficult to keep the magic tuned down and focused, yeah. After so long with Anaxis sappin’ up most of it, man -- it’s like all these years I was workin’ blindfolded and gagged.” Ephram held up one hand, watching in wonder as bright, strong strokes of silvery spring-green leapt and spiked between his fingers. “I don’t barely need to even think bout it now. I never had any idea, Ciara, what all I got at my disposal.”

Still nowhere near a woman witch of any skill, Ephram was pretty sure, but for him? It was an Old Faithful-level geyser. He reached for Ciara’s hand with his sparking one, content to let her examine him as closely as she needed to -- grateful for it, in fact. “I feel like I got my blood replaced,” he confided, leaning forward earnestly and accidentally toppling his grimoire off his knee onto the blanket. “It’s like I can feel every single twitch that goes through my muscles, my whole body feels like it got fine-tuned and it ain’t a junker no more.” His ocean-blue eyes were alight, skin getting ruddy with excited joy. “I feel alive. I din’t realize … I din’t realize how diminished my life was before.”

That brought a cloud over Ephram’s face, his gaze turning down and troubled at the thought of the pall that Anaxis had cast over twenty years of his existence. The compromise and the lost opportunities and the constant, underlying strain.

But he shook himself out of it with some effort, composing himself to focus on Ciara and her impressions about what he seemed like now, what she could sense. “I’ll show you the demon seal,” he said, “where I set the Cinquefoil in at. And you, honey?” Ephram stroked his fingers against the Mark on Ciara’s skin, although he was holding her gaze. “How’re you doin’ with this?”

“I’m not going to be easier on you just because you’re playing teacher’s pet,” Ciara replied slickly, with a comfortable smirk as she readjusted her legs beneath her. He was glowing, bright and enthusiastic and full of it. This was no demon putting on an act, they didn’t understand joy like this. This was Ephram, living.

“Like I said, we’ll focus on that today. It’s a muscle you’ve been flexing for years, and we don’t want you to lose it, especially if you’re finding it hard to control how much you do at once,” Ciara explained, talking with her hands and a smile. “It’ll get easier over time, but I’ll teach you some… cruder methods for using up magic so that when you’re using it for spell casting you have the right amount at your disposal.”

A mite difficult sounded an understatement, she thoughts as she took his hand in hers, pressing her magic into him just enough to feel his own sparks jump. Her eyes widened as she felt it anew, as clear and crystalline as spring water, rather than a city river. The green of his magic was a meadow after fresh rain, and the silver a fresh polished air. There was a dark, twisted filth to it, but that was so tightly confined she could barely feel it, and when she did, she shied away. “That’s amazing, Ephram.” This time, she sounded like she meant it.

But he also hesitated, and she drew back to look at him fully, tilting her head with sympathy, and waited for him to shake it off. There was no comfort she could offer, except her presence, so that was what he got.

“Thank you, I’d like to see it,” Ciara replied. He may have been holding her gaze, but as his fingers traced her marked skin, she looked down instinctively, watching his careful movements as a small frown set in her face. “I’m adapting. I haven’t been given any real trouble for it yet, and people who would have avoided me for my magic anyway now just have to look instead of having to touch.” The much greater struggle with it was internal, but courtesy of Iann, Ciara had had more than enough exploration of the internal. She looked up at Ephram with a sharp look, “You don’t seem too surprised about it.”

“I’m your onliest student!” Ephram protested, tilting his head to give Ciara a winsome grin. “You got no choice but for me to be your pet.”

Not that he at all minded the prospect of being put through his paces when it came to Ciara’s lessons. Ephram had never made any bones about his feelings when it came to Ciara being hard on him; it was something he liked, always had, ever since he’d been a boy and his older step-sister Cheyenne had reined him in like a fractious colt when he needed it. And sometimes as a preventative measure. In Ephram’s estimation, being bossed around by a strong-willed woman equated to being cared about. He’d looked to Faye to fulfil that role, before, but it seemed more and more like their lives were taking them in separate directions and Ephram missed that dynamic in his life.

“That makes sense,” he mused when Ciara explained that she’d teach him something fundamental when it came to throttling down his flow of magic, now that it was unfettered and rampant. “I’m used to going full-tilt with my magic, only I never realized it before on account of Anaxis draining it all as fast as I could produce it.”

He flushed with pleasure when Ciara complimented the change in his magic, the fresher and cleaner untainted feel of it, her words of positivity helping to shelve the passing regret he felt. But when it came to herself, her witch-killer Mark, it seemed Ciara was somewhat more on edge -- not that Ephram could blame her. It was a helluva thing to have to carry on your skin for the rest of your life, for everybody to see.

“I am surprised,” he said. “I just ain’t … shocked. For the whole time I known you, Ciara, you had skeletons and dark spirits dancin’ at your door. It makes a certain sorter sense that it would all eventually culminate in something … well, indelible. And damning.” There was sympathy in Ephram’s voice as he kept touching Ciara’s arm, instinctively tracing the circular lines of the Mark without having to look down at it. “I’m sorry it got put on you. But I feel like you seen this comin’ from years away.”

Or maybe he was wrong, maybe Ciara and other blood witches were naturally fatalistic, playing into the ghoulish aspect of their particular magic element. Maybe for all Ciara’s tense grimness, she really hadn’t expected to ever end up like this, branded a murderer for all to see.

“Anythang I should know? Bout how this went down, you gettin’ this Mark.” Ephram was quiet and authoritative as he clarified, “--from a law and order standpoint, is what I mean. So’s nothin’ comes up on me unawares, when it comes to you, honey.”

“You asking for a confession, Sheriff?,” She asked, teasing a little less than she’d meant to, and quirked her lips in a half smile, as if the thought didn’t leave her mouth soured. The confession was right there on her arm, under his broad fingers. “This mark and the dampening of my abilities should be the end of it. I’d love to see any human cop prosecute me. Arson, maybe. I’ll let you know if it becomes a problem.”

For now it was just another reason to remain safely within Soapberry Springs, not that she minded too much. It was just fine. Totally fine. As fine as her an Iann, Ciara thought ruefully. “As you’re asking, is there anything you’d like to know?” Better to get it all out at once?

But they weren’t just here to chat about her crimes. Ciara brushed a daisy chain off her knee and stood, taking her grimoire with her. “The idea for the first one is just feeding the magic into a system. It’s not exciting, but like your puzzle, it’s about honing control. There’s magic in everything, the trees, the ground, the water, the air. So the idea is that you contribute your magic into those systems. You’re not steering the shape of the magic, because that exists in the system already, you just control the flow. The idea is practicing the rate of that flow, and getting enough magic out of your system to make it more manageable.”

Ciara paused, cocking her head, and gestured for him to walk with her. “I’m not sure how clear all that was, but I’ll show you what I mean. Obviously, I jive most with the magic in blood, and for obvious reasons I don’t pour this kind of magic into blood, so I’ll demonstrate on that pine there.” Her hands were a little clammy as she walked them over, planning logistics in her head. She’d had months since she’d made this offer, and yet here she was, feeling a little uncertain. “Um, and while you’d normally have a lessons from all sorts of teachers, you’ve just got me so you should know that not everyone agrees with me that everything has magic. But the principles of the exercise are the same, so if you put your hand on my arm, you can feel me do it.”

“Okay, then. I won’t worry bout it.” Ephram wore a half-smile of his own, though, returning evenly, “...but if I was askin’ for a confession, Ciara, you’d be able to tell. And you’d be givin’ me one.”

Even over the short time that the two of them had known each other, Ephram’s confidence in himself as a person and as a lawman had grown; now, after the Cinquefoil, that sureness in his own abilities had increased exponentially. Anaxis wasn’t there echoing in the back of his brain at every given moment, doing its level best to shred any self-esteem that Ephram managed to salvage and shore up.

He could lay down his sword for the first time in twenty-three years, like Freddie had said. But he found that he hadn’t so much lain it down as simply lowered it. Cinquefoil or not, that would take a while longer.

So Ephram didn’t take Ciara up on her suggestion that he interrogate her now as a preemptive strike, instead opting to continue with their lesson. He stood as well, following alongside her with his hands clasped loosely behind his back while he listened to Ciara outlining magical theory.

“I think I get it,” Ephram nodded, a frown of concentration between his eyebrows. “That there’s a way of thinkin’ that I’m familiar with, how there’s … well, a life spirit in all of nature and earth, even if I din’t directly term it as magic. I can feel it even better now.” He let his eyes drift shut, chin lifting, hands raising at his sides with palms up and fingers half-extended, half-curled as he took a deep breath and reached out for the swirls and eddies of energy inherent in the woods around them. “Stronger’n I ever imagined.”

He slid one big hand against his midsection as he let the other fall, opening his eyes to look at Ciara as she said she’d demonstrate what she was instructing him on. “What would it do?” Ephram asked, curiously. “Iffen you shoved your excess magic into blood. Would it make somebody, uh … blow up, or somethang?” Ephram mimed an explosion with his fingers and a soft bouuphh sound.

He was just pushing up his sleeves when Ciara started in on her disclaimer, making Ephram shake his head impatiently. “If I was of a mind to go searchin’ for regular teachers,” he said, laying his hand on Ciara’s proffered arm and letting his long fingers wrap slightly around the bony circumference of it, “I’d head on up to the university and find em. It’s your view on magic and your way of doin’ it that resonates with me. Has done ever since I found myself tethered to you in that other world.” Ephram looked up at the pine tree. “So lead on, Miss Woodman, ma’am.”

“Would I, now?” Ciara replied, a light quirk in her voice.

A life spirit. That fit, Ciara thought, softening as she heard him talk. All the earth and soil and plants. When you were quiet, you could feel it breathe. When you were listening, it sang songs of life and love. He reached out for it, and she thought, good, let him feel. That magic would teach him better than she ever could. “It’s reaching out for you too. I feel it.”

“I've only had reasonable control of my magic for a dozen years. I'm very lucky I didn't kill anyone by accident. The body is such a small, contained space, there isn't much room for that energy to escape, and a huge number of ways it can go wrong. I think you'd have to work at it to blow someone up, but I don't think anyone who experienced even the shortest instinctive bursts of my magic has been left unscarred.” Her reply was said with a carefully calculated calm demeanor, a complete detachment of the reality of those experiences. A flash of anger as her sister’s arm ruptured under her hand. Fear in a back alley with a man’s hand pinning her throat, that rocketed to terror when he dropped her and watched his hand blister and boil. Begging someone to leave her alone because she couldn’t help how badly she might hurt him. It was no wonder she was laser precise now.

Ephram’s reassurances sank skin deep and she nodded, comfortable for now as his hand wrapped around her wrist. She pushed it against the pine, molding herself to the shape of the coarse bark. A tiny line of black ants marched around the tips of her fingers. Ciara breathed, and pushed. Magic looped from the leys of the earth right into her, and through as a a conduit. Steering, not shaping, as she began pouring it into the tree. After barely moments, she was panting, sweat beginning to glisten on her skin in the sun. The steam was unwavering and smooth, a constant high pressure even though it did not fit in this shape well. The fit wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t long before Ciara felt the tightening of her chest as the limitor came into play, slowly constricting her own. Despite the pour of magic, the tree changed little, sprouting a few dozen new buds.

Ciara dropped her hand, closing her eyes as she panted hard and fast, and twisted to cough in her elbow. Dry, rattling coughs. “Right. That’s what it feels like. Your turn. I’ll make sure you don’t start a wildfire or knock all the oxygen out the air, but the rest is up to you.”

It felt like the best kind of validation when Ciara said that the magic was reaching out for Ephram too, that she could also feel it; he trusted her implicitly when it came to being abe to interpret what was happening magically. Malvoth aside, witch-killer mark aside. If there was anybody who was able to siphon through the cacophany of darkness that had attached itself to the witch and focus solely on Ciara herself, in her purest most stripped-down form, it was a man who carried his own miasma of demon and death with him.

“Reckon I can count myself lucky, then, that Anaxis took up so much of my magic all this time.” Ephram twisted his arm, letting the silver-green wind its way up to his elbow, wrap itself around in thick loops like some eldritch armour before carving it down to more delicate, fanciful curlicues against his skin. He said it a little wryly -- nothing about Anaxis was lucky, in any context -- but all the same, Ciara’s experiences were sobering. And contextualized against his own magic being bound up, the guilt that her magic had caused seemed comparable, in a way.

Christ, but she had fissures in her that you couldn’t even begin to reach. Deep, deep under the open ocean that was Ciara. Ephram held back a shudder.

That impression only got stronger as Ephram hitched along with Ciara’s demonstration of her magic, gathering and redirecting the energy with hardly a pause in her body. Ephram could tell just from riding with the pulse of it that his own body would cause more problems, that there would be hitches of unsureness and stumbling blocks of inexperience for the flow of magic to get hung up on.

He nodded when she told him it was his turn, rolling out his shoulders and tipping his head to the side sharply to crack it. “Hold onto me?” Ephram asked, scrunching his face briefly before stretching his fingers to splay against the tree bark.

The contrails of Ciara’s magic were still there -- he could feel them tickling like those little black ants that avoided his hand just like they’d avoided hers -- and Ephram used them as a guide as he opened up to the life energy surroundings. It was like throwing open vents inside his chest, and his mouth opened to give a hoarse gasp before his teeth clacked together and a burst of magic stormed through the palm of his hand, blasting them both instantly backwards into a sprawled tangle on the ground.

“Fuckfire,” Ephram coughed, then coughed some more, rolling up onto one elbow and blinking rapidly. “You okay? Ciara?”

With a smirk, Ciara nodded, and came to stand beside and just behind him. Breathing was still a heavy labour, but she barely minded as she wrapped one hand around the bare skin of his arm, muscled and veiny and covered in blond hair. With the other, she put her hand on his hip, far from the cinquefoil that both frightened and amazed her. She slipped one finger between the seam of his shirt and his jeans, touching the skin too. Closing a circuit. She was the safety latch, ready to steer magic into her if it became too much. Ciara breathed deep, her chest pressed up to his back ,keeping the both of them secure.

He was the wildcare, and when she felt his magic stir, she felt it all the way to his core. Green and silver, so entangled it was hard to tell one from the other. Ciara had felt this before, the first time they’d met, when she’d soaked her hands in his blood and used him as a teleport. But then, it had been cut short. Here, it felt almost like a bottomless well, in comparison to what he’d had before. She could feel the ley inside him.

The magic bulged and burst through him, surging out through his arms. Bang. Ciara by instinct grabbed on tight as they were hurled back through the air. When they landed, they landed hard, knocking whatever breath she had right out of her. She coughed and spluttered and wriggled to get her arm out from under Ephram. Ciara sat up and rested her hands on firm ground, looked at the tree they’d been standing by, and starting laughing.

It started as a giggle, but like his magic soon burst into a full belly laugh, face scrunched as she doubled over. It was loud and silly and slowly died into coughs. She looked up at him, so he knew she was laughing from joy and not at him. “Not quite what we were aiming for, but that was-“ Ciara looked back at the tree - “that was impressive. Not bad at all. I’ve - Two questions: What did you feel, and are you ready to try some more?”

Ephram goggled at the sight of Ciara, laughing. Laughing fit to burst, mirth cascading out of her in a way that he wouldn’t even have thought she was capable of, and Ephram started to hoot and guffaw along with her. Both in honest amusement at his own exuberant fuckup and at the unexpected infectious quality of Ciara’s laughter.

“Jesus,” he said, his drawl stretching the word out to about eight syllables. “I was expectin’ maybe some lil flashbang but I sure wasn’t expectin’ that.” Ephram gestured at the poor tree that had borne the brunt of his uncontrolled magic. But Ciara was saying he didn’t do badly, Ciara was praising him for his effort, even, and Ephram couldn’t help but puff up a little at having made Teacher proud.

“What did I feel,” he repeated dutifully, rolling up to kneeling and sitting back on his heels. “I felt … it felt like if you’re used to drivin’ beaters but then you get to drive a normal car and you don’t realize you only gotta tap the gas jes a lil bit to get ‘er going. Because you been accustomed to havin’ to mash down on the gas pedal to even push that ol’ beater to start.”

It was a good analogy, but Ephram wanted -- keenly -- to make sure he’d answered the question from every possible angle and interpretation. “What did I feel, was energy rumblin’ through the … fibres of my muscles, and the blood in my veins. But not swirlin’ inside me, more like … building up. Storing itself but vibrating the whole time.”

Ephram pushed the heels of his hands against his knees, half-rising a bit before sitting back down again. “Is that good? Bad? Dangerous?” The feel of her hands against his skin had been dangerous, a little bit. Raising up the tantalizing spectre of them doing blood magic together, so seamlessly, with such grand effect.

But that was a different time, one shadowed by their demons. Now Malvoth was gone and Anaxis was locked away, and it was only the two of them.

Licking his bottom lip and then biting it, Ephram looked at Ciara, then nodded in tiny rapid motions of his head. “I wanna try again,” he said, anticipation lining his voice. “More.”

Ciara sent her own flicker of magic across the field, checking for residual magic that tangled in knots, and would pop at inopportune moments, likes clots on the ley. But Ephram’s magic didn’t feel so congested, there was nothing to untangle. It had come out of the flood gates, and flooded that tree, but now was gone. His descriptions earned him a smile.

At the question, she paused, looking him over thoughtfully. Good, bad or dangerous had summed up so much of Ephram’s existence with his magic, after all. Even with the Cinquefoil, his magic would never truly be separate from the demon. His faith was also known for dealing in dualities also, and Ciara could both understand the fear of it being “bad” and simultaneously felt perplexed by the considering of it in such simple ways.

“It just is. I don't know if it's permanent or just a case of being out of practice. But the more you pay attention to those feelings, the more you’ll learn. There’s only good and bad for you,” Ciara settled on, standing and offering him a hand to do the same, although they both knew she didn’t need it.

"Okay, so try again. With the tree, the soil, or the air. A gentle tap, this time. Slowly speed up." They would do this again and again, until he was tired or until he got it someplace reasonable. Ciara didn't expect perfect, but this was the first way to get it safe. Once they got it safe, the world was his oyster. When he chose his spot, there she was again, thumb to his hip and hand to his arm. Over and over. Ciara was patient, after all.

"Only good or bad for me."

Ephram kept that in mind, a steady foundation along with the feel of Ciara touching him, grounding him, keeping hold of him. As he tried and tried again, sending clots of dirt and grass spinning into the air one time, creating a frenzy of fresh soft green pine sprigs on another, some of the attempts coming out half-measures while others knocked them on their backs.

And still Ciara was there, dogged and encouraging as they dusted themselves off and refocused for the next attempt. Ephram was accustomed to hard work and repetition and didn't often expect the same of anybody else; but Ciara matched him each time, murmuring suggestions and moderate praise and sometimes what Ephram thought might be gentle teasing (he liked those the best).

He wouldn't have been able to say exactly what iteration they were on when Ephram finally got it down properly -- especially because he had to repeat the exercise five times running, bringing mulberry-coloured pinwheel flowers up from hard little buried bulbs, before it could be considered real and not a fluke.

"Ciara," Ephram said, puffing slightly as sweat dotted the line of his nose and his forehead. "Holy shit." He squeezed her waist, then her wrist, and then loped over to the small patch of waving pinwheeling blooms and gathered a handful of them, bearing them back to present to her like some shiny apple placed on her desk. "Look, look," Ephram said eagerly, and bit his lip as he focused his magic into a manageable, civilized stream, tying a silvery bow around the long green stems. He gave Ciara a big, open-mouthed doggy grin, then blinked rapidly and reached out to brace one big hand against her shoulder.

"Whoo," Ephram breathed after a moment. "Must of … whoo. Reckon I got a lil slap-happy there, huh? It's harder'n I thought it would be, whittling the magic down to where it could be useful instead of goin' crazy. After all that time tryin' to make my magic work better and harder, it's the complete opposite."

#thatwhichbindsus

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darksiders-scenarios · 7 years

Note

What would the horsemen do if they came across a tiny human? Like doll sized?

~I will submit War and Fury soon :) For Death, I tried to imagine him in a similar scenario with Hunter.

Update: Part 2 (link)

Strife

It was getting closer. Quickening his pace and throwing caution into the wind, Strife’s armoured boots splashed into puddles of muddy slush as he approached the creature. This was no Scarab, he reasoned. Nor was it a demon of any kind he’s ever encountered.

The tiny creature shot its head up, whipping its body around till it was facing the looming, approaching monster. Strife frowned behind his mask. It was almost as big as the span of his hand.

The tiny being yelped as it stumbled back to escape the giant but the horseman had already planted a large boot behind it, crushing something that instantly released a repugnant, sickening odour that vapourised throughout the area. The tremor caused the creature to collapse against his boot, coughing and gagging through the hazy green mist that enveloped them.

A gruff voice resounded from above before the creature felt itself being hoisted into the air by the back of its shirt, away from the mist and stench.

Strife brought the being close to his face and examined it. Its eyes were screwed shut and its mouth was gaped open, as though screaming silently. He gave it a gentle shake. “Helloooo?” he called out, causing the creature to cry out and snapping its eyes open.

“Oh my God,” it whimpered, eyes roving up and down the colossal horseman, its voice barely above the whisper of a normal sized being.

“Never seen the likes of ya before,” Strife boomed, not quite so mindful of their contrasting voice level. “What are you?”

“I-I’m human,” it replied, voice quavering.

“Eh?” the rider drew it closer to eye level. “How come? I thought humans were bigger than that.”

The human squirmed under his intense scrutiny. “Well yeah,” they started but then trailed off, as though unable to continue. Strife cocked his head slightly. “What happened?”

“I-I can’t remember,” they relented, soft voice laced with defeat and sadness.

“Hmph,” Strife grunted, “Must be one of them Shadowcaster’s tricks,” he mused aloud, taking note of how the human glanced at his visor like mask. “Memory loss is one of the side effects.”

The colour drained from their face. “What?” they squeaked. “The hell is a Shadowcaster? What’s gonna happen to me? What did I-?”

Strife interrupted their outburst by pinching the shirt fabric tighter, causing the cloth to contract against their shoulders and chest. “Easy now, tiny,” he muttered, “These spells don’t normally last. I don’t know for how long, but what I do know is that it puts your life at major risk,” he gestured a free hand to the crushed Scarab at his feet. “If I didn’t get here in time, you’d av’ been paste.”

Gaze following his finger to the dead demon, the human felt their heart drop to their stomach. ‘Just a few more seconds and that would’ve been it’, the realisation was as alarming as it was horrifying.

“A-Are you…?” they stammered hesitantly, drawing Strife’s attention back to them.

“Am I…?”

“Are you going to k-kill me?” they finished lamely, drawing further into themself, avoiding his face.

There was a moment of pause when Strife simply stared at them, expression indiscernible through the mask. “What’s yer name?” he asked at length.

The unexpectedness of the question made them jump. “Y/N,” they mumbled, wincing at how low and weak their voice sounded even to them.

“OK, Y/N,” the horseman carried on, “If I wanted to let ya die, I wouldn’t ave’ wasted my time savin’ ya.”

When he didn’t elaborate further, Y/N gawped at the horseman. ‘But why?’ They wanted to ask but was too fearful that they may be pushing their luck. Better be safe and go along with the strange demon for now, they thought. It can’t be any worse than surviving on their own for so long.

Their analysis was interrupted when they felt themself being lowered. Instinctively, they reached up to grip the metal fingers, clenching so tight that blood started to ooze out from the punctured skin from the sharp prongs. “Don’t drop me!” they pleaded, panic and fear evident in their high-pitched tone.

The rider felt his heart clench slightly at their pitiful, vulnerable form, literally clinging onto dear life. And yet they still felt that they could trust him enough to not hurt them.

“Oi,” he grunted. When they opened their eyes, they saw his free hand hovering under their feet. Heart pounding wildly against their chest, Y/N sucked in a breath before letting go. Landing with a soft thud in the cold palm, Y/N covered their mouth with a trembling hand, squeezing tightly at the thought that perhaps, they may yet live to see tomorrow after all.

Strife nodded as he cupped his hands, lightly cradling them, his long fingers forming a barrier for them to lean their body against.

“What are you gonna do to me?” they finally asked the important question.

“At least yer smart enough to know that you’d be stickin’ with me for a while,” he grinned, eyes roaming over the doll size human huddled against his fingers. “You’re a sorta lucky human, being alive after all that.” ‘That’ of course meaning the premature Apocalypse. “An’ I intend to keep it tha’ way.”

Y/N frowned. That made no sense. If this demon assisted in slaughtering everyone and more or less caused them into that state, then why the hell did he want to keep them alive? The more plausible reasoning would either be for a keepsake, trinket, or a plaything.

As much as they wanted to raise the question, they decided it was more prudent to try a different tactic. “What’s your name?”

“Name’s Strife,” the giant exclaimed, his voice suddenly exuding buoyancy, his stance straightening and he jabbed a finger to his chest.

“Strange name for a demon,” they remarked, doing their best to keep heir voice as innocent and casual as possible.

Strife almost choked at the assumption but then snorted. “Really kid, a demon? Devilishly handsome is one thing but comparing me to those second kingdom runts?” he shook his head. “Kid, if I were a demon then no way we’d be havin’ this conversation.”

When Y/N didn’t respond, as if mulling over the new knowledge, given by their deepened frown lines, Strife proceeded, “Listen ere’,” he raised his hands closer to his face. “I’m the good guy here.”

There was something different about this gigantic being, Y/N thought. The way he spoke, the way he seemed to be trying to convince them that they weren’t going to hurt them. It almost seemed human. He was threatening in sight yes, but in speech, he was rather approachable.

“Plus,” he continued, curling a finger the width of an armchair in your direction. “You gotta eat somethin’ to keep yer strength up,” straightening his finger, he lightly poked your stomach. “You look like shit. A tiny, near non-existent shit. But shit nonetheless.”

You were about to retort that he wasn’t quite the looker himself but as if on cue and to your absolute mortification, your stomach decided to let out an undignified rumble.

“Eh? What was that?” Strife tilted his head sideways and downwards at you, the closeness shrouding you in complete shadow. “Didn’t quite catch that over them butterflies you humans like to keep in there.”

Huffing in exasperation and failing to conceal a chortle, you swiped at his finger, to which he politely withdrew. “Yeah and they’re starving too!” you joked.

Strife tutted. “Better feed em’ ‘fore they claw their way out and have my head then.”

You shook your head and allowed yourself this rare moment of joy. The sound of your laughter was foreign to your ears and you reveled in it. At the same time, the distant trill sounds of scarabs fast approaching the area cruelly sucked away your newfound happiness. You scrambled back as far as you could, curling onto yourself as your back pressed into the bottom creases of his fingers.

Strife felt the low reverberation emitted from your quivering form through his palm and felt his anger and concern surge at once. “Hey hey, it’s OK, it’s OK,” he tried to reassure. “You’re safe with me.”

You peeked over your arm. Although you couldn’t see his face, the tone of his voice was enough to make your panic dissipate from your body. You slowly sat up and did your best to smile and nod reassuringly at the horseman.

“I like ya already!” Strife beamed, ruffling your hair with an enormous finger which you didn’t swat away this time.

Death

“What is it now, bird?” Death grouched, hands shooting to the hilts of the twin Scythes at his waist, battle stance ready as he scanned the area for hidden demons. When he found none, he threw an exasperated glare at the crow as it flew into the shattered window of a demolished apartment. Unless it was hungry again or its age was catching up to it, Death was already mentally fatigued from the constant wild goose chases the wretched bird was constantly giving him.

He was about to turn around to make his leave when the sudden shrill cawing from Dust, coupled with another series of piercing screams rebounded against the decrepit walls of the old architecture.

Alarm coursing through him, Death dashed forwards, leaping over the gate and wall-running along the length of the wall until he was grasping the ledge of the window, legs dangling with a hand on the hilt of Harvester. At this proximity, the clamour of screams rattled painfully against his eardrums, heightening the gnawing concern that he desperately tried to suppress. Hauling himself through the window and landing onto tiled flooring, he quickly scoured the expanse of the room.

Dust was struggling against a storage container in one corner, cawing and flapping its wings frantically against the plastic barrier, as though trying to claw its way through. There was a moving critter within. ‘Ah’, Death suppressed a tired sigh, ‘So it was hungry’.

However, upon closer inspection, the rider noted that the critter seemed to be larger than average. It wasn’t of demon nature either. And the trilling screams didn’t stop. In fact, it almost sounded human, albeit a very faint and piercing one.

He stepped forwards, and his suspicion was confirmed. This was no critter, he concluded, eyeing the living doll armed with a fork trying to shoo away his crow, a look of absolute terror on its face.

This was no doll either.

“Enough!” he bellowed. Immediately, Dust fluttered away, back onto his master’s shoulder but Death lightly brushed it away with the back of his hand. With an offended squawk, the undead bird perched on the window sill, throwing his master the equivalent of a glare.

With slow, long strides, the rider brushed past the scattered debris and splintered furniture until he was in front of the container. The lid was half ripped open, but it was not big enough to allow the size of Dust to fit through. The back of the container was cleaved open but it was fitted against the wall. Death grasped the edge of the box, intending to bring it forth to allow the being to come out but he was halted.

“Stay back!” came the high-pitched squeak from within. Although the human was small, it was almost the height of Dust. And they were pressed against the far corner, chest heaving from exertion and their face was twisted in apparent pain.

“You’ve neither the look of a demon nor an angel,” Death stated through the opening of the lid. “But a human, albeit a rather diminutive one.”

The human jumped. It just spoke to them! What the hell was that thing?

Death crouched in front of the plastic box, providing them with the complete display of his appearance. Tall, imposing, powerful. And that ivory skull mask… it was almost like staring in the face of death itself.

“I-If you want to kill me, then just get it over and done with!” they blurted suddenly, hysteria and panic evident in their trembling voice and quaking body. “J-Just stop toying with me like that.”

Death dipped his head. If normal sized humans were fearful of his appearance, there was no doubt this was even more daunting for someone as minuscule as them. But he had to speak to them.

“Peace, child,” he murmured, doing his best to lower his tone. “No harm will befall onto you.”

The human flinched. Was this a trick? But his amber eyes were soft, almost… gentle.

They slowly leaned forward but froze in place, peering anxiously at the window.

“He won’t harm you,” the horseman assured them. “Not in my presence.”

Hesitating briefly, they finally pushed themself to stand, head barely touching the lid.

Death remained motionless. “What is your name, human?”

The human gulped and fixated their attention on his neck. “Y/N.”

“I understand this must be overwhelming for you, Y/N,” he sympathised. “But it is important that I should ask, how did you end up in this state?”

“You mean my size?” Y/N clenched a fist. “I can’t remember to be fair. There was a fight I think. A demon and another thing with wings, I guess it was an angel. I just happened to be there. There was a flash of white light, and the next thing I know,” Y/N gestured weakly to themself. “Well, this happened.”

“I see. And you sought shelter here,” he concluded.

“That’s my home.”

Silence greeted the pair, safe for the howling of the wind and clinking of broken shards that rattled against each other. For the first time since he stepped inside, Death let his gaze hover over the broken furniture; from the singular bed that was strewn in one corner to the dusty picture frame on the floor. On it, was the unmistakable face of Y/N with two taller humans behind them. He could only assume that they were their parents.

“Y/N,” he tried. “How did you survive for this long?”

Y/N snorted. “I wouldn’t say long, nor would I say survive for that matter. I pretty much just stayed here, hidden. I guess I’m too small and insignificant, even to angels and demons,” they added with a dry laugh. “It’s not gonna last though.”

“And even less so the longer you remain here,” Death added.

They shrugged and turned their face to the side.

‘Given up’, Death remarked darkly. Learned helplessness, resigning to a fate they’ve conjured for themself. ‘Lies.’

“This can be remedied,” he declared calmly.

Y/N whipped their head up, holding the steady gaze of the ethereal being as he slowly pushed his index and forefinger through the space in the lid. They stared at the enormous digits; they were almost as large and wide as a bed.

This was a creature that can no doubt become an unstoppable force of nature at will, possessing power beyond imagination. And yet here he was, waiting for a puny human to grant them permission to reach out to them.

“Why?” they whispered, tears generating at the corner of their eyes.

“Because I am neither angel nor demon,” Death responded, the sides of his jaw widening slightly, signifying a smile.

Y/N ducked their head and clenched their fists. The decision was theirs. Either stay low and wait till death take them away, or literally allow death to take them away. The latter seemed the better option as they looked up and realised that Death was waiting patiently for them.

They obliged by pressing their much smaller hands against his fingers. Death’s fingers curled underneath them and they were gently lifted out of their self-made prison.

As they watched the container shrinking in perspective the higher up they went, for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt something foreign bloom from the deepest pit of their guts.

Hope.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #death #fury #war #strife #tiny au #reader

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solrika · 7 years

Text

Jesse and Genji for the daemon AU!

“So what’s your daemon supposed to be?” Dulce asks, the first time they meet Genji Shimada, and Jesse near-about dies on the spot.

The daemon in question bares its fangs, and even though neither it or Genji should have the strength to move, Jesse wastes no time in scooping up Dulce into the relative safety of his arms. “Shut up,” he hisses at her, and then to Genji, “I’m sorry, she ain’t got no manners.”

“I’d say so,” Genji croaks, breath rasping out of his ruined throat. If looks could kill, Dulce’d be a little smear on the floor.

“Sorry,” Jesse repeats, and beats a hasty retreat from the hospital room.

A week later, Jesse returns with a peace offering.

Genji eyes him and Dulce suspiciously when they walk in the door, the daemon looped around his shoulders letting out a low hiss. “What do you want?”

“Thought we could try again,” Jesse says, setting the plastic takeout bag down on Genji’s bedside table. “I brought a gift.”

He opens the container inside, and Genji stiffens in surprise at the aroma. “Is that ramen?” his daemon demands, ears pricking. She–at least it sounds like a she–has a voice as ruined as her partner, but the eagerness in it delights Jesse anyway. Food is always the best way to someone’s heart.

“Sure is,” Jesse grins, pouring in the fixings and giving the soup a little stir. “Doctor told me you could do solids now, and I thought you’d like something better'n the hospital swill.”

“And I promise I won’t talk,” Dulce adds, and Genji’s daemon makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a muffled laugh.

“Alright,” Genji says, voice as haughty as if he’s bestowing a generous gift by gracing Jesse with his companionship. “I’ll give you a second chance.”

“Thank ya kindly,” Jesse says, and doesn’t mention that he can see right through the haughtiness. There’s something desperate in how Genji grabs for the ramen–homesickness, maybe–and Jesse can’t miss how quickly his daemon’s eyes warm towards Dulce when she hops up on the bed to deliver their ace: a whole box of mochi. Gabe’s been the only other operative to visit this pair on a non-professional basis, and they have to be starved for kind company.

It’s not polite to say it, though, so Jesse just settles at Genji’s side and digs into his own lunch.

Eight weeks later, Jesse catches Genji staring off into space, brows furrowed. It’s not the first time he's seen the Shimada brooding, but usually it’s sadness or anger hovering around his eyes, not worry. Jesse finishes his mouthful of tonkatsu before saying softly, “Somethin’ eatin’ at you?”

Genji doesn’t startle, but his hands do tighten on the sheets, joints whirring. “The Commander came to visit today.”

“Oh.” Jesse makes a face, Dulce pulls her lips back in distaste. “That bastard.”

“Disrespectful,” Genji’s daemon mutters.

“He don’t deserve my respect. Blackwatch commander's th' only one I gotta answer to, anyways,” Jesse answers, stabbing his food with a little more vehemence than it requires. “What’d he say?”

“I need to make up my mind soon.” Genji’s joints whirr again. “He wants to start getting me battle ready. I don’t–” He swallows.

Dulce and Jesse share a look. “Are you gonna be with Overwatch or Blackwatch?”

“Overwatch.” Shaking his head, Genji sags back against the pillows. “There’s no real choice to be made. I have a debt to repay.”

“That’s bullshit.” Jesse sets down his food, and dares to lean over and place a hand on Genji’s shoulder. “Listen. Dulce’s a coyote, ‘n’ y’know what that means? We’re tricky. We’re good at gettin’ outta jams. We can find you a way out.”

Genji stares at him. “You don’t need to risk yourself.”

“’s th’ right thing to do,” Jesse says, and holds the stare, trying to put every ounce of sincerity into it.

Genji is the one who breaks first, his daemon slithering under the covers. “I don’t need your help.”

“Alright. Still.” Jesse sits back, giving Genji’s shoulder one last squeeze before he lets go. “Just say the word.”

Genji’s daemon peeks her head out from under the covers, and even with the scars twisting her muzzle, Jesse can see her sad smile. “We don’t need it. But thank you.”

“Anytime.” Dulce steps delicately over Genji’s legs to nose at his daemon’s snout. “We mean it.”

“Thank you,” she repeats, pauses, says carefully, "My name is Aiko."

"Pretty name," says Dulce, and then, because she can't keep her fool mouth shut, adds, "for a pretty lady."

Both Aiko and Genji snort. To Jesse's relief, the sound is one more of amusement than anger. "We're ugly," Aiko scoffs, and gestures with one tiny, bird-boned paw at the scar tissue and bristles twisting over her skin.

"Pretty," Dulce repeats firmly, and it's worth the embarrassment Jesse feels to see Aiko grin.

The commanders are fighting again. You can hear Luce's screaming through the wall. Jesse leans against the wall to Gabriel's office and tries to decide if it's worth it to try and eavesdrop. Dulce, bound by no such compunctions, presses her ear to the door.

"It's about Genji," she mutters. "Sounds like a custody battle."

"Shit." Jesse taps at Peacekeeper's holster. He's seen Genji in his new body--all sleek armor and powerful muscle, and Aiko besides him with her bristles grown out into lustrous black feathers that glint green in the right light. He still doesn't have any idea of what she's supposed to be, but there's no denying they make an impressive pair.

"He's Overwatch's asset, though," Jesse says to Dulce, though the idea of Genji stuck with the bluecoats makes the words sour in his mouth. They're the type to do anything they want and think it's fine because it's for the greater good. At least Blackwatch doesn't lie to itself like that.

"That's what Gabriel's mad 'bout." Dulce swivels her ears, listening intently. "Says he'll be better with us." Her ears prick. "Oh! That's nice!"

"What's nice?"

"We're one'a Gabe's reasons." Dulce glances back over her shoulder at Jesse, eyes delighted. "We 'improve Genji's morale.'"

"That so," Jesse murmurs, and can't help his eyes from crinkling in a smile. Or his body from pumping a fist in the air. At least Dulce looks just as silly in her happiness, her whole ass wagging along with her tail. If Gabe's willing to use it in an argument, then Genji and Aiko really do like them.

That's worth dancing for.

It’s thousands of lunches and seven shared missions later that Genji says, “She used to be a crow.”

Jesse’s Blackwatch, so he doesn’t freeze with his mouth full of field rations, but it’s a close deal. “Suits you,” he says instead. “They’re clever birds.”

“Common birds. It made the elders angry.” Genji huffs out a humorless laugh, looking down at the tangle of scales and feathers and scars in his lap. “We’re not so common anymore.”

“Still clever,” Dulce says.

It must be the right thing, because Aiko uncurls a little to brush her snout against Dulce’s nose. Dulce licks her back, and Aiko’s ensuing sneeze makes Genji laugh out loud, shadows chased from his eyes. Jesse has to force himself to swallow.

Dulce’s fur is blood-matted under Jesse’s hand, and he gasps and tries to breathe past the absence tipping his balance sideways. Gabe shouts somewhere besides them, Luce’s scream of anger cutting through the noise of gunshots, and when Genji tightens the tourniquet Jesse doesn’t know whether it’s him or Dulce that yowls in pain.

“I’m taking you to the transport,” Genji says. Even with the mask on, Jesse can read the fear in his voice, see it in how Aiko bristles on his shoulders. “Hold on, okay?”

“’m arm’s off,” Jesse slurs.

“Yeah,” Genji says, and hauls him upright. There’s a brief pause, and then Genji reaches down with his other hand and scoops up Dulce, cradling her to his chest.

“Huh,” Jesse says, because no one’s ever dared to touch her like that before.

“You can kill me later,” Genji bites out, and Aiko tangles herself around Dulce’s ruined forelegs, holding them steady as they set off across the battlefield.

It seems terribly important to let Genji know that killing is the furthest thing from Jesse’s mind. Their points of contact are warm, keeping the pain in his arm at bay, and the slickness of Genji’s armor against Dulce’s fur feels right in a way that Jesse’s only experienced before when Luce lets him hide under her wing. He swallows, tries to work his voice out of his throat, and manages, “Rather kiss ya.”

“What?” Genji’s distracted, hauling Jesse’s ass to safety.

Jesse tries again anyways. This isn’t the time or place for declarations of love, but. Well. Blood loss does funny things to logic. “Rather’d kiss ya, sweetheart.”

“Then you’d better stay alive to do it,” Genji bites out, gripping him closer.

“Okay,” Jesse says, as much because the chance of kissing Genji sounds wonderful as to try and quell the fear in Genji’s voice. “I’ll stick ‘round.”

“Good,” Genji says, and hauls him inside the transport. Aiko presses her forehead against Dulce’s before the medics whisk her away. Something wet drips onto her fur.

Jesse’s legs are getting shaky (shakier) and his vision is going dark, but Dulce manages to croak out, “Hey now, don’ cry, darlin’.”

“Stickin’ ‘round,” Jesse adds, pitching into the waiting hands of the medics. His arm’s throbbing, the pain reaching out to drag him down.

“I’m holding you to that, cowboy,” Genji says, and before Jesse falls under, cool fingers give his remaining hand a squeeze.

#overwatch #mcgenji #overwatch fanfic #daemon au

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

The Key To The Garden

Two days after this, when Mary opened her eyes she sat upright in bed immediately, and called to Martha.

"Look at the moor! Look at the moor!"

The rainstorm had ended and the gray mist and clouds had been swept away in the night by the wind. The wind itself had ceased and a brilliant, deep blue sky arched high over the moorland. Never, never had Mary dreamed of a sky so blue. In India skies were hot and blazing; this was of a deep cool blue which almost seemed to sparkle like the waters of some lovely bottomless lake, and here and there, high, high in the arched blueness floated small clouds of snow-white fleece. The far-reaching world of the moor itself looked softly blue instead of gloomy purple-black or awful dreary gray.

"Aye," said Martha with a cheerful grin. "Th' storm's over for a bit. It does like this at this time o' th' year. It goes off in a night like it was pretendin' it had never been here an' never meant to come again. That's because th' springtime's on its way. It's a long way off yet, but it's comin'."

"I thought perhaps it always rained or looked dark in England," Mary said.

"Eh! no!" said Martha, sitting up on her heels among her black lead brushes. "Nowt o' th' soart!"

"What does that mean?" asked Mary seriously. In India the natives spoke different dialects which only a few people understood, so she was not surprised when Martha used words she did not know.

Martha laughed as she had done the first morning.

"There now," she said. "I've talked broad Yorkshire again like Mrs. Medlock said I mustn't. `Nowt o' th' soart' means `nothin'-of-the-sort,'" slowly and carefully, "but it takes so long to say it. Yorkshire's th' sunniest place on earth when it is sunny. I told thee tha'd like th' moor after a bit. Just you wait till you see th' gold-colored gorse blossoms an' th' blossoms o' th' broom, an' th' heather flowerin', all purple bells, an' hundreds o' butterflies flutterin' an' bees hummin' an' skylarks soarin' up an' singin'. You'll want to get out on it as sunrise an' live out on it all day like Dickon does." "Could I ever get there?" asked Mary wistfully, looking through her window at the far-off blue. It was so new and big and wonderful and such a heavenly color.

"I don't know," answered Martha. "Tha's never used tha' legs since tha' was born, it seems to me. Tha' couldn't walk five mile. It's five mile to our cottage."

"I should like to see your cottage."

Martha stared at her a moment curiously before she took up her polishing brush and began to rub the grate again. She was thinking that the small plain face did not look quite as sour at this moment as it had done the first morning she saw it. It looked just a trifle like little Susan Ann's when she wanted something very much.

"I'll ask my mother about it," she said. "She's one o' them that nearly always sees a way to do things. It's my day out today an' I'm goin' home. Eh! I am glad. Mrs. Medlock thinks a lot o' mother. Perhaps she could talk to her."

"I like your mother," said Mary.

"I should think tha' did," agreed Martha, polishing away.

"I've never seen her," said Mary.

"No, tha' hasn't," replied Martha.

She sat up on her heels again and rubbed the end of her nose with the back of her hand as if puzzled for a moment, but she ended quite positively.

"Well, she's that sensible an' hard workin' an' goodnatured an' clean that no one could help likin' her whether they'd seen her or not. When I'm goin' home to her on my day out I just jump for joy when I'm crossin' the moor."

"I like Dickon," added Mary. "And I've never seen him."

"Well," said Martha stoutly, "I've told thee that th' very birds likes him an' th' rabbits an' wild sheep an' ponies, an' th' foxes themselves. I wonder," staring at her reflectively, "what Dickon would think of thee?"

"He wouldn't like me," said Mary in her stiff, cold little way. "No one does."

Martha looked reflective again.

"How does tha' like thysel'?" she inquired, really quite as if she were curious to know.

Mary hesitated a moment and thought it over.

"Not at all--really," she answered. "But I never thought of that before."

Martha grinned a little as if at some homely recollection.

"Mother said that to me once," she said. "She was at her wash- tub an' I was in a bad temper an' talkin' ill of folk, an' she turns round on me an' says: `Tha' young vixen, tha'! There tha' stands sayin' tha' doesn't like this one an' tha' doesn't like that one. How does tha' like thysel'?' It made me laugh an' it brought me to my senses in a minute."

She went away in high spirits as soon as she had given Mary her breakfast. She was going to walk five miles across the moor to the cottage, and she was going to help her mother with the washing and do the week's baking and enjoy herself thoroughly.

Mary felt lonelier than ever when she knew she was no longer in the house. She went out into the garden as quickly as possible, and the first thing she did was to run round and round the fountain flower garden ten times. She counted the times carefully and when she had finished she felt in better spirits. The sunshine made the whole place look different. The high, deep, blue sky arched over Misselthwaite as well as over the moor, and she kept lifting her face and looking up into it, trying to imagine what it would be like to lie down on one of the little snow-white clouds and float about. She went into the first kitchen-garden and found Ben Weatherstaff working there with two other gardeners. The change in the weather seemed to have done him good. He spoke to her of his own accord. "Springtime's comin,'" he said. "Cannot tha' smell it?"

Mary sniffed and thought she could.

"I smell something nice and fresh and damp," she said.

"That's th' good rich earth," he answered, digging away. "It's in a good humor makin' ready to grow things. It's glad when plantin' time comes. It's dull in th' winter when it's got nowt to do. In th' flower gardens out there things will be stirrin' down below in th' dark. Th' sun's warmin' 'em. You'll see bits o' green spikes stickin' out o' th' black earth after a bit."

"What will they be?" asked Mary.

"Crocuses an' snowdrops an' daffydowndillys. Has tha' never seen them?"

"No. Everything is hot, and wet, and green after the rains in India," said Mary. "And I think things grow up in a night."

"These won't grow up in a night," said Weatherstaff. "Tha'll have to wait for 'em. They'll poke up a bit higher here, an' push out a spike more there, an' uncurl a leaf this day an' another that. You watch 'em."

"I am going to," answered Mary.

Very soon she heard the soft rustling flight of wings again and she knew at once that the robin had come again. He was very pert and lively, and hopped about so close to her feet, and put his head on one side and looked at her so slyly that she asked Ben Weatherstaff a question.

"Do you think he remembers me?" she said.

"Remembers thee!" said Weatherstaff indignantly. "He knows every cabbage stump in th' gardens, let alone th' people. He's never seen a little wench here before, an' he's bent on findin' out all about thee. Tha's no need to try to hide anything from him."

"Are things stirring down below in the dark in that garden where he lives?" Mary inquired.

"What garden?" grunted Weatherstaff, becoming surly again.

"The one where the old rose-trees are." She could not help asking, because she wanted so much to know. "Are all the flowers dead, or do some of them come again in the summer? Are there ever any roses?"

"Ask him," said Ben Weatherstaff, hunching his shoulders toward the robin. "He's the only one as knows. No one else has seen inside it for ten year'."

Ten years was a long time, Mary thought. She had been born ten years ago.

She walked away, slowly thinking. She had begun to like the garden just as she had begun to like the robin and Dickon and Martha's mother. She was beginning to like Martha, too. That seemed a good many people to like--when you were not used to liking. She thought of the robin as one of the people. She went to her walk outside the long, ivy-covered wall over which she could see the tree-tops; and the second time she walked up and down the most interesting and exciting thing happened to her, and it was all through Ben Weatherstaff's robin.

She heard a chirp and a twitter, and when she looked at the bare flower-bed at her left side there he was hopping about and pretending to peck things out of the earth to persuade her that he had not followed her. But she knew he had followed her and the surprise so filled her with delight that she almost trembled a little.

"You do remember me!" she cried out. "You do! You are prettier than anything else in the world!"

She chirped, and talked, and coaxed and he hopped, and flirted his tail and twittered. It was as if he were talking. His red waistcoat was like satin and he puffed his tiny breast out and was so fine and so grand and so pretty that it was really as if he were showing her how important and like a human person a robin could be. Mistress Mary forgot that she had ever been contrary in her life when he allowed her to draw closer and closer to him, and bend down and talk and try to make something like robin sounds.

Oh! to think that he should actually let her come as near to him as that! He knew nothing in the world would make her put out her hand toward him or startle him in the least tiniest way. He knew it because he was a real person--only nicer than any other person in the world. She was so happy that she scarcely dared to breathe.

The flower-bed was not quite bare. It was bare of flowers because the perennial plants had been cut down for their winter rest, but there were tall shrubs and low ones which grew together at the back of the bed, and as the robin hopped about under them she saw him hop over a small pile of freshly turned up earth. He stopped on it to look for a worm. The earth had been turned up because a dog had been trying to dig up a mole and he had scratched quite a deep hole.

Mary looked at it, not really knowing why the hole was there, and as she looked she saw something almost buried in the newly-turned soil. It was something like a ring of rusty iron or brass and when the robin flew up into a tree nearby she put out her hand and picked the ring up. It was more than a ring, however; it was an old key which looked as if it had been buried a long time.

Mistress Mary stood up and looked at it with an almost frightened face as it hung from her finger.

"Perhaps it has been buried for ten years," she said in a whisper. "Perhaps it is the key to the garden!"

#SecretGarden

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