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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Ultimatum”

Welcome back, everyone! We had an unexpected break last week due to the horror going on in Texas. I'm glad we did. Not because of any salty "RWBY is bad right now yay free Saturday" feelings, but because keeping to a schedule for a fictional webseries should never take precedence over peoples' safety. I can't believe I need to type that sentence out, but it's true! Over the last seven days I've seen fans who are not merely disappointed by the mini hiatus (understandable) but outright hostile towards the crew because they... were ensuring everyone survived during an unprecedented emergency? Yeah. Given the highly critical nature of these recaps — including today's! — I want to be clear that my thoughts towards Rooster Teeth's creative choices are distinct from any thoughts about the crew itself, including the most basic forms of compassion like, “I sure hope everyone is okay over there.” In an age where it has become horrifically common to harass creators and even send them death threats over stories, it has likewise become necessary to remind people: Don't do that shit. Never do that shit. If I can teach anyone anything at all, let it be that!

Anyway, dark fandom reminders out of the way, let's dive straight into our delayed episode. It was certainly a doozy. Titled "Ultimatum," we open on a trigger warning for flashing lights. Good on Rooster Teeth for including that, though I do wonder if creators shouldn't be including time stamps as well? Or perhaps a note that you can find those time stamps in the credits, avoiding any (minor) spoilers for everyone else? I'm not photosensitive myself, so I certainly don't mean to speak for that group, but my first thought was, "So how would I watch this episode if I was? Hand on the pause button, hoping I stop fast enough as soon as the lights start?" Hard to do given the surprise nature of the scene. Really, my answer would be, "Wait for the fandom to post warnings of their own, likely including where it happens so I know when to skip" which is perhaps an indication that this information that should be included from the get-go.

But I am glad the warning exists, regardless. The episode itself begins with a shot of Ironwood looking down at the kingdom. He's used his windows as a vantage point since Volume 7, so that's nothing new, but something about this particular shot reminded me of Ozpin, looking down from his tower. I'm sure the response from many would be simply, "Ah yes, the two power hungry dictators watching over their victims," but I think there's a much more nuanced reading here about leaders being expected to fix the literally unfixable and what that responsibility does to an individual. Of course, it's a nuance that is absolutely obliterated by the episode’s end, but the implication existed for a hot second!

Two other soldiers are in the room with Ironwood, reporting that Cinder has helped Watts escape. They try to soften this with news that they still have Jacques in custody, but receive only a, "I don't give a damn about Jacques Schnee." Which, fair. He's pretty useless at this point. It's when Ironwood learns that both Qrow and Robin escaped too that he really gets mad, something his subordinates have been expecting given their scared expressions.

Now, I'm treading lightly here because I realize how this is going to sound given the end of our episode, but I still want to note that outside of that ending... this is a weird take? Just hear me out. Since Volume 7 the show has worked very hard to make Ironwood seem scary and unstable — bad setup for what we end with today — but the problem is that none of it works in context and it certainly doesn't work when compared to other characters' actions. They are literally in the midst of an unwinnable battle and thousands of his people are dying. If the audience wants a human being — who also just lost a limb and was betrayed by half his allies — o remain perfectly poised and polite during that, sorry, but that's not how human beings work. But even beyond this, what’s the message here? Ironwood raises his voice, so does Yang. Ironwood hits his desk, Qrow hits a child. If we're going to examine how Ironwood handles his stress and anger, he often handles it better than many of our heroes. Namely, by continually taking that anger out on inanimate objects. I kept waiting for him to attack his subordinates or attack Winter this episode, especially given where we end up, but it never came. Ironwood always has enough control to break the desk or punch the wall, not the person in front of him. Which, of course, would not be a good thing in the real world. I want to be clear given these sensitive subjects that if someone is breaking things in your presence that's a major problem to address. But this isn't the real world. This is a fantasy world in the middle of a war, populated by other characters who express their anger by punching people, slamming them into walls, or screaming at them until they run away. The story wants us to fear Ironwood long before he makes his objectively horrific choices and it tries to achieve that by showing us characters who are clearly terrified in his presence, by giving us a string of broken objects in his wake. But those details don't land well when we compare them to other instances of stress. In the same volume I have watched Ironwood take a deep breath to calm himself down when things have gone horribly wrong. I've also watched Weiss start a conversation by threatening her defenseless brother. So again, what’s the message here? It can’t be that acting violently towards someone = villainous behavior because, as established since Volume 6, that’s common for the heroes. Why are these subordinates terrified about Ironwood slamming his fist on a table, but Whitley has no problem hugging the woman who threatened him? Obviously there is a HUGE difference between our main group and Ironwood when it comes to other actions (cough-bomb threats-cough), but these day-to-day moments don't match up. The show wants to use violence as a way for us to easily identify the Bad Guy while ignoring all the times when our heroes do the same thing.

All of which isn't meant to be a defense of Ironwood. As we'll see in a bit, there is no defense for what he's done. Rather, it's a way of acknowledging just how badly he's been written. Why does a man who consistently reins in his anger and takes it out on objects suddenly shoot a councilman for literally no reason? Why does a man defined by wanting to save as many people as he can suddenly threaten to bomb his city? Ironwood's characterization is all over the place, in the sense that they keep writing him as the morally gray, sometimes harsh, but ultimately compassionate man he started out as... up until they need a villain. Salem isn't here yet, so Ironwood can shoot Oscar. Salem isn't attacking yet, so Ironwood can shoot the councilman. Salem is currently reforming, so Ironwood can threaten YJR and Mantle. He's the B-plot villain whenever Salem is out of commission, which is a problem for both their characterizations. This filler doesn't make sense for Ironwood and it severely undermines the threat of Salem. You finally introduce the Magical Big Bad and our heroes are facing more of a threat from a guy with a broken army and three loyal allies left? Hmmm.

The tl;dr is that Ironwood's arc is a disaster and, frankly, it's gotten old reading simplified takes of, "It's just a realistic look at what white U.S. men will do in power sweetie :) " RWBY does not have the context capable of conveying that sort of critical take because our world is not besieged by literal monsters and an immortal witch, to say nothing of how real life good guys do not get deus ex machina canes that fix the problem instantaneously. Ironwood is not an example of anti-U.S. imperialism, he's an example of writers who don't know how to write.

Anyway, I'm getting severely off topic. Obviously Ironwood is a major part of this episode, but the problems demonstrated here are two years in the making. This is the culmination of things I've been discussing for months across hundreds of posts... so I should probably stop trying to summarize it all in a few paragraphs lol. Perhaps when RWBY is over — or Ironwood has died — I'll do a single meta on his character, try to pull everything into one, unified argument.

For now though, we have an episode to analyze.

While Ironwood is receiving this news we get flashbacks to Qrow and Robyn. Qrow attacks a soldier in his bird form, which is hilarious. Someone GIF that please. It does raise some interesting questions about this magic though: does Qrow retain his aura and strength in this form (something I thought given his choice to transform during the explosion), or was that soldier just so shocked at being attacked by a crow that he went down easy? We'll never know, because that would require establishing concrete rules for this world. The point is Qrow is going feral in his freedom, throwing punches left and right — did he kill that guard? — while Robyn watches it all from under a rock. They're apparently still somewhere in the facility since all the exits are guarded, but that's not the good thing Ironwood seems to think it is. After all, Qrow is out to murder him. He wants to be there.

We all see where this is going, right? The show is going to ignore Qrow's crazy belief that Ironwood got Clover killed in favor of a "Qrow saved Mantle by murdering Ironwood"/“Qrow got revenge for Mantle by murdering Ironwood” ending. Who cares why Qrow wanted to kill him in the first place now that Ironwood has his finger on the trigger? If RWBY is good at anything, it's writing moments that encourage you to ignore everything that came before it. We'll be seeing more of that in just a bit.

"Damn it!" Ironwood yells, because the show is leaning into its cursing. He orders that the subordinates not return until "you have Qrow Branwen in custody." Here we have another great example of the show conflating what the audience knows with what other characters know. See, we know Qrow has a vendetta against Ironwood. We know their relationship is the important one to the story and that Robyn is incidental. Ironwood doesn't know that. There's no reason for him, as a character, to specify that they only bring Qrow back, but it makes sense for the audience who has the whole, thematic picture. Our understanding of the situation is influencing Ironwood's dialogue, which is... not great.

This entire scene we've had creepy music to hammer home just how evil Ironwood is. Except, as said, he takes a breath to calm down and the music fades. Instead of flying into a rage, hurting someone, or doing anything the music suggests he might, Ironwood calmly calls in for an update — which is when the explosion hits.

It's MASSIVE, seeming to originate from a lightning strike, which is weird, since it's coming from inside the whale, but whatever. The animation is very dramatic and pretty, as we've come to expect of RWBY, but the actual plot is lackluster at best. It's funny though because I thought for a hot second, when Winter and the Ace Ops were caught in the blast, that RWBY had actually done something exciting. I mean, holy shit! There are the deaths we expect from a battle like this. My god, what is everyone going to do when they realize that Oscar's needless attack took out five characters, including Weiss' sister —

No wait, never mind. They're fine.

Let's talk about that "needless" descriptor for a moment though. Do you all remember, two weeks ago, when I went, "Hey, why isn't anyone telling Oscar that that Ace Ops are approaching with a bomb? They're on a time limit! If someone would just mention that Very Important Information then Oscar wouldn't keep standing around to fight Salem." See, at the time I was frustrated because of how the plot was needlessly allowing Oscar to put himself in danger (especially when the whole point of this mission was to rescue him). Now, I'm frustrated because that same plot needlessly wasted the most powerful weapon the group had. There was no reason for Oscar to use literal lifetimes worth of stored energy when the heroes already had a bomb to do the same job! What was the point of that? I guess he took out the other grimm too, but without the whale that still would have been a challenge with a finite end, one Ironwood's army and the remaining huntsmen should have been able to handle. It doesn't feel justified to have Oscar use a weapon kept on the bench for lifetimes when there was another option literally minutes away.

There's so much wrong with this I need another list. So:

Ozpin's cane supposedly stores kinetic energy, which may contradict what we've seen from it before. Regardless, we’ve never heard about this. The all powerful weapon comes out of nowhere

It also begs the question of why Ozpin wouldn't use that power at Beacon and why he wouldn't insist that they try to get their cane back while captured. You had an out this whole time! But we’re going to ignore that because Oscar is a little hesitant?

Which makes YJR's presence even more useless than it originally was, which was already pretty useless. Oscar essentially rescued himself

This kinetic energy miraculously doesn't hurt any people or buildings, just grimm

So what is the point of Silver Eyes? That's been their MO since they were first introduced. Sure, Silver Eyes can be used far more often than Ozpin's cane, but it still feels like a let down to learn that the Big Secret behind this weapon is... the exact same thing Ruby has been doing for years

Like Ruby, Oscar likewise didn't need any practice or training. He just set off this massive attack perfectly and without issue

We have now eliminated the biggest threat to the cast instantaneously — the whale and the other grimm — with no effort from the rest of the heroes. Like the Hound, the stakes are obliterated with no satisfying work on the part of our protagonists

Instead, as said, the actual plan already in place never happened. The bomb just... goes back. Kind of like how Cinder attacked and then just went back to Salem. Penny woke up and then just got knocked out again. We continue to go in circles

This is because no one took two seconds to tell Oscar, "There's a bomb on the way"

Because this threat is gone the show needs a new one, hence Ironwood randomly threatening Mantle with said bomb

The one way we might have justified Oscar blowing up the whale instead of Winter is if he did it to save Hazel, but Hazel is implied to be dead

Maybe he's alive, but if he's not that happened off screen and we're not sure how. It couldn't have been because of the blast itself — everyone else is fine — so what, Salem somehow killed him before she was blasted to bits? While he was holding her?

And there's no body?

Salem was torn apart multiple times during that fight and reformed instantaneously, yet now, conveniently, she's taking her time

None of the characters mention the issues above. None of them admit that there was no reason for Oscar to waste LIFETIMES worth of power when they already had a solution in the works. Fantastic

I need to take a moment to acknowledge that so far this recap feels... bad. Disjointed. Bit all over the place. Which makes a certain amount of sense because that's where my thoughts are at. There's so much going on in this episode — so much wrong with it — that I don't know how to boil it all down into a few, neat claims. This episode is a mess! We're barely a few minutes in and the combined issues of Ironwood's characterization and Oscar's choice have left me reeling. So if you're still reading this, bless your patience, I think we'll both need it for the rest of this journey.

Let's snag a neater plot-point to discuss. Amidst all the chaos Neo literally skips away with the Lamp, clearly thrilled at how her own life is going. Later in the episode she'll text Cinder with the obvious: Salem is going to be pretty pissed when she realizes this is gone. “If you want her name you know what you owe me."

So wait... what is Neo leveraging here? Is she agreeing to give the Lamp back so Cinder doesn't get in trouble with Salem? Give Salem the password she's been looking for? Or give Cinder the password to use the Lamp for herself? What would Cinder even want the Lamp for when she's after the Maiden powers? I'm confused about what Cinder is being blackmailed with. Regardless, she needs the lamp for something and presumably what she "owes" Neo is Ruby. We get a cut to her just to hammer that home.

(Side note: both pictures of Neo are hilarious.)

Before that though, back at the whale, everyone is taking stock of the situation when Marrow cries, "Hey, they were still in there!" I feel like this is another scene meant to make him look like the one good guy in the group — he cares about YJOR while the others can’t be bothered — but as always, that reading doesn't fit well with the situation as a whole. The others have barely had time to realize they're alive. I don't think it's a moral failing that they didn't instinctually worry about four betrayers, one of whom attacked them, while they're still checking that they have all their limbs intact. Besides, why does Marrow assume they're dead? The Ace Ops were caught in the blast as well, yet miraculously came out unharmed. They clearly didn't set their own bomb off, so it's logical to assume that YJOR did something themselves. It feels weird to have a "Marrow mourns them and Winter is the only other character who cares" moment when everyone is recovering from bomb shock and no one even knows if the others are dead. But, of course, the show is out to portray only two of these characters as good people, so ignore the logic and run with the emotion of the scene.

All of which is bolstered by Elm pulling away when Vine puts a hand on her shoulder. Why is she acting cold towards him now? Because they're not friends, remember?

While we get more ridiculous relationship dynamics, Ironwood calls in and congratulates them on the bomb working, but tells them to get back because they have another problem in the works. That would be Qrow and Robyn. Winter decides to tell him about the bomb in person.

We cut to Watts and Cinder watching the remnants of the blast from a rooftop. Cinder has tried calling, but no one answered. Unsurprising, given that Salem doesn't have any other allies left. Cinder says that the plan hasn't changed, she's still going to take the Winter Maiden's power for herself, and Watts can help her by bringing Penny here. He explains that he doesn't have full control over her. Rather, he implemented a virus that is setting her on a single path: open the vault, then self-destruct. Cinder, as one might expect, is furious.

She snags Watts by her grimm arm and threatens to toss him over the side of the building. Thus begins the best part of the episode, hands down. Despite the danger he's in, Watts throws common sense out the window in favor of dragging Cinder in the most satisfying manner possible.

“You think you’re entitled to everything just because you suffered, but suffering isn’t enough. You can’t just be strong, you have to be smart. You can’t just be deserving, you have to be worthy! But all you have ever been is a bloody migraine!”

It's true! You know what else is true? This speech could apply to our heroes as well. Accusations of entitlement and reminders to be smart as opposed to just strong hit hard, considering those are the same flaws our protagonists are struggling with. The difference is that Cinder, miraculously, listens, pulling Watts back to safety and going to cry by herself. That moment is simultaneously more growth than Ruby has gotten and more sympathy than Ironwood has gotten. The woman who murdered Pyrrha is treated more kindly by the narrative than one of our initial heroes and our very first villain has taken more time to reconsider her choices than our title character. You know a show is falling apart when excellent choices are applied to the worst possible character.

So Cinder is crying while Watts looks guilty and we cut back to YJOR's group post-blast. Yang is finally able to answer a call from Blake who is obviously overjoyed to see her. Weiss gives them directions to the mansion and they ask what in the world they'll do with Emerald, currently on her knees, mourning Hazel.

Thus begins the third most frustrating part of this episode. See, on the way back the group continues the conversation about what to do with Emerald, with Yang and Jaune distrusting her vs. Ren and Oscar encouraging cooperation. I can't believe I'm saying this after's Ren's speech and Oscar's entire existence... but I'm team Jaune and Yang here. Look, what Oscar and Ren say — the literal words coming out of their mouth — is nonsense. Ren goes, “We can’t let all of our actions stem from fear," as if Yang and Jaune are being ridiculous for mistrusting Emerald, one of the established villains, after years worth of harm from her. It’s weird that Yang points to her arm as something Emerald is responsible for, rather than being framed or the deaths at Beacon, but the general sentiment of, “She’s done horrible things!” is true. Ren’s perspective is the same simplification that was applied to Ironwood last volume, wherein everyone acted as if he was crazy for fearing an attack on his kingdom... post an attack on another kingdom and pre an attack on his kingdom. Putting generic lines in Ren's mouth about not being afraid makes him sound willfully ignorant, as if choosing to believe that someone is good will magically make them so, to say nothing of thinking it will erase all the harm they've already done.

Oscar at least acknowledges the difficulty here, but then follows this up with, “You don’t have to forgive her… just give her a second chance."

Oscar, honey, that amounts to the same thing in this situation. Allowing Emerald a second chance means working with her, which means trust, which means emotionally reaching a point where these characters can put aside the harm she's done them in an effort to give her that chance in the first place. This actually ties into a post I saw last night, one I've come across before, that claims redemption arcs don't require any suffering on the part of the person who has done wrong. I agree in theory, that prolonged suffering doesn't help anyone, but the problem is that people tend to conflate suffering with consequences and someone who has done this level of harm should face consequences for their actions. The problem with redemption arcs is not that the bad people suffer too much — emotionally and physically beating on them as a form of revenge — but that the people they've harmed are put into situations like this one. If Yang and Jaune let Emerald go like she suggests, they are agreeing that she doesn't have to face any consequences for the damage she's done (which, keep in mind, involves multiple deaths, not including all the lost lives here in Atlas). If they agree to give her a second chance, they are forced to jump straight to some level of forgiveness. We might claim they don't have to forgive Emerald to work with her, but from a practical perspective how are they meant to function, especially during a warzone? Anything she provides them with — information, watching their back in a fight, undertaking missions, etc. — requires trusting her enough to allow those things to happen: working with that info, letting her protect them, allowing her that responsibility. It's all about trust, trust she has yet to earn. In order for a redemption arc to be successful, the power has to be in the hands of the victims. They need to be able to see some justice for what was done to them, be offered some proof that the person in question has truly changed, and have the ability to walk away if they decide no, I don't forgive you, glad to hear you've improved, but please stay out of my life. Jaune and Yang have none of that. There are currently no systems in place for Emerald to face consequences for her choices, she has offered them no proof of her remorse or true motivations, and the other half of the group is pressuring them to give her that second chance without closure or reassurance. None of that makes for a good redemption arc and reducing that to, "So you want to see poor Emerald suffer, huh?" ignores the suffering she has already caused. The group are her victims and they are under no obligation to give her a second chance, particularly under these circumstances, which makes the story's choice to have Ren and Oscar act like Yang and Jaune are being stubborn or inconsiderate a problem. The conversation boils down to, "Give the woman you know to be a liar, manipulator, murder accomplice, and servant of our enemy a second chance based entirely on unfounded faith. If you don't you're letting yourself be ruled by fear."

RWBY's touchy-feely themes really don't sit well within its realistic, morally gray premise. We cannot continually have these characters go through hell one moment and then have others accuse them of being paranoid the next. The fact that all of this is wrapped up in the group trusting Robyn, Emerald, and Hazel over their established allies remains beyond frustrating.

Because yeah, you know how Oscar finishes his speech? “I’ve already gotten a lot of help today from someone I don’t exactly trust right now." Meaning Ozpin.

The story is trying to compare Emerald and Hazel to Ozpin.

"Oh hey, I kept a secret from you after lifetimes of watching that secret lead to betrayal and death. I keep apologizing for my mistakes while ignoring that I had no reason to trust a bunch of kids with such world-shattering information and also that you tore it from me in the most traumatic way possible."

"Oh hey, I willingly joined our world's version of the devil and helped her destroy your school, leading to numerous deaths including your friend and headmaster. It was his death that put Oscar in this position in the first place! I then continued to attack your group, leading to another near death of a friend, and a kidnapping, and the destruction of Amity, until I became scared enough to make a run for it."

Which one of these characters is granted an instant second chance? You'll never guess who!

And I do think the word "instant" is important here because just like Jaune and Yang have the right to have distance and justice from Emerald, they had that right with Ozpin too. The difference is they got it. They had the power in the situation, as evidenced by their use of the Lamp and physically attacking him. Ozpin heard what they needed from him — leave us alone — and did that without complaint. They were given months to come to terms with the secrets he kept. They were offered apologies and acts of service to demonstrate intent: saving them in the airship and continually saving Oscar. I don't believe Ozpin ever needed a redemption arc, but even if we think he did, he had it. After three volumes of material Oscar's perspective is still "I don't exactly trust [him] right now" but Hazel and Emerald have earned at least the same amount of trust in a matter of hours? They're really having my boy look at the guy who has tried desperately to do right by him despite unimaginable circumstances, and the guy who tortured him to get information for Salem, and went, "That first guy. He's the one we need to watch out for."

To make things even worse, Oscar tells the others that Ozpin took on all the torture so he wouldn't have to. So he did that and they still don't trust him? If you had told me back in Volume 6 that two years later the group would still be hostile towards Ozpin, while simultaneously urging one another to trust Emerald, I would have said you were lying. RWBY has its problems, but it's not that bad. Yet here we are. I suppose the one silver lining here is that Ren smiles when he realizes Ozpin is back? So at least one of them isn't prepared to draw their weapon at the mere mention of his name.

Both these moments raise more questions though. How in the world did Ozpin take on that torture when we clearly saw Oscar getting pummeled for a good portion of the kidnapping? Is that a weird merge thing the story hasn't bothered to explain? I wouldn't be surprised, considering Oscar said last episode he didn't want to use magic because it hastened the merge, he uses the biggest explosion of magic we've ever seen, and nothing has changed. Ozpin is still in the back of his head, thanking him for the tinniest shreds of decency they get. Ren, meanwhile, seems to be back to mindreading. How in the world does he know that Ozpin is back? I assume it has something to do with his semblance, but we don't know what. They could have shown us Oscar from Ren's perspective, perhaps with two distinct emotions swilling around to imply that he sees two different people now, not a useless shot of Emerald with purple flower petals, whatever purple means.

Oh, but no, we shouldn't have gotten either of these scenes. Remember that Ren's aura broke a very, very short time ago? Is it back already? Can he use this part of his semblance without it? Considering it was near impossible to see Ironwood's aura breaking in the Watts fight and we were then mistakenly told he used his semblance in the office, I'm going to go with, "The writers forgot."

Oscar explains that the cane had "lifetime after lifetime" of power in it and though there's still some left, "we have to be careful with how we use the rest." He says that Ozpin trusted his judgement and of course he did! Ozpin also didn’t know that there was a bomb on the way. Yet funnily enough, no one else mentions that, whoops, your choice made in ignorance was a waste and that's due entirely to us prioritizing hugs over basic mission information.

Also, all these explanations take place in front of Emerald. Half the group doesn't trust her, but they'll freely discuss their powers and limitations here. Remember how the group once wanted to talk about magical relics in front of the old lady they'd just met? Yeah, they've learned nothing.

Combine all this insanity with the fact that Ozpin's magic saved the day before Ironwood's bomb could do the same... while Ruby sat in a mansion drinking tea. Who's our hero again?

So things are a hot mess, to put it lightly. Their conversation finally ends when they hear voices and round the corner to find all the Atlas citizens huddled in the subway. For once the show actually writes them in a sympathetic manner, emphasizing how terrified and helpless they are. This image doesn't lead the group to any revelations though, certainly not anything that would tie back to Ren's earlier speech in the snow. No, once again the justified criticisms here are ignored as we hear that “However this fight ends, we could really use someone like you, [Emerald.]” That's it then. Discussion over. We knew as soon as it started that blindly trusting her was being presented as the "right" thing to do and now here we are, deciding that conclusively, despite Jaune and Yang's complaints. By the time the group reaches the mansion, Oscar is defending Emerald from Ruby. We're supposed to just accept that she's a part of the group now, only minimal pushback allowed.

Before that though we return to Ironwood getting news that their bomb never went off. He briefly wonders who else could have done that, but puts the currently unanswerable question aside for what he does know. They still have the bomb and it could be "useful." See, this moment — like shooting Oscar and the councilman — is when Ironwood just randomly goes off the deep end. One minute he's talking about what they've lost and cradling his new arm,

the next he's saying that he should have tortured Qrow to get Penny to obey him! Which doesn't even make sense since I'm pretty sure Penny hasn't ever spoken to Qrow. She wouldn't want anyone to suffer, true, but it's not like Ironwood had a close friend like Ruby to use as leverage. Qrow is just Some Guy to her. Regardless, he thinks Yang, Jaune, and Ren are decent replacements, despite Penny also having no relationships with them. This is what happens when your characters only start breaking up their teams eight years into the story, the response to Ironwood wanting to torture Ren to hurt Penny is, “Does Penny know Ren exists?” But, you know, torture is torture, right? Maybe. Probably not. I mean, if they're going to turn Ironwood into a cartoon villain, they could at least keep him smart.

Because all of this is just the height of stupidity. Ironwood wants to torture people Penny barely knows to make her listen (so just grab some civilians? It would do the same job...). Ironwood wants to shoot down empty ships, even though no one, including us, knows where in the world those ships would have gone. Ironwood wants to destroy an entire city to try and save another city. He wants to use a bomb meant for a comparatively small whale and acts like that alone will take out the majority of a kingdom. None of it makes sense! And I know the easy comeback for that is, "Well yeah, Ironwood is crazy and evil" but he's not. I mean he is. Threatening torture and bombings is obviously evil, but he's never been insane, or stupid. As said before, his arc (or lack thereof) is an absolute disaster. The fandom assumes so many things about Ironwood given the opportunity — the whale is a suicide mission. He expects the Ace Ops to die on his order — and the writing hints at so many things that never happen — he's going to hurt his subordinates, attack Winter for disobeying him — and every time what we actually get is a far more compassionate, level-headed character... until he randomly does a 180 and goes, "Let's murder a whole city now!" I never wanted Ironwood to be the bad guy, but they could have at least given me a persuasive decent into this level of horror.

So... yeah. Ironwood has got to die by the end of the volume, yeah? Between Ruby warning the whole world about him and him going into full villain mode, there's no coming back from this.

Neo sends her text to Cinder and the group makes it back to the mansion. Remember Yang's criticisms of Ruby's leadership? The ones she conveniently forgot about when Ren started to agree with her? Yeah, those are entirely gone as the sisters hug it out and, presumably, forgive one another for... daring to admit that things are bad? Look, I'm not going to deny that Ironwood's scene with Winter was creepy as fuck,

but I'm not of the opinion that the heroes are any better when it comes to the theme of obedience. They've attacked one another, screamed at one another, and any dissent from Ruby's leadership results in the questioner being left behind in the snow. We'll accept you again when you fall back in line. I used to adore the relationships in this show, but watching them now is just discomforting. The show might be 100% more obvious with Ironwood, using creepy music, a smile, and that hand on Winter's shoulder, but the concept of, "Sorry I dared to question you before! We won't ever do it again :)" isn't healthy either. The fact that the show keeps erasing theses problems with hugs — Weiss hugs Whitley now, Yang hugs Ruby, someone will probably hug Emerald soon — doesn't make the circumstances any less uncomfortable.

None of this even gets into the Blake and Yang hug. First of all, why is Blake acting like they had a fight and Yang might not want to see her? She's hiding inside rather than rushing to greet them, ears down in a devastated expression until Yang touches her. Combine this with Yang's "Do you think she's mad at me?" and it feels like the writers cut a fight in the final script and then didn't bother to remove the fallout from that. Seriously, where did any of this come from? You can't just have characters act like they've been fighting when they haven’t.

Also, can't forget this.

At this point there's nothing more I can say in regards to RWBY's almost-queer baiting. Is touching foreheads more intimate than the hugs Yang gave the others? Absolutely. Is that an appropriate stand-in for overt representation? Absolutely not. This would have been a perfect time for them to kiss. Take out Blake's nonsensical fear and replace it with them both reuniting after their first separation since Volume 5, working under the knowledge that either one could have been killed, finally admitting their feelings. Hell, they don't actually have to kiss. Not all girlfriends are interested in kissing! But they could use the terminology that makes things unequivocally canon. Another forehead touch when we got that in Volume 6? It's not enough, especially not when our straight couples have all been allowed their rep.

Ren at least wants to know where Nora is. He's presumably told what happened off screen as Oscar tells Ruby that Emerald is their friend now.

Then an emergency call from May interrupts the reunion and the group learns that Ironwood is bombing the Schnee ships. “Those ships… they were going to save people” Weiss whispers. How? Tell me how they were going to save anyone. Where were you going to take these people where they would be safer than where they are now? RWBY continually asserts things without explaining them, meaning there is precisely zero emotional weight here. Again, Ironwood is far past the point of defense, but I'd be a whole lot more critical of this particular action if I had a better sense of why it's bad. He appears to be endangering the people given May's shout to run — falling debris? — but the further implication is that Ironwood has doomed the people of Mantle by denying them these ships. It's that part that makes no sense based on what we've been told.

Which finally comes to the ultimatum of our episode title: Penny opens the vault, or Ironwood bombs Mantle. Great! So glad this plan is wicked smart and works well for his characterization. It's definitely not a nonsensical, unfounded, overblown change that feels like it belongs in a child's cartoon, complete with dramatic spotlight. Nope. Excellent writing choices all around.

Our final line of the episode is, “I hope you live up to the title I gave you," referring to Penny's job as the Protector of Mantle, and you know what? That line could have been very cool if it was delivered by an Ironwood with a persuasive fall and a halfway decent plan in place. I love that we've twisted the concept of a protector and turned the title into a horrifying, rather than honorable responsibility... I just hate everything surrounding those details.

So, usual RWBY fare.

(At least we get to see that Nora is awake!)

Will things get better over the next four episodes? I doubt it. We're still expecting the rest of the Ace Ops + Winter to ditch Ironwood, someone getting the vault open, the fall of Atlas, now the potential destruction of Mantle, and none of that includes Salem who should reform at any moment. Frankly, I'm not looking forward to any of it. The final leg of a season should make its audience excited to see how everything turns out, not dreading it. I've heard from multiple people that this is the volume that finally got them to drop the show and honestly? I'm not surprised.

As a final (happier?) note: we've finally got a bingo! I completely forgot our board last time, which was a terrible oversight, but we can update it now.

Our army of grimm can't kill anyone now that it got KOed by Oscar (that is the third one hit defeat of a major enemy we've seen this volume. Yes, I'm including the Hound considering it was obviously on its last legs after Ruby's eyes.)

I'm likewise including "Ozpin apologizes for everything including his existence" because he's done nothing but apologize since he came back. The emotion is there even if the literal words are not. Oscar reminded everyone of how untrustworthy he is, but kept the group from jumping them again. And Ozpin thanked him for it.

Neo didn't literally backstab Cinder (shame), but the Relic still counts.

So a triple bingo! Is that how bingo works? Idk, I've never played. I feel like I should have thought up some sort of humorous prize, but sadly I've got nothing. If you think of anything, let me know lol

That’s all then, folks. Until next week! 💜

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #rwby ultimatum #rwby recaps #mymetas

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Eight ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3620

Warnings: Mild language, tw ptsd

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Happy early Thursday morning! Hope you have a good day <3

Cosima’s right arm grips around me like a vice. Her left arm rests gingerly on her leg. Baranor did what he could, but I imagine it is still painful to move the arm around and irritate the injury. To jostle her as little as possible, I ride as smoothly as I can. Faervel seems to sense that he needs to put extra care into the force with which his hooves hit the ground. When we hit an unavoidable jolt, I hear Cosima’s sharp intake of breath and instantly regret causing her pain. At one point, the hand curled against my stomach begins to shake, and I want to stop the horse. I want to pause and look her in the eye and swear to do better next time. I’ll watch more, fight harder, move faster, keep her safe. I want to explain to her my revitalized resolve—nothing will get to her now. She doesn’t need to worry, because I’ll do better.

But of course, I can’t do any of that.

And I definitely shouldn’t. It’s strange, feeling this strongly about the well-being of one measly human. But in truth, I’ve become quite fond of Cosima in our short time together. Maybe it’s because I don’t spend much time with humans, but I find her humor refreshing, her kindness captivating, and her wide range of emotions infuriatingly confusing. I can’t stop myself from seeking her out.

And I can’t stop myself from hoping she decides to return home with us.

I sigh. I should send her to ride with Orophin. I’m paying too much attention to her, thinking too much, allowing myself to become distracted. But the idea of sending her away, of distancing her from my care, makes me to tense. I have a feeling I would be just as distracted if she weren’t behind me. Inwardly, I remind myself to focus on my surroundings, putting it into the frame of keeping my companions safe. The closer we get to the Imladris border—and thus their border patrols—the lower the likelihood of us running into more orcs. As it is, we are too far away for Elrond’s patrols for comfort and I urge myself to remain vigilant. I can’t take any chances.

There’s a noise to my right—just pebbles dislodged by the quick feet of a rabbit, but Cosima’s human senses can’t find the source of the moment. She jumps, clinging even tighter to me, and looks around wildly, breath racing. Without thinking, I take one hand from the reins and wrap it around the hand she holds in a fist against my stomach.

Elves don’t usually engage in physical contact outside of family and romantic partners. At most, warriors will clasp each other at the elbow briefly to commemorate a job well done or to celebrate a victory. But she is human, I reason, trying to puzzle out my strange response. Humans touch each other all the time—they hug each other, hold each other, press kisses to the cheeks of those they care for. Part of comforting a human is offering them a physical lifeline, something tangible and solid that they can hold on to.

“It’s alright,” I try to soothe, not holding out hope that I’m any good at it. The wardens I’ve dedicated my life to don’t usually require soothing. “It’s just a rabbit—I saw it running off. It climbed over the rocks and caused a few of the smaller ones to fall down the hill.”

I wish I could turn around and face her. I want to look into her eyes, study her face, and see if my words have had any effect. I want to know that the fear has left her, see the relief of security smooth the tension in her brow.

She takes a couple deep breaths, and I encourage myself to take them with her. It never hurts to settle one’s heart. Then, a pressure against my shoulder blade. She’s resting her head there, I realize with a start. I stiffen automatically, not at all used to the contact. I try to relax. If it’s what she needs, I can try it. Once I get over the initial shock, I don’t dislike this feeling at all—in fact, it’s quite nice to be here for her like this.

“Okay,” she breathes. She sounds exhausted.

I weigh my options. Could we chance stopping early tonight? Would the rest result in quicker progress tomorrow? No, I decide, knowing the original plan is the best. Each of us will feel better once we are securely inside Elrond’s borders. If that means some discomfort now, so be it.

With that in mind, I push Faervel to go even faster, wanting to race towards Imladris with all haste.

{***}

I see the tension in everyone’s shoulders when we stop to make camp. Each of them carries the weight of this morning’s attack, the human’s most visibly. Since the moment Cosima left my horse, she’s been at Alexander’s side. I was right about human comforting tactics—his arm hangs around her shoulders and she lays her head against his chest. The sight is strange, and a little disquieting. Elves are so unused to seeing such blatant displays of physical affection.

For his part, Alexander also looks quite shaken. His hair, usually well-kept, sticks in all directions and his eyes dart from side to side constantly, never finding rest. He clings to Cosima as tightly as she holds on to him. While the rest of us are seasoned in the unpleasantries of battle, this is their first encounter with violence—that they can recall, that is.

I clear my throat, drawing the attention of the camp. “I will stand first watch with Baranor. Everyone else, get some sleep.” I address my brothers directly, then. “I will wake you at the halfway point.”

We waste no time. Baranor draws his sword and takes the East side of camp. I mirror his stance on the West. We found a relatively secure spot for the night — a small valley with a clearing of grass backed up to a rocky slope of mountainside. There is only one entrance to where the others sleep, unless someone were to jump from the rocks above. To prevent this from happening, Baranor and I pick points high enough that we could see any attempts to either enter our camp or ambush one of our watch stations. Before I know it, the sun sinks over the horizon and we are plunged into darkness.

{***}

Baranor wakes the others, and once Rumil comes to take my spot, I trek the short distance to the center of our camp. I lay on the now unoccupied mat next to the mountainside — across the small area, Baranor has already passed into sleep. Just as I stretch out, getting comfortable, my eyes meet Cosima’s.

She stares at the rock across the small cleaning from her, expression distant and glazed.

I call her name quietly, getting her attention without waking Alexander or disturbing Baranor. She should have nodded off hours ago. “Can you not sleep?”

She shakes her head and, even from here, I can see the exhaustion in her eyes. “It’s silly,” she whispers. I raise my eyebrows, hoping she’ll explain. “I know we’re relatively safe. I know there are always two people on lookout and I know you all have plenty of weapons. But I’m still so scared.” Her voice wavers. “I can’t remember a time in my life when I was attacked like that. Every time I close my eyes I see those…things.” She bites out the word, shuddering. “What were they?”

I sigh. I should have known she wouldn’t find peaceful rest in her current state. I prop myself up on an elbow, trying to make myself seem as assured as possible. My wardens tend to feel more confident when I seem confident—maybe it will help her, too. “They were orcs, some of the most evil beings in this realm.”

“And they wanted to kill us?”

“Yes.”

“Why? What did we do?”

“Nothing,” I shrug, at a loss for the reasoning of those foul beasts. “They are bred for evil, they desire it above all else. If they have the chance to kill, they will take it.”

She shivers again and throws a look over her shoulder towards the entrance of the clearing. “That’s terrifying.”

“They will not get that close to you again,” I swear. I really shouldn’t. I can’t say for sure—they’re no way I can be absolutely positive an orc won’t attack her again. But I do know that as long as it is within my power, I will do everything possible to make what I just said the truth.

She raises an eyebrow dubiously and I know that, even in her fearful and tired state, she sees through the logic in my statement. Even though I was just questioning the validity of my words, I find myself with the overwhelming need to prove them to her—and to myself. I stand, pulling my mat with me, and step around her, dropping the mat between where she lays and the entrance to the clearing.

“There,” I nod, laying back on my mat. “Anything that wants to get to you will have to challenge me first.”

Breath hitches in her throat. Her lip quivers, a shine glints in her eyes. I freeze. Oh Valar, where did I go wrong this time? But when she addresses me—albeit in a shaky voice—she sounds pleased. “You don’t have to do that.”

Relieved that she has one, accepted my offer and two, doesn’t seem to resent me for it, I smile. “It’s my job. Now, please close your eyes and try to fall asleep. I will wake you if there is need.”

She wavers for a moment and I put a hint of my Marchwarden sternness behind the gaze I level back. The edges of her lips quirk into a tentative smile and her eyes slide shut. She pulls her—my— cloak tighter around her shoulders and, in a voice so quiet I can barely hear it, whispers, “thank you.”

I settle on my back, keeping my sword and bow within easy reach, as I do every night. And, though I just told Cosima to go to sleep, I stay awake longer than I intend, watching the stars and listening to the sounds of the mountains. She was right—there is much beauty here. There is no civilization for miles, no hints of light to obscure the vastness of the constellations. As an elfling, I used to love staring at the stars. Even in my early days of the guard and battle, I would pass long nights gazing at the sky. When did I stop? When did the love of beauty for beauty’s sake leave me?

I hear the deep, even breaths indicating a human has fallen asleep and know that Cosima has finally given in to her exhaustion. I follow not long after, the soft light of the stars falling away behind my closed eyes.

{***}

The day is marked by easy travel. By my estimate, we will reach Imladris sometime tomorrow evening. It cannot come quickly enough.

Just as the sun is starting to set, we come across a small cave I have used in the past when traveling with various companies. Orophin sees it too and gives a triumphant call from his spot in the line. A cave means we can chance a fire, which means we can have meat tonight—if we can catch it.

About five hundred feet from the cave, I dismount, signaling for Orophin to do the same. I hand the reins to Cosima, give Faervel a quick pat, and raise my voice loudly enough for the others to hear. “We’ll make sure the cave is clear—the rest of you, wait here.”

The nerves, which seemed dormant in Cosima for the majority of the day, creep back into her features. Her hold on the reins tightens. I attempt to reassure her. “We’ll be back in five minutes. Stay with the others.”

I want to stay longer, to stay by her side until she feels safe, but I know it will be better for everyone once we’re settled in the cave. So I draw my sword and join Orophin at the yawning entrance.

The cave is too small to be used long-term, so it is commonly claimed by travelers who only intend to stay the night. The ceiling is plenty high for humans, but as elves, Orophin and I must take care not to stretch too high. In some places, I can feel the smooth rock graze the top of my head, dragging strands of hair out of place. But aside from that mild annoyance, no threats lie inside and I hurry to return to the others and give them the good news.

Rumil, knowing the expression on my face, grins and hops down from Roch, setting the horse to graze while he excitedly enters the cave to drop his packs. I roll my eyes, though not without fondness, at my brother’s exuberance. I quicken my pace, eager to settle the others for the night and go hunting so we can have a proper meal. As soon as I set Cosima’s feet on the ground and put Faervel to graze, I can go in search of rabbits or squirrels.

I am a few feet from Cosima when Alexander steps into my line of sight. He reaches his arms up to his friend. She smiles warmly at him, places her hands on his shoulders, and lets him ease her down from the horse. It’s a bit jerky, honestly, and I worry that her feet hit the ground with too much force. One has to be careful when helping another down from a higher place—if not, the person could suffer injury. Careless.

“Alexander,” I call. He looks put out but nonetheless inclines his head in my direction. “Leave your supplies in the cave and then meet me out here. I am taking you with me to hunt.”

He sputters. “What? No! I’m tired and I don’t even want to learn how to hunt. Take one of your brothers.”

I feel my eyes narrow. “Regardless if you would like to face the facts or not, you are in this world. And as such, you will need to learn skills to aid your time here, however long that may be. Cosima has learned how to care for the horses and ride and scout her surroundings. You will learn to hunt.” The human tries to protest again, and I raise my chin, none too pleased with having to justify my decision. “As long as you are under my care you will follow my orders. Am I clear?”

Beside him, Cosima’s eyes grow wide. She darts her gaze between myself and Alexander, watching our exchange. I raise an eyebrow at the man. It will not be me who breaks first. I have centuries of practice.

Predictably, Alexander cracks, breaking my gaze and nodding stiffly. He pulls away from Cosima and stalks into the cave, taking a few bags with him.

Baranor passes me on his way up the path—I’d nearly forgotten he was here. He lowers his voice to a volume the humans won’t detect. “He is not one of your wardens, Haldir.”

“As long as he travels in my company, he travels under my command,” I grit back, more frustration in my tone than is necessary. I work to push the emotion aside and stride forward, dealing with Faervel while I wait for Alexander.

Cosima hasn’t left. She stands, dwarfed by Faervel’s tall frame, gently brushing out his coat. There’s tension in her shoulders and I approach her almost hesitantly. I think I angered her.

She quickly confirms my suspicions.

“You didn’t have to be so rude to him.” She doesn’t take her eyes from my horse.

I purse my lips. I just need to make her understand. “He was being insubordinate.”

“Okay, but he’s not your subordinate,” she shoots back, voice rising in irritation.

I don’t quite know what to say. These humans don’t know how my job works, so their reaction is to be expected….But even Baranor commented on my behavior…was I wrong? Even if I did perhaps misuse my tone, I still can’t have someone openly refusing to do what I say. It’s a matter of security. Say he disobeyed me in the heat of battle? Someone could pay for his choice with their life. I can’t allow situations to pass now that would embolden him to disobey me later.

Cosima sighs, shaking her head. When she speaks, her voice is tight with disapproval. “I’ll finish the horses. You get to your hunt.”

I swallow. It seems I’ve angered her to the point where she wishes to cast me from her presence. I must respect that, then. “I will send Rumil to guard you.”

She nods once, still not looking at me.

I spare her one last glance then make towards the cave, feeling very unsure of myself. As Marchwarden, I’ve learned to make difficult, sometimes unpopular, decisions. People’s reaction to them usually doesn’t bother me…but something about the way Cosima wouldn’t even look at me, the frustration in her tone…it doesn’t sit well.

Rumil is already at the mouth of the cave, headed outside with a snack for Roch. I instruct him to stay with Cosima while I am gone, and he agrees easily. The two of them have been friends from the start. I’d wager he has never upset her as I have.

Alexander is waiting, too, looking annoyed. I try to remind myself to be nicer towards him, but can’t quite manage it. Something about his demeanor just irks me. But the hunting excursion will be good, I remind myself. It will allow me to get a better read on this human, to figure out where he stands and what his motivations are. With that in mind, I jerk my head to the rocks, calling him forward. “Let’s go.”

{***}

I don’t take Alexander far, but we do have to leave the noise of camp to find animals suitable for food. The human trudges behind me, probably scaring away every rodent within a mile. Why must the race of man be so loud?

“Roll your foot from heel to toe when you walk rather than stomping down,” I instruct. To my surprise, he actually follows my advice. He’s still not as silent as an elf, but there is definitely an improvement.

A silence settles between us. When he breaks it, there is a vulnerability in his voice I did not expect to hear. “Is Cosima really going to be okay?”

Baranor had assured me of the fact and I know from my years of battle that the wound is not severe, so I am confident in my answer. “Yes. I think more damage was done to her feelings than her arm. She takes things quite deeply to heart. It will take time for those scars to heal.”

I’ve offended him. He scoffs, expression morphing into a glare. “And that’s bad?”

Now, I grit my teeth. He seems always on the prowl for some reason to dislike me, and I don’t appreciate him twisting my words about Cosima to use against me. I throw his accusation right back. “I am not the one questioning her intelligence and calling her naive.”

“That’s taken out of context!”

“And in what context are your words favorable?”

He seethes, and I find a strand of amusement in the differences between our demeanors. I stand calm and cool as ever while he glares up at me, mouth pulled into a grimace, face going hot in anger.

“You know what,” he grits out, hands clenching into fists. “Don’t go on defending her. Don’t get too attached. Because after yesterday, I’ve got no doubt in my mind that I’m getting out of here. And Cosima’s coming with me.”

I scoff. “You cannot force her.”

“I won’t have to.” He exhales, an assured serenity settling on his face. For the first time since our argument began, I feel wary. “That attack broke whatever spell you all have put on her. She’ll leave willingly. I guarantee it.”

Maybe it’s the arrogant twist in his smile, maybe it’s the stress of the day finally hitting me, maybe it’s just because he’s been an ass since the day he arrived and I would like nothing more than to knock him to the ground and teach him to have some respect. Whatever the reason, I feel the cold dread creeping through my bones colliding with a white-hot anger that sears through my chest. It takes everything in me not to let the composed mask slip from my face.

Despite my efforts, Alexander knows he’s hit his mark. He can tell he’s gotten a reaction out of me, and this pleases him to no end. He waves a hand forward, gesturing to the wide expanse of the path before us. “Lead on, Marchwarden. People need to eat.”

I want to challenge him.

But that is not respectable behavior of a leader, nor polite treatment of a human under my protection. So I call on every ounce of maturity and discipline I possess and turn on my heel, continuing the hunt.

And though we have good fortune in our search and I should be pleased, I am too focused on Alex’s promise to share in the enjoyment.

Cosima choosing to leave is a very real possibility.

And that hurts me more than it should.

A/n Thanks for reading! So it looks like we’re having some ~developments~ -- what do you think?! Likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile! Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list :)

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belit0 · 4 years

Text

How Could I Ever Love a Monster Like You… You Kill People

Rated: T

Pairing: [Obito / Rin] [Madara / Obito] [Kakashi / Rin]

TW: Graphical Violence

Obito’s days passed painfully slow and in an agonizing calm. Madara, although he became his savior, somehow also represented his imprisonment. He was not truly a prisoner, but if he moved, half of his body repaired by his ancestor would be mercilessly detached from him, and he did not plan to die in such a stupid way after beating the reaper face to face under that rock.

His mind wandered under the poisonous memories of a non-existent life, a life to which he could no longer return, people he could never see again, friends who came late to his liking.

Rin.

He could never confess what he felt, and now it weighed on his chest with more pressure than he felt when he was crushed to death. He felt like a coward, he acted like a coward, and just when he felt he could break that barrier and reach personal liberation, destiny invited him to the bitterest drink of his life.

He was trapped, along with an ancient Uchiha who should have been dead for a long time, but for some reason was there. Taking care of him. Allowing his life to flow before his eyes.

What was the value of breathing if every second his heart ached at the loss of all that remained with his dead body in that cave?

Probably everyone thought he was dead, Minato-Sensei was not even on the perimeter during the events. The time was one of war and darkness, the ANBU units had no time to search for the bodies of the fallen Shinobis on missions. No one would look for him, no one would return for him. Two pairs of eyes had witnessed how an enemy would collapse the rest of the rock trap on him mercilessly, extracting what was supposed to be his last breaths.

Kakashi would give the mission report as it had happened. No one would doubt his condition. No one would think of that remote possibility, in which he was breathing in a dreary subway place surrounded by strange white beings and a man centuries old.

The lack of mobility agitated his mind, forcing him to seek stimuli within his tormented consciousness so as not to go mad. If he stopped to pay attention to his surroundings, he would fall into the spiral of madness that the situation offered him. Damn it, he was just a kid. Had his training prepared him for such a contingency?

All Madara talked about was his ambitions. He used boring and difficult to understand terms to his liking, and when they had a conversation - or rather the old man would start a monologue in front of his new audience - Obito would get abstracted inside, thinking.

Thinking about Konoha. Thinking of those who did not think of him. Thinking of all the friendly faces that were left behind. Yes, maybe they were never entirely friendly, but he would give anything to see any face he knew at that moment.

But did they think of him? Did Rin think of him? Did she cry for him? What was Kakashi’s situation?

He knew that his partner would be too hard on himself, the bastard would take full responsibility for the incident. What would his sensei think when he saw his team return without one of his students? Had his sensei returned from his own mission?

He never got a chance to tell him about his newly awakened Sharingan.

He was proud of his achievement. He had protected his comrade’s life with it, and now his companion was carrying the one missing from his features. He could never tease Kakashi for having fallen at his mercy, for having allowed himself to be defended against the one he considered inferior.

He wanted to boast about how he had reached his fellow prodigy. How he acted as a pair, rather than as a nuisance to him. For the first time since they were assigned as a squad, they had worked together as a team. His chest was on fire with pride at the mere thought of it. They had protected her.

They had protected her.

Obito was never able to walk the streets of Uchiha district with his newly awakened Dōjutsu, showing his Clan the dignity of the famous legendary Kekkei Genkai shining in his eyes. Although it took him longer than other illustrious individuals in his family, he could finally be said to be worthy of the fan-shaped emblem that rested on his back.

But that was before.

Now he simply rested motionless, unable to get up from that bed, without the basic needs of human beings, not feeling hungry, not feeling thirsty, listening to how Madara constantly talked to someone called Izuna, even though no one was ever there.

If that was his new life, he didn’t want it. If this represented normality for the man who took it upon himself to save him, he wasn’t remotely interested in sharing it with him. He wanted to run away, he wanted to escape, he would crawl back to his village if necessary.

The strange white people around him became somehow familiar. Perhaps it was the fact that there was nothing to hold on to, and at least they offered talks about the outside world and the occasional bizarrely stupid conversations.

He found freshness in the daily reports that his new buddies brought to him. They explained how everything was changing on the surface, kept him abreast of village clashes, glanced at Konoha for him, provided military intelligence despite their reduced IQ, and thus Obito realized that they were more useful than they appeared.

Somehow, this helped him not to feel excluded from the world to which he once belonged. Perhaps he was basically crippled, but the new stimulation of conversations with those white beings made him want to get out of that bed, to get out of that dark subterranean place.

The time was running, the war was advancing, the villages were acting without mercy. Konoha was winning enemies quickly. He was the current bearer of a powerful Sharingan, which he shared with a prodigious teammate. He could not spoil that undoubted talent, he had to get going.

He had to get out of there.

Madara spent most of his time sleeping, or talking to nothing, sighing old memories of centuries past. Obito was deeply disturbed by it, but that’s how senile elders were. Not to mention that he was probably older than any human body could bear.

With the help of his idiotic white friends, he managed to advance at baby steps towards recovery. It took a sickeningly great effort to get up from where his almost eternal slumber had taken place. At first, he could only do that. When he got more stability on his feet, it was time to take small steps. His legs were infinitely consumed, and that white material that completed him threatened to constantly try to take over.

It required an exhaustive use of all his strength to be able to walk correctly again. Moving freely was a lighter task. The worst had already been overcome. Recovering his fighting agility was something he achieved thanks to his deformed fellow prisoners. Little by little, he was returning to who he was before falling into that nightmare.

No, he was even better. His body was more ethereal, his mind more suspicious, his movements more accurate. He would have liked to say that it was thanks to his own merit, but he suspected that it was largely due to what Madara implanted in him so that he would not die.

He was recovered, ready. He was hungry from the outside, longing to see it, to feel it. The air on his face, the sun impacting his uneven skin, the grass on the soles of his feet, the bark of the trees on the palms of his hands. He longed to see it.

He longed to see her. He remembered her, as fresh as if it were yesterday’s event. Her eyes full of peace, of love, a sweetness that pierced whoever dared to look at her. A smile that could eradicate any negativity in his soul, that happiness he only wanted to be devoted to him. Her fragility, her beauty, the passion with which she completed her duties. The need to protect her.

The need to have her.

Eventually, his strange white friends agreed to reveal the way out for him. They had come to appreciate the boy, and to see him rot in bitterness and loneliness beside Madara, when on the surface love, youth and a future awaited him, was not something they were willing to witness.

So, in one of Obito’s insistent attempts to discover a route to his freedom, one of them guided him to it. Of course, although now he was really no longer a prisoner along with the legend of the Uchihas, the company of those beings had been present for too long, and it felt almost wrong to leave without one of them. They were harmless, and an extra protection. He had been under the facade of death for a long time to allow himself the trust in life at that moment.

Next to the one he called “Zetsu”, the young Uchiha, wearing a longer hair after so much time in confinement, set foot outside for the first time. His joy spread throughout his whole being, almost exploding inside him, inflating his chest with what he felt was fire.

He wanted to run, he wanted to feel everything around him. It seemed that years had passed since he had last wandered as a free man, and now he had a Sharingan to see everything differently. Every sensation was a new world in his brain, the slightest touch of nature to his fingertips, the sunset beating down on his face. He was a child once again.

But as soon as the previously known sensations were again assimilated and recognized in his system, Obito’s true desire fell upon his consciousness, light and happy as her laughter.

Oh, how he missed her laughter!

Without hesitation, he ran with all his impulse concentrated on advancing, sending chackra to the plants of his feet to generate more grip. Konoha. So much had happened.

How would they all look? Would they be different? Was he different? How did Rin look?

Anxiety took over his entire mind, and with a cramping smile on his face he tried to go even faster. The cloak he took from Madara’s subway hideaway fluttered violently in the air, a sign of the speed at which his body was traveling. Zetsu could barely keep up, he was not made to travel like the Shinobis, his style of transportation was to move across surfaces.

When the young Uchiha disappeared before him in a burst of joyful excitement, he knew in advance where he was going, and tracking his chakra he moved across the ground, slowly following the path that led him to the unbridled boy.

Obito was close to the village. He could feel it vibrating, he could smell it. Hundreds of memories traveled through his memory, and some tears threatened to complicate his sight. He missed that place too much, his life, his home. He could even say he missed the Clan, the Uchiha territory, helping old people who conveniently appeared when he was in too much of a hurry.

The nostalgia was too much, but the smile did not disappear from his face. Tears of emotion fell from his eyelids. At last he was home. He would see Minato-Sensei, explain to him the madness he had experienced all this time. He would see Kakashi, maybe even play a trick on him by pretending to be a ghost, or a renegade ninja. He would see Rin.

Fuck, he would finally see her. Suddenly the blood rushed up to his cheeks and he remembered how it felt to blush again. A tingling in his stomach became present. He had fantasized about this moment too many times to even remember it, but he never thought reality was so close.

And now there he was, so close to home.Coming back from the dead.

But he stopped short at a sensation that made his hair stand on end. Two chakras he knew too well. Close, very close. He was still considerably away from the main entrance to the village.

Were they training? Were they going on a mission? Were they looking for conversation without being heard by others?

Regardless of the situation, Obito could not help but redirect his course to where these two familiar prints met. After all, they were the two people he most wanted to see, and they were much closer than he could have imagined. He wanted to shout, surprise them, hug them and lay on them like a big dog receiving its owner at home after a long day.

But he had to remember that he was dead in their eyes. He had been on the other side for some while, in the dark, where the air doesn’t reach, where life no longer exists. If the voice or body of their deceased teammate suddenly appeared, after that tragic mission where they saw him being crushed by a large amount of stones, they would think that someone was ambushing them, using Genjutsu against them to lower their guard, or some transformation Jutsu. Kakashi had that way of reasoning, and Rin would follow the orders of the team leader.

He had to be cautious, he could not be hostile with his way of presenting himself to them. His story already sounded too incredible to have to face the calculated distrust of his teammate.

Back from the dead. Although he never died. Because he was saved by a man with the power to live for centuries. Who has a poisonously dangerous plan. And who should not be alive.

Yes, of course.

When he felt them really close, he descended to the ground, and chose to move that way instead of using the branches of the trees. They were still, a few meters in front of him. He masked his chakra so as not to alert the senses of Kakashi, who lived extremely alert. He could feel Rin, clear and luminous, relaxed, carefree, happy.

She was happy. And it wasn’t because of him.

Something twisted inside him, a bitter taste ran down his throat as a node formed in it.

He sneaked a few more steps until he positioned himself behind a tree. The two were in a small clearing in the forest, sitting on the grass, resting their backs on the thick trunk of a weeping willow tree. They were too close to each other. He watched, he listened.

Slowly, and in a matter of a few seconds, his heart broke into a thousand pieces. All the love he held for that beautiful young woman was now corrupted by the companion in whom he trusted. He who now hovered over her, and placed a light and sweet kiss upon her soft and pink lips. He could see how she was contaminated with betrayal, he knew about her feelings towards Rin, and yet there he was. Kissing her in front of him, unprecedented.

The image was almost romantic, except for the fact that they were being watched by a distressed spectator from the shadows.

A raw anger grew in Obito’s chest, as thicker than normal drops slipped from his one remaining eye. It was a liquid too heavy and hot to be water, but he was too deeply hurt to even question why his Sharingan was bleeding. The fire that ran through him before that image was very different from any other.

Betrayal, hatred, displeasure. His comrade was stabbing him in the back, after he had saved his life. He stole the only woman he ever cared about, the only one who could push him on when life felt too heavy to lift his head.

And he could only watch, see how they professed feelings without words, connecting their lips in a lovers’ communication.

A grunt of outrage escaped his chest before he could even think about what he was doing, and with a new unlocked eye technique of which he was not yet aware, he broke through the remaining trunks that separated him from the couple, leaving his hiding place.

His speed had increased without him wanting it, his body had a will of its own, and it seemed to converge in the pain its owner was experiencing.

When he caught up with his two teammates, it was too late for either of them to react. His surprise attack was successful, and he mercilessly grabbed Kakashi by the neck, violently lifting him off the ground. The silver-haired young man directed his gaze to his eyes, and before he could utter a word, an excessively thick branch was born from the hand of Obito holding him. It pierced his neck mercilessly, spilling the traitor’s blood all over the forest floor.

“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO COMPETE WITH ME?! SHE IS MINE.”

The young ninja’s life quickly left his body in the face of the brutal attack, and before throwing the body with an unknown force particularly far away, the Uchiha took the Sharingan that once belonged to him, and placed it back where it should go in the first place.

No traitor deserved such power.

“Kk-akas-shi…”

Rin, self-absorbed, looked at the pool of blood that had fallen from her partner’s body, repeating his name as if that would bring him back. The girl was on the floor, sitting, trying to get away from the scene that had unfolded beside her.

The red liquid covered her forming a strange pattern on her clothes, blood that washed over her when Obito passed through Kakashi’s neck without remorse. Scattered drops ran down her face, some in a peculiar pattern similar to tears.

“Shhhh Rin shhh, I am here, I am here to protect you, I am here to take care of you, I am here, I am back.”

The Uchiha knelt next to her, and pressed her face against his chest, generating a hug that tried to imitate containment. He wanted to let her know who he was, she had to identify him, she had to recognize him! He squeezed her tightly, holding their two bodies together with a constricting pressure.

How he missed her. How he needed her. Finally, she was in his arms.

Finally, she was his.

#obito uchiha #obito x rin #kid obito #obito #rin nohara #kakashi hakate #obito x kakashi #madara uchiha #obito x madara #madara #kakashi #uchiha obito #uchiha madara #naruto shipuden #naruto imagines

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years

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Okie doke so I have a lot of asks piled up but I’m gonna need to take my time with them. So in the meantime I’m gonna give you guys a few of my own personal writings while i weed through my writers block. I hope you can understand, I have fourteen prompts to get to but I am a little muddied on getting through each one.

David Headcanons

Italian food used to be his favorite when he was alive. Santa Carla was flooded with immigrants from all over, especially a high concentration of Europeans so he had experienced real Italian cuisine from the few family owned joints that would come and go. When he was turned he tried to defy his vampire roots after learning that garlic didn’t hurt him- only to find out it didn’t hurt him EXTERNALLY. The tragic tango of pasta primavera in his stomach had him sick as a dog for days! Since he’s opted for other cuisines, but secretly he misses when he could freely ingest copious amounts of garlic

Outside of rock, David really loves classical music. Particularly foreign opera. Why? Because it is some of the most intense sounds you will ever hear. The melancholic arias of tortured souls left on the brink of tragedy soothe his untamed internal rage. However, he often doesn’t get to because as soon as he does Paul pitches a fit.

“Aw whaaat? Classical? Who invited the old lady to the party?! “

“Will you shut up and let me listen to my music, asshole?”

“Ooooh excuse me! Yes of course, Lord Snooty von Dickweed. Would you care for your pet poodle and a plate of caviar? Hey! Maybe we can find your balls, dude”

Of course he could just kick him out but it’s far too much of a hassle. He’s genuinely pleased, albeit subtly so, when he managed to snatch up a walkman off a victim so he can listen to his music in peace.

We’ve seen him smoke, but no one really gathers just what a chimney this guy is. David smokes practically every hour, when one burns out he just snags another. Any reason is a good reason to pull out a cigarette. Stressed? Smoke. Hungry? Smoke. Tired? Smoke. Happy? Smoke. But worst of all are his nicotine withdrawals. Seriously, do not approach him when he’s run out of cigarettes. It doesn’t matter who you are. Last time Paul tried to tease him while he was waiting for nightfall, David nearly threw him out into the sun. Withdrawal is far worse as a vampire than it was for him as a human. His restless legs get far more jittery, his back can cramp, it’ll give him an agonizing headache, and his hunger is somehow amplified.

Surprisingly, he can’t stand the 1931 film of Dracula with Bela Lugosi. Not that Lugosi doesn’t do a good job. In fact, it’s far too good. While not appearing visually the same as Vlad Dracul, the bastard who just so happened to be responsible for turning him and his friends back in 1906, his personality is extremely close. Just watching him slink in the shadows, waltzing about in that chilling Hungarian-Romanian accent boils David’s undead blood. If he’s going on the Universal monsters, he prefers Boris Karloff in Frankenstein.

Over the years David has picked up Russian and French. When you’ve been unchanged in an abandoned wreckage of a hotel for over eighty-one years, you learn to pick up a few things. Currently he’s learning German which he finds rather easy so far although he finds himself speaking a tad choppy at times. Sometimes he’ll use the wrong language and end up asking Paul to bring him the wine bottle of blood in Russian. Needless to say he was utterly confused and had to be retold in English.

Despite what one might assume, David does not enjoy having sex with multiple partners. Not polyamory, just sex in general. He finds that hollow humping up against some seasoned tart behind a bar before bidding adieu does nothing for him. If there’s no intense intimacy there’s less really keeping him invested. Now love isn’t exactly what is required, but there has to be some sort of connection to give him the desire to pursue a lover. Quality over quantity. Getting to know his partner is an exciting endeavor that allows him to take control, dominating him or her until they are utterly helpless to his will. A quick fuck is nothing but a way to kill time, which frankly he can find so many more productive things to do when he’s bored that require much more brain power and a lot less sticking himself in something, sorry, someone that he honestly doesn’t know where they’ve been.

Halloween, of course, is his favorite time of year. However he also has a soft spot for Christmas. Frankly the whole peace on Earth and goodwill towards men crap makes him sick simply because no one had ever given a crap about him, but the entire feeling of it all did give him a sense of calm. The lights are a stunning sight for sure, and he'd even have a few less shitty humans mistaking him for one of the teen runaways living on the Santa Carla streets. Well, he wasn't , but he wasn't about to tell that to some sweet old lady handing out rusty tins of fresh brownies. Who the hell could waste brownies? Not him. His favorite memory goes back to 1904 when he and the boys managed to scrape up enough dough between pick pocketing gigs to share a room at a decent hotel. The managers wife even brought them up the leftovers from their own Christmas dinner, half a roast bird, a plate of rolls, a fat bowl of mashed potatoes and some gravy. They of course were grateful, and Paul couldn't help but flirt just to kiss ass. Dwayne got Paul a new knife, Marko got David this pretty swanky looking cigarette case he snatched off some rich dick who mistook him for a shoe shiner, David found some old iron ring they couldn't sell and gave it to Dwayne, and Paul got a few bottles of rum for them to get Yuletide hammered. Sure it didn’t sound like much of a big deal, but sitting on a real bed for once by a fireplace slamming back booze and roast chicken while whooping Marko’s ass in black jack was the first time in a long time he had genuinely laughed. Since then its been particularly blase, but Marko and Paul will often make a tradition out of a few bottles of booze, throwing some cheap decorations around the hotel, and they all spend the night playing card games over some take out roast chicken and a few quick sides.

#lost boys 1987 #lost boys imagine #the lost boys #lost boys fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction writing #lost boys #fanfic #80s movies #lost boys david #lost boys head canon #headcanon #fandom #fanfiction author

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theres-no-protocol-for-this · 4 years

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Necessary Repairs

Part III. I don’t even know if you have to read any of the other parts. SecUnit should probably have slept through most of its own healing, but that’s not this machine’s luck.

Part I | Part II

At some indeterminate point later, I woke up.

I was receiving minimal sensory data, and none of it was sight-related. A diagnostic subroutine spun up and casually began sending me bursts of error messages I couldn't even begin to translate.

Oh, and the world was pitch black.

It took me more than five seconds to determine that the darkness was self-inflicted and open my eyes. Longer still for the random noise to resolve into sounds I could understand -- the hum of an air circulation system, at least two distinct voices, and an automated warning system. My connection to the feed stabilized, but the walls that normally guarded my mind against its onslaught were conspicuously absent.

Something else was shielding me, something big and surprisingly gentle.

Friend?

I could feel cold metal under my back and head, probably the medical suite platform. My internal temperature refused to rise, so I was shivering and couldn't stop. It felt like I was still leaking, and the pain ebbed and flowed with each passing moment.

“Would you like me to turn up the heat?” Transport asked.

Yes. Where the hell am I?

I felt a mild shock as the governor kicked in. It hadn't liked my tone, apparently, or the phrasing of my answer, and wasn't shy about letting me know. The standard code read, "you're outside of protocol and need to adjust your attitude."

Silently, I cursed the damn thing. I was getting used to life without it.

A moment later, Transport answered, "SecUnit, you're still in medical, and your performance rating, while stable, remains abysmally low."

The ship paused and sent me a couple of data packets that succinctly described all the things still wrong -- which was most of them. I should've probably remained in stasis, but the medical unit was calibrated for humans. So, it hadn't given me nearly enough sedative to knock out the organic parts of a construct for any appreciable amount of time.

I was awake, kind of.

"I'm waiting for your vital signs to improve," Transport added. "Until then, would you like to watch an episode of that one show you liked?"

Yes, please.

The ship's calm tone reassured me, even though everything else looked like shit. My diagnostics were coming back with nonsense, still. The governor couldn't find a SecSystem to connect with. The Traveler didn't have or need one of those; it had a skeleton HubSystem instead managed security, life support, and logistics. My inflexible governor couldn't figure out how to interface with it.

Surprise, surprise...

It fell back on some preprogrammed garbage, complete with a minimal set of actions and responses. "Yes, please" and "No, thank you" was probably the best I could manage at the moment without incurring its wrath. I'd try poking at it later when my performance no longer looked quite so dramatically sad.

Captain Owens pulled up a chair and sat down where she could see me. Transport shared the view from one of its cameras, so now I could see her, too. It also queued up an episode of a long-running serial and waited for the captain before it started playing. I wanted to ask about the hostiles but couldn't -- thanks governor -- and Transport didn't seem inclined to enlighten me.

I suppose it was only fair; it was doing its best to keep me calm.

MedSystem sorted out the sleeping issue in the meantime and had injected more sedatives into my resupply channel, so sleep was happening shortly, whether I liked it or not. I could practically feel my diagnostics slowing down to a crawl since they relied on data from my organic parts, which were affected by the drugs.

"Good afternoon, SecUnit. I'm glad to see you're awake." The captain nodded in my direction and then turned toward someone I couldn't see. "As I mentioned, thanks to SecUnit, we came out of the boarding attempt in one piece. I'm sorry to hear your ship wasn't as lucky."

A stranger in formal wear came into camera view as he approached Owens. I figured he was the owner of that second voice I hadn't been able to identify earlier. The logo on his tunic looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. Parts of my memory felt like tangled network cables.

"Indeed, but this is still better than nothing. I don't suppose you've already contacted your bonding company?"

The captain's face scrunched up in confusion. "We're insured outside of the Corporation Rim," she explained. "I've sent a message, but I'm here pretty much on my own."

Outside of the Rim, everything appeared to work in ways that were incompatible with corporation control. A lot of the propaganda around freehold planets implied they were a complete shitshow. Except, clearly, the Traveler was doing just fine.

I had a sudden burst of "bad feeling" in my organic neural tissue. Something about the newcomer didn't sit right with me. I thought it might be unwise for the captain to tell him anything about herself or her ship.

"No, thank you." It sounded like my voice, but I didn't remember speaking. Hi buffer, I thought I'd never see you again.

The newcomer gave me a puzzled glance. "So, where'd you get your unit then?"

Owens shrugged and schooled her expression. I'd seen that face before when she'd spoken to her daughter before our first jump. "I rented it from a friend, as a security consultant. It's doing a great job."

I was?

I mean, the human was alive, and the Traveler had an intact hull, so I guess things weren't terrible. I could practically hear the Transport laughing on a private channel. If I could roll my eyes, I probably would have, but the governor frowned on that sort of thing, and my eyes had closed minutes ago.

"I see. Well, if you wouldn't mind giving us a hand with repairs, we can both be on our way." The man watched the captain like a hawk. "I would also recommend getting your unit checked out at a licensed repair station when you get a chance. With this level of damage, there's no telling what other problems are hiding under the surface."

As far as statements go, it was polite enough, but I didn't like it. It sounded to me like a threat.

Performance rating dropping. Initiating emergency shutdown.

I really would prefer you didn't.

***

Memory fragment:

The mining installation doesn't inspire confidence. There are eight of us and two combat models. Ten security units should be enough to keep a workforce of 153 miners and a dozen more supervisors in line. Everything looks worn and rundown, including the humans.

Protocol dictates that we take shifts. A human has created a schedule to which we adhere. The two combat units are mixed in with the rest of us.

It's my patrol shift. I walk through one of the mining shafts and stop at the far end. I can hear a supervisor arguing with two of her employees—something about the rocks they've uncovered. I turn around, ready to head back to the primary installation, when one of the combat units walks up to the three humans.

It has been summoned by the supervisor.

The supervisor tells it to fire on the workers. It does, without question. Bodies crumple to the floor. Then, the supervisor notices me.

***

Transport popped into my feed. "Wake up, SecUnit. How're you feeling?"

"Like I got shot."

The words were out before I could consider the consequences, and I braced for an electric shock -- or worse. Nothing happened. Performance reliability was at 87% and rising steadily. My diagnostics routines had run several times, and the results looked promising. I was also no longer leaking, and most of my organic parts had grown back.

I had two arms again. That was nice.

Transport shared a smiling sigil. Reason unknown. "You did get shot, silly. MedSystem patched you up pretty well. If you're up to it, my captain and I could use your help." It paused and added, "Captain suggested that you might want payment in exchange for services rendered. That's how it works in CR, right?"

I had my doubts about anything actually working in the Corporation Rim. Still, arguing with a clearly sentient ship about theoretical economics didn't sound appealing. I'd rather get shocked again.

"OK," I said aloud and sat up. "Priority question: who was here earlier?"

"Dr. Alexander Soren is the current captain of an ArialHydra exploration vessel. They are stranded in this sector after a pirate attack. Captain Owens speculates that it may be the same group of pirates. We were lucky to have you on board."

Lucky. Right.

I shoved off the platform and crumpled to the floor in a pile of arms and legs. Hi there, limbs. A few minutes later, I managed to get up and stumble around under my own power. I admit to sitting on the floor and trying out my new arm. It didn't have a cannon -- MedSystem didn't have the required parts -- but it was fully functional, otherwise.

"I've seen Dr. Soren before." I couldn't remember where. That bothered me.

"Perhaps you were deployed on one of his survey missions?"

"I don't know."

One of the ship's drones floated into the room, carrying spare clothing, which it dropped directly on my head. I grabbed at the falling fabric and started getting dressed. It was the Traveler's standard-issue uniform, beige and blue and generally not hideous. I missed the protective qualities of armor, but it would've been weird to wander through the ship's pristine, carpeted halls with it on.

Captain Owens walked into the medical room and waved at me and the drone. "I see you're both here and scheming."

"We're not scheming, and technically, I'm everywhere," Transport informed us.

"I don't think you should trust Dr. Soren," I blurted out.

Owens narrowed her eyes. "Do you know anything you'd care to share?"

I shook my head. Constructs don't get gut feelings -- we don't even have a gut to have them with -- and my memories of any encounters with the doctor had been removed. Memory wipes aren't typical, but occasionally, a bonding company or a manufacturer/repair company decides they're necessary. I've had at least one that I know about. I also had no idea how to explain that my organic neurons probably remembered things the rest of me didn't.

"Well, in that case, has Trav told you what we need?" At my puzzled expression, the captain said, "We gave the other ship supplies, and they're almost ready to depart. And they're making a fuss about..." She sighed. "Something. I really don't care. They'll be coming back aboard in a few hours to discuss whatever it is. And I would feel much better if you were there. Just in case. And only if you're feeling up to it."

Protecting humans was literally the only thing I liked about my job. "OK."

"Great. Do you want a weapon?"

"Depends on how threatening you want me to look." Any weapon I wielded would be for show unless the human was in danger. And if she was, I had a miniature cannon hidden inside an arm.

The captain pondered this for a moment. Her face went through a range of expressions that Transport interpreted for me as "Captain Owens thinks the other ship's posturing is stupid and would like to be on her way, but it would be impolite to leave, so here we are." I agreed with the captain's assessment.

Finally, she said, "Let's try without any extra threats and see what happens. The quicker we get this over with, the better."

Transport suggested we spend the time between now and the upcoming meeting watching more of its favorite shows. I agreed.

#the murderbot diaries #SecUnit #let me sleep #into the unknown #fanfiction

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wildbootsappeared · 3 years

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Continental Divides Chapter Discussion #7: The Prince of DevCo

Continental Divides isn’t exactly a feel-good story. I’m here because I have something to say about our world, and pokemon presents a lot of fun tools for unpacking current events in new ways. One of my big goals for the story is to humanize Archie and Maxie. I’m not out to make them look right, but I do want to present them as less obviously, stupidly wrong. The other side of that coin requires presenting a more tarnished version of Steven Stone than what we get in canon. Chapter 7: Stainless Steel is the first time DevCo shows its human face, but that’s not all there is to Steven Stone. Today I’m going to talk a little more about why I’ve chosen to represent him the way I do (and then recommend some more wholesome renditions of him as a palette-cleanser).

For me, most of the darkness in pokemon comes not from Edgy Teenage Boys and their Ash Betrayal fics but from canon, both what it does say and what it avoids saying.

It’s clear to me that something is already awry in Hoenn--no one tries to summon a god to remake the world because everything is fine. Even if the Stones aren’t responsible for the current state of affairs, I’ve got some questions for Steven about power, privilege, and responsibility. And ORAS makes things worse.

I’m no canon purist--

--but for once I’m actually going to talk about what IS in the canon first, just a few things for your consideration:

Despite the emphasis on protecting the sanctity of nature (especially in Hoenn) and on renewables (like the wind turbines in HGSS’s Newbark and the solar pannels in Sunnyshore), the pokemon world also definitely has combustion engine vehicles, factories, refineries, and coal mines. (Not to mention at least 3 different evolutionary lines based on pollution.) Devon is canonically an energy company with a history of mining and resource extraction.

With all of that in combination, it didn’t feel like much of a stretch for me to rebrand DevCo as a fossil fuel company (especially given their links to literal fossils).

I chose fossil fuels not because they’re maximum corporate evil and therefore maximum drama (though that’s also true!) but because I’m interpreting the Kyogre/Groudon clash as a climate change parable. Can’t talk about climate change without fossil fuels.

So where does that leave Steven?

He’s definitely a very nice and helpful guy. He gives the player character and the anime protagonists lots of cool swag, free pokemon, and occasional advice. He also doesn’t seem especially keen on following in his dad’s footsteps. (His dad can’t even get a letter to him without help from a passing traveler because Steven is hiding in a cave, goodbye. And in Emerald, a cave basically becomes his permanent residence!)

That’s all ... fine, but he’s also inarguably got access to a lot of money, social capital, and other resources. (I also thought I was joking when I gave Steven a shiny meta, but it turns out that’s canon, too.) So I’ve got some pointed questions for him about power and responsibility. In Emerald, he does step up to fight Magma with the player character, so he’s not just sitting on his hands. But the status quo doesn’t change. Whatever issues inspired Aqua and Magma are still there.

Some fic definitely depicts him stepping up to make a difference, even at his own expense. So other interpretations are totally possible. It wouldn’t be hard to write him as a rich kid trying to rebel against daddy and struggling figure out how to use his wealth and influence for good. But I’m most interested in a version of him that fails to unpack his privilege or put his money where his mouth is, because ... that’s the world I live in.

Two of my biggest sources of inspiration for writing Divides!Steven:

1) This podcast about Don Trump Jr and his (surprise!) bad relationship with his dad.

One thing that really struck me was how Donjr’s disinterest in business pushed him into outdoor hobbies like hunting (which reminds me of Steven’s spelunking, rock-collecting, and training). Like Steven has built a name for himself through the Elite Four, Donjr. leveraged his new hobbies to build political capital with conservatives. And, of course, the daddy issues here are horrifying and fascinating. Worth a listen if you can stomach hearing about Trump.

2) Gansey from The Raven Boys.

Gansey is as charming and generous as he is rich. He bemoans being reduced to his status, yet he can’t help being blinded by his own privilege, spending money without thought and repeatedly failing to consider how his words and actions might affect the characters who do worry about money. He tries, but he doesn’t always succeed in keeping his foot out of his mouth. He’s also hunting a kind of treasure, the tomb of an ancient king who may be magically alive after thousands of years. Oh, and he loves cars.

Here are a few tasty Gansey quotes from the series that I’ve been saving since last January (probably not quite exact quotes because I typed them on my phone while I read):

The world turns out its pockets for you.

Dizzyingly important to him in a way that he couldn’t begin to understand its shape. It was something more, something bigger, something that mattered. Something without a price tag. Something earned.

I am my money--it’s all anyone ever sees.

His feelings for [her] were an oil spill. He’d let them overflow and now there wasn’t a damn place in the ocean that wouldn’t catch fire if he dropped a match.

Divides is interested in what happens when that treasure-hunting has a political context.

Alllllllllll that said, one of the fun things about fic is seeing lots of different interpretations of the same characters. For Steven Stans, I highly recommend Wolfyn. She’s great at writing this boy into peril. He’s not an idiot, but he sure does make some stupid decisions and then pay the price. “The Long Road” is an achnronological origin story, showing his journey from a smol kiddo to the champion we all know. “Final Gambit” explores what happens in a world where there’s no player character to save the day. And in “Deal with the Devil” ... Steven has a bad time, but you’ll have a good time reading it.

Some Chapter 7 music (links to Spotify):

- Easy by Son Lux

- Risingson by Massiveattack

- Currency by the Black Angels

- The Orb by Emile Mosseri

#pokemon fic #Pokemon Fanfic #steven stone #hoenn #writing about writing #continental divides

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victorlimadelta · 4 years

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// @preuzien pokeverse au //

Name: Katherine Ann “Pidge” Holt Age: 17 Gender: Cis female Ethnicity: Italian Sexuality: Bisexual Occupation: Electric Gym Leader of Preuzien Religion: Atheist (raised Catholic) Languages: German (fluent), Italian (fluent), English (fluent), French (conversational), Russian (conversational), Japanese (still picking up, a small amount and written only) FC: Bex Taylor-Klaus as Sin from Green Arrow, except with auburn hair

Notes Her father, Sam Holt, and brother, Matt Holt, were influential Prussian battle scientists, but have been missing for nearly a year now. There was a public press announcement about their deaths, along with the death of one of the region's Gym Leaders for whom they had been working--but that Gym Leader has come back, so where is her family? (Long story short: there was an Incident with a Dialga and they were kind of all set adrift in time, but Takashi Shirogane made it back--her family still hasn't.) She fraudulently enrolled in Trainer School at age eight and a half. Because no one tells Pidge Holt where she can and can't be, where she can and can't go, and who she can or can't impersonate to get what she wants. Her precocity rivals the Champion's own; she was one of the ones watching his lectures when she was his age and laughing along with his jokes. Really, she's uncomfortably like Tobias in a lot of ways, including her similar paranoia, except hers isn't neurotic like his is. She sees it as a practical defense mechanism against an unforgiving and unpredictable world. She got into the habit of making casual dossiers on people she was close to, not because she dislikes them but because she likes to think she knows them and "just in case the worst happens, I want to be prepared."

Gym Pidge's gym is a series of puzzles and endurance challenges. Yes, there's a lot of hurrhurr make the current match, make the polarity match like you find in other regions' Electric-type Gyms, but ramped up to 11. You can and will get electrocuted if you fail some of these timed puzzles. You can and will drop out of her Gym if you don't make it through enough of them in a row. There's quite a few convolutions here, though. The Electric Gym will occasionally have more than one solution to a puzzle, or will have unsolvable puzzles that require alternative 'solutions' to break through to the next challenge. If you're not creative, if you can't think out of the box, if you can't innovate your way out of the situation, you're not going to make it. In addition, as you go, Pidge and her Trainers are creating a dossier on you, of how you work with your team, how you approach each problem and how you choose to solve it. Pidge will occasionally let you go on to the next challenge even if it appears that you failed the previous one. She will occasionally stop you from proceeding even if it looks like you found the correct solution. Even if you make it to her Gym Leader battle, and beat her, she occasionally will not give you her Badge because you didn't do it "the right way." You will bust your brain on her Gym. If it doesn't break you intellectually at least a little bit, it's not doing its job. You cannot brute force this Gym, because so often it appears to be outright random. Speaking of breaking you intellectually: the final 'challenge' of Pidge's Gym is the traditional Milgram Experiment. She was hesitant to include this without feedback from Tobias and Renate, but they've convinced her eventually that this was, maybe not a good idea, but an acceptable one. - For those who don't know the reference at once: the Milgram Experiment involved asking a participant in a psychological experiment to administer an electric shock when someone made a mistake in memorizing and recalling a list of words. The issue here is that the test subject was the administrator, not the recipient. The recipient never received an electric shock, but instead gave audio feedback from the other side of a wall on the supposed pain of the electric shock. The electric shocks were fake, but the doses were calculated to run from annoying to fatal. The actors receiving the shocks were instructed to react accordingly. If any test subject expressed reticence about administering the shocks upon cries of pain from the actors, the person running the test said a phrase similar to 'The test requires that you continue.' Nothing more, nothing less. - This test was designed to tell to what level a human being could attribute their decisionmaking process to a person in authority telling them to do something, and how much responsibility they felt they could absolve if it was no longer up to them to stop. Because the tests were originally conducted in the 1950s at the inception of the Cold War (and also, consequently, after the conclusion of WWII and the revelation of Nazi human experimentation), some of the original “test subjects” were suspicious and apparently threw some of the test results by deliberately being cruel when they figured out it was a farce... it’s an interesting read because of that, because why would you want to throw test results for that. Anyway. - For Pidge, it's also a test of whether you're willing in the first place to administer an electric shock to someone who's done absolutely nothing wrong to you for the sole reason that they've made a mistake on an arbitrary task that has no social or ethical ramifications on whether it's successful or a failure. This is crucial for Preuzien's growth as a country away from what they were and towards what they could be. Strength isn't about using it at every given opportunity, it's about justice in its application. - The only way to ‘pass’ this test is to refuse to participate whatsoever. By the time you've gotten this far, Pidge knows whether it's because you already know what the experiment is, or because you simply refuse to inflict pain on a fellow human being for no reason.

Pokémon This is most of Pidge's battle squad:

Xurkitree

Ability: Beast Boost Notes: Yes, an Ultra Beast. She spent just over a year in Ultra Space hunting down the perfect competitive 'mon, actually; she has almost two and a half boxes full of stat 'fails.' Fun fact, this one knows Power Whip. Have fun with those Ground types you brought to this Gym!

Toxtricity (Low Key) (Gigantamax)

Ability: Punk Rock Notes: Toxtricity is a lot like Pidge: make eye contact and you'll really wish you hadn't. This girl is powerful, can Status your team in two different ways, and has a bad attitude.

Vikavolt

Ability: Levitate Notes: Listen. Vikavolt is a good Poke. It's actually a super strong Bug-type contender and I like alt-types for Gym Leaders to use in their 'single-type' Gyms. Immune to Ground even before Levitate. Again, have fun.

Rotom (nn. "Gremlin")

Ability: Levitate Notes: "It's a gimmick!" You bet your ass it's a gimmick. Pidge keeps making up new little devices for this baby to haunt, too. It's flighty and doesn't like to stay in one device for too long, so you're going to have to deal with some weird STAB changes every few turns. By turn 15, it gains the ability to enter a new device Pidge has invented for it while she's teaching it to Ability Evolve its Levitate to affect her entire team. (The device Levitates her entire team. Including her Toxtricity and her Reuniclus, who are 4x weak to Ground.)

Prussian variant Reuniclus (ace)

Type: Steel/Electric Ability: Infection (evolved Ability from Effect Spore). At the end of each turn, this Pokemon inflicts one of six Status conditions on your Pokemon in sequence. Original Effect Spore has a 10% chance of randomly inflicting Poison, Paralysis, or Sleep on the opponent, a 3.3% chance of each. Infection has a 100% chance to inflict Paralysis on the first turn, Burn on the second, Sleep on the third, Poison on the fourth, Frozen on the fifth, and Infected on the sixth. An Infected Pokemon no longer obeys its Trainer and only obeys Pidge. "That sounds OP!" Preuzien is OP. Also, the style of Preuzien Gym Leader Battles, with its Squad format, really takes the edge off of this Ability whereas it'd be lethal in Singles or Doubles, because the Ability doesn't pick a particular Pokemon to affect, just one of the four opponent Pokemon on the field. That said, you should probably defeat Reuniclus in fewer than six turns so it doesn't cripple your team. Notes: Prussian Solosis (who looks like a little soft wormy boy, sort of like a space caterpillar) was Pidge's first ever Pokemon as a four-year-old child, but he's grown into an absolute monster over the years. Imagine this motherfucker staring you down from the other end of the battlefield. He's terrifying. That's because he looks like a bacteriophage, which is literally a type of virus. (Prussian Duosion looks like an influenza virus, but with arms/hands. If original Reuniclus looks like a bacterial blob, this is just a different form of infective vector.)

#Δ ooc #φ alternate reality #φ preuzien #π headcanon

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nelvana · 4 years

Text

In which the land between time is explored

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which the tower of time is explored Previous: In which the dungeon with fossil foes is explored

“Hidden Land isn’t that far ahead now,” Giratina’s muffled voice suddenly spoke up, and Alex took the stone out from his bag so the legendary could speak more clearly.

“We know how to get there! Some of us have been there, you know,” Ceebee teased, gliding over to direct her comment to them.

“You have, but it was different then than it is now,” Giratina pointed out.

Ceebee frowned, but then nodded, “…do you wish to direct us then?” she asked, raising a brow.

“If you don’t mind. I believe it will help things go more smoothly through here,” Giratina answered.

“Go ahead, I think we’re all ready to keep going now,” Alex told them.

“Very well. The beginning should be the same as when you were here in the other timeline; go down this hallway, and you’ll find the runes on the back wall,” Giratina instructed.

Following the directions, the group recollected themselves and began heading down the rest of the dark tunnel. Without being prompted, Nelvana relit her club as a torch, stepping up beside Alex and Ceebee to lead everyone through the shadows and down the corridor. Tsuki continued limping slightly, but she turned down any offers to help support her while they walked.

In any case, it didn’t take them long to reach the end. As Nelvana held up the bone, they could see strange markings dug into the wall itself. There was a center circle, which spun out into four swirls. Between the swirls were tall, rectangular shapes that could be mistaken for either an artistic representation of wings or several pillars. With her free hand, Nelvana gingerly ran her fingers along the indents, doing her best to remind herself of the pattern.

“Woah… that’s really cool,” Keahi gasped, “does it mean anything?”

Giratina sighed, “if it does mean anything, that has escaped my memory in this moment. It’s of no matter right now. What does matter, is that this is our gateway to Hidden Land.”

“How does that work?” Damien asked.

“Yeah! I’ve never heard of a dungeon leading to another one,” Edgar chimed in, “like… leading right into another one like this,” he added.

“Hidden Land, is a location between time,” Giratina began, “meaning that it is hidden to all that cannot, in one way or another, pass through time. It is done here through this gateway. If you have the resources to open it, you have what is needed to access Hidden Land, and therefor, Temporal Tower,” they explained, “it is positioned like this by coincidence. Yes, you are correct that dungeons usually don’t place themselves so closely to each other. Hidden Land was created first, when this was an ordinary cave, only using this gateway to be accessed. When Brine Cave began forming, it could not detect the dungeon in such close proximity and only detected the high energy of the area; which the dungeon feeds off of.”

“That makes sense,” Tsuki responded, nodding slowly.

“In any case, that makes this one of the most secure homes for legendaries,” Dusknoir added, “even those who complete Brine Cave must have what is required to pass the gateway to Hidden Land. Which, means that you must pass through three dungeons to get to Dialga. Incredibly secure.”

“What about the meteor then?” Keahi asked, “Alex said that the… shockwave? Of the meteor struck Temporal Tower, and that’s what broke it. Does that not have to pass through the… whole, between time thing?”

“That… is quite the bright question,” Giratina murmured, “I was not… in the area myself when it happened, but I do know that certain energies could still reach Temporal Tower, as while it is still grounded in this plane of existence, despite it hiding itself within time itself. It must still flicker to reality. That is usually not enough for other pokemon to access it, but for something outside of this world to strike it with pure energy… that is a possibility,” they said, “there is, of course, always the possibility of sabotage as well, but that somehow sounds more unlikely.”

“So, not to bother all these interesting questions and answers, how do we get through now?” Ceebee interrupted, “this is what you were talking about when you said things are different now, right? We don’t have the relic fragment with us; that’s what reacted to this and opened it up.”

“Indeed, that is the big difference… there is something else I was considering, but we might not have to worry about that at all. We’ll see; I shall explain if and when we get there,” Giratina responded, “fortunately for us right now, we have you, Ceebee, with us.”

“Me?” Ceebee questioned, blinking. “…can I open this on my own?”

Giratina chuckled, “of course! Any other celebi that has been through here has had to,” they answered, “it may have been slightly more challenging in the dead timeline, I expect, but that was not something you had to worry about with the relic fragment. Currently, you should still have the power to open this for us all to access the Hidden Land,” they continued, “it should be simply focusing your energy on it to open; the same sort of energy you would have had to use to bring me here, except you are opening a gateway and not forming a connection for a spirit to pass through.”

“Those are wildly different things,” Alex pointed out.

“They will use the same sort of energy to do; the very energy that connects you to Dialga and time itself,” Giratina clarified.

“Alright… let’s see what I can do,” Ceebee mumbled.

Stepping back to give Ceebee space, the group watched as the celebi approached the wall, running a hand over the markings like Nelvana had been doing before. Ceebee let her hand linger on the wall, however, closing her eyes as her antennae began twitching slowly, falling into a repeatable pattern. It took a few long, drawn out moments, but then the space under her hand began to glow slightly, as did her antennae, which still moved back and forth. There was another pause after this, but then, suddenly the entire rune swirled into light, the markings lighting up the entire room.

“You did it!” Keahi exclaimed.

“Almost, just keep going,” Giratina instructed.

Ceebee nodded, peeking her eyes open for a moment to glance over at her smiling friends before forcing her focus back to her task as hand. Golden light continued to shine from the markings on the wall, dancing around the rune. It continued to glow, brighter and brighter, until the rock wall cracked. It crumbled apart, the glowing continuing even as the rune was broken to pieces and the stones collected on the floor. Natural light flooded into the tunnel, fresh air sweeping the dust from the room.

“There is it,” Giratina purred, “wonderful job!”

Curious and eager to continue forward, everyone stepped outside to see what laid ahead. They stepped out onto a path of olive-green grass, decorated with some ferns, moss, and flowers growing about. This path, as they found while stepping out, was a large, round platform, and nothing could be seen past it. The sky remained overhead with the sun shining down onto them, but no one could see anything beyond the platform they had stepped out onto.

“Do you see anything?” Giratina asked hastily.

“No…” Alex bit his lip. “Where are we? I don’t see the Hidden Land anywhere.”

Giratina hissed, “that’s what I was afraid of. Please, don’t stare out past where you are, just… focus on the grass,” they instructed, “or close your eyes for now.”

“Where are we?” Dusknoir questioned, more forcefully than when Alex had posed the same question.

“We are in a moment between time, but we are not at the Hidden Land yet,” Giratina told him, “the Hidden Land was easier for you to access in the dead timeline because time was frozen and distorted, making it constantly visible to anyone who gets to this point.”

“So, it’s supposed to be like this?” Ceebee asked, voice wavering for a moment.

“Yes and no. Do not worry, you did nothing wrong,” Giratina responded, “you just need to right us to the same moment as where the Hidden Land holds itself now. Can you try doing that?”

“I don’t know how,” Ceebee whimpered, “I don’t know how I’ve done any of this so far.”

“You’ve been doing amazing so far,” Giratina assured her.

“How will I know if I’m doing it right?” Ceebee asked.

“When we can see the Hidden Land. You may keep your eyes open for it, I recommend that everyone else continue not to look though,” Giratina answered.

“Ceebee,” Alex spoke up, “you’re fine, what you’re doing here is in your blood. We’re all fine, just work at your own pace. We can wait, we’ll be fine. You’re doing great.”

“You can do it, Ceebee, we believe in you,” Nelvana encouraged.

Ceebee nodded quickly, repeating “okay” under her breath as she collected herself again. The rest of the group, following Giratina’s instructions, had either closed their eyes or keep their gazes stubbornly on the grass under their feet. Only Dusknoir glanced up momentarily, unafraid of the warnings Giratina left them. He made eye contact with Ceebee for a few seconds, giving her an assuring nod before he actually closed his eye.

She still felt nervous about the pressure that was put on her, being the only one that was capable of moving them ahead. Though she didn’t like admitting it, her own time related powers had never been that strong. She had never been able to time travel, even now that Dialga wasn’t purposely trying to block her, like they had in the dead timeline, and her being able to have visions of the past or the future were rare and strenuous. Plus, Giratina’s instructions for most to avoid looking into the nothingness ahead made her wonder if this was more dangerous than they were letting on, but she didn’t want to ask if that were the case either.

Regardless, focusing on the encouragement helped her calm down. They all believed in her and were trusting her; and while that did add slightly more pressure since she knew they depended on her in this moment, knowing that there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was capable of doing this. And though how even Dusknoir was willing to, albeit silently, assure her that she could do this was mildly confusing from him, the idea that even Dusknoir was putting so much trust into her was, oddly enough, incredibly comforting.

Ceebee turned to the direction where she felt the Hidden Land was; though in the moment she could not sense it terribly well herself. Taking in deep breaths, she began reaching out to see what she could sense. The platform they were currently on carried high energy, and vaguely she could feel the energy stretch out into the distance, a little off from where she was facing. Focusing more, she realized that the energy that was reaching out from their current platform was actually stairs, cut apart through the seconds of time. If she could somehow get the stairs to be in the same time as this platform, they should be able to walk to the Hidden Land; which was what she could only assume the stairs led to.

A pit seemed to form in her stomach again; this was going to require mild time manipulation, something she knew she had never been skilled at, despite her species being born with it. How she wished they had the relic fragment; that item must do all this itself.

The relic fragment.

She almost gasped as the idea hit her. She was also the one who used the relic fragment when they had come here in the dead timeline. It had fascinated her how it worked, and she had paid great attention to the energy it gave off when she applied it to the gateway. Perhaps, by doing her best to remember how that worked, she could mimic it to at least get her started on allowing them to access the Hidden Land.

Focusing once more, Ceebee thought back to the relic fragment, and how the item worked. Recalling exactly how she sensed various energies was a challenge, but she grasped this vague memory, doing her best to apply it to this very moment.

The stairs were built to be messed with, and now as she felt herself growing more confident in herself, it was easier to realize the puzzle of moving them back around to their moment in time. She closed her eyes, focusing on the energies and rather than on what she could see. Sensing how the pieces were to be moved to fit together and allow them to cross to the actual Hidden Land, she was slowly able to work through fixing the stairs for the group.

Despite now finding that she was learning how this worked, Ceebee quickly also realized that this was incredibly draining for her. Was she supposed to feel so tired from doing something so simple? Worry cropped up again, but she shoved it aside. Even if she wasn’t supposed to be drained so much from this, at least she could tell it was working, so she would push through it; they needed this to work.

Finally, she found that she had pushed her own psychic reach out to the Hidden Land itself. Unlike the stairs, however, this location seemed to respond to her before she could think of how to respond to it. She could feel as the dungeon reacted to her poking around, until it suddenly snapped itself to their moment in time without her needing to. Shocked, Ceebee blinked her eyes open, revoking all of her own power.

“Did… Did I do it?” she asked quietly.

Opening his eye again, Dusknoir peered out into the distance, “I see it,” he gasped.

One by one, everyone else carefully opened their own eyes and followed Ceebee and Dusknoir’s gazes. Far out into the sky, they could see another platform. It was difficult to make out from so far away, but it was still clearly larger than where they currently stood, and they could make out some sort of rocky structures on it.

“Well done!” Giratina praised.

“I hate to put a bump in this cheery moment, but how are we supposed to get there?” Damien questioned hesitantly.

“There should be… stairs,” Ceebee trailed off as she looked down; the stairs she worked so hard to bring together were nowhere to be seen.

Before anyone else could think to speak, Ceebee carefully glided downwards, off the platform. She landed on some sort of invisible platform, and after making sure her footing was secure, she stepped forward, still walking on solid ground. With each step she took, the stairs flickered between being visible and then disappearing from sight again, but no matter what, they remained sturdy.

“Woah... That’s funky,” Damien commented.

“The stairs are invisible?” Giratina asked.

“Yes, but they still seem to work,” Ceebee answered, “should we be safe to keep going, or is there the risk of them disappearing again?”

“If you believe that they are secure, they should not disappear so long as you continue traveling through here and the Hidden Land,” Giratina assured her, “you should all be careful, but the stairs won’t be going anywhere.”

“I don’t believe that anything is wrong with them,” Tsuki chimed in.

To prove her point, Tsuki walked onto the invisible stairs as well. They did not flicker like when Ceebee walked on them, but still held the absol’s weight just fine.

“I’ll help guide you all through so you don’t step off,” Ceebee told the others, “but I’m not sure if I could make it any better than this if I tried. We might as well move forward.”

“Tsuki, how’s your leg holding up?” Keahi asked, hopping closer towards the absol without moving onto the stairs themselves. “We can make use of our oran berries now, if you want.”

Gingerly, Tsuki put more of her weight on the injured leg. She lingered in this position for a few seconds before moving her leg back up for her more three-legged gait.

“I’m recovering well; it seems to be healing without too much trouble,” she assured zim, “if it still isn’t holding up when we actually get to Hidden Land, I’ll take the berry, but we should be saving them as much as possible.”

“Can’t we find more in the dungeons?” Damien asked, “we found some in Brine Cave.”

“None of the dungeons ahead ever have any items in them,” Giratina told him.

“And it sounds highly unlikely that there will be any more Kangaskhan Statues ahead. We’re on our own now, with only what we collected before,” Alex added, “still, Tsuki, we have a long way to walk to get to Hidden Land. Are you sure you want to keep going like that?”

“I’ll let you know if I change my mind,” Tsuki responded, “now, come on, we should keep going.”

Alex sighed, glancing over at Keahi with a shrug before following Tsuki onto the invisible stairs. Keahi hopped on next, followed by Nelvana. Everyone else continued filing on, all careful to stay close to each other and follow in each others’ footsteps to avoid accidentally falling off.

“This is so weird… It’s like we’re floating; there’s nothing beneath us,” Keahi commented.

“Isn’t there the saying… don’t look down? Yeah, that’s probably good to follow right now,” Damien said, stubbornly holding his head high and only looking ahead.

“Scared of heights?” Alex teased.

“No, but in case you haven’t noticed, we are walking on invisible stairs,” Damien hissed back, “definitely the weirdest thing we’ve come across yet, and even those who aren’t afraid of heights have a right to be nervous.”

“Damien has a point,” Tsuki agreed.

Alex chuckled, and then sighed, “I know, I was just messing with ya.”

Traversing the rest of the stairwell went with relative ease and silence. Most of the group felt far too occupied with making sure they were stepping in the right place to bother striking much conversation, not that they found much to talk about in the moment.

Finally though, Hidden Land grew closer and closer as they continued their approach, until they could actually start making out the details. Similarly to their previous platform, it was grassy and fairly overgrown. The structure they could glimpse from the distance turned out to be some ruins, one primary building with an open mouth leading into darkness was what anyone could assume led into the dungeon, but there were some other ruins and even a small tower behind the first structure.

“You see that tower back there?” Alex pointed out the slightly obscured structure. “Those are the Old Ruins. We’ll have to go through those after the dungeons to get to the Rainbow Stoneship. They’re really cool, you’ll see.”

Nelvana glanced ahead at her partner with a raised brow. It wasn’t often he would point out something like this and then not explain it. She figured he wanted it to be somewhat a surprise, though she found that it mostly made her wish that she could actually remember what was there.

One by one, they quickly stepped onto the grass, silently rejoicing to be able to see what was under their own feet again. Though, some not quite as silent, as Tsuki purred when kneading her claws into the ground, and Damien let out a sigh of relief once he was able to join the others on solid ground, going to lay down on the grass. Even Dusknoir appeared mildly relieved, though he the least likely to admit such a thing.

Alex nodded towards the ruins, “Hidden Land. Twenty-four floors, safe floor at twelve-“

“Like a clock?” Damien interrupted, and then coughed before continuing. “I mean, I dunno how many of you have used the hand clock, but twelve is at the center and all…”

Alex blinked, “well, yes, I suppose so… I hadn’t thought of that, admittedly,” he replied, “anyway, we’ve got monster houses, traps, and no items. So, it will be much more of a challenge for us to try to spot some obstacles ahead of time.”

“Giratina, can you sense monster houses?” Keahi asked, “maybe that would work…?”

“I… Yes and no,” Giratina sighed, “I can, however not precisely enough to be useful. I should be able to sense how many are on each floor, but no more than that.”

“Anything helps,” Tsuki told him, “especially since… the further we’ve gotten along, the harder it has been to sense anything past the problem with Palkia at hand. They’re getting dangerous, and it’s making it difficult for me to sense individual dangers,” she admitted, “not that I’ve ever tried sensing obstacles inside dungeons before, they are often disastrous enough on their own, but I almost wonder if my mind were clearer, if with the both of us we’d be able to pick out the monster houses…”

“You aren’t getting too bad of a headache, are you, Tsuki?” Keahi asked, expression creasing with more concern. “One of us might have asked this before too, but would there be anything we could do for it…?”

Tsuki shook her head, “I can cope. It is not bad enough to stop me in my tracks yet. And unless you know something that helps numb… the mind, without harming their own thoughts, I doubt it.”

“I think some psychic-types could do something like that…” Ceebee glanced out to the distance momentarily, rubbing the back of her neck. “I am not sure how well I could do that for you, sorry Tsuki.”

“I understand. I am a dark-type, and you are already helping tremendously with these psychic shields,” Tsuki assured her, “I will be fine, thank you for the concern though.”

“How about your leg? Since we’re about to head in the dungeon. Do you think it’s good enough to keep going like that?” Nelvana spoke up, “I’m a bit worried about it getting infected; we didn’t bandage it…” she added.

Tsuki opened her mouth, but closed it again and glanced back at the wound in question. Once again, she gingerly put more weight on the leg, wincing slightly before long and having to bring it up again. She shook it out slightly, finding it cramping from holding it in such a position for so long, but when the cut stung with more pain, she had to let out a reluctant sigh and turn back to Nelvana.

“…I should take an oran berry, yes…” she responded.

Nelvana nodded, glancing over at Alex, who was already heading over to the absol. Tsuki sat down, laying out the right hind leg in question for Alex to examine. He offered her most of an oran berry to eat, using the remainder that he held onto to carefully smear some oran berry juice over the wound. After waiting for Tsuki to finish eating, Alex went on to pull out some of the packed bandages and wrap them loosely around her leg.

“The bandages aren’t as secure as I would usually put, since you’re still going to be moving that. They’re mostly there now so nothing gets in it and gets it infected while it’s healing,” he explained, “you might have to limp a little bit longer, to not reopen the wound while it’s still healing, but it’s better than before and you should hopefully be walking like normal by Temporal Tower.”

Tsuki dipped her head to the grovyle in thanks before standing up. She shook out her fur reflexively before bending her leg up more, ready to resume her limp from before.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” she told them.

Nelvana smiled, “that’s what friends are for.”

“Among other things,” Alex added.

“Of course,” Nelvana agreed, with a chuckle.

“Are we all ready to go now?” Keahi asked, glancing around at everyone.

Ceebee, who had been carefully flying around and getting a few of their area, fluttered closer to the group at the sound of Keahi’s question, giving zim a smile. Damien sat up from the grass, looking over at Tsuki for a moment to check her leg before standing back up.

“I think we’re all good to go!” Edgar answered.

“You going to stick around for this one?” Alex asked Giratina, casually flipping the rock in the air with a single hand.

“You did request for my assistance letting you know which floors have monster houses, so I will. However, I will leave you mostly to your own devices; I do not wish to disturb you,” Giratina told him.

“Doubt there’d be a disturbance, but alright, sounds good.” Alex shrugged. “Anyone else wanna carry them in the meantime? I’ll want my hands free, and it’s hard to hear them in the bag.”

“I don’t use my hands too much! I can carry them!” Edgar volunteered, hurrying over to the grovyle to accept the item, which Alex passed over without too much trouble.

“Now are we ready?” Keahi asked, tone filled with more amusement than impatience.

Nelvana walked over to her partner, reaching over to ruffle zir head feathers, “I think so, let’s go.”

Organizing themselves in the planned lineup, the group entered their next dungeon. Despite them entering the main building to get into the dungeon, grass still mostly coated the ground under their feet. The entire area was overgrown, immediately making it difficult to see even the walls in some rooms. Pale yellow dandelions sprouted between patches of lawn, spotting the floors with a bit of extra color. And even though they were now indoors, sunlight seemed to come from somewhere, coating each room with a warm light.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

Giratina’s words would soon become a repetitive mantra. Fortunately, the group passed by the first floor swiftly by finding the stairs in the second room that they entered, prompting Giratina to inform them that the second floor, in fact, also had a monster house somewhere. As they would continue to do for nearly every, single, floor.

“Is that a dragonite?” Nelvana carefully peered into the next room, blurting out her thoughts under her breath.

“Huh, we were just fighting dragonair in the last dungeon… looks like the difficulty is going up fast,” Keahi responded.

Dragonite turned over to the group as they entered, their face instantly turning to a snarl. Lavender energy pulsed off the spawn, and before Nelvana could throw her club at them, they had lunged forward with incredible speed, whacking her with their tail. Nelvana let out a grunt of pain as she was flung towards the back of the group, being caught by Ceebee’s telekinesis before the cubone fell on someone else.

Tsuki crouched, snarling with frost in her breath before letting loose a beam of ice at Dragonite. Not expecting an attack from someone further behind in the group, Dragonite took the full brunt of the attack, but remained steady. Damien, after realizing that Dragonite had not been defeated by that, snapped his fingers, letting loose a thunderbolt at the foe. With that, and a flamethrower Keahi had been prepping in zir anger at Nelvana being knocked over with that dragon tail attack, the dragonite finally went down.

“Geez, big guy…” Damien gasped, nerves fluttering in his body.

“You alright, Nel?” Ceebee asked, watching as the cubone stood back up.

“Yeah, I’m alright…” she answered, making her way back to the front. “That agility trick surprised me; I’ll be more careful next time.”

Returning to the head of the lineup, Keahi giving her a gentle nuzzle as she walked by, the group continued onwards.

The dragonite of the dungeon showed themselves to be the most powerful foes of Hidden Land, but it didn’t take long to discover that the rest of the pokemon here were no pushovers either. For the first time that the team had seen, this entire dungeon was full of fully evolved pokemon, all fearsome and high-leveled.

“I dread the first monster house we run into,” Alex hissed, finally beating away a raging rampardos.

“There is one on this floor,” Giratina politely informed him.

Alex bit back the urge to snap at the deity.

“Was this… this bad when you guys went through here before?” Keahi asked.

“I… don’t remember,” Alex admitted reluctantly, “we mostly just went through it as fast as we could. Being just the three of us probably helped with avoiding most foes,” he sighed.

“If you’d like, perhaps we could try a new strategy,” Dusknoir offered, “I could go on ahead through the walls and look for the stairs, so we would not have to wander so much.”

“We can handle this!” Alex snapped, “we’re going to have to to get anywhere after this.”

“We would not want to lose you somewhere and have to search for you to heal,” Tsuki added, her voice soothing over Alex’s temperamental words.

Dusknoir’s eye creased, disappointed in the response, but accepted the answer and said nothing.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor,” Giratina told them as Edgar passed up the stairs to the fourth floor.

“What are the odds…” Damien groaned, rolling his eyes.

“This must be how Team Recovery felt going through Magma Cavern with so many monster houses,” Keahi mumbled, “we’ve been lucky so far to avoid them, but…”

“We’ll be fine,” Tsuki assured them, “we know how to handle monster houses.”

The fourth floor took more exploring than they would have liked to try finding the stairs, and they even ended up finding a monster house before what they were looking for. The room they entered crowed with the same nine pokemon they had been seeing throughout the rest of the dungeon, with two garchomp. As an abomasnow spawned, the room darkened with swirled with hail.

Inhaling sharply through gritted teeth, Nelvana dove further into the room, making room for the rest of the group to enter as well. She headed over to a manectric, whose pelt sparked and struck Nelvana with electricity, without much effect. Keahi moved towards the abomasnow right away, flames already beginning to puff out from zir beak. As everyone else continued joining into the battle, they moved to pokemon they had a type advantage against, if available.

With Keahi battling the abomasnow, Damien teleported over to a tropius, striking them with a thunderbolt. The fruit pokemon roared in response to the attack, flapping their wings and summoning a tornado of leaves combat the gengar. In a hurry to escape damage, Damien ran to the side, a tile with a voltorb revealing itself under his feet. Recognizing the symbol just too late to teleport out of the way, the trap exploding underneath him, catching the tropius and a couple other of the spawn in the blow and knocking them all back. Damien groaned, letting himself sink into the shadows to recover there.

“Damien?” Edgar called out, nervously watching where the gengar had disappeared.

Unfortunately, the dungeon pokemon within the radius of the explosion kept on going just as strong, and with the sudden absence of Damien, the group had become slightly outnumbered.

Fire enveloping his fist, Dusknoir pounded the purugly he had been fighting to the ground, waiting until it had vanished in defeat under his grasp before turning towards where he had heard Edgar.

“Burn as many as you can!” he commanded.

Edgar’s gaze flickered over towards the sound of the orders, pausing in the middle of his confuse ray attack. In his hesitance, the tropius blew another leaf tornado at the duskull, who yelped as the sharp plants struck him, cutting through his robes but leaving no blood.

Dusknoir’s eye widened as he winced, but he doubled down on his plan, “will-o-wisp, Edgar!”

Whimpering, Edgar summoned ghostly flames to his torn cloak before sending them at the tropius. Just as the foe was burned, Dusknoir moved forward. His eye glowed a swirling purple and red as he created a dark sphere, ringed with blue and red, which he sent at the tropius in waves. The attack struck the spawn, and then flared with the burns. Tropius screeched in pain, crumbling to the ground and disappearing in a flash of light.

“Wha-What was that?” Edgar gasped.

“Hex. It does more when the foe has a status condition,” Dusknoir informed him, “keep going; this will be a good way to get good damage out on them. I will protect you.”

Though he shook slightly now, Edgar swiftly moved on to the next spawn, and they repeated the will-o-wisp and hex combination strategy. Only a couple of the spawn toughed out the first hex that would hit them, and even then, their burn would ensure their defeat.

Eventually, the monster house was cleared out. Damien pulled himself out from the ground, appearing, physically, much better than before.

“Sorry I kind of… dipped out there,” Damien told everyone, “I wanted somewhere safe to eat an oran, but then… uh…” he trailed off, unwilling to admit why he had not reappeared in the battle again.

“It’s alright,” Nelvana assured him, “it would be better to have your help again more in monster houses, but it’s good to keep an eye on your help, especially with the bag.”

Damien nodded with relief, “I’ll try to help out more next time,” he promised.

Ignoring the other conversation going on, Dusknoir reached over to Edgar with both hands. The duskull flinched, still shaking, but did not move away as Dusknoir gingerly brushed his large fingers across the tears in Edgar’s robed body.

“Thank you for helping me with your will-o-wisp,” Dusknoir told him softly, “you will heal fine, you should still check up with Gro- Alex though. These cuts are not strong enough to scar, do not worry,” he assured him.

Lowering his arms again, Edgar nodded in return and swiftly floated over to Alex, who had been carefully watching the two interact. Alex glared over at Dusknoir, but said nothing and turned to offer Edgar the requested oran berry instead.

Once everyone had recovered, they reformed their line and moved onwards. There was no time to sit around for too long. As they were organizing themselves, however, Alex leaned up to Dusknoir.

“You don’t get to call me Alex,” he hissed quietly.

Dusknoir stiffened, but silently nodded. Alex bit his lip, continuing to glare at Dusknoir without moving, as if he had something else to say, but he moved on to his place in line without another word.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

Fortunately, despite Damien’s early encounter with a self-destruct trap, there were far fewer traps than there were monster houses. The monster houses themselves, as the group realized that there were no new kinds of pokemon from what they had seen early one, became easier as well, slightly, as they worked out improved strategies on how to handle their numerous foes.

Not having any reason to pause for anything more than checking for traps and fighting dungeon pokemon made travel faster, though the long, winding paths of the dungeons still felt like they went on forever sometimes. They knew that if they didn’t have their own dungeon map to fill out where they were and where they had been, they would certainly have gotten lost a few times.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

Eventually, after what felt like hours, they arrived on the safe floor on the twelfth floor. Though, despite their eagerness to have a moment to catch their breaths and talk to each other properly about what was working as strategies and battle plans and what wasn’t, there was nothing of interest on this floor and a sense of urgency prompting them to continue onwards. It didn’t take long before they decided to brave the stairs up to the next floor.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

“This dungeon is a first for a lot of things,” Keahi commented to no one in particular when they had arrived on the fourteenth floor. “We’ve mentioned the strength of the pokemon and the lack of items, but we haven’t had any change of pokemon in this entire dungeon! Usually you have some only show up on earlier floors and some only on the later ones, but this has the same pokemon everywhere,” zie explained.

“Huh, you’ve got a point there. Wonder if it’s the fact that it’s rare that anyone comes out here that limits the variety?” Nelvana responded.

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall-“

“Damien, I have no idea what that song is but I don’t want it stuck in my head, please stop.”

“Sorry.”

“There is a monster house somewhere on this floor.”

After what had surely been the entire rest of the day after everything they had done even before Hidden Land, they had exited the dungeon. Not the building they were in, however. It slowly dawned on those who had not previously been to this location before that they were now in the tower separate from the dungeon itself. A steady silence overtook the group as they subconsciously slowed their pace to something more casual as they began examining their newer surroundings.

Swirling runes carved into the walls decorated their path as they continued forward. The markings at first just resembled that of what had been seen on the wall of Brine Cave, but soon there were more images, now resembling pokemon, and then words of an unfamiliar language etched below the pictures.

“It’s telling a story…” Nelvana realized aloud, almost in a whisper.

Alex nodded with a small smile, “it is. It’s the story of creation. You read it to us the last time we were here,” he responded.

“Geez, these are some old runes,” Damien commented, pausing from walking to crouch beside the first set of letters. “I think I’ve seen this sort of text before… pain to try reading though.”

“And you’re from hundreds of years before now, and they were old then?” Keahi said, “these must be really old then.”

“Thanks,” Damien snorted, standing back up. “I could probably figure it out after awhile, but if Nel has read these before, I assume she’s better at figuring them out than I would be, hm?”

“I… yeah, I can tell what they say,” Nelvana murmured, moving to stand beside Damien, closer to the markings.

“Is it a human language? Could Ceebee or Alex understand as well?” Tsuki asked, glancing over at the pokemon in question.

“I can!” Ceebee chirped, “well, sorta. Damien’s right that Nel is better at reading this sort of thing aloud. And Alex can’t read this at all, strangely enough.”

“It’s a human language, but uses a different text for it…” Alex sighed.

“Do you want to read it for all of us now?” Keahi asked, stepping over to zir partner.

“…I could, if you want,” Nelvana answered after a moment, smiling slightly.

“I’d like to hear it!” Edgar chimed in.

Nelvana nodded, and then slowly began to read. Her words were unsteady at first, but eventually she grew into the rhythm of reading the strange words, even finding herself able to merely skim as she read, as if this were something she already knew deep within her mind. As she finished reading a section of the text, the group would move together to where the next portion was written.

The story of creation was something most of the group were familiar with, but there was something special about having it be read from these runes. This tale varied from time to time depending on who told it, but this version stuck to the core of history, telling it as it was.

Mew was the first pokemon to grace existence. They lived alone in space for many years by themself, until one day, they grew bored and lonely with the empty life they lived. They created their first child, Arceus, to accompany their existence. Arceus, however, found the vast nothingness of space unpleasant, and thus they decided to create something more. Mew could create life, but Arceus could create planets, and together they would be able to form a world. Arceus created many planets, but it was their first that Mew decided to create living beings to live on. As these mortals found their own meanings on this world, Arceus found that if they wished to create more, then they would need more help than just themself and Mew. Thus, Arceus took off pieces of themself to create three children of their own. Gods of time, space, and anti-matter, to keep a watchful eye over the balance of this world and existence itself.

The story went on to tell about Dialga, Palkia, and Giratina, and Giratina’s betrayal of the other three; something that Giratina had personally told the group about already, and something that now felt worse to read about here. As they passed on that part, the walls seemed to crumble away into rumble, anything written on them lost to the decay of time.

With them passing by where the ruins themselves broke apart, the group found themselves standing at the base of one more set of stairs, the final platform sitting above them in the distance. The stones under their feet were polished compared to the ruins before, and almost seemed to reflect some of the sunlight off them, creating a small glow.

To their left, far off into the horizon, were several floating stone islands, surrounded by colorful clouds, and finally…

“See that?” Dusknoir gasped, “that’s Temporal Tower, out there.”

“We’re almost there…” Tsuki mused softly.

“Just up here should be the Rainbow Stoneship, which will take us to the Temporal Tower,” Ceebee added, pointing up the flight of stairs ahead of them.

Taking heed to Ceebee’s directions, everyone continued forward up the final set of stairs at Hidden Land. At the top, was simply a large, circular platform. In the center of the platform were more markings, this time perfectly matching those on the wall of Brine Cave. The markings faintly glowed with various colors, almost encouraging the group to step on.

After a pause, Alex stepped onto the center of the platform, and then turned back to silently welcome the others on. Nelvana followed her partner right away, and Ceebee fluttered over with them. One by one, everyone else stepped on as well, huddling around each other to make sure there would be enough room for everyone to get on without falling off. Finally, Dusknoir, at the back of the group, floated over to join everyone else.

There was another pause, but before anyone could go to ask how they were supposed to activate this, all the markings lit up at once. The platform slowly spun as it rose from where it had been sitting before, and once it reached its full height, it began floating towards the Temporal Tower, a glowing rainbow trailing behind.

“They’re expecting us,” Ceebee gasped.

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which the tower of time is explored Previous: In which the dungeon with fossil foes is explored

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talvin-muircastle · 4 years

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The Last of the King’s Men (Original Fiction)

This was the first story I wrote in November 2015, when I was doing my Short-Story-A-Day challenge.

Content warning: violent death.

And so I begin again, for the fourth year. It's semi-traditional that I start out with something that has a "spooky" element to it. I've had this one stirring in my head for a while, but I had to sit down and write it after a very long day. Still: a single draft. It stands.

The murder happened around midnight. They woke Inspector Arrensby at a quarter to three. "Beg pardon, sir," said the patrolman at his door, "Man found dead in the park, and it's a strange killin', it is. I have a coach waiting." "Of course. Come in out of the cold while I get ready." He could barely see the lanterns through the fog when they reached the park. Together they made their way over to the body. The patrolman filled him in as they walked. "It was me as found him, sir, on my rounds. Literally tripped right over him in this soup. No sign of a struggle, no sign of a weapon, and well, it's not gonna be the sort of thing you can stick in your pocket...look." "In the King's Name!" swore Arrensby. The body lay on its stomach, and the head sat on a rock a short distance away, bearing a crown made of browning oak leaves. "Aye, sir. This is why we wanted you. Man beheaded, wearing a crown of oak...looks kinda like the old King's crown from the books, don't it? Except there ain't no King no more, not for a century and some." "No," whispered Arrensby, "there is no more King." And it was true. The King lay dead at his feet. Late morning, and Arrensby had had no sleep, no food, and no answers. The first two he would remedy soon enough, but first he had a duty to perform. A hired coach dropped him at the front door of Wallens House, the home of the recently deceased. He had been there many times before, but always by the back way, by night or disguised. Today, none would think it odd if he used the front door. The sun shone brightly through the crisp air, the first sun that had been clearly seen in a month. It was bitter irony that the death of a great man should be heralded by pleasant weather. Storms and gloom seemed more appropriate, somehow. Yet they had had enough of both this last year, with a poor harvest, ships lost at sea, and an outbreak of the fever that had left families mourning their children and elders too soon. I should be glad of the sun, thought the Inspector. I suppose I should. The door opened, and Arrensby was shown into the parlor. A young woman sat there in a chair that would only suggest a throne to someone inclined to think in such terms already: Catherine Wallens, only daughter of Cecil Wallens. He knelt before her, "My Queen." "Not yet, Andrew. Frederick: the blade." Her butler handed her a slender sword, which she lay across her hands. They shook slightly, but he pretended not to notice. He set his right hand upon the sword and his left upon his heart. "The Queen is the Land, and the Land is the Queen. I, Andrew Stewart Arrensby, do swear upon this blessed blade that I shall serve the Land by serving my Sovereign the Queen, and that I shall serve Her by serving the Land and Her People. I further swear that none not of the Court shall know my true allegiance, nor that the Line continues unbroken!" He withdrew his hand, and she laid the sword across her lap. "I accept your oath and your loyalty, Guardsman. Now I beg of you: tell me of my father." "My Queen, I know too little. It...it was clearly ritualistic. Perhaps some attempt to raise power. I must consult with Master Kenneth: if Magic was involved, it both shortens our list of suspects and increases the threat to you. Ah...forgive me. Has Mr. Perry been informed?" She blinked back tears and nodded. "The Admiralty sent a message by wireless this morning. He is currently serving as Commodore Entwright's Flag Lieutenant, and the Commodore is putting him on the next fast ship home, on compassionate leave. The wedding...will of course be delayed, as I will be in mourning." The Queen's Fiancee safely across the water. Inwardly, Andrew breathed a sigh of relief: none were above suspicion, yet it eased his mind to be able to move that one further down the list. "Your Majesty, I must continue my investigation. I have spoken to the other Guardsmen already, and the watch upon you will be increased. If there is anything else I may do, call for me." "Thank you. Please keep me...Us...informed." The butler showed him out, asking if he should summon a cab, but the Inspector declined: he wanted to walk to clear his head. Soon he found himself taking his lunch at one of the capital's many cookshops, eating without really noticing the taste as he pondered the death of his Sovereign Lord. A hundred and fifty years ago, the last King had died without issue--or so it was thought. The Age of Magic was ended, the Age of Reason begun, and already many felt that time of the Kings and Knights was done as well. For centuries it had been said that the King was the Land and the Land was the King, and that if the Line ever ended, so would the Kingdom and her people. The death of a childless monarch had been heralded as proof that the old stories of magic and wonder were only that: stories. They were wrong. The King had hidden a daughter from all but his closest advisors, and she had been raised--secretly, but in plain sight--to assume the throne upon his death. As the Kingdom transitioned to a form of government based on elections and public debate, the Royal Court slipped into the shadows. Its members occupied key positions in the government--though never the Prime Ministry--and subtly guided this journey into self-government. They were content to act only when this young, untested form of rule faltered. For a century and a half, it had worked. "Mr. Wallens", descended of an old Yeoman family of good fortune and good character (which that first secret Queen had married into) was a respected scholar of law, the sort of man that the courts and the politicians turned to when matters were less than clear. Thus he had served his people openly, while speaking more plainly to the members of his Court behind closed doors. Mr. Wallens was not the sort of man who would be murdered in some bizarre ritual. King Cecil II was almost certainly the intended victim. Sleep would have to wait. He needed answers, and Master Kenneth. Kenneth Owen, Ph.D., R.S.M. A Fellow of the Royal Society--still called that, out of tradition. Naturalist, Philosopher, Ordained Minister, a Navigator in the Navy in his youth, a polymath of wit and skill. Also: Royal Mage. He opened the door at the first ring, "Inspector. I knew you would seek me out. Come in." Arrensby went in, marvelling as always at the decor. Most Mages had to hide their vocation in this Age of Reason, but an man as eccentric and eclectic as Master Kenneth could put his tools on public display: "A fascinating study in anthropology!" he would tell the curious, and proceed to tell his visitors the precise use of each bit in a tone that implied that he didn't believe a word of it. Master Kenneth also fancied himself Court Jester at times, and the old King had never corrected him for saying so. "You're here about His Majesty, of course. Dreadful, utterly dreadful...but he hadn't been feeling well all this year, and so now he is spared that at least." Master Kenneth was an odd sort, but this was strange even for him. He puttered about his office nervously, moving things about. Arrensby felt a stirring of concern. "I...found the manner of his passing to be most peculiar. It looked more like a sacrifice in some ritual, truth be told." "Oh, most definitely, most definitely a sacrifice. Old magic, it was. The King is the Land, the Land is the King. If one prospers, so does the other. If one is overcome, both are overcome. Normally it passes...well, normally! Sometimes, though, stronger measures are called for. He knew that. That's why he came to me." "What...what are you saying?" Arrensby was sweating, now, despite the draft from the window at his back. "The King is the Land...we say it, but that's not how it really works." Kenneth turned, and his eyes shone with a frantic inner light. "That is the Reason in you speaking. Ask the Guardsman, the one who is also a Knight. Look outside, Andrew! Not a cloud in the sky! The land is young and fresh again!" Sir Andrew was on his feet, now, without memory of having risen. "You couldn't have...that would be treason!" "No, not treason! He left a letter here, explaining it all. And this book here...this is the diary of a madman. I have been preparing it ever since His Majesty gave me my orders. And this," Master Kenneth snatched at a sword hanging on the wall amidst the other curios, "is the murder weapon. EN GARDE, SIR!" There was no time to think, no time to attempt to reason with him. Master Kenneth, aged though he was, lifted the blade over his head and charged screaming. Arrensby's hand darted inside his jacket. CRACK! The pistol-shot was nearly deafening in that old office. Outside, he heard the whistles of patrolmen. Near midnight, he knelt again before his Queen. Sleep would come soon, but first he had to make his report. He handed over the King's Last Will and Testament, in which Cecil had explained that he knew that his own illness and the sickness of the land were one, and that only his death would end them both. Over his own seal, he said that he had ordered Kenneth to do it, and that Kenneth planned his own death as well, to bring closure to the case in the public eye. The diary had satisfied Arrensby's superiors in the force: poor old Master Kenneth, his mind had snapped. He had attempted some spell out of an old book that required a human sacrifice, an act of madness from one who had spent too much time with such things. Only a few knew the truth. "Thank you, Andrew. I wondered, when Kenneth did not come to me. I sent him word at first light, but he did not come. Always before, he had come when I asked for him. Had he come today, though, he would have had to swear to me, and he couldn't. He held faith with my father, even as he betrayed me." She looked down at her father's letter again. "Truly, he was the last of the King's Men."

#My writing #Original Fiction

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shellalana · 5 years

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One Enchanted Evening

Part 1 birthday gift for @maliwarm (it’s part 1 because this plot ran away with me and I don’t have the time to get it all done right now)

“Ask her.”

“No, I don’t want to ask her!”

“K’, you go ask her now or I’m gonna ask her for you!”

“This is stupid!” The white-haired teen through his hands into the air in defeat and stormed away... not there was any place to go. The Fortune’s Favour was currently flying to Tempest for another of their stupid celebrations about Solus and finding peace and forgiveness and whatever bullshit those Jennerits dragged out of their asses to make up for, well, everything.

So no, there was nowhere to escape to, except wandering the ship in hopes of getting lost. But knowing his mom, who patrolled the hallways on the regular, he would bump into her eventually. Another downside of knowing his mom, however, would be her reaction to his question.

“It’s that or me dressing you and you’ve seen my fashion sense already.”

How could he forget? Maxima didn’t have the first clue about what looked good, what with his closet half-filled with floral patterns and palm trees for a beach that didn’t exist.

Between a rock and a hard place. ... he could deal with his mother’s teasing.

Surprisingly enough, he found Reyna up on the bridge, halfway done through the largest mug of caffe he’d ever laid eyes on, and going through whatever paperwork needed to be done for the day. Things were looking a little more up; she’d take this seriously and not laugh in his face in front of the rest of the crew... right?

“M-... Reyna, can I talk to you for a sec?” A touch to her elbow drew her attention away. She almost fell out of her chair to find K’ there; it was usually the other way around, her coming to him to see if everything was alright. If this was happening, then something was definitely wrong. Concern knotted her brow as she - also surprisingly - left her mug of coffee behind and followed him into one of the rooms just off the bridge.

“What’s up?”

She wanted to add “little duck,” her old pet name for him but got the feeling that would be too far. They were still maneuvering what their relationship was supposed to be.

“... this big ball we’re going to. We have to dress up real fancy, right?”

Reyna scoffed, crossed her arms over her chest, and rolled her eyes. She hated these stuffy events, but she wasn’t about to tell Deande no. No need to stir up that pot again.

“Even me. Why, you got a reason you can’t go?”

Crap. That was an option!? An excuse would have been so much better than what he really wanted to ask her.

“I. Need help. Finding a suit.” The words somehow managed to make their way out from between his grinding teeth. Reyna always took every opportunity to try and baby him, to make up for the years she’d missed on teasing him and watching him grow up.

So he wasn’t expecting her to give him a simple “okay.”

“Wait, really? No jokes or anything?”

Reyna blinked.

“Yeah? Why would I?”

“Cuz... that’s what you usually do.”

“And you hate it. You think I want to keep going down that road of forcing a wedge between us?”

“Wow... that caffe must be really good today. So, uh, can you meet me in an hour? My quarters?”

“Sure. Might be a little late, but it’s not something that requires my immediate attention.”

That caffe must be extra good; hardly did she ever put aside her work to make time for others. Overworked and overpaid, she maintained her good spirits to make sure everyone else on the ship felt secure.

As she promised, she was late, but only by a few minutes. She’d managed to steer the ship towards a local shopping district on a nearby planet. As easy as that. Sometimes it paid to have such a powerful mom on his side. A shuttle taken to planet-side, docking, and then working their way through the busy streets to get into one of the local stores that had the right kind of apparel. A lot of it seemed too bright in colour, nothing quite suiting for the event they were going to.

“How about this. I find you a suit you like, you get to pick out a dress for me.”

“You don’t have one,” he said drolly.

“I don’t. Kill two birds with one stone, right?”

K’ slapped his hands together and rubbed them furiously. The ultimate chance for revenge for all the time she’d spent ragging on him. It would put her in her place and make her feel like a fool. Which, in and of itself, was a pretty difficult thing to do to someone with her confidence levels. And it wouldn’t be that hard to find the most hideous thing in this store either.

Ping!

>>Be nice and try them on.

It was Maxima. How did he... Did he have...

He glanced at Reyna looking through the stacks. Of course they were talking to each other. When it involved him, it was hard to keep them separated, like two stubborn sides of Velcro.

>>Fine.

#prose #starburst AU #k'#reyna valeria #crossover

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soveryanon · 5 years

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Reviewing time for MAG149! /X_X/*

- Statement-giver was a pure delight and I’m still snickering every time over this passage:

(MAG149, Judith O’Neill) “I usually head out with the other specimen tech, Fernanda Miqado, a local – and by local, I mean she’s from Manaus, about 200 miles away. Brazil’s… pretty big. And if there’s one thing she’s really good on that I’m not, it’s the weather. I’m pretty hopeless at figuring out what any given day’s going to be like, and just have to rely on whatever weather site I’m currently losing faith in. It doesn’t help that the weather in the Amazon is just plain weird, with rains coming out of nowhere months before the wind should actually be bringing in the clouds, and… n–no one knows why. But… Fernanda, she might not know why but, somehow, she always knew when – to the point where, if she said it might be bad, I would just cancel the expedition. No further evidence needed. Not that day, though. No; that day, we had the world’s pushiest climate scientist breathing down our necks. Doctor Nikos Anastas.”

I’m So Glad Martin read that one because his snappiness was so good with Judith’s voice. They can all be pretty snappy but… Martin sure is something.

(- Not sure if it’s “doctor Anastas” but at the very least: Judith/Martin/Alex ABSOLUTELY gave up on pronouncing his name towards the end, and we got “That was the last I ever saw of Dr. Nikos [Asantas]”, and I’m still laughing every time too.)

- Judith knew that you speak Portuguese in Brazil! Progress from MAG033’s Carlita and her trouble getting understood due to her “bad Spanish” =D

- At first, when the statement appeared to be in Brazil in an isolated area, I thought about the Tundra again. And it’s true that the Extinction statements technically have technically been happening in remote areas – isolated or inaccessible or hidden in plain sight or in what felt like an alternate reality (Bernadette in Garland Hillier’s flat, Judith mentioning feeling disorientated after the fall and that something was wrong), and I’m vaguely suspecting that Peter and/or Adelard’s reading of the new Fear may indeed be… off, and that their summary of it only matches with the statements they consulted but not with the essence of what it is actually…? I can see how Gertrude was dubious about it, since every statement so far is also reminiscent of other stories/elements involving other Fears.

- Faaaaaaaaaaavourite “Holy Heck” moments were (because I’m super easy):

(MAG149, Judith O’Neill) “They were completely still, but there was something about them that made my mouth dry up, and my mind scream to run. [STATIC:] It didn’t feel like they were statues. It felt like they were choosing not to move. [/STATIC] […] I don’t know if it was me or Fernanda screaming. Maybe it was both of us. But I know it was her who first spotted that the detritus figures [STATIC:] were no longer choosing to stand still. [/STATIC]”

… And the tape recorder went all static when the statues were described + Judith’s Fear:

(MAG149, Judith O’Neill) “There’s something in there, [STATIC:] and I don’t know which scares me more: the thought that it’s more than just the things we left behind? Or that that’s all it is, and we can’t escape the ruins of our own future. [/STATIC]”

It had also reacted to Garland’s door and the “description” of the Inheritors, and to Gary’s numbers, before…

- The Extinction statements are getting closer and closer to the current in-universe present time, and this was the most recent statement about The Extinction involving Dekker:

* MAG134: Statement of Adelard Dekker, taken from a letter to Gertrude Robinson dated 22nd January 2006. * MAG144: Statement of Gary Boylan, given October 3rd, 2009. * MAG113: Statement of Adelard Dekker. Statement undated, likely circa 2012. * MAG149: Statement of Judith O’Neill, given May 13th, 2013.

… How convenient for Jon that Adelard hadn’t mentioned “The Extinction” by name in MAG113, and that there wasn’t any note talking about it either ^^

Assuming that Jon’s approximate dating of MAG113 had been right, then this statement was also the closest in time involving Adelard Dekker at all. That’s still… five years before current time, and we haven’t heard of what his status has been in the meantime. What happened to you, dude.

(Also, according to Gertrude’s note, Adelard had sent Judith to the Institute… and yeeet, it’s a written statement. Gertrude was way better at the “not jumping on people for their live-statements” thing than Jon, but it also raises the question, once again: why was Gertrude choosing to record some? Why Walter about the old Archives, why Lucia about the Last Feast? Why couldn’t she ask them to write it down, in those cases…?)

- … Isn’t it funny how, so far, each of The Extinction statements had something that felt like a personal jab at Martin. Garland Hillier had the bad poetry; Gary Boylan had the concept of being stuck with a parent (and the fear of being like your dad, or becoming like him)

(MAG134, Adelard Dekker) “[Garland Hillier] spent the next twenty years publishing widely derided collections of poetry, as well as essays on belief and atheism that were roundly ignored by the philosophical salons of the time. He was supported by several literary friends, as he was reputedly a gifted editor, even if his own work was often all but incomprehensible.”

(MAG144, Gary Boylan) “Something kept me rooted there, sleeping in a bedroom that hadn’t changed since I was fifteen, and caring for a man who I’d rather just shut up…! [SIGH] We were both… trapped there, I think. Bound together in a sort of wordless misery. I would look at him, and see a grim sort of destiny for myself: trapped here, until I became him – any future I might have had, sacrificed to his. [SIGH]”

Here, Judith actually had a degree, contrary to Martin… but was hired for another reason (and why did Elias hire Martin exactly?).

- So, Martin’s isolation was kind of the point of Peter’s training, and it had been installed as a requirement from the start, with Basira explaining to Jon that she&Melanie weren’t seeing Martin much anymore, Martin trying to cut the interaction short the two moments it happened with Jon – and with multiple mentions, recently, that Peter was growing significantly more absent:

(MAG126) PETER: You talked to him. MARTIN: I… I, I tried not to, I–I, I didn’t mean to… PETER: You talked to him. And that’s understandable, Martin, of course it is! Please don’t think I’m upset, it’s just… not ideal. Shows how much work we still have ahead of us. MARTIN: If I keep avoiding him, people will get suspicious. PETER: [CHUCKLING] They’re already suspicious, Martin, that’s not the problem! I had hoped that all this time apart would have given you the space you needed, but… […] MARTIN: A–a simple “hello” isn’t going to make any difference to– PETER: We’ve been over this. The sort of power you’re going to need relies on your– MARTIN: [SULKY] Obedience. PETER: Isolation. It needs to be you, Martin. You’re the only one who could possibly balance between the two.

(MAG134) PETER: … Look. I’m not gonna pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to. It won’t even work unless you’re willing to commit. In any case, I have plenty of preparations to work on myself, before it’s ready. I’ll see what else I can find to help with your reservations in the meantime, mmkay? Just… don’t hesitate too long. We are on a deadline, after all. MARTIN: … Fine. [SHORT SILENCE] PETER: Right! Then, if you’ll excuse me, I have a family thing to get to.

(MAG138) MARTIN: So… so what? What does it mean? Am I supposed to be reassured that new Entities can be born? That there’s some, some kind of… precedent for The Extinction? … Peter? [SILENCE] Huh. Maybe he has gone to a party. [HUFF] Anyway.

(MAG144) MARTIN: And you? PETER: I have my own explorations I need to attend to. And a, hum… meeting. To arrange. For you…!

Aaand going hand in hand with that, Martin had begun to casually admit that he was beginning to embrace that isolation:

(MAG134) PETER: … Anyway. Point is, I’m not your captor or your torturer. I’m not gonna tell you to stop talking to him, or even saving him if it comes to it. If that’s not a decision you’re willing to make yourself, me scolding you isn’t going to help.

(MAG142) MARTIN: I… can’t believe he’d choose to do something like that. … No, no, I, I can’t think like that, though, I, I can’t let myself, ‘cause I mean, if, if he’s already gone, then all of this is just… [PAUSE] [SIGH] Th–the worst part is I don’t even want to talk to him about it. I’m just… [SIGH] I suppose I’m just getting comfortable with the distance. [SIGH] Cut off. [DRY CHUCKLE] “Lonely”. [INHALE] Mind you, Peter’s not wrong. It really is easier than actually just trying to communicate with people. I should probably try to get him this tape, let him know what happened, that someone came in to… But then, ahah, would that just come across as an accusation? Like, because I don’t wanna… And then, then I guess he’d… hear this bit as well, so… I… I… [LONG EXHALE] What do I do…? […] DAISY: Yeah. Just a… a bit empty around here. You know? MARTIN: Not really. DAISY: Melanie’s out, and… [EXHALE] Jon and Basira’re still off. Bit worried. But they can take care of themselves, you know? MARTIN: Again, not really. [SHORT HUMOURLESS LAUGHTER] No one talks to me anymore. DAISY: ‘Cause they reckon you’re working for the bad guy? MARTIN: Pretty much. … Don’t you?

(MAG149) MARTIN: Sort of… surprised Peter hasn’t rocked up with some more… “insights”? Haven’t seen him around for a while, actually. I mean… eh, it’s not like I miss him [CHUCKLING] but, at least he was someone to– [PAUSE] … Ah. [HUFF] [PAPER RUSTLING] Yeah, that makes sense. [EXHALE] A’ight, fine. Just… me on my lonesome for a while, then.

1°) A bit surprised that it doesn’t feel like Martin got reaaaally involved with The Lonely to get Lonely powers, but then, it’s the Institute and Peter has been hovering around him for months so… it probably served as a catalyst?

2°) CRIES BECAUSE:

(MAG142) MARTIN: [LONG EXHALE] What do I do…? [SILENCE WHILE CLOCK STILL TICKS IN THE BACKGROUND] [KNOCK–KNOCK–KNOCK.] MARTIN: [BREATHES] Go away… [KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.] MARTIN: [SIGH] Come in!

(MAG149) MARTIN: A’ight, fine. Just… me on my lonesome for a while, then. … Could be worse. … Peaceful, at least. … I don’t miss all the shouting. [CHUCKLE] Even if it w– [FOOTSTEPS IN THE DISTANCE, COMING CLOSER] MARTIN: … Wait. [RUFFLING OF CLOTHES] Excuse me! Excuse me, this area is off-limits to the public.

Martin is getting so used to being on his own it’s painful, and:

(MAG144) MARTIN: … It’s easier, this way. I’m sure you’d have had no problem sending her away. PETER: I hadn’t really thought about it. And now, thanks to you, I don’t need to. MARTIN: Yeah, well. It seems to be your go-to move for dealing with anyone. PETER: I’m just not big on confrontation. You understand, I’m sure. MARTIN: We. Are not. The same. PETER: Of course.

3°) Oh, Martin… you’re “not the same” but you sent Jess’s tape without being there (… or only invisible? Though he would have ranted or screamed about Hill Top Road if he had been aware, I think, given his reaction to the Svalbard trip in MAG142?), thus avoiding the… confrontation. And you nop’d out again as soon as Melanie arrived.

I’m curious about his “I don’t miss all the shouting”, though: what is that about…? Is it just The Lonely colouring his memories, and any discussion/slight disagreement is now a Shouting Contest by comparison? Is it about his memories of season 3…?

- Although Martin had kept himself isolated from the Archives but… not from visitors? He took Jess’s complaint in MAG142, and stepped in when he saw Georgie approaching (he wasn’t surprised to see her or that she could see him so… it wasn’t unusual).

(MAG149) [FOOTSTEPS IN THE DISTANCE, COMING CLOSER] MARTIN: … Wait. [RUFFLING OF CLOTHES] Excuse me! Excuse me, this area is off-limits to the public. GEORGIE: [VOICE ECHOING] Sorry? MARTIN: You can’t be here, it’s not allowed. GEORGIE: Oh, sorry, hum… Melanie told me to wait for her here…? [ECHO DISAPPEARING] MARTIN: Oh, you… you’re here for Melanie? GEORGIE: Yeah. … Georgie. MARTIN: [COUGH] … Sorry. Uh, sorry, I–I didn’t realise. I’m, I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.

;; But aouch, he was… so dry with Georgie when he took her for a random lost visitor? And he only mellowed down when he understood that she was here for Melanie? I’m not sure he is aware of how snappy and cold he sounds – comparing how stern he was here with how he had interacted with Melanie in MAG084 (just before she signed up)… aouch.

Also! “[this area] is off-limits” sounded familiar, AND YEP IT IS:

(Trailer S1T2) ARCHIVIST: Hello? … Hello? … This archive is off-limits. [MUFFLED THUD] Is anyone there? … Martin? Martin, is that you?

(MAG047) ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry, I didn’t… Can I help you? This place is off-limits. MICHAEL: I disagree. ARCHIVIST: Who let you in here?

… I’m not sure where Martin was, exactly, this time, but it indeed sounded like it was possibly in the Archives themselves? No clock in the background, so it wasn’t Elias’s office (… and I doubt that Melanie would tell Georgie to find her around there). The distant voice + door closing combo puts me in mind of MAG084, which had a similar situation and setting: Martin spotting someone right outside his/an office after reading a statement, discussing a bit in the corridor/other room, further from the tape recorder, then coming back inside with the person (though there were more Door Sounds in MAG084, and only the sound of the door closing with Melanie&Georgie’s departure in MAG149).

- … I’m not that surprised/shocked/in pain about Martin pulling a “sharp squeal of distortion” and disappearing at the end of the episode because I… had been assuming… that he had been able to do that for a long while………………………………

(MAG127) BASIRA: … It was a few months back. After the attack. He’d started spending time with Lukas. At least, he said he was. And I wanted answers. He kept telling me to trust him, to hear the guy out even though he still wouldn’t actually show his face. I told him he could… drop me an email or vanish me. ARCHIVIST: … Right. BASIRA: Honestly, I kind of regret not just… grabbing Martin and shaking an explanation out of him. But I didn’t want to push it. He was in a… bad place, what with the attack and his mom and everything, so I didn’t press it. Now, I try and bring it up, he just… disappears. Nothing to be done.

^There was the ambiguity of whether Basira meant “disappears” as just a figure of speech (“he runs away”) or quite literally; but given the wording, I was inclined to think that Martin fading from the scene supernaturally was A Thing already, back then. And Martin’s heavy sigh in MAG149 after Georgie&Melanie’s departure still keeps that open to interpretation: is Martin used to it (and feels blasé about the whole thing, and the sigh was also… mostly about the conversation he just had with Georgie, the fact that Jon is seen as a lost cause by someone who used to be close to him, or about the rude concept of Other People Having Friends And Doing Things Together), or was it a sigh about himself and the fact he… had finally used Lonely powers for the first time (and what it meant for him)? I’m guessing that if this was the first time ever that Martin disappeared, Peter will be obnoxious as hell about it and will make it official, so we should have a confirmation pretty soon.

Other things I’m not sure about: I’m not sure how to interpret the timing of Martin’s disappearance?

(MAG149) GEORGIE: W–… Jumping on a grenade is only heroic if you weren’t the one who actually threw it. MARTIN: That’s not what’s happening. GEORGIE: Okay. It’s still not something I want any part of. MARTIN: Well…! Lucky for you we’re fully staffed, so… [STATIC AND (FAINT) VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION] MELANIE: Hey! You ready? GEORGIE: Oh, uh – yeah. Whenever you are. [SQUEAL OF DISTORTION FADES] MELANIE: Who were you talking to…? GEORGIE: Oh, I was, uh– … [HUFF] No one, apparently. MELANIE: [SIGH] … Yeah. This place will do that to you…! Come on. GEORGIE: Sure. [DOOR CLOSES.] MARTIN: [LONG SIGH] [CLICK.]

(DON’T SAY “WE’RE FULLY STAFFED”, MARTIN… SOMEONE WILL DIE AGAIN AND LEAVE A SPOT VACANT…)

And I see several options:

1°) It was unrelated to Melanie and/or it’s actually because of Martin that Melanie hadn’t been there until now (in the same way that in MAG108, Martin had called Basira, Peter had popped up, and Basira had only answered Martin’s call after Peter’s departure, as if he had only just shouted her name a second ago). Martin chose that timing because the conversation had been unpleasant and he wanted to put a stop to it and/or because Georgie accidentally increased his loneliness.

2°) Peter had imposed a specific prohibition over Martin interacting with Basira&Melanie (who were the only Team Archives members around when Martin began to work for Peter), and Martin is still following that order. It would match with Basira explaining to Jon that she hadn’t been able to see/interact with Martin much in the last months; and indeed, since the beginning of season 4, we have only seen Martin interact with Jon (who surprise! managed to wake up from his coma, something Peter hadn’t factored in his deal with Martin – MAG126: “… You said he’d probably never wake up.” “And he beat the odds. Which is good. But it does make things more complicated. It doesn’t… actually change… anything.”), although Martin cut the conversation short both times; with Daisy (MAG142, MAG144), who had officially been “dead” when Martin made his deal with Peter; and with visitors (Jess in MAG142, Georgie in MAG149).

3°) … Martin specifically disappeared because Melanie was coming; either because “two is a crowd”, either because… It’s Melanie.

And Martin and Melanie’s relationship had never been, uh, the fluffiest ever:

(MAG086) MELANIE: I… I just feel like you two don’t want me here. TIM: We don’t. Martin’s not big on change. I don’t want anyone to be here.

(MAG106) BASIRA: Oh, what? You’re gonna judge me? I literally don’t know anyone here you haven’t made cry. MELANIE: You only know Tim and Martin! BASIRA: And Elias. MELANIE: I made Elias cry? BASIRA: I don't know. Probably. You can be very mean.

(Though there were kinder things: Martin did go have a drink with Basira&Melanie at the end of MAG099, and it was once again the plan at the end of MAG106 (though it didn’t apparently happen, or at least without Melanie, according to MAG108).

… But Elias, at the end of season 3, had commented that Martin deliberately going against Melanie’s pulsion to go for the kill… could make things veeeeeeeeeeeery bad between the two of them:

(MAG118) MARTIN: We… we need to leave. MELANIE: We need to kill him. Look at you! He. needs. to die! MARTIN: … no. No, I… I knew what this was gonna be. MELANIE: It’s not just for you! If we leave him alive– MARTIN: Melanie. Melanie, please. MELANIE: … Alright. Let’s get these somewhere safe.

(MAG120) ELIAS: Hm. No Melanie? MARTIN: [SIGH] ELIAS: I’d have thought she would have wanted to gloat. MARTIN: N… no. I, I d– ELIAS: You didn’t tell her. [CHUCKLE] Worried she might create too much of a scene. I understand. I just hope she… doesn’t hold it against you. MARTIN: That’s– that’s not– […] It’s better than you deserve. ELIAS: Perhaps so. But I’m glad you were sensible about it. I was concerned you might have bought into Melanie’s… fixation.

We don’t really know how they interacted before Martin made his deal with Peter but it… didn’t bode well, back then, already. And we’ve seen Melanie six months later, when Jon came back: ready to jump at anyone’s throat, threatening and fundamentally angry. I… don’t think she was exceptionally kind to Martin in that period.

(+ Does Martin know that, in the end, her anger had been supernaturally focused by The Slaughter’s bullet? The surgery happened in the tunnels; even if Elias indeed doesn’t have access to them (which… is something… we’re still not entirely sure about…), he had been able to guess that it had happened – possibly because Jon and Basira had discussed about it in MAG127. But Peter? Peter has never mentioned Melanie’s ordeal: he talked about Breekon and the coffin and Daisy’s comeback, but never about Melanie.

Did Martin just assume that Melanie was like this… on her own? Like Tim had been angry about Jon and the Institute? I don’t think that Martin would need that to consider that uh, Melanie is not more worth saving than Jon (because Martin always has had his biases) but… it’s possible that he just doesn’t know that Melanie had been so antagonising and violent because it was favoured by the bullet? and that it isn’t the case anymore?)

- … Another Big Question raised by Martin Whooshing Himself Away… lay with Georgie’s comment:

(MAG149) [STATIC AND (FAINT) VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION] MELANIE: Hey! You ready? GEORGIE: Oh, uh – yeah. Whenever you are. [SQUEAL OF DISTORTION FADES] MELANIE: Who were you talking to…? GEORGIE: Oh, I was, uh– … [HUFF] No one, apparently.

Was Georgie casually savage (“Since Martin chose to disappear, I’m taking this as him fleeing, so that means he’s not worth mentioning and is “no-one”)? Was Georgie extremely descriptive (“… Welp, there is nobody there anymore”)? … Or did Georgie forget about even interacting with Martin and did Martin… make himself “forsaken” in her mind…? ;;

(Because if it’s the last option, AOUCH… Would Martin start disappearing from people’s memory, proportionally to how present he had been around them? Something more gradual than what happened to Sasha? Georgie barely knew Martin outside of Jon’s talks and was meeting him for the first time here; Basira&Melanie… didn’t share a lot with him. But if Jon were to witness, slowly, people around him forgetting about Martin…)

(- Insert horrible snicker here because:

(MAG039) ARCHIVIST: Martin… You’re not, uh… You didn’t die here, did you? MARTIN: What? What? N–no… what?! ARCHIVIST: No, I just… No, just the way you phrased that... MARTIN: Made you think I was a ghost? ARCHIVIST: No… it’s– MARTIN: […] A ghost? Really? ARCHIVIST: [TIREDLY] Shut up Martin.

… Well, Martin kinda become a ghost here. For a few seconds. ……………… Oh no, if Martin is to die soon, will he die IN THE ARCHIVES for maximum irony……………)

- Re: Martin’s own Spooky Sounds when disappearing. It’s definitely close to Peter’s “sharp squeal of distortion” (as it was transcribed in MAG100), but way fainter. Interestingly: Peter’s is a constant background noise when he’s there; here, it only happened when Martin supposedly made himself invisible… and the tape recorder stayed with Martin (we could hear his final sigh). So, the tape recorder doesn’t react to Martin as strongly – and either it means that yeah, Martin is way less of a spook than Peter, either that the tape recorder is a bit desensitised to the Archival staff?

Plus: I’m not suuuuuuuure that there is no static when Peter is there (the distortion is too strong for me to hear) but there was definitely more static than distortion in Martin’s case – a bouquet of static, pretty strong, and it sounds like the usual one… but then, I’m not sure it wasn’t also the same one as the sound we could hear when Jon “forgot” about his lighter in MAG136?

(And technically… Okay, I want to “Hope” (el o el) And Be In Denial until I can’t Think About Web!Martin anymore but!!! If Georgie forgot about Martin’s presence and Melanie was unable to process that he was there: it would be pretty much mind-manipulation and really close to what the lighter is doing with Jon, right?)

- SOBBING because ahaha:

(MAG144) [VERY SHARP SQUEAL OF DISTORTION] MARTIN: [LONG SIGH] … Well? PETER: I’m impressed! And grateful. MARTIN: I didn’t do it for you. PETER: Even better. MARTIN: … It’s easier, this way. I’m sure you’d have had no problem sending her away. PETER: I hadn’t really thought about it. And now, thanks to you, I don’t need to. MARTIN: Yeah, well. It seems to be your go-to move for dealing with anyone. PETER: I’m just not big on confrontation. You understand, I’m sure. MARTIN: We. Are not. The same. PETER: Of course.

… as mentioned above, it wasn’t clear exactly what made/pushed Martin to “disappear” but. Although Martin tended to hide or try to defuse the situation sometimes (encouraging Tim to not blow up at Jon, lying low re:Elias after they had learned what the deal was with the Institute), he also used to be able to explode at people’s face when he had enough (calling Jon out on his Sceptic act in MAG039, savagely ranting at Tim in MAG079, keeping the Receipts of Elias’s actions to throw them in his face in MAG118 – … that’s his “end of season” thing isn’t it.). But here, just fading away in front of Georgie when they were having a disagreement over Jon and/or when Melanie was coming… was quite the “not big on confrontation” thing, and Peter would be so glad and so proud, and I hate Peter so much.

Bonus with:

(MAG134) PETER: Martin… My patron, hopefully our patron someday, doesn’t give me any sort of special insights. I’m not quite the accomplished voyeur that Elias was. I have to keep tabs on things the old-fashioned way. MARTIN: What, turning invisible and eavesdropping? PETER: If you like.

Complete with Martin’s own (faint and static-y) “sharp squeal of distortion”… Martin presumably heard them leave, since he seemed to be on the same “plane” as the tape recorder. So. Uh. Yes. Martin, you’re turning into exactly Peter, and what does that say about you ;;

(My “holding-onto-theories-as-long-as-Jonny-hasn’t-gleefully-and-maniacally-bashed-them-in-with-a-pipe” bleeding heart says “Martin looks exactly like his dad!” and “Lukas!Martin!”.)

- Anyway, getting Lonely or not, Martin is… still a Beholding baby, dutifully recording – WELL, unless he hadn’t noticed the tape recorder this time around, but he had been aware of them last time, so?

(MAG134) PETER: I can’t help but notice you’re recording right now? MARTIN: It… was a statement, right, that’s what we do.

(MAG138) MARTIN: I don’t know what Peter’s planning, but my-my guess is that it might involve something below the Institute. Hopefully, by the time you get these tapes, I’ll have something more concrete for you. [PAUSE] Good luck, Jon, I– … [HUFF] Stay safe.

This time again, Martin was veeeeery “taken” by the statement and gave it his voice, and I’m laughing that, by contrast:

(MAG149) MARTIN: Statement ends. [SHORT INHALE] There’s… hum, a, a note here as well. [PAPER RUSTLING] Looks like Gertrude’s handwriting? Start of a letter to… Dekker, thanking him for sending Judith to her, though… it doesn’t look like it was ever finished or sent. [PAPER RUSTLING] “I assume this is another one he was trying to use to prove The Extinction? It… certainly has something in it. Mankind’s trash giving rise to something terrible. And again, fear of the other, inanimate humanoid figures. That’s all very… Stranger, isn’t it?” [SIGH] [LOW]… It’s never simple, is it…?

… I’m ASSUMING that Martin was quoting Gertrude’s note due to the content (being able to call the similarity with The Stranger, and overall reserves about the concept of “The Extinction”) but… his tone was absolutely not making it obvious. He didn’t read it in Gertrude’s voice or as “someone else’s voice” overall.

So yeah, at the very least: still under Beholding when reading a statement!

(And, small Martin thing: I’m so fond of the fact that he still has trouble introducing the statement – mostly when reading the cases numbers:

(MAG149) MARTIN: Martin Blackwood, assistant to Peter Lukas, Head of the Magnus Institute, recording statement number… 0131305. Statement of Judith O’Neill, given May 13th, 2013. [INHALE] Statement begins.

So many pauses and little hesitations while he reads the numbers! … And, uh. Tim hadn’t bothered with the case number when making An Attempt in MAG086; Melanie didn’t either in MAG086 and MAG106 (Basira did in MAG112 though)… So, uh. Martin has read, what, eleven statements at this point? But I’m still not sure he’s understood that the case numbers are actually constructed from the date, and that giving both of those pieces of information is unnecessary. Hence, probably, why Jon doesn’t bother with it. It had taken Tim 33 episodes to solve The Mystery but. I’m not sure that the information spread.

I’m not sure Martin knows.

Oh, Martin…)

- I’m SO GLAD to hear Georgie’s stance about Jon, and why she… stopped trying and doesn’t want to get involved. To be honest, I’m surprised it… took her this long and happened only after Jon woke up? I had assumed that she had been shaken by Oliver’s encounter and reminded a bit too much of Alex’s situation, and that Jon insisting that he was fine when he couldn’t be had been the things tipping her over, and… it probably contributed. But Georgie really did everything she could in season 3 – housing him, hiding him although she knew the police was searching for him, trying to get him out of his mindset:

(MAG083) GEORGIE: Sure. I just… I know that you get obsessive about stuff, and this right here, I… I’m guessing someone dragged you into something weird, you got hooked in and then it all went wrong. ARCHIVIST: I mean, that is almost exactly what happened. GEORGIE: So what you need now is… distance. ARCHIVIST: You’re right. You’re right. I just… I need to record it. GEORGIE: No, you don’t. This [paper rustles] is not going to help. It’s part of the problem, isn’t it? Look me in the eyes and tell me that it’s not part of the cult or whatever the hell it was that left you homeless. … [SIGH] Come on. What’s it been, four days? ARCHIVIST: Yeah. [SOFTER] Yeah. GEORGIE: It drops through the letter box and you spend four days… like this. It’s not– It isn’t right, Jon. You don’t sleep...

And in response, Jon… had been far from an ideal guest (breaches of trust, insisting he couldn’t stop, being an overall mess):

(MAG083) GEORGIE: Okay. And just so you know: not keen on your weird stalkers knowing my address. Not keen on that. ARCHIVIST: Right. [DOOR CLOSES] Right.

(MAG085) ARCHIVIST: I was just, uh… GEORGIE: You didn’t say we got another one. ARCHIVIST I didn’t want to worry you. GEORGIE: I knew it was something. You’ve been weird all day. ARCHIVIST I’m sorry, I… I don’t know. ARCHIVIST : Look, I’m really not sure about this. ARCHIVIST: I just need to borrow it for a half hour or so. I, I’ll look after it. GEORGIE: Wha– No, I don’t– You can blow it up for all I care. It’s been in the loft for, like, twenty years. If I need tape hiss, I’ll add it in post. ARCHIVIST: So, what’s the problem? GEORGIE: With playing an unmarked tape from your stalker? ARCHIVIST: Uh… Look, you just have to trust me, okay. GEORGIE: Yeah, and I want to do that, but how can I when you still won’t tell me what’s going on? ARCHIVIST: You wouldn’t believe me! GEORGIE: Try me. […] Come on, I’m not throwing you out, Jon. I know you wouldn’t be here if you had anywhere else to go, and I… I do want to help, but… y’know, you’re a good person. You were, at least. But whatever this is, it’s messing you up! [SIGH] Look I’ve, I’ve got work to do. You listen, or don’t listen, or cross-record, or whatever you want, just… just think about it first, okay? You can choose to leave it alone. [DOOR CLOSES] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] [TAPE PLAYER IS LOADED] [CLICK–] […] GEORGIE: That’s it. Whatever the hell this deal is, the tapes, documents, I don’t want them in my house. ARCHIVIST: Look, look… No, no… Look, you, you don’t need to be scared. GEORGIE: I’m not! You are! Look at you, you can barely stand! ARCHIVIST: But I… But I need– GEORGIE: Listen to me, Jon. I can’t stop you doing… whatever secret bullshit you want to do, and I’m… not going to throw you out on the street, but I’m not having it in by home. ARCHIVIST: No… No, they won’t. I’ll make sure it doesn’t… I’ll keep it far away. GEORGIE: No, you need to stop. ARCHIVIST: I’m not sure I can.

(MAG093) ARCHIVIST: Georgie, I just, I needed to do one more. GEORGIE: I asked you not to record them here. ARCHIVIST: I’m sorry, I… I honestly forgot. It’s been a hell of a week. GEORGIE: Yeah, not just for you. What, you think you just disappear for five days, then turn up looking like the, like the end of Die Hard, and I’ll just write it off? “Classic Jon, what an interesting life he must lead.” ARCHIVIST: No, I– GEORGIE: Where have you been? And what happened to your hand? ARCHIVIST: I don’t want to talk about it. GEORGIE: Tough. ARCHIVIST: Look, I’m moving out anyway, so just… just forget it. I’m out of your life. Alright? GEORGIE: No.

(MAG099) ARCHIVIST: You know that’s not what I mean. I feel like I’m putting you in danger. GEORGIE: Well, yeah. You are. A horrible mannequin thing turned up. Had to change all my lightbulbs. ARCHIVIST: Yeah. This, this is my point! GEORGIE: I said I’m fine with it. At least until you’re properly back on your feet. You’re not doing well. You keep apologising and saying you're changing, but it's all just the same. If you leave, I think it's just going to get worse, and I don’t want that.

(MAG149) MARTIN: Why aren’t you talking? GEORGIE: Ah…! … Because… I think… he’s going to… destroy himself. And… anyone who lets him get too close. And I don’t want that to include me. Or Melanie. […] But, he just carried on anyway– MARTIN: … Yeah, he will do that… GEORGIE: –and I realised if I kept trying, it was gonna hurt me more than I was willing to accept. MARTIN: Well… [AUDIBLY SMILING] sometimes, helping people hurts. GEORGIE: Sure, but that doesn’t mean… everything painful helps. Sometimes, people have problems that will wreck you long before you can make a dent in them. … And some people don’t want help, they just… want other people suffering with them. […] MARTIN: It’s easy to pass judgement from the outside…! GEORGIE: One more reason to stay on the outside…!

I’m mostly sad that in the end, it all accumulated and went so badly that Georgie changed her mind, but she’s been… the most irreproachable of all, I feel? She did try, really hard, and it didn’t work to pull Jon out, because Jon kept repeating that there wasn’t any problem and proved himself untrustworthy (he still recorded things in her home and… caught her in his nightmares, and never acknowledged nor apologised about it).

Though, regarding Georgie’s perception of the situation:

1°) I didn’t really understand the “grenade” image…?

(MAG149) MARTIN: Look, we’re all just trying to do the right thing. GEORGIE: Maybe. [SIGH] Look… Life forces you to make hard decisions. But… I can never trust someone who goes around, looking for hard decisions to make. MARTIN: And what do you mean by that? GEORGIE: W–… Jumping on a grenade is only heroic if you weren’t the one who actually threw it. MARTIN: That’s not what’s happening. GEORGIE: Okay. It’s still not something I want any part of. MARTIN: Well…! Lucky for you we’re fully staffed, so…

Or was that literally about The Unknowing – the fact that they had placed bombs there? Does Georgie know that it had been the ritual attempt? (She knew Jon was ~trying to save the world~ but maybe she didn’t know that it had happened then?)

2°) Georgie used a lot of sentences presented as maxims or proverbs, as Objective Truths, and it made her words feel very stiff and sometimes cold…… and at the same time, it makes sense. She can’t feel fear; it would make sense that she learnt to function by rationalising, hence putting aside the emotional aspect of things when it comes to self-preservation, because it’s the only way she is able to tell that things are getting bad.

3°) ;; Her descriptions put me in mind of…… what had happened to Alex – and I wonder if she’s not assimilating what she experienced with The End and what Jon is currently doing?

(MAG094) GEORGIE: As the woman got closer, I could see something in Alex tighten, wind so taut that it finally snapped. She lunged forward, grabbed the corpse by its shoulders, and began to scream into its face. What did it want? What had it done? Demanding answers. The dead woman with the shaved head ignored her grip, leaned close to her neck and opened her mouth. For a moment I had visions of teeth sinking into Alex’s flesh, of arterial spray coating the clean, white laminate, but all that passed between them was a whisper. Something soft spoken into Alex’s ear. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she turned to look at me. Her eyes were different. They were still hers, and I could tell they still knew me, but something in them was gone. As my gaze met hers, Alex gave a simple, small shrug, so slowly, it was if every ounce of will she had went into that one small gesture. Her head drooped, staring at the floor, and she gently lowered herself down to lie there. And just like that I was on my own. It feels strange to think that even then I couldn’t find the strength to run. If I’m feeling generous to myself I try to believe it’s because I was unwilling to abandon Alex, or maybe the thing had some power to keep me there, but honestly, it was fight, flight or freeze. And I froze. I saw the dead woman approaching me. Smelt the chemicals that kept her from rotting, saw her lean towards me, saw her lips begin to form words. In desperation I slammed my hands over my ears and shut my eyes, willing myself not to hear, not to understand. As far as defences go, it was basically nothing, but I still think it saved me, at least a bit.

(MAG120) ELIAS: Another dissection room. Another figure standing in its centre; but this one is calm. She simply looks at him sadly, a pity in her face that burns him worse than any flame. More than anything, the Archivist wants to look away, to turn his Eye from her gentle sadness, from the disappointment for what she sees in him; but he cannot. So he watches her, until she simply fades away.

Georgie witnessed a friend running into danger, getting destroyed in the process, and was almost taken by it in turn. She already experienced this. Of course, she would feel like Jon is threatening to do a repeat of the situation, although more gradual.

- …

(MAG149) MARTIN: Oh. … Oh, wai–wait, I thought Melanie-Georgie, and Jon-Georgie were… GEORGIE: Oh, uh, s–same, same Georgie. MARTIN: Oh. … Ah. Aah, so you and Jon…

Does it mean that Georgie and Melanie are friendly exes too. Does it mean that Jon & Melanie have actually kissed the same person, and would it count as a kiss by proxy. How many seconds before Melanie would gouge her eyes out at the notion.

(Melanie had mentioned Georgie to Basira, but not onscreen to Martin! So Martin used to be on talking basis with Melanie, enough for her to talk about her close ones…? ;w;)

- I’m assuming that Georgie was taking Melanie to therapy again and Hhhhhhh, I’m so glad that 1°) Georgie DID POINT OUT that Melanie is currently making efforts to get better – unlike Jon, and that that’s why Georgie is ready to help in Melanie’s case and less so with Jon (we could hear in MAG145 how… no, Jon isn’t really trying at all), 2°) Melanie indeed sounds quieter and more peaceful. Still really hoping that, whether her therapist is a surprise Lonely/Web/Beholding/Extinction!spook or not, it’s actually valid and regular therapy at work.

- The Martin-Georgie exchange also revealed that they hadn’t met each other at the hospital when Jon was in the coma! Though we still don’t know if Martin was a frequent visitor (we only heard him during the s4 trailer and there was no indication as to whether he had been visiting often or not).

… I was fearing that Martin would be meaner than this given that Georgie is Jon’s (friendly) ex but he (more or less) behaved, amazing. Bow down to Georgie’s powers, able to master Martin’s pettiness.

(Although yes, there is an undercurrent of… “I would do this if I were you!” in what Martin is telling her, so Martin is fully aware of who she is and what she represents for Jon <33)

- I’m half-laughing, half-sobbing over the fact that, when people are telling him that they aren’t talking with Jon, Martin’s reaction is to inquire Why and treat it as a serious issue:

(MAG149) MARTIN: Oh. … Ah. Aah, so you and Jon… GEORGIE: … aren’t… really talking anymore. MARTIN: Rrright. [SILENCE] … Why not? GEORGIE: Excuse me? MARTIN: Why aren’t you talking?

Martin, please. You really can’t fathom that people might not want to talk to Jon and his Charming Personality, or that they have their Own Agenda Preventing Them From Talking With Jon just like you, uh. (Forget Fear Patron-shopping: Martin is Jon-aligned in the “do what I say, not what I DO” department.)

- MmMMMMMmm so, Daisy had already made it transparent that Jon was talking a bit more about Martin than we hear on tape:

(MAG144) DAISY: I, uh… I mentioned our conversation to him; he asked me to check on– MARTIN: Just leave. DAISY: Sorry?

……………….. but the novelty is that APPARENTLY, Jon was talking about Martin behind our backs in season 3 already?!

(MAG149) MARTIN: Oh, you… you’re here for Melanie? GEORGIE: Yeah. … Georgie. MARTIN: [COUGH] … Sorry. Uh, sorry, I–I didn’t realise. I’m, I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. GEORGIE: You must be Martin. MARTIN: Y–yeah. Has… Melanie been talking about me? GEORGIE: Oh, hum… Jon used to go on about you a lot.

(… To be fair, there were two other guys working in the Archives and one of them is dead, so identifying Martin on sight… probably wasn’t that hard. Still, “to go on about you A LOT” is… Big, from Jon.

And he had immediately equated “talking with the others” (Georgie’s advice from MAG099) to “talking with Martin specifically” (in MAG102, one month and a long kidnapping&sequestration later):

(MAG099) ARCHIVIST: Is it… Why are you so insistent on keeping me around? GEORGIE: Because you’re trying to cut yourself off, and that’s… that’s really bad! Look, when’s the last time you spoke to someone who wasn’t me? ARCHIVIST: That’s… I… I–I talked to Martin a, a… a… a few weeks ago…? GEORGIE: Did you talk to him? Or did he talk to you, while you tried to find a way to escape? ARCHIVIST: I… uh… GEORGIE: Look, you’re worried. I get it. But if you really think you’re turning into something… inhuman, you need people around you. You need anchors. ARCHIVIST: All my “anchors” are just as deep in this as me. GEORGIE: Well, you still need them. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Maybe you’re right. I… I’ll talk to the others.

(MAG102) ARCHIVIST: In the meantime I… I have a new flat. I should try to get comfortable, change the locks. Even if I might need to be leaving it for a while. Oh, and… I suppose I… I did tell Georgie I’d try to talk to Martin.

Jon. Joooooon…)

(- I’m!! Still!! Unsure!! Whether Jon’s brooding over Martin in season 4 is meant to be potentially romantic or not. There are so many issues entangled right now that it doesn’t feel like a primary option: Martin is doing something dangerous, is the last one of Jon’s original team alive, and was representing a bit of stability/familiarity. It’s only natural and obvious that Jon would be sick-worried over him and longing for any contact, since Tim is now dead and Jon has been sinking further into spooks and monsterhood.

But the idea that Jon was (positively?) talking a bit more about Martin unprompted in season 3 already… Mmmmmmmmmmm…)

- It was an excellent confrontation of different points of view, with much awkwardness (Georgie and Martin both obviously trying to say Where They Were Standing about some issues even when the conversation wasn’t exactly about it – it really felt like they… weren’t really able to talk “together”, mostly exchanging point of views and mutually using the other as a way to justify themselves), but. At the same time. I feel like Martin’s stances were almost completely invalidated given his situation and what happened with his mother?

(MAG118) [STATIC BEGINS] ELIAS: Your mother. MARTIN: [BREATHES SHARPLY] ELIAS: She’s always been… “difficult”, hasn’t she? You take care of her for years, feed her, clean up after her and now, with her condition degrading even further, she is the one that asked to move into a home, to have it left to the nurses! She is the one that refuses your visits. MARTIN: Sh– she’s always been– ELIAS: Strong-willed? Stubborn? No. No, Martin; you know the reason. Your mother… simply hates you. You just don’t know why! It’s not your fault. Though I know that isn’t any consolation, it’s just bad luck, really. How old were you when your father left? Eight? Nine? When you mother began to sicken and he decided he was done with you both. Not old enough to remember him with any great clarity, especially when your mother refused to keep any pictures of him. She never recovered from that betrayal. He just tore her heart right out!, and took it with him. The thing is, though, Martin: if you ever do want to know exactly what your father looked like… all you have to do~ is look in a mirror~ MARTIN: [HEAVY BREATHING] ELIAS: The resemblance is quite uncanny: the face of the man she hates, who destroyed her life, watching over her; feeding her; cleaning her; looking down on her with such pity– MARTIN: [RAGGED] Shut! Up! ELIAS: Do you want to know what she sees when she looks a you? [STATIC INTENSIFIES]

… MARTIN, HOW DO YOU MANAGE TO CONCLUDE, ONE YEAR LATER, THAT

(MAG149) MARTIN: … Maybe he just needs some help. GEORGIE: I did help him! As much as I safely could. But, he just carried on anyway– MARTIN: … Yeah, he will do that… GEORGIE: –and I realised if I kept trying, it was gonna hurt me more than I was willing to accept. MARTIN: Well… sometimes, helping people hurts. GEORGIE: Sure, but that doesn’t mean… everything painful helps. Sometimes, people have problems that will wreck you long before you can make a dent in them. … And some people don’t want help, they just… want other people suffering with them. MARTIN: Nn, Jon doesn’t want that.

… It’s not only that “sometimes, helping people hurts”: it’s also that sometimes, trying to force your conception of “help” over someone who doesn’t want it hurts them on top of hurting yourself.

Fortunately, Jon is not Martin’s mother, and Freud can remain Buried, but. Martin, oh, Martin… you learned absolutely nothing, did you…?

(I’m wrecked over the fact that you could HEAR that he was forcefully smiling, when saying that “sometimes, helping people hurts”. You could just. Hear it. And gosh, Martin, no…)

- ;; Extra-wrecked that, so far, no, Martin’s conception of care… hasn’t really helped anybody. It didn’t work with Tim when Martin was more or less trying to check on him in season 3, and Tim even cut any contact with Martin when he went on his own crusade against the Circus; Basira dismissed him a bit about it in MAG110; trying to tend to his mother… didn’t really work either. Jon has been craving Anything Martin in season 4, though, which is the main difference with the others. So maybe just being there could help, indeed, and that’s precisely something Martin doesn’t feel like he can afford to do at the moment… If he indeed consciously sent Jess’s tape to the other assistants, it means that although Martin hesitated, he was able to step in and take measures after learning that Jon was on the wrong path. So maybe hearing about how isolated Jon currently is, and how even Georgie has given up on him, could push Martin to send another message…?

- I’m a bit relieved by Georgie’s stance about Jon, too, because… yes, if someone should have these feelings about him, it’s her. And at the same time, I feel like the fact that she made them explicit is also a way to say that this is not the only option – it’s hers and her perception of current events, but it’s not… fundamentally the ones other characters will choose and pursue. There will probably be alternatives, there will probably be many different ways to interact with Jon; we’ve already seen Basira’s and it’s not certain that Martin will keep doing his best to not interact ~for everyone’s greater good in the long-run~ now that he’s getting more information about how bad things are going currently. (Or not, and he could still persist in his isolation anyway.)

I’m still curious about Daisy’s and Melanie’s stances because both of them know they’ve been under influence, and Jon was the one who gave them other options. Both would have personal reasons to feel very mad at him (Jonathan “Do what I say, not what I do” Sims had told Melanie it was time to heal, and told Daisy that There Were Always Choices… when he had already attacked two people), with various degrees of betrayal. I’m sad in advance for Daisy, as she had grown kinda close to Jon since she had come back from the coffin and he… hadn’t… told her… about the live-statements… although she would have been the most likely to understand…, and it’s probably not a good idea at all to have them interact without supervision (if Daisy was beginning to “hear her blood” when thinking about Elias, what would happen now that she knows that Jon had been going more monster-y?) but. I want to hear Daisy’s perspective on these things. (Although I’m worried about Jon’s hesitation in MAG148, please, don’t be Hunting again ;;). As for Melanie, I want her to kick Jon’s butt and call him out on his hypocrisy about “healing” and (break of) trust; at the same time, given that she’s currently making efforts to make better, she’s probably in the best position to do so in a productive way.

(Though there is still the question of What Can They Do?, re:Jon… Melanie got a clearer head (and some additional trauma) following the bullet’s removal. Daisy, who had been a Hunter for a looong time, was cut from The Hunt thanks to the coffin. But how could they possibly cut Jon from The Eye? He was still using his powers in the coffin and his personality has been aligned to Beholding for a long time (Georgie had pointed out that Jon had always been the kind to ask questions that could get himself punched), to the point that it’s extremely hard to establish if Jon had been influenced or if it had been him without any spook involved at various points in the series – the gnawing curiosity about the tunnels all through season 2 is a prime example, and although most of Jon’s actions made sense in context (coming along with Basira to be there to help if Hill Top Road turns out too dangerous; seeing the Dark Sun to neutralise it; agreeing to come with Basira to the North Pole to make sure that The Dark wouldn’t succeed its ritual; going down in the coffin to save Daisy; going to talk to Jared and agreeing to exchange a rib against his statement to learn who had sent Jared after the archival staff; planning Melanie’s surgery; going to The Unknowing because he was worried about Tim’s safety; etc.), it’s still possible that Jon wanted to know and experience these things, first-hand, and was only rationalising to himself secondary reasons to put himself in danger like this.So how would they be able to remove him from The Eye’s influence in the same way that Daisy got cut from The Hunt in the coffin…? Could using The Dark or The Stranger or The Spiral help, given how they feel like opposite to The Eye? Gouging Jon’s eyes out? Anchoring him to another avatar like what happened with Gertrude and Agnes…?)

- ;; Kinda hoping that this isn’t the last we’re hearing of Georgie, nor of Georgie-and-Jon… because we already got the “Jon used to get along with x person for years / Jon fucked up hard / too many fuckups / now x person is giving up on him, and it’s Definite And Absolute and their relationship is broken forever” scenario with… Tim? And the series tends to break more long-lasting bonds than it creates (I doubt that Basira&Daisy will stay a duo for long, especially now with the fact that 1°) Basira had hidden that she had let Jon extort Floyd’s statement, 2°) Basira had hidden she has been following Elias’s leads through the season; Basira and Jon, who used to share the same humour, are a Disaster this season; Melanie, who was kinda getting along with Basira as a gossip unit, felt objectified by her; Melanie and Jon never really got along to begin with… There is still Georgie-and-Melanie at the moment, and a bit of Melanie-and-Daisy in the background, but… that’s it.

And in Georgie-and-Jon’s case: there is the fact that Jon mentioned to Melanie, back in season 2, that their break-up had been… bad, at least according to him. Yet, they were still able to be super friendly in season 3. Which means that they have a history of Patching Things Up even though their relationship changes. As mentioned, we already got The Definitive Fall-Out thing with Tim, so I still want to hope that Jon&Georgie cooould… manage to talk things out at some point, or at least have a proper goodbye to give themselves some closure or something. Unless Jon launches The Watcher’s Crown in the next 10 episodes.

… I want to see The Admiral and hear him purr again, gdi.

(- AND I’M STILL “????” OVER THE NEAR ABSOLUTE ABSENCE OF TIM MENTIONS THIS SEASON… From Melanie&Daisy&Basira, I’m not surprised; and right, he’s been dead for a year at this point, and Martin additionally had his mother and we didn’t hear his own feelings about it either; but it’s only been a few months from Jon, and I’m still ? over the fact that Jon… wasn’t able to remember how they had neutralised The Unknowing, back in MAG122.

Especially right now, with Georgie bringing up self-care and cutting yourself from toxic people, and how some people just spiral into their own destruction… Because, surely, the bottom line can’t be that dying is the best option? Daisy brought that notion back when talking with Martin in MAG142 (about how maybe Melanie had been right to want to kill Elias), and we had a glimpse of that through Tim’s spiralling descent into anger&revenge with a bit of suicide ideation thrown in the mix; it was his Answer to everything that was happening to him, it was the only option he deemed acceptable, he was embracing it and admitted in MAG117 that he probably didn’t want to survive The Unknowing anyway… And so, it was sad as fuck and not something to glorify.)

- And all these Relationship Fall-Outs are a good occasion to remember that Peter Lukas has been running the Institute for around a year, now, and HOW CURIOUS it is that characters have been (even more than usual) unable to work together or to trust each other efficiently.

(… Though, nowadays, Peter is apparently less and less present. So, if he’s indeed been… making things worse just by being there, who is currently casting The Lonely on the Institute? Is it Martin?)

- Also brought up again in the midst of the discussion: the fact that the Institute in itself… isn’t neutral, and potentially influences people:

(MAG062) MARY: Mm. Well, they don’t understand up there. They don’t know what this place is. You do, though, don’t you? We’re on the same side, really, even if Elias disagrees. GERTRUDE: If you say so.

(MAG065) ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know. But I don’t think I can fire you either. TIM: What? ARCHIVIST: It’s this place. TIM: I don’t understand. ARCHIVIST: Neither do I. [STATIC FADES] I’m trying to figure it out, I’ve– I’ve got the shape of it but… I’m sorry, Tim. Truly I am. But I cannot, and will not, trust you. This place isn’t right, you see that now. I don’t know how or why, but there is something very wrong with the Archives. And I don’t know who here is a victim of it… and who is an agent. TIM: So… what do we do? ARCHIVIST: For now? I suppose we just… do our jobs. TIM: I don’t want to. ARCHIVIST: No…

(MAG079) TIM: There is something in this place, and it’s messing up our heads. It watches us all the time. It stops me quitting. I’m pretty sure it would stop Elias firing Jon even if he decided to actually try running this place for once. MARTIN: You’re sure you don’t just want to stay? TIM: I’m sure. MARTIN: But, like, deep down– TIM: No. MARTIN: … Oh.

(MAG080) ARCHIVIST: This place belongs to one of them, doesn’t it? LEITNER: You know the answer to that. ARCHIVIST: The Eye. LEITNER: I have also heard it called Beholding. ARCHIVIST: And I… LEITNER: You belong to it too.

(MAG090) TIM: … You do know, right? I mean, you must know. ELIAS: Know what? TIM: About this place. About what it does to us. ELIAS: [SIGH] Tim, this place is very old. It has all sorts of... idiosyncrasies and not all of them are good for the people who work here. TIM: I think I’d prefer asbestos.

(MAG092) ELIAS: Jonah Magnus did leave him in that place, Jon. He got the letter, oh yes, and was on good terms with Mordechai Lukas. He could have interceded, perhaps even saved him, but he did not. And it was not out of malice, or because he lacked affection for Barnabas Bennett […]. No, it was because he was curious. Because he had to know, to watch and see it all. That’s what this place is, Jon, never forget it. You may believe yourself to have friends, to have confidantes, but in the end, all they are, is something for you to watch, to know, and ultimately to discard. This, at least, Gertrude understood. […] There’s so much of this place, of ourselves, twisted by forces far beyond us. I just wanted you to know– [DOOR OPENS] […] Yes, I was just saying to Jon. It’s very important to me you understand that no action I have taken has been controlled. I have done everything because I wished to.

(MAG098) TIM: Look, it’s not that. I… [SIGH] This place is evil, Martin. And I think doing what It wants? Probably makes us evil. And It wants those things to be read. I mean, I’m not going to stop you, but, at the same time… MARTIN: I– I get it.

(MAG114) TIM: Anyway, you’re a spook too now, aren’t you? This place loves you too much to let you get swapped.

(MAG123) ARCHIVIST: I don’t understand. MELANIE: No? You don’t, do you? He’s still alive. You are still alive. So THIS PLACE is still–! [HEAVY STRANGLED BREATHING] ARCHIVIST: Melanie! Melanie, this isn’t you–

(MAG128, Breekon) “That was the first time we saw what would become this place, The Eye’s Pedestal. But we were drunk on the dawning horror of transportation and took no heed of it.”

(MAG149) MARTIN: … This place isn’t a sickness. GEORGIE: No, I–I think it’s worse. […] MELANIE: Who were you talking to…? GEORGIE: Oh, I was, uh– … [HUFF] No one, apparently. MELANIE: [SIGH] … Yeah. This place will do that to you…!

How fitting, that Melanie, who sounds better lately… has also been getting out more, at least for therapy. Thus removing herself a bit from the Institute, after spending months holed up in there with Basira. (… This is not an invitation for Jon to go roam outside unsupervised again.)

(And Peter had told Martin that he needed the Institute for his plans, and Martin suspected that it was about the tunnels under it. … is the building getting destroyed by the end of the season. BURN, BABY, BURN.)

- What a perfect time, also, to remember that Jon had wondered out loud back in MAG139 about why they had been “chosen”, and hadn’t been able to find an answer. But we know, concretely, about Some People Who Did Some Choosing, and who are doing their damn bestest to be perceived as comedically useless recently, uh. Peter keeps being away and fake-friendly and not helping with anything even about dealing with The Extinction; and Elias allowed Basira to come see him although he was expecting to get beaten up, and pretended that he had messed up here and there and didn’t know much about anything. But. Elias, why did you specifically pick Jon as the next Archivist, even though Xiaoling had offered someone for the position. Why did you specifically send Peter to meet Martin in MAG108, and why Peter’s fixation with Martin.

(I’m still ?? over that last point because, strategically? Elias had just wrecked Melanie after she had tried to kill him multiple times and wanted to keep going; he wasn’t above doing that. And meanwhile, Tim had provoked him, made it extremely clear he would go against the Circus solo even though Elias was telling him not to – and as far as being lonely/isolated went… Tim was like, the perfect option? Still at a loss with what had happened with Sasha, still grieving his brother? So why did Elias choose to send Peter to Martin, who wasn’t a threat to him at the time? Was it only because of the hopeless pining after Jon – since Melanie&Basira had just made it explicit in MAG106 (… and some part of me still wants to believe that Elias. Hadn’t picked up on it until then. Hadn’t noticed. Because he tended to never take Martin into account)? But then, those were Martin’s feelings for Jon, not the reverse, so even if the plan was to isolate Jon more, it wouldn’t have changed anything…?)

- orz orz orz And it’s always a good (bad) moment to remember that:

(MAG126) MARTIN: … When all this is over, I’m telling him everything, with or without your permission. PETER: Martin… when it’s over, you won’t want to. MARTIN: … Mm. PETER: But he will be safe. They all will. MARTIN: … Yeah.

(MAG138) MARTIN: I think he wants me to join The Lonely. ELIAS: Then it sounds like you have a decision to make. […] MARTIN: I don’t know what I expected. [INHALE] Right. Right, we’re done here. [CHAIR SCRAPING ON THE FLOOR] [STEPS LEAVING] ELIAS: Don’t forget to keep in touch, Martin. There are so many people in here, but without one’s friends… [DOOR LOCKING] it does get rather lonely.

(Gasp, yeah, it sounded almost like ADVICE coming from Elias’s mouth, under the obvious gratuitous jab. Shockingly.)

(Aaaand Peter hadn’t been clear about what would make Martin not want to tell Jon: whether it would be because of Jon’s evolution, or because of Martin’s. Right now, we’re getting both, and Martin is getting more comfortable in his isolation…………………. I still hope that if he had a Plan to backstab Peter, he’ll still carry through it and manage to pull that one off (hey, he had already revealed that he was recording the statements for Jon and intended for the tapes to reach him at some point) but ;; In any case, it won’t be pretty, uh…)

Title for MAG150 is… *Undignified French snicker* Écoutez, je suis une personne simple, on peut vraiment réutiliser le titre de façon dégueulasse si on enfonce cette porte ouverte.

It’s funny, because there is an English equivalent for this one, and Jon was using it so much in season 1 and 2 that I had begun to make the compilation of its occurrences, and it had been used both in its concrete and abstract meanings. … It had specifically been used in MAG041, too, which put me in mind of the tunnels under the Institute (title would fiiiit) and the circle of worms, so I wanna Believe In A Corruption Statement because I’ll do that every week under The Filth gets its share in season 4.

Other options: mmm, we know that Gertrude and Gerry had travelled in France when tracking The Stranger so there could be something additional to this and/or the return of Jon Fluently Reading/Understanding languages he doesn’t know? Or it could be a reference to the movie of the same name – Lonely one, then, possibly? Would be a good title for a Buried statement, too, though we already got the coffin mini-arc not that long ago. Literally, it also puts to mind MAG005’s statement (… and in more than one way) so… could be… about that… too… (in which case: Flesh? Hunt?).

Second meaning of the title is L-O-L, that’s. That’s a nice summary of this little soap opera you call an Archive’s current state of affair. (And it’s… nice to think back to the concrete meaning and how, to get out of one, you have… to admit that you made a mistake and take a few steps back in order to revaluate your options. … Or to pursue your initial plans and to crash against the wall/make the wall crumble. Oh no.)

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #tma liveblog #tma spoilers/#tma season 4 #mag149 #long post/

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determined-magi · 5 years

Text

The enemy’s numbers are quite big...

Perhaps worrisome so for their soldiers. Particularly their mages, as eyes scan and aproximate the minimun each of them would kill. Their side? a few hundreds at best, while the other’s had gotten thousands once more... some don’t quite match... Foreginers, they guess. Must’ve come from the ports they have hard trouble keeping watch of, many seem to be mages too... most of them actually... an alarming thing...

There is something curious however. The king is nowhere to be seen, they would’ve thought he’d show up somewhere around. That said, the man was a coward, so it wasn’t that great a surprise. the sigh, oh well the war won’t end as quickly then. The seven don’t care truly, they can’t. They sigh, hopefully the way they meant this to go would give them enough time to finish things... or at the least give their people a strong footing to finish what they had started. That thought on their minds, they close their eyes and breathe.

Control, the remind themselves. Control... to keep their soldiers from falling, to lend them their poison... the fire with which they and the world may burn along with. Control, so they can do their duty as they will theirs. The king still sat at top of throne, and men still sought to bring damnation to the undeserving, nay... they would not be done until they were gone, not before they brought their world to hell with them, or tore the grounds to hollow traps beneath them, not until they see what awaits their endeavours... they would not rest nor fade until their work was truly done.

No... not yet.

Hands rise to them, and their men stop. Breath in, breathe out... Clear the mind and cast the required spells. Breathe, so their own magic may not hurt them while doing so, and cast the right spell to not intoxicate them with it. Beathe, so they will too...

Their men look around, they feel... something, not right, but not exactly bad. Just... very unpleasant. It kind of itches and burns a little... then some more, it heats their bodies a tad too much, but not enough to force them to remove their armors. It must be the magic of their leaders. They turn to one another... regardless of the unpleasant notiosn felt... it was... quite enjoyable. Something about it felt very exciting, they didn’t know how or why. They did know, thought, that they could all take on many men now however, and that the idea was pretty tempting too... but... they knew that was not them, it was both their own poison trying to whisper... perhaps lightly enhanced by the current magic enhancing their skills and bodies. They shake their heads, no... that would not work on them, their wills remained strong, and so they would for their leaders. They were sacrifising what they could and had to give them a little chance, what they knew they could within their limits... They would not fail them.

The seven finish, and take a long exhalation, close their eyes. They lift their hands to the skies, before they let them down with a single unified scream.

“ Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarge!!!! “

So their men do...

They are quick to cover ground, and soon enough they find themselves closing the gap. Mages and men alike fight with prowess that easily breaks the files of human men at first.

Their enemy do fight, quite tenaciously, but they can see their forces drawing back. They can feel their enhanced souls tearing numbers, and the effects of drawing power from their corpses, as well as the poison such meant. The vague sensation makes them... nostalgic, ah, if only they could join them, they know that is not them thinking however, that it is the demons, the fiends that were crawling at their backs... They sigh, even with all spells and precautions the thoughts and cravings for violence were still there... they were easier to fight now, yes, but that still earned a resigned sigh from them... not even the kid’s spells could keep it at bay for too long. The red mage turns closes his eyes tightly and for a moment, it is as if shame and regret were there once more... if only for the smallest and most fleeting of lapses.

Hands move over him, and he looks to Gilrin. Her smile is bittersweet, he can imagine, under the helmet. He can only see the eyes that betrayed them, the sadness and same weak hope for salvation of their souls. It would be a hard thing for others, but for him it is just what he needs. That little gesture, even if its kindness was tainted in the same griefs... the empathy that slip them was but perhaps the biggest of comforts, when everything still was greatly numbed and hazed in ways it made it hard to try muster the memories of what they felt like truly...

They turn to their soldiers, walking closer to the battlefield. Perhaps a few steam vents would be good to keep their readying bowmen, The Judge nods, a fun way to hurt them without killing them, and have some entertainment without having to just stand and watch.

The man scans the area, furtively seeking every group wielding bow or similar objects made to attack from the distance. Through their united souls he guides the prince, who silently thanks him as he focus on the hot streams down bellow. the ground rumbles lightly under... but he can’t seem to move them... his eyes narrow, something... was interferring? He applies more pressure, then some more... until he snorts and decides to push as hard as he could...

The ground under explodes with molten rock instead.

The twisted mechanics of their world are felt immediatelly, and they clutch to their chest... grasping at their headbefore trying to regain their composture, shaking lightly their head to push what may attempt to slip through new cracks. What the hell had been that? That didn’t happen at the academy, and last they recalled no one had been... particularly fond of trying to stop anything, or had the power for that matter. Nevermind they growl lightly in annoyance, no use of the enviorment then... lest similar aspects brought similar outcomes, they couldn’t afford to rise their numbers higher through the skewed intake of Exp. IT would shorted their span too much, and give too little help... They supposed this likely shortened the few weeks they had at best, probably by half... if not to a third of what it could’ve been.

They urge their soldiers then...

They send the whispers to their souls through their spells, hasten the weapon’s strikes, but keep their stance and defense well. And to ensure the enemy die. And so their men do. Mages and men alike fight harder, faster... And the files diminish more... their enemies do not falter this time however, instead... they seem pretty eager to join the death counts?

Something is not right...

Their eyes narrow, but they had no time to prepare for what comes soon after. Something grips at their spells, and they retreat their enchanments quickly. Screams echo across the fields as their men grip at their heads, desperate cries that signal the sign of something gone bad... or perhaps, they having fallen to some ruse the enemy has made. The screams of mage and human die out, and they lower their hands... before turning towards them... The mages hiss...

How dare they...

The pick up quickly what goes on, binding spells, and another number meant to enslave people to a mage’s will. Some of the worst things invented by their folk, the think, a damnation they had hoped had been not truly possible due to their Lv and the Lv of their men, nay... it should’ve been that way. What was the meaning of this? how could it-

They feel soon enough a sharp stabbing at their head.

They grunt and falter backwards. They can feel something strong on the other side, some things actually, plural. Something too strong to be human or mage... divine in a way... divine? Divinities? That was wrong... that shouldn’t be, should it? Why are they on their side? What is going on?

They don’t know, but whatever is happening, they try to stop it...

They can feel each mental leash, each chain, clinging to their mind, their body, and their soul as they try to break the links of their enslaved soldiers, they can hear them... listen to the distant cries of the ones unable to fight the will of the enemy. Like children... they cry to them, their magic is distant in its cries too, but so can they hear it still... feel its anguish. They claw at the binds of their people, finding only that each chain broken moves to bind both as it divides and mends back upon them...

And it is despairing to them too...

Fruitlessly, they claw further to free others, somewhere between their own will, belief they can fight it, and parly forced by the hands of the others. And so, chain after chain is broken before they stop the efforts, and begin to wrestle to the bindings forced upon them. They grunt, clutching their heads as they are brought to their knees, shaking their heads side to side as they try to focus on fighting against god, mage and men alike.

Their breath quickens, and they whine... they pull their helmet away, tearing the protective mail away in the process as they gasp for air. They grunt... nigh choking on their own salive as they protest against thei violation of their confines. Hands claw lacerations on their face. A thick black substance is all that leaves their wounds as they whine once more, tears beginning to form from the desperation... focus, they try to tell themselves.

But they are losing, they know they are losing it. They can feel binding after binding, each leash, rope and chain making it harder to think, to move, to act. They hit the ground with their fist, only to find no comfort on the pain. Slowly, but surely, they can feel their will being subjugated... slowly, but surely, they can feel the despair of being caged once more, of being forced into something they wish not, of having all be for naugh, as men and divinity alike begin to impose their wills, their damning desires upon those who simply wished a peacefull place to live and thrive, who only wanted nothing more than to be...

Their hands claw down, unknowingly focusing too on both their spells and the enemy’s. They roar in pain, clawing at the ground with their magic going rampant around them, pushing with all its might as it tries to break the bindings forming around them... but they have to try, they have to fight it back, they don’t want to be in a cage again, no... they don’t want to be pets, they don’t want to hurt those they have come to care about... nay, they want out of that, they need out of that, let them OUT, THEY WANT OUT.

Hands grip their souls, their eyes look at the blinding sun... their eyes tear profusely as they cry, they grip at all, and tug, and they keep doing so in attempt to free themselves of the rising number of spells done on them, but they are still losing, and so they begin to claw, to the point they start scratching both armor and soul... more of the black susbstance begins to fall from both the damange on their soul and the relentless scratching wasting away their fingertips...

Without knowing they begin to tear at their own spells, clawing without thought as panic settles upon their minds, as spells continue to amount. Until, in the last peak of their distress, they claw and tug so hard even the strong spells of a certain boy rattle, and soon enough shatter into oblivion. A cry unnatural leaves their throat as they do so, before their eyes widen, pupils contracting but to the smallest of gaps...

And then?

So͉͉̘ͣͨ̌̈ͮ̃m̰̖̜ͪ͛̑̾̈̆̑ĕ͉̻̲ͦ̒t̥̬̄̈̂hͥi̹͈ͫn͇̜̦̠ͨ͘g͔̲͚̙͚̍͊ ͪ͗̒ͥ҉̥̣͎̲̺S̪̗̼̲̜̐̆ͣ̾ͨṆ̸̽ͧÂ̭͌̒̏̔̈́́Pͤ͊̃̿S̮̩̩̺ͬͤ̒̓̊͐̚ͅ.̠̭̫̦̽̈́̾̄ͮ

It tears at their mind like a sword to sheet of paper, ripping all thought as they choke on their own air. Rage... a rage far too strong that renders all thought to shredded rags, useless, a rage more than blinding, a rage that burns deeper than anything they had ever felt.... nay, this was WRATH, a wrath that had awaiting for long to be loose, a wrath all consuming, one that burned with the heat not of suns, but of the birth of universes, a wrath that rumbled with violence far deeper than the wildest of black-holes that warped the world around them.

It burns, it tears. Maims and mauls at every corner of their being, replacing every single inch with something hazardous. Like thorned vines of a poisonous weed, it brings agony to their head, they hardly have time to register it after they break the spells, the ones keep them together, before all is ripped away with the most painfull and savage of tears, before the thing that was kept at bay, that intent of pure DESTRUCTION and HATRED, comes back in all of its glory to take away their minds. Rushing in with something, something vast and foul in every sense of its word, something noxious on every inch of their beigns...

The gods feel this...

Their magic snaps violently at the holds they have, tearing every single thread, leash and chain. And it claws at their captors, it bites and roars silently with the might of something that pushes away all links they had, taking away all footing from mages, and makes both divinities and their servants to stagger and recoil lightly in pain. Turning down they would see it, scratch marks, bleeding on most but the strongest and best armored ones, who would still see wound under metal cut like butter by a hot knife...

That shouldn’t be, shouldn’t it? They had the might of gods, they had the might of their servants to bind them, they had the might of their own soldiers for a moment too. This should’ve gone easily, unhindered, just what the hell had happened?

The place darkens immediatelly, against the will of the ones holding the sun, a chilling screech of something. Something that was distressed, like a bird caught in the sharp maws of a cat, fangs buried deep on the flesh and threatening to crush the flailing feathered thing... and grows darker still, yet darker...

Until it stops in the dying light of a fading twilight, held by the darkening of the sun unto nothing but a low red-ish soft light. Not an eclipse, no... far worse...

However, it would not be the only thing to change.

The shadows grow deeper... unervingly animated. As if reaching foward, calling, beconing the ones that were twisting the world, whispering so faintly as if in the utmost of reverences, or perhaps the dreading fear that dawned on existence itself. Reaching but never quite touching the shadows of the culprits. Of whom them all where the more livid.

For the shape of their shadows were far from the ones who cast them, bigger than the light would allow, more vicious than them in their stance. Clawing to break from their bindings of two dimensional existence, something beastly, something malevolent in every inch of its movement, each snapping calling for the destruction of whatever was around it, cruel, violent, hazardous as even the ground felt the strain of whatever lay trying to break free. Cracking right where they stook, as if there was something far too heavy on glass....Only in this case... the glass was the universe itself. The shadows twist and contort, and they claw at their chests, movements jerky as if each movement brought unspoken agony unknown to all... The shadows grow highly agitated, now truly reaching and feeding the warped thing beneath them, like an animal in a cage, it continues to claw, each time more rapidly...

Then... their shades break free.

And they crawl, in whisps of enless black, it claws through every inch of their body as color is hidden away on black darker than the blackest of nights. The last sight of their gaze terribly warped both in pain and pure unbridled wrath, baring teeth in a way too feral... too animalistic to seem right on a human face. They growl, however it sounds far from anything human, far to twisted into something primal... primordial, louder than one would think possible for anything biology could achieve. And the world around ripples, as if each vibration of their throat was the command for the unverse to move, as if something more ancient than the world had just spoken, and it had told the world to shiver. Their foes take a step back, something had just gone wrong... terribly wrong... the contrast of shades across the place weakens, as if having faded from feeding whatever thing had decided to wrap itself around the seven individuals... some of it reaches to nearby helms and items... quickly turning them to something black before eviscerating them into nothing but dark smoke...

The ripples grow stronger, as does the volume of their growl. Cracks slip through the air and ground alike, not far from the looks of a breaking mirror as an unearthly feel takes hold arround every single man, something in the back of their minds tell them to bend knee, and something calls for them to run, far away... crawl to the deepest of holes and hope they are never found as they watch the unholy shadows veil bodies far from any sight, even the divine sight of gods. Armored ones lost quickly to the black as the cracks grow longer, deeper, and small pieces begin to fall, leading to a similar darkness to the one taking over them, an endless void that was seeming to start sucking the air arround them, and yearning for their coming... a dreadfull sensation takes over then, the sense of something that might as well be unavoidable in that never ending darkness, in that all consuming void...

And as they stare into the abyss... it stares back.

It is at this point their growl has grown into a snarl, rumbling loud. and both the sky and earth wail to the assult done. That althought no longer rippling so violently, still felt the fabric warp to the their anger. Their shadowed forms had taken shape... humanoid... yet not quite, the number of fingers remains the same, but they are longer, clawed, their head takes similar shape to their helms, if only for a moment before it bends, it twists and creaks as the artificial touch becomes more organic... their chests lengthen, as do their arms. Feets no longer are covered and begin to show the unnatural mixing of beast and men’s traits, somewhere between toes belonging to paws, somewhere belonging to bipeds, each and every single one with claws sharper than any would ever know. Part of an armor like structure is barely visible, among the darken twilight imposed by their will, not much however, and tails forming as they begin to bend their spines lightly foward... twitching and contorting lightly with each movement, as lit eyes and maws open as their snarl slowly dies down.

Then comes the silence, if only by the most fleeting and agonizing of moments.

One that dies abruptly and as violently. Their united roars are deafening, painfull to hear and feel as they only grow in volume, a cacophony of something beyond this world coming to be against its own will. Trascending any living thing in every aspect of the word as the universe ripples its lasts, shaking and stretching on every way and direction that could be concieved. A roar so strong it reaches every corner, every realm withing their universe with inconmensurable strenght, threatening to tear asunder all as each second growls unbearable to withstand and people clutch their bodies from the fiendish sound hurting every inch of them... So strong their roar is that the fractures grow in size to fall and break, creating greater a gap between the endless dark and them... so strong, perhaps, to silence and stop many within lightyears, and have some across realms stop their doings to the outraged call. With the biggest crack rising to the bleeding sun, shattering all sight of it for kilometers and miles across... the only sign of its existence the ominous dark red twilight taking over all the world...

And from the void fracturing the world around them, so something answers to their cry, to their aberrant roar. Many somethings. As the other side rumbles with the increasing volume of many things, overwhelming the ears of many unto deafness, painfull... spine chilling. Something that clearly shouldn’t set foot upon their world. And something that was coming to crawl from the depths of where it belonged as whispers of the realm began to bleed into theirs.

Some are skeletons... some bear things akin to exoskeletons, between bone and muscle yet of a texture that could be defined in neither, their eyes vary, but all seem to hold the same glow and whispers of the same darkness that surrounded the seven... all with a similar yet lower glow on their maws, dangerous and hissing a soft alarming sound. as if itching to let go of what was contained, their allies disperse quickly from the battlefield, afraid and unsure whether they were allies or not... both those creatures and the seven who snarled quietly upon their places. And some were more alike them, nothing but ethereal shades with vage shapes of creatures of various forms... some familiar, and some entirely alien to their eyes, frightening and wanning the courage of many.

Quickly do men quickly realise the foolishness of of their actions, lowering weapon and taking slow steps as they realise upon mistake. Whatever lay there, it could never be contained, it would never be binded, not to men, to mage or god. For it trascended both in ways they could never hope to achieve, it trascended the limits of what should be possible, of what could be without threatening the very existence of what was. It was nothing like the gods, even if they shared similarities, their power somewhere not only lesser, but more limited. Whatever laid before them? It was raw, it was pure unbridled brute power an inch away of becoming the end of all they knew... nay, it was the power to end all they knew, it was both the source and the demise of them. The gods made the world... yes... but whatever lay in them? Whatever they were... it was the world made, and much more...

But they have little time to react. Soon enough, the mass of many creatures of the darkest places roars, and begins to prance frantically towards their preys. A number turn tail, like sheep, running desperatelly as they try to escape what comes relentlessly for their blood. But much to their dismay, the distance only stretchess, as if someone had managed to unfold many times the gap between them and a forest that they hoped could make those creatures lose track of them. They pant in the worst of terrors, screaming and wailing for mercy... But they would find none. Of the ones who stand their ground, they soon begin to find themselves struggling among the servant and messegers of gods. Doing their best to avoid the cruel onslaught of beast who claw, snap and fire barrage after barrage of their attacks to obliterate the foes of the seven, the smell of blood, piss, defecations and burnt meat begins to fill the air. As people are torn to pieces, some dirty their clothing in fear quickly, and some are burnt away by elemental attacks and blastings of energy from the void fiends. The seven only watch... snarling constantly as they take pleasure on the distant feeling of their allies, touching upon their mind from the link that anchored them to this world...

They don’t delay much either, slowly they move towards them, jerking lightly as their bodies try to get accustomed, to new sensations these shrouds of darkness were granting them. Painfull it was, but well accepted so, even it is wracked every corner of their bodies as they began to hasten their pace, finding themselves soon running and panting along to the beating of their hearts, no longer bound they finally felt free, something about it all felt good, right. Their gaits grow less and less humane, and then they jump, hands clawing at the frabric of the world almost instinctively as they warp it to close the gap left between them and they foolish captors.

Each takes distance from one another, to get the pleasure of enjoying their kills without the annoyance of others getting in their way. They play with the world almost as if it was clay, warping reality and mutilating everyone on their path, maining and mauling the ones lucky enough to get close, and having the sick pleasure to let others fall to self made cracks upon the world into the endless void, for them or theirs to have a pleasing time hunting on the other side. Their men take steps back, shaken by the sight before them, by the twisted behavior and the frightening power that they bore. Where they the same people they had just known weeks ago? Just how could something like this come to be? What were they anymore, and just how much LOVE it took to turn them into such horrid beings? The grip of their weapons tighten... were they... were they even on their side anymore? The look they had... it was hard to believe them to be the same ones, so cruel and vicious, violent and relentless on their terrible assault towards enemies even if they cried, begged and bent their knees. These beings didn’t show a single remorse, not a single moment of hesitation, all they were bent on was destroying everything on their path...By the gods... what had they done?

This ones... this ones weren’t people, were they? They couldn’t be, they couldn’t be the mages they had known before. and yet... the uncanny resemblance was there still, and their mind... in the foggy and yet cristal clear memory of their spellbound minds... they can grasp at it, the thoughts, the blurred images of them, they wouldn’t have believed it otherwise. They take steps back, trying to sneak their way out of the bloodbath... they have to get out of here, they just have to... they can feel it, the place wasn’t safe. It was less than likely their leaders were themselves anymore...

No, it was fact, they had lost it... whatever they kept to themselves, there was something they had lost...

And whatever had been lost, it spelled nothing but death and ruin...

#cosmosfated #mention #|ic|#|their seven greatests|#|carpe fatum|#[hello the gods fucked up #and things just went to shit very quickly #btw they haven't lost their humanity or anything #picture this like that dragon shroud-aspect shout #that one on skyrim #same principle here but with shadows and stuff #in a way #except they no longer have a hold on themselves and have gone berserk]

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