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morpheuslikestodream · 3 years

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PUCKER: a Sandman Universe fanfic

*The following is extended and lifted from the Sandman: Seasons of Mist storyline. This is a mere writing exercise and honorary gesture to play within the confines of the world created by Neil Gaiman and all creators, with honor and respect. :)

There was a woman who achieved glory upon a vent of gushing air. Of course, she had already gained fame, and fortune, but it was the image, the stance – legs slightly bent, knees inverted, arms locked and hands clasping her dress – that cemented itself in the collective. Poor, tragic Marilyn, her fists securing that white ivory cocktail dress as it danced in the wind, like a skinned swan or a hungry lily attempting to devour its host.

Go on. Visualize it. The dress and the damsel wed together over that gushing vent. She would always be tattooed in the eye of your mind, a girl symbol, caught in a flirtatious up-shoot of tragedy. You’ll see her, the image, in commercials and magazines and the chronicles of filmography. She’ll be immortalized in wax. You’ll smile at her as if she were an intimate friend or fond crush from a bygone youth or a pretty face you wish you had, all fulfilled vicariously in that bombshell visage.

And if you could envision her, so could they.

“The gods have come for you,” Susano O-No-Mikoto addressed her coldly, like an art collector attaining their next commission. His hair was black, pulled back into a bun, and he possessed a thin, wispy beard that sharpened into a point. He wore a scarlet robe, delicate and silky, and his eyes, which scrutinized her with an impersonal fondness, appeared to be of some Asian nationality. “As a private individual for the pantheon of my mother, the Queen Izanami, it is a grace, Miss Monroe, to be welcomed into our collection. There is a special wing that exclusively houses Americana and Western iconography.”

Marilyn didn’t understand any of this.

And she couldn’t speak, her mouth failed to beg for clarity. It was the lips, frozen, puckered lips. And the wind, blowing perpetually beneath her, danced her dress like a rabid beast. While the robed man continued, Marilyn’s focus was consumed by the dress, and here she had to convince herself she was more than this accoutrement.

“Come. Follow,” said the god. And while he spoke, she strived to recall who she was. She had entered the world as a woman, yes, and she had taken her grand exit as a star, in the same City of Angels. She had been an actress, the wife of a playwright and a baseball legend and maybe mistress to dead presidents. She was a person, goddammit, of flesh and blood, of rumor and glamor.

None of that mattered at the moment, not in her current situation.

Because Marilyn couldn’t move. She had tried. She really had, but her body refused to budge. She was alive, or she was dead. She was on-stage, or off. There were cameras in the shadows and spotlights from oblivion. Eyes in the flashes of light. And she couldn’t move because, again, her legs were bent, the knobs of her knees pressed together, arms rigid, hands taming the white bastard dress, and that cold, cold air licking her from underneath.

And lips, puckered.

Marilyn felt no trace of self here – wherever here was. Had she died? Was she being punished, because your savior was revoked if you did that act, even if that wasn’t for certain? Whatever had happened had stolen her humanity. Marilyn might have been a wax statue, a fixed caricature, someone’s midnight wank. And perhaps all those were true; after all, she was an icon now, and icons could be many things. Despite that, whoever they were now cared nothing of the personal touches, no, the gods regarded her as a pretty face in the American collective. That’s what mattered.

Puckered lips.

Susano O-No-Mikoto escorted her through his mother’s underworld, strange halls cluttered with armors and museum props. She spotted a display of a toilet that perhaps once sat the rear of a king. In his rambling, he used words like eclectic and hybridization and efficiency. His words were bloated with pride, like an uppity hunter who sought and attained the rarest treasures. But those words meant nothing to Marilyn. She still hadn’t forgotten the kind visage of the woman with raven black hair with the shadow filled with the flapping of wings in flight.

“…we hope to continue down this line,” continued the god, “acquiring you, we can acquire others. John F. Kennedy is in Hell. But his effigy is strong in the artifacts of his demise. Lee Harvey Oswald could be ours. The grassy knoll itself harbors a sentience all its own as well. The prospects of our ambitions are limitless. It is said…”

And when Marilyn refocused, Susano had stopped to inspect her, his breath – scented with the promise of storms – was cold and brutal, and a pointy finger tapped his lips, the vaguest hint of a smile on his arrogant face. She felt no love from him, no real love. Not like the love Jesus and the Lord promised her as she grew. And she had been a good person; she deserved better than to not have love. And yet the man, who might’ve been a god, cared nothing for her as the person. He only desired the spirit of what she was. But a transcendence within a certain collective didn’t change her stature. It wasn’t her. All the little details of who she was were sprinklings upon a personal mythology that only bred the impersonal. The world, cultures come and gone, could only see her in the stars.

And as for the little details, did those matter?

No, not to him.

And then he was gone.

When Marilyn was alone, “They have you too,” rumbled a deep and heavy voice from the room. “You are beautiful, as I was, although you are not as beautiful as the one I carried to the top of the world.”

Marilyn winced, startled.

“Be still, woman. We are family now, and I will protect you if I must. If I can.”

“Where am I?” Marilyn piped.

“The assimilation of the American Pantheon. The Underworld. Hell. Who can know for sure?”

“Who are you?” Her voice trembled. “Who’s there?”

“You remind me of her,” said the deep voice.

“Of her? Who?”

“You look like her, in your fashion, a pair of eyes and pretty hair. The one I carried to the top of the world. I was king there, before I fell, before I was forced to fall, although I confess I attained immortality in that moment, I think. At least, I’d like to look at it that way. The tragedy, the descent.”

“Are…are you…the devil?” Marilyn stammered.

Ignoring her, “They can fear you and love you and cry for you. When the tears are shed is when we become idols.”

She needed to see the face. She had to. “Oh, Mister,” she pleaded, “please come forward.”

And the beast revealed itself.

Marilyn would’ve screamed if her lips were puckered, if they could ever alter. Her frozen stance did not permit. Instead the dress blew more frantically. * “I must take my absence. Opportunities abroad bless us. The gods of Nippon and her highest majesty, the Queen, my mother Izanami, must not squander the chance in attaining most fruitful grace. If the key belongs to our kingdom…” the Asian man in his fancy gowns who smelled like a thunderstorm or a coming rain shower departed from the room through an entrance that didn’t really exist. In the silence of an attic filled with antiques from Atlantis or Wall Street or Hollywood, the white-haired star with her puckered lips kept her gaze down, until sheepishly she dared to lock eyes with the gorilla. And the gorilla rested his black hands upon his massive ape pecs and exhaled forcefully from nostrils that flared out in angst and boredom.

“I would have found the stars,” King Kong said after some time.

Marilyn raised an eyebrow, oh?

“I could have climbed forever.” Kong drummed his fingers on his chest. “It wasn’t me who was limited; it was only the ladder in which I ascended. Just me and her, the one that wasn’t you. I would’ve reached for the moon, then the stars themselves, and whatever is above that. I was limited by them, because a monster could only ascend so far and then they fall, and then they love you. In death you gain humanity; a posthumous flavor of idolatry and what you represented. You become your fall because that’s how people remember you. Not the details. It’s all what you could have been; all the what-ifs. And that’s how a star is born. That’s how idols rise.”

And the gorilla was done then, crossing its arms, and saying no more. In the silence, Marilyn felt a quiver in her lip, a tear in the corner of her eye. If she could unpucker her lips she would’ve smiled fondly at the beast and his words. After some time she glided towards him, her hungry frilly dress shooting up around her, and she moved next to him and the two touched, so slightly. Time faded then. It came in and out in waves and blurs. And sometime a hole opened in the world and a vast shadow filled the space for a moment. The sound of wings beat around them.

“Hey, down there!” called a perky voice that was kind, yet filled with urgency. “Things are a mess around here. It’s a Hell thing. Anyway,” the girl trailed, “I’ve got lots of work, you know, and, well, if you wanted to perhaps transition in a sense, I’m here. I’ll always be here, even if I’m not. Ok? But the doors open. Mister O-No-Mikoto’s dreams of attaining Hell are dead. I took them when the fiery torch was passed on to another pair of angels. And besides the mighty storm god of Nippon is in a bit of a predicament. Sorry. Talking too much.” Like that she was gone.

After a moment, hesitantly, King Kong moved to his feet. He climbed the walls and reached towards the ceiling exit. And before he departed, he looked towards her. “Come. You are not her but I can carry you to the top of the world, again.” And he took Marilyn in his grip and they ascended together towards the stars. “The winds are on your side,” said the King, “and he was a god of storms. Perhaps there’s irony in that. Or perhaps we shall rise as high as the gods allow.”

#neil gaiman #Sandman #sandman universe #vertigo #fiction #creative writing #mythology #books #fanfic #fantasy #fables #Fable Unbound

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talpup · 5 years

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Light In the Darkness: 21

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887595/chapters/55384393

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently left comments or re-blogged. They really mean a lot.

Taglist: @captncappuccino

21.1

After having been rudely awakened by a maid wanting to take her measurements before the sun had even begun to rise Teris had laid back down ordering the departing servant that nothing had better come with flowers or bows, in pink, lavender, mauve, or yellow.

Bored she had slept and idled the day away in her quarters wanting to avoid Fyntch and wondering if Yami had returned from his mission yet. The trays from breakfast and lunch sat untouched on the table by the door where the maid had left them.

Stomach rumbling she rolled out of the lounge and fetched a cluster of grapes of the breakfast tray. Popping a grape into her mouth she turned and walked to one of the two large windows that faced the gardens at the back of the house. Flinging open the drapes she squinted at the late afternoons brightness. Eyes adjusting she looked out in horror at the changes made.

Gone were their mothers jasmine that grew over a long arched lattice that formed a shaded path. In it’s place were two rows of roses trimmed into short five foot trees. Their mothers mint garden where she had grown every variety of mint imaginable, having even cultivated a couple new species herself, had become a lawn. And the somewhat wild, mismatched plot of the late Lady Resa Nova’s favorite plants had become a neatly trimmed and ranked mandala of boxwood and crushed granite shaped into the Nova family crest surround by the outline of a three leafed clover.

“Fyntch!” Teris yelled dropping the cluster of grapes. She turned and made for the door, wrapping her robe tightly around her. Flinging the door open she yelled again. “Fyntch!”

Julius came running up the stairs. “What’s the matter? Everything alright?”

“No. Everything’s not alright.” Teris spat tying the robes stays about her waist and taking the stairs two at a time down to the second level. “Have you seen mother’s garden?”

“No.” Julius shook his head.

“Well, it’s not mothers garden anymore,” Teris said.

Julius closed his eyes and cursed. If he didn’t know better he would have sworn Fyntch did these things to rile Teris up. Not that he was well pleased to learn there had been a change. Still, it couldn’t truly be as bad as Teris was making it out. A small alteration here or there was expected as plants died, time went on, and fashion changed. As long as mother’s archway of jasmine and mint garden were still there Julius didn’t really care about the rest.

“Fyntch.” Teris called reaching the second level.

Fyntch exited their fathers study. “You sound like a rough scullery maid with all this braying. Did someone die?”

“Not funny.” Julius told coming to a halt behind his sister.

“Yes. Mother all over again.”

“Wow! Teris. Not funny!” Julius chastised.

Teris turned back to her eldest brother. “If you had seen what he did you’d understand and agree.”

Fyntch smirked. “Someone woke up in a delusional temper. You’re impossible to speak reason to when you’re like this, Teris. I’m not even going to try.” He turned away and headed back to the study. “Put some clothes on will you. You’re a disgrace.”

Teris looked down and the closed robe. She was wearing clothes she thought. Granted they were the same ones she had arrived in yesterday but they were clothes nonetheless. It had simply been that the robe had belonged to her mother and she had wanted to feel close to her again. Teris reached for the tie and pulled.

Julius all but covered his eyes as he looked away. “I’m fairly certain he meant for you to dress in your own quarters. There’s not even anything for you to change into out here.”

Teris glared at him. “Shut up, Julius.”

“Teris.” Julius said uncomfortably sensing her open the robe. “What exactly are you planning to do?”

“Go out to the garden.” Teris told shrugging out of the garment.

“Like that?”

“Yes, Julius. Like this.” She tossed the robe over his head and marched down the main second level hall to the grand stairs that led to the first floor.

Julius pulled off the fabric and looked after her relieved to see her wearing something other than her night clothes. He called to a passing maid and handed her the robe instructing her to return it to Teris chambers and then followed his sister.

21.1.2

Julius stumbled about the garden awed by the breath and scope of the changes. Teris hadn’t been over-exaggerating when she said it felt as if their mother had died again. For Julius, it felt worse than that. It was as if Lady Resa Nova’s hand and direction had never touched the place. As if her efforts and vision for the garden had never existed. Gone were the fun whimsical flourishes his Lady Mother had painstakingly planned to delight and surprise her children and visitors strolling through. Gone was the scent of jasmine in the air. Gone were the hummingbirds, butterflies, and other flying creatures that swarmed their mother’s plantings of favorites that always had something in bloom even in the dead of winter.

Julius found Teris at the end of the rose tree lined pathway. The dark red, almost black, roses in bloom didn’t even give off a scent.

“I never knew the words sterile and dead could describe a garden,” Julius whispered.

“It’s about as alive as Fyntch’s heart.” Teris said sullenly.

Julius placed a hand on his sisters shoulder. “You were right. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Teris turned to him. “This isn’t about me being right Julius. This is about Fyntch taking yet another thing from us.” She spun away. “As if you’d understand after you gave him everything.”

“You’re right.” Julius said looking mournfully at the back of her head. “I gave up my heir ship too easily. There has even been occasions when I regretted my hasty choice. But at the time, with my duties as first son and Magic Knight pulling me apart, when I was already broken...” He looked down and sighed, shaking his head. “I saw no other way for my dream to survive, let alone survive myself, but to give my place to Fyntch.” He swallowed and fought down the emotions that he had so carefully bottled and packed away in the months after their mothers death. “I was broken after her passing, Teris. Broken that father had used his magic to share one last memory with her; choosing to try and follow her to her death then stay here with us.”

“I was broken too!” Teris cried spinning around to face him. “But instead of being broken together you left us. You left me. In the weeks after mothers death we didn’t know if father would be comatose forever or if he’d wake and recover. The Healers certainly weren’t any help. No one had ever tried to commit suicide in such a way they said. And as much as we assured everyone it was an accident we knew better. Father was too good a memory mage to make such a mistake.”

“I couldn’t stand the sight of him.” Julius told her.

“I couldn’t either. It broke my heart. My spirit.”

“You don’t understand. I wanted to turn back time. To pull him out of her mind before she breathed her last. I—I wanted to kill him for trying to leave us.”

Teris balked.

“But neither my magic or my will were strong enough. So I left him, like he tried to leave me.” He reached out taking a step toward her. “I’m sorry I turned out to be as selfish as he had been. I never even gave a thought that I was leaving you as well.”

She allowed him to pull her into his arms and returned the hug, her hands hanging from the back of his shoulders, her face burrowing into his chest as she wiped her tears on his jerkin.

Julius kissed the crown of her head and put a hand there as if to hold the endearment to her. “I’m sorry Ris. I did what I thought was best for me and ended up making it worse for all of us. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t know.” She sniffed. “You were dealing with your own pain. If I had felt the way you had I would’ve left too.”

Julius rested his chin on her head and sighed. He highly doubted his sister would have behaved in the manner he had; but he appreciated her finally understanding, even if it had opened old wounds and made him visit memories and emotions he had never wanted to visit again.

“My Lord. My Lady.” Came the rough voice of the Grounds Keeper from off the path.

Julius appreciated how he had positioned himself at the nearest tree of roses where he wouldn’t have been able to look upon them even if his feet hadn’t been facing the opposite direction.

Teris scrubbed her eyes with butt of her hand and pulled away. She noted the wet spots her tears had left on Julius’ jerkin and uselessly brushed at them.

“What is it, Aaon?” Julius questioned the feet on the lawn off of the path.

“If you and the Lady don’t mind, sir. There is something I would like to show the both of you.” Aaon said feet shuffling.

Julius looked at Teris who shrugged. “Very well,” Julius agreed.

“This way if you please, my Lord.” The Grounds Keeper said heading further away from the house up a second more wooded trail. “My Lady, if you would be careful of your step.” He said we they came to a downed branch in the middle of the path.

Finally they arrived at a glass greenhouse. Teris furrowed her brow and looked to Julius who returned the gaze and lifted a shoulder.

Opening the door Aaon said. “It took some doing, trying to keep all of them alive. Mint likes shade but requires a bit more sun then this place affords. Still, I was afraid to move them anywhere the Young Master might happen across. Not that Master Fyntch often visits any of the outside structures mind.”

Teris entered amazed. “It’s mothers mint.”

“Every variety and species Lady Resa owned and cultivated.” Aaon said proudly looking about. He stepped to one of the trays and pinched off the tops of an orange mint that had begun to flower. “The very same day you left for the Magic Knights Exams, my Lady, Master Fyntch called me in with plans for a new garden. Now I’m paid to do what I’m told but Master Fyntch said nothing against my propagating cuttings of this here mint before it was tilted over and composted. I didn’t tell the Young Master my plans mind but--”

Teris threw her arms around him. “Aaon. Thank you!”

Aaon looked nervously at Julius hands raised up, arms wide.

Julius smirked at the Grounds Keepers physical assurance that the hug hadn’t been his idea nor was he going to presume to touch a royal lady. “Teris. You’re not thanking the poor man. You’re torturing him.”

Teris released Aaon and turned. The Grounds Keeper quickly turned away, picking up a set of pruning shears and stone and began sharpening. Still overcomed, Teris rushed to her brother and leapt, wrapping her arms around his neck. The girlish action caught him off guard and Julius was pulled down to her height a rush of air escaping him.

“You’re heavier then you use to be.” Julius informed.

“Since last time I saw you?” She asked.

“Since the last time you rushed to me and I picked you up and swung you around.”

“Julius.” Teris said stepping back and eyeing him. “How long ago was that. Ten. Eleven years ago.”

“No.” Julius shook his head. “You were maybe eight at most.”

“Like I said. Ten or eleven years ago.”

“No. Really? No.”

“Julius. I’m going to be seventeen.”

Julius did the math quickly in his head. “I can’t believe it. It’s really been ten or more years since I last did that.”

Teris chuckled. “Want to do it again. For old times sake.”

“Not without cloaking myself in mana. I’d drop you or pull or break something.”

“I’m not that heavy.”

“Heavier then you were last time we did such a thing,” Julius said.

“Of course I weigh more than I did when I was eight. I’m taller too. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I have.” Julius told giving a thin smile as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye wishing she’d stop growing.

Teris crossed her arms and challenged. “Yami can pick me up, no problem.”

“Yeah well, Yami’s a pack of muscle stuffed inside a sixteen year old boys body.”

“Seventeen.” Teris corrected.

“Really?”

She nodded. “His birthday was September seventeenth.”

Julius shook his head. “You kids need to stop getting older. Wait! When did Yami pick you up?”

“Lots of times,” Teris shrugged. “When I was injured and couldn’t walk.” She said careful not to mention the labyrinth. “Before that when I sat on his back while he did one handed push-ups. Most recently, to throw me into the ocean.”

“When did you go to the sea? And why doesn’t my squad ever get those kind of missions?”

“It wasn’t for a mission,” Teris laughed. “It was for Yami’s birthday. I chartered a boat thinking he would enjoy it.”

“And did he?”

Teris pulled her lips between her teeth and shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “I guess so.”

“You really like him. Don’t you?” Julius asked. Yami’s declaration that he loved Teris and would one day marry her floated through his mind. He smirked thinking, you may just get your wish Yami. So long as she makes Knights Commander. Then the possibility that he might have to one day face his young friend in a duel at Fyntch’s order if things didn’t work out and Yami wanted to fight to free Teris from the family entered his mind and darkened his features.

“Juls.” Teris said looking worried.

Julius shook the thought from his mind. “Sorry. What?”

“I—never mind. Teris looked away thinking her brothers change was because she had admitted that she had feelings for Yami. It’s a good thing you didn’t tell him that you thought you loved him, she told herself. Who knows how he would have reacted to that.

21.2

Later that night after skipping out on tea and dessert again Teris made her way to the family's library. She pursued her mothers gardening books and pulled out a few of Lady Resa's own journals on plans, care, techniques, and charts for the family garden. She found the one that had been dedicated to her mother's care and cultivation of mint, putting that one on the table and everything else back.

Fyntch has no use for it, she thought, and I’m going to need all the help I can get if I’m going to keep the stuff alive. She remembered her father teasing her mother about the amount of time and effort Lady Resa put into a weed.

“Here’s hoping Father’s right.” Teris whispered.

Next she made her way to the back of the library which she often went unused but was still as spotless of dust as the most lived in areas of the house.

All this space when there are family's living in one room hovels, Teris thought shaking her head. Still, she couldn’t complain too much. If her family's library was as extensive as she believed she should be able to learn something about the Master of Masters. The Spade family. Or, if she was very lucky, Alowishus Spade himself.

“Don’t think I’m going to be that lucky.” Teris muttered wondering how old one had to be to lead a group of crazy zealots who’d attack and kill at your command.

The History of Chaos hadn’t been of help in giving her any answers or leading her to something that could. Doing as happy, crazy, killer voice and Elric, from Magic Investigations, had instructed Yami and her to do, Teris had exhaustively thought up words and phrases to search the one page magical volume. But every time the page had come up blank. Zealot. Blank. Killers. Blank. Although kill, killing, and killed had brought up more pages than she cared to read. Even searching for the four kingdoms had brought up nothing. She supposed because Chaos’ history predated the Clover, Spade, Diamond, and Heart kingdoms.

She had gone back to the History of Chaos’ page two days after the attack on the base and thought Master of Masters and gotten the most confusing response of all. ‘Insufficient image’.

Well of course it’s insufficient, she had yelled at her grimoire. If I had a sufficient image I wouldn’t be asking you. After slamming the tome shut and grumbling some more she had tried again. The ink on the page moving and swirling as if trying to produce the information but unable to. After a moment it read once again ‘insufficient image’. She had tried everyday since then, sometimes several times a day, but no matter how long the page tried it always came up with the same response.

“Well if it’s information you want,” Teris muttered looking over the titles printed on the spines of the libraries history section, “it’s information we’ll get.”

The half moon was high, it’s faint light casting long shadows in the library when Teris closed another book irritated. Nothing. She had gone through two shelves of books and had found nothing. No mention of Chaos, light or dark magic, beginnings or endings, Master’s, Yurist, nothing. She had learned the linage of the past and current King of the Spade Kingdom all the way from the kingdoms inception but given that it had last been updated a hundred years ago there was no mention of Alowishus. At least she could be near positive that the Zealot Leader wasn’t over a hundred. Big help, she thought sarcastically.

She looked at the third row of books stretching her back and arms. There had to be something, she thought. Anything. The Black Bulls library hadn’t been any help. She sure wasn’t going to go to Magic Investigations asking questions. Not after what happened her first trip there. The library at Magic Knights Headquarters was bound to have useful information but she knew visitors were logged as were the books they had pulled. Given that she wasn’t suppose to know Alowishus Spades name, or that the attacks on the Green Mantis, Coral Peacocks, and Purple Orcas bases had been part of a grand decoy she couldn’t just go to the library at headquarters and begin searching. Greywright, Ellara, or even Sir Jorah, himself, would eventually see her activity in some log and there would be trouble all over again.

For kicks she took out her grimoire and opened it to the page added when she had received the History of Chaos. Master of Masters, she thought. Ink appeared and began to swirl on the page before ‘Insufficient Image’ finally appeared.

“What?” She asked the thing. “Am I trying too hard? Not hard enough? I don’t have a clue what the carnage of Chaos looks like but you’re all to keen to show me that.”

An image began to appear. Teris looked away.

“No! Don’t show me that. Show me something useful. And preferably not terrifying.”

This had become a somewhat regular conversation she had with the History of Chaos’ page. And she was growing weary of it.

She looked back at the remaining seven shelves that might hold a book that contained some answer or further lead and bargained. “How about you tell me which one to look at next and I’ll forgive the whole Master of Masters thing.”

The paged stayed blank.

“Figures.” She sighed snapping the grimoire shut. Standing she put the tome in it’s pouch that hung from her belt and made her way to the wall of shelving pulling the first handful of books from shelf three.

She thought she heard something and stopped listening. When nothing else sounded after a moment she made her way to a clear table and set down the armful of books. Looking at the two tables that had the first two shelves worth of books on them, respectively, she felt bad for the maids who would have to clean up the mess.

She shrugged sitting and pulled the top book of the stack before her. “At least I didn’t go randomly pulling things.” She said making herself feel better.

Her head lifted. She had definitely heard something that time. Standing slowly she quietly made her way to the library's entrance. She had no idea why she was creeping. Maybe it was the late hour, or the secrecy surrounding what she searched for, or maybe it was just that she hadn’t been home in a while and didn’t feel quite comfortable there anymore.

Teris stepped out into the hall and came face to face with her father.

“Father? What are you doing up? You should be in bed.” Teris reached for him and held him by an arm. Was it just her imagination or had he lost even more weight?

“Resa.” Jaxon Nova rasped lifting a shaky hand to her face. “I thought I heard Teris in the library. What are you doing up my love? Tending to your garden?”

Teris gently grabbed his hand and lower it from her cheek. “It’s okay, Papa.” Teris said softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Lord Jaxon Nova allowed himself to be led back up the stairs. In his sleeping chamber Teris pulled the covers back and sat him down.

“Sorry I hadn’t come to see you yet,” Teris said. “Your valet said you were having a bad go of it and I didn’t want to distress you further.” She looked into his vacant eyes searching for a hint of recognition that he saw or heard her. Seeing none she sighed and moved to remove his slippers. Finding none she scolded lightly. “It’s fall now, Papa. The leaves are beginning to turn. The floor is chilled. You need to wear your house shoes.

She patted his head lovingly and kissed his forehead. “Let’s lay you down shall we.” She lifted up his legs and turned them into the bed. She straightened him and adjusted his pillow. “That’s better,” she smiled. “Comfy?”

She saw him shiver slightly. “I’ll warm those blankets up for you, Papa. No need to work so hard doing it yourself.” Her hand gave off the faintest of glows as she hovered it just above the covers moving her hand to warm the bedding evenly. Done she closed her hand, light dying, and smiled. “See. Nice and toasty.”

She watched his glazed eyes sadly a moment before saying. “Good night, Papa.”

“Good night, Teris.” He rasped.

“Papa?” Teris called excitedly. “Papa?” But whatever moment of lucidity had been just that a moment.

#black clover #julius novachrono #light in the darkness

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squirenonny · 7 years

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Something from Nothing

A kind, anonymous donor on Ko-Fi requested Dualityverse Rolo post-Empire but pre-Nyma. Thank you for your support! [Read on AO3]

Rolo mastered the art of creating something from nothing at an early age. When he was eight, he’d fashioned a passable imitation of a soldier out of the lanky, funny-eyed halfbreed nobody who’d grown up in the Nursery. When he was nine, faced with the choice of victory or death, he’d carved out a third option for himself: escape. When he was ten, he’d built a functional ship from nothing but sad eyes, quick fingers, and the same stubbornness that had earned him so many punishments back in the Galra Empire.

Now he was sixteen, and attempting his greatest feat yet: creating food from the dust gathering in the corners of his stolen, patched-up ship.

“Are you sure you checked the secondary cargo hold?” Rolo called over his shoulder.

Beezer’s buzzing reply echoed in the large, empty space, and Rolo sighed.

“I don’t care if you’re not hungry. You don’t need to eat.”

Offended, Beezer chirruped a staccato retort.

Rolo turned, pulling off his cap to run his fingers through his hair. “Try?” he asked. “How’re you gonna try eating? You wanna shove some nutrient goo down your output slot? Cause I ain’t gonna be the one cleaning that out.”

Beezer gave a rather prim-sounding squelch as he emerged from behind a row of empty barrels. Rolo’s lips twitched.

“I’ll be sure to add taste simulator to the list. You want that before or after the wormholer?”

Beezer spat a length of tape out at him, then retracted it. It wasn’t a gesture Rolo had seen before from the little cyber-unit, but that was Beezer—always adapting. Rolo supposed the prickly attitude would have made this AI a bad fit for most jobs, which was how he’d managed to buy it from a pawn shop for less than a hundred GAC (stolen, of course; Rolo hadn’t cashed an honest paycheck in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now).

Whatever the case, Rolo was glad he’d picked that particular AI chip for his first attempt at a custom-built cyber unit. Despite the attitude, despite the admittedly poor dexterity afforded by the one-time cash register that served as Beezer’s chassis… Rolo wouldn’t trade Beezer for all the wealth in the universe.

Rolo had created a lot of things from nothing, but Beezer was without a doubt his finest work. Wasn’t every day a mongrel deserter carved out a space to call his own and built himself a family—however odd and smart-mouthed that family might be.

His stomach rumbled again, reminding him that, yes, he had let himself run out of rations again. He’d had to spend the last of his GAC on spare parts for the Harbinger after she’d gotten banged up in an encounter with some jumped-up renegades. They’d seen the Galran lettering on her hull and opened fire, never mind any ash-brain with a spark of ship-smarts could see she wasn’t standard-issue.

So now here he was: hungry, broke, hated by half the universe, and feared by the rest.

With a sigh, Rolo pushed away the crate of ragged tunics he’d been digging through. He stood, stretching his arms over his head. “All right. Time for us to find a nice, quiet swap moon where we can kick up a fuss.”

Well, the moon they found wasn’t exactly quiet, but it would do.

Rolo had held out some thought for smashing open a cash register to make a quick buck, but he couldn’t look at the vrekking things without thinking of Beezer. There was always picking pockets, he supposed, but that was far too likely to get him caught, as he’d never quite found the patience to learn the deft touch it required.

“That’s our last resort,” he’d told Beezer in an undertone. He was wrapped head to toe in an old, ragged gray cloak, the hood pulled up, with oversized gloves on his hands and a gutted Ventroivian respirator mask secured over his face. You never could be too careful when you were half Galra, whether this place turned out to be under Zarkon’s magnanimous rule or not. Best not to show a sliver of purple skin until he had his food and was on his way back to the little surface shuttle he’d brought down from the Harbinger. (A Galra ship was another thing it was best not to go flaunting where anyone might see.)

Beezer made the same suggestion he made any time they needed money, and Rolo rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, glad for the mask that hid his involuntary smile.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, bud, but swapping you for a regular cash register never works as well as you seem to expect.”

Beezer swung around in front of Rolo, his pixelated eye-screen dilating.

Rolo laughed, pushing him aside. “You been hanging out with somebody’s kits behind my back or something? Jeez, and here I thought I could avoid the whining and the begging if I stuck with inorganic lifeforms.” Beezer tipped himself just a little more to one side, wobbling on legs that were never meant to be legs at all, and Rolo reached out to steady him. “All right, all right. I still say a pity play’s the way to go, but we’ll do your thing before I try lifting a purse. Fair?”

Beezer chirped once, settling back in at his usual place, half a step behind Rolo and close enough to touch. Always close enough to touch. Neither of them was rich enough in luck or in friends to risk getting separated.

They spent some time just wandering the market—not the cleanest or the most organized place he’d been, but there was a certain kind of deliberation about it. Whoever ran this place ran a tight ship, and it drew a wider crowd than the starless pits he usually went to for supplies. He wouldn’t call anyone here an easy mark, but they could be taken if he was smart about it.

Eventually, he spotted them. A pair of Demxa, one a child, the other fully grown. They sat near a structure that might once have been a fountain, though it had since been turned into a planter full of hardy local shrubs. Demxa were amphibious species, though it was rare to see them this far from a hospitable lake or sea. The full body suits they wore would keep their skin moist, and the metallic crescents covering nose and mouth would adjust the humidity of the air to something less abrasive to their lungs.

And hey, if they could afford a getup like that, they couldn’t be hurting too bad for cash.

Rolo altered his breathing, making himself sound just a touch winded, and sat on the rim of the fountain-turned-planter with a soft grunt. The Demxa child leaned around their parent, black eyes wide and glistening in the synthetic sunlight overhead. The fin on their head, gray edged in teal, quivered as they looked at him, then up at their parent.

“Long way from home?” Rolo guessed, stooping down to be on a level with the child. “Such a brave kit you are.”

The parent shifted slightly, cutting off Rolo’s view of the child. “No farther than you, I’d guess.” Their voice was slightly garbled by their mask, but not so much so that his translator couldn’t pick out the words.

Rolo flashed a grin the Demxa couldn’t see. “No jobs on Ventroivia these days, specially not for kids like me with no training and no… higher connections. Gotta do what I can if I want to eat.” He tapped the side of his mask twice. “’s a shame no one wants to hire a kid they can’t even see.”

“Photosensitivity?” the Demxa asked.

“Atmospheric, actually. Too much oxygen. Can’t take this crud off without breaking out something awful, and I’d really rather keep my hide intact, if you know what I mean.”

They gave him a sympathetic look, and the child’s hand darted to the skin around their eyes—the only part of their body not kept constantly moist. The skin had a slightly chapped look to it, and it was red, like it had been the victim of constant rubbing.

Despite himself, Rolo felt a pang of sympathy.

“A-anyway.” He rubbed the back of his neck, or tried to. He’d forgotten about his cloak, and his fingers tangled in the hood, nearly pulling it off his head. “I, uh, had to sit down. Rest for a while.” He paused, every scrap of self-preservation yelling at him to finish the con and get away with his cash. “So what brings you all the way out to a place like this?”

“My mate,” the Demxa said. “They were taken by the Galra.”

The breath went out of Rolo, and with it, all thoughts of conning this family. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice dropping low.

The Demxa bowed their head. “We knew it was only a matter of time before they came for us, so… We left. Our passage only took us this far.”

“You have somewhere to go?”

“A contact on Ussa-4. But it’s a null point if we don’t find a ship that can get us there within three cycles, and no one here seems interested in moving refugees.”

“I’ve got a ship.”

The words were past Rolo’s lips before he could think better of them. Behind him, Beezer whistled in alarm. There were no real words to the whistle, just a general sense of, who’s conning who now?

Maybe he was right. But Rolo didn’t take back the offer.

The Demxa stared at him, hope warring with suspicion on their face. “For what price?”

“Food,” he said, one hand coming to rest over his gut. “I’d do it for one lousy meal, honestly, but I wouldn’t say no to more if you can spare it.”

Black eyes widened, the fin on their head quivering in what Rolo thought might be pity. Figured. He’d picked exactly the right mark, only his own vrekking conscience had to go and muck things up.

“All right,” the Demxa finally said. “Thank you.”

A short while later, they were loaded up, the Demxa and her kit with a few paltry backs of belongings, Rolo and Beezer with a solid two weeks worth of rations. Three if he stretched it.

Rolo kept his mask and robe on, claiming to have moderated the ship’s atmosphere as best he could for his guests. Beezer kept up a steady stream of complaints that soon devolved into grouchy cursing as he realized Rolo wasn’t backing down.

“It’s a short jump anyway,” Rolo reasoned, entering the coordinates. “We got our food, and, hey! We helped someone. That’s not half bad for a day’s work.”

Beezer made a sound very like a snort.

With a sigh, Rolo eased them into open space, then got their heading and engaged the sublight engines. “I know,” he said. “I know. But I couldn’t just leave ‘em. They’re just trying to survive, same as us.”

Beezer was silent and, glancing at the back of the cockpit to be sure he’d secured the door, Rolo let down his hood, took off his mask, and slouched down in his seat. He tipped his cap forward to cover his eyes.

“It’s a shit universe,” he said to no one in particular. “But that don’t mean I have to help it along.”

#voltron #vld #rolo #beezer #fic #thank you so much for your support!#<3 #(and thank you for the prompt)#(i don't write rolo nearly enough considering how much i love him)#ko-fi request

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