haleruby

[haleruby]

Slipping Through Your Fingers (3)

Characters/Pairings: established Mal/Evie*, eventual Mal/Evie/Reader* (Quim), Reader & the Rotten Four, Reader & Carlos, side Jaylos*.

*In the flashback, there are not really any “/” relationships more so “&”, iirc, but the start of feelings will be present for all ships.

>This part is Mal centric with you meeting Mal, platonic Jal, and hinted Jaylos.

(^Evie checking her nails in the background made me smile. They all have such badass shoes too.)

Summary: Mal’s visit to the condemned part of the Isle leaves her with more than just potential items to trade. A near death experience, a new friend (?), a pocket watch, and so many questions…?

Word Count: 4.2k

Notes: I am using a sideblog that is empty and not tagging bc this is only for your eyes, so no need to reblog/like, etc.

*chanting* Flashback, flashback, flashback…Please keep in mind the Rotten Four are not quite ride or die yet; the flashback section is not only about Shadow, but also how the four of them grow closer with time. The flashback is 13 to 74 memo-wise, so you will be able to tell when we get back to present time bc Shadow will react to Carlos in the dorm hall, but that will be in a while…

(This chapter is 13 to 18 memo-wise for context).

Also, as you know, I adapted the rules of the Isle and how the four met to a slight degree. Annnnd made up a section of the Isle among other things; it be like that sometimes. XD

- - - - -

Mal should not be jumping at shadows. Another distant noise sounds that could be a branch hitting against something or the rusted metal she is traversing settling, except her mind briefly conjures up something with claws following her. Exploring the condemned part of the Isle to score items for bartering was a good idea...In theory. She could get an edge over the other kids, could claim this area as another addition to her territory, and could get a boost in reputation for not only having survived, but thrived, if this goes successfully... That is a big if. Another gust of wind causes the old warehouse to positively groan as the holes, fissures, and cracks are filled with rushing air; it makes it seem alive for a moment. She has to kneel to keep her footing on the metal walkway that sways ever so slightly. Another sound makes her tense further until her mind supplies that it was a hoot from an owl, not a prowling creature or an odd, deformity riddled being that are alleged to dwell in this complex from the rumors and whispers. A white knuckled grip on one of the semi-intact rails is released, her palm comes away grimy from the rust and age. Get a grip. Mal is better than this. She is the daughter of the Mistress of All Evil and that comes with expectations. Her small satchel has her dagger and a few odds and ends she has picked up so far; however, she plans to do a sweep of all the levels. The condemned part of the Isle has a few skeletons of warehouses, some sort of obscure facility, and other buildings Mal has yet to place. A small hole in the barb wired fence allowed her to slip into the depressing premises. The state of decay found on the Isle is accelerated in this place likely because no one tries to somewhat keep it up or inhabit it. There is no grass, but gray-white gravel that would crunch under even the most light footed of individuals. The trees are more like thin sticks that were cobbled together and lack any leaves. Any color or street art is lacking and what once decorated the walls has since faded into indistinct ghosts of the former hues. The air seems heavier here and cooler than elsewhere on the Isle. It's creepy. Mal prides herself on being a cause of fear as opposed to someone who feels it, but this place does put her on edge. Teaming up with Jay crossed her mind due to his skills and having an extra set of eyes, but with eyes comes hands, so she discarded the idea. This area has not been mapped out, which means there is a preemptive advantage. Repeating the logic of that reasoning busies her as another walkway is crossed carefully, before metal gives way to slats of wood that look suspect considering the state of everything else, but they hold her weight. An office or store room could be made out from the ground floor, and that is the end goal. Only one more level to go, and then-. Chains suddenly rattling diverts her attention; a groan from the wind did not coincide with the noise.

The flickering circular beam of her lantern does not help with gauging things that are far away, but she still raises it above her head to extend the pool of light. It is too dusky to make anything out... Rationalizing kicks in before her imagination can in an effort to keep a level head: it could have been a mouse or bat, it could have been the rusty death trap settling again, it could have been one of the ancient pulleys finally giving way, and it could be nothing at all that would threaten her. Mal unfreezes after completing the list of possible reasons for that noise. Steps continue, though they are more measured. Green eyes squint when another catwalk is completed since the end of it leads to stairs that are not caked in rust or a worn out gray steel, but look like they were made out of coal. Ebony coats the banister and each individual step like a residue of ink; why are they black? It is the last obstacle between her and the overseer's office that probably has the best stuff in the entire warehouse. Drawing a metal measuring stick she snagged off a workbench from her satchel, Mal prods the bottom most step as a test. Nothing happens. "Anticlimactic," she mutters. Her voice sounds small within the vast, desolate space, it provides some much needed familiarity. If anything her reactions to this place spurs her to come back, because she needs to be without fear and stronger than a creepy abandoned building. "Come on." That was not so much encouragement as it was a self-directed order. Something falling somewhere below is chalked up to the wind as opposed to a warning. Her foot momentarily settles on the bottom step. Another step is quickly taken at the hesitation that would cause her mother to look at her in disdain, if she even bothered to look at all. Mal is now fully on the staircase, and that is when it all goes wrong. Small prickles of numbness set in like when her foot falls asleep from being in an awkward position for too long, before the soles of her feet feel disconnected from her body. Snapping her head to look down just reveals her leather boots that--Wait, they are more black than usual. There is something on her. The feeling infiltrates further up her feet to her ankles in an odd sensation of something being there but not quite that has her clumsily getting off the steps in a rush, almost tripping because it feels wrong. "Fuck!" Mal curses loudly. The darkness is going to eat her. Mal is backing up so quickly from the staircase to try and regain feeling in her lower legs that the dead end of the catwalk is forgotten. The sound of metal snapping is not registered because she is trying to scrape off whatever is latched on to her feet, until she feels something behind her give way. There was a rail there, but not anymore...Oh. The panic to her thought process suddenly ebbs away as the clarity of what happened is reinforced by falling backwards. Even if she survives the fall, who would come looking for her? Her mother pays her no mind aside from the occasional judgment or test that always has her coming up short. Jay is...Her trading partner, not really a friend, because attachments are weaknesses. The little runt, Carlos, is scared of her and she only sees him in passing with Jay; they hardly talk.  She does not have anyone. The cold air snatches at her as she plummets a short distance, until it feels like it is coalescing into something else. Her eyes that were screwed shut, as if that would lessen the brutal impact, now crack open slightly. There should be an addition of a Mal shaped splatter to the dirty concrete flooring, instead she feels herself set down on it with more gentleness than she has probably been showed her entire life. What...?

Her heart is pounding, threatening to break free of her rib cage and her breathing is uneven and quick after the fall that she can clearly track from her new position on the ground level. She was up there and is now down here. Mal's eyes dart between the two positions, mind working to try and make it make sense. Motion in her peripheral vision has her scrambling away reflexively on her hands and knees; the lack of dignity of this retreat can be considered later. She lost her lantern, but a portion of the roof is missing so shafts of moonlight chases away the ever present gloom in this area. A shadow. Tendrils of darkness break off lazily before rejoining the central mass that is vaguely humanoid, if a person was dipped in viscous tar. Where are its eyes...? The dark figure slowly rises from a kneeling position, retreating to sit a distance away to remain on the same level as her, though she is certain if it stood, it would be taller than her. There is no move to rush or attack her, but Mal's eyes still flash a glowing emerald in warning. It is hard to gauge a reaction from the thing, but it feels like she is being assessed. Mal is simply staring, even though she should be running. A sudden brightness draws her attention to the side. The lantern sits undisturbed by the tendrils that just brought it back that now slink away to their owner, the yellow light glints off of something shiny too. Curiosity threatens to splice through the survival mode that is slowly dwindling to allow her heart beat to fall and breaths to occur more normally. Mal shifts to her knees now that feeling has returned to her feet and ankles, before she stands shakily. The dagger is pulled out smoothly from the satchel and directed at the figure, the slight tremor to her hand likely undermines any warning. "Try anything, and I'll hurt you." There is no response. Retrieving the lantern occurs quickly along with a glinting pocket watch that would be worth a ton at the bazaar, or help facilitate a great trade with Jay. Why was she given this? The reasoning is questioned, but this is the Isle and survival comes first, so of course the item is pocketed without a second thought. Keeping the possible threat within her line of sight is important. She did not navigate up the ramps, stairs, and walkways from this part of the warehouse; however, she can figure it out while also walking stiltedly in an effort to not turn her back on the shadow that still sits there calmly. She needs an exit. "Stay there," she warns lowly. Mal makes it to the crack in the loading door area, shimming under it so quickly, she scrapes her arms on some on the abrasive gravel on the other side. As soon as she is out in the yard, she runs. The daughter of Maleficent should be the one to inspire the running, but now she is a teen, who is shaken from a near death experience and the thing that cared enough to save her. . . . . . . "I don't care about quantity, I want quality" "Mal, you are driving a hard bargain" "How many of-" A button is pressed to allow the metallic face of the watch to flip open with ease revealing the beautiful ivory watch face inside, "-these do you have again?" Mal poses the question curiously. Green eyes flick to Carlos who is eyeing the watch like it is some kind of modern marvel. The blond said something about gear springs, semi-automated parts, and other mechanical words, but she just wants a good trade from Jay, not an explanation of the device's intricacies. "So, I want it all or nothing." That easy grin is still in place, though it tightens slightly around the edges; he knows his father would regret this slipping away, even if they are giving up a lot. "Okay, ok fine, it's a deal," he relents. A finely carved box of metal is slid over with a few treasures from their wares handpicked by Mal nestled inside. A wicked smile is given as the items exchange hands. "Can I just hold it?" Carlos requests it meekly, though there is an eagerness to his expression. "Please?"

"What are ya gonna give me for it, if I let you?" "Uhm..." Carlos being at a loss of what to say in reply is price enough; that was a cute face. The watch is handed over with a chuckle. Jay is swift and has very sticky fingers, plus he knows the blond would never try and steal from him, let alone anyone else, which is probably why he is viewed as a runt out of the other villain kids. "Sooo," The word is drawled out to slow down Mal's movements to pack up after doing business; sometimes she will linger and they can chat, "-where did you get a score like that?" "It even keeps track of the month..." Carlos mumbles in awe, messing with the knobs. "Like I'm going to reveal my source?" "There is talk you braved the condemned area," Jay quips back. He did not personally hear the boasting, but has caught enough whispers and rumors from others that indicate she somehow managed to survive it and is now saying it is her area. Reputation is hard to gain on the Isle, unless you come from a first rate villain, but even then kids can be cruel and you need to prove yourself. Mal happens to be good at both. "Wouldn't take a genius-" A nudge is given to Carlos, who is engrossed in figuring out the features of the watch, "-to figure it out." "You know how big the condemned area is," she reasons. Imagining Jay going in that place and not making it out like she did causes a bolt of something to shoot down her spine, even if she is not attached... "You know how I operate. I would not have done the reveal unless the area was already scouted and picked clean, plus it's mine, so back off." The threat seems odd directed at her trading partner, but it is for his own good. There is no further pause in collecting her things, before she strides out of the empty classroom, ignoring the way she can feel them both watching her. . . . . . . Mal is not sure why she came back... The need to prove herself after the fear that gripped her last time was the stated reasoning behind it, but there is a burning curiosity beneath the need to overcome this supposed self-imposed test. It has been a week since she last ventured to the condemned part of the Isle. The increased infamy that causes students to part for her more abruptly and a single glance to constitute a warning is still being enjoyed. Mal did survive whatever horrors that are supposed to be contained here, but only barely. Previously the whispers of this place where like old tales or vague warnings, but now it is an actual topic of hushed conversation. A part of her regrets going through with her plan, because now there is more interest in a place that was somewhat forgotten. Not that she cares about her fellow students... The shadow thing did save her, so drawing attention to its place of residence did leave her with an inkling of guilt. She has not told anyone about it, aside from reinforcing the area is her's by tagging it with her trademark graffiti. It is doubtful anyone would get close enough to see the distinctive purple, black, and green shape of Maleficent's cowl with the words 'Long Live Evil', but if they do, it serves as an additional deterrent along with the overall dreary atmosphere. Special care was taken to not tag the warehouse the shadow is in, but a rusted truck, sides of other buildings, and old signs were all fair game, though she still felt like she was being observed the whole time. Now she is back in front of the loading dock...

The lantern is slid under first, before she slips under the garage bay door with little resistance. She freezes just within the confines of the space, still lingering near the exit that decreases in usability the further she gets from it, before willing her feet to take the first few tentative steps. Overcoming this is important for her future ability to be fearless, right? Avoiding climbing anything too high seems like a good plan in case the shadow is feeling less charitable, so she sticks to the sprawling ground floor inspecting things and nooks that were glanced over the first time. Mal still can't figure out what this place was used for... There are enough empty hanging hooks and vaguely torture chamber looking devices for her imagination to supply macabre ideas. Pulleys suspend chains that feed to a few machines, making it appear more like a shop floor. There are racks and racks of boxes piled along one side, but the crates are sealed shut and would need to be pried open. A crunch of glass underfoot has her pausing in trying to puzzle out what a machine could be used for to see she stepped on some glasses. Picking them up, Mal inspects the black frames that allude to people having been here at one point...But what happened to them? Her mind goes to the shadow. The figure has yet to make an appearance, considering how they left things last time, she can't really say she expected otherwise. Mal knows what she saw...But not seeing it again is casting a little doubt on what happened. The sound of the wind causing the usual creaks and groans draws her attention to behind her, but nothing looks out of place. Maybe she should be proactive? Waiting for it to reveal itself may lead to nothing happening at all. "I know you're here somewhere..." Mal calls out. Again another stretch of silence, but this one feels more charged. "Come out now." That gets a reaction. "Damn! How did you know?" The question is asked in genuine surprise, but also admiration. Mal jumps at the familiar voice that comes from the end of the short conveyor belt that leads to the machine she is near. "Jay?!" She half exclaims the name. Realizing she was being tailed by a master class thief would explain the few wary glances over her shoulder, but that was attributed to being on edge about the shadow. He is not who she wanted to see at all tonight. "Yeah, who did you expect?" "You shouldn't be here!" The question is ignored, her tone has a seriousness that goes beyond wanting to safeguard territory. "Leave." "I'm not moving in on you, just wanted to see is all. Carlos would love this place." His grin falters ever so slightly at the way Mal is regarding him tensely, because he did think they were kind of...friends beneath the bartering. Why is she so worked up over this? He moves around the end of the conveyor belt, taking a step towards her to show his empty hands that have not pinched or taken anything. "Seriously, don't worry," he assures. "That's not why-" The thudding weight of chains crashing into the length of the conveyor belt causes it to buckle under the pressure with a metallic shriek. Rusted metal links now serve as a divider between the two. The air seems to have grown colder too, and yet no draft has rocked the old structure. Was that a warning...? "Wow," Jay comments with a low whistle. She can feel the tension that must allude to latent magic, even if it was supposed to be banned from the Isle; this is not natural. The warehouse didn't feel like this before and only one thing has changed: Jay's presence. "You seriously need to go."

Dark brown eyes glance up at the ceiling in scrutiny, trying to figure out what just happened. "This place is a death trap." His steps hasten to reach Mal, so he can retrieve the stubborn girl, who wants to remain in a place that was clearly condemned for a reason just because of a reputation boost. "Come on." Before his hand can reach her, a tendril of black lashes out like a viper from the shadow cast by the bulk of the machine; it coils ready to strike, locked in on the twitches and movements of his hand, but ultimately waits only inches away. "What the Hell?!" Mal is on guard, glancing around the space for the figure, but it would be hard to spot where they are now. "Take a step back," she requests. "You're doing this, I-?" "No, just let me see something," Mal interjects. A step away from Mal correlates to the tendril losing the prior tension that would surpass a coiled spring, though it remains at the ready between them like an affronted snake. Is it protective...? Her own magic is not threatened, even though it should be with that right in front of her. "He's not going to hurt me. He is my-" She almost said friend without thinking, but tamps down that sentiment, "-is someone I know from school and from trading," she recovers relatively quickly. Her mind works to contain this potentially dangerous situation; they are out of their element and lack home field advantage with a thing that ignores the rules of the Isle. "We won't hurt you either, if you don't hurt us..." "Who are you talking to???" Jay stage whispers. "Something else lives here." "...Something?" Mal elects not to respond. She could not explain it even if she wanted to, instead the tendril is observed as it lowers tentatively before dissolving away completely. The coldness remains, but there is no more living darkness present. Green eyes again rove the area, snagging on the catwalks and ramps that can just be made out with the lantern light to see if the shadow is around, but it's hard to tell. "Mal, explain."  "I don't owe you an explanation. You followed me," she counters firmly at the expectation plain on his face. Jay made her worry and she should not be worrying. "I already told you: something else is here with us, and it obviously favors me to you, so you need to be careful." Is that a stretch? Maybe, but she does not want him traipsing through this area without her, since she is the one that managed to calm, or at least mollify, the figure that lives here. "Yeah, but what and where and why?" "A shadow, all around here, and I don't know." Though sarcasm laces the answers to his rapid fire questions, Jay is undeterred because now he gets why she was reacting that way earlier; she was looking out for him. The two may not be typical friends, but they have an understanding and will keep tabs on each other. But still...How is this possible? "A shadow?" He repeats the term slowly, brows curving up in confusion. "You must have been real bored to make up an imaginary friend." The joke feels a little forced to his own ears, but retaining that ease--that grin is needed. "It almost took your hand off; there is nothing imaginary about it."  "Could be a trick of light, or, like, shadow," he brushes off the comment, though he did move away from the shadows cast by the machine as a precaution. "You trying to scare me as a prank? A shadow?" Jay repeats again in disbelief. "Don't be more idiotic than usual..."

"Make it show itself then, if it's allied to you—your minion." Mal grits her teeth at the challenge that was just issued by Jay; it does not set her on edge because he is not a real adversary or combatant, but there is some mutual respect, so she does not want to fail. "I called it off you, didn't I?" She asks the question rhetorically. "You really want to test both of us?" A step forward is taken. Physically she knows she cannot intimidate the guy, who was the only one not to immediately back off from the daughter of Maleficent and all that title entailed when they first began school. Plus, he is way taller, but her glower still holds an unsettling intensity. Jay shrugs, but does not commit one way or the other. A third party decides the lukewarm standoff. Darkness seeps up from the ground like a small, sluggish spout of oil was just struck between the pair, prompting Jay to give it a wide berth, while Mal stands her ground. An object eventually impedes the flow, before the tendrils leave. The two pause looking at each other and then the rock, before Mal plucks it from the ground and turns it over in her palm. It isn't just a rock. "It's even purple..." Jay mumbles the observation. A geode takes up the majority of her palm. While it looked like a plain, brown spherical rock initially, turning it around allowed the crystal interior to catch the light revealing shards of lavender protruding from the interior like mini stalagmites. It's pretty. The comment about the color takes a moment to register, but he is right... There was thought put into this...gift, peace offering, tribute...? Mal questions how she is referring to the figure for a second, if it is capable of a thought process like this, which may seem inane, but shows attention to detail—attention to her. "See?" She raises the rock, no longer using 'it' or 'the shadow', but giving something in return: a name. "Shadow is real."

End Note: Pretty sure the next section has a few weeks time skip (with explanation of what happens during them) bc I want to bring Evie into the fold and have the Rotten Four grow closer so...I haven’t gotten to editing them yet, but I did skim some of them.

A Mal and Shadow scene fluff turned angst, a Rotten Four scene <3, and Carlos & Evie is my guess for next chap.

[haleruby]

Slipping Through Your Fingers (2)

Characters/Pairings: established Mal/Evie, eventual Mal/Evie/Reader (Quim), Reader & the Rotten Four (especially Reader & Carlos once we get in the flashback).

This part is Rotten Four interaction, you with Malvie, and then briefly you with Carlos.

Summary: Evie’s idea to design a dress for the newcomer is met with differing reactions from her friends. The actual consultation ends in a way no one could anticipate least of all Carlos...Poor pup.

Word Count: 4.2k

Notes: I am using a sideblog that is empty and not tagging bc this is only for your eyes, so no need to reblog/like, etc.

I promise it gets smoother once I can use ‘Shadow’ as the placeholder for you (instead of brunette, other girl, guest, etc.) alongside the pov sections of the Rotten Four in the flashback. The writing is still older so…Let me know if it’s too much like sandpaper, lol. I have other fics.

There are some things in this chapter that hint at what is to come in the flashback section. They may raise some questions too.

- - - - -

"You're so gonna regret this," Jay states it matter of factly. Another beaker is added to the steadily growing tower of glass so it is about as tall as the graduated cylinder Evie keeps adding to. Dark brown eyes that are almost black flick away from his handiwork to observe the counter top for more improvised building blocks. "Like, let's be honest, it sounds kinky." "Jay," Carlos admonishes. "Dude, what? It does sound weird." A test tube is moved out of reach from a tan hand, earning said hand ruffling bleached blond curls with black roots in retaliation for the interception. "Ugh, stop it," Carlos complains without any real bite. The test tube is handed to Evie, before Carlos turns his attention to his boyfriend. "We can't judge a situation we don't know anything about; it would not be fair. Evie said she seems sad." "I didn't say it wasn't bad," he corrects. A momentary seriousness displaces the ever-present, easy grin that was used to charm marks to make stealing easier and can serve as armor that hides his real feelings. "But how is she going to help? It sounds like they have a deal. Maybe the money, status, or protection makes it worth being his, so why mess it up?" Adding highly concentrated acid to the concoction she is brewing takes a steady hand to not over or under administer it. The boys' back and forth is starting to distract Evie. "He calls her pet-" "Kinky..." "-and treats her like property." The murmured comment is ignored, though a warning look is directed at the broad shouldered guy, who would cut an imposing figure to most, but now Jay raises his hands up in surrender. "I don't know why--I had to do something, it just didn't feel right..." "A lot of things aren't right." The firm statement cuts through the room as the fourth member of their group enters in through the double doors. Purple hair and mostly violet and green attire stands out against the white, gray, or stainless surfaces of the chemistry lab and compliments pale skin. Her stride is self-assured and commanding, even if she is the shortest of them, because knowing how to force others to fall in line due to her mere presence is something she honed on the Isle. Calculating green eyes cursorily assess the slight tension among them, before settling on Evie in question. "What did you get yourself into, E?" Mal asks with authority, though those close to her would be able to detect the concern there too. "M," she greets her with a smile to buy a bit of time. Talking this over with the more empathic Carlos was the plan, but Jay tagged along and now Mal is also present. Normally, she would not mind some alone time with their unspoken leader, who also happens to be her girlfriend, but not when she is scheming and plotting mode to fix something that has not even been explained yet. "I decided to make something for someone in exchange for information about Auradon royalty. I really just wanted to talk to the girl because-" How does she say this...? Evie keeps speaking, taking a quick breath. "I don't know how to explain it. This man--Sir Alistair is so creepy and I can't imagine having to listen to him all the time. His commands and whatever else he orders her to do. He interrupted my meeting with Ben, and then was about to leave but I didn't get to actually talk with the girl, so I offered to make something. He turned it into me making a dress for her instead, which is what I technically wanted..." Evie trails off, finishing the ramble. She is unsure if that explained enough or anything at all, still working through her own thoughts hampered her ability to convey them to others. "So, it's a pity dress?" Mal deduces. "No," Evie disagrees immediately.

A fine eyebrow raises at the steel underlying that tone, not expecting it. Evie seems more worked up about this than she would expect given how the acid is now hurriedly being put away, rather than being measured with the usual engrossed focus given to her projects. It is worrying. "As tragic as that sounds, you are already an advisor to Ben about the Isle, so why help?" Mal wonders. "You are busy with that, classes, your designs. I don't want you pushing yourself..."  "She knows about arrangements and alliances." This bit of information secures everyone's interest. They were brought together through an alliance, an admittedly unconventional one, but friendship is not a common word thrown around on the Isle, let alone a common concept. Sliding her safety glasses up and off of her head, Evie fixes her girlfriend with a meaningful look that silently requests that Mal listens rather than immediately dissuade out of concern. "When she first saw me she looked afraid-" A blue painted finger nail levels at Jay, who is about to make a wise crack from the set to his lips, "-not like how people looked at us on our first day or how some of the older royals still look at us. This was different. It was not a judgment thing, but almost as if she was ashamed and frightened at the same time, before she just went blank-" A quick snap of her fingers emphasizes this, "-like that. It was different, and I need to know why..." Mal observes Evie carefully, but nothing is said. "I can tell you why. Because you are the daughter of-" Carlos nudges Jay to stop his words, nodding at the look on Evie's face that is edging on somber. "Do you think she is from the Isle?" "You saw how big a deal us coming over was." A welcome event, news coverage, and even a navy carpet was rolled out in an odd mix of tentative hope held by a few and the sensational aspect of it held by the majority. They were a spectacle and a main event. "I don't think so. Or at least I think we would have known if we were not the first VKs coming to the mainland," Evie offers her reasoning on the suggestion. "He could have bought her?" Jay hurries to explain when the two look at him questionably. He didn't mean it like that. "Not that that's right, obviously. But I imagine creating the barrier and stuff took a lot of coin, favors, and magic. If he is a 'Sir' or whatever, he could have had some pull." "I doubt the barrier would be lowered for someone to go window shopping for kids," she comments with a bit of disgust, because the suggestion reminds her of something that still aches after all this time. Special exceptions can always be made. Mal uncrosses her arms, settling on a lab stool on Evie's side of the counter so she is close to her. "You know they would only do it in an extreme circumstance. Anyway, if you want to talk to her that is fine. I will be with you too."  "Mal, I-" "We don't know what she is capable of Auradonian or not, so I don't want you alone," she interjects firmly. Reaching for the hand that grips the edge of the laminate countertop softens the interruption; this does come from a place or care, even if she is not always the best at expressing it. "This is not Lonnie or Jane. We don't know this person, E." "Mal is right," Jay agrees. "Maybe we should also be there?" "No," Mal denies him. Jay pouts. "More people could make her uncomfortable..." Evie appreciates Carlos' support, considering Jay tag teamed with Mal as usual on tactics, since the two tend to agree on a more proactive, aggressive approach than the more moderate, measured ones of their other halves. Her focus turns to her girlfriend. "Just promise me you will play nice tonight-" A squeeze is given to their joined hands to preempt any quip or retort, "-since she is very, very quiet. If I have any hope of learning more, I need that shell to open, not close further." "I will be as sweet as cotton candy," Mal assures with some sarcasm, though there is sincerity in her expression. "You won't even notice I'm there."

- - - -

Most would probably hardly notice she is there... There should be the sounds of two sets of steps mounting the stairs to climb up to the level that holds the girl's dorm rooms, but only one distinctive clack is heard against the hardwood. Using her peripheral vision fails as does glancing to the side. The brunette remains just behind her almost in a blind spot, though Evie does not feel threatened. Slowing her steps was mirrored too. Jay would admire these skills that would speak to thievery or going about undetected on the Isle, but it seems like the goal is to go unnoticed--to take up as little space as possible--to disappear into the background, if not needed. It makes Evie feel sad... "-the grand fireplace can be used to roast marshmallows too, so it's great for s’mores," she continues speaking, though there has been no response aside from the initial stilted nod of greeting. Evie continues the abridged tour of the dormitory hall to fill in the quiet, but also to acknowledge her presence by addressing her without expecting anything in return. The long game will need to be played. "And here is my room, where all the design magic happens," she says it with a touch of drama. A golden key is pulled out and inserted into the lock after a single warning knock is given. Entering first occurs, she knows that waiting to let the brunette do so will lead to an impasse with them standing in the hallway all night. Evie spots Mal on her bed, sketchbook in hand, and phone off to the side. That is a relatively nonthreatening position. "This is my roommate." A hand gestures to the purple haired girl, who gives a lazy wave too intent on whatever she is shading to look up in a proper greeting. There is a difference between being rude and being inviting, but at least Mal tried... The brunette lingers on the threshold as if realizing once she crosses it the point of exit will be sealed completely. "Please come in and we can get started," Evie patiently requests.  That gets her moving again, so the door can be shut, though the motion is short lived. (Y/E/C) eyes are trained on Mal so intently that the gaze can only be described as utterly piercing; there is nothing subdued or subtle about it. Her movements always seem rigid, but now it is like she is locking herself in place or holding herself back. Her arms are pulled behind her with one hand securing the wrist of the other just below the small of her back in a form of an at-ease military position that lacks any ease. Lips remain set in that horizontal line that does not convey much of anything, but something that may be confusion causes a slight crinkle to form between her brows. If only she was a little closer, Evie could attempt to parse out her expression better. Evie realizes she is staring at the brunette staring at Mal, but makes no effort to stop it. This is the opposite of their first interaction; it's like she is transfixed, rather than trying to retreat inwards. "Didn't your parents teach you about staring?" The quip is delivered without Mal even glancing up, but when she does everything shifts.

It would be similar to violent magnetic repulsion as soon as green eyes deviate from the sketchbook, (Y/E/C) instantaneously flick away to study the floor. Evie can see the  tension she would like to think she somewhat alleviated snap back as the brunette's neck bows ever so slightly, trying to fully correct the previous direction of her gaze. The grip on her wrist also tightens up to what must be painful; it is like a full body, silent chastisement. Reaching out to prevent her from further retracting inwards crosses Evie's mind, but they are not that close... "Don't mind her personality. That is just Mal," she jokes to try and salvage the situation. Evie steps forward, past their two beds, and the small kitchenette and into her makeshift sewing area, hoping the brunette will trail behind her as usual and be away from Mal's scrutiny. "We will be over here anyways." A chair is pulled out, before she hovers, planning to assume her usual comfy seat at the drawing desk once the other is occupied. "You minded it enough to date me..." Mal snarks, though there is the start of a pout to her lips. "So, not the time..." Evie admonishes; this is not one of their friends or classmates, but more of a client, who she also wants to learn more about. Bantering with her girlfriend can occur later on. Unless maybe Mal is trying to ease things...? Somehow the brunette looks more uncomfortable now as she passes the bed without a spare glance at Mal, sitting in the chair, but not allowing her back to rest against the cushion. She sits ramrod straight like she is ready to stand up and leave as soon as possible. There was the slightest frown that is now gone with that neutrality back in full force. Making eye contact is near impossible for Evie to achieve when the pin cushion is being observed like it holds the secrets to the universe.  Is she homophobic or just dislikes the topic...? "I thought your girlfriend would always be an important part of your time?" Mal presses. Now, Mal is just being difficult on purpose, likely because the discomfort from their guest was also picked up on. "M," she warns. "What?" The question is asked with affected innocence. Closing the sketchbook with a snap, Mal throws her legs over the bed, almost rising to join them, but remains on the edge of the mattress at the disapproval from Evie. The way she was looked at earlier bothers her. The intensity felt familiar; it was like she was back on the Isle: young, on edge, and simpering with the need to prove herself to her mother, but that there was something bigger and greater watching over her until she could get that far. The intensity didn't make her feel small, but seen too deeply. Mal failed to grasp why that was since the other girl folded rather than entertain a proper stare off. Her magic roils under her skin as if her veins funnel viscous magma throughout her system, not lifeblood; this feeling usually signals the need for her eyes to switch to a verdant emerald. She does not feel threatened, just that something is wrong, which makes her want to push to figure out why. "I bet she agrees with what I said. How about this: if you agree, don't say anything at all and if you don't agree, say something?" Mal goads, trying to force a reaction besides the stiff quiet. ... No reply is given. "See?" The triumph of being right seems bitter, because she did not want to be right, Mal wanted answers. Evie is moving past annoyance to disappointment in how her girlfriend is behaving, but it goes beyond what she suspected the reason was for the comments. She can feel a faint charge to the air that translates into a unique warmth skating across her skin that most would not notice; however, she knows it is a sign that Mal's magic is becoming more active from their time together, but why is that? A questioning look of concern goes ignored. Green eyes are now assessing the brunette just as searchingly, though the view is only of her profile since the pin cushion is still the sole object of focus. What is going on?

"Can we reschedule, please, Evie?" The tone of voice used is soft and gentle, it is only meant for the one across from her to hear. A folded piece of paper is slid across the surface of the desk, coming to a stop just before the blue haired girl, who still seems to be processing she is being spoken to. "My measurements have not changed, nor the typical expectations he has for a dress," she explains efficiently. "You don't have any preferences or ideas...?" Evie asks reflexively, surprised she is being addressed. "At all?" "No." A wry, sad smile gives the barest of curves to those lips for a second, and Evie feels something within her fracture just a bit. That was a stupid question. Scrambling to recover—to adapt—to say something that will get her to stay longer yields nothing, except a hand covers the one that rests on the paper. She does not know what to do or how to help just that she needs to. The skin beneath her palm is cold, bordering on an unnatural chill that is not off-putting, but definitely unique, just like how Mal's hands tend to hold a warmth to them. Fingers flatten themselves as if trying to become one with the surface of the desk; however, the brunette does not pull away, though she did tense up.  "Fairest of them all or the sweetest?" The question is posed rhetorically with underlying sincerity. "But don't trouble yourself with this." She is actually talking, full sentences and clauses talking, to her after she has rambled and prattled on about the architecture, her classes, and favored design styles on the walk from the visitor's center to the dorm halls. This is what she wanted, though the message is not what she anticipated at all. Was she so transparent about wanting to help? "Why not?" Evie almost whispers back the question. . . . (Y/E/C) eyes actually seem to be taking her in this time, probing in a gentle yet intense way. This is unlike people admiring or judging her beauty, instead it is much deeper as if something lost now has the possibility of being found. It feels as if she is being assessed to decide if more can be said--if she deserves trust--if it is safe. That dark emotion lurks again, but it is overshadowed by conflict that soon eclipses everything else, leading to the brunette sliding her gaze to the side. Feeling the fingers slip out from under her own causes a feeling of loss that gnaws after the perceived sense of progress. Evie very nearly tightens her grip to prevent it; however, choice is already a luxury, so she will not take her's now. "Goodnight, Evie." An end point. The goodbye was not delivered curtly or dismissively; there was a finality that seems to pin Evie to her chair as the other girl rises to leave. Mal looks between the two, feeling just as stricken about her leaving even though making sense of the low tones of the conversation was difficult. What the fuck? The emotions confuse her immensely. Arms cross tightly around herself in a firm hold as if trying to provide some structure to her thoughts that do not need to be burdened with these sudden, inexplicable feelings. "What is your name?" There is no reply, not even a glance, as her bed is passed, not that she really expected either after the jeer she made at the silence.

They both feel frozen for a moment. The door closing shut near soundlessly aside from the faintest of clicks snaps them out of it. "What was that?" "Yeah, what was-" A hand lashes out to the side to punctuate the question, "-that?" Evie stands abruptly. Her warm brown eyes that border on a golden hue seem darker with anger like a honeycomb that should be harvested, though there is a lack of sweetness. There is no excuse for what happened. "I asked you to be nice, because this is important to me, and instead you antagonize her? Knowing that her situation is probably horrible?" "I was trying. She started it...?" The words sound weak to her own ears, forcing her to stifle a sigh. "Evie, I didn't mean for it to escalate, but I just felt—I don't know-" Teeth sink into her bottom lip for a second, though self-editing around her girlfriend is rare compared to engaging in it around everyone else to keep her   not to be trifled with reputation intact. "...Things? And reacted, ok?" Mal offers a hand tentatively, trying to show some contrition now that her magic has somewhat calmed.

Evie pauses, but relents and takes the offered hand. "I'm sorry..." - - - - -

"I'm so, so sorry!" A string of apologies leave him profusely. Playing keep away indoors and outdoors is something Fairy Godmother specifically told them not to. Jay took one of the sprockets he needs for something he is working on and challenged him to a game. He was barreling down a hallway barely in pursuit of the swift thief, but instead of taking the corner he slammed directly into someone. He usually has to use hints left by Jay or the sound of his laughs to find him anyway. He definitely lost the little chance he had at winning... Carlos is actually on top of the person as in half laying on them, since they caught him partially. This is awkward... He bowled them right over. He is lithe compared to Jay and shorter, but the momentum from sprinting through the long halls probably packed a wallop. Hurriedly sliding off of the--Wait, the person is a girl. Carlos creates more distance between them, before he actually looks more closely at the figure in black, who is sitting up slowly after having landed harshly on the marble floors. Dark brown hair is styled differently in a way that gives a better view of her face; it's sharper now and more defined. While his own frame was wiry from the shortage of food on the Isle, he knows that losing some baby fat in the face is common in teen years and happened to him too. She is still just as beautiful as he remembers. Her skin is a little paler than he recalls; maybe she does not go outside as much? There is faint purple blooming under her eyes that alludes to tiredness more so than eye shadow, but it would not be that noticeable from a distance. It's those eyes that seals it. Just like the ocean, there was always something anchoring in those depths when he looked into them. He knows Mal and Evie were closer to her, but he feels like he could stare into her eyes for ages because she always took care to look at him a certain way. He needed that care after some of the incidents that befell him on the Isle. It made him feel whole, not broken. Not a something, but someone who was worth having around. She rarely showed herself in this form, except when he needed her most. The uncanny ability to know when that was to offer comfort in the form of a soft gaze and innocent, gentle touches (a hug, a hand hold, steadying his hands with her own) soothed him when he was younger. He blinks, bringing his knuckles to his head to tap it. No, this is real, not a dream.

Now, it is like the sea is in flux during a violent storm. There is nothing grounding in the turbulent, almost tortured (Y/E/C) depths that are so unlike what he remembers, but at the same time are oddly nostalgic. She appears utterly conflicted, unsure what to do or where to look. What happened? It is as if seeing her is a grave offense, like Carlos wounded her from his mere presence. His stomach turns with a sickly feeling due to how he is being regarded, since his knee jerk reaction would be to give a hug and never let go again. They already lost her once. Shame suffuses her; it is an emotion he knows all too well from growing up with Cruella. Her gaze averts to floor; shoulders slump under a weight he can't comprehend; legs are drawn so her knees are just under her chin as if taking up less space will fix things. Arms wrap around her legs tightly to ward off attempts at prying; and finally her face is hidden in a last ditch, irrational effort to make it all go away. He feels his breath leave him at the sight, knowing this position is one he adopted frequently on the Isle.

It feels wrong to see his former silent protector like this now. "...Shadow?"

[haleruby]

Slipping Through Your Fingers (1)

Characters/Pairings: established Mal/Evie, eventual Mal/Evie/Reader (Quim) Mal, Evie, really allll the characters bc it’s my longest Descendants insert. This part is Evie, you, Ben, and an OC who you will probs want to stab.

Summary: Evie’s meeting with Ben is interrupted by an new and unexpected source, but it feels like she is missing something...?

Word Count: 3.7k

Notes: I am using a sideblog that is empty and not tagging bc this is only for your eyes, so no need to reblog/like, etc.

I think I wrote this in July 2019, so yes, older and I tried to polish. If it’s too rough/not tenable, let me know (it’s okay!) and I’ll...do something else??? Probs the TW one.

- - - - -

"I never realized it was such a fight when the barges delivered goods..." There is so much Ben, the newly minted King of Auradon, did not know about the life imposed by his father and other heroes on those who live on the Isle of the Lost. Punishment for the wrongs the villains committed resulted in exile to an island just off the coast. The need for vigilance was the guise cast over being within easy viewing distance. A small, crumbling decrepit hunk of rock encased by a magical barrier where everyone fights for the scraps they were given and tries to make a life for themselves....It is really all about survival; there is not much living. The imprisonment is just as hard on the villains as their children, probably harder because the tenure of confinement warped some of those whose mental states were already in a precarious place. All of this is left unsaid, because the truth needs to be doled out a bit at a time. Painted lips curve into a charming smile of understanding, but not one of acceptance. "That is why you have me," Evie says it lightly to dispel some of the dreary atmosphere that infiltrated the office when her report on the supply lines to the Isle was given. Being an advisor to the King of Auradon is not something she would have ever imagined herself doing, and yet here she is. "I promise to look into what you said, Evie" There is an earnest quality to his voice that allows her to somewhat believe him, though she sees the stack of papers and missives on his desk and knows of his stacked schedule. Trying to get time to meet up with Ben is difficult, but relations with the Isle need to be improved. Most of the citizens do not know how bad it really is...Of course, some likely think the harsh environment is deserved by the parents and their children who would grow up to be just as evil as them. Disproving that sentiment occurred when four from the Isle where invited over by Ben, and through a series of events, ended up choosing good, though she still gets the occasional glance due to her mother being the Evil Queen. "I understand. Thank you for-" A short rapping sounds before the oak double doors are all but thrown open with a rush of air that seems unnatural. Where is Jane? Evie did not even get past the desk set up outside the office until the part time personal assistant and student allowed her to enter. "Ah, young King Benjamin~" The voice that intoned the title dryly seems to carry on the air causing it to waft around the two occupants like a two tight silken shawl; it's smooth, and inviting but there is a condescending edge. A lean man swaggers in with two trailing behind him. His skin is alabaster, edging on an unhealthy translucency that is only highlighted by the deep burgundy and black of his robes that reinforce the lack of color to his complexion. There is a skeletal quality to his thin lips, fine nose and gaunt hallows of his cheeks that is even more unsettling when a hallow, too wide smile is given. However, what he wears and how he carries himself does not allude to one who is poor or in want of food. Is he sick or purposefully looks this way?  Silver hair is cut short and shines ever so slightly with no indication as to what his original hair color used to be. "Sir Alistair," Ben greets him with a tense smile. Jane gives an apologetic look, though she is still too afraid to question or to say something about him interrupting, even if his scheduled time was later on. There is something off about him that speaks to a power or ability she would not want to contend with that is reinforced by his expensive clothes and the badge on his tunic. Looking at the clipboard occurs to busy herself, but a nod from Ben releases her from standing there awkwardly, so she hurriedly leaves. Who is that?

Well, she does not know the man either, but the other girl who remains behind him took one glance at her and is now staring at the hardwood floors like there are strings of text printed on the boards. There is no attempt to even pretend to be engaged in surroundings.  Evie is no stranger to admiration, infatuation, or jealously given her beauty, but that look was something new. Learning how to illicit a certain reaction from others and to be alluring in such a way that translated to influence was taught to her by her mother, since outright intimidation would be more of Mal or Jay's thing. Inviting some in for favors and repelling others was how she operated on the Isle, not instilling fear or uneasiness, though she does not actively do that on Auradon now... So, why did that expression from the stranger hurt? There was a flicker of something, before neutrality snapped into place... An honest fear caused eyes to avert so quickly, it would be unsurprising if she hurt her neck. The black of her cloak, shirt, and pants does nothing to help the projected severity. Tension causes her stature to appear taut, though her shoulders are back with a straightened spine and composed bearing that would only receive minimal critiquing from even Evie's Queen of a mother. Is she royalty...? "My apologies for barging in on a meeting with someone,-" Ice blue eyes settle on the blue haired girl that seems to be observing his ward critically, "-who likely waited for the opportunity to speak with her King for ages. But this is of the utmost importance, I assure you" Evie refocuses at being addressed, but allows Ben to answer, since she was being talked of not at. "Oh, yeah, yes-" He corrects himself trying to be as refined as possible in this man's presence, "Evie, thank you for your report. We can talk again later, please?" "A relatable tact to be more beloved by the common folk. Interesting," Alistair observes mockingly at the non-traditional dismissal. The comment is only ignored because of the silent pleading in hazel eyes to not rise to take the bait, since the legitimacy of her royalty is a point of contention for some Auradonians. Yes, her mother is the Evil Queen, but she is still a queen. "We can talk later. Have a good day," Evie agrees. The relief on Ben's face somewhat soothes the need to retort; she won't make the impromptu meeting harder for him. "Pet?" The word holds a saccharine sweetness that causes unease to well up in Evie's stomach that increases when the brunette drags her gaze away from the floor boards, subtly squaring her shoulders to look at the one who called her that, but he does not even glance her way. "Leave us now." The directive is clipped, further contrasting how the initial tone lacked any real kindness. Hesitation seems to skate across her features, causing her jaw to tick for a second before it is smoothed away, or really tucked away and buried. "As you say, my lord," she automatically replies. A partial bow at the waist is given, even if it seems his attention is anywhere else but her likely out of ingrained instinct, before long strides are made to clear the room; they almost seem hurried. That is just wrong...Evie realizes she is staring, and should be leaving too when Ben clears his throat quietly giving her a small smile.

"I may send you an update about the lines later, so you can help prioritize." Is Ben trying to make her feel more comfortable at the odd display with the 'Lord' or is he in royal fix-it mode? "I look forward to it," Evie assures. Her heels make minimal clacks against the polished hardwoods. The much louder sound is the unlatching of the heavy double doors that Jane usually has to put her weight into to heave open one side when bringing guests into the office. That dramatic entrance by this 'Sir' Alistair may speak to magic... Nettling Jane for more information will not be possible with how she seems preoccupied. The desk is set up at one end of the hallway as a gate keeper post between the small receiving room and the King’s office. Mid-morning light pours in through the arched windows, making the blot of black that is angled to peer out of one appear further out of place in the hall that has blue and gold wallpaper, hanging mini chandeliers, and fancy furniture. She can't really blame Jane for the overt glances she is sneaking at the figure, though they seem more out of wariness than curiosity. They would likely not be overhead due to the distance, but it would still be a risk. Besides, the more mousey, shy personal assistant would be nervous talking about a royal in general, so doing so while another person is present is a 'no'...

There is always trying the source. A farewell is given to Jane by Evie; however, following the navy blue carpet runway that leads to the exit is not the plan. "Hello," she greets in advance, given the earlier expression. Evie takes care to stay a respectable distance away, though she does come to occupy the other side of the deep set window sill to face the other girl. A charming, attentive smile is already in place in hopes of easing this interaction. Showing interest in others usually gets them on your side. Observing the impeccably kept grounds is not what is really being done; there is too much intensity. Angling towards the window is a means of escape from interaction as opposed to finding something interesting beyond the glass of the window; it is obvious with how her eyes immediately flicked away from the panes at Evie's approach. The stranger's expression is still schooled to be largely neutral. Cold, distant, untouchable. Her eyes are the giveaway; it almost reminds Evie of Mal. They churn with emotion that is even hard for someone who prides herself on being able to read others to place with certainty. Fear? Guilt? Self-loathing? Shame? There is something dark lingering in those depths, but not malicious more so melancholic in a way that makes that unease twist tighter. Eye contact is fleeting; there is no inspection or appraisal, just a calm disregard after the initial glance that seemed to last for much too long. Evie always hated being ignored. Her mother always encouraged her to cultivate her beauty since it is the only trait that would get her anywhere in life, more specifically get her a prince. Failing to attract and hold attention bothered her as a young teen, but she has learned better now and become more self-confident. She is more than her looks. The lack of acknowledgement does not seem to come from a place of arrogance like Alistair or meanness like some of her classmates, but one that seems neutral, like being unsure if someone just really spoke to you or to someone else and being unsure if you should engage. The continued silence should be uncomfortable or stifling, instead a spark of determination is ignited. "My name is Evie," she tries again. Her voice is still kept light, though it seems like she is speaking to herself. "You seem about my age, but I would remember if you were a student here. I would guess you are just visiting? Though you could be local too, or just starting..." She can tell the other girl is listening, even if her attention seems pinned to the window. "I came over from the Isle-" Special attention is given to any small changes that would imply feeling one way or another about this piece of information, but none is found, "-with my friends a while ago, which you probably heard about. Getting used to Auradon and its culture was not easy, but I know my way around the school now, if you need a guide or some tips." Evie continues not at all deterred by the impassivity, because the brunette is still sheeted towards her even if there is no eye contact, so she just says whatever comes to mind. Patience may be needed. "You may be visiting, but I have also learned some about the city too. Mainly the best shops to source fabrics, dyes, and chemicals for my designs. Dressmaking is what I tend to do with the royals here with all their parties, galas, and balls, but other pieces are also possible. My favorite subject is chemistry; it can lend itself to fashion. I think-" The double doors again open with an abrupt snap, but less wind funnels into the hallway. Evie spots the way the brunette tenses, sees the displeasure that grounds into her shoulders as they square, and watches as that slated neutrality gains a layer of ice that somehow makes her seem further unreachable. The sight is upsetting to her, but why....? "Oh, you have made a new friend..." He comments with a slight sneer that exposes too white teeth for a second. Alistair takes his time in arriving upon the two to reinforce they are awaiting his arrival and it is not him coming to them. His final step places him well within both girl's personal space. "I must apologize in advance, Miss-?" "Evie," she supplies with forced politeness. "Ah, yes, Miss Evie." The name is said slowly, like he is swilling a fine wine around his palate as the syllables are stretched out and tested. "Daughter of the Evil Queen, and one of the four chosen children-" Ice blue eyes dance with mirth because the word choice was meant to offend, "-plucked from that wretched place. Though Auradon surpasses the Isle in many regards, you would do better finding a conversation partner in a rotten stump than my pet here," he advises with a tittering laugh at his own joke that sounds slightly unhinged. A ring encrusted hand is placed on his ward's shoulder in a gesture that should normally register as friendly, but lacks any warmth and is more a display of possession. "Being a conversationalist is not one of her talents. Wouldn't you agree?" He poses the question with a tip of the head to the subject of the comment. The silence that meets this serves as an intentional reply.

A satisfied smirk to crawls across his features, stretching the skin too tightly across the bone. Evie uses her training to remain composed to not allow the disgust to rise to the surface, though that uneasiness settles more thickly as if chains are wrapping around her insides and weighing her down at the sight of him nonchalantly touching the brunette like a possession. She straightens up minutely to project poise. "Auradon is an improvement in some ways. I don't think ownership of another person was allowed on the Isle," she says it diplomatically to lessen the barb nestled within her words. "I still have much to learn about the cultural differences." Ice blue eyes appear flintier like a glacier was cracked and the chipped pieces were inserted into the sockets of a skeleton; he is angry. "Arrangements and alliances are not that different..." Two sets of eyes train on the one who finally spoke up. Surprise almost causes Evie's lips to part a touch at how knowingly those two types of situations were said. The Isle was literally a fight to survive, so villains and their children would forge alliances, go to war, betray, and so forth. An arrangement is more of an understanding and is open ended and can be based on favors, respect, or whatever else. Mal and Jay agreed to an arrangement due to recognizing that each had a skill set the other admired. Carlos fell into Jay's due to his genius intellect and horrid home life situation that would soften most people's hearts, not that any of them had a great home life with glory day obsessed villains raising them. She eventually made a friendship with Carlos because they both liked school with her favoring sciences and knowing how to brew potions/remedies, while Carlos enjoyed tinkering with mechanics. Extending protection to her due to that had to go through Jay and then Mal, but eventually the four of them became bonded in more than just a patchwork of arrangements based on their skills and unique strengths. They are her best friends.... She loves them. But how does this girl know about what happens on the Isle...? "She speaks!" Alistair half exclaims. The anger is momentarily relinquished at the fact his charge actual said something when she was not being addressed directly by him, especially since it was not monosyllabic. That will be remediated later on. "My, my Miss Evie you have quiet the effect." While the words should constitute a compliment derision seeps into his tone as he looks between the two as if trying to puzzle something out. "But you are sadly mistaken; there is choice that extends beyond any of the crude-" His lips twist in disgust, "- back alley propositions of the Isle. I doubt there is any place she would rather be, isn't that correct?" He asks it leadingly. "Of course, my lord" There was no thought to the answer, because they all know there could only be one response.  But Evie can see that indecipherable emotion again lurking as (Y/E/C) eyes turn to meet the one leering at her. Evie decides right then that she hates this man. "I apologize then." Saying this takes more effort that she would anticipate; honeyed or veiled words would come easier than a feigned apology that alludes to her being wrong. But this is necessary... "I would love to learn more from an actual 'Sir' of the realm. My designs have been worn by royalty. I could exchange making a fine robe or coat for a moment of your valuable time?"

"I am afraid I have meetings to attend, and would not have time for the prerequisite measuring, re-measuring, and consults..." Alistair can tell there is more to the request, but cannot determine the angle just yet. Perhaps, a lesson should be taught to the pair of them, one that humiliates his charge, while also making this bold Evie uncomfortable. It would help both learn their respective places beneath him. "But we may be able to agree on a different piece?" Migrating his hand from a tense shoulder to trail down his charge's side, before seizing her hand to present it to the blue haired girl occurs with little resistance as if manipulating a rag doll. "What about her?" Evie hesitates. "...My lord?" The neutrality is still there but the slightest furrows of discomfort creases her brows, prompting Evie to regret the impulse to suggest this rather than seeking out the other girl in a different way. However, she already went this route and has to stick with it. Getting snatches of time to speak more with her was the goal in offering to design a commission free garment for Alistair, so this secures that, but at what cost? "What?" He parrots back in a similar tone, though he stage whispers to mock her quiet voice. "You do not wish to play model with a real designer, pet? It would please me greatly." Pretending she has a choice is more cruel than clarifying the why, since she has always been better with absolutes and routines that help her numb herself to it all; this will be something fresh and it is deserved. "You do want that, yes?" A curt nod is given. "Splendid!" A slow clap is given at the agreement. "Miss Evie will have her way with you-" He purposefully uses the wording with the double meaning to see if he can glean any more of the intent from them, but there is no observable difference, "-in regards to the design. I shall detail specifics later, once I see the sketches, and in return any questions you have may be submitted to me and I will pen an answer for you," he decides. "Do you have a schedule or...?" "I have classes this afternoon, but after those I am free until the start of next week." Today is Friday, so aside from a history course and some time spent in the lab, she has time to herself. "Very well." There is a pause of consideration as to how he wants this to play out. "I shall turn her over to you this evening for the preliminary work, and subsequent appointments can be made at your discretion-" A business card on thick cream colored cardstock is pulled from a pocket and handed over, "-simply send a missive and it will be arranged. Please do not think I will short you Miss Evie. Any price you set for materials is fine. I require the very best," he informs proudly. Lowering their joined arms lacks any fluidity, it is a mechanical movement, but one that is not met with flinching or outright tension, so the admonishment of his ward will not be too great. "Until we meet again."  "...Goodbye,” Evie mimics the farewell on autopilot. How he can speak of the brunette like she is not there, or an object to be passed off makes her skin crawl... Alistair leads the walk away, still joining their hands in a way that makes the innocent gesture look wrong. There is no ease; it may as well be a leash with how there is no slack given and with how the brunette trails behind him, practically pulled along except she keeps pace just enough for the action not too look forced to the untrained eye. Evie watches them go, more aptly watches her go, partially wishing for a glance or  shared look like in a novel or movie, but nothing comes. Maybe it was a mistake to try and learn more. Is she going to regret making this offer...?

[haleruby]

Slipping Through Your Fingers

Characters/Pairings: established Mal/Evie, eventual Mal/Evie/Reader (Quim) Mal, Evie, really allll the characters bc it’s my longest Descendants insert, but for this part just you and the girls.

Summary: Well, this is 103 and 104 and technically a tiny piece of the dramatic/confrontation reunion. I question if the emotional impact will be the same without the build up, but mayhaps it will make you invested/curious???

Word Count: 1.0k

Notes: I am using a sideblog that is empty and not tagging bc this is only for your eyes, so no need to reblog/like, etc.

Again, they only know you as ‘Shadow’ (which is reflected in their pov), but you in your pov know your name. The technically learn your name in 105.

This is slightly newer writing than the other...so yay???

- - - - - 

“You have each other. You have Carlos and Jay along with any other Auradon friends you've made. Why get greedy?" "You know it's not the same." The sleeve of her shirt is bunched up so it is almost a navy blue sleeveless tank top now. Inked words form an elegant band around her right upper bicep that spell out what Shadow first said to her: 'I am sorry.' While Mal tends to cover hers', especially the words from Shadow, she is proud to bear the soul marks, even if one was more bittersweet than the other. They found her, so can't they just be together? "I have your words on my arm; we're soulmates," Evie reveals. Denying the pull would be much easier without such specific, incriminating evidence... Wanting to run her fingers over each curve and dip that composes the words to see if they are smooth, indented, or slightly raised crosses her mind vividly. Quim does not remember what she first said to Evie. The midnight black ink is apparent even from this far away, and yet it looks more like a bracelet that she would need to examine more closely to gain comprehension of the mark. But she can't.  She can't do this. Quim will make them leave, if she has to. Her eyes slide away from Evie's arm as she tries to summon a veneer of reproach to mask the curiosity. "Do we just live happily ever after in this scenario?" She questions, trying to infuse venom in her words by allowing mocking to suffuse her. Her chin raises as she regards Evie critically, knowing that she is likely immune to it given her mother's inspections, but it would still hurt by dredging that up. Asking them to leave is not working, so maybe making it the only option will. "You're wrong, both of you are wrong, and wasted your time." Evie shakes her head slowly, trying to ignore the pangs of hurt by maintaining her composure. She does not step forward or back, but holds her ground. "You have to have ours," she asserts, meeting the analytical gaze head on, because they are both trying to figure the other out. A scoff. "I can prove that you are wrong."

Shadow isn't bluffing. Evie's stance shifts as this is concluded, because there was conviction in the statement that causes her heart to clench at the possibility she never considered. Mal getting off the desk to come stand quietly behind her for support is thanked by linking their hands loosely. "Show us then, please." The brittle quality to Evie's beautiful voice almost causes her to hesitate, but this is needed. Baring her soulmarks to her soulmates is not something she ever thought she would be doing after all this time. The sleeve of her shirt is rolled up methodically to only expose the required amount of skin, before a leather bracelet is snapped off and set on the bed. Her hand is presented, though she keeps the distance between them since it is not necessary for them to be close. "See? It's different." There is no shock of black ink against her skin. A silvered quality to the words nestled along her right wrist make them look unnatural and more like faded scar tissue than a tattoo. 'Get away' stands out against her skin in elegant script, it is also cooler to the touch than the surrounding flesh. "Is that...?" Mal hesitates to finish the question. "No, it's Evie's, but they are the same." "Can I see mine?" Mal's voice is so soft and unsure, while Evie's golden brown eyes are still trained on the soulmark, taking it in like it is a mystery that must be solved. Did they build up their being soulmates? It feels like she just crushed some unspoken hope or dream that the two shared, which was the goal, but them being so affected is hard to watch. Denying the request is her immediate thought, but instinct is telling her otherwise when Mal is looking at her so gingerly, even if her eyes are a blazing emerald. It was always hard to refuse them... Baring the second soulmark is made more difficult by the injury, plus it is in a more intimate position that makes her hyperaware. Quim can't deny that Mal has an innate right to it. "Let me change, then yes," she relents, snapping her bracelet back on without a second glance. "Stay quiet." This is warned over her shoulder before closing the door to the bathroom. "M..." "I know." Arms are around her in a hug, before Mal can elaborate on what she knows, but it is accepted all the same. This is not at all how she thought it would go; this coldness is unlike what she remembers, but there had to be something that caused it. They both know the treatment by Alistair had to have had an impact, it would be stupid to think otherwise; however, now their bond is being cast off by Shadow as well like it is all in the past. There was no hope for a future. "It will be fine," she lies, attempting to be a source of strength. "It was silvered, like a wound...Like my words actually cut her." "We don't know what that means, we didn't even know what they were until Fairy Godmother explained." Evie does not acknowledge the counterpoint, still focused on what she just saw. 'Get away' was practically carved into the delicate skin of Shadow's wrist, so unlike the near royal worthy script that circles her bicep. Aesthetics aside, the substance of the words are eating at her. Tucking her face into Mal is made difficult by their height difference, but she still hides for a moment, using the dyed strands as a momentary barrier from the rest of the world. The door unlatching has her break the hold, but stick close to Mal. They both wait to let Shadow make the first move...

End Note: Guessssss where Mal’s words are??? <3 <--- hint.

[haleruby]

Forget Me Not

Characters/Pairings: established Malia/Lydia/Reader (Quim), Malia, Lydia, Scott, Stiles, lots of snow, and I never say it but the literal yeti. 

Summary: Amnesia makes the mind go brrr, but in a bad way...brr (sad). [This not being a published imagine for my followers means I can mess with the summary and other info as much as I want. XD]

Word Count: 5.9k

Notes: I am using a sideblog that is empty and not tagging bc this is only for your eyes (hopefully and technically the gif maker’s...thank you @ gifmaker for the gif), so no need to reblog/like, etc.

Hope you enjoy and it gives you a boost for dealing with your aunt. :-)

I wrote this around October 11th 2019, so apologies about the style not being quite as fluid as my other writing. My other stuff is a bit more recent, if you maybe wanna read it. Most of my teen wolf phase was around here and then it re-sparked in 2020 towards the fall so I added a tiny bit to that one story I told you about with the warnings. 

Also, apologies for the ending, lol. >.>

- - - - -

She is cold... So cold. It feels like a slab of ice is being used for a bed; her back aches all the way down to the individual vertebrae that compose her spine. Pain is slowly causing her other senses to return, enlivening them in cruel way so feeling anything means to hurt to some degree. A whooshing sound makes it hard to think, it rips across her mind dashing the thoughts that slowly trickle in through the haze and the ache. What happened...? Whipping wind continues to bear down on wherever here is. There is hardness under her, so she is probably on the ground and outside based on the frigid temperature. Moving an arm to check the hypothesis causes pain to lance through her shoulder so sharply a feeling of vertigo sets in. The firm ground suddenly tilts slightly. The leverage is increased almost mockingly, it edges up bit by bit like she is about to be slid off a cold metal tray to join the next batch of suffering. A choked whimper leaves her at the odd sensation of slipping. Just before the final plummet, she snaps back into herself viciously. Jolting does nothing good for her body, but now her eyes snap open with a slight burn as if they were sealed shut previously with chilled glue...At least she thinks they are open. Blinking confirms that her eyelids still function, which is good because she is trying not to think about how her arms and legs are not, though she can still mostly feel them. Everything is white. A flurry of white is all she sees after staring long enough to detect movement in what was thought to be a static image. Snow from what may be an impending blizzard continues to beat down on the surroundings, coating them in freezing rain, smatterings of hail, and ice. Why isn't she buried yet...? How long has she been here? A large conglomerate of flurries landing on her cheek causes her to wince, because it will not melt for a time, but the question remains. The left side of her face is stinging brutally, while the rest of her exposed skin only feels like a wind chap is starting to set in. Frowning makes it seem like there is something frozen to her skin; the downward curl is not reaching the left corner of her lips as if they are stuck. Is there something on her face? Staring blankly at the sky is not helping any of this make sense. Turning her head a miniscule amount causes her to feel sick, so she stops, trying to breathe evenly although the slight shaking is making it difficult. Being still is not an option, but the jolts of pain makes her wish it was. Evergreen trees were glimpsed in her peripheral vision; they looked towering and dark, not all fit for a happy Christmas. Woods plus winter with injuries does not sound good. Why is she even here? Working up the will power to try and get up is not something she has even entertained, since moving a single appendage hurt way too much. The snow fall is becoming less like the interior of a cheap snow globe and more like sheets of rain are freezing and then coating the forest solidly. Her right arm is no longer visible. Maybe getting under a tree would provide some protective covering? Don't get up, just shuffle. She can do that. Her feet ache in a disconcerting way like they fell half asleep. Digging her heels into whatever frozen packed dirt or snow is under her takes a few minutes, but little divets were clumsily formed. Now, she just has to leverage it. Her left arm is tucked close after what happened when she moved it. Shakily drawing her legs up again allows her to try and push back slowly, more so scrambling a few inches than moving back with purpose. Sliding against snow should be easy. The rocks and sticks that litter the ground seem to dig into her when she attempts the awkward dragging motion that causes a pull of tension across her body.

It hurts. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she mumbles hoarsely. Anger at not knowing why, where, or what lead to this prompts the pain signals to be ignored, instead she attempts to continue the mutilated crab walk back. Powdery snow sticks to the black of her pants with less finding purchase on the plastic shell of the navy jacket. A bit of red is spotted in the snow, but checking for the source of bleeding is secondary to getting away from the flurries. A trail of blood spottily forms from where she started to where she has hauled herself to. She is practically panting, which causes the cold air to stab her lungs like multiple knifes each time a ragged breath is drawn in. Her movements become out of sync, bordering on frantic. Less than a few meters of progress has been made... A foot digging in is mistimed with the curl of her back and placement of her arm, so that the stretch wracks through her painfully. A gasp muffles the cry of pain. She ends up off balance, crashing to her side heavily. Snow forces her to reflexively turn her head slightly to the side, but she still feels it burning in a way only ice can against her cheek. Throbbing stemming from her left temple encapsulates her head in a vice and is likely what makes the white dance with undulating blots of black for a while until her vision slowly clears back up. She could just rest and then try again. Maybe she should just close her eyes... Lean back and try to conserve warmth until the effort to move again seems possible. A cat nap could work? She tried and is tired; it's deserved. A sudden shrill howl barely stirs her, but a primal part of her mind urges her to become slightly more alert. That kind of sound belongs to a predator. Laying semi-buried in the snow with the inability to move may as well be an open invitation for dinner to whatever can survive the harsh conditions of the forest; it is probably a wolf or something canine. The tree line is watched between too slow blinks for whatever just made that noise. Nothing happens... She didn't imagine it. The cold has penetrated her gloves, it has penetrated her to the very center of her being, but fingers weakly search for something of use. A large rock? A stick? A phone? A conveniently placed gun? There is nothing she can use for defense, so her right arm stops extending outwards from her side to come to rest with her useless left one. Guarding her vital organs may at least help a little... Another howl sounds, but this one sounds deeper and echoes across the space; it sounds low, haunting, and mournful. There is more than one... They could play tug-a-war with her.  She can barely make it to a tree for makeshift shelter, so climbing one to impede them locating her is also a 'no'. No weapon or means to deter the animal was magically found in the snow. The state she is in is yet another limitation, because she could not fend one off in perfect health either. ...What does she do?  A short yip sounds like an announcement that her time to wrack her weary mind for a solution has trickled away. The source of the sound is located immediately as a small wolf with large, rounded ears makes a bee line for her. She vaguely thought it would have white fur or maybe a light gray, but a tawny brown sticks out against the snowy surroundings and looks distinctly out of place; it should be in a rich pine forest with browns and greens. Mentally critiquing the animal is not what she should be doing. Fear laced adrenaline causes her to clench her right fist tightly as she attempts to shift upwards to appear less prone—less weak. Gathering snow in her palm is so she has something to throw, even if a snow ball is a poor choice against a predator. The animal skids to a stop a little ways away, raising its head towards the sky to scent the air. Is it smelling her blood and judging that she is easy prey?

Teeth grit at the thought, because she has no idea about wolves or whatever dog thing this is. Could noise scare it away or only incite it further? How do you deter a canine? Looking it in the eye may be taken as a challenge or as a warning, but she still stares into its' eyes sharply, trying to project an intimidating aura as she narrows her own. The little quakes racking her paired with the fact she is on her back does not make her cut an imposing figure. A slow step forward is taken as the small wolf lowers its body more to the ground; it must be savoring how easy a kill this will be. Her arm draws back in warning. Will the wolf call her bluff and edge closer? "Go away," she seethes, knowing that saying something to it is a lost cause, but it is eyeing her oddly for an animal, almost thoughtfully. Lunging for her throat or springing forward to pounce should have occurred by now. Why isn't it attacking? Ears fall back, almost dropping at the tone, rather than being pressed flat against the skull in anger. Another step forward is taken and then another, until the wolf is close enough that she thinks she can hit it...The snowball is poorly compacted and falls apart, but some of it lands on its fur, which causes the wolf to shake its head at the action, giving a disgruntled chuff at the coldness.  ...Did she expect that to go any better in her head? No. But it was her only real projectile. The wolf does something unexpected, it sits down like a dog and stares at her with those too human eyes. The forest in summer again comes to mind; a rich hazel that borders on brown like wood bark aside from the lightness around the iris is trained on her. She glares right back. Maybe its not a wolf, because it looks small and lean with a body that seems more agile than powerful. A long snout reminds her of a fox, and those ears that are still down are not really that wolf like either, too floppy... Maybe it's a special breed to this area or something else, not that it matters when it definitely has vicious claws, sharp teeth, and she can't get away. A decision must have been made as it creeps closer with tentative footfalls that barely displace the snow. Her arm is pinwheeled to kick up the remaining snow at her side at it in a last ditch effort for distance, but it keeps coming closer heedless of the weak icy barrage. The coolness likely does not seep through its thick fur. "Stop! Please, just go back!" She raises her voice sharply, distilling a hardness to her tone that causes the near hyperventilating quality of her breathing to abate for a moment as she tries to issue a command to a wild animal. Surprisingly, the wolf does halt its progress, but what it does next has her trying to get away as if the promise of being eaten was only a slight offense. Hazel just flashed a brilliant, glowing electric blue that seemed to pierce through her. Its an unnatural wolf thing. There may be worse things than death. Scrambling away using both hands and legs was a mistake, one that was made more than once as she groans. Her jaw locks like a steel trap as she continues, now on her stomach rather than side to crawl away. Tears feel momentarily warm against her frozen cheeks, before causing the burning to redouble from the wind. Everything hurts. She claws desperately at the snow, trying to get away, because there is no explanation for what she just saw or how odd the creature is in general. Her vision seems to be becoming the view used for wide screen movies; darkness creeps around the edges. She is struggling to make sense of things other than the need to move away, because that creature goes against the natural order.

Its too intelligent, it knows too much. Those eyes. It won't just kill her... Something grabs a fistful of her jacket, tugging backwards to prevent the flagging forward motion. It must have a mouthful of her jacket. She kicks out. Her legs feel like lead weights that she only has a minor degree of control over and no contact was made with a furry body, instead only the inevitable collision back with the hard ground occurs. The additional jolt is nothing compared to the rest of the pain that is maddening at this point, because the adrenaline rush is failing at dampening it. Her actions are catching up with her. An angry sob leaves her when she inelegantly falls face first in the snow. Her arms are shaking and she can't support herself anymore while also resisting the wolf. The grip on her jacket is suddenly replaced by a clamping sensation on her shoulder. There is no tearing or teeth burrowing. What feels like fingers squeeze her shoulder, until another hand is placed flatly on her back. What the Hell? What. The. Fuck. Being turned over slowly causes her to whimper; her eyes screw shut because nothing makes sense and she hates it all. Fighting has gotten her nowhere. Something warm settles on her cheek, and she should look to see what is going on, but she is too cold and tired to care. The whipping wind gains an additional sound, though she can't process what it is except that is softer and more pleasing to the ear. A voice? No, that isn't possible. The falling sensation comes again; this time she does not try and stay upright or grounded against it, allowing herself to go along with it. She gives up. . . . . . . "-the blizzard is only increasing; it took out the power lines. We can't go out in that." "You can't, but I can." A dull bang sounds like someone hit something wooden with their fist. "We can't!" This is half shouted in clear exasperation that may be hiding anger. "Losing anyone else isn't an option, ok? I want to know where he is too, but you can't see, smell, or even hear when it's this bad out, and we don't know what is out there that did that to her. You're not thinking it through, Scott." "He's a part of the pack." Listening to the argument unfolding any further is prevented when warm fingers graze her neck. She stops playing possum. Her eyes snap open to meet startled green ones that reminds her of emerald gemstones. A strawberry blonde girl is sitting on the burgundy upholstered couch she lays on, and may just be checking her pulse, but her right hand wraps tightly around her wrist just in case the action is not so innocent. Only a cursory glance is given to the surroundings, since she feels on edge. Where is she? A ski lodge... Thick wooden logs make up the walls, though it is hard to tell how large the space is when only candle light provides light. She does spot the underside of the A-line architectural support that is made of exposed beams. A few mounted deer heads leer at her with glassy black eyes. One wall boasts a large crackling stone fire place that has ancient crossed ski poles above it as a decoration; this is the main source of warmth and brightens the large 'U' of couches that could fit a dozen or more comfortably. This must be a lobby, not a home, based on the few informational areas and posters she saw. Was she out skiing? Returning her attention to the girl has her pausing, because she is being watched so closely, but there may be fear to that gaze too. Pale skin seems to lack much color, even though the fire is casting warmth on both of them and making the red to her hair more vibrant. Her grip is not that tight, and she was touched first, so why is she being looked at like that? Releasing the hold after moving those probing fingers away occurs; she did not mean to frighten her... "She's up! Thank God." The sudden announcement breaks the silent stare off. A guy with spiked brown hair dashes over to the couch alongside a taller guy with black hair that is somewhat obscured by a beanie. These were the two who were arguing. She simply observes them, unwilling to be the first one to speak, because she has no clue how she got here and would rather not be at a deficit by admitting that. Letting them do the informing is a smart move. "We set your arm back in place, but you may need surgery for the cuff," Stiles explains, coming to kneel beside the couch. Soft brown eyes sweep over her form that has less snow and blood caked on it; however, he is still worried about the injuries, especially when they only have a small first aid kit and makeshift sling on hand. "We bandaged what we could. Also, you will probably need a CT scan because your head has a crack in it like Humpty Dumpty. We will figure it all out, Quimmie." He seems pretty caring, so she nods stiltedly in agreement for him to continue speaking. The taller one, who must be Scott, draws closer, fiddling with a walkie talkie in his hand, before sighing. She waits for him to muster up the will to speak. "I know you're hurting, and I'm sorry, but where is Liam?" Once one question is asked it seems that it breaks the dam so a deluge of them come forward as his dark brown eyes narrow at the faint popping of static that comes from the device. There has not been a check-in in a while. "What happened to your team? Was it the ridge that you investigated or did it come after you on a trail? Were the hikers right, and it's just a crazed wolf or something else?" "You can't ask her all that at once." "Stiles, the temperature is dropping further and he is still out in it." "Yeah, and she just woke up, Scott. So back off." A hand finding her own diverts her focus from another brewing argument between the two. Fingers interlace with her own one at a time with a gentleness that confuses her after how hard everything else has been, so she doesn't immediately resist it. A pinky edges over the row of her digits until her hand is covered and then a hold is formed that she does not return. The question must be evident on her features, because a sad smile of understanding is given; it looks like the girl is trying not to crumble, which she accomplishes, but the underlying cracks are still there for all to see. What did she do to be looked at like that?   "Malia is right..." Stiles practically rounds on both of them, knocking his knees against the edge of the couch at the softly spoken statement. "No, Lyds," he disagrees immediately, before locking eyes with impassive (Y/E/C) that watch him, but do not really take him in or express much emotion. He thought it was from the pain and shock, not because... "What is my name?" "Stiles," she answers correctly, because it was spoken already.

"Scott said it earlier," Lydia points it out calmly.  Stiles runs a hand down his face, not wanting to test the theory that Malia suggested because of what it could mean, but he also knows he needs to. There is a reason the werecoyote is listening from behind the couch and not present with the rest. The earlier fear towards her cut her to the bone. Explaining it away as confusion or discombobulation did not convince Malia, who he tries to not glance directly at, even though he can see the glowing blue to her eyes, because this is upsetting to her. He balls his hands into fists; it can't be that. "What school do we all go to?" She says nothing, but wishes the couch cushions would absorb her into it. "What does our dad do for a living?" He asks it more sharply at the silence that seems to say more than any answer could. No, no, no. A hand is placed on the edge of the couch to keep balance as he sinks to his knees, rather than kneel; he meets her eyes squarely. "Come on, try and answer."   Her brows furrow at this, because she does not look particularly like him for them to be blood related. His features are mentally compared to what she intuitively knows to be her appearance. The skepticism is not voiced.  Being stared in outright disbelief by Stiles makes it clear that anything she could say about the situation would make it worse. "What is your name? Where are we from? What is the year? Who is she-" A hand gestures quickly to Lydia, though he quickly unfolds his fingers so he is not rudely pointing at her, but his palm shakes, "-to you? Malia, come over here and-" "Stiles." Lydia's voice holds a firm warning as she places a hand on his shoulder, pushing him slightly away from the couch edge before he looms closer. She scoots to be blocking his stare that practically tears into them with its desperate edge. He probably does not even realize he was raising his voice, almost shouting out each question so it warped into a demand. "Don't push her; it's not her fault." "She isn't saying anything!" Stiles counters. "It wouldn't be what you all want to hear..." That causes the pack to grow quiet for a moment as they each consider the matter of fact statement. "So, what? You were just going to go along with it?" Scott asks, confused. The realization that they have no idea what they are facing or how Liam is doing also weighs on him in addition to how this amnesia will affect the pack. Did they just lose two friends tonight? He sits down heavily on the coffee table, shooting Malia a sympathetic look to try and silently communicate she needs to dim down. "There are five of you and one of me, not great odds, so-" "We aren't going to hurt you." The vehement interjection causes her to reword the point, though green eyes practically blaze as they meet her own; any of that fear has burned away, replaced with conviction. "I don't know anything about anything," she admits softly, glancing at the red and black plaid blanket draped over her legs to cope with so many people staring at her. Her head still aches and this is tiring. "Waiting to see what you had to say was the logical thing to do. I don't know your intentions, but I wasn't going to lie to you. Thanks for helping me out of the snow..." "That was Malia," Scott supplies automatically. She has the feeling that none of the ones in the seating area is this Malia person, so a nod is given. Stiles rises from the stone floor, trying to figure out how to fix the situation. This is no broken bone that can be set or a cut that needs to be stitched up; her memories are not murky or mixed up, but are completely gone. "Can you please tell us what you do remember?" "Why?"

"So we can help you and our other friend." Scott answers honestly, before Stiles losses the bit of composure he just re-gained. He is in older, adopted brother mode and is obviously upset. "We can answer your questions too." "I didn't say I had any..." "You don't know anything, so you should. Unless being amnesiac is how you want to reinvent yourself before senior year." Stiles snipes, but backs off when his best friend gives him a warning look that does not compare to the one he will get from Lydia and Malia, if he keeps pressing it. He is mad at what happened not her...But she is not acting like his adopted sister, who has been with him for years, but someone else entirely. Fingers pull at the worn tassels of the blanket for a moment as she considers the alternatives, turning them over in her head given how tense things are and her own deficit. They did help her, so being difficult is not her goal. She can't shake that there is something not quite right about them, especially Scott, it makes her feel on guard like there is a potentially hidden deadliness. Why are they in an empty ski lodge? The owners should be present or at least the other customers. She is mostly laying down aside from a pillow that elevates her back, sitting upright would put them more on equal terms, but the pain that will come with moving is considered. "Okay, one quick question: why are you all here alone? This place does not seem to be in operation, so did you break in...?" Scott shares a look with Stiles. Telling the full truth would only work with someone acquainted with the supernatural and all of that must have been wiped away too. He runs his hands down his thighs to stall. "We got, er, permission to come up. There's an unsolved mystery that we are trying to crack. The resort is temporarily closed down, because of it and the blizzard..." He trails off, trying to balance the truth with the lies. "We are trying to help." "You do seem the helpful type," she observes dubiously, before crossing her right arm carefully with her sling encased left. The position helps her feel a bit more distant from their prying eyes; it feels like they are judging her, though that makes sense when she is expected to actually be someone, not a blank slate. She turns her attention to the fire. "I don't know a Liam. I don't know why we were on a team or what our objective was. All I remember is snow: white, cold, burning snow. I was on the ground trying to get up, but failed because everything ached. I actually felt like I was falling..." She presses her lips together, mulling over what else can be said. Those glowing, unnaturally blue eyes come to mind so vividly, it feels like she is staring at the creature again. They probably already think she is crazy enough without mentioning it. "There was a wolf, or maybe it wasn't a wolf, that kept coming towards me. I assumed it would maul me, but it didn't...I'm not sure how it was going to kill me, it seemed too patient and smart, not really like a typical animal. I freaked out and tried to crawl away when it got too close, which made all the pain a lot worse. I fainted. I'm assuming Malia scared it off or dealt with it, because I think I would remember it biting into me...Then I woke up here." Lydia wants to reach out to her, but prevents the urge with how previous attempts were received. She can tell that she is still struggling with the pain on top of everything else; however, the far off look in her eyes must mean something is not being voiced. They still have not shared her name...

"Okay, so everything before the snow is blank?" Stiles confirms, getting a curt nod in response that makes him want to throw something into the flames of the fireplace. This is not how the weekend's mission was meant to go. He is pacing in front of the hearth, chewing on the cap end of a pen as he thinks about where to go from here. She was also their only lead with Liam and the creature. How will his dad react? He's older--the older sibling, and feels responsible for her, and now she's a very familiar stranger..."You're sure that's it? So like an hour or so comprises your entire, new existence?" "Yes, Stiles." He ignores the slight irritation to her tone, because he is busy thinking. "Maybe we can jog her memory?" This is posed to the pack, like his sister is another murder case or mystery that he can add to his pin and red string laden board to puzzle out the connections and causes. He can solve this. "We should wait until my mom sees her and the doctors run legit tests. There may be rules on how to deal with head trauma patients," Scott disagrees gently. "Maybe the head trauma is not the cause...It could be something else?" "She is still healing and we don't know how bad everything is." Scott sees the way Stiles crosses his arm abruptly at the disagreement, annoyed. "I want to help her. We need to find Liam too." "The answer could lie with her if we just try and remind her who she is!" "That could make it worse." Lydia is unsure who she sides with between the two guys, but knows talking about the one in question like she is not present in the room is almost always a bad idea. Malia getting up from the wooden chair that was pulled from behind the receptionist's to rest behind the couch is mostly ignored. Supple leather comprises her winter boots that only make a faint clack against the wood floor. She moves purposefully, ignoring Lydia's questioning look as she rounds the couch and stands in front of it to peer down at its occupant. The lack of recognition causes her to feel a deep ache in her heart, while the early fear left a ragged wound behind. Taking a knee, she tilts her head slightly as she watches (Y/E/C) eyes look her over cautiously, rather than softly, because the one in front of her does not know her. "Uhm, thank you for saving me?" Malia ignores the tentative gratitude. "Malia, I-" Scott's concerned warning is stopped short when Stiles holds up a hand, silently asking for him to let whatever is about to happen unfold. He locks his jaw, knowing how affected his beta was when she arrived back at the lodge. She was practically incoherent in describing what happened, instead whimpering and growling when anyone got too close to the two and unwilling to let go of the one bundled up in her arms. She was more coyote than human... Scott slides to the very edge of the coffee table to intervene, if needed, as a precaution. She looks kind of angry...Hazel eyes are not nearly as searching as the green ones that were first on her, rather they seem to be invasively prying without hesitation. The shoulder length cut to her brown locks frames her face nicely, which makes her gaze that much harder to look away from. Being stared at like some sort of freak show is grating on her patience, so she eventually manages to glance away to look back at the fire, though her view is soon occupied by Malia shifting closer with a challenging look. A lightly tanned hand rests on the back of the couch, effectively caging her in. "If you have something to say, then please go ahead," she requests calmly. "How could you forget about me?"

"It wasn't a choice." "Then why aren't you remembering?" Malia almost snaps out the question. A scoff almost leaves her at the presumption, because this girl is really blaming her...Are they all placing the fault on her alone? Maybe the inkling that something is not right with some of them is because they are actually a threat; the lodge is becoming more inhospitable by the second.  "I can't. It's not like I'm repressing it," she replies sternly. "I don't know my own name, so it's definitely not personal. Get over yourself." "Quim. That is your name" Lydia offers, trying to mediate between the two, though she knows this is hard for Malia. It is hard for her too, but someone has to be on Quim's side as a source of support. "Oh, okay..." Fingers burrow deeply into the upholstery of the couch, nails threaten to extend and rip out the plush stuffing. Her coyote aspect howls in her mind. Malia grits her teeth against the hurt those words just stirred, trying to let anger mask it because she would have never thought this would happen to them. This is not how it should be. Relying on instinct, she surges forward, placing a hand firmly over Quim's heart to pin her in place as she joins their lips without asking for permission. She is her's, so she should not have to. The kiss is forceful, demanding and not at all how a kiss should be...It is also one sided. She is doing all the action, while her partner is frozen and unresponsive, though that stasis eventually breaks for Quim to turn her head away abruptly, before a hand is against her shoulder, pushing away. Trying to move away from Malia causes a sharp pull in her back that earns a wince. Fucking oww. "What the hell are you doing?!" "I was trying to jog your memory!" Malia counters. "You can't just kiss people!" "We've done way more than kiss, Quim!" That causes the indignation to leave her in a rush, making the anger feel unwieldy and too large for her to handle. She retracts her hand from Malia, re-crossing her arms as best she can to serve as a barrier between the two of them. Now, she is more confused. "What...?" "Maybe now isn't the time for this..." Scott attempts to reason with his beta. "Mal-" "My soulmate forgot me!" "Not on purpose." Lydia pipes up, earning a huff from the werecoyote, but at least she is listening to her. She links their hands to try and pull Malia away from the couch edge. "We need to be patient." "How are you handling this well? She forgot you too--both of us!" "Not. By. Choice." "I have two girlfriends...?" Stiles runs a hand down his face at the turn in conversation; this is not going to fix her memory, but of course that is what his sister takes away from the conversation. "Yes," he answers at the perplexed expression, rolling up his shirt sleeve to show his blank wrist. "Soul identifying marks. Ring any bells? No, well, you have two of them, so you have two soulmates, even though it is rare to have even one. Lucky you."  Oh... Green and hazel eyes no longer meet in a silent, tense stare off, settling back on the occupant of the couch. Quim falls silent under their attention, unsure what could be said when forgetting your literal fated other halves.

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