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chilling-seavey · 4 years

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Passchendaele WW2 Extension - Who We Were and What We Are

T/W: Detailed descriptions of war violence, blood, injury, death, and physical and mental trauma

Mum & Dad,

The biggest day of our last four/five years is upon us this morning and in a few hours, we will decide the fate of Europe. I’ve been trying to tell myself it’s just another routine dogfight we’re flying into but I can’t help but feel sick with worry. This is the most important offensive of the whole war so far and we’re going in completely unprepared. At least, that’s how it feels. Am I even old enough for this? A mere twenty-six years old and I feel no older than I was when I left home…or left for my first day of kindergarten at that. I’ve grown a lot since I was last home and sometimes I wonder if you’d even still recognise me…I’m not the same timid teenager you kissed goodbye on our front porch all those years ago and, truthfully, I can hardly recognise myself sometimes. I like to hope that despite all the changes and the growing and the experiences, I’m still making you proud. Everything I do, I do for you.

I must say goodbye now. We’re due to the planes by 0530 and takeoff is at 0600. I will write you again as soon as we land. I hope I will at least be able to enjoy the sunrise this morning.

I love you to all the ends of the universe.

Your son,

Richie

June 6, 1944 – Outskirts of Bayeux, France, 0857hr

It was too quiet. The cruelest kind of cliché when Charlie fluttered his eyes open to the blue sky above him and nothing but silene surrounding him. Only when he concentrated could he hear the very faint sound of gunfire in the far distance. It was all too quiet. He took a second to process where he was and why he was sprawled out on a field in an unknown location but his questions were answered when he carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position and saw his plane mostly smashed to pieces and engulfed in flames a few metres away.

When his memory returned to him as to what had happened, Charlie’s eyes went wide and he looked around him, breathing out a rough, “Richie?”

There was just silence.

“Richard.” Charlie pushed himself to his feet and cried out in agony as his ankle was most definitely twisted and he stumbled a moment before catching his balance on his other foot. The blow of the engine and the impact of the crash had thrown him from the plane and he was lucky he didn’t suffer any worse damage.

But his own damage wasn’t what Charlie was worried about as he limped across the grass with his eyes scanning the surroundings for his missing best friend.

“Richie?” he called again. There was no answer. Charlie hobbled towards the wreck of the plane, only discovering the onset of searing pain on his arm and the burn that had ripped his uniform sleeve and stained his skin a blotchy angry red. The fire burned on, surprisingly having not taken most of the plane yet while the front half was destroyed to smithereens by the impact.

“Richard!” Charles called again, slightly louder with more desperation as he approached the plane.

There was an ever so faint call from the inside, “Charlie.”

Charles rushed over to the shattered glass windows of the cockpit to reveal his best friend still in his somewhat intact seat. Richard peered up at him behind tear filled tired blue-grey eyes, his hair still tucked under his helmet and drenched in sweat down to his uniform. He was sitting perfectly still, almost unmoving, and solely because a broken piece of the plane’s wing was impaled diagonally right through his middle; the streaks of white and black that were painted on the metal still visible. Richard was quite literally drenched in his own blood, his dark blue uniform stained almost black and the liquid glistened in the sun as it trickled down his front.

“Charlie.” Richard repeated shakily, his eyes brimming with frightened tears. “Charlie.”

“You’re fine, Richie.” Charlie spoke as strongly as he could possibly manage. He started to tug aside the broken pieces of metal that were making up the plane to find a way to let his best friend free. It was reasonably easy with how shattered the plane was by the impact and the sides fell away like there was nothing holding them together in the first place.

“You took so long to wake up, Charlie.” Richard breathed weakly. “I-I don’t know how long but…but it felt like ages.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Richie. I’m here now. We’re going to get you to the medic tent, okay? We’re going to see Frankie, okay?”

Richard’s nose scrunched up as he looked down at himself and his state, “She’ll be upset with me.” His small sob made him cry out in pain, “Ouch, Charlie, it hurts!”

Charles ignored the searing burning of hot metal on his hands as he managed to pick the rest of the plane apart to make room to help Richard out. He then reached into the cockpit slowly, carefully avoiding the shrapnel of metal sticking out of his best friend’s abdomen, and unbuckled his seatbelt. Richie winced as he maneuvered his arm out of the belt and Charlie tossed it aside before stepping closer and leaning in, “Okay, Richie, can you hold onto me?”

Richard weakly raised his hands up and draped them around Charlie’s shoulders, shrieking in agony as his movement only shifted the metal in his torso, “No! I can’t!”

Charlie tugged Richie out of the plane despite his loud cries in protest and with Charlie’s twisted ankle, they ended up just falling backwards onto the grass ungracefully anyway, both landing with a heavy thud. Richard groaned loudly in pain, smacking his best friend’s arm.

“Fuck you, you fucking bastard, it hurts!” Richard wailed, hot tears pouring down his face as his body ached in fresh agony, rolling onto his side slightly to take the pressure off the piece of metal that was lodged through his opposite hip, “Oh God!”

Charlie scrambled to his feet and took stand over him, holding out his hands to him and trying not to look at the steady flow of blood that was now staining the green grass, “Come on, Richie. Take my hands.”

Richard shut his eyes tightly and cried, his chest heaving with panicked and weak breathlessness, “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can! You need to, Richard Zachary Besson. Take my hands.”

Richie’s weeping was falling more into a soft whimpering, the pinks of his cheeks fading into a pale white, and his breathing was turning into shallow shuttering inhales. He was weak; and not in the term of lack of bravery but by the fact that he seemed to only have mere moments of life left in him.

“Charlie.”

His weak call seemed to be proof enough that they weren’t going to be going anywhere. Charlie dropped to his knees at his side against the grass and he pulled off his best friend’s suffocating helmet and tossed it out of the way to let the cool spring air ruffle through his sweaty brown hair. Charlie rested a hand against Richie’s cheek and set his two fingers gently under his ear to find his pulse. It was weak. Charlie swallowed back the lump growing in the back of his throat and he bowed his head a moment in the realization of the reality of their current situation.

“Charlie…” Richard breathed shakily, reading out for him and Charles took his hand in his lovingly, “tell my Dad I wasn’t scared.”

Charlie’s face scrunched up in his heartbreak, holding onto his best friend’s soft hand a little tighter and having to endure his last messages.

Richard stared up at him with tears trickling down his cheeks, “Christ...I am scared, Charlie. But…d-don’t tell him that, okay? Tell him I was brave f-for him...him and Mum.”

Charlie nodded.

Richie blinked slowly, his eyebrows furrowing and he stared up at Charlie curiously as if he had forgotten how they had gotten there. Charlie wanted to say something – anything – to somehow console his dying best friend, but it was as if he had forgotten how to speak, his brain almost refusing to let him say anything as if one word would solidify the fact that he was losing him. Richard glanced down at his blood-soaked body with the shard of metal sticking up through the bottom right side of his stomach.

“Oh Christ…that’s not good.” Richard breathed, letting his head fall gently back against the grass. “Oh, God, please help me.”

Charlie reached into the front pocket of Richie’s uniform and pulled out his own family photograph he always kept in there. He held it up to him so he could see it from where he laid on the grass.

Richard smiled weakly, his eyes getting heavy and he reached his other hand that wasn’t holding Charlie’s up to take the small photograph from him. He stared at it a moment, running his blood stained thumb over the faces of his family; his sister, his mother, and then his father, lingering on the last for a moment. His heart was working overtime to try and keep him alive but the lack of oxygen to his brain was getting him weaker and weaker until he was almost in a daze-like state. He looked younger like that.

Richie let a small smile tug at the corner of his dry mouth as he stared at his picture and mumbled out, “That’s my Daddy.”

“Yeah.” Charlie whispered, swallowing back the break in his voice. “They love you so much. More than anything in the whole universe. Can you feel it?”

Richard nodded slightly, setting the photograph against his shuttering chest. He licked his pale lips weakly and his eyebrows furrowed a moment against the throbbing pain that was radiating through his body, “I’m sleepy, Charlie.”

“I know. I’m right here.” Charles whimpered lightly, running his thumb over his best friend’s knuckles. They boys stared at each other a moment, blue eyes locked through their different shades, the eyes they were most familiar with, especially in the past four years. Richard blinked slowly up at his best friend and Charlie took a soft inhale before speaking strongly, “I love you, Richie.”

Richard couldn’t manage a smile in his state as he breathed out a quiet, “I love you, Charlie.” and then his eyes fell closed as if he simply drifted to sleep.

Charles bit his lip hard and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Richie’s pale forehead, “Tell Uncle Christian I said hello…he’s gonna take such good care of you.”

He sat there for a moment, unmoving, in lonely silence that settled heavy on his heart. It was the first time in years that he had ever been alone. The silence pounded in his head. Charlie took a shuttering inhale and looked around at his surroundings from the destroyed plane to the farmland that stretched for miles and the dirt road that ran left to right a few yards away from the field they were in. The movement of Richie’s limp hand slipping out of Charlie’s light grasp brought his attention back to him and Charlie clenched his jaw to try and keep his composure as he slumped from his knees onto his bum on the blood-soaked grass.

He stared at the lifeless body of his best friend, the one he grew up with and went through life with, and he couldn’t hold in the blubbery sob that fell from his lips. Charlie couldn’t think of anything but the terrible pain in his heart as he let himself cry bravely in the empty fields of German controlled France. He was surrounded by the enemy but that was the last worry on his mind. The guilt almost overpowered the sadness, floods of pointing fingers filled his mind: ‘if I had just turned earlier’ ‘if I had just helped him out of his belt before we crashed’ ‘if I just got to him sooner’.

Each regretful thought made the pain worse until Charlie was truly wailing uncontrollably, not even trying to stay quiet as hot tears poured down his face and his breath fell rapid until he was getting lightheaded. His right hand clung onto Richie’s desperately as if he was trying to cry the life back into him, but it was truly no use.

The sound of a truck engine approaching from the distance didn’t process in Charlie’s mind as he was too hung up on his sorrow and his grief to notice. The sounds of his crying led the vehicle to the opening of the farm field he had crashed in, the men inside the bed of the truck with rifles at the ready in case it was the enemy they came across. Thankfully for Charlie, the truck belonged to the American paratroopers that had dropped behind the German lines in the middle of the night, and with one glance to the intact tail-end of the British Spitfire and the young man in the Allied uniform, the men lowered their weapons.

One of the officers jumped out of the truck and headed over to aide Charlie, draping his rifle over his shoulder. Charlie looked up at him as he approached but didn’t even make an effort to stop crying; he simply sat there like a punished little boy and sobbed himself dizzy under the concerned stare of the older American man. The surname Lewis was embordered on the breast of his green uniform and his blue eyes were furrowed in concern, blonde hair still surprisingly neat under his cap, and he crouched down on the other side of Richie’s body to reach a hand out to Charlie’s shoulder.

He glanced at Charlie’s own nametag before looking the young man in his eyes, “Seavey, is it? You’re going to have to try and calm down a little…the Germans have us surrounded right now and it’s not safe for you to be wailing like this, you understand me?”

Charlie only cried on as if he couldn’t even hear what the man was saying. It felt like he could only concentrate on the ringing in his ears and his own rapid heartbeat and could barely clue into the faded mumbling of the strange officer in front of him. He just clung tighter onto Richie’s cold hand and lifted their held hands together in front of his face to give himself some sort of privacy to cry.

“We’re headed towards the Allied station now. Come along with us and we can get you set up in the nurses’ tent to make sure you’re not injured.” Sergeant Lewis offered.

“I-I’m not leaving him.” Charlie finally quieted down enough to speak, his voice wavering greatly, and he clutched tighter onto Richie’s hand.

“You’ve got to now, buddy. He’s gone.”

“No.” Charlie said through his teeth, grabbing the front of Richie’s blood-soaked uniform as he hiccupped lightly. “I’m not leaving him.”

The Sergeant glanced back to his truckful of men and waved some of them over to help get Charlie up. A couple soldiers came across the grass and stepped carefully around the body to help lift Charlie to his feet.

“No!” Charlie shouted, yanking his arms away from them and threw himself across Richard’s still chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly, “I’m not leaving him!”

The Americans tried to reason with him and get him to quiet down but Charlie just sobbed on, shaking uncontrollably as he tried to shove their hands off him.

“Come on, Seavey. Don’t make this harder on yourself or on us.” the Sergeant said as kindly as he could.

Two of the men wrapped their arms around Charlie’s middle and started to physically lift him off the ground.

“No! Richie! That’s my brother! That’s my brother!” Charlie shrieked as loud as he possibly could, his voice cracking through his sobs as he flailed in their grasp, reaching desperately out to the body at their feet as his voice echoed across the fields surrounding them. “I’m not leaving my brother!”

“Okay, alright, okay, we’ll take him with us.” Sergeant Lewis sighed, waving over a few more men to help them. Charlie quieted down as he watched two of the American Paratroopers lift Richard’s body from the grass, the photograph falling from where it had rested against his chest and Charlie dropped quickly to retrieve it. He limped quickly towards the truck after the other men, now voluntarily.

The Americans shifted around in the bed of the truck, giving Charlie a place to sit by the end of the bench and the body was passed up into his arms. Charlie felt like he was dreaming; some sort of strange out of body experience where nothing he looked at or touched felt real, barely even comprehending the tears on his cheeks that trickled down his neck or the blood that stained his hands and his uniform, only drenching him more as he held Richie close and tucked his photograph back into his pocket.

The other men in the truck stared silently at the young Brit, pitifully, worriedly, but unspeaking as they knew in each of their own ways what Charlie was feeling. Similarly, but not the same.

The truck lurched as they continued down the dirt path towards the newly liberated city of Bayeux, and Charlie breathed as he watched the calm farmland pass by them and clutched his brother’s body in his arms.

Taglist: @randomlimelightxxx @hopinglimelight @jonahlovescoffee @hiya-its-amber @chanelwonders

#✉#daniel seavey #corbyn besson #why dont we #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey fanfic #corbyn besson fanfic

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grimoireweavers · 4 years

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Inside the Mind

{ plotted starter for Seb and Illya ;; @ataash }

♞—-» STEM was...

Fuck, Sebastian didn’t even know how to describe STEM at all. During his time in this impossible world, he’d come across documents, journal entries, and taped recordings that offered some insight on what was going on in this nightmare and why the nightmare even existed in the first place. It helped Sebastian understand that this was some sort of experiment that took its subjects to a different plain of existence, almost like a reality within a reality.

In truth, it sort of reminded him of the movie Inception. A silly thing to compare real life to, but a comparison that he couldn’t really overlook either, because the further he moved through the ever-changing and contorting environments that seemed to make no logical sense, Sebastian very much felt as if he were moving from one dream to another, further and further down until the possibility arouse that he would never be able to come back.

Letting such thoughts grab hold of him in such a way, though, brought about feelings of hopelessness. What was the point in fighting if he didn’t understand what was going on in the first place and had no real way out of the dark at all? It would be much easier to give himself over to the corruption that seemed to infect anyone who dared to brave the false-reality. He’d even watched as the corruption appeared and took root in his best friend and partner, Joseph Oda.

Yes, his relationship with Joseph had been strained as of late. Ever since Lily’s death and Myra’s disappearance after numerous attempts to convince Sebastian that Lily was alive, Sebastian’s reliance on alcohol as a means to cope grew worse and worse. Sebastian wasn’t oblivious to his problems, as many people who spoke about why Myra ran off and disappeared wrote off Sebastian’s worries and suspicions around her disappearance as her having enough of his shit. They often blamed him for chasing her off, since they both dealt with the grief of Lily’s death in their own ways and Sebastian “couldn’t be there for Myra because he was too worried about drowning his own sorrows in a liquor glass.”

The opposite, in fact, was true. Myra kept spouting off insane conspiracy theories over Lily’s death, even going as far as to claim she was still alive. She never provided Sebastian with proof and instead of sounding able-minded, she sounded crazy. Sebastian believed in the only thing they could do. Accept Lily’s death. Grieve. Deal with their loss together. Move forward. They had to accept reality before they could ever even begin to heal and as much as it pained him to say such, it’s what Myra needed to hear. Myra never listened and the further she pushed into her crazy ramblings about Lily still being alive, it drove a wedge between them. How could it not? She wouldn’t listen to him. She was picking at the wound and letting it fester and he could do nothing to stop her.

Myra ran off without him, likely to follow these leads about their daughter that she never actually shared with him, and no one would listen to him. Because it was his fault, his drinking, and his attempts to cope with the most horrific thing that could happen to a parent. Everyone thought so. He suspected that even Joseph thought so, despite how many times he reassured Sebastian that he was on his side.

Joseph worried for his friend, Sebastian knew that.

But Joseph went too far when he actually got their chief involved in Sebastian’s developing drinking problem. Seb never pretended not to have the issue, but it never interfered with work. He didn’t show up to the precinct drunk. He didn’t go on cases and investigations intoxicated. His addiction never stopped him from being efficient and effective, it was only a way to fill the silence of his loneliness when no one else was around to ground him. And Joseph had to go and run his mouth, thinking it would help the detective get better.

How, exactly? That was Sebastian’s question.

The turmoil in their relationship made watching Joseph slowly turn into a monster, reverting first to multiple suicide attempts to keep himself from losing his humanity, to actually turning on him no less horrific, though. Joseph was the one friend Sebastian still had in the world, the one person that would always have his back, and Joseph was just... gone. Boils and protruding veins spread across his flesh and the burning, red hot rage that pulsated in his eyes as he finally turned on Sebastian were not Joseph. Fuck, Seb wasn’t even sure there was anything left of Joseph in there.

And he could feel that same evil bubbling through for him as well... It was inside of him, trying desperately to claw its way out and take control. The longer people stayed inside STEM, the more they became part of STEM, and once they were part of the machine, they would have a roll to fill. Every cog had to spin, and every piece had a part to play. Once you lost yourself, you were nothing more than a cog, nothing more than a tool to keep this plain of reality as real and as authentic as possible.

So, what, again, was the point? Sebastian didn’t know how to navigate this place. The world was always changing. The second he thought he knew where he was going, he would plummet through the ground or be hurled at full force through the sky and land somewhere unrecognizable and foreign. He barely had enough time to navigate that new section before he was tossed somewhere else. A never-ending cycle that always brought about new and dangerous terrains as well as mindless creatures that only registered him as a threat.

The Haunted, as some of the notes he’d found, were the most common. That’s what he assumed happened to Joseph. They seemed to be the most normal form of corruption STEM had over a person who’d been trapped here too long. They were almost zombie-like in the way they moved and rushed people with ravenous hunger, though they didn’t actually appear to have any interest in devouring their victims and their condition didn’t spread by bite ( thank whatever God there might be, honestly ). There were other beings, though, larger, more volatile and hostile. The Keeper, with a safe for a head and the ability to kill itself and respawn from another safe elsewhere, always carrying that awful-smelling sac full of who knew what and a massive meat mallet that could crush the head of a human with one swing. The Sadist, a Haunted that was larger, stronger, and always seemed to be wielding a chainsaw as it’s weapon of choice. The Shiyo, a water monster that Sebastian never really got a good look at because it was always submerged in murky masses, unable to be seen by the naked eye. Laura, Ruvik’s mutated woman with six long, spidery limbs that moved just like a spider would. She was quick and her hands ended in curved talons that could carve flesh from bone.

Ruvik himself, a rather average looking specter who suffered severe burns all over his body. He seemed to linger in the background, pulling the strings, rather than confronting Sebastian himself. He always had an eye on the detective, but he rarely engaged firsthand.

And those were just to name a few of the many opponents Sebastian had to avoid or put down with his small arsenal of collected and modified weaponry. Thank fuck he actually knew how to use most basic firearms. Had a person less skilled than him in survival come into this world, they wouldn’t have lasted long. Which was probably why there were so many Haunted running amuck seemingly everywhere.

He finally found himself in a decrepit city. It looked like Krimson City, the place Sebastian had been born and raised and still lived to this day, but it was difficult to tell with the way the entire city seemed to float over nothing, the ground cracking apart so that anything unfortunate enough to fall into the fissures would cascade into nothingness. Buildings crumbled and sat at odd, unnatural angles, some even leaning so heavily on the building beside them, it was a wonder they didn’t send one another tumbling over like dominos.

Supplies were his top concern. After Joseph’s turning, he’d been completely alone to fend for himself, save for a boy named Leslie that wandered in and out of the picture. Leslie was... not all there. He was almost always accompanied by his doctor, who seemed to act as a carer for him in this world, though why either of them was here, he couldn’t quite discern. He’d run into them both together and separately a few times, and Sebastian had taken Leslie under his wing to protect him twice now, only to have the boy wander off again. Every time Sebastian attempted to follow him, the world would shift, and he would be dumped out into a completely new place. Alone.

Despite his worry, he knew he needed to keep moving, restock, and keep himself alive. He wouldn’t be any good to anyone if he was dead or worse, if he allowed himself to become Haunted. Why he still had the drive to fight and push through when it all seemed to hopeless, he didn’t know. Even if he did make it out of here, what did he have to go back to?

Every time those thoughts crept up, he stubbornly pushed them down and forced himself to take another step. That’s all he could do. Take another step. Step again. And again. Do the next thing, and then the next. It was the only way to navigate and survive a place like STEM, a place that didn’t make sense.

Part of him, a very little part all the way in the back of his mind, had already accepted that he must have snapped, that he’d finally lost it, and that none of this was real. Maybe a really elaborate fever dream? Maybe he was in a coma? Or maybe he’d died and gone to Hell. Sebastian always tried to be the best man that he could be, but he’d sinned enough and hurt enough in his life that if he’d woken up dead in Hell, he wouldn’t even be surprised.

‘Sorry, Mom,’ he kept finding himself thinking.

Finally, he managed to take shelter in a mostly intact office building. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay there long. The Living always had a way of attracting the creatures of STEM, no matter how well they hid, but he’d at least be able to stop, rest for a breather, and hopefully find some supplies that would prove to be useful.

Making his way inside, he rummaged through a few mailboxes and desks in the entryway, finding a couple of spare bullets, a questionable looking syringe filled with a liquid that was so bright, he wondered if it’d glow under blacklight, and a journal entry ripped from its spine. The handwriting was smudged and it was difficult to make out, but it said something about Ruvik working with the doctor that was always with Leslie. Strange...

There was also a missing persons poster hanging on the front bulletin board. He found a lot of those during his time here. Were they the people who had lost themselves in STEM, he wondered?

He made his way up a few more floors, checking drawers, closets, and cabinets as he went for anything that might be useful, though the building showed signs of already being searched. Drawers left open and doors hanging on their hinges suggested that someone had already looted this place. Not exactly surprising, seeing how many people had apparently been here, but Sebastian wondered if this building was not quite as safe as he first expected. Was the person still here? Was it even a person?

Footsteps from above him caught his attention and he quickly lowered himself down into a crouch, slowly moving along the wall for cover as he made his way to the stairwell at the end of the hall. If someone or something else was here, he needed to know, and he needed to put it down before it found him if it turned out to be a threat. He found himself hopeful that might have been Joseph or, for Fuck sake, even Kidman might have been a blessing at this point. Even if the Junior Detective working under him and Joseph had proven to be rather sketchy, she was at least still alive and herself as far as he knew.

Sneaking his way up the stairs, he emerged on the floor above him, and he slowly pulled the revolver hanging in his shoulder holster from its protective pocket. Cocking it, Sebastian moved towards the source of the sound, only to find a rather normal-looking man in one of the cubicle office rooms. Well, normal wasn’t the right word. Tall—far taller than Sebastian—and well built, he definitely wasn’t your average, run of the mill human. If Sebastian’s mind had been allowed to wander, he even would have gone as far as to say handsome. But he looked human, a human not infected with the curses of this terrible place. No signs of turning and no signs of hostility. Yet.

Was he even real? That was an important question in these parts. And if he was, who the Hell was he, and what was he doing here?

Sebastian debated whether or not to engage, pressing his back firmly against the hallway wall next to the doorframe as he peaked inside the room, watching the man flip through documents atop desks and rummage through drawers. So, he was likely the reason that there wasn’t much to actually take in this building, then? Maybe that was a confirmation that he was, in fact, real?

#( sebastian ; muse ) when did i lose sight of what's real #( sebastian ; in character )#( sebastian ; verse ) inside STEM #( thread ) inside the mind #( character ) illya kuryakin #ataash #closed starter #{ OMG I DID A THING!!!!#I have so many more things to do BUT I DID A THING!!!! }

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rhetoricalrogue · 7 years

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Inktober for Writers - 26. Realization

Warning for violence and murder. Prompt list here.

This is probably one of the starting points to the whole fake marriage thing that @alittlestarling and I have been talking about doing for some time now. This is also 2 AM writing without editing, so I apologize in advance.

“We need to talk. Follow me.” Years of ingrained habit had Vincent blindly nodding and following the Templar into the cover of night. Ser Abernathy had been stationed at Ostwick for as long as Vincent could remember, and while he had never been outright cruel to his charges, he’d been stricter than most in finding any minor infraction and punishing severely for it.

“What can I help you with?” Vincent asked, habit again having him clasp his hands behind his back and rounding his shoulders to present the image of a cooperative, peaceful mage.

He knew exactly what Ser Abernathy wanted to speak with him about. The Templar hadn’t been quiet about publicly accusing Roz of blood magic. Vincent figured that he was going to confront him privately to see just what the newly named Inquisitor would do about it before taking matters in his own hands.

“Rosalind. She’s a maleficar.”

Vincent closed his eyes and decided to play stupid for a little while more, just to see what proof Ser Abernathy had. “Roz? Are you certain?”

“I’ve seen her perform firsthand. I would have struck her down in Ostwick, but she moved out of my range. I’ve been tracking her ever since; I have strong reason to believe that she’s one of the catalysts of the Circle rebellion.” Ser Abernathy stared at him. “She needs to face justice, be it by your hand or mine.”

“I understand.” He sighed heavily. “And I believe you.” Vincent looked out to the small rocky clearing that Ser Abernathy had led him to. It was remote, away from the main road, and no one traveled the currently unstable path this late at night. No traffic meant that Ser Abernathy would have no witnesses, should Vincent stray from the expected Good Mage script.

Ser Abernathy seemed to be surprised by Vincent’s words, almost as if he had expected a fight. Vincent thought it was strange, seeing that the Templar had neglected to wear any sort of armor. Perhaps the fact that Vincent had a nearly thirty-year history of not rocking the boat had put him at ease when it came to his own safety, or maybe he figured that all he had to do was smite Vincent and easily overpower him if things came to it. Either way, Vincent was on his guard. “I thought that you would deny it.”

“I should be honest with you. I’ve had my own suspicions for some time now, mostly scratches and cuts on her arms that could be easily explained away, but to hear that someone else has firsthand experience...as much as I want to, I can’t deny it. Is there anyone else that was there that can back up your accusations?”

“No. The Templars who were at Ostwick all died, save for me.”

Vincent nodded. “Then I guess the big question now would be, what do we do about her?”

Ser Abernathy was quick to answer. “Death or Tranquility. They’re the only options that will suffice.”

Vincent felt his stomach knot and his heart jumped up to his throat at the thought of Roz suffering either fate. He pinched the bridge of his nose and knew what he had to do. “I can’t see Roz turn Tranquil.”

“Then you choose death for her.”

Vincent took another shuddering breath. “Yes. I choose death.”

Ser Abernathy came up to him and clasped his hand over Vincent’s shoulder. “I know that this was a difficult decision for you. You’ve been friends with her ever since…” Ser Abernathy didn’t finish, his breath seeming to hiss out of his mouth, his eyes wide as he stared at Vincent before looking down to the dagger stuck in his belly, belatedly realizing that Vincent had been armed.

Vincent’s expression was blank as he pulled Ser Abernathy closer. “I never said I chose death for Roz.” He twisted his wrist and shoved the dagger deeper, moving aside as the dying Templar weakly clawed at him before collapsing, his eyes glazing over as he finally died.

Vincent stared at the body, alternating between relief that Roz was safe and wanting to throw up for killing someone. He stared at his bloody hands, realizing they were shaking.

“You’re going to have to hide the body.” Vincent spun around to see Rolfe slip out from the shadows.

“How long were you there?” He’d never even heard anyone follow.

“I’ve been following the two of you ever since you left Skyhold. I got a bad feeling from this guy and thought that he’d try something once he had you alone without any eyes.” He crouched down and inspected Vincent’s handiwork, his fingers pressing against the dead man’s throat to check to see if he really was dead. “I figured you could use someone to back you up if things went south.”

“I never saw you.”

Rolfe rolled his eyes. “I’d be a shitty bodyguard if you would have seen me coming.” He sat back on his heels. “You okay?”

“He was going to hurt Roz. He said that she was a blood mage, he…”

“I know, I heard. Slow, deep breaths. This looks like it was your first kill; the first ones are always the worst.”

Vincent frowned at his brother. “I’ve killed people before.”

“Yeah, and they’ve always been nameless faces, people who’ve attacked you first or that have done something to justify their deaths in some way. Those are different kinds of deaths, ones you can go to sleep afterwards and not have them haunt you. This was personal; you not only knew him from the Circle, but he was threatening someone you care about.”

“He was going to hurt Roz,” Vincent repeated. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

“And I don’t blame you. If I were in your shoes, I would have done the same thing.” He tipped his head. “Maybe not exactly like this, it’s going to take some messing around to make it look like an accident or some bandit attack, but I’ve worked with less before.”

“How can you be so...so...flippant about this?” Vincent clenched his hands into fists, realizing that they were tacky with Ser Abernathy’s blood.

“Because you didn’t answer my question if you were okay. I needed to get some sort of reaction out of you.”

“I’m fine,” Vincent said woodenly.

“Don’t stare at his face. Committing what they look like in death to memory only fucks with you later on.”

“Have a lot of experience, don’t you?”

Rolfe shrugged. “My place with the Order of the Sacred Flame wasn’t just keeping Chantry higher-ups alive from would-be assassins. I have my share of assassinations under my belt, all in the name of Chantry politics.” Rolfe pulled out the dagger from the body and wiped the blade on the dirt. “How attached are you to this blade?”

“Not very.”

“Good, because I’m going to take a visit to the blacksmith and melt this down in the forge, get rid of the evidence. You should head back to Skyhold. I’ll hide the body for now, then get with Leliana and explain what happened. Together we’ll dispose of it more permanently, make sure it keeps quiet.”

“I didn’t think that we’d have to involve Leliana in this.”

“It would be hard not to. Besides, it’s better to get her involved at the start instead of waiting and chancing something gets complicated. Ser Abernathy’s accusations were already made out in public; people don’t believe them of course, but there’s still a few rumors we’re going to have to do some damage control on.” Rolfe pulled out a canteen of water from his belt. Vincent numbly wondered why Rolfe would have it, but then he noticed that Rolfe was wearing an unfamiliar cloak that he more than likely brought with him for the express purpose of rolling up a body in. He’d come prepared. “Hold your hands out, Vincent. You’ve got blood on them.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re my little brother, Vincent. I’ve never had a brother to care for that would actually want me to look out for them before.” Rolfe unscrewed the cap and poured water onto Vincent’s hands. With his free hand, Rolfe began to rub at the already drying bloodstains. “And because this sort of thing is for someone who has more than their share of blood on their hands. It isn’t for you. Your path doesn’t need to be as dark as mine.”

Rolfe’s expression was unreadable in the dark, but Vincent caught his tone of voice. “Thank you,” he said quietly, drying his hands on his pants. “This is going to be complicated, isn’t it?”

Rolfe shook his head. “I think you underestimate your spymaster and your diplomat. They’ve been working on angles to spin the rumors even before the first one reared its head. You and Roz are in good hands.”

“Roz is all that matters, Rolfe. I’ll do anything to keep her safe.”

“I know. And right now you need to go to her. If I read her right, she’s planning on running. She hasn’t had a chance to bolt yet, but she’ll probably try to go under the cover of night, try to take herself out of the equation.”

“What?”

Rolfe raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t the only one who would do anything to keep the ones you care about safe, Vincent. She probably figures that if she’s not around, then the Inquisition won’t be known for harboring blood mages and your reputation will be intact.”

“So you believe it?”

“Not at first, and that’s a point in her favor. She’s so unassuming that it makes accusations like this suspect. And with no one alive to corroborate this one’s story, I’d say it won’t be difficult to put rumors down.” Rolfe unclipped his cloak and spread it out close by the body. “When did you know?”

“After Redcliffe, after seeing what happened to her in the dark future.”

“Have you spoken to her about it?”

“Not directly. She knows that I know, but we haven’t really spoken much about it.”

“It might be something you want to discuss.” Rolfe rolled the body onto the cloak and efficiently wrapped it up. He grunted as he hefted the body onto his shoulder and stood. Ser Abernathy had been a solidly built man, even in his older years. “Now, I need you to walk back to Skyhold as if nothing had happened. I was watching and no one was around to see the two of you leave together, so his disappearance isn’t going to be something linked to you. If it is questioned, I’m sure that we can say he was ashamed for accusing Roz with something so dire without any proof and left, never to be seen again.”

Vincent looked down at himself. He was wearing dark clothes, but he could feel wetness against his stomach from the blood that he’d come in contact with. Hopefully no one would notice before he could get rid of the offending article of clothing. “It’s pretty late, I should turn in.”

Rolfe nodded. “You do look pretty tired. It’s understandable; you’ve had a few big days recently and things tend to catch up with you when you least expect them to. I think you should go straight up to your room after your little walk.” Rolfe hitched the body higher on his shoulder and turned to go further down the way. Vincent could barely make out the shape of a few decent sized boulders in the distance that would be excellent for temporarily hiding a body.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Tell Roz hello for me. I like her; it wouldn’t be the same around here if she did decide to leave.”

“I will.” Vincent started down the path he had come from, but stopped after taking a few steps. “Your path doesn’t have to stay dark, Rolfe,” he quietly said. “And you’ll always have a brother who cares about you, no matter if he needs your help or not.”

Rolfe didn’t say anything, he just squared his shoulders and slowly took off in the opposite direction, his gristly burden making him walk slower than he usually did.

Vincent watched him for a while before the darkness hid him from view. Taking a deep breath and willing his hands to stop shaking, he made his way back to Skyhold, hoping that he’d make it in time before Roz did decide to run.

He just hoped that he could make her change her mind and stay.

#tw: blood #tw: murder #vincent trevelyan #rolfe trevelyan #inktober for writers #my writing #I'm so behind on these #but I'm going to try to work on catching up later today

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howboutdemwings · 7 years

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In which I boss @Luchas_L around...

Lassiter - <The walls of the mansion weren't as sound proof as the occupants liked to think they were, if I listened hard enough, I could generally catch a convo or two happening near by. Generally speaking, I avoided eavesdropping on the ones that were more sounds and grunts than words. The doggen were some of my more entertaining group to listen to. The things they spoke about when they thought nobody was around to hear was comedy. Fritz actually was a bit of a mess when he cooked but only because he liked spending his time in the kitchen more than anywhere else. Then there were the rambles of Piper. I never knew what she was going on about but that was endless entertainment too. The Chosen also gave me a chuckle or two from time to time. Their wonder and amazement at things on this side of the earth was so very innocent and pure. To the point of concern but I always left that worry to Phury and the brothers. Until today. A telephone conversation between one of the females here and another up at the Chosen camp had me deep in the bowels of the mansion. Past V's forging area and into a tiny locked Harry Potter under the stairs cupboard. The lock had been no problem in picking but the low ceiling height and tight quarters had me cursing any time I smacked my head against the floor supports or when my wings brushed up against something or another causing it to crash to the floor. Sneaky like a ninja, I was not. But thankfully it didn't take me long to find the item I sought. The branding iron Wrath had used on the male was long since cold but the memory attached to the item was fully intact and because it had served to completely alter the life of someone, I could use it to trace him which was exactly what I needed to do. Rumours floating through the mansion of a male stumbling past the mhis and onto the grounds of the Chosen's compound was not ideal and would send every male in the joint crazy. And since the only vampire I could think of to be related to a brother was the one who had been marked as a traitor, my hunch made the most sense and would be the exact same conclusion Wrath or Phury would make. Chances were good that Q's brother probably became a bit of a wandering soul and given the mark that marred his hand, he was likely having a difficult time finding a female to feed from. He needed a warning before one of the brothers hunted his ass down to give him something worse. Tucking the brand into the back of my jeans and using my wings to conceal the bulk of it beneath my shirt, I tidied up the mess of fallen boxes then closed the heavy wooden door before slipping the lock back in place before I made my way back to my room so I could do a little tracking to make sure my suspicions were correct. > Luchas: *The hike back to my humble shack was full of aching muscles and a headache that resembled what I always imagined a hangover to be like. That symphath had done a number on me. Even though I know he… she… hadn’t laid a finger on me, the mental torture had done the trick just fine, scrambling the neurons up in my brain and lighting them on fire. It was like sparklers going off under my skull. As the small cabin appeared before me, dawn’s warm warning on the back of my neck, I half expected to find the Scribe Virgin herself waiting for me on the other side of the door. No doubt she would take action after a traitor such as myself touched another of her purest creations, then went trudging into the Symphath Colony. But I was greeted with nothing but an empty cabin, the faint smell of fire lingering in the air. My shoulders sagged. In relief or disappointment? I couldn’t quite come to terms with whether I was happy I was alive or regretted that the King let me live. Death would bring an end to this burden of guilt I carried. Death was easy. Which I knew is why the King did what he did. He knew I’d suffer much worse trying to survive in a world I’d betrayed than getting my head ripped off. He didn’t want me to have easy. He wanted to punish me. I locked up for the day, checking the boarded up windows once before starting a small fire and stretching out on the couch. Despite all that had just happened, I still slipped into a deep sleep. Maybe it was like the humans after a large Thanksgiving Day meal. A full, warm, sated belly made them sleepy.* Lassiter: <After closing and locking the door to my room, I crossed over to the large French doors in a few long strides and stepped out onto the terrace that overlooked the grounds. The sun shone bright and felt warm on my skin, filling me with energy despite the temperature of the frigid air. The mansion was mostly asleep which was the reason I had chosen to go snooping around in the basement in the first place. I reached behind me to pull the branding iron out from the back of my jeans and inspected the image, picturing the mirrored version that was imprinted upon the male vampire’s hand. What an awful way to be labeled and in the same instant ostracized from an entire species. My hair fell around my face as I shook my head in disbelief. This was not the way the Creator wished for one of his children to be treated. Even if said child had disobeyed a few of the commandments along the way. Forgiveness was his thing. Always. If remorse was genuine, the bossman would forgive anything. I felt a pull to male begin to form and stitch itself to my insides, similar in the way that I had felt with Tohr, and every other one of my previous charges. It was one I knew I would not be able to deny. My eyes rose to the heavens and I blew out a breath.> Point taken, boss. <Both hands closed around the head of the iron and without trying or needing to force the memory out, it slammed into me. Screams and the sound of searing flesh filled my ears as if I were in the room as it had happened. Wrath’s deep and menacing voice echoed as he kicked the male out on his ass and stripped him of everything that was important to a vampire. I sighed and pulled myself out of the assault of images. The guilt that must weight on his shoulders would be undoubtedly overwhelmingly heavy. I wouldn't need to trace or search out his location. I could already feel the distance between us and the direction in which he was at this moment. Any time I’d been assigned a soul to save, an invisible bond was formed that allowed me to know where they were at all times and gave me the ability to see them within my mind’s eye. Right now, he was in some run down cabin, asleep. Of course. It was daylight hours so I’d have some time to execute my plan. First, I’d make a quick pit stop for my usual soul saving fare. Big Macs and fries. Perhaps a double round given the size of him and how his limbs spilled over the edges of the couch he was currently crashed upon. Then I’d flash myself inside, set the food on the table and wait for him to wake. Hopefully the peace offering would be enough for him to listen to reason and if not…well, it wouldn't be the first time I went toe to toe with a male vampire.> Luchas: *I don’t think I’d dreamed in a long time. Seemed like the less I fed, the less it happened. Maybe my brain was trying to conserve energy, grabbing onto all the rest it could get and not bothering with letting my subconscious come out to play. But today my mind took a fantastical trip. I wandered these hills and valleys, met other vampires, found a home for myself. They didn’t judge me by what I’d done, they didn’t care what my past was, we just all needed a safe place to live. I knew there had to be others out there like me. Vampires lived a millenia, pure bloodlines maybe even longer. Those kinds of miles had to had a few bumps in the road. I know I couldn’t be the first vampire to fuck up royally, and then get the royal exile from the King himself. I was pretty sure I was the only vampire that had gone full Lesser. But there had to be other criminals, other serial killers, other deviants that either met their demise or were cast off like I was with their tail between their legs. In my dream we were sitting down for Last Meal, the night giving way to early dawn as windows were locked up and deadbolts turned. Faces gathered at the table, smiles and tales of one another’s nights on the tips of our tongues. Something smelled delicious, like a warm memory from a life long ago. I searched for the source of the smell but couldn’t find it. I reached across the table, lifting plates, checking dishes, but to no avail. It was sweet, salty, and my mouth was watering for it. Then the sound of a brown paper bag caught my ear, swinging my head around to seek out the source of the most incredible smell. My eyes fluttered open, still half in my dream, the steamy aroma of burgers and fries fresh in my brain. I hummed low, hand rubbing over my stomach. That was one of the best dreams I’d had in a really long time. Usually my days were filled with bad memories and dreams that left me shaking, covered in sweat. But this was different. It was so lifelike, I could still smell the delicious meal. Movement to my side caught my eyes suddenly, my hand going still on my shirt. Someone was there, just a few feet away.* Lassiter: <My arrival to the tiny cabin in the woods was without fanfare or an announcement. One moment I had been standing in the parking lot of Mickey Ds, hands filled with bags of salty, calorie laden, artery clogging goodness and the next, I found myself standing on creaky floorboards next the blond vamp who was sawing logs and had a tiny bit of drool running out of the corner of his mouth. I peered down at him for a few moments, waiting to see if he was one of those light sleepers who roused at the sound of a feather dropping on the floor. I checked behind me to make sure all of mine were still in place then set down one of the bags on the little coffee table close to him then moved around and dragged the chair that had seen better days over to the other end of the table and parked my ass in it. As I fished out my fries and Big Mac, I could feel the wood beneath me moan and groan under my weight but it remained intact, thankfully. To keep my hands busy and away from dipping into his mind to see what he was dreaming about, I shoved a handful of fries into my mouth and chewed as I looked around. The cabin needed some love and elbow grease and a fresh coat of...something...paint maybe. I wasn’t sure it belonged to the boy, and I was pretty sure it didn’t belong to his family either. But I couldn’t blame him for squatting after he had been tossed out on his ass by Wrath. Twisting in my chair after taking a mouth full of two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, onions, pickles and a sesame seed bun, my eyes caught sight of the small wannabe kitchen and barren pantry, he was probably rationing what ever was in there and wasn’t too far from running out. No doubt, he’d be grateful for my thoughtfulness when he woke. Bite by bite, I made my way through my meal then sat back on the chair and propped my vans up on the table, waiting for him to wake. Before I could get impatient and start making a ruckus, he stirred and began to run that scarred and branded hand over his chest and stomach. A wide smile stretched my lips and just as his eyes landed on me, I smirked.> Sleeping beauty finally wakes and I didn’t even have to kiss you. <My head nodded toward the bag of food that awaited him.> You hungry, boy? <Shifting up from the chair but moving slowly, not wanting to startle him more than I already had, I moved my softly glowing hand over the bag to warm the food back up for him then sat back down.> Eat. And before you ask, no, you’re not seeing things. And yes, I really have wings. Luchas: *My eyes cleared as some sort of celestial fast-food worker appeared in front of me. What the Scribe……..were those wings? And that hair…. His face was like one of those greek statues, and his skin glowed like he drank glow-sticks for breakfast. My arms started back stroking, swimming me in reverse up the couch until I was as far away as possible from the stranger that sat in my cabin. How had he gotten in here? And I don’t mean the obvious, through the makeshift front door. I meant how did he get in here without opening it up, making noise, waking me, or burning me to ash by letting the sunshine in? I glanced down at my phone as it lay on the coffee table. It was barely one in the afternoon. But what sat next to the little rectangle with the blinking lights made all the air in my lungs whoosh out. McDonald’s. A big, steaming bag of greasy fast food. My stomach roared to life, crying over the cans of baked beans and other assorted salty vegetables and soups I’d managed to force down over the past few weeks. I slid back over on the couch and opened the bag. Fucking Fade… I was two bites into the oversized burger when my brain finally caught up. As his words replayed in my head, the questions started. Who was this guy? What’s with the radiation? How did he find me? Oh shit…* Is this your cabin? Scribe, I’m so sorry. I just needed a place to crash and came upon it. I didn’t think anyone lived here. I ah… I’m sorry about the furniture. And the doors… Lassiter: <My laugh was loud and obnoxious, the kind of laugh I saved only for the brothers when I wanted them to know they had read a situation all wrong. The kid thought I owned this POS cabin? What an assumption to make. I couldn't fault him seeing as I parked my ass on the chair like I owned it. I did that with everything though. It was just my style. When I had sucked in a couple lungfuls of oxygen, I shook my head and let my amusement filter into my voice as I spoke.> Not mine. Do you honestly think someone like me… <my wings ruffled a little to draw his attention purposely> ...would own a place like this? It looks like you're barely surviving, buddy. And I prefer more than the bare essentials if I have my way. <I gave him have a few moments to let his paranoia fade away before I spoke again, this time all humour was gone and seriousness filled the space between us.> I'm Lassiter. My halo is back at the Manse, where I heard some little chatterbugs talking about a vamp who stumbled his tall ass onto the Chosen compound. You wouldn't have any idea what I'm talking about would you? <I popped a pierced brow at the male, letting him know there would be zero room for lying or beating around the bush.> Luchas: *That one eyebrow arched so high I swear it brushed the heavens. And his wings seemed to fill the room even though he was neatly perched on the lounge chair next to me. I recognized the feeling that came over me. I had felt it before, back at the mansion. When one oversized, badass of a warrior male in leathers and wraparounds had given me the scolding of a lifetime. Branded me a traitor, cast me out, and sentenced me to a life of solitude. Power. In massive quantities. That's what this angel, Lassiter was oozing out into the cabin. I’d been good about staying off the Brotherhood’s radar, not even contacting mine own brother, Qhuinn. I kept away from vampires altogether, managing to only run into a few from my past. A victim or two, even. But I never harmed them, never showed any aggression. In fact, it frightened me to see them, the way they looked at me. A flash of the Chosen I’d fed from flashed across my mind as Lassiter questioned me like a father who caught his son sneaking in past curfew. Was she just another victim on my tab? Is that how every vampire I encountered would be labeled going forward for the rest of my life? I swallowed an unchewed bite of greasy goodness, forcing it down as I set the burger back on the wrapper. Funny how the lump in my throat remained, even as the food slid past.* The Brotherhood knows I was at the Chosen compound? I mean… Scribe, of course they do. I didn’t realize where I was until I was already through the mhis. And then there this female was, coming towards me. I hadn’t fed in so long… she offered, I didn’t force her. I’d never do that, you know. *I stared at the rest of the food, my appetite suddenly gone.* Are you here to punish me? Lassiter: <It was interesting to watch the metamorphosis of emotions fade in and out on the kid’s face. I didn't need to delve into his mind to know what he was thinking, the remorse... the guilt were all as clear as my hair was awesome. His question surprised me though and I slowly shook my head before nodding toward his food, not wanting it to be wasted. It was a Big Mac after all and that was against my code.> I'm not here to dole out any sort of punishment. Seems to me you've already endured a lifetime of that. <I couldn't help the disappointment that crept into my voice for Wrath’s choice as my eyes landed on his branded hand and my brows knit together, wondering if he knew I could remove it for him. I filed that under conversations for another time and focused on the more important matters.> None of the brothers or Wrath for that matter know you were at the compound. Not yet. I heard one of the Chosen talking on the phone about it. They simply believe you to be a brother or trainee or something like that. <easing back on the chair and folding my arms behind my head in an effort to make the kid less jumpy, I held his eyes and spoke in earnest.> I came here to help you. And warn you that a mistake like that could get you dead if you're not careful in the future. I believe it was an honest mistake and I will take care of things at the mansion for you because second chances and forgiveness seem to be lacking when it comes to you. <My eyes stayed on his until I could tell he was feeling uncomfortable before they moved around the tiny cabin again and I let out a sigh.> What exactly was your plan, Luchas? You know you can't hide here forever. Luchas: *I was so sure, so sure the fates had once again had it out for me. That one slip would define me. I hadn’t been up in the mansion proper much during my time there, but I had heard enough down in the med suite to know that the Brothers and their trainees screwed up all the time. Mine own brother was a terrific example of that. He was as stubborn as the night was long, especially when he was trying to protect the ones he loved or the Brotherhood. But with Blay at his side, he was able to find his place--and forgiveness--among Wrath’s most trusted males. I knew there were times when they fought amongst themselves, even attacked one another. Scribe knew members had even been suspended or removed over the centuries. Or simply needed some separation and time to heal. My fingers absentmindedly rubbed over my scar on the opposite hand. Now that Wrath had made my status known, I had taken a similar path. Where would it lead? I wasn’t sure yet.* I came up here looking for others like me, other outcasts. I’d heard there were groups settled north of Caldwell, I figured maybe if I came up this way I would eventually find them. And maybe they’d let me stick around. If none of us are welcome in Caldwell, then maybe we can find a place up here that’s safe. So far I haven’t found much… *I knew I’d never be welcomed at the Chosen Compound, but my mind drifted to the Symphath Colony. Sure, I had been mentally bitch-slapped by whichever one had found me near their borders. But maybe if I went back and asked again… or simply never stopped asking… they’d let me live there. Could a vampire live off of Symphath blood? I honestly didn’t know. It had to be stronger than human blood, right?* I know I can’t stay here. Even if no one is around, this cabin does belong to someone. I will fix it, the furniture and doors, and then I’ll move on. It was just a place to stay out of the sun while I looked for other vampires. Lassiter: <My head was shaking, sending my multi-coloured hair into my eyes as he spoke of seeking out others in the area. Surely he was smarter than that? Surely God wouldn't have stuck me with a charge who really did have a death wish...not even Tohr had been /that/ stupid when it came down to living and dying. I sighed out a long breath and pushed my hair back with both hands before levelling him with a piercing white gaze that left no room to argue.> Dude, that aimless wandering around to find somewhere to belong has already led to me showing up on your doorstep. If I could find you, you best believe any of the brothers could, all they'd have to do was find that lovely Chosen you fed from and she'd locate you through the blood connection. They wouldn't be so forgiving this time and you know it. They’d boot your ass out the door at high noon and think nothing of it. <My fingers tapped my temple while I spoke> Get smarter, please. The Sympath colony isn't too far from here and I can guaran-fucking-tee they won't be welcoming you with open arms unless it's to mind fuck you into insanity. <My frustrations mounted within me and I stood from my chair to pace around the small living room, as I always did when my mind was running through scenarios. I cursed under my breath knowing the rules I had to follow when trying to save a soul, he had to do the work himself and I couldn't give him the answers on how, he had to want it for himself above all else.> Luchas, you belong in Caldwell. It's not safe anywhere around here. Not after crossing the mhis like you did. <pausing in my pacing, I turned toward him and planted my fists at my sides, hoping perhaps the look might beat home the gravity of the situation he was in.> Get your life back together, find something worth living for. Something that doesn't involve wallowing over that damn mark on your hand. It's just a scar, nothing more, and when you start thinking like that rather than feeling sorry for yourself, you’ll be free of the mistakes you've made. Maybe you’ll even find a way to forgive yourself. I’ll do my best to help you along the way but if you truly want your life to be yours again, it's going to take some hard work. Luchas *I could tell there was a lot the angel wasn’t telling me. But I could guess as good as any that this was how it worked. He couldn’t interfere, he could only guide others. This wasn’t a spirit guide to hold my hand and take me on a magical adventure through the forest to get in touch with my soul. Lassiter was more like a distant but loving father. “I gave you the tools you need, figure it out yourself. And if you fail, pick up the pieces and try again until you succeed.” Maybe that’s how the humans felt about their God. Distant… requiring blind faith. I stared up at the glowy, show, f-a-b-u-l-o-u-s winged creature pacing my cabin. He seemed a bit too big a presence to thought of as distant in any way. As if he’d heard my thoughts and felt the need to personify the very God I was considering, he suddenly vanished from the room. I waited a moment to see if he’d return, but all that was left proving he’d ever been here was the rest of my Big Mac and fries. I took another bite, chewing as his words ran through my head. So the Brotherhood had it out for me if I slipped up again. No real surprise there. I know Wrath wanted me to suffer a lifetime of guilt, and so far I’d done a pretty damn good job of sticking to that punishment. But Lassiter wanted me to rebel against that, start a new life, find some purpose. It’s not that I wanted to just waste away up here in this cabin, I really did want to find other vampires to coexist with. Make a few friends, have an acquaintance to offer my blood too in return for some of theirs. I just wanted a simple life. Wasn’t that enough? Apparently to Lassiter, no, it wasn’t. Could I really be destined for more? I had been so sure my first and second act had already been played. Rather than be an old diva hanging around backstage, hanging on to nostalgia like one last aria, I’d left the theater completely. I had been cruel to mine brother Qhuinn in the first set. Paid dearly at the hands of the Lessening Society before joining the Omega himself. What else was there for a male like me? I was of no use to the race anymore. /You belong in Caldwell./ How could that be true if the King banished me? /Find something worth living for./ I looked down at my branded hand. It was like Lassiter wanted me to sign up for the volunteer firefighter department. Maybe scoop some meals at the local soup kitchen. ...Help the humans? I had gotten along well with the males at CHEMLAB. It was easy enough to blend in as long as I was out at night. Feeding would still be a problem, but up here wasn’t any better at the moment. So that was it, then. I’d go back to Caldwell and back to living with humans. And that’s when the cabin’s owner walked through the door. #BigWingsAndBigMacs

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spynotebook · 7 years

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Image: Star Wars Rebels, Disney/Lucasfilm

Thrawn is a great Star Wars book that stands on its own. But the little nods and winks Timothy Zahn makes to Thrawn’s old life in the Expanded Universe novels—and to the events in Rebels, where Thrawn is currently the main antagonist—add another layer of delight. You should definitely read Thrawn (and watch Rebels), but if you don’t have time to go read a hundred EU books and watch three seasons of a cartoon, we’ve collected the major additions to the new Star Wars canon, as well as the threads planted in Thrawn for later stories.

[Note: There are some spoilers here, but we’ve avoided most of the novel’s main plotline. But seriously, just go buy the book already.]

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Thrawn is effectively a prequel to season three of Star Wars Rebels. So events like Rebels making his flagship the Chimaera again don’t make this list, but Lothal, Governor Pryce, Wulf Yularen, and other aspects of Rebels all play important roles in the book. I’ll hit some of that stuff here, but if you like Rebels, again, you really should just pick this book up.

Still, if you haven’t watched Rebels, Thrawn is easily read without knowing anything from the show. It’s a prequel that is truly its own story, and not just an excuse to throw out references to later material for fans.

Thrawn in his Chiss Expansionary Defense Force uniform (Outbound Flight cover by Dave Seeley, Del Rey)

Thrawn and the Chiss

The Chiss

Pretty much everything that was true about the Thrawn’s race, the Chiss, is true again, including the fact that the blue-skinned, red-eyed aliens are a fairly strong power in the Unknown Regions. Now, just as when we first met them in the EU, the Chiss Ascendancy rules a portion of the Unknown Regions and have a strong military with the inviolate rule that no preemptive strikes be taken. Their language, used fairly commonly in the Unknown Regions and their borders, is once again named as Sy Bisti. Chiss eyesight is also better than human eyesight, even getting close to seeing the infrared spectrum.

All of that has moved from old Expanded Universe to the new Star Wars canon pretty much intact. Slightly new is the idea that the Chiss have reached the level of urban legend/myth among the people who live near their area of the galaxy. One of the main characters of Thrawn is Eli Vanto, a young Imperial officer who was born in Wild Space, which borders the Unknown Regions. As a result, he speaks Sy Bisti and knows of the prowess of the Chiss from the local myths. However, just as before, the Chiss know far more about their neighbors than they do about the Chiss.

Additionally, the reason given for Thrawn leaving the Chiss is the same as his EU counterpart—he was exiled because he broke the “no preemptive strikes” rule. The opening chapter of Thrawn is almost identical to Zahn’s 1995 short story “Mist Encounter.” That means that Major Wyan, Colonel Mosh Barris, Captain Voss Parck, and the ship Strikefast are all brought back in their original roles of introducing Thrawn to the Empire and the Emperor. (There are some subtle changes that make sense within the new canon, like using Clone Wars-era ships types, for example.)

Thrawn’s Motivation

In what is actually a very smart subversion of what EU fans were expecting—we all know Thrawn was exiled and why he was exiled—Thrawn alters its eponymous lead’s motivations slightly. As before, Thrawn wants security and safety and sees the Empire as a better way to fight dangers than the Republic was. He basically thinks the Republic was useless in a fight and, while the politics and corruption of the Empire frustrates him, their military might and control is useful to him.

But now Thrawn’s exile was a ruse. Thrawn was sent by the Chiss to gather information about the government next door. When the Emperor refused to have Thrawn as a counselor, he took a job in the Imperial Navy in order to further his goal. The position helps him keep the Empire strong, but also always allows him to do what he thinks is best for the Chiss.

As he did in the old EU, Thrawn recruits humans to his cause and sends them back out to Chiss space. In this case, Eli Vanto is eventually sent by Thrawn to the Chiss. It’s both a way of exchanging information and Thrawn’s way of making sure everyone is strong enough to fight whatever dangers lurk out in the Unknown Regions. Vanto is met by Chiss admiral Ar’alani, who was Thrawn’s superior and ally in the EU. We still don’t know anything specific about the threat, merely that there is evil somewhere out there and it is bad enough that Thrawn will do anything to stop it.

It’s worth remembering that the Aftermath novels have said that Palpatine is obsessed with finding out what’s lurking in the Unknown Regions and was putting a significant amount of Imperial power was sent out there. We also know that Thrawn shares his knowledge of the region with the Emperor—everything except the information about the Chiss. What everyone finds out there had fucking better not be the Yuuzhan Vong (as it was in the EU) or I will lose it. Most fans are assuming it’s where the Imperial remnant—who fled to the Unknown Regions after the Rebel Alliance kicks their asses and became the First Order—picked up Snoke.

Thrawn Connections

Demanding its own book, novella, short story, whatever is the news that Thrawn met General Anakin Skywalker during the Clone Wars. They worked together in some sort of engagement in the Thrugii System (a locale from the EU that is now presumably closer to Chiss space in the new canon than it was in the old) and Thrawn was able to deduce even then that Anakin was under thrall to Palpatine. Whether or not Thrawn knows that Vader is Anakin is left unclear, but it’s Thrawn, so I assume he totally knows.

Thrawn’s time training in the Imperial military puts him under Commandant Deenlark from the new canon novel Lost Stars. And he gets some troublemakers sent to Skystrike Academy, which is where Wedge and Hobbie defect from in Rebels.

Rebels established that Thrawn attained the rank of Grand Admiral after the Battle of Batton, where he led forces against a group of rebels. The rebels died, but so did a lot of civilians. Thrawn makes Batton the last move in a long chess match between Thrawn and a criminal-mastermind-turned-Rebel named the Nightswan. It struck many as odd that Thrawn’s career-making battle would have so many unnecessary casualties, so Thrawn makes clear that he tried to avoid them; it was a selfish action by future Governor Arihnda Pryce—often seen in Rebels—that caused the many, many deaths. Thrawn knows it, and Pryce knows he knows it, but Thrawn doesn’t have any proof. But he’s not happy about it.

Thrawn’s ally from early on is Colonel Wulf Yularen, whose Imperial Security Bureau position helps the unconnected alien out. Thrawn is fairly awful at politics—well, specifically the full-contact sport and nepotism party that is Coruscanti politics. He always wins, but he makes connected people look bad, and his promotions usually follow court martial proceedings.

Thrawn with Pryce and Kallus in Rebels

The Empire

Since the old EU got junked, Palpatine’s non-human attendants and other smaller things gave the impression that the new canon Empire might hate non-humans a little bit less. Thrawn throws that out the airlock. Instead, everyone give a big warm welcome to the old EU’s love of characterizing the Empire as anti-alien, classist, and very, very corrupt.

Thrawn reveals that even if Palpatine himself doesn’t care about aliens (Palpatine cares about himself and his power only), the rest of the Empire has a very clear bias. Thrawn’s rise to power is faced at every turn by people not happy to see a non-human advance. Thrawn gives what I would call a justification for the racism rather than a reason: the Clone Wars were bloody and awful and the Separatists (the faction that lost) were mostly non-humans. So everyone’s content to generally blame all non-humans for the war and the resulting devastation. That’s obviously illogical and is clearly a justification for bias, but it’s unfortunately plausible.

Thrawn pairs this with a bias in the Empire’s government for the connected and those from Core Worlds (like Coruscant) rather than people from more “primitive” Outer Rim (Tatooine) or Wild Space (where Eli Vanto is from). Turns out the Empire—gasp!—is very corrupt. Who you know is most important and most people are lining their pockets. Pryce’s rise to Governor of Lothal is detailed heavily in this book and she faces obstructions for the same lack of connections, and suffers from bias for being from an outlying world. Also mentioned as a little shout-out for Rebels watchers is a reference to Governor Azadi retiring “against his will” and an explanation of how Minister Tua got picked to act in Pryce’s stead (and why). Admiral Konstantine also gets a brief appearance prior to Pryce asking for Thrawn’s forces to replace his in Rebels.

We also are reminded that the Empire uses slave labor, Wookiee slaves especially. A ship full of Wookiee slaves is intercepted en route to where else, the Death Star. Thrawn, rightfully, thinks the Death Star is a hideous waste of time and resources. Unfortunately, it is not his Empire. It belongs to the melted man with the lust for power.

Zahn brought back some things you wanted. But not even close to everything that fans really wanted (Del Rey).

Minor Shout-Outs

Ch’hala Trees

This is a very minor bit, but early on in the book Emperor Palpatine takes Thrawn into a garden where “small trees with shimmering bark stand at the periphery like sentinels of privacy.” Longtime fans will remember that trees with color-changing bark were a favorite of Palpatine’s in the old EU. The Ch’hala trees were both pretty and also a giant spy network, recording and transmitting everything that happened in front of them. Zahn used them in his original books as an important source of information, and if this wasn’t a reference to them, I’ll eat my hat (Thrawn describing them as “sentinels of privacy” is what sealed it for me).

Sturm Dowels

In the very first pages of the book, there is an improvised explosive made with blaster packs with the “sturm dowels” pulled out. “Sturm” is a favorite name in Star Wars, popping up a fair amount. The first instance is Zahn naming one of Talon Karrde’s pet vornskrs “Sturm” in his first Star Wars novel, Heir to the Empire.

But an overloaded sturm dowel was used by Zahn in Specter of the Past and the short story “Mist Encounter.” (As mentioned above, the first chapter of Thrawn is basically just “Mist Encounter,” slightly retooled.) It involves Thrawn, alone on the world he has been exiled to, utterly destroying an Imperial landing party. His tactics are impressive enough to gain him entry into the Imperial Navy, but we’ll get back to that chapter in a bit.

Doonium

In the old EU, doonium was a metal used to make starships. In the new canon, it’s a metal that is worth a lot of money, and acquiring it and the mines that produce it drive the plot. It will shock no one to find out that large amounts of this metal are being bought by the Empire and sent to the location of a large, unnamed secret project. (*cough* the Death Star *cough*).

H’Sishi

I hate to burst anyone’s bubble, but Mara Jade, Talon Karrde, and even Gilad Pallaeon are missing from Thrawn. However, Thrawn does bring back H’Sishi and her people, the Togorians. (Think... large cats walking on their back legs with a culture based on honor and warriors. Yes, another one.)

Through a series of events in Specter of the Past, H’Sishi ended up working for Karrde. In Thrawn, she shows up as the owner of Yinchom Dojo, where Pryce trains—and which, unfortunately for H’Sishi, is used by others in an anti-Imperial plot. H’Sishi’s not involved with it, but she’s told to leave Coruscant quickly after it’s discovered.

Raider-Class Corvette

Welcome back to the canon! Please join your fellows over on this list.

Beckon Calls

Basically, a beckon call is a remote control for a spaceship and Zahn used the technology to good effect in Heir to the Empire in 1991. He brought the idea back for Thrawn, where the title character uses one, along with some Clone Wars-era droids, to really just fuck some shit up in the usual, over-planned, steps-ahead, badass way Thrawn traditionally does.

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