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thebigladjake · 3 years

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AX3001: Oddyssey - TV Show Research and Development: Giygas and the Intrigue of having an unexplainable villain

When it came to making a TV Show, I always had an idea for an Earthbound spiritual successor since 2018 and over this last Summer when we were briefed to make three TV Shows. I had to really think about what ideas I wanted to do. However, during my downtime, I suddenly remembered one specific thing about my Earthbound experience...

Giygas

The Embodiment of Evil, the Universal Cosmic Destroyer or the Almighty Idiot according to who you ask, Giygas is the main antagonist of Earthbound and appropriately serves as the game’s final boss before your adventure comes to a close. Granted, him being the very last thing you fight leads to you leaving with that boss fresh on your mind. But, I hadn’t played Earthbound for a few years... And Giygas just suddenly popped into my head. And a lot of the questions were “Why is he like this? This cute and friendly game has a boss that looks like a nightmare?” I was absolutely fascinated by this boss and it led to my second playthrough of the game.

Onett, the start of the Adventure

This is the hometown of our main character, Ness and effectively our window into the world of this game. We see the town he lives in, it’s so bright and colourful with all the town essentials! A burger shop, a town hall, an arcade, hospital, police station and library, it’s familiar to us as our hometowns most likely have similar locations. The vibrant colours of all the buildings is eye-catching and welcoming!

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The music is also worth noting as it’s very peppy and upbeat, it feels like the theme of a small town with a nice community. Most of the music follows this formula.

Most of the towns in the game follow this design and it does feel like you’re exploring more and more of the world, like you’ve ventured further than you have ever gone before and you’re not going to stop because this world is so interesting and welcoming!

Some towns deviate from the formula, but the good people in the towns help to established the same welcoming energy that we’re used to.

Now, let’s take a look at the final map before Giygas’ lair...

The Cave of the Past, the end of the Adventure

Complete contrast to what has been established this entire game. There are absolutely no colours, there are no buildings, no operations of Giygas’ in the background. It’s just a path to the end of the journey and it’s so simple... But, it’s super effective! The lack of colour helps to make it feel otherworldly, makes it feel alien to the world that you’re used to and that’s exactly what Giygas is, he’s not from the world.

Even our main cast of heroes could not be transported back in time without being transferred into robot bodies, all of their colour is gone too. All except Ness’ hat, showing a small bit of colour almost as if it’s that one bit of hope of beating Giygas.

At the end of games, usually going to the final boss’ lair will be some huge event where you see all of their plans, what they’ve built over time and will be accompanied by some epic score. Earthbound does things differently.

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Just give that a listen, it’s a eerie, droning piece that doesn’t sound like a great confrontation theme. It sounds like ambience more than a score to me and I think that makes it scarier, like you are in the positions of the kids who are probably incredibly scared of what they are going to have to face once inside that cave. It’s so incredible and it��s a sample of the Beach Boys song, ‘Deirdre’.

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It’s the opening note and I find it amazing how a single sample can do so much! There is another Earthbound track that I will link here which features a sample of the trumpet in the intro of the Beatles song, ‘All you need is Love’ and again, it sets up so much with just a tiny little sample.

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This is used just before going to the Cave of the Past, instead being the Cave of the Present. It’s technically just two notes with a reverb, but the sample adds so much and it just feels uncomfortable. However, we don’t need to talk about this for long, let’s go right to Giygas’ lair!

Giygas Lair, the true contrast to Earthbound’s style!

I apologise for the size of the image, but it’s pretty much a straight path but LOOK AT THIS! A trail of organs and entrails twisting and turning through this dark void until you find this uncanny monstrosity of a machine made of the same organic material you were walking on. This. This is what made me come back, it’s such a disturbing idea.

This is open to interpretation, but the way caves are represented in Earthbound is to only make sprites of the ground and walls. All the stuff you can’t see is black, just like how a cave should be. Giygas’ lair has this same motif, but there doesn’t really appear to be any walls around. So depending on your view, they’re either walking through a tunnel or entrails or walking through the void as previously stated. Personally, I think both are terrifically terrifying but I definitely see the void more.

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The organs pulse as you walk up them, the only noise complimenting the atmosphere is the clanking of robo-feet and the breathing of Giygas which is what I feel gives it the whole void feeling. It’s so unnerving that this is the final confrontation, but the fact that it is actually puts us in Ness and his friends shoes.

Getting to the Machine causes everything to stop, the ambience vanishes. Giygas’ intro music plays as the Machine changes to show the robots a picture of Ness’ face. Ness was prophesied to be the one who brings down Giygas and the first thing we see from the Machine is Ness, already suggesting to us that Giygas knows that we’re here...

Pokey, Ness’ childhood friend and eventual enemy over the course of the game, descends in a Spider Mech and just like that the Final Battle is about to begin!

The Final Fight

Of course, the final boss begins with Pokey standing before you with Giygas’ number one thought right now... Ness is here and he’s come to defeat me. This is a pretty standard affair for a boss, only Pokey can be harmed and he is much more a threat in this Spider Mech than he was previously in battle.

Giygas has a shield that is impervious to any kind of physical or psychic attacks and cannot be destroyed or disabled. He attacks using the special power that only Ness knows ‘PSI Rockin’’. His shield will always reflect your shots back at the character who attacks him and even when they have shield themselves, they will get hit regardless. The Machine is what keeps Giygas stable and alive, making him completely invincible...

However... He has one big idiot on his side...

Pokey can be damaged and the strategy of the fight is to focus on him and avoid any attacks that hit the both of them. Pokey, like the main cast, is a kid and he’s incredibly immature. So as soon as his mech is defeated, he taunts the main gang and turns off the Devil’s Machine... The one thing preventing Giygas’ defeat...

Giygas Released

Once released, Pokey explains that Giygas isn’t even himself anymore. He became so powerful that his body was destroyed and had to be contained into a machine in order to maintain some sort of grasp on his thoughts. Without that machine, the four heroes are taken into a dimension of Giygas’ thoughts and since we play as Ness we hear his thoughts directed towards us the player.

He reaches out with such thoughts as repeating Ness’ (The player’s) name, saying “I feel... Sad.” or “It feels good.” and added upon these thoughts Giygas’ attacks cannot be comprehended by our characters. It really helps to add a sense of hopelessness because we have no idea what is truly going on and we can’t fight what we don’t know.

An Unconventional Resolution

Attacks don’t work, defending won’t work either, you can’t heal or save yourself. All hopes seem lost until you notice a certain act that Paula can do. Pray.

When Paula prays, she reaches out to the world she left behind and the folks that are waiting for their return get the feeling that something bad is happening. So, they too pray from the bottom of their hearts...

https://youtu.be/cptFVD3eTEs?start=320&end=374

If you watch the small clip above, once he feels the support from the Earth. The sound cue to signify that Giygas has been damaged and that Giygas is not okay.

Onward to his next form.

Now I would like you to take a close look at this image, I’ve asked a few people about this and sometimes they get it without me saying anything and others don’t. So, just take a moment to find an image amongst the Giygas’.

Got it or have you given up? In the realm of Giygas, here in the black void is a pretty damn distinct shape of a baby. And this is what fascinated me about Giygas, there is a theory that this is symbolism for abortion as you go back in time to kill Giygas but that theory has been disproven by Shigesato Itoi, the game’s creator. There’s evidence that goes against this theory anyway, but this fetus imagery always stuck out to me.

It’s said to be a coincidence that the Super Nintendo generated these sprites and in this pattern. But, it’s such a definite shape of a baby and I find it absolutely mental that it’s just a coincidence. And that curiosity is what brought me back to Earthbound, just this happy go lucky game where you make friends with a little monkey that chews bubblegum, make friends with a man who converts himself into a huge dungeon man and at the very end, you’re faced with this.

It’s not only impactful imagewise, but storywise it’s just as impactful for the opposite reasons. As Giygas can now be damaged by feeling the love and support coming from the friends Ness has made across the world. Each time Giygas is hit, it gets worse, but the moment he really breaks down is when Ness’ Mother wakes up in the middle of the night and rushes downstairs with Ness’ little sister and their dog. They all feel uneasy and begin to pray for the safety of Ness and his friends.

https://youtu.be/cptFVD3eTEs?start=702&end=738

This is the moment Giygas truly breaks down, feeling the support of a loving Mother looking out for her son is a feeling he had long since buried. It’s about time I talk about the backstory of Giygas, while it’s not touched upon in Earthbound/Mother 2, in Earthbound Beginnings/Mother we see Giygas as an alien and we learn about how he came to be.

Giygas and Trauma

Giygas was an alien that was raised by Maria and George, a couple that was abducted by the other members of Giygas’ race. Maria adopted Giygas and looked after him while George studied their powers without their approval and eventually escaped with this knowledge, never being seen again. Once Giygas grows up, he was instructed to ensure that no human is capable of using PSI powers and not wanting to betray the people who raised him, he forcefully detached himself from Maria to prepare for the invasion.

Maria was sent back to Earth, but with amnesia and once the Eight Melodies are obtained, she regains her memory and explains that it was a song she used to sing to Giygas when he was young. This is very important.

Giygas’ first attempt to take over the world. He comes down, looking upon the gang and the battle begins. Starting the trend of Mother/Earthbound games having a unusual way of defeating the final boss. This time, the group begins to sing the Eight Melodies which brings up emotions in Giygas that he thought he had long since repressed or even got over. Giygas has a complete mental breakdown and recalls his forces, swearing revenge on the planet and that he will return.

In Earthbound, Giygas has worked on himself and made sure that what brought him down before cannot bring him down again. However, he didn’t do enough since the feeling of a loving Mother reaching out to her son in his time of need still hurts him severely and it’s at this point where Giygas can hardly do anything. His sprite starts contorting, the colours shift and the audio turns into a droning whirring noise.

Ness’ Mothers love is one thing, but it’s not enough. Giygas is wounded, but he is still fighting. Paula keeps praying for one more person and with a few more attempts, that person is you. There’s a moment in the game where the fourth wall is broken and asks you to enter your name. It can even be your full name, my name is pretty long and my name fits into it perfectly. It’s emotionally engaging since it includes you and you feel like in a way you are defeating him rather than Giygas being defeated by the world of the game.

https://youtu.be/cptFVD3eTEs?start=838&end=938

After this Giygas loses control, the whirring increases, his sprite distorts further to the point where he is unrecognisable, the visuals cutting in with static occassionally. Static that appears at the very beginning of the game, suggesting the approach of Giygas and showing pictures of the invasion, and at the end of the game it suggest that he’s retreating, he’s getting out of reach and eventually he is gone.

And after all of that craziness, the robots are outside of Giygas’ lair. Everything is quiet, “The War against Giygas is over.”

What was Shigesato Itoi thinking?

Shigesato Itoi drew inspiration from an event of his childhood, where he had walked into the wrong screen at the theatre. He walked in on a murder scene which as a kid he mistook for a rape scene which had such a potent effect on him. He drew inspiration from it for Giygas’ final battle and some of the things Giygas says.

In an interview, Itoi claims that there was a scene where a guy grabbed a woman’s breast which distorted it into a ball shape. He said “It all hit me really hard. It was a direct attack on my brain.” despite the fact that this doesn’t actually happen in the movie, which Itoi admits that his memories are a little fuzzy. It’s probably because it all happened so fast and his child brain may have created false memories or just failed to understand it. Itoi also goes onto say, "this sense of terror having atrocity and eroticism side-by-side, and that’s what Giygas's lines at the end are. During the end, he says, “It hurts,” right? That's... her breast. It’s like, how do I put it, a “living-being” sensation." and the purpose of the scene is to get the player’s mind working.

Another interesting part of this interview is when Itoi talks about typical villains and says this, “Well, you know, having a villain there who simply goes, “Wahahaha!” and the like would clearly be bad. But, actually, when I think about it, having villains go, “Wahahaha!” is a really intriguing pattern. But there’s no point in wondering all by yourself for days on end what it means for a bad guy to go, “Wahahaha!” at the climax of a game, you know? I get the feeling that there aren’t many people in the game industry who would do that sort of thing, though.” Which is something important to consider, Earthbound is such a colourful game bursting with personality, so having it end with just a standard final boss affair probably wouldn’t feel satisfying.

What the Earthbound/Mother series taught me about final confrontations?

Giygas’ character and what it taught me that even “Universal Cosmic Destroyers” can have trauma that they are trying to avoid and bury. It humanises them in a way and it can make the final confrontation that more powerful as it’s a problem we can all relate to. They’re not all evil for the sake of being evil, sometimes they don’t have a choice.

I think this is a good thing to take on board and I have already begun planning on my main antagonist’s motivations on Oddyssey. It might be changed since it’s a sensitive topic for me right now, but these motivations won’t be brought up in Season 1 anyway

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darylstorey · 4 years

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@colanom

Shame on you, making me hurt poor Stan he doesn’t deserve this treatment

inspired by Cypher Wheel of Misfortune

It’s All Fun and Games Till......

Stan’s stomach churned, he might as well be strapped to that blasted wheel. That steady clacking getting slower and slower, his stomach flipped. common keep it together Stan, you can take it. To think he used to enjoy game shows, in a kind’a mindless half paying attention kind of way, with the bright lights and goofy sound effects, the ham-handed showmanship.

He focused on his family, they were watching him, he had to be brave, he had to hold on. Ford would figure out how to save the kids, Stan just needed to buy them all some time. Pay attention Stan, Cypher had made some crack about the last punishment, Stan took a steadying breath grinned at his tormentor “I don’know, Bill I think another bath might be refreshing”

Bill lets out a high-pitched cackle, “you rouge you, figures you’d walk off drowning like a champ” Stan had nearly drowned a few times before this mess, it was nothing compared to the pain of actually drowning.

Afterward when Bill brought him back, the pain of the water being forced back out of his lungs and stomach, it had felt as if his insides had been on fire. Stan twirls his cane keeping up the caviler act, even as is heart hammered against his rib cage as the wheel slowed. “You know me Bill one tough son of a…” Stan caught a glance at Mable “Gun” tears were streaming down her face.

It had been her team this time, she had almost made it to, but in that final stretch the last pillar had collapsed and that stupid little egg had plummeted into the chasm below. Stan suspected Bill had cheated, but what could he do about that, at least Mable had made it, at least she was safe. He smiled, a real smile, not for the lights, and cameras, not for the psychotic nacho, a smile for his grand nice, for his family. Stan would go through hell for them, he would walk threw fire tap-dancing and laughing all the way, and that’s what he was going to do now.

Silence.

Stan’s heart plummeted into his gut as he was yanked backwards and pined to an angled table. Bill was laughing, he hovered over Stan gloating one of his hands hovering over his face. Not for the first-time Stan noticed how sharp those black claws really were as they traced the tender skin under his right eye. Reflexively Stan begins to struggle to try and twist away, Bill grasps his chin locking his head in place. Bill lifts Stan’s glasses, “what do you think Maceral?” Bill purrs, gently he traces a finger around Stan’s eyes “should I take the right one or the left one”.

Bill’s body is blocking the cameras, and his voice is too soft for the microphones, this is just for him, just for Stan. Tears are welling up in Stan’s eyes, he can’t hold them back, he’s so powerless, Bill lovingly wipes away a tear “now, now, none of that, we have a show to do,” pain sears threw Stan’s brain as the claws dig in.

Stan convulses in pain as Bill dose his work, stubbornly Stan bights down on his tongue and swallows his screams of pain and panic. The world threw Stan’s right eye goes red, and the darkness.

Stan came to just as his bonds released him from the table and his slide to the ground, he struggles to stay standing as he trembles uncontrollably. Something hot and thick was running down his face, he couldn’t see out his right eye, in shock Stan lifted his trembling hand to his face.

Bill was talking “Don’t worry folks! Our co-host is doing just fine!” Stan can feel his tiny stick hands patting him on the head “Right, Stano?”

The deal, he has to keep up the act, “Right” his voice is to shaky, what’s he going to say, I’m doing great you fucking psycho, doing dandy dick head “I’m f-” feeling fan fucking tastic, “feeling completely fine…”

It isn’t his vice! it isn’t his words!

His one remaining eye goes wide with horror as his face is pulled into a too wide grimace of a smile, but it isn’t his. His family is watching pail with fear and terror, Ford is screaming, Windy and Roby holding him back as the flails and threatens. He can feel the tears mixing with his blood. He took my eye, Bill just fucking gouged out my eye, and me made my family watch, he made the kids watch, framed it like it was their fault.

“we’ll be right back after this commercial break” and the cameras blink off, the screens go black, and Bill grins at Stan triumphant “I think that went really well”

Stan doesn’t think he just lunges “YOU BASTARD, I’LL RIP THAT STUPID FUCKING HAT OFF YOUR HEAD AND CRAM IT DOWN YOU THROUGHT”

Blue glowing chains leap from the floor rapping around Stan pulling him to his knees, tears ran unrestrained as he ragged at Bill. “THEY’RE KIDS BILL!!!! THEY’RE JUST FUCKING KIDS”.

The chains tighten, until Stan is gasping for air, Bill floats in front of Stan a smug crinkle to his eye “you done yet” Stan strains, the chains burning him as he struggles “easy Stano, I know it feels good to vent, but I can’t have you going back on live air like this.”

Stan snarls as Bill pats him on the cheek “now Stan calm down, I can’t go on without a co-host, and if you can’t do it I’ll have to find a replacement” Stan freezes “Shooting Star has the right kind of energy, but I think Pine tree would be able to add some intellectual commentary what do you think”

“don’t you fucking touch them” Stan growls

“Then pull YOURSELF THE FUCK TOGETHER” Bill morphs into is towering red demonic form, “IF YOU CAN’T HOLD UP YOUR END OF THE DEAL, I HAVE NO USE FOR YOU”

Stan wilts slumping in his bonds, he nods “I…I’ll pull it together” Stan swallows the ash in his mouth, he needs to sell it “…….sorry” the chains fall away and Bill shrinks down to his friendly happy yellow form.

“good” he pats Stan on the cheek again, “now go get yourself cleaned up, a new round is about to start” he turns to leave.

“can…can I see them please, no lights no cameras, just a few minutes, that’s all I’m asking for is a few minutes with my family” Stan hated how pathetic he sounds, but he needs to see them, to talk to them, for real, just for a minute.

There’s a dangerous edge to Bill’s answer “that wasn’t part of the deal”

“please” it’s whisper a desperate plea.

“tell you what” Bill turns back to Stan with a too cheerful smile “behave, like the good little puppet you are, and MAYBE, I’ll let you have a little treat” I slight red tent colors Bills glow “know be a good boy, and change your shirt,” he turns to the Henchmaniac acting as stage manager, “watch him, I’m taking five”

As Bill storms off 8-ball studies Stan, he sees the trembling old man sitting on the flour, looking small and fragile on the massive darkened set. He snorts this pathetic flesh bag isn’t going anywhere “I’ll get you that fresh shirt, you better not have ruined that one” he snarls as if Stan had any control.

Stan is left alone, the big man peels off the glittery golden monstrosity of a jacket. He pops open the first button of his blood stain shirt, his fingers brushing the collar locked around his neck, the one his ridiculously massive bow tie hides. One button at a time he exposes his harry chest, covered in new healing wounds, burn makes, gaping wounds brutally cauterized, any one of these wounds should have been the end of him but Bill wasn’t done with him yet, wasn’t done with his family. He needs to stay strong, take the brunt of the punishment. “I’m trying Ford, I’m trying to keep it together,” He lifts a trembling hand up to the empty socket of his right eye “please, Poindexter, hurry up and save the kids,”

As he feels the persistent ace, the emptiness where there shouldn’t be one he crumples, weeping, in pain, scared, helpless, and very very alone “I don’t know how much more time I can buy you”.

In my head this is were Stan starts to crack, he’s withstood a lot up to this point snarking at Bill and being Cavalier about the punishments driving Bill nuts with his stubborn abstinence, but even tough sons sons of guns reach a breaking point

#cypher wheel of misfortune #gore warning #eye trauma #im sorry #the only reason i can write this is becouse i know he gets a happy ending #im just not sure how

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buns-with-a-book · 4 years

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Into the Spardaverse 3 - A Tale of Two Worlds

Donte and Dante talk, Cassandra and Reboot Vergil talk, lots of talking but expect some action in the next chapter.

Fandom: Devil May Cry, DmC (Devil may Cry) Characters: Dante, Reboot Dante, Vergil, Reboot Vergil, OC Tags: @nimnox @furyeclipse @synchronmurmurs @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz

Summary: Dante and Cassandra hear the tale of the brothers of Limbo City.

Dante looked around the safehouse the punk found for them. It seemed to have once been a nice apartment but now it was in ruins, sprayed with sigils and spells to deter demons by someone who came here before them. In the presence of them, he could feel a slight tingling. It was similar to Cassandra, when she summoned the orbs of light to either light the way or burn off the face of a demon. It never burned, at least not enough to slow him down, but it always kept him focused on the task at hand.

“Hey.” The punk’s voice rattled him from his thoughts. He looked back to him, seeing what looked like a salvaged bag of food set out on the tiny table. There were a couple cans of tuna, some mayonnaise condiment packages, some sliced bread, and plastic utensils. The punk had taken an orange from the bag and was quietly peeling it open. Dante frowned at what was available, a frown that made the punk huff in irritation. “Look, if you’re gonna keep on going to find your sis, you’re going to need to eat.”

“No pizza?” He asked, walking over to the worn couch and flopping down.

“Nope.” The punk crossed his arms. “Haven’t had pizza in years.”

“Jeez, what kind of life do you live?” Dante huffed, opening one of the cans and mixing the mayonnaise with the tuna. “Next thing you know, you’re gonna tell me you haven’t had strawberry sundaes.”

“Bleh, strawberries. Don’t like em.”

“What!?” Dante stared at him. “They’re the best thing ever!”

“I don’t like the seeds. They get everywhere and it’s distracting.” The punk replied. “I prefer oranges anyway, especially in orange sherbet.” He added, taking an orange slice and popping it into his mouth. Dante made a face, thankful that he didn’t turn out like this punk. He couldn’t fathom a life without his beloved sundaes. He quickly made a sandwich of tuna and mayo and chomped in, wincing at the taste. It wasn’t pizza...but it would do for now.

“So, kid, how long have you been hunting demons?” Dante asked between bites.

“...since I was a kid. I was tossed around from place to place, fighting off demons that hunted me down.” Dante noticed the softness in his tone. His hand reached up to hold a necklace, rubbing the red jewel. Dante could only presume that it was the Perfect Amulet, in another form. “Everywhere I was sent to, there were always demons trying to kill me.”

‘Ain’t that a familiar story.’ Dante mused, staring at the punk.

“What was your mom like?” The punk asked suddenly, rousing Dante from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Your mom. We’re obviously more alike beyond looks and names.” The punk said, sitting up to face him properly. Dante took another bite of the sandwich.

“Well...only if you go first.” He waved his hand. He could feel the scowl that the punk was throwing at him before he let out a sigh.

“My mom was an angel.” He said softly. “From what I remember, she held off Mundus’ armies as long as she could while Dad fled with us.”

“Wait, Sparda was with you?” Dante interjected. “Lucky. My dad was never with us when...that happened.” He winced at the memory of smoke and flames, of the final scream from the mother he wasn’t strong enough to save. “Nor was Verge.” He raised an eyebrow at the punk. “Speaking of him…”

“What about your mom.” The punk hissed. It seemed that the topic of Vergil was a sore subject, not that Dante could blame him. For years, Vergil was a subject that he didn’t want to think of, especially after what happened on Mallet Island. Dante let out a sigh.

“Ok, ok. My mom…” He closed his eyes, pushing past the memories of ash and smoke and blood. “She was a witch, as I recall. Familiars, potions, the whole shabang. Don’t really remember my dad much...I think he visited a few times before he just...disappeared. Everybody talks about him like he’s the hottest shit that ever walked around. Hell, even a whole town worshiped him like a god.” He chuckled at the thought of Fortuna. The punk listened quietly, shifting in his seat.

“The Sparda I know...that I remember, he was just a really good swordsman.”

“Sounds like some things never change.”

“He used to be kicking until recently...until the Demon King found him and killed him.” Dante winced at that. Some things never changed indeed. “I wanted to meet him, before he died, but…” He let out a sigh. “So much for that. Shit.” He hissed.

“I understand that feeling kid.” Dante finished the sandwich and stood, walking to the window. “There’s a lot I wanna say to my old man, a lot I wanna ask...but I can’t.” He sighed, leaning against the windowsill. He looked down the street and blinked, watching as a tiny golden butterfly fluttered down the street. It stood out from the bleakness of Limbo City. He smiled, knowing exactly what that butterfly was. He held out his hand, letting the spectral butterfly land in his palm. His hand bloomed with warmth, reminding him of the sun that was shrouded behind grey and green clouds. He looked up, out the window, and felt a sense of direction. It was northward...and it was nearby. An image of a mansion flashed in his mind, guarded by a gatekeeper made of twisted metal and appearing like an angel. A flicker of his own demonic energy melded with the butterfly, giving its wings a bright-red glow.

“What was that?” He heard the punk ask behind him.

“The way me and my sis communicate, if one of us is in danger.” He said, letting it flutter away. “I know where she is.” He pointed out the window. “Up that street, a couple lefts, and we’ll end up at a big ole mansion. That’s where she is.” The punk let out a frustrated sigh. “Hm?”

“She’s at The Demon King’s Palace. Fucking great.”

“So, we’re going to kick the ass of a jackass?” Dante laughed dryly, looking back to the punk. The laugh died off at the sight of him, looking more vulnerable than he ever saw. There was also the fact that he hadn’t seen Vergil at all, neither his own brother or the brother he knew the punk had.

“That jackass...is my brother.”

“Jeez. Everything just has to get more complicated.” Dante muttered, running a hand through his silvery-white hair. It didn’t help that the Demon King was the punk’s brother...who slew their father as well, he could never see Vergil doing that. It was those thoughts that he mulled over. In the distance, he swore he saw a blur of neon blue, like lightning across the cloud-covered sky. He smirked and stood up.

“Come on kid, we’re gonna meet someone at jackass’ mansion.”

“Who?” The punk quickly got up.

“My brother.”

---

Cassandra hummed softly, watching the orb of sunlight she summoned bounce around at the mere gesture of her hand. While this little bitch that called himself Vergil was searching for her Dante and Vergil, she was passing the time as his prisoner. She had settled herself on the edge of the bed but dared not take a nap. It was too risky, especially with the Demon King lurking in the very walls of the mansion that was his palace. She had no idea how the demons of Limbo City operated, if even sleeping in their realm would damn her to a hundred years of slumber.

‘When all else fails, assume their rules are the same as the Fair Folk.’ She thought. The handle of the door twisted before opening, revealing Vergil entering her prison cell of a bedroom. Behind him was a demon on spindly legs, holding a tray of tea. She stared at the demon, unsure how to react to it aside from disgust.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, struggling to sound as neutral as possible.

“My agents are seeking out your allies, Rose. It will not be long before they come.” An unsettling grin crept on his face. “And with their arrival, they shall be destroyed.” She noticed his unsettling confidence, as if he knew they would be crushed by him. Did he know what the Dante and Vergil she knew held? Did the power of Sin Devil Trigger exist in this world? Or was it impossible, a lofty unreachable standard? She didn’t dare ask, not wanting to spoil the powers she knew they had, to catch the Demon King off guard.

“So…” She hummed, glancing around the walls. “Nice sigils you got on the walls. Are they supposed to do anything?” Vergil looked at her in surprise. He carefully pulled off his gloves, walking over to her. She stood up, backing away from him. “What are you doing!?” He took her hand, ignoring her recoil from the touch.

“Perhaps you are no angel…” Cassandra bit back a scathing comment, trying to tug her hand out of his. He let go after a few moments, Cassandra quickly pulling her hand close to her. “Would you like tea?” And he had the gall to ask if she wanted tea!? He gestured to the demon who had been standing in the room. The demon looked towards her, tilting it’s faceless head.

“...no thank you.” She whispered, trying to keep her voice even. She dared not ask about his mother, she was certain either Mundus killed her or he did it himself. “I...I don’t have the appetite at the moment.”

“Suit yourself, Rose.” He sighed and stepped back, walking to the demon. He picked up a teacup and began to sip the tea. Cassandra stared at her hand, gently rubbing the skin. She didn’t dare try to activate her healing Crest, not wanting to attract any more of his attention than she already had. “Who were your parents?” Vergil asked. She frowned.

“Soren and Eos Greensleeve. If you’re asking if they were human or not, they were human as far as I was aware.”

“Was?”

“They’re dead.” Another half-truth. Stella was dead and Nyx was dead to her. Vergil hummed quietly at the news.

“My condolences. I know what it is like to lose your parents.” She raised an eyebrow at that.

“Eva...and Sparda, correct?”

“You know of them?” He asked, turning to face her. She swallowed.

“I’ve heard of them, how Eva sacrificed herself to save her sons. Sparda’s last gift, Rebellion and Yamato...all rumors and legends. I wonder how Sparda would react, seeing his son as the Demon King?”

“Quite interesting that you speak of a dead demon, a demon who did not bend to my will. It was a shame I had to kill Sparda.” Cassandra stared at him, her body frozen from shock. “He was half-mad from Mundus’ torture, it was a mercy to kill him.”

“You speak of mercy but I doubt you were ever capable of it.” She whispered. “You only killed him because you could do it.” The look she got from that, a look of casual disinterest in her shock, told her more than he could ever say.

‘This bitch is a fucking madman!’ She thought, narrowing her eyes at him. She wished she could run from the Demon King, she wanted to, but she had to wait for a distraction from the outside. Preferably named Dante, but any distraction would do at this point. She noticed he was walking away from the window, to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To the library. I will find out who you are, Rose. You may not be the angel I originally pinned you to be but you are someone of interest. I just need to find out who.” The spindly demon trotted after him docily, stepping out of the room before Vergil closed the door and locked it.

‘You won’t find out, because I don’t belong here.’ Cassandra thought, walking to the window. ‘And by the time you figure it out, I’m gonna be kicking your ass.’ She opened the window, watching as a blue spectral butterfly fluttered to her. She smiled at the sight, taking it into her hand. ‘Make that both of us, you little bitch.’

#devil may cry #devil may cry dante #devil may cry oc #devil may cry vergil #into the spardaverse

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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fhalkfhaklfhlkak i hate this

TW really truly literally ruined the word ‘spark’ for me. Like the whole damn word. I hear it now and I’m like, NOPE, like...idk, some people who cringe when they hear the word moist or panties. Apologies to anyone who hates those words and cringed, i dont actually know if thats a thing or if like, I just have weird friends. Probably just the latter.

But anyways, Im just like...lmfao. Its so visceral too? Like I have this one original project, Waveriders, that I’ve been fiddling with off and on in the background of other projects for awhile, might have talked about it on here, idk, I don’t keep track.

Basically its a far future sci-fi novel/setting for linked shorter works set on a gas giant that was settled by humans who figured that they can’t possibly be stepping on anyone’s toes there, its a freaking gas giant, hello, no one’s home, right? They literally have to make their own ground by using technology to form anti-gravity wells in the habitable zone of the atmosphere and like, make floating cities and then these kind of buoys scattered across the planet that create these electromagnetic currents that flow in specific ‘routes’ between the cities, and people travel between them in these flying ships that use magnetized hulls and solar sails to ride these currents, and blah blah blah, yada yada yada, bc like, why would I resist an opportunity to have floating cities and sky pirates and ancient cyborg machine dragons? Doesn’t make sense.

Anyway, so couple thousand years after settling this planet, and by then for Plotty Reasons there are people who have what’s called waveriding abilities, like they can ‘hack’ certain wavelengths or types of energy and manipulate them in various ways, but only one kind of energy per person, and they each have their own little names and niches.

So, y’know, basically just like ATLA, except for like, its energy powers and there are cyborg machine dragons and floating cities and sky pirates, obvsly. Plus areas of totally fucked up gravity called the badlands that are all like, criminal underworld metropolis because normal people are like lol nope, we like it when up is up and down is down, all of this is very just...nope. And also because shocking and totally unexpected plot twist, they were totally wrong about the planet being uninhabited just cuz it didn’t have Earth type ground...like, so in addition and on top of and in conjunction with all of the above and whatnot, there are these beings called Chaos Angels, that are basically like sentient quantum waveforms that can take any shape or appearance, but just, have no physical substance and yet are really good at faking that they’re not totally there when they fuck with humans, which they do a lot, because well. Why not, y’know?

But other than that, its exactly like ATLA. I’m a derivative hack. I disgust myself, truly I do.

BUT the point of this particular synaptic misfire aka ADHD ramble, is that so, okay, these different types of not!benders are all called waveriders as an overall umbrella term, but with ten different subsets of this in total, right? So people who can ‘hack’ light and manipulate it in various ways are called brightriders, and people who are tuned into soundwaves are called echo-riders, and some can manipulate the more electricity-skewed side of the electromagnetic spectrum and those are shockriders and the ones who skew more to the magnetic side are steelriders but I’m probably gonna change that because it sounds like a porno? Yeah no, just saw it outside of my notes for the first time and can confirm, definitely sounds like a porno so they’re not gonna be called steel-riders, but they will be called something steel-rider-esque. You get it.

And then there are the five weird ones that people aren��t totally quite sure how their waveriding shticks work because the kinds of energy they hack aren’t like....the kinds that work in the same way as the others with their easily discernible and patternistic wavelengths, and scientists and scholars are always arguing like but skyriders aren’t even in the same FIELD as the other waverider types because gravity isn’t even an actual ENERGY, just because we talk about gravity waves doesn’t mean they’re remotely the same thing as lightwaves, they make no SENSE, and I’m just like hahaha, I am your god, fictional scientists. Fucking deal with it. Plus it does make sense, you just don’t know the Secret Rules and Logistics that I do, pfft.

Anyway, so the other types are boomriders who hack kinetic energy and skyriders of course obviously manipulate gravity, and then the last three are really weird, and super rare and thus don’t really have set names and just have lots of nicknames and are often just thought to be rumors. So those are the bio-riders who manipulate chemical energy though it often gets mistakenly referred to or just handwaved as being ‘life energy’ as though that’s a thing, ugh future way advanced people are so dumb sometimes, honestly. But so they can manipulate biological processes in various ways and do things with healing and also hurting, and basically just don’t piss one off ever. Like. You’ll die. And then there’s the psi-riders, who are essentially psychics and hack brainwaves, and I’m not at all bitter that I lack the balls to just go for broke and call them ghost riders like I want to, because ghost riders obviously sounds way cooler?? But also, Marvel would definitely sue?? Because they’re just, like that.

And like, the last of the Weird Ones are the ones so super rare and also so hard to actually....tell if someone actually IS one, that most people think they don’t actually even exist and are just an unsubstantiated like, theoretical idea some scientist had once while high and then just, never shut up about so eventually the idea caught on. And those are the quantum-riders, or luck-riders, basically they theoretically manipulate quantum wavelengths in ways that are almost impossible to identify, like theoretically they wouldn’t even know they were doing it? Anyway, so lots of times, what are actually quantum-riders are just jealously thought to be like, really fucking lucky assholes. Even though the way their powers work really don’t have anything to do with luck or even probability, specifically, like that’s a simplistic approximation and its more like they manipulate possibilities but also shut up me, nobody cares.

ANYWAY, people who can count and who actually bothered to would probably notice by now like the funky little geniuses they are that all of those still only adds up to nine. And that’s because of the last one, the one that SHOULD go up in the brightrider, shockrider, notpornIswear!steel-rider hierarchy or taxidermy or whatever the fuck. And these are the ones who manipulate what’s essentially thermal energy, or more accurately the microwave-skewing side of the ultraviolet spectrum whereas brightriders are just the ones who skew more to the infrared side of it.

And the long and short of all of this Unnecessary-ness and the source of my fit of pique and ensuing ramble-palooza....is that ORIGINALLY, they were SUPPOSED to be called sparkriders.

But OBVIOUSLY I can’t call them that anymore, because like. I tried, and I was like ugh you drama queen slash whiny pissbaby, it was just a shitty teen supernatural show and SPARK WAS NEVER EVEN CANON, do not let THEM win and ruin a perfectly good classification name! But I did. I did let it ruin them, and its. Well. Its a problem, because I kept thinking up ways to kill off the sparkrider characters for absolutely no reason at all instead of like....thinking up ways to make the plot do what it was outlined to do in their parts of the story.

This may come like, way out of left field, and just SHOCK and STUN and BEWILDER some of you, like....no way, srsly? But yeah, true story, among my many canon mental neuroses like ADHD, PTSD, magical depression hour and super fun anxiety like....there is a tiny possibility (aka actual diagnosis) that while I don’t talk about this much, or ever really, I do have a smidge of ye old OCD? Its not like, a big thing and doesn’t really affect my daily routines and that’s pretty much why I never usually bring it up or list it alongside the rest of the crap on my neurodivergence resumé or whatever, because like, there’s already WAY too many misconceptions out there about what OCD actually is and what constitutes it, and tons of people are always jokingly but also thinking they’re kinda half serious, like ‘oh I’m so OCD about this and this and that’ and its like. LOL. Are you though? You sure?

Anyway, but point being, the way mine manifests for me is like...not actually a problem? Like, I don’t actually have any REAL complaints about it at all, just half-assed little fits of pique ones like this, which is the other part of why I never bring it up, because too often ppl just can’t fathom that OCD or even any kind of neurodivergence can be...WANTED, or a good thing, and lololol, that’s ableism, folks. But its true, I don’t actually mind mine at all, even if it occasionally makes things frustrating, when I get stuck like I am now. But the flip side of it is....its actually a pretty huge part of my creativity and just the way my mind works in general....like, what people accredit to me being particularly insightful about character analysis or drawing connections or stuff like that in meta or fics or my novels or worldbuilding...that’s what it is. That’s my OCD in action.

My brain like...REQUIRES that I find patterns in....pretty much everything. Even day to day mundane stuff too, though like I said, its mild enough there that it doesn’t fuck with my routines too much, but like, I have to order things into nice, neat patterns and groupings. And if there aren’t any that are immediately obvious, I kinda pretty much HAVE to dig deeper until I find some on a slightly deeper level, something beneath the surface or first glance, and keep going until I find something.....or worst case scenario, I have to like....add stuff and embellish and fill in gaps with my own ‘content’ until I have the rough edges rounded off into something that CAN be stacked neatly atop some other part of the story or whatever it is I’m focusing on? And the obsessive-compulsive part for me is like, lol, I gotta find it SOMEWHERE, SOMEHOW.

My brain literally won’t shut off or grudgingly accept being diverted to a different subject until I’ve made some kind of pattern or flowchart or classification system. It will literally keep me up for hours, going over the same things over and over from every angle until I find SOME way to....reassemble or restructure it in some nice, neat little order of some type. I mean that’s basically what it is. My brain insists on me forming some semblance of order out of any glimpse I have of what I would otherwise term creative chaos. And it won’t give up until it gets what it wants, which when you throw in my ADHD and how often I’ll get derailed off on slight tangents but with my OCD then sooner or later forcing me back to the original focus, rinse and repeat ad nauseam....like. LOL. I learned to operate on very little sleep from a pretty young age by necessity, its just...my brain, dudes. Its just like that.

But the perks are like, I pretty much think this is WHY I’m so creative....because my brain, for as long as I can remember, has always just kinda....forced me to be? Also probably has a lot to do with well...eh, I don’t need to talk about that right now. Whatever. Anyway, point being, so....I do like the end results very much so, and for all its....Why Must You Be Like This eccentricities, I’m quite attached to my brain and would not be very likely to agree to a trade even were one possible. I mean don’t get me wrong, I could do without the PTSD and anxiety, if we’re just, like....talking some pruning shears or whatever, but the actual creative machinery, I’m keeping. Ultimately it just means I really fucking like patterns and finding patterns or making patterns where previously there were none, or at least none that were easy to spot.

But ugh, man, these are the rare times when I’m like omg, just call it a day, we don’t ACTUALLY have to come up with the perfect replacement name for that one relatively small and insignificant detail of a much larger story that isn’t even in the Top Ten list of my main priorities at the moment. And my asshole of a brain is just like....yeah no, we gotta. You know the rules dude, you decided it was official, that name didn’t work anymore and was never gonna, so now we gotta find a replacement or else things will be UNEVEN?? The pattern will be...missing a piece? There will be CHAOS AND ANARCHY IN THE STREETS THAT RUNNETH OVER WITH BLOOD? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT??

And so I’m like....literally sitting here googling synonyms for spark because I’m just like that sometimes, lmfao. Oh and of course its gotta be a GOOD replacement, naturally. I can’t just shoehorn in a somewhat acceptable substitute that in the back of my mind I’m expecting to only be temporary, until I come up with something better. See, because my brain will KNOW, and it will NOT be okay with that, because that is CHEATING. And my brain, apparently, has strong feelings about cheating, which is weird and fairly unexpected of me, IMO.

Anyway, kudos to anyone who actually read through that instead of scrolling, I honestly have zero idea why I felt like sharing it, I just did and thus I did. *shrugs*

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contre-qui-rose · 5 years

Text

this is a blumenbuddies original, folks

They make it a week before this whole –

This thing that they’ve torn themselves into.

Forced their way in, lions in a nest of vipers, inconceivably different even if Bren – Caleb – whoever the fuck he is now, tells them that they are welcome because they aren’t, not really, she isn’t an idiot.

She can see the look on the half-orc’s face when he thinks she isn’t looking.

Jokes on him, though, because she’s always fucking looking.

But –

They make it a week, her and Eodwulf, before things start to collapse.

To be fair to herself (even if she doesn’t deserve even that) things were falling apart from the instant that Firbolg had touched her and told her to breathe, because –

How the hell is she supposed to breathe when her lungs are crumbling into dust from the inside out.

They had just been –

On a mission, like usual. To kill some upstarts making a much of things in the dynasty, making a impact in the war the He needed erased, but they had fought back, those upstarts, they had defeated them, and then Bren –

They hadn’t recognized him. His hair was long, now.

He looked alive.

Not – empty and precariously perched on the ledge between life and death.

They had lost, that fight, and she had been about to activate the failsafe, and teleport her and Wulf out of there, and then –

She knew, on some intrinsic level, that her memories weren’t all there. It’s easy to figure out, when she has month long gaps in between missions, impressions that don’t line up and slide away when she tries to focus on them.

It’s different, though, knowing that and facing it. When divine light rips through her mind and tears the walls away, and she’s left shaking on the floor of this stupid house, in this stupid country, forcibly confronted with the fact that she hasn’t been herself in sixteen years.

She killed her parents.

She’s killed so many people, since then, but they were the only people she knew and loved and poisoned anyways.

She fed them their deaths, and watched them die.

Poison drips from her hands.

She clenches her fist a little tighter in her hair, pulling at the strands, and scrambles back against the wall as she hears the sound of footsteps outside.

They pass without opening the door of the linen closet she’s crawled into.

She isn’t sure why she’s in here. She had been –

With Wulf, maybe, if that memory isn’t a lie, and they had been reading in the garden on top of the tower with the firbolg and he had said something, about –

Plants, she thinks. Something innocuous, but –

She had blinked, and she had been not running but walking with purpose, and then she had blinked again and she had been in here, hands clenched tight in her hair as she rocked in the darkness and warmth and softness of the linen closet and tried not to let her keening cries move beyond the dark and alert someone that she’s in here.

She rocks back, and her spine hits the wall and sends a shock through her body that feels like clarity, almost, so she does it again, and again, and then stops when she hears the footsteps returning outside.

There’s – someone outside the door, and she doesn’t know who it is, and if she tried to speak right now Common is out of her grasp, and there is someone there –

“Astrid?”

It’s Bren’s voice.

Fuck.

She hums, and scoots away from the wall, closer to the door.

She doesn’t trust new Bren. Doesn’t trust that this isn’t – some test, by Master Ikithon, some strain at her loyalties while she’s really asleep at the cottage. It would explain – a lot.

Explain how nothing feels real, even the pain from her hands scratching at her arms.

Explain how she feels like she’s wrapped in blankets too tight, too sweltering, wrapped up and slowly boiling alive.

“It’s Bren. Are you alright? Eodwulf said that you ran.”

Zemnian.

Ikithon doesn’t –

He doesn’t like it when they speak it, because it ties them to their past and they need to be free for their futures.

She still speaks it alone, with Wulf, but –

A point in this being real, despite all evidence to the contrary.

“Ja,” she gets out, and winces at the ripples of pain that sends through her throat.

She must make a noise then, some exhalation of pain that clues him in to something being wrong, because his voice responds, “Astrid? I’m going to open the door, okay?”

She flinches back, as the door swings open, and then peels her eyes open despite the pain that the light makes in her head to glare, wordless, at Bren’s – stupid face.

Stupid, stupid, face.

He kneels down, next to her, and shuts the door slightly, just enough so that it’s darker and she’s not still squinting.

He holds his hand out, not touching her, not yet – he and the other people he’s tied himself to, now, they keep talking to her about how she’s allowed to say no to things she doesn’t want. How nobody will touch her unless she wants it. How –

They aren’t keeping her here.

If she wanted to leave, she could.

Part of her does.

Part of her wants to run, and hide, and ignore how she’s shattering in slow motion.

The larger part of her wants to stay here forever and break.

She nods, at Bren’s questioning look, and his hand ghosts over her own before coming up, palm out, to rest against her forehead.

He hisses, and pulls his hand back before reaching down to feel at her wrist, two fingers over her pulse point as she stares at him, heart rabbit-quick from whatever anxiety forced her into the closet.

“Scheisse. Alright, let’s – are you okay to move? You have a fever.”

Oh.

That would explain why she feels like she’s burning.

His hands take hers as she silently asks for help up, and as she blinks – she’s vertical, vision greying out at a pang of dizziness washes through her, and then she’s swaying and falling and with another blink she’s on the ground again, head between her knees as she tries to breathe.

Fuck.

No, seriously, fuck.

She doesn’t look up, but she can hear the dull clink of copper wire as Bren twists it around his hands and casts message.

“Caduceus, can you and Wulf come down – Astrid is sick, I believe.”

There’s a pause, and then he whispers, “Ah.”

It’s not a good sound, she feels.

“Jester, can you meet me by the linen closet? I’m in need of some assistance.” He recasts the spell, and without a reply she can now here another set of footsteps echoing on the wooden floors of the house.

She doesn’t – Jester is nice.

(She had been prepared to kill her.)

Weird, maybe, but not any weirder than Bren and her and Wulf, before. Nice.

Good, maybe, for all that he definition of good is skewed.

Kind.

The door creaks open again, and she presses her eyes closed against the light sending daggers through her headache.

Jester’s voice, for once, isn’t the usual loud babble that she’s come to expect out of the tiefling. Instead, it’s quieter, softer around the consonants, less brash and more – concerned, maybe.

It’s confusing.

Bren had seemed fine, when she had her eyes open, but maybe he’s – maybe he’s sick, too? And that’s why she’s concerned.

There’s a tap against her knuckles, Bren’s fingers, smooth where there should be roughness because she remembers when he managed to burn his fingertips badly enough that they scarred over smooth, at the cottage, before.

She blinks her eyes open, and the light is dim again. Jester’s eyes glint, in the remaining light, and she can just track the motion of her tail sweeping the air behind her.

“Astrid, is it okay if I touch you? I want to try and cast lesser restoration, just to see if that makes you not-sick anymore.”

Jester wasn’t the one who cast that first greater restoration on her. That was caduceus – soft furred hands so different from the rough healing she’s received before – but Jester’s cast it on her since, to make sure any remnants of Ikithon’s influence was burned away from her mind.

It’s too warm in here.

She’s burning.

But Jester’s hands, when she nods, feel like ice against her forehead, and she leans into it.

There’s a pulse of divine energy, green and golden and light, within her, but after a moment it fizzles out and dissipates to emptiness, and she whines in the back of her throat.

Jester’s hand leaves her forehead, and she hums, unhappily.

“I don’t think that worked. I don’t – shit.”

“Caduceus said Wulf was sick too – maybe just – the stress, from the memories falling? I am not a healer, Jester, I do not know how this works.”

It’s too dark in here, for a second, and she forces her eyes open, staring at the glowing eyes of Frumpkin, Bren’s weird magic cat.

The cat’s magic feels fey.

Comforting, in a sense. Reminds her of the forests surrounding Blumenthal.

Reminds her of –

Tiny, buried crescent moon pendants that She and Wulf and Bren had dug up in the woods, on Midsummer, that had turned to dust and decay in her hands when she tried to wear them, old and corrupted from years of hiding in the dirt.

Where’s –

Wulf. She needs –

She forces her eyes open, again, from where they had fallen closed, and stares up at Bren and Jester, talking about something she doesn’t care to pay attention to because it’s in Common and if it’s in Common it’s probably not important.

Tries to get words, to form actual coherency, in her mouth, and feels as they die in her throat.

It’s not usually her issue, not-talking, because she’s good at talking, good at twisting her words to spin confessions out of traitors, good at using them like the poison the swims through her veins, good at using them to whisper apologies to people she’s killed late at night when she knows no one’s listening except their ghosts.

But now – she’s exhausted, and her throat hurts, and her head hurts, and everything hurts, and it’s too dark and too bright and she’s hot, burning, and words are ashes.

She lifts her aching hands, instead, bright sparks of pain drifting where Ikithon had broken them years and years and years ago and they had healed wrong, that she’s been ignoring for sixteen years but seems overwhelmingly present now.

She taps Bren’s foot, and he glances down.

“Wulf,” she signs, clumsy and out of practice.

Then, “Bed. Safe.”

Bren’s eyes, in the dim light of this closet, are too unlit for her to read the expressions that don’t cross his features, but she knows he understands.

“We can get you to Eodwulf, Astrid, and to Bed. Will you let me help you?”

Oh.

Jester knows sign.

That’s nice, she thinks, belatedly, as she nods and Jester’s arms come around her shoulders, helping her up and steadying her as she blinks darkness out of her vision.

The hallway feels like both an eternity and a split second. The stairs – she blinks, on the first step, and by the time she blinks again Jester’s holding her entirely as she nearly falls, feet tripping over one of the roots from the garden above that she hadn’t thought to step over.

Jester carries her the rest of the way to Bren’s room, the man in question hovering a worried three steps behind.

To her own fragmented understanding, the mattresses that they’ve shoved into Bren’s room to make a spot for the two of them were begged off of one of the drow that they seem to be friends with. There aren’t any bed frames, but she’s not –

She hasn’t slept consistently on a bed in years.

(Weapons don’t need comfort.)

So even just this, the pair of mattresses that she and Wulf now sleep curled up together on, with blankets and pillows that are softer than anything she’s touched in years –

That is one of the things that make her more certain that this is reality.

Because if this was a test – Ikithon wouldn’t give her comfort.

Or maybe he would.

She doesn’t really know him.

Eodwulf is already on the bed, curled in a tight ball while Caduceus hums something low and fey-sounding in the corner, and she half-scrambles, half-drops out of Jester’s arms as soon as she’s close enough, moving towards his shaking form while ignoring the pain that the motion sends through her head.

He doesn’t feel warm, when she lays her hand against his forehead, but then again she feels like she’s radiating heat, so that isn’t reassuring.

She loses time.

She never was the one with a head for numbers and constants.

That had always been Bren. She’s more likely to focus on something while time drifts out of her reach, minutes passing into hours without her notice.

Working without him, after he had broken, had for the few months until Eodwulf managed to keep time, been – stressful, to say the least.

Showing up late to briefings because she didn’t know what time it was wasn’t an excuse.

(There are scars, alongside her broken fingers, that remind her of that.)

When she –

She blinks, and there’s a damp cloth over her eyes, cold and soft and dark, and it feels nice, overwhelmingly so, and it’s another point in favor of this being reality, however terrified that makes her feel, because Ikithon doesn’t know nice.

He is not kind, not good, not right.

She sleeps.

And when she sleeps –

She dreams.

Light shines through dark canopies and sends shadow shapes streaming against leaf-ridden ground.

She’s running.

Not out of fear, or to escape, but she’s running towards something, bright and brilliant in the distance.

Her feet skid to a stop as she stares up as a tree, massive and scraping its way towards the sky.

There are flames licking at her feet, but she doesn’t feel them as she starts to climb.

The stars are beautiful.

And then, as she blinks, they’re gone.

Bren makes her cookies, burnt but still edible, in the kitchen of this place that he lives, now, and she eats them, and watches as they crumble to mold and mushrooms and rot in her hands.

She makes bread with unsteady hands, and watches as Jester eats it, and grins at her, and grins wider as blood starts to weep from her eyes and she falls seizing and dying to the floor.

Caduceus makes her food, and she doesn’t eat it, because she didn’t make it which means she can’t trust it, but she touches the spoon, anyways, when he offers her a taste, and she watches as her poison spreads out and contaminates everything and she lives weeks in a house of dead bodies.

She feels –

Not better, when she wakes up.

Less sick, she thinks, but more unsettled, memories creeping in at the edges of the shreds she’s stitched together to create a self.

Sitting up takes more effort than it should, but it’s accomplished with only the faintest nauseu pulling at her stomach, and that’s good enough for her.

It’s dark outside. Well –

It’s always dark, here.

Not a good indicator of anything.

Wulf is still here, in between her and the wall, still sleeping, brow relaxed.

Bren isn’t, though, and that – she wants him to be here.

Wants him to be safe.

She doesn’t trust this here, this place, but she –

He left them.

Not really, but he did, but she still trusts him, even though that’s probably a bad idea.

But he’s not here.

She’d switched over from components to a focus years ago, after half of her components had burned away in an explosion that had left her just barely alive and she’d had to fight off waves of guards with only cantrips. Now, she uses the gem inset in the bracelet she wears on her left wrist.

It’s just quartz. Not – anything rarer, she would have given over to Ikithon, for experiments and components and for the crystals that he was still trying to force work in their arms, before he gave up.

She hates having a crystal that close to her skin, but the alternative, of not having her magic, is worse.

If she thinks, harder than just a passing perusal, she gets flashes of memory of the last few hours-days, snippets of her screaming in hoarse Zemnian while Bren holds her and burns her – that isn’t realy.

She knows – that isn’t real. Shouldn’t mention that.

There’s another, that’s calmer, where she’s burning but there’s ice, too, pressing into her and being carefully fed to her by soft unscarred hands. Another memory, where she’s bleary and half awake and shaking with something, fever and memories alike, while Bren’s hands hold onto her wrist and a wave of divine energy washes through her without fixing anything.

Another, where she chokes on the poison that spills from her like a wave.

That one probably isn’t real.

Hopefully, at least. She doesn’t want to kill Bren’s friends.

She raises her wrist, weakly, and musters enough magic to cast message, pointing her fist towards the direction of the kitchen.

“Where are you,” she half-whispers, half-thinks, and then lets the magic subside as she blinks darkness out of her vision.

She doesn’t get a response.

Grits her teeth.

Tries again, this time towards the garden, and is rewarded with a panicky sounding, “Scheisse – One moment.”

He must run down the stairs, because he enters the door less than a minute later, breath wheezing on the exhale.

She frowns, and points at him and then the bed.

He rolls his eyes and sinks down onto the edge of the mattress, and she carefully moves aching limbs over to sit next to him.

She leans her head against his shoulder, carefully – (poison, poison, poison, her mind whispers. You’ll kill him, he’ll die just like your parents, you’ll watch him bleed and fall – shut up.) and hums, something sweet and lilting from a lifetime ago.

He hums back, only slightly off-pitch.

“How long –“ she gets out, and then stops.

Good enough.

“A couple of days. You guys were – Caduceus says that he thinks the stress of the memories coming free, just tanked it’s way through any semblance you had of an immune system.”

She glances up, and Beauregard’s leaning against the door, eyes dark from messed makeup and hair greasy.

Not to be unkind. It’s a look.

(She hadn’t noticed her come in. She hadn’t – anyone she doesn’t know pings on her awareness like a needle dropped on tiles. The fact that she hadn’t noticed her presence means something that she’s not sure she likes.)

“Ah,” she mouths, and leans a little harder against Bren’s shoulder.

Listens to him breathe, for a long silent moment.

She’s glad he didn’t get sick.

All three of them are too skinny, but he –

She worries.

She missed him, for so many years, when he had been broken and then had just been lost.

His hand finds hers.

“How about we get you some food, ja? And some for Wulf, once he wakes up.”

She – hesitates.

Taps him three times, across the knuckles, and he nods.

“I’ll let Caduceus know. We can probably move a chair into the kitchen, so that you can watch.”

Hums, again.

Okay.

That’s –

Okay.

Beauregard helps her to the kitchen, and kindly says nothing when she flinches, violently, at noise of the street outside when Jester pours in through the front door, arms laden with paints and a large sketchbook.

The food, that Caduceus lets her watch him make, is good.

Eodwulf wakes up, halfway through eating, and devours an entire bowl of oatmeal while the other’s watch in half-awe, half-disgust.

She falls firmly on the side of disgust. Oatmeal is bad.

She has a nightmare, that night, about burning, but when she wakes up, the room is chilled, and Eodwulf is next to her, and Bren is asleep against her thigh after she had practically forced him into the bed nest.

She falls asleep again, shortly after, and dreams of trees.

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littlefaerose · 5 years

Text

crossing a line

WHO: Dani Harper, David Karofsky, Marley Rose, and Rachel Berry (with guest appearances from various Fae)

WHEN: May 4th, 2019; late afternoon

WHERE: various parks around New York City

WHAT: A small team of members from The Guild take to the city to find some more answers about the impending Faepocalypse.

WARNING(S): talk of violence, death, and the world ending; people yelling at Fae and vice versa

"My sisters are of a non-violent race." It was a reminder to the group, and a reminder to herself, even as Marley thought of the items she had packed into the purse-sized backpack she wore on her back. She didn't believe she'd need to defend herself with any manner of magical items or potions, but the city had played host to many dangers in the past. She wanted to be prepared in case something non-Fae crossed their paths. "They shouldn't directly attack or attempt to hurt you. Most shy away from anything human by default, but there's a chance we might find some willing to talk to outsiders. And if they won't talk to you, then maybe they'll talk to me. And if all else fails? We'll have these..." As they stood outside the gates of the school, she pulled her bag around to pull out three vials, handing each member of their party one. "These aren't to be used unless absolutely necessary. If we can't make any headway in the streets but we manage to find where the others are congregating, then we'll need you three to be able to pass as one of them. It may not come down to it but just hold onto these for now." Blowing out a breath, she nodded, mostly to herself, then beckoned for the others to start following her on foot. "We're going to start at that cafe on the corner, a few blocks for here. My friend Zhara is going to meet us there. She's been watching things from the periphery and has information, but she said it's too risky not to discuss in person."

Dani wasn´t exactly happy with how all of this was panning out. She didn’t want the world to end, and she didn´t like that Marley was involved in this whole thing, but if there was anything she could do to be of help she would. They all had enough on their plates without the world ending and with Marley by her side Dani was FINALLY happy, and she wasn´t going to give that up without a fight. She had packed all different kinds of things to defend herself, though sadly she wasn´t allowed to take the sword. Damn St.STFU, she thought to herself as she took the vial that her girlfriend handed her. "Got it," she nodded as she tucked it away safely. At least she was going to learn a little bit more about where Marley came from and even though Dani wasn´t sure how open the fae were to other people, or one of their own having a relationship with another magical being she was ready to find out. "Alright, I`m good to go," She added, offering Marley a smile.

David knew Fae weren't violent. But they defended themselves. He brought some offerings to give to the Fae they will hopefully encounter on the way. "You said Fae didn't talk to ya. Don't know why." He brought up, remembering what she said. "Hope they change their minds." David took the potion on his hand. He imagined it would be a glamour potion. "I- Marley Rose. Can't do that." He couldn't pretend to be a Fae with potions. "Can step back if needed. Fae would understand humans aren't letting ya walk freely." Cafe of the corner. He was ready and alert for helping the Fae.

When Rachel had been invited out with Karofsky, Dani and Marley, she wasn't exactly sure what they were going to do. Rachel was always happy to help Dani whenever she wanted to go on an outing, though, and she was glad to get to spend time with her other friends. Rachel took the vial Marley handed her and looked at it curiously. She placed it safely in her bag, feeling like something else was happening, especially with the ominous vial. She started walking towards the cafe with them and cleared her throat. "Um... can I just ask... what exactly is going on? I thought we were just spending time together but I feel like there's something else happening..."

Marley blinked. "Did no one brief you?" she asked, then realized how ignorant that probably sounded. She couldn't expect either David nor Dani to be mind readers or think to tell Rachel about what they were really doing. Then again, would Rachel have agreed if they had led with that? They'd never know now. "We're investigating something called the 'New Frontier'. There's been talk about it recently within my kind's community but I haven't gotten a clear answer yet about what it means... also a pending catastrophic event as foretold by a prophecy but I'd rather not get into that long story when we're in... well, mixed company," her voice dropped as a group of people walking along the sidewalk passed them. "David and I found out that mass amounts of Fae have been flocking to this city. I think if we can figure out where they're congregating, maybe we can figure out what exactly is going on." She gave Rachel an apologetic look, but they were burning daylight, as the phrase went. So she kept them moving, her eyes scanning the area for any hint of fae among them, hidden in plain sight. Eventually she spied Zhara through the window of the Calliope Cafe, her stomach in knots as her steps sped up, taking them around the corner to the entrance.

Zhara sipped on her cup of ginger tea from behind the counter, flipping idly through a catalog of exotic tea blends. Her eyes flickered to the clock once more, checking the time before the twinkling bells over the cafe's door drew her attention away. The creases near the corners of her eyes softened - perhaps in relief - as the group entered the shop. "Well it's about time, Rosie girl," she tsked, setting her cup aside on its matching saucer. "I was beginning to worry you'd been detained... you brought friends?" She glanced at the three figures behind Marley, raising a skeptical brow. "Didn't peg you the type for an entourage but then again, NYADA does strange things to us 'naturalized' folk, hm?"

Honestly, Dani hadn´t even thought about Rachel coming. The thing, she was her sponsor, yes, but they hadn´t been allowed out in such a long time that she had almost forgotten about it. Not that her and Rachel didn´t talk, but things had been rather quiet with everyone unless they were out and about saving each other´s asses from whatever the hell was coming up. "You think they´d come here if it was really...you know," Her voice dropped slightly as she fell in step with Marley. "The end of the world?" It didn´t make any sense to her, coming here if there was really nothing they could supposedly do to stop this whole thing. Dani wasn´t exactly keen on the world ending. Surely, it would solve their other problems, but it would also take away their chance at a life after NYADA.

Raising an eyebrow at the other, Dani did her best to appear friendly still. "We´re not an entourage. We´re her friends," She nodded, assuming it was probably not the best idea to go into detail about her relationship with Marley. "We´re here to help."

David didn't know which people were at the Guild, or which ones Marley Rose trusted. Marley Rose didn't seem to remember either who she told about it, which worries him. If Rachel doesn't know anything, that explanation isn't going to be very clear. "Let me, Marley Rose. We're on a very important mission, Berry." He starts, but remember he was told not to share it. With anyone. She liked Rachel, but city witches didn't understand how important Fae were. He let Marley Rose do the talking instead. David looks at the other Fae. He didn't exactly assume Zhara was Fae. He actually hoped she was Fae. That Marley Rose had Fae allies. "Sup, Karofsky from the Karofsky clan. Here to serve." He introduced himself. "An honor to met ya. Hope ya like this present." He says, offering Zhara some healing potions for when Fae got hurt at night, and some to breathe better in the contaminated air of the city. They were wrapped on common's offerings paper. It said 'Happy birthday' on them. They were eco-friendly. He feel pride on being the entourage of Marley Rose.

Rachel listened to Marley speak and just nodded along. She had no idea any of this was happening in the Fae community. She supposed that was a sign that she should maybe pay more attention to the happenings in the LN community. "Right, of course," she said. "I'm happy to help in any way I can, though I don't know if that will be much," she said apologetically. At the very least her presence allowed Dani to be out helping Marley, which was good. She followed the group into the café and gave Marley's acquaintance a smile. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Rachel," she said.

Marley moved quick to interject but the others were already making introductions - David had even brought an offering - so she held back for the moment to let them do so. She brought them to the counter with her, flexing her fingers nervously as she scanned the cafe. It was empty for now, thank Aether. Though there was no telling how long that would last. “I hate to just barge in and get down to business but we really are in a hurry,” she apologized. “You said you had information for me, about this year’s Promenade?”

“Ah, hello. Zhara of... well, the circle formally known as the Araceae Sisters?” Zhara looked a bit bewildered between the offering of potions and the sheer magical energy coming off the group in waves, but she set the gifts behind the counter and turned her attention back to Marley. “Yes, I’m sorry, but pollen messages have been highly monitored lately,” she explained. “I don’t want to alarm you, but there have been a few girls I knew who have gone missing. Fae who were looking to get out of the country... I can’t point fingers for sure but our usual forms of communication are no longer safe.” She worriedly fiddled with the cup on her saucer, twisting the string on the bag of tea around her index finger. “But you wanted to know about the Promenade. Yes, it’s still happening this year, but... there’s been a higher population of fae pilgrimaging here this year. And earlier than before as well. I’ve been getting a lot of girls and women in here asking about the whereabouts of different parks here in the city. Central, Battery, Washington Square...”

Dani watched as the others introduced themselves. She felt a little bad about not informing Rachel about what exactly was going on, but she was glad the other had agreed to come anyways. If the end of the world was really happening then she was in it just like the rest of them. Or maybe it was just the end of the fae world? She had talked about this whole thing with Marley, but a lot of it still didn´t make sense to her.

"They´re coming here?" She then found herself asking. "But isn´t that even more dangerous?" If this was the place where the end of the world would start? Or maybe it was a rouse of some sort to get everyone into one place? None of it really made sense, but they were here to find out more about all of this and hopefully stop whatever it was that was coming their way.

David was really glad Rachel followed them, even when she didn't know what was going on. Just like himself when Silene Astrantia the Fair told him to give his life for Marley Rose. "You kidding? You're a great help!" He says, sure of his friend skills, regretting a bit doubting her involvement before. David looked know, hearing about the 'formally known circle'. They still don't know who burned it. David was alarmed. "What? Who? We have to find 'em." Someone was intercepting Fae messages and kidnapping them. "We need to know 'bout the missing F- we gotta know." He says, very worried and agitated. If the destruction was going to happen in New York, it made sense Fae wanted to run away from it. But others wanted to be here. "They must wanna stop it. Parks where they can use their skills best." He admired the Fae who risked their lives for Mother Earth, but he would do everything on his hands so they keep living.

Rachel listened quietly as the fae spoke about the situation. She didn't really know what to make of it all just yet. She seemed to literally be the last person to know about any of this. "It could be dangerous, but wouldn't it be a good thing for there to be more fae around? Maybe that'll help us figure out what's happening with the ones who've gone missing?"

Zhara gave the group a sympathetic look. “There’s still much secrecy among the Fae, there always has been. But if you’re looking for answers, I would try the parks,” she said. She fell silent as the bells above the shop door jingled and a couple of new patrons entered. “You’re running out of time, go quickly,” she lowered her voice and nodded toward the door. She reached for Marley’s arm though and tugged her back to the counter briefly. “And whatever you do, Rosie girl, do not go asking those girls questions as yourself. We can’t know anymore who can be trusted and who can’t.”

Marley pursed her lips, taking her arm back with a nod before leading the group back out on the street. “We should start at Washington Park,” she finally said, turning to face the others. “It’s closest to us, and if the Fae are gathering in more than one place, we need to know why.” There were a lot of things they needed to know now - why they were here, what was happening with these missing Fae, what the heck everyone meant by the New Frontier. “We could either go together or split up, try to cover more parks more quickly.”

Dani listened to what the other Fae had to say and she didn´t like it one bit. Why did they have to make such a big secret of it all? Were they trying to stop the apocalypse? Or were they just waiting it out? Was it something that might spare them and kill everyone else? Glancing between Marley and Zhara she eventually nodded. "Right. Thank you for your help,"

She then turned back towards Marley. "Maybe splitting up would do us best for now. That was we can cover more ground quicker," She suggested. "What exactly to do you want us to ask?"

David understood why the Fae kept it secret from them, but not from Marley Rose of all people. "As you command." He says to the Fae telling them to be quick. David Karofsky wasn't going to let the Fae down. He followed Marley Rose, thinking the best course of action. He thought splitting up would be the best option, but Dani confirmed i with her infinite wisdom. "Ye. Think you should try to go without witches. In there's Fae who would tell Aetherlings but not...us." He was going to say Earth-destroyers, but changed his mind. In this situation it would be a distracting and confusing topic, considering they wanted to stop it. He was raised adoring and serving the Fae so he is confident on being the second best at knowing Fae culture in this group. It would better to be in another team that is not with Marley Rose in this circumstance. Also, Dani and Rachel would know more about the city. Perfect matches."Call me or Berry if you need anything. We'll go together to the other nearest park." He looks at Rachel. "Which one it is?"

“The next nearest park is Madison Square,” Marley answered, with a nod, though the idea of talking with strange fae made her nervous. What if none of them wanted to talk? What if someone recognized her? What if word got back to their ambassador about humans poking around, asking questions? She had to shake the worry off though. There was too much at stake and too little time to figure things out. “But alright, we’ll split up. If you happen to find any Fae willing to talk, try to ask them about the New Frontier. Find out if they know any more about what it is or what it means. Ask them why so many of them have already showed up in the city so early. The Promenade is a relatively intimate gathering. Not everyone gets invited, so we need to know why so many are involved this year.” She blew out a steadying breath, then fished out two more items from her bag before looking back at Dave and Rachel. “I have my phone and my comm crystal. If you guys run into trouble or find out anything substantial, let me know. We should probably plan to meet somewhere after. Work our way towards Central Park?”

Dani nodded at her girlfriend´s words. "Madison Square is the nearest." she then confirmed. She was glad she´d be able to go with Marley, not only because she´d get to spend time with her, but also because it was easier to confirm what to do and what they were looking for in detail. She glanced at Dave and Rachel and offered them a smile. "I´ve got my phone in vibrate, too." she then informed them, pointing at her pocket. "How about we meet by the Rat Rock in let´s say...two hours tops? If anything comes up we´ll call each other and meet up earlier."

David nodded, the name was recognizable, but he wasn't sure why. He trusted Rachel would find the place without problem. "New Frontier. Why they're here. Promenade." He repeats. "As you command. Won't fail you, Marley Rose." He said with more hope than confidence. "See ya in two hours." He let Rachel lead the way to Madison Square, then he recalls where he heard it before. They hockey stadium. He wanted to go there so bad. He had to reject Blaine tickets for Hockey. But there was no time for complaining. David and Rachel tried to find the Fae. It took some time, but David knew how to recognize the signals of Fae around. It was like finding something familiar in the middle of a place he didn't belong. Certain flowers rearranged in a certain way. Plants way too healthy and natural in the polluted city. Two graceful women walking as they were one with Mother Earth, as they cared. He and Rachel introduced themselves. "I'm David Karofsky, from the Karofsky clan. We stand with Fae. Here to serve." He insisted. Rachel was really sweet. Overly friendly, but still trying to gain information and asking question, while David keep giving away offerings, both in the most discreet way possible. They weren't very good at being discreet.

One of the Fae apparently heard about the Karofsky clan, so they didn't outright reject him. The other Fae seemed more distrustful.

David knew it was understandable. She admitted to knowing about the New Frontier, and not entirely knowing what it meant. Just that it was a new beginning. It didn't sound bad to David. She seemed positive. The other one was more reticent. David and Rachel both though it was pretty disrespectful to try to lie to the Fae pretending to be one, so they didn't use the glamour potions. He already felt bad enough as this strange situation. In the end, they went back to Rat Rock to inform Marley Rose and Dani. "Sup. Didn't found out much. Confirmation 'bout the New Frontier. Being a new start for Mother Earth. Meet Susan Black-Eyed Susan and Daria Daffodil. They're super cool. They adopted a rat and named 'em Sprinkles." He tried to summarize the most important information of the encounter.

“Two hours,” Marley agreed, blowing out another breath before nodding. “And call me if something happens or if you find out anything in the meantime.”

She made Dani scour every inch of Washington Park with her, searching for plants out of place, out of season and appropriate climate. But the majority of the Fae they happened upon were keeping mum on the subject. Whether it was due to their lack of knowledge on what was really going on or reluctance to share information with a ‘defective’ Fae, she couldn’t be sure. Maybe she was being a tad aggressive in her approach as well, but all the same, by the time they headed off to their next destination point, she felt no closer to finding an answer.

“... a rat named Sprinkles?” she asked, raising a brow. She sighed, resting her hands on her hips as she shook her head. “We didn’t have much luck either. It was like the second they knew who I was, they shut down. Maybe they’re being told not to talk to me? Who knows?” She threw up her hands on frustration, chewing the inside of her cheek as she tried to think of their next best option. Try another park? Send a pollen message? Talk to the Fae in David’s clan again?

Dani followed Marley along, trying to find out anything that was out of place. She was good at watching people and seeing if something was wrong, and something clearly was wrong, but it was also evident that they didn´t want to talk to them. Not to some random girl they obviously didn´t know and not to Marley either, despite her technically being one of them.

"Something is clearly going on. Good or bad," She eventually found herself saying with a nod. This wasn´t good. Sliding her hand into Marley´s she squeezed the other woman´s for a moment. "I don´t think going through another park would help. Even if we find something out of place." She shook her head slowly. "Nobody is going to tell us anything. If all they don´t trust us," With which she meant Rachel, Dave and her more than Marley, really. "And they won´t tell us anything. Worse they´ll tell us something to throw us off track,"

David knew rats were awesome, but he didn't want Marley to distract herself of the mission. "Why do they hide information from ya? You're the Flowerchild of Prophecy. You're important." He says, always confusing about the relationship with Marley Rose and the rest of the Fae. She acted more as an exiled Fae, but not fully. He wonders if it's just as he is treated on his clan, where he is just half a Karofsky, but they ask him for important task because he is the only one who can be on the witch community. But then, he guesses the prophecy is what made Marley Rose different from the other Fae. "Maybe you can use the potions to appear as a different Fae." David suggest. He didn't approve of others pretending to be Fae, but Marley Rose would be okay.

“Well it’s a possibility I’m no more important than being a placeholder for a title or name,” Marley replied, growing more and more frustrated each time someone asked her why the Fae were withholding information from her. “Maybe there’s something they don’t want me to know.” She huffed out another sigh, but after a moment’s deliberation and a quick glance at the sky starting darken overhead, she rummaged through her bag to pull out a vial of glamour potion. “I suppose we have nothing to lose at this point if I masquerade myself as another fae-“

A thick branch snapped and the foliage of a nearby tree shuddered as something - someone - fell to the ground with a thud. Mystery Fae hissed something under their breath, dusting dirt, bark, and leaves off of their body as their feet. “I was NOT crafted by the Aether and Earth Mother to climb trees...”

Dani could tell that Marley was getting frustrated. The thing was: She wouldn´t complain if Marley wasn´t the most important part in this whole apocalypse. Not because she didn´t want Marley to be important, but because it could potentially mean that she didn´t have to die for the rest of them to survive.

Ignoring the pain in her chest Dani was about to agree that Marley should maybe try and change her appearance, even though she still wasn´t a fan of glamour potions, she heard the sound of someone falling onto their ass. Looking around she spotted the someone. "Hey, are you okay?"

David disagrees. "You're more than any placeholder." He doesn't understand why would anyone need just a placeholder to know anything in this situation. Someone fell close to them. "You okay?" He says, approaching, trying to help her stand again. Just by the way she spoke he could knew it was Fae. "Need healing?"

Marley turned with the others to see a girl struggling up on her feet, and quickly stashed away the vial in her pocket. “You shouldn’t be climbing up in those trees. That one’s gotta be at least 40 feet tall-“

“I know that!” Mystery Fae snapped, stepping back from the humans surrounding her. Well, most of them at least appeared human. She flinched as she straightened out a crushed daffodil bloom tucked behind her ear. “If daffodils came with vines or thorns, I’d be able to hide better, but no, Earth Mother is determined to keep me grounded.”

Bingo. “You’re Fae then,” Marley confirmed, though the word ‘daffodil’ still caused a spike in her blood pressure. “I need a word with you.”

Daffodil Fae snorted. “You don’t want ‘a word’, you want to disrupt the work we’re doing! Don’t think I didn’t hear you and your little pets talking.”

"Pets?" Dani echoed, raising an eyebrow at the other. "Pretty high up on that horse or yours for someone who just fell out of a tree." And onto her ass. Honestly, she hadn´t met many fae apart from the ones on Campus, but most of them had better manners than this one.

Still, they needed information and while she doubted this person was going to tell them anything she was going to let Marley do the talking.

David wonders if he has something to help the Fae to hide better, if that is what she needs. Hiding is not on his set of skills. "Daffodils are perfect as they are." He comments, but probably she knows it. "Sorry! We didn't want to disrupt! Wanna help, but we don't know what's going on." He sees Dani arguing with the Fae and he suffers, he was never good at resolving conflicts. Just creating them. He tries to mediate. "Sure she was saying it without bad intentions. Like when people say pet names. Sorry for the misunderstanding." He apologizes to the Fae.

“They’re not pets, but that’s besides the point,” Marley waved a hand dismissively. “Listen, I’m the Flowerchild of freaking Prophecy, the Promenade is happening this month, and nobody is telling me anything. And I refuse to be given the runaround again, so for the love of the planet, tell me what the hell this New Frontier is that everyone is talking about!” Her voice had gone shrill by that point and while she didn’t realize it until then, she had backed up the other Fae until they reached a thick gathering of shrubbery.

Daffodil Fae had been about to retort something akin to ‘we don’t need your help, foul human’ but the blonde girl was advancing on her. She could feel the frustration coming off her in waves, upsetting the great bushes behind her enough that they scratched at her. She huffed and puffed up her chest as she met the Flowerchild’s gaze. “Our own Flowerchild, left in the dark,” she tsked. “Some prophesied savior you are. While you’re here playing detective with your disgusting human friends, your sisters are building the future. Literally building the New Frontier itself! We will all play part in bringing forth newness to the earth. Together, our combined power will destroy the old and restore the earth for its true children.”

"You watch that I won´t make sure all that´s left of YOU is disgusting." Dani all but growled at the other. Maybe not the best approach, but that fae was asking for it and while she appreciated Dave´s help his soft approach, and seeing the good in literally anyone, and anything, wasn´t helping them now either.

"That sounds awfully like what we were looking for." She then added, reaching out for Marley´s hand to pull her back a little. Destroy the earth and rebuild it? Probably not the worst idea, but to kill of everyone they didn´t think worthy to survive? Nope, she wasn´t here for that. The question was: How were they going to stop it?

David observes how Marley Rose's attitude talking to this Fae is so different from how she asked the Fae at his clan. One was asking and pleading to an equal or higher, the other is demanding to someone lower than you. He hoped it was just stress, but he wonders if she would talk like that to another type of Fae. Then Dani speaks. "Dani, what the fuck?" He says, really disappointed in how she threatened the Fae. "I'm not letting ya hurt her." He looks back at the unnamed Fae. "Sorry uhm, your name? Marley Rose wanna save people. Not her fault they aren't sharing with her." He believes it, at least. David's guts warns him something was very wrong about what destroying the old means. But this was all Fae working together. It was about restoring Earth. He was probably misunderstanding it. "Know you don't trust us." He points at himself, Rachel and Dani. "But we can left so you tell Marley Rose the things she needs to know to help you and the Fae. Would be better for everyone."

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Marley asked, now the one pulling back on Dani to make sure the confrontation didn’t escalate. “What are you building?”

Daffodil Fae looked ready to dive into another slew of human-related insults or at least reveal this ‘master plan’ (whatever that was), but a gust of wind blew through, bringing with it the golden dust of pollen. She stilled, eyes widening as though scared, then quickly hissed, “Either join the cause or run, Flowerchild. There will be no coming back either way,” before she took off through the bushes.

“Wait!” Marley called out, trying to push the shrubbery aside, see where the other Fae was running off to. “Tell me what you’re building!” There was no sight of the girl beyond the brush though, which drew a new sound of frustration from her as she roughly stepped back from it. “Great, just... great,” she muttered, brushing off her arms. “We were so close to an answer!”

"Seriously, Dave? She didn´t just mock Marley and called US disgusting, but she also basically said they were doing something to cleanse the Earth of everyone that wasn´t them?" Dani turned to look at the other. And he really was upset with HER?

She stayed, her hand in Marley´s, as the other fae disappeared. "She wasn´t going to tell us, Marley." She then sighed, shaking her head in frustration. "But whatever it is they´re building. It´s nothing good for anyone that´s not on their side. Whatever the hell that means."

David is worried the unnamed Fae told Marley Rose to run away if she didn't join the cause, looking scared. She left. "She's afraid." He says, wondering of what is she afraid, if Fae were supposed to work together on whatever this is. The Fae weren't usually builders. It was so strange. "Why did you shout at her? She was sharing information." He complained to the two Aetherlings, even when he know he shouldn't. He should be more understanding of them. "Know this is stressing but ya don't have to pay it on the only Fae approaching us just 'cause she called us some names." He sighs and shrugs, looking sadly at Dani. "I really admired you when you were talking to the Dragon of Zerzura. To get out us all alive without violence. Just didn't expect this." He explains. "And we still don't know what she meant exactly."

Marley raked her hands through her hair, pulling away from Dani to pace the ground. “And isn’t that just the point - we know nothing!” she complained, flinching as her her exaggerated movements seemed to agitate the plants nearest her. They writhed and bent out of her way, away from her touch. “I’m leading you all in blind to fight against... we don’t even know.” She stopped then, blowing out another sigh and bracing her hands on her hips. She weathered her bottom lip, wondering frantically what the Fae could build that Commons or witches couldn’t. Something that could destroy. “It’s not the Fae’s way to resort to violence or destruction. Something has to be seriously wrong...” she muttered to herself but it was no use. The Daffodil Fae was gone and they were left with more questions than they’d come here with. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “Let’s just go back to campus,” she finally said, shaking her head. “It’s getting late as it is.”

"She was literally saying that she was destroying the old earth and making it new for the true children. Which I doubt you and I are part of. Besides, I wasn´t yelling." Really, Dani had been doing anything but yell at the fae. She might have been talking to the dragon differently, but she knew how to read people and it was clear this wasn´t something the other had been meaning to talk about. All she had been about was the insults and knowing she was better than them because she knew something they didn´t.

"Hey. Listen," She turned her attention back to Marley. "It sucks, okay. But you´re leading us and that´s the point. We could have just sat here without knowing anything. We could have just been hit by this without knowing that anything was happening at all." She rested a hand on either side of her face. "But now we know that, whatever it is they´re building, it´s SOMETHING. And that means we can find it and fight it."

David doesn't agree with most of what Dani is saying. But he doesn't want to argue. They don't know what the old means. Restoring is good. Even if what she said was true, they would have their reasons to do so. He tries for his feelings to not get the best of him. Dani is encouraging Marley Rose and he hopes that works for her. "Ye. It's late. We should go."

#paras #crossing a line #tw: violence #tw: death #shiftingdani #knockonkarofsky #alyricalberry #events: faepocalypse

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providentially-demonic · 6 years

Text

Merry Christmas

Shaggy was surprised to get a message from the Justice League that someone had requested his help personally. His affiliation with the League was more researching Ring and making sure his magic didn’t get out of control than him actively helping, the incident with the Scarecrow aside.

But someone had contacted a police station to contact the Justice League and given Martian Manhunter his exact description when asking for help.

He knew he was going to catch flack for it later (and Ring had reminded him of it), but he hadn’t told the Gang, much less brought them. If whatever this was was Justice League level stuff, he didn’t want to risk it.

“Flying too, huh. Dangit Beatnik, what can’t you do?” Tex grinned a bit cheekily as Shaggy landed.

“Tex? Like, you’re the one that called?”

“None other. Me and the boys got a little something we’re doing, and we could really use some help. Er, don’t suppose you got more subtle ride?”

>>I believe I can accommodate<< Golden light sparked from the ring, tracing the form of a motorcycle like the one he’d ridden in La Serena. A ripple went down it, changing the solid yellow to a more realistic color scheme, weathering and all.

“Like, not bad Ring,” Shaggy complimented, even as it manifested a helmet on his head.

“Ring?” Tex asked.

“Yeah,” Shaggy showed him Ring. The Power Ring was in it’s disguised state, appearing as a golden ring with an emblem of a sun rather that the ubiquitous lantern. “Ring’s great. It helps me control my power and can do a bunch or really cool stuff, like make this motorcycle.”

>>Nice to meet you<< Ring spoke out loud this time. >>Though I was technically present during your last encounter with my bearer, we were not formally introduced at the time<<

Tex raised an eyebrow. Well, that at least answered the question of who Beatnik had been talking to after he’d been shot. “Good to meet you. I’ll explain on the way.” He got on his own bike. “There’s a group we run with sometime. Fine folk and we’re happy to lend a hand when they ask, which isn’t that often, they got things mostly covered. I know I don’t have to tell you it’s a scary world out there. And one that isn’t always safe for kids.” He may not know all the details to Beatnik’s story, but just hearing the scars it had left with him told him enough. “These guys help kids who’ve had wrong done to them. They protect them. Sometimes it’s riding around the street outside their house so they know someone’s watching over them. Sometimes it’s standing next to them in court when they tell the Judge what’s happened. The bad guys aren’t so bad when your friends are scarier.” Tex explained.

It made a lot of sense, honestly. He wondered, if his memory hadn’t been wiped of it’s trauma, would he have been one of the children this group looked out for. “Sounds like some good guys.”

“The best.” Tex said without hesitation. “But there’s a slight issue with a new kid we’re watching out for. The guy who’s scaring him is his Mom’s ex-boyfriend. And unfortunately, he’s a bit scarier than we are.”

“Scarier than a biker gang? Two biker gangs?” “Supervillain,” Tex explained. “Not a Major Leaguer. Nothing like your little dustup with the Scarecrow. But as far as the kid’s concerned, it’s enough that we’re not quite enough to ward off the boogeyman. There’s no indication the guys gonna come after him or his Mom. But our job is to make the kids feel safe, and the truth is we don’t.”

>>But if there’s someone by your side with powers, that would be a whole other ballgame<< Ring surmised.

“Got it in one.” Tex confirmed. “I’m not asking you to fight a super villain. Just give this kids some peace of mind.”

Shaggy was quiet. Peace of mind was no small thing. It was something he hadn’t had in a long time, and while he was getting better at dealing with, well, everything, as long as he felt his ever present fear, he knew there was still damage there.

“Like how can I help?”

The neighborhood looked ordinary, except for the large groups of bikers riding around the block and even more congregating outside. Some he recognized from Tex’s posse, almost all the others he saw wore a patch that said ‘B.A.C.A.’. One of the ladies with the patch looked Shaggy over. “This your back up? Looks like a stiff breeze could blow him away?”

“Beatnik’s got all sorts of surprises” Tex explained as Shaggy got up and the bike vanished.

“I stand corrected. Take him on up,” Nothing they had done so far had given the kid a sense of security. Maybe this would.

Tex led Shaggy through the house and up the stairs. Mick was standing out in front of the kids room. He brightened upon seeing Shaggy. “Cody was put to bed half an hour ago, but he’s still awake. He’s a good kid.” Cody had actually been scared for them. Afraid his tormentor would come back and carve a swath through the bikers before coming for him and his mother.

>>I can feel the fear coming from that room<< Ring whispered in the back of Shaggy’s mind. >>It’s palpable<<

That gave Shaggy an idea. Ring expressed his concern about it, but Shaggy pointed out that the whole point was to make Cody feel safer and this would do that.

Shaggy wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, empathy, or an effect of Ring, but when he saw the kid he could feel the fear coming off him. No kid deserved to feel like that. “Hey Kiddo.”

“You should go.” Cody insisted. “He’s just going to hurt you too.”

The brokenness of the voice almost broke Shaggy’s heart, but he had never been a slouch at acting when under pressure. “Like, bigger dudes have tried, man.” he said cheerfully. “I’m pretty hard to catch.”

Tex put his arm around his shoulder. “My man here took out the Scarecrow himself. He’s a lot tougher than he looks.”

Cody looked skeptical, but Shaggy was ready for that. He waved his hand and with another ripple like the one on the bike. The room changed so that suddenly Cody’s bed was in the middle of an evergreen forest. The ground was covered with snow and more seemed to be gently falling from the sky.

“Whoa” Cody whispered.

“I’m, like a wizard.” He still hated admitting it, but for the kid his voice was jovial. Another hand wave returned the room to normal.

Cody’s eyes were still bright. “Like with a wand and everything?”

“No wand. What I use is a magic ring.” Shaggy pulled Ring off and dropped it in the boy’s cupped hands.

>>Greetings Designation: Cody<<

“It talks?”

“Yup, Ring’s alive and has some pretty powerful magic of his own. Which is why I want you to hold on to him till this is over.“

“M-Me?”

“Yup. That way you can, like, make your own force fields and stuff.”

>>Indeed. Just think of any object and I can create it<< Ring supplied.

The kid closed his eyes and a yellow bubble appeared around the bed. “Whoa,”

“You going to be okay without the ring?” Tex asked, concerned.

“I, like, should be man.” Shaggy took a sip of coffee fresh from the coffee maker. “My magic is, like, a lot harder to control without Ring. But I shouldn’t need it. This is about Cody feeling safe, and having a way to protect himself will do that. Also, Ring and I are connected enough that it’s dampening down on my fear.” He wasn’t La Serena fearless, but his normal levels of apprehension were dialed back enough that he just felt calm.

“It can mess with your emotions?” Tex looked concerned.

“Strong emotions can mess with magic,” His new calmer state helped him remember that he couldn’t tell anyone that is was specifically fear. The cover story that Ring was a magic aid and not the Prime Yellow Ring had to be upheld. “And uncontrolled magic is a scary thing man. Real scary.”

It still sounded concerning to Tex, but he could sort of see the point. And Beatnik had certainly still had a range emotions last time they met and tonight, which meant it wasn’t turning him into a drone or anything.

>>Shaggy! The Enemy is here!<< Rang through his head at the same time Cody’s scream shot through the house, >>He has a magical artifact with him. He’s in designation: Cody’s mother’s room and he’s heading here!<<

Shaggy dropped the mug in shock. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The villain wasn’t supposed to actually show up! Without thinking he grabbed Tex and pulled him out the back door.

Any protest Tex had died on his tongue as they tumbled out of Cody’s closet door. Mick and Cody’s mother was in the grasp of some strange purple and black energy, the source of which was a man Tex recognized from the picture he was shown at the beginning of the protection detail. Carlton Revner, aka Grendel. A two-bit magic thief whose powers came from the enchanted jewel floating in front of him. He hadn’t had it on him when he was arrested, but obviously he had known where it was.

Grendel’s full attention was on the yellow sphere in front of him. Cody was still screaming, but his fear was being focused into Ring to make the barrier even stronger.

Tex didn’t hesitate. He jumped at the man attacking the boy he’d promised to protect. He never made contact, though, as right before he would have hit him, the jewel pulsed and suddenly he was bound just like Mick.

He heard Beatnik cry out and felt something indescribable, but not unfamiliar. It was like the feeling when Beatnik had healed him in that bar, only flooding the room. The purple energy shimmered and crackled before dispersing, dropping him, Mick, and the poor woman. He shot a glance at Beatnik and saw what looked like the very air around him warping and twisting as he tried to keep himself under control.

Grendel snarled and turned his full attention to Shaggy. The purple and black power surged out and trying to wrap him up. Tried was the operative word and Shaggy sent another pulse of unshaped magic. This one was even bigger and disrupted not only the energy around him, but knocking everything back, including Grendel.

The thief tried to grab his power source, but the jewel was knocked out of his hand by a blast of yellow. It didn’t come from Shaggy, but rather the scared boy sitting in his bed, hand still clutching the ring tightly. Grendel launched himself at the boy, boy was knocked away by a solid punch to the guy from Tex, followed up by one from Mick.

“We’ll take this piece of trash outside till the cops get here,” Grendel trembled, as the people he’d dismissed as unimportant were suddenly a much more tangible threat. “Everyone going to be okay in here?”

Cody’s mother was already on the bed and hugging the child. Cody’s fist was still wrapped around the ring, but he was clinging to his mother even tighter.. The distortions around Beatnik had stopped and he seemed to be clutching a pocket watch.

“Like, I think we’ll be good once he’s gone.” Shaggy was a little out of breath, but seemed to be recovering.

“You’re staying, right?” Cody looked at Shaggy, who nodded. “Then I’m fine, right Mama?”

The woman nodded, not able to speak. She just held her son closer and Tex and Mick escorted Grendel from the room. And if he was in a bit of rough shape when the cops got here, who was going to complain?

Superman floated down next to Batman “Watching over his first solo mission?” “It’s not a mission. The League was just used to get in contact with him. I’m keeping an eye out for the family. Grendel should never have been allowed out on bail.”

Superman certainly agreed with the latter half of the statement, but he knew Bruce too well. When not doing something for the League he tended to be a bit of a homebody in Gotham. There was little reason for him to be here, except to be watching over one of the newest kids he had taken under his wing. “So how’d he do?”

“The solo part was a big demerit. He should have told his friends, especially Scooby since he can also access the ring’s power.”

“Which one of us hasn’t done the ‘keep our friends safe for their own good’ bit?” He’ll learn, probably as soon as he gets home. Maybe sooner if they track him down before then. Admit it, you’re proud.”

Batman narrowed his eyes at him. “Of course. That went without saying.”

Superman’s prediction was accurate, as the Mystery Machine joined the bikers the next morning. Technically there should have been no threat with Grendel reapprehended, but B.A.C.A. wasn’t just about physical danger, but making sure their small charges felt safe. They stayed a few weeks past the trial, and left with the promise of immediate return should Cody need it.

>>I rather enjoyed that<< Ring admitted as the rode back to Coolsville in the Mystery Machine. >>I had resigned myself to forgoing fear as it was something primarily utilized by villains. I enjoyed being able to cause fear in the interest of doing good.<<

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” Velma commented. “That’s sort of Batman’s whole schtick.”

>>Designation: Batman is an outlier who should not be counted<<

“What about you Shag?” Fred asked. “How did you like it?”

“Like, I’m not sure I like being scary.” Shaggy touched the sleeve of the biker vest he’d been gifted, a ‘Bikers Against Child Abuse’ emblem on the sleeve and the name ‘Beatnik’ sewn onto the back. “But helping kids stop being afraid? That I can definitely get used to.”

*********

I Love this so much! I love how Shaggy was willing to admit to being a thing that scares him, just to comfort Cody and how he lets the kid hold Ring to comfort him.This is a great fic and you are so, so, so, sooooo wonderful for writing it for me.

#yellow streak #yl!shaggy #I love this #awesome fanfic #awesome friend fanfiction #submission

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black-strike-otp · 7 years

Text

part 63

*incoherent noises and babbling as I slowly die* <3

Flinching from the digits goading his backside, Blackout recoiled and leaned forward with a monstrous and threatening snarl.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt so much if you just sat still.”

“I only move when you goad your digits into my frame,” Blackout countered with annoyance. “Therefore, I’m not the problem here.”

“Are you suggesting I’m the problem?” the medic inquired in a tone so frigid with malice it could probably freeze a mech on the spot.

Tick the femme off who had tools near his spinal strut and risk being impaled or paralyzed, or be honest and tell her she was a barbaric twisted manic like just about every other medic he’d ever met. Decisions, decisions...

Lucky for him, she decided not to prob him further for his answer. On the down side, she decided to make sure he knew who was boss by probing him inside his frame.

Blackout narrowed his optics slightly at the flare up of pain; the light within them going almost black as his mood turned more sour. He’d been pent up for days since Novastrike’s departure in that slagging room with other mechs and femmes. No outlet, no work, no job or motion just told to sit and to heal.

Sitting was not his purpose in life. He was a mech of motion; action spoke louder than words. Energy coursed his veins. Becoming a stationary decoration was not who he was, it was against his very being. If you stopped moving, you simply ceased existence.

Something cool pressed into the exposed protoform of his back and allowed himself to relax slightly. Whatever it was, it was a lot better than the pestering sharp utensils and digits.

“You’re coming along nicely,” the medic informed him with a calmer voice. “Considering your backside was an enormous shrapnel mess and the super-heated burns on your shoulder and burns grazing your chassis and well- everything else considered.”

“Thanks, doc,” the obsidian mech quipped in short reply.

The femme gave a testy ‘tut tut’ as she went on, “Well I can’t help it if you threw yourself at just about every bot we encountered. You can’t blame me for how battered you were. Your protoform’s going to have some obvious bruising and soreness for a while. I expect you’re going to have some lovely new scarring from that encounter you had with a thermo blade.”

Blackout grunted in response. “I’ve been shoved into furnaces by previous masters,” he blatantly informed her. “I know what heat is capable of.”

“Yet you were going to allow it to sever your arm?”

“I was careful.”

The medic snorted with disbelief though said nothing more on the matter.

Scanning his optics around the room from his vantage point, Blackout spoke up in a slightly more anxious tone: “Where’s Scorponok?”

“Recharging in a different room. I’m guessing you didn’t feel him nearby?”

The obsidian mech shifted uncomfortably, both from whatever the femme was plucking at on his backside and the edgy feeling he got at the femme mentioning how he couldn’t feel his partner. Bonds were a private matter. He didn’t much care for others making suggestions on his, true or not.

“Don’t worry, he’s coming along nicely. I’ve still got some replacement’s to put into his drill. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to re manufacture sections of armor for an appendage on a minicon. Especially a minicon with such a complex system.”

“He’s not that complex,” Blackout defended.

“Maybe not a mech whose taken care of him for eons,” the femme agreed. “But his formatting is pretty unique compared to other patients I’ve taken care of. That’s part of the reason it’s taking so long to repair.”

Giving a short vent, the hulking ebony figure turned his helm slightly away as the femme moved to inspect his side. He followed the placement of her servos on him to determine where she wanted him to move his arm as she looked over the seams of his armor. With a click, she began removing plating to look over the burns and damage beneath the smooth surface of his buffed plates.

With a gentle mental nudge, he poked Scorponok through the bond to see if the scorpion was awake or not. There was no direct response, but there was a haze clouding his thoughts. Recharging indeed; his defenses were down, the barrier between them gone as the bug rested.

At least judging by this, he was comfortable and resting peacefully. Not in any sort of pain. He gently closed the imaginary door between them so that his own thoughts wouldn’t bleed into the small mech’s and wake him up.

As the femme walked in front of him and started peering at his chassis armor and examining his faceplate and helm, Blackout offlined his optics. The light blinked out with a wink of light and shuttered closed as he played a game of tolerance. His thoughts drifted with boredom. Thinking of the benign femme he cared so deeply and fondly for.

The way Novastrike’s optics burned with a gleaming light, the shape of her smile when, the sound of her bubbly laughter. His spark trembled with longing. She visited when she could but the tiny femme was busy with her acting position as commander. Slag he missed her, he missed being useful. He missed holding her in the wee jours of darkness and listening to the sound of her quiet breathing and the peaceful look on her face when she was recharging, or the light brush of her servos against him as though he was the fragile one of the two of them. Such care and beauty and-

A few accidental octaves of refracted musical notes, deep and opaque as his armor filled the air. Blackout’s optics flashed with light as they opened with humiliation. The blinding hues of crimson locking on to the medic’s as she glanced up to his face with some surprise.

His expression instantly grew cross as the femme offered a shrewd little smile.

“Something on your processor, big and scary?”

“That’s none of your business or concern.”

“Well that’s not the tone you should be using towards a medical official,” the femme announced with disapproval. “I should see about popping you open just to make sure that that wasn’t the sound of a damaged spark...”

“Try it, and I promise you a very unpleasant response,” Blackout rumbled threateningly.

“Always so touchy,” the femme muttered, shaking her helm as she turned her gaze back to her work. “You know I did spend time learning the basis of personality disorders, behaviorism, psychology-”

“Great, so you’re constantly deducing our motives and actions. Fascinating.”

“What I was going to say,” the medic seethed, “is that I know a thing or two about the reactions and reasons behind the actions of our thoughts and our bodies. Mind you I’m not the most experienced, but I don’t exactly hear someone’s spark singing every day...”

Blackout turned his optics nervously to the side. To deny it would give the femme reasonable cause to pop his chassis open like a can. To admit that that was indeed as she suspected was simply unacceptable. It was his spark, his reaction, and it had nothing to do with the harassing femme in front of him.

“You going to tell me what’s it all about or do I get to guess?” the medic teased as she worked.

Ah, to Pit with it. Folks suspected it anyway.

“Just thinking about Novastrike,” he confessed softly.

“As I suspected.”

Blackout swallowed at the tightening feeling in his throat. He surprised even himself as he whispered out the next words, his voice wavering and dripping with emotion as he faintly mumbled, “I... Do you have some manual, or advice, as to how a bot... goes about confessing feelings to another?”

The medic brought her helm up with a snap so fast, Blackout winced at the idea of the whiplash that may have caused in her neck cables.

“Pardon?” she asked, her optics a bit wider now.

“I... nevermind,” he muttered, flustered and frustrated.

With her optics softened, the femme leaned back a bit. “I’m afraid programs exist as far as I know on how to properly express one’s emotions. Which one are you trying to explicitly voice?”

“Nothing,” Blackout growled, growing vexed now.

“Maybe a femme or a medic’s standpoint would help you. What is it you’re having problems with?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“I’m your medic, my job is to help.”

“I’m done with this conversation.”

“Well I’m not,” the medic remarked. “So tell me, or try talking me through this thing you’re having trouble with, and with who-”

“By the Well of Allspark,” Blackout snarled as he turned to look the femme in the optics. “Love, okay? Are you happy now? I don’t know how to tell Novastrike that I love her.”

The anger instantly vanished from his faceplate with one of dismay.

“Oh, dear,” the medic laughed softly.

“This isn’t a laughing matter,” snapped the giant mech.

Still laughing, the femme shook her helm as she babbled, “Oh no no no no, I’m sorry- I don’t mean to laugh,” she snickered, “Dear, I’m only laughing because this is nothing new to me.”

Puzzled, Blackout drew his optic ridges together.

“Guard and I have known you loved her for some time,” the femme cackled. “It was obvious. The way you looked at her, the fact you stuck around for so long, how you came to her defense at the flick of a switch-”

“You could cease laughing about it,” he simmered furiously. “It’s not very humorous.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m sure it’s not,” she agreed as her giggles faded out.

Raising an optic ridge, the mech gave a thoughtful rumble in his chassis as he spoke faintly, “Guard knows?”

“Brought it up to me, actually,” the femme stated.

Primus, everyone knew before him? Figures when he couldn’t determine what his own feelings were in the first place.

“Don’t act so surprised,” she went on, continuing her scans once more as she spoke, “you were pretty obvious. As if the great and powerful Blackout, king of darkness, ruler of the Pits of Kaon, terrifying ender of worlds simply stuck around because he wanted to take some down time.”

Ignoring her playful jabs, Blackout decided to take a stab in the dark. “You didn’t exactly offer your professional opinion on my question.”

There was a slight pause in the medic’s examination once more, and then she stated in the calmest most breezy of voices, “I don’t think any bot is capable of telling you how to move forward from here. I will give you one solid piece of advise, though. Don’t wait forever. Don’t put it off. Frankly, mech up and speak your mind, because if you hold back what your spark wants, if you try waiting for that perfect moment, you’ll never find it. There will always be something holding you back.”

She was right.

Blackout hated to admit it, but she was. If he continued to bite his glossia, doubting and second-guessing, he’d never know the truth of how she felt and he’d never be able to open up about his own. And he could hardly stand the torture of a world where one day she may slip through his digits because he couldn’t utter a few words and take a chance.

His life was full of chances. What was one more?

But at the risk of losing her... the way her optics lit up, the sway of her hips, the slight of servo just to touch her. He remembered how her breath caught in her throat at the barest of contact and how he could swear he felt the pounding of her spark just beneath armor. Humming, singing, beating with anticipation. Actions and reactions from the touch of a devil who knew little shame and couldn’t resist himself.

She burned a fueling fire in his empty shell of a body he called home all his life that he didn’t even know was possible. Novastrike opened a world up to him he didn’t know existed; multiple universes of possibilities, chances, places, feelings. It brought life to darkness, awakened deadened parts and sections of the core of his being that never had a chance to grow and learn and prosper under a gentle touch and warm smile. He learned a whole new way of life, entirely different and unbearably enjoyable.

He gave up being a Decepticon for her. Gave up his career, his pride, his ego; he dropped it all to follow a new path he felt drawn to. And in that new path he was better. Whole. And he couldn’t find a single reason to regret giving any of it up. What did any of that matter? It didn’t make him happy. It only gave him a sense of purpose he craved so desperately all his life.

The problem still stirred within him though. He was a mech of facts and rational. And for what reason would he chance throwing out his feelings and risk losing the best relationship he’d ever had besides Scorponok? The closest friend he had, a trustworthy comrade, a friendly and delightful presence that warmed his life?

The medic had one thing true. If he allowed his fear to guide him away from something truly special, he would never know what could lie in wait for him.

He couldn’t say how long his thoughts had drifted, but the medic stood up straight and stretched upward to the ceiling. The sound of her grunt brought him back from his own thoughts and he stared at her steadily.

“You’re still not 100%, but you’re definitely stable and I’d say, free to go back to your quarters, so long as you check in for checkups,” the femme remarked. “I’ll have Scorponok moved back in here after the rest of my appointments of course and will keep you updated on his condition.”

She looked Blackout in the face then, and took a step back quickly.

“Primes, mech, are you feeling alright?”

Blackout frowned a touch. “Yes. Why?”

“Your optics just look- nevermind,” she muttered, shaking her helm. She raised her servo and waved it to the door. “You’re free to go.”

Frowning a little deeper, Blackout stood up from the flat slab of metal and headed for the door. With a glance over his shoulder he watched the femme walk over to another patient in the room. He paused by a set of her tools, glancing curiously at the reflective surface.

The scarlet of his optics was burning so brightly it almost had a tangible glow around them.

Embarrassed, he set a dimmer on his optics and lowered his helm as he walked out of the room, nearly running into the bot walking by.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“My apologies-” Blackout stated immediately, and then met the optics of the mech he walked into.

Neutroboost sneered at him with that stupid look on his faceplate.

Deadpanning at the mech, Blackout’s expression went from apologetic to serious in less than a nanoklik. “I take it back,” he growled, “I’m not sorry.”

“You should be you giant dolt! I’m not your teeny femme after all, you can actually see me.”

A dangerous rumbled pressurized through Blackout’s armor. It caused his frame and the nearby metal to vibrate from the low tones it struck.

“Hard to apologize to an arrogant, vain, pompous mech who was missing the entire fight against the Revenge II,” Blackout scolded.

“I had other priorities.”

“I bet your aft did, you low-life cowardly scum.”

Neutroboost went to stand a bit taller on the tips of his pedes as his optics went wide. “You take that back you- you imbecile!”

“Or what?” Blackout challenged, allowing a sinister grin to grow on his faceplate.

The smaller mech’s optics blazed with fury as he raised his arms, throwing them up in the air wildly. “You’ll see, you good-for-nothing moron! Stomping around carelessly, running into bots-”

“At least I didn’t hide in my room during the fighting and let everyone save my aft. Some commander you are Neutroboost, bravo, we should give you a medal.”

Lowering his arms, the smaller mech released an angry huff.

Satisfied, Blackout turned, purposefully whacking his side against the mech’s as he went to walk by.

Neutroboost stumbled into the wall. He whispered loudly as Blackout passed, just enough to make sure he was heard, “Buffoon's almost as dense as that femme.”

Before the mech could react, Blackout pivoted hard on his pede and swung around to nail a fist into Neutroboost’s side. The satisfying crunch of his armor as he punched him was quite the rewarding musical.

Hitting the floor hard, Blackout raised a pede and pressed it against the mech’s neck. Neutroboost sputtered and hissed, gagging as he reached up to claw at Blackout’s pede with his flimsy little digits.

“What did you just call my femme?” Blackout barely whispered, dangerously pressing his pede further into the mech’s throat.

“Get off me-” Neutroboost wheezed.

“You so much as breath a word of insult to her, about her, or around her and I’ll crush your helm into scrap, you got that?”

“Off-” Neutro raspily gasped.

“Are we clear?” Blackout practically roared, raising his voice now as he pressed his weight further into the mech. “If you touch her, hurt her, upset her so help me I will tear you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left of you, you sniveling gutless bastard.”

Huffing and puffing desperately and with fear, Neutroboost tried in vain to tear at Blackout’s leg armor. He barely managed to scuff at the paint.

Leaning down, Blackout rumbled in the depths of his chassis. “You’re a disappointment to every bot on this ship,” he growled. “Everyone here tolerates you on behalf of Guard. You should be grateful he keeps you on the ship, let alone as a commander. You spit your foul venom and you threaten and bark orders that you won’t even take. You’re nothing but a spineless weakling. I’m through with playing nice with you. I’ll tear out your beating spark and squash it between my digits if I must. I’ve done it before, and I’ll done it again.”

“You better watch what you say and what you do,” he continued. “Because I can deal with the consequences of my actions if I have to remove you permanently from this ship, one way or another. You, on the other servo, won’t get the chance. Spit and fume all you want, but your attitude helps no bot on this vessel. And so help me, Novastrike deserves better than to work beside your cowardly, blubbering, patronizing aft. You offend her in the slightest, I’ll break your neck. Are we clear?”

Neutroboost turned a panicked, if not furious optics up to him. The light flickered and flashed in irregular intervals as he tried to nod his helm.

Lifting his pede, Blackout slowly placed it on the floor once more beside Neutroboost.

The older commander snorted and snuffled. Placing a servo to the floor he raised himself up slightly as he retched and purged up strings of energon from his mouth and upon the floor.

“Blackout?”

Raising his helm, Blackout glanced down the hall to see a concerned Guard hobbling swiftly in their direction. His faceplate showed extreme levels of alarm as he teetered over.

“Is everything okay?” the old mech huffed, looking down at Neutroboost as he shivered and whined.

“Everything’s fine,” Blackout stated absently, offering a warm smile towards the elder mech. “He just slipped.”

Guard didn’t look entirely convinced as he met Blackout’s optics, but didn’t counteract or ask for verification on the matter.

Nodding respectfully to the old bot, Blackout turned back to head down the hallway. He could hear Guard trying to question Neutro as he rasply informed the elder mech to ‘sod off’ and ‘leave him alone’.

Poor, sad, pathetic little mech. He wasn’t taking Blackout’s warning very seriously. Maybe he’d have to offer him another example later, but at the moment, he had somewhere he had to be.

#quid pro quo au #OTP AU #OTP Lit #Cute OTP

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arrowsbane · 7 years

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Okay, so there is something to be said for not eating cheese before falling asleep in the mid-afternoon sun, because as fun as it sounds, it can mean for some seriously weird dreams. I am 1000% blaming @shanastoryteller for this, because right before I dozed off, I read this post here that she wrote and it hit a wall, turned 90 degrees east and ran off into the sunset of hell half-frozen over.

So. First let me tell you this, I am not writing this as a fic. Just no. It’s bad enough as it is. Also, while I’m somewhat known for genderbending, I am not really a fan of Fem!Ed. Kind like how I can’t handle Fem!Yuuri from YOI. It’s just… these precious babies are perfect just the way they are and I cannot bear to change them. But, I am down with reading Fem!Ed if there is a reason – like… gender reassignment. (See the aforementioned post). Or maybe Truth just likes to fuck with Ed. Idek.

So. On with the insanity:

So. For some reason, poor Edward Elric is a girl born in a boy’s body. Or maybe he’s just a boy who is more at home in the female shape. I don’t know okay. I’ve always been comfortable exactly as I am, and I’m not going to insult anybody by pretending that I know everything. The point is - Edward is not comfortable in his own skin. Edward knows that his body is somehow wrong. And he’s smart, and brilliant, and a goddamn whiz with Alchemy. And so is Al, who just wants Ed to be happy, no matter what.

So, crazy brilliant brightsparks that they are – with a supernova burning in place of a soul, and the universe in their eyes – they draw up a circle, and Ed goes before Truth.

Truth, of course, isn’t too happy at being faced with a tiny scowling boy who insists that he is a girl; but Truth does understand that sometimes bodies can be uncomfortable at best, and soul-destroying at the worst of times, and this insanely brilliant child is going to be the source of a shit-ton of entertainment for years to come.

So Truth helps.

For shits and giggles, because why not.

...

Trisha is… understandably puzzled. She went to bed the night before, a mother of two sons, and then woke up with a son and a daughter.

Um, what?

They are grounded. Of course they are. Origami cranes are one thing, but this? What were you thinking? You could have been rendered braindead, you could have blown up the house. Or the universe. You could have died!

It should be noted that Trisha ranks her kids’ lives above that of the universe continuing to turn, and reality not peeling apart at the seams.

As any mother rightly should.

...

Time passes, as it is wont to do, and Edward grows into a lovely young woman with a talent for mass destruction and reconstruction.

(although, it must be said that when puberty came rolling around, there were more than a few curses, and Ed had to be physically stopped from reopening the Gate in order to yell at Truth. Because Fuck you asshole!)

Officially, her name is Elizabeth on all the paperwork, but here’s the thing: Ed might be a girl now, but she never stopped being Ed. You can change your shape, but you can’t change who you are. And hell, Ed loves confusing the fuck out of people when she introduces herself as Edward.

[Teacher didn’t discourage this. If anything, she encouraged it.]

It becomes a joke – wherever she goes (and Al is with her, because in what universe would he not be? Don’t answer that. Because that probably means Al is dead in that universe and you can all go to hell before you hurt my little cinnamon roll), leaving chaos and destruction and generally uprooting tyrants for fun; leaving only the whispers of a red coat, long blonde hair and the names Edward and Alphonse Elric: Alchemist Extraordinaires’.

...

[Somewhere in the East, Roy Mustang is tearing his hair out trying to track down a pair of genius brothers. Here’s a hint: It’s not going so well.]

...

Now this? This is not love story for Roy and Ed, oh no. My weird ass dream is twisted, and somehow, I love it. Even though I don’t ship this…

So. It’s summer, and it’s bright, and Edward is now… what? Seventeen? Eighteen? Who cares? The point is, there’s a massive inter-village party going on, and alcohol is involved. She dances the night away, laughing madly the whole time and winds up going for a roll in the hay with a charming chap from two villages over who’s on leave from the military. Not her usual choice, but hey – he’s funny and he pulled out her chair for her, and calls her “ma’am”, and he made her laugh. He also turns out to be brilliant in the sack, so hey – Ed reckons she made a good choice of partner for the night.

She wakes up to a lazy grin, and work-roughened fingers gently teasing straw and dried grass out of her tangled mess of hair – because I’m not joking about the phrase ‘roll in a hay’. It’s round about then that she realizes she forgot to introduce herself, and so she holds out her hand, “Elizabeth,” She tells him. Because hey, he did good last night. He did more than good. She can play nice.

“Havoc,” He replies, shaking her hand, “Jean Havoc.”

Ed fucking laughs at him.

“What?” She asks, “You gonna tell me that you’ve got three brothers called Mischief, Chaos and Trouble?”

He laughs as well, and they’re both still laughing when they tumble over each other and go straight for round two.

...

On and off, the whole summer, these two wind up together. In bed, at dinner, just generally wandering about causing trouble. And then Havoc has to go back to work.

And dammit, Ed finds that she’s missing him. What the hell? Ed doesn’t do pining. She does quick flings, and moves the fuck on. But apparently not anymore.

Al figures it out before she does.

And then when she does, he sits her down and listens while she rants and raves, and curses Havoc out because she did not plan on falling in love. I mean, yeah, she’s got plans to be a Housewife someday, because Teacher was ah-mazing and all that – but no. She had not planned on marrying a military guy. Why would she? The military is E-vil. (And wow, Ed has no idea just how right she is there).

So Ed hmms over it for weeks and then she gets that stubborn look in her eyes, packs her bags, and scoots off down to East City because dammit, she’s getting married. Whether he likes it or not.

Al and Winry are cheering her on, and Trisha isn’t really sure what’s going on anymore.

(Yes, Trisha got ill and shit, but Ed got even more stubborn and kinda maybe might have been more interested in Alchemy and it’s healing properties in this ‘verse, and yeah, she paid a bit more attention when she met Truth. She doesn’t know it yet, but she gave something in trade to the Gate. There’s a reason she doesn’t have Daddy Issues here – she doesn’t even remember him. There’s nothing left to hate.)

...

Ed shows up in a hurricane of energy and barges her way back into Havoc’s life without so much as a by-your-leave. He’s not really complaining. Not even when she storms up to him in a bar when he’s out for a night with the boys, yanks him down by his collar, and tells him that they’re getting married.

“Um… Don’t I get a say in this?” He asks, blinking down at her. Her hair is a mess, and she’s breathing heavily from beating the tar out of a guy outside because he tried to put his hands where they weren’t welcome – but goddamn, she’s still the most beautiful thing Havoc’s ever seen, and in all honesty, his question isn’t so much a “no,” as a bemused “oh really now?”.

Ed straight up growls at him, and he laughs, scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder.

“Oi! Breda!” He shouts down the bar, “Get your coat, I’m getting married.”

Breda chokes on his drink, and then he starts to laugh. “This I gotta see.”

...

So they get married in an office, with a half-sober Breda and some random person they grabbed off the street as witnesses.

Havoc’s collar is unbuttoned, he smells of beer and cigarette smoke. Ed is wearing jeans and a tank top, her hair is a tangled mess of gold and there’s dirt smeared on her left shoulder.

They don’t have any family members there, and Ed makes their rings out of her earrings and Havoc’s watch. But that’s okay. Trisha and Elaine can yell at their kids for eloping at a later date. And then ask about grandchildren in the next breath. Al will laugh himself sick, and Winry will demand to be Godmother when they get around to it.

Not that they plan to – I mean, practicing making the future babies is fun and all, but neither of them want kids just yet.

...

More time passes, and you know what? It works for them.

Ed is a freaking genius who sometimes gets so into her work that she forgets to eat or do the dishes, but that’s just fine because Havoc grew up on a farm where folk did whatever needed doing. So he cooks, and coaxes food into her. He washes dishes, and folds laundry, and he’s even brave enough to pull her away from her books for long enough to get her to sleep.

And then once she’s done with her bender, Ed spends days making it up to him. Because she’s a hundred percent the kind of person who gives stuff her all.

Havoc doesn’t understand one whit of what she’s doing, but hey, it makes her happy. He doesn’t need to know anything more than that.

…

The first time he accidentally catches sight of her notes over her shoulder, he thinks she’s going to kill him, because Alchemists are nothing if insanely secretive of their work.

But hey, no, not Ed. Not with her husband.

She smiles at him, and then yanks him down onto the floor next to her.

And then she starts explaining the basics to him.

…

Because here’s the truth. Ed’s been worrying over Havoc’s complete obliviousness to alchemic circles for a while now, especially seeing as he’s almost always on the team chasing the crazy (in a bad way) alchemists – and dammit, she wants him in one piece. So come hell or high water, she’s going to make sure he knows what is safe and what means he should be hightailing it out of there.

…

The next time he’s closing up a case with the team – a crazy wannabe alchemist had been messing with the structural integrity of a building, and was also apparently a complete and utter moron, because even he knows better than to use those two particular equations in conjunction together.

He says as much, and is treated to looks of utter amazement and disbelief from his teammates.

“What?” He asks, “I know stuff.”

Breda is sniggering behind his back, because unlike the others, he was there when Havoc married the crazy alchemist lady. Come to think of it… Breda might be the only one on the team who even knows that he’s married. Oops.

He really hopes that Hawkeye doesn’t shoot him for this.

…

So yeah, things go fine. Mostly.

Havoc learns when to run away from the crazies, and Ed wanders off with Al to save the world, or sometimes just turns entire cities on their heads by sticking her nose where she shouldn’t – see Youswell, Liore, ect…

And all the while, Mustang rages over the antics of the famous Elric Brothers.

…

It’s actually rather pathetic, and it takes Havoc a long time to put the pieces together.

He’s more than a little bit embarrassed to be honest.

Mustang is halfway through a rant on how Liore has descended into chaos – two raging factions; and Havoc’s eyeing the pin-board, feeling strung out and an odd sense of de ja vu.

Penny in the air?

Huh. Wasn’t Ed in Liore the week before last?

Penny drops.

Oh. Havoc thinks. Oh, shit.

He’s so used to her going by her legal name in public – because while Edward Elric writes alchemical papers and rescues kittens from trees, it’s Elizabeth Havoc who fails epically at knitting, burns scones and actually has a bank account – that he forgot (and wow, is she going to laugh herself sick tonight) that when she’s off gallivanting across the country with Al, she uses her birth name.

Son of a –

He’s been trying to track down his wife and brother-in-law the whole time.

The wife who sleeps in his bed, and the brother-in-law who camps out on their couch.

How is this even his life?

…

Ed does indeed laugh herself sick that night.

Mean.

…

He reckons that he should probably tell Mustang, if only to save Eastern Command from being set on fire the next time the Colonel loses his temper, but hey – Havoc likes living.

So he sleeps on it.

And he sleeps on it.

Eventually, Friday rolls around, and Ed is giving him that look – the kind that says ‘man up, or I’m buggering off to cause mass chaos and destruction without you,’ and so Havoc swallows his pride.

That day at work, he waits until Mustang is once again ranting on about the Elric Brothers, and then, carefully, warily, pipes up with: “So, um, Chief? I might have a lead.”

Mustang freezes, and then pivots.

Ack. He looks like he might breathe fire at any moment.

“What?”

Havoc gulps. And then he starts to fidget.

“Well, actually,” he admits, “it’s my wife that you’d be wanting to talk to, sir.”

Mustang looks at him like’s gone mental.

“You’re… married?”

“Yes?”

“She’s way too good for him,” Breda snickers, leaning back in his chair.

Mustang blinks, frowns, blinks some more, and then moves his mouth soundlessly for a few moments, clearly furious.

Then, finally, he grinds out a short command of “Call her.”

“Yes sir!” Havoc yelps, diving for the phone line and praying that Ed is at home.

She is.

And she’s more than happy to come down to Command and set the record straight.

She’ll even bring Al with her.

Havoc sort of wants to curl up into a ball and cry.

...

Ed glides into the office, all grace and charm, looking exactly as people would expect an innocent modern-day country housewife to appear. Her blonde hair is carefully braided up into a milkmaid’s style, and there’s a touch of flour dusting the hem of her peasant’s blouse.

Havoc feels like he’s in the twilight zone, because she’s even wearing makeup. Since when does his wild dustdevil of a wife wear makeup?

Al catches his eye and winks – he himself is dressed in neatly pressed clothes and sporting a pair of glasses (why? He doesn’t even need them for fucks sake?) and looks the textbook image of a wet-behind-the-ears scholar who probably couldn’t even find his way out of a paper bag.

“Mrs. Havoc,” Mustang smiles, offering her a seat, with his charm turned up to eleven.

“Hello,” Ed smiles, and there’s a devilsh look in her deceptively innocent topaz eyes, “Edward Elric, at your service.”

She sweeps into a genteel bow, and then gestures to Al.

“Alphonse Elric,” Al grins. “Nice to meet you.”

Havoc sorely wishes he’d called in sick that morning.

…

So… Okay. He’s probably going to die.

Mustang practically has a fit, and Hawkeye’s hand is on her gun, which means Havoc has to try really hard not to flinch.

Once he’s done making a series of choking noises that sound like a dying weasel, Mustang straightens his back, puts on his ‘the military wants you!’ face, and says: “Enlist.”

To her credit, Ed only blinks twice, before her mouth curls into a mischievous grin to anybody who knows her, and a dangerous snarl to the uninformed.

Al grins.

Havoc cringes.

“I,” Havoc’s wonderful Valkyrie of a wife thunders in a flawless imitation of her Teacher, “am a Housewife!”

Oh god. The look on Mustang’s face is priceless. He can’t help it.

Havoc starts to laugh.

BONUS:

Wondering why Father never managed to take over the world?

Funny story actually, Ed kinda might have just happened to be wandering by Briggs when Kimblee (the fucker) conned the Drachmans into attacking the fort, and hey, she kinda likes Amestris you know, being Amestris and not Drachma 2.0

So she drops a mountains worth of snow on them.

Funnily enough – carving a blood crest does not fucking work if all your victims die of air deprivation, or being crushed under several tons of ice and snow. Because, y’know, not enough blood being spilled and all.

Basically? The bad guys ran out of time – and it was all Ed’s fault, because no matter what they tried, she kept fucking up their plans by accident.

And then Honoheim owned their asses.

The End.

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dmsden · 7 years

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Making Adventures More Hair Raising

Hi, folks. My Lovecraft LARP is this weekend, so here's anther old advice article. Enjoy! My latest D&D game ended with the defeat of Auntie Mengybone, the Elite Briar Hag that has been causing the PCs trouble for a while now. One of my players looked down at the carnage on the map. “That was really touch and go for a while there. I honestly wondered if we were going to win.” In truth, so did I. Or at least, that was my worry the week prior. The truth is, my players seem to think I have an uncanny ability to judge exactly how much they can take to make it seem like all is lost…but not so much as to overwhelm them completely. And I have some skill in that direction, it’s true, but part of it is that I’ve learned when to adjust my plans, when to insert a secret bonus, and when to make a monster do something stupid. And I’d like to share what I’ve learned with you. Hopefully, it’ll help you make the battles in your games seem that much more intense…the kind of battles that players feel like they succeeded by the skin of their teeth. Careful Planning It’s not shocking that the first thing I do when planning out an adventure is to look at the battles I expect to take place. While my games aren’t inherently battle-oriented, battles add tension and drama to an adventure, and they give the players a chance to show off their tactical skills. Let’s face it…when they’re exciting, battles are fun, so they get a lot of my attention as I plan an adventure. As I’ve said in previous articles, I take the basic encounter concepts of 4E, try to make sure there’s an interesting twist or mechanic in any given battle, and pick monsters I think will be fun and interesting to fight. Once I have that framework, I might think about which monsters might go after specific characters, or special actions they might take. Will a goblin guard break from the battle to sound an alarm? Since the owlbear has so many dang hit points, will I let it run around in something of a frenzy, provoking attacks of opportunity (and giving PCs with special powers triggered by that a chance to use them?) Are there any dialogue bits or character quirks I might want to bring in? I jot some notes as I plan. But I also prepare to throw it all out the window. As much as I want battles to be exciting and interesting, I also want them to further my storyline. I’m not a fan of battles as filler. I want them to tell the PCs something about my world, or move the story forward. And if abandoning a concept I had seems like it will further those ends, then I’m prepared to do it. I can always use the idea in another storyline down the road. The key to keeping things going is a level of flexibility. Upping the Ante Sometimes, as a story progresses, I find that the players are cake-walking through what I thought would be difficult encounters. Maybe I misjudged how effective their attacks would be, or how well they’d work together in a given encounter, or maybe the dice just fall a certain way. Well, the nice thing about playing a game with a human gamemaster (as opposed to a computer) is that a gamemaster can make adjustments on the fly, deciding to change the difficulty of the situation. This can really mean the difference between a fight being memorable and being just another notch in the players’ belts. One of the saddest things that’s ever happened in my game is when the Colossal Red Dragon I threw at my players towards the end of my 3.5 game was taken out in round 3 of a fight by a cleric with the Implosion spell and the roll of a 1 on its saving throw. Kind of sucked the challenge out of that fight, I can tell you. Thankfully, 4E doesn’t have the sort of “instant kill” attacks that earlier editions had, but it’s still sad to watch a monster meant to inspire fear and awe going down in a blaze of attacks. Now, I don’t like to fudge dice that much. I might, however, occasionally give a monster a “nudge”. Are all their attacks hitting my ogre nightstalker? Well, when he gets bloodied, I might give his defenses a boost. My players know some monsters have special effects when they become bloodied, so this isn’t much of a stretch. It doesn’t break the game, but it keeps an important monster in the fight longer and gives them (and the players) a chance to show off all those nifty abilities they have. Other on-the-fly adjustments I’ve made have included bringing in reinforcements, either more of the same coming in from open corridors, or even “summoned creatures” or “raised undead”. This works best if you have something set up in your notes, like giving a necromancer an ability as a standard action to create undead. That way, if you never need it, you can ignore it, but if you do need it, you can bring it into play. It’s important to note that, whenever I do put in something like this, I give the players a way to take it away. If the necromancer is summoning undead every round, and the PCs kill the necromancer, then no more undead come into play. Auntie Mengybone had a way to heal herself through power she was stealing from her captive Archfey. Once the players realized this, they split their energies between fighting her and running a skill challenge to free the Archfey. Once the Archfey was free, they were able to quickly turn the tide of battle and overcome their foe. But until they did, it was, as previously mentioned, rather touch and go. Toning It Down Sometimes, despite good planning, good resource management, and good playing, fate just seems to want to kick your adventuring party where it counts. Most commonly, the dice fall the wrong way, and things just generally go wrong. In instances like this, I’ll look for ways to help the party along. Maybe I’ll decide not to roll to recharge a specific power this particular round. Or maybe I let the monsters get a little cocky. They’re winning, aren’t they? Why not ignore the paladin’s mark? They have hit points to spare, and they can strut the fact that they can take it. If I had reinforcements planned, maybe I’ll decide not to bring them in, or maybe I’ll make it easy for the party to prevent it from happening. Maybe the necromancer needs to make an Arcana check to summon those undead, and the party’s warlock can make an arcana check to counter-magic it. Sometimes, you realize that it’s not the players or the dice causing the problem…it’s you. I recently realized that, although I’d converted some monsters from elites to normal, they still had elite damage listed on their sheets. This caused the players to burn through far more of their healing resources than they should’ve needed to and left them very weak against a very tough foe that was still fresh. In a case like this, I find a way to give the PCs an unexpected way to heal or regain abilities. Maybe there’s a healing potion on the alchemist’s table, or a magic circle in a temple fight allows them to draw on the help of the gods for some aid. I hadn’t planned on this initially, but it helps make up for my earlier mistake. Putting It Together – A Concrete Example The final battle with Auntie Mengybone was set. Besides the elite briar hag herself, I put in 3 bone golems that I’d dropped from elite to normal, representing that they were simply bone constructs, rather than full-fledged golems. I also added a displacer beast which Auntie referred to as “Fluffy.” It was a tough, but balanced battle for a group of 6 level 8 PCs. In the middle of the fight, I realized that the bone golems were doing way too much damage. Although their hit points and defenses had dropped properly, their damage was still elite level. I hadn’t spotted this, however, until I’d hit the PCs with a few of their attacks. “That seems high,” I thought to myself, and then I realized the error. Luckily, the session ended mid-fight, with all monsters but Auntie Mengybone slain, but the PCs in dire straits…almost all encounter and daily powers spent, and several PCs with either 1 or 0 healing surges left. If this had kept up, it would almost certainly have been a complete party wipe, due to my error. In between sessions, I pondered how to fix this. I wanted Auntie Mengybone to be a memorable villain, so I didn’t want to depower her. I had given her a healing power representing drawing on the power of the Archfey she held captive. While I didn’t want to take this away (the PCs hate nothing more than a villain that can heal itself), I wanted to give the players something to draw on, too. I expanded the skill challenge to free the Archfey. Now, if they made a hard success on certain skills, the captive Archfey would aid them. I allowed them to choose between giving 2 healing surges to members of the party, using a healing surge, or recovering an encounter power. This gave a concrete reward to those who chose to step out of combat to aid the Archfey, and gave the PCs a way to stay in the fight, even though their foe was still in good shape. Because I didn’t want them to simply all jump into the skill challenge and overwhelm it in two turns, I gave Auntie a new attack, a little less damaging than her old ones, but one that would negate one of their successes. That made it a more back and forth affair. Finally, I gave Auntie conditions under which she would flee. I would give the PCs plenty of chances to catch her, but I knew this would change the tactical landscape of the fight. So the rhythm of the fight went something like this. The PCs waded in against Auntie Mengybone and discovered that she could heal herself using her connection to the Archfey. At that point, half of them broke off to free the Archfey, engaging in the skill challenge while the other half held her in place. Their Controller was particularly helpful in that situation, using his powers to keep moving her away from the skill challenge. Once the skill challenge was complete, it become another “dogpile on Auntie Mengybone” situation, until she hit her retreat conditions. She used a power to move out of the fight and began to flee, causing the players to switch tactics to catch her and hold her in place, and then defeat her. When it was all over, the players let out a sigh of relief and admitted that they hadn’t been sure they were going to win.

#dnd #dnd 5e #dnd stuff #d&d 5th edition #d&d 5e #d&d #dungeon master #dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons

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revpanikbedlam · 7 years

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Milo the Rascal

Part 1: Attempted Murder A story by Her Lady Baroness Rev. Panik EVlynn Bedlam, Esq.

It all felt like a dream but Milo was most certainly awake. He was a powerful dreamer and a napper of par excellence, so if he was asleep he'd know. Elton used to joke that he was a competitive snoozer with slumber on the mind, and Milo responded to it as a compliment and took any opportunity to show off his talents.

But at the moment this was not the case as he was fully alert, wakeful, and vigilant. Athough he knew that he was not in repose, something about this place was off. There was a strangeness that hit his senses like a surrealistic pillow hurled from an uncanny vantage.

It was in trying to follow Elton that he had come to this odd locale, having traveled up a silver stairwell into the purple swirl of clouds that had appeared suddenly in their living room. It was a cyclone of swirling papers with a force that knocked books from their shelves. Elton didn't say a thing as he passively lead the way to this place, but with Milo having only three legs it made ascending the stairs a slow affair. By the time he got to the top Elton was nowhere to be seen.

After he made summit on the last step of that radiant climb, having risen through a glittering violet tornado of green lightning, the portal of that strange stairwell vanished behind him, leaving him no way back to his apartment. Milo's long gray fur was heavily mused from the eldritch winds, and a tangible sparkling debris adhered to it. He decided to take a moment to compose himself, licking his paw and proceeded to groom himself while he looked around. It was nice, a large grass field filled with flowers with little pastoral ponds and flowing creeks rolling in all directions. Large willows blew in a sweet wind over patches of wild gourds and melons.

Milo could see a ways off in almost every direction but Elton was nowhere about. He paused for a moment and wondered if he had been wrong to go up those stairs after him, for the manner of Elton's peculiar splitting had been confusing.

Elton had been sick ever since he had been attacked that day, stabbed by the bad man. He had gone to the hospital, but the wound wouldn't heal. “Magic poison on the blade, harmful to my body and soul,” Elton had told him as Milo sat on his friend's lap, purring as much as he could, hoping it would make Elton better. But as Milo laid there, Elton stood up and walked across the room. To Milo's surprise, he didn't fall from the lap as a cold and motionless copy of Elton remained in the chair.

Milo was the sort of cat who followed Elton everywhere like a little shadow and seldom were they apart. It was apparently uncommon according to what Milo heard other people say, but he would follow Elton all over town, going anywhere it wasn't expressively disallowed and even some places it was. This being the case, Milo decided he wasn't going to change old habits over something like that. He decided that the weird glowing version of his friend was more real for its movements, and followed that rather than staying with the unmoving other. But now having chased Elton to this place, he had apparently fallen behind and now Elton seemed to be gone.

Perhaps if I got a better point of vantage, Milo thought to himself, and with some degree of difficulty attempted to climb a tree. It took him two tries before he finally got it, as he had never been much of a climber. He'd been missing one of his back paws since he was a kitten, but he did what he could.

Having so managed his disability for so long he had learned to compensate and it rarely gave him issue, often still outrunning and outfighting any of the other local cats that challenged him. Top Tom of his block he might be, with a few litters out there to his name; Top Tom of the tree tops he was not. So with great care, he struggled to keep his back leg planted as he crept his front paws forward.

When he finally reached the peak of the tree he looked and still saw no sign of Elton. He felt lost and sad without his friend and he began crying out a whining “meow, meow, meow!” like he would when he was unable to find Elton in the apartment. Whenever Milo sang, he would stop just long enough to listen for the telltale, “What do you want you little rascal? I'm just over here.” But no response came from his friend.

“What are you yowling about cat!?” shouted a crow who came to land next to him. Milo blinked as he realized that the crow had spoken in a manner not like that of a crow, but not entirely like that of a man.

As a cat, he had needed to figure out what some of the bird-songs meant, so he might hunt them more effectively. For this, he had learned to understand the various alarms and announcements of the crow's squawking language, just as he had learned to interpret much of the babbling ooking of humans. Other cats told him that he was better at understanding what the other animals said then they, often only understanding the words for their "people names," or the call for dinner. This, on the other hand, was different; it was like the sounds the bird made spoke directly into his mind.

“Meow?” Milo attempted, and the crow looked at him quixotically in response. “Hoy hoy hoy? What? Meow? I said why are you yowling, not what did you say. Say again, why do you sing your dirging call, it makes me sad to hear it. Tell me why?”

Milo scowled and gave a bit more indignant “Murr” at the bird. He wasn't sure what was going on but it seemed like the bird was attempting to get him to speak as it did. How was he supposed to do that, if he could have spoken the words of men or bird he would have made clear his thoughts long ago.

“Still more with your cat sounds. Why do you not speak to me? Why are you so impolite?” The crow stopped suddenly, looking Milo over.

“Are you not from this place, are you from the Real? You seem not to be of this place. Here we speak with our thoughts, we bring sound to our minds, we do this to show the desires of our spirits. Just as we did long ago on Earth. You speak as the baying ancestors still in the world, those who speak only animal words. Has no one ever shown you how to speak from your heart with the green energy of the all-power?”

Milo gave the crow the same perplexed look he would give Elton when he changed the flavor of his food, and grumbled in such a way as to strongly imply both negative confirmation and indignant confusion.

“Oh, my! You must be from the world of the Real! That is very exciting! We birds do not often act kindly to cats, but how you came to this side must be a tale of excitement to tell! But to tell it you must have words. So come with me, I will take you to Grand Unkle, for I am Nephfew. He is a shaman of great power to my family and is very wise. He will be able to teach you the way language was spoken in the seven caves of the First Garden. Come with me!”

Nephfew flew out of the tree and onto the ground. He buffeted and flapped his wings and began to shout. “Hurry, hurry! Come, come now! Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!” Climbing down was worse than climbing up. There was nothing to grab with since his claws turned the wrong way around. This was always the problem, forgetting the difficulty in getting down before starting to climb. An attempt to quickly twist about lead to a loss of grip and with a tumbling slide, Milo slumped through the branches catching the trunk with his claws just enough times that he was able to slow his descent. Thus when his paws hit the grassy loam with a soft, inelegant thud, it was mostly embarrassment rather than pain that he felt, made worse with the cawing laughter of the crow as he chortled.

“The grace of cats! Hoy, hoy, hoy!”

Milo grumbled and with a rumbling growl let out a “murr hiss!” at the crow.

The crow gave a raspy croak as he said, “Whagg! No need to get your tail twisted over it, cat. You seem to understand, so save your savagery, lest I believe you mean me or my family ill will. Remember that men call us murder when we flock. Though you keep it hidden below your bluish mane, my keen eyes see the glint of the adornment about your neck. This implies you, too, have been raised in the air of civilized folk. If civil, it is best to act civil; and do have courtesy for my kind are courtly.”

Milo lowered his head slightly as the bird scolded him, and attempted to imbue as much of a tone of reconciliation into his voice as he said, “Meow.”

The bird cocked his head to either side and then fluttered his wings with a gleeful acceptance. “I'll take that as an apology. It was probably not nice for me to laugh. For a cat, you seem kind as well as cunning. I hope it will lead to friendship. Allies are needed in these times. Follow me now, hoy!”

He bounded into the sky and flew to a nearby tree. Milo gave a sigh and ran after the crow. When he got close, the crow flew out of that tree, shouting “Hoy, hoy, hoy!” and into another, leaving Milo to zig zag across the fields and over the shallow creeks.

The water was clean and cool. He took a moment to sip up some of it, sweet and delicious. The whole of the place was beautiful as the warm sun shone on limpid pools. These pools gathered about them swelling clouds; mists which traveled into the sky on fog-chilled winds, their tendrils tracking Nephfew with a casual interest. But these bold wisps fled at the first barking puff of yellow swamp-gas that burped from mudpits surrounding hot springs, and retreated back to their ponds. As these ubiquitous mists each turned away in time, it was like the pulling back of dreaming curtains, revealing new landscapes, each of them a differing sort of lovely.

But then, all the light fog hid entirely as the crow lead Milo into a place of more oppressive and bullying clouds that were in the sky, but low and threatening. As the thuggish overcast of clouds mobbed the horizon, this place became dark, and in this dark came a murky gloom that crept in slowly. These shadows began to cling to all things and washed away the wondrous beauty previously beheld. Instead of a paradise of gardens, Nephfew lead him into a dank underbrush of brambling thistle.

As Milo walked forward through these foul and sulfurous mists, he saw Nephfew join another crow sitting on the branch of a leafless tree. Then the two flew to a tree with three crows, then ten crows, then four and twenty, all flying to and fro. As Nephfew lead him he would shout “Hoy, hoy, hoy,” and every bird and view would echo “Hoy, hoy, hoy!” Their cries became a haunting round that rippled off into the distance.

Suddenly Milo realized that Nephfew was lost in the crowd. He spun around, realizing he was in a small clearing with only a wretched stump of a long fallen tree standing like a podium in the center. Every tree around him was so filled with birds that it seemed that they were thick with vibrant and lively black leaves despite every trunk being barkless and dead. Suddenly with a unified cry, the gallery of murder shouted in a tremendous chorus of “HOY! HOY! HOY!”

Milo hunched down low to the ground with flattened ears and gave a terrified hiss, not in aggression or disrespect, but a pure fear reaction. He looked around frantically as they continued the shout, trying to hide behind the stump, but the birds were in every tree on every side of the clearing. A circle of them stood on the ground of that edge, blocking escape.

Simply wishing to be as far away from them as possible, Milo moved to the center of the circle and jumped onto the stump. As he moved to the center of the broad broken trunk, he looked around to see that he stood alone on this stage with all eyes on him.

But he wasn't alone, for as he looked behind him there was perched a large and ragged crow wearing an old orange dishtowel as a cloak, and a tiny, white eye-patch.

Without saying a word the old crow moved in, then began to poke and prod at Milo as it circled him. The bird wasn't really hurting him but the pinching was painful and the crow smelt like an unpleasant mix of carrion and cheap bourbon whiskey. Yet Milo didn't hiss or growl, having been warned about being polite and fearing the consequence of infraction.

This as it may be, he was certainly not enjoying it, and like the pokes and prodding of the occasional veterinary visit, Milo was happy when it was over. With one last indignant peck, the fowl let him be and returned to the opposite edge of the stump.

“Who?! Who?” The bird squawked, sounding more like an owl than a crow. “Who brought this cat to me?”

“I did,” said Nephfew, hidden in the uniform black of the arboreal gallery. “I am the crow who has lead this cat to our parliament hall,” he exclaimed firmly.

Nephfew revealed himself from the others by swooping in from one of the tree tops to stand on the other side of Milo, putting him in a flanking position with the bigger bird.

“He is from the world of the Real and cannot speak from his heart. However, his movements are wise and I heard him sing a song of lament from the treetops, singing of a loss unknown to me for his lack of words. I brought him here to you, great Unkle, so you might give words to his voice.”

Unkle considered for only a short moment before conceding the request. “Hoy. Very well. Even though he may be resistant, since he comes from the world of the Real, it should not be hard. Resistant, for the Real is a place which lies beyond the storm of dreams, where magic is stifled from the banishment that ended the Fall. It is also a place where even those minor magics naturally seek to shroud themselves in glamour. There has long been a decree of discretion by the Great Four, further aided in concealment by the banal flippancy that grows in lesser mortals who care not to see it.

“To initiate such mundane mortals from this situation is often a greater challenge, for they know what they know and are thus closed off from the green glow of the universe's heartbeat. They do not wish the knowings that knowing brings, but I believe this cat will understand, for there is a genius in cats. All cats are potent sorcerers in varying degree, and I see a great amount of mystic potency infused with this cat's spirit.”

The big bird turned his attention away from Nephfew and spoke to the murder in general. “We will wake the song of his heart together, join me in this chant of greeting.”

A crackled chatter ruffled through the branches as the murder took note of the great Unkle's command. Then Unkle himself turned his head to the side to stare Milo straight on with his one good eye. “Cat! Greet me and tell me your name. Tell me your name proudly and tell me too, your title. Tell to me the title you apply to your manner and deeds. Speak to me with boldness. Speak to me with the beating of your heart. Tell me with the breath of your life, as if all you say is the breath of the trees and your speaking the heartbeat of the woods. Speak as if you are the voice of all nature.”

Milo was certainly intimidated, but he sat tall and puffed out his chest and attempted to do as he was told. But all that came was “Meow, Murr, Meh.”

To his surprise came a roar of the crows in a grand unity, “MEOW! MURR! MEH!” This startled him so greatly he almost lost composition and scrambled, but instead he held his position despite the impulse.

“Say again! Say again with your heart as the deep of the wood. Say again with your breath as big as the sky and let your heart become the rise and fall of the sun! Speak thy name and claim thy title!” Unkle shouted at him in a raspy caw.

“Merro, meh murr, meh meow,” Milo attempted again, but this time a strange tone took his voice. It was like something deep inside him was attempting to break free and in doing so twisted the quality of his mewing as it emanated from his throat. It struck him as the sort of gargling tone that gripped his cough whenever he had a hairball. The nervousness of the packed theater surrounding him watching his every move gave him a sense of stage fright nausea, but there was something more to his voice than a queasy gurgling.

“MERRO! MEH MURR! MEH MEOW!” the murder mimicked.

“Again! Feel it! Declare yourself to all of nature!” Unkle screamed in fervor. Digging as deep as he could, he gave a great roar and his own words shocked him as they left his throat, for although it seemed to him he was simply giving a loud meow, instead came words.

“I am Lon-Milo the Rascal! Paladin of Ulthar!”

The crowd fell silent for a long heavy moment before erupting in cheers of adulation and chanting. “His Name is Milo! His Name is Milo! Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!” Suddenly Milo felt dizzy and sleepy as if the weight of the day's expenditure hit him all at once and he began panting for the effort. Great Unkle seemed to notice this and gave a comforting caress with his wing on Milo's face.

“You have done well, but I know that such a spiritual task as unleashing your voice is draining. I shall dismiss the court and so we may speak in private.”

And with that, the old crow gave a deafening “CAW! CAW! CAW!” that drowned out the voices of all others. It brought them to a silence so severe Milo could hear a full three beats of his heart ringing in his ears. In a torrent the murder took to the sky in a great singular flocking, and then dissipated like the darkness at dawn, leaving only Unkle and Nephfew. The black birds disseminated into every distant direction. Milo could hear a few cackling out, “His name is Milo! Hoy! Ahoy! Paladin of Ulthar! Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!”

“Come, Lon-Milo, we shall retire to my home and have some refreshment and rest. There you can tell us of your sorrow, regale us tales of your rascality, and inform to us the ways of your land of Ulthar.”

Milo was uncertain of himself, but attempted to speak. He managed a scratchy grumble and said, “Yes, Unkle. Refreshment and rest. This sounds wonderful.” He was shocked at how easily the words came to him in contrast to the prior attempts, although it still seemed a tongue twister to say any words at all. “Indeed! Wonderful, wonderful! Hoy, Hoy! Wonderful. I told you Unkle would help!” Nephfew squawked happily, and then flew off in what Milo presumed was the way to Unkle's house.

The old bird gave a chuckling croak. “The enthusiasm of youth, hoy! Running ahead and leaving both the welcomed guest and his elder behind. It is fine, though, he is a good boy. There are indeed troubling things too that we must talk about, but there is no need to fall heavy on his high spirits. Please, friend cat, friend Milo; follow us if you will.”

With a hop he was off the stump, and with a bouncing waddle, Unkle began to walk into the dead wood swamp, giving a coaxing wave of his wing to Milo.

They walked for some time with Unkle leading the way, hopping on jutting stones and fallen logs to keep from the damp ground and Milo did his best to move in the crow's footsteps. As they moved, the swamp became wet with a dank sulfur smell of fetid decay that filled Milo's nose, causing a series of short huffing sneezes. He noticed fewer and fewer trees, and more and more stumps, each chewed down and fallen in the mud where they rotted into beds of fungus and green lichen. Eventually, the forest was behind them for a flooded field of stumps which Unkle and Milo had to jump between in order not to fall into the reeking bog.

A strange rectangular box overgrown with vines jutted out of the water on a small mound of mud. The wooden box tilted slightly to the side as it sat sunken into the undergrowth, and the crow flew up to perch upon its topmost corner. Unkle beckoned Milo to join him, and as he did, he noticed the object was some sort of old, large dresser or chest of drawers crafted by men. Elton had a similar piece of furniture in their apartment in which he kept winter coats, but the minor strangeness of the out of place antique was dwarfed in comparison to what Milo saw in the distance from this vantage.

A great pile of trees, branches, and mud in the center of a sizable basin quagmire; the heap was as large as a mansion and decrepit like a junk- ridden hovel. The queer island glowed with wraps of intermittent Christmas lights and was adorned with strange trinkets, garbage crafted charms, and tattered streamers of cloth fluttering like flags. Each of the decorations were tied in place with tangles of filthy colored string in such quantity that the structure seemed to be bound together by yarn more than mud. Milo watched as a stinking wind blew over the sloughed lake in a visible miasma, causing the dangling bits of debris to swing and jingle like holy wind-chimes and the twinkling lights flickered.

“That is my home,” said Unkle. "It was once the home of wise beavers descended from the Great Animal Master of their kind. But long ago this master left them to sleep in a hidden cave deep in the Nightmare-Zone, and without this guidance, they sought other mentors. Seeing their desire to be taught, a Great Human Master of the West taught them the movements of machines and the keeping of time, and thereafter, their simple dam became a tremendous mill of incredible production. It was a glorious castle on a beautiful and crystal clean, vale lake.”

Milo looked over the unsightly muskeg. “It's not very nice now. What happened to it?”

Unkle gave a somber groan. “Their progress was wondrous. Unfortunately, like their Ancestor before him, the human Master did leave after a time to take on other duties, and thus left them to their own devices.

“Some say it was the Greatest Sar-all who cursed them out of rivalry with the western Master, while others say it was the Dauphine- Despotissa Adélaïde who afflicted them with the sickness of men for learning the ways of men, as is her dark sense of humor. Still others say that it was the western Master himself, doing this for unknown reasons, for he was mysterious. Yet I believe neither the auspices and agencies of the Witch Queen, nor gynecocracy of the southeastern Sorceress, nor the ire of their old teacher.

"I say it was they themselves who, in aspiration and with lack of reflection, fostered the same illness of greed and miserly deed that so afflicts the men of your world. Three hundred years ago the beavers began to claim all they could survey, hoarded all they could hold, and soon after the land was unlivable and it was filled with death. Those who survived had their hearts filled with melancholy as they fled their foolishness, and where they went, not even the crows know.” “That's awful!” Milo exclaimed in disgust. “They sound like idiots, how could they do this to their own home?” He looked around at the wretched mire and asked Unkle, “This place is sad and dreadful, why bring me here?”

The old crow set his beak agape in a jolly expression and gave a haughty cracking laugh. “Hoy-hoy! Because as they fled, abandoning the place they made, I long ago made it my home! It is the way of crows to thrive in the essence of death and it is our providence to seek to rule over the myriad fields of decay. What was once their horrid factory producing the putrescence that made a brimstone morass of their sacred pond, now is a magnificent cathedral for me to pursue my workings. For though no Great Animal Masters remain awake in this world or yours, it is still the way of the beast shamans to seek enlightenment. And although I welcome you and any other guest who might quest to find my consul, it is a distant and secluded heart in darkness in which I might work as the guru; undisturbed.”

Milo nodded although he didn't understand some of it. Although speaking and listing 'from the heart' was becoming easy with a quickness, there were still many things the crows spoke of and things about this place that were not only unsettling, but beyond his comprehension.

He decided to focus on more practical things, and as he saw the dam rising like an island from brackish waters, he saw no means to reach it as the stumps rising above the surface became rare as one might near the structure.

“I know you can fly there but I cannot, and I would hate to swim to it even if it wasn't a stagnant pool of mud. How might I get there?”

Unkle cocked his head at Milo and gave his one good eye a playful wink and sang in a low breathy throat-song. “Ahoy! Ahoy! Follow, watch closely, what is just below the surface rises up. Follow, watch closely, and walk upon water. Walk upon the water without wetting your feet! Ahoy! Ahoy! Hoy, hoy, hoy!”

And as the elder corvid sang the refrain over and over he did jump onto the surface of the water with steps that barely rippled the surface. Milo watched closely and was careful to jump exactly where Unkle stepped, and although it was like walking upon unpleasantly wet pavement, he realized that there were upright logs standing as pillars rising upwards to sit just below the surface and concealed fully by the opaque water. Eventually reaching the mound, Unkle disappeared into a hole concealed by a curtain of damp cloth. Milo pushed aside the veil and followed.

The tunnel downward was dim but lit with the same sparse bulbs that were fastened to the exterior. It was generally an unpleasantly slimy little hall covered in feathers and filth that led down in a twisting tangle. Even with his luminous eyes, the slits of his pupils strained as the path became utter dark. Unable to see the crow, he began to panic and lost his footing, sliding down the descending incline with a fleeting terror.

Then ahead was a sudden and intense light that blinded him. With an undignified flop, Milo somersaulted into a magnificent chamber of high opulence and sanctity. Small statues sat on altars, glowing candelabra chandeliers illuminated the room, and sweet incense filled the air, overwhelming the funk of the swamp outside.

The room was full of bones but not littered with them; shelves of simple ossuary displayed ancestors with honor, and although most of the bones were obviously those of the crows, the remains of beavers and other animals were represented as well. It reminded Milo of the ritual chamber that Elton kept in the small side room of their apartment where he would wave around sticks and swords late at night saying strange words. As little as Milo had understood the strange habit of his friend, it reminded him of Elton and he missed him.

Milo became lost in thought at the overwhelming magnificence of the Unkle's grand cathedral, and the old bird gave a sharp and sudden caw that brought his attention back to the present. Unkle moved to invite Milo into a room off of the main chamber where it was discovered the younger Nephfew waited for them. It was a comfortable den whose walls were encircled by bookshelves filled with a weathered and worn collection of tomes, as well as various tchotchkes and doodads. The floor was covered with several layers of clean and soft pillows and blankets which were piled about a low table. Rising from the sea of cushions were several perches on which both Unkle and Nephfew sat, so Milo moved to join their circle by sitting across from them on a folded, eiderdown comforter.

On the table was a modest but appealing feast. A dish of clean water sat out for him next to a bowl of cream. A bag of cat kibble sat on the table open next to a large sack of birdseed, with some of each poured onto mismatched platters. There were also freshly opened tins of tuna and sardines set next to a cooling bowl of sticky rice, features that surprised him as these were rare favorite treats of Milo's. Less appealing were carrot sticks and apple slices, but these seemed to be favorites of the host as Nephfew was already chewing on one of the fruit cores. Several glasses held small live fish that swam around, but it was obvious that this was not decoration but an hors d'oeuvre.

"Thank you,” Milo said with a nod to the crows. Then he snagged and swallowed down one of the live minnows before starting on the sardines, rice, and kibble.

After they all ate for a while, they began to relax. Now that Milo was able to speak to them clearly, he could answer the questions Nephfew asked him.

“Tell us, why are you sad? For what did you sing your song of sorrow?”

Something made Milo feel foolish as he tried to compose an answer. It seemed that intention was how one formed words with this magical language, and thus uncertain of how he felt, he didn't know what to say.

After much deliberation, Milo finally explained. “I was sad because I have lost my friend. I saw him split in two, one half dark, cold, and still, and the other a warm glowing translucence. His light body I saw traveling up the silver stairs, and so I followed, bringing me to this place. I am uncertain as to these things I saw, and how he came here, and I am befret with the dreadful idea that I will not find him again. He walked ahead of me in an unknown direction and having lost sight of him I do not know which way to follow.”

The crows listened and considered. After discussing shortly in their own language, Unkle asked, “Can you tell us of your friend and your friendship with him? As a shaman, I believe I know what fate was bestowed upon him, but it is best if you tell us as much as you can so I may tell you with certainty. And also, you claimed to be a Paladin of the land of Ulthar, I know not of this place. Tell us of this, too.”

Milo nodded and told this story: “To know of Ulthar, I must first tell you of Elton. It was about fifteen years ago that I met him. He had been in the woods on Halloween and it had apparently been his intention to pay honors to the Goddess in the full moon. I later found out it was his practice, on special dates, to go alone into the forest and dance sky-clad in honor of spirits. However, that night he had found that his sacred clearing had been invaded by a group of miscreants. As he approached he heard a kitten cry out, and this kitten was me.

“A group of three boys had pulled me out of a box the day before. In this box, I had been placed with my litter mates, and together we were placed on the sidewalk, set there in hopes to help us find homes to share with lonesome humans. It had been my naive belief and hope I was going somewhere nice, but their house was smelly, their loud music hurt my ears, and they were mean to me, and I had to catch bugs for food. I was just getting accustomed to their squalor when they threw me in a bag, and it was then that I began to panic.

“When they roughly pulled me out again I no longer had any misconceptions as to their hostility, and I responded in kind; trying to scratch and bite them as best as I could.

“Although I managed to draw blood from two of them, biting the hand of one and drawing a raking slash across the other's face, they managed to overpower me easily since I was at the time very small, having been the runt of my litter. Thus they were able to hold me down on a large stone at the center of the clearing.

“As the two held me down, the third held a knife in the air and shouted out all sorts of strange noises, and then called for the ‘intelligence of all the earth, of the moon, of the sun and all the planets to enter our sacrifice so we might gain that knowledge through our dark feast! Let your cursed hand be my hand and with it move my knife. Let this beast receive your curse, let it pay the price in blood as we take its powers!’

“Just as the speaker drove down his blade, he crumpled. My future friend Elton had crept up from behind and struck him in the back of the head with a heavy stick. ‘You fool! Don't you know the Law of Ulthar? Thou shall not harm cats!’ he shouted as he attacked. Such a display was enough to frighten off the two flunkies but unfortunately, not all harm was prevented. Although the kitchen knife was detoured from striking my neck where it had been destined, it instead struck me in my leg, crippling it.

“Elton might have run after the two men, but instead stopped and tended to my needs, ensuring that I was all right. He rubbed his hand against my face to attempt to comfort me in my pain. It helped somewhat, but my injury was severe. The pain brought with it various images of horrible things swirling around me, filling my eyes.

“In an instant, they showed me many things, and my mind took a great focus, yet their shapes were terrible and frightening. I was afraid they would take me away, as the bad man had implied, but when they had tired of their tormenting teachings they swarmed at that fallen man, taking residence within him. It was at this point I lost consciousness from the loss of blood.

“I had feared that I was dying, but it was Elton again to the rescue; he took me to a doctor. My leg was lost to save my life but I learned to get on fine without it, and I was taken home to live with him.

“He was kind and good to me, treating me as his closest friend, giving me fine food, and reading aloud to me many stories which I found entertaining and fascinating. Much of what he read was dry and technical, speaking of various manner of formula and symbolic meanings. Others were strange fictions, and exciting tales of dread, with his and my favorites being those of a man called Lovecraft.

“This man told fanciful tales, many frightening but fun ghost stories of sorts, but one in particular spoke of a city in the land of dreams called Ulthar. At my request, and Elton always seemed to understand me when I asked in my cat song though he was a man, he would read me this story.

“In it, an elderly couple would hunt the cats that lived with the people of Ulthar. When the couple took a kitten from a group of nomads who were passing through town, the travelers cursed the couple for their misdeeds, and a swarm of cats banded together to enact that curse upon those wicked hunters. The people of that town then declared the Law of Ulthar: thou shall not harm cats.

“Perhaps I liked this story because I am a vengeful sort, although I have always sought to be relaxed and of easy temper. In both dreams and waking I found myself sworn to combat, fighting under the banner of that imagined place; claiming its valor in revelry and in many a late night brawl with the other cats on my block. I never meant any true harm, but it was necessary for me to fight fiercely until I bested each one. I am short a leg, but I grew larger, stronger, and more willful than any other in my domain.

“It seemed that vengeance was also permanently fixed in the heart of the bad man as well. One day many, many years later, as Elton and I walked down the street, the man attacked Elton with a poison-dripping dagger. To look at the bad man it was easy to see that the curse he called down had wasted him away, and perhaps this was his last desperate act to harm those who had denied him.

“Although he was able to stab Elton in the stomach, I leapt upon his face in a fury. This knocked him back before he could finish his foul deed, and as I retreated to let him fall, he stumbled into the road and was flattened by a passing truck.

“Elton was rushed to the hospital, and after a short time he seemed to have mended and returned home. Yet for the most of a year he was sick and did nothing but sit in his chair, reading aloud but little else. That is, until the day his body of light stood up and walked away from the dark of his form, and I followed him to this point."

Unkle seemed to understand and nodded. “I would believe I now know to what end your Elton may have traveled and in what form. But to understand this I should tell you of this place that men of your world call 'the Other-Side' and the natives call the New Hyperboria. The world of the real is surrounded by the Dream-zone above and the Nightmare-Zone below. The Nightmare- Zone is where the highest agents of nature serve the planetary intelligences, and through pact, guard the sleeping Animal Masters of ancient times in hidden caves. Below this frightful place are worlds of worse things: bad spirits.

“But here in the Above, reaching through the Dream-Zone, is this Other-Side: the place where wizards fled after the Fall, and the ancient cultures were rebuilt. The Great Animal Masters of old helped them build it. Their help was vital, but the act left them exhausted. They left the world in the care of the Human Masters under the lights of the divines, and they left to sleep in the worlds below. “Animal shamans such as myself still aid the workings of men and advise them to the balance of nature, but no animal has become a Great Master of the Way in the whole of the last epoch. The Opossum mother, the most powerful of those old Masters, was last to leave. She gave her name and blessing to the Grand Master of the North, but after that, the will of Animals lost sway. Instead, we either swear to the intrigues of the Masters, or isolate ourselves to our tribes. The Clans of the corvids seek to do both by doing neither.”

“That is interesting,” Milo hazarded with some effort to follow Unkle's words. “But what pray does that have to do with the division of my friend, and the movements of the half I followed?”

“It is important because the reason he may have come here is shaped by this place. The Other-Side is a land built of intention and dreams,” Unkle said to the agreeing nod of Nephfew. “We may speculate, but from our present vantage we know not if he has passed and his spirit has moved on, or if his soul was projected leaving his living body in stasis to await the soul's return. It is reasonable to speculate that he is a seeker, for his soul made a gate to this destination instead of the infinite other possibilities. In death, it is common to move here to the Other-Side where a magician might learn from the Masters to be reborn in power.

“But if he lives, with his life projected from him astrally, his body might have been left in a state indistinguishable from death. It is common for one who can do this to be called by the masters to play part in their intrigues.

“And in either case to know of our land and its conflicts will help inform your seeking which should find success by following his path.”

Milo was crestfallen to hear that Elton may, in fact, be dead, although he had considered this as a possibility, even when he had first climbed the silver stairs. It was a sorrowful although not surprising supposition. But Milo had all this time shoved the possibility to the side and ignored it, relying on the hope that the body of light was the truer form of Elton.

“If he is dead, is my seeking futile? And if not, this idea of his living projection I do not understand. How might he leave his body cold and waiting while his dreams take form and walk in this land? It all seems strange to me.”

“His body alive or dead matters little in this place, for over time even weak spirits might regain substance and be as living again, even if forever banished from the Real. It is that wholeness of that spiritual body which matters far more. The only difference between a projection and a ghost is whether he remains connected to his body in the physical world, or if he is free from it.”

Seeing the feline was still confused, Unkle attempted an example. “I have heard that cats are strong dreamers and might travel in their slumber but may return simply by waking once more.”

“That is so,” Milo confirmed. “The man, Lovecraft, implied that we cats travel to the dark side of the moon in dreams, but I have never reached that place. However, I have beheld many wonderful and terrifying vistas beyond the curtains of sleep. That, I understand.”

“Then understand that some lands are fair and others vile, like the shifting weather of a storm. These are the zones of nightmare and dream. These are safe lands of fancy, yet other more dangerous visions can be found. Some cats, particularly those brought to their mortal ends, may in such travels find a bridge of rainbows built by my ancestors. It is a land of eternal summer and delight, but those who journey there may not return from that place, though still blissful and alive within it.

“The Other-Side is like this, though not such a hidden or terminal destination as that summer land. But it is much more true than any land perceived in the zones of lesser visions. If you were to find your Elton here in whatever state, it would be his true mind and spirit, living on in a state tangential but yet parallel to the fleshly life, not a false vision. It would in fact be your friend to whom you would be speaking, and not a phantasm created by longing.”

Milo considered this deeply. Elton himself had spoken often of the art of necromancy and what qualified as black magick in one's ritual practice. The greatest summation of this, as best as Milo could understand or remember was, ‘that which clings too hard to the world, or desires for reasons other than Love or practicing the Great Work, is a dark impulse.’ To speak with ghosts was not evil, but to contact them for greedy or wicked reasons was what made such an act ill in nature.

At this, Milo recalled another story by Lovecraft, a dark wizard named Joseph Curwen called up the dead to seek wealth, and blackmail others with information thought lost to time, and later was punished in measure. Milo's goals seemed purer to him. To speak again with his friend seemed no evil act, so Milo determined that alive or dead, he would still pursue Elton.

“Very well, if this is the case I will still seek. And if I seek I should know of this land and its ways for it is the land in which I will hunt for my ally. Tell me of where it is I am and who might be able to aid in my quest.”

“The place you arrived is the land of the West, those who would know what you need to know, previously lived in the South. Fate has already oriented you in the proper direction to seek this way, for you stand on the border of Appollon in the West and Selleneia in the South.

“These swamps divide the land of the West from the lands of the South, and it is the way of me and mine to guard this border as a border, not as patriots of either faction. Four great clans of corvids keep all four borders in this manner and the other five clans fly between to trade gossip as they fly about. Powerful lords rule these lands, each with great powers, and the tone of the gossip traded from every beak of rook, raven, and magpie speaks of a coming civil war between these men.

“Corpses may be a bounty on which my kind may feast, but a war between men of such power is a danger to life itself. I warn you for many great beasts wander this land who believe my kind to be spies in service to the Grand Master of the West, for he gave to us tribute in shining objects and we rewarded him with favor, but we swore him no fealty.

“Yet there are beasts who believe us sworn to the West that have themselves sworn alliance to the South. Most of these monsters are small but dangerous and have yet to move against my kind. But we fear it is but a matter of time. The Dauphine-Despotissa Adélaïde who was once neutral on her hidden island has come to find the ways of Appollon distasteful, and now swears to the realm of Selleneia. Given access for her oath, she is now free to whisper lies into the ear of the Witch Queen, the Southern Master, the Greatest Sar-all.

“The lies she tells are thus; that it is we crows of the West and the magpies of the East who give the vulture's agendas of espionage to jackdaw double agents. It is but lies, and I would know of such a stratagem if there was one. There is a family alliance between the crows and the jackdaws, as there is between all corvids, and they who passively served she who is most dreadful only reported the movements of the Greatest Sar-all but did not enact any ploy against her. Whether merely spies or true agents, the jackdaws were recently killed in droves for the hint that they may have been disloyal. Now they have been made refugees, hoping to make their way to this land where they might be protected.

“Their migration is slow, fearing that they would be shot down if they fly, and so are forced to cower and hide as they travel by foot. They flee with others that the witch queen has declared enemies, retreating from her tribes of berserkers and other animal servants; reptiles, amphibians, land-walking fish, filthy skunk-ape, and warrens of mice and rats.”

Milo interjected, “Politics such as these are beyond my understanding, and although I am sympathetic, I am left wondering what the peril of these blackbirds has to do with finding Elton.”

Nephfew excitedly interrupted his Unkle with the answer. “The Jackdaws are great seers. They long ago learned the arts of ghost scrying and all the virtues of necromancy from the turkey hawks, the vultures, and the condors. They would know better than any other where any spirit, live or dead, might walk in this world.” Nephfew then looked to Unkle to affirm his statement, and he did so with a coy cackle and a buffet of his wing to the youngster’s shoulder.

“Very well, so to find my friend I must find your allies. But you say that they are being routed? How would I hope to find them if their movements are so sequestered as to be concealed from detection? I am a seasoned hunter, but it seems that things found here are more hazardous than they are in my world. And what of the opposition, you said they are chased by evil mice and rats? Some sort of skunk? What danger might a batch of ornery rodents really provide?”

As he spoke, he was interrupted by a bone- shaking crash and his head spun to have this quiet sanctum interrupted by such a cacophonous explosion of action. There was a blast of some large thing erupting through the far wall of the dam. It was the prow of a ship, driving up logs and casting up the table, throwing food on the floor and swamping the cushions with a surge of wretched water. As he looked at the bow of the ship he saw the face of several rats peeking over the railing. Odd as this was, they were suddenly joined by another rodent face much more massive and terrifying: green molded fur, red bloodshot eyes, and wicked yellow fangs dripped as it leaned over the side of the ship, looming larger than a labrador.

Perhaps stranger than this gargantuan rat was another sizable rat who, though not so large as the monstrosity, was a huge ship-rat of the same size as Milo himself. But it was not his scale that distinguished him, but that he wore a pale, ruddy brown long coat with epaulets, and a black three- cornered hat bearing a jolly-roger.

This pirate rat jumped up and balanced on the railing where he stood easily on his hind legs in full biped, which seemed to be an outright defiance of his natural anatomy. He wore one fingerless glove on his right hand, and in it he held a sword with a grip that seemed far beyond even the capabilities of a raccoon; it seemed he could hold it as well as any human could. Distracting from this frightening revelation was the fact that he was missing the hand opposite; replaced with a large barbed hook adorned like a fly fishing lure.

“Yar! Avast! Wot a delightfully squalid little cove yeh gots here. I think that tonight we be eating crow with a side feasting of feline. Yar-haw-haw! Squee!” The captain bantered as he jumped onto the huge rat brute's back. “Forward! Attack and take to spoil what ye kan! Har Har!”

Milo was filled with rage, his claws flexing from his fingers as he sprung to defend his new friends.

To be continued

#original character #non-human characters #trans author #original setting #crows #afterlife #disabled characters #cats

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