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hoodoo12 · 4 years ago

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Play and Funtime

I’ve seen lots of screenshots and fanart, but where is the written Robofizz smut? sigh Just have to do it myself jk jk

Although writing your first fic in a new fandom is nerve-wracking, I’m excited to do it and I hope you guys like it.

NSFW; Robofizz/imp!reader, TENTACLES YOU THIRSTY PEOPLE

@go-commander-kim @monsterlovinghours @mimiscappinisideblog @jesterfestivle @beetlebitchywitch @realmonsterboyhours @yankyo

Enjoy! `

It wasn’t your choice. You were clear on that.

But coerced by so-called ‘friends’ you found yourself in the very front row in front of the stage, with excited, chattering implings around you and excited, chattering friends on either side, all eagerly waiting for the show to start. You’d even been forced to enter the big top early, “to get the best seats!”, so now you were a combination of both bored and a wee bit anxious.

That clown always unnerved you.

The sparks, the glitches, the unnatural movements that were much more fluid than you thought should be possible--if anything was impossible here, with enough imagination or lacking that, determination and money--the AI that seemed a little bit too good . . . the Robotic Fizzarolli was not your idea of family entertainment.

But here you were. You vowed to keep your head down during the show, to avoid seeing the robot and his animatronic backup band, then when it was over you could all leave and go do something actually fun.

When the lights went down you dropped your chin. Everyone else was cheering, so no one would notice you were not.

Just as you remembered from your early imphood, the spotlight lit up and the Robotic Fizzarolli burst onto the stage in full song. The rest of the audience clapped and sang along. You remained steadfast in your resolve to just wait this out, your eyes locked on your clasped hands in your lap.

Which meant you were completely taken off guard when a hand slipped under your chin and lifted your head.

You found yourself face to face with the robot, who was focused solely on you, grinning widely, showing a large number of sharp teeth.

“N-n-not having f-fun?” it asked.

“Wha-what? N-no--I mean yes,” you stuttered in surprised response, inadvertently sounding like you had a glitch as well.

The robot cocked its head a bit too far to be natural, its optic sensors giving nothing away while it studied you. The crowd in the stands, including your friends, were watching with breathless anticipation.

“I th-think you could be having a better t-t-time,” the Robotic Fizzarolli concluded, but to your immense relief, it released your chin and returned to the stage to finish its number, to the return of screams and cheers of delight.

Soon after, the curtain closed and you sighed in relief. Loudly, you told your group, “You got your show. Now let’s get out of here.” “No, look, look!” the imp next to you exclaimed. “You got a token!”

Confused, you wrinkled your brow. “A token?” “She got a token!” “She got a token!” The imps you’d come in with crowded around, more excited than during the show. You even saw some of the imps who’d been leaving the tent turn and give you what looked like envious glances. You had no idea what any of this meant. “Look look look!” Finally you had the wherewithal to realize they were talking about something in your hand. It was exactly what they said--a flat, oval token etched on both sides with the jester’s face, and what looked like circuitry embedded in it. Very tiny letters around the edge spelled out, “Robofizz’s Play and Funtime!” You had to squint to read them. You had no idea where it came from. Your friends continued to talk over each other in their excitement.

“Robofizz gave it to you! When he came down and talked to you!” “Oh my gosh--yes! That must have been it!”

“You’re so fucking lucky! I’d kill to get one of those!” All the chatter didn’t make you less confused. The Robotic Fizzarolli must have given it to you somehow? You’d been so startled when it touched you and addressed you directly you had no clue it’d slipped something to you. Your hands had been clasped so tightly you hadn’t noticed the small token. Feeling overwhelmed, you offered it to them. “Then you can have it! Take it!” But as excited as your friends were, they all declined with explanations that it only worked for the imp it was given to, that there was some technology that imprinted on the imp who touched it first, so as jealous as they were, it was useless to them. You had never heard about anything like this before, but then again, you always bolted out the exit when the show was barely over.

Still feeling overwhelmed and now lost and stupid, you asked, “What do I do with it?”

“You get to go backstage and meet Robofizz!”

That was something you did not want to do, but your friends would have none of that loser talk. They insisted you were selected, it was a rare treat, you were not letting them down by pussing out on having a private meet-and-greet with the star of the show! Despite your weak protests, you were herded along to a discreet door hear the stage. They--not you--knocked, and when a small window opened and suspicious eyes appeared, they--not you--told whoever was there that you had a token.

“Show me,” a low voice ordered, though the door. Resigned, you held up the disk.

There was a grunt, and the sounds of multiple locks disengaging. In another moment, the door creaked open. There was no one in the hallway beyond. “Come on, let’s go!” the same voice ordered. Your friends pushed you through the doorway, shouting good luck and have fun! The door slammed shut on them and it same clanking of the locks came again to secure it. It was much more ominous on this side. The hallway was dimly lit with flickering bulbs that seemed ready to die, but there was no where else to go, so you carefully made your way down it.

⁂

You had no idea where you were supposed to go or what you were supposed to be doing. Keeping hold of the token so tightly your fist hurt, you figured it had gotten you past the door so it would get you past anyone or anything else that may ask what the hell you were doing here. But there was no one to be found. In the wavering overhead lights you wandered up some stairs and found yourself on stage, behind the curtain. The animatronic band was silent on their stands, creepier when immobile and staring than when they were booted up to perform, which you had never imagined could be the case.

The Robotic Fizzarolli was not with them. That surprised you. If these robots were here, where was the star of the show? Chills went down your spine and with a horrible thought, you glanced up into the catwalks above the stage, as if expecting to see it there like a spider waiting to drop onto its prey.

Nothing.

“Hello?” you finally called.

Nothing.

You started back towards the hallway, thinking this was a mistake. Your soft footsteps echoed oddly in the silence. You would leave and tell your friends there was nothing, that you knew it was all a waste of time.

“H-hello there. Wel-wel-welcome!”

Startled, you spun fast enough to trip, and were caught by the robot that haunted your nightmares.

It leered as it groped you into standing stead on your feet again. “You were the-the one who wasn’t having fun at my sh-show! I’m so-so-so glad you decided to join me!” Your tongue was stuck to the roof of your mouth but you managed to babble, “I wasn’t--I mean, your show was fine, it was good--” A glitchy, mechanical tsk cut you off. “No, no, no--I c-can tell. And th-that’s no good, not having fun. You seemed like you needed a little ex-extra convincing, and I’m pro-pro-programed to accommodate.”

You were sure your friends would know exactly what that might mean, but the leer had not left the robot’s face and it sounded more sinister than anything. You had seen the signage about “Peronal Companion”, but never spent too much time thinking about it--

It seemed to be waiting for a response. “I, uh . . .” You cleared your throat. “I have . . . a token?”

If it was even possible, the light of its eyes shone even brighter at the sight of you holding the disk. “Now those are fun,” it exclaimed, “for both of us. Let’s g-go.” Without another word and without warning, you were dragged deeper into the gloom further backstage. You stumbled to keep up, but that didn’t slow the robot down. There were turns down hallways that seemed to go on longer than should be possible for an amusement part theater, but finally, when you were out of breath and completely turned around, you were hauled to a stop outside another door.

“Before w-we go in, g-g-giving or re-receiving?”

The glitches in its voice made it even more difficult to understand what the hell it was saying. Several moments passed while you untangled the question in your head. The Robotic Fizzarolli waited with mechanical patience and an unsettling stillness, although its eyes never left yours. “Uhmm . . .” The token had been given to you, like a gift, so would it be odd to ask for more? But you were the guest here. “ . . . receiving? I guess?” That leer returned to its face. There was a faint clicking noise, as if something was shifting inside the robot’s body, and it said, “Excel-excellent choice.”

It opened the door and ushered you inside.

The room was designed for imps in mind. Well, imps of a certain predilection. Whips, handcuffs, ankle cuffs, ball gags, harnesses, various sizes of dildos--also in various shapes--hung neatly on the walls. Some wooden contraption with shackles at various points stood in a corner. There was a bench that looked as though it could be raised to various heights with the same shackles, but also a split for a tail to fit through if the imp secured on it was on their back. There were other instruments and adornments you had no name for, as your eyes swept the room.

“D-don’t l-look so worried,” the robot assured you, although you weren’t reassured in the least. “All that is only if-if it’s chosen. The selection is com-completely randomized.” You tore your eyes away from the implements in the room. “What do you mean?” “The-the-the token. Put it in the slot, and we’ll see wh-what prize you get.” That made little to no sense, till you realized Robofizz indicated a small slot on its side. Carefully, you raised your hand and pushed the token into it, which made the robot give a full body twitch like an extra jolt of electricity ran through it. You jerked your hand back; the sparks that flew from it haphazardly were one of the things you disliked most about it.

There was a clanking noise, like the token was hitting and bouncing off things inside its body, plus a odd, whirring noise. You realized a panel on its chest was actually a screen, and something was spinning inside it. It was a blur, but gradually began to slow enough that you could see whatever it was had words etched on it. Now it was slow enough you could read them as they moved into and out of the screen. bdsm tentacles

vibration

Round and round they went. The words continued to flick past, gradually becoming slower and slower.

With a dawning that took you way too long, it became apparent whatever the last word was going to be was the decision. Maybe other imps or demons would use the Robotic Fizzarolli as personal companion and know exactly what they wanted, but there was also a randomizer feature to keep things lively!

The robot continued to stand eerily still as this continued. It was like both of you were holding your breath in anticipation.

The roller slowed enough to halt. The final outcome that you weren’t even sure you were prepared for blinked on and off in tiny white lights on his chest--

“Tentacles,” Robofizz announced.

⁂

“Tentacles?!” you squeaked.

You got a nod in response. “A very pop-pop-popular feature. Would you like to remove your clothing, or simply re-relax and let me do all the w-work?” “But-but . . . there’s no bed or--” you cast your eyes around the room again, looking for anything that would lend weight to your argument that maybe just a simple handshake and an autograph would suffice. “No bed n-n-needed,” Robofizz countered. “I am designed to not need to sit or lay down, and-and I am pro-programmed to support you in m-multiple positions.” He was between you and the door, and now the aforementioned tentacles made their appearance, slipping out from some unknown port in his back. They were striped and limber, flexing as though they’d been kept in too small an area for too long and needed to work out the kinks. That couldn’t be the case, being a machine, so all you could figure was that it was designed to imitate life. The first of them--you weren’t even sure of their number--moved through the space between you and the robot. “Fizzarolli--” “Oh, such f-formality! No n-n-need for that either, baby.” That was the first time it’d used a pet name, again probably designed to make this all more personable. “Call me Fizz,” he cooed, all the while still showing too many teeth, invading your personal space, and managing to wrap you up with two tentacles. They pulled you into his torso, which wasn’t as cold as you expected it to be. Neither were the tentacles, now that you thought about it. More of them began to nose around you. “Some rules, baby. This can go as hard as you want. J-just say the word. N-n-nothing’s off limits. My-my-my next show is this evening, so you have me-me-me till then . . . you want ex-extra time, you gotta p-pay for it. “Q-Questions?” Dumbly, you shook your head. “Then let’s b-begin.”

⁂

You’d never be able to give enough detail about the encounter. You’d been asked, multiple times, and simply couldn’t put it into words. How could you describe the unusual sensuality of tentacles sliding under your clothing and removing it from you? How could you impress how strong but delicate they were, wrapping around your limbs with the perfect amount of pressure, raising you off your feet so you felt like you were floating? How you could possibly tell them that other tentacles roamed your skin, tickling you, exploring, awakening new erogenous zones you were unware exisited? How could you admit that all of that lasted an indeterminate amount of time, until you were writhing against the restraint, not to get away, now, but to try and pull him--the Robotic Fizzarolli was no longer an genderless it in your mind, but a him--closer while begging for more? When tears filled your eyes at the force of your pleas, he moved in closer to you, almost close enough to kiss. He seemed fascinated by your tears, and from between his sharp teeth came what must be the robot equivalent of a tongue. It lapped at your cheek, collecting the wet. You had no idea what that was all about, but in the next moment couldn’t devote any time to wondering. As promised, Robofizz accommodated. You’d asked, and another tentacle from Robofizz filled you in smooth, firm motion. You arched your back at the pleasurable friction it created inside you.

How could you continue to admit that your begging didn’t stop, but increased, wanting, no needing more while being fucked suspended in mid-air by an amusement park clown? That the random showers of sparks that you hated before became something you craved, each little spark leaving a mild burn on your skin that didn’t hurt, but only served to make your nerve endings sing out? Or that during it all he’d talked, the rasp and glitching words of dirty encouragement to, “take it deeper” and “you’re soaking w-w-wet” and “gr-greedy little slut”, which only added to the debauchery, that although it was obvious he could and would be rough and aggressive he gave you just what you needed, and all you wanted was more and more and more-- Even after all that, the finale that would be hard for anyone to believe, including yourself if you didn’t experience it: Robofizz telling you, after you’d been wrung dry from countless orgasms, that the tips of his tentacles--and other, specific, parts of his body--were laced with nano-circuitry to simulate nerves, and he could feel every single internal clutch around his tentacle--

The session ended with you sucking on the tips of multiple tentacles, like an assortment of cocks, while still being fucked to a few more orgasms. When you were finally released, your legs were weak and you were drenched between your legs. You’d drooled so much you were laved with spit. It took you a bit of time to collect yourself and get your clothes back on; your hands trembled with residual bliss for long moments. Robofizz, whose tentacles disappeared again, walked you back to the corridor you’d come in. “Five m-m-minutes till showtime,” he told you.

You had no idea if robots had a sense of humor, but you tried anyway. “That was a pretty good show you just put on.” You got that unnatural head cock again, but he grinned and reminded you,

“You want ex-extra time, you gotta p-pay for it.” “I know,” you replied, already trying to calculate how you could afford to return and book another private “Robofizz’s Play and Funtime!”. You were eager to try out different features. “How do I . . .?” “The-the d-door will remember you. It’s h-his job,” the robot answered your unfinished question, as if it was one he got frequently. You nodded as if you understood, then impulsively stretched upward to kiss him. He wasn’t startled--he was a robot, after all--but you gave him a smile and slipped back through the door to the front of the theater. You had to find your friends. It wasn’t your choice, sitting in the audience to watch a robotic jester entertain a crowd of imps.

But next time, it would be.

fin!

#writing #fanfiction #Robofizz #the Robotic Fizzarolli #helluva boss #tentacles #robo fizz #robofizz x reader #robo fizz x reader #Loo Loo Land

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twistedtummies2 · 4 years ago

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The Mad Doctor of Night Raven (Commission)

Another commission; this is from the same person who created Tock Crockwork and Caelyum in past stories. This time, we introduce another OC of theirs: Xavier Madoc, based on The Mad Doctor from Epic Mickey. This is also my first time properly writing for Idia and Ortho! :D

--------------------------------------------

“You sure this is everything you need, me hearties?”

“Nya! It better be! Some of this is heavy!” You smirked as you adjusted the box of electronic equipment in your arms. You checked on your companions, who were carrying similar boxes. To your right strolled Grim, the fire-eared, trident-tailed, cat-like imp. He was carrying a very small box - fitting for his size - while yours was more medium sized. A box matching the size of yours was in the arms of your more human comrade: a tall, slender young man with long, fuschia-colored dreadlocks, dressed all in brown. “Thanks for the help, Cael,” you said to him gratefully. Caelyum De Macabre shrugged cheerily. “Don’t mention it!” he chuckled. “For one thing, helping you get this stuff was part of my job at the Mystery Shop. Sam prides himself on having everything; if I couldn’t find something like all this, he might dock my pay.” “Would he?” you blinked. “Probably not, but he MIGHT,” huffed Cael. “And as for carrying some of this…” His smile became more bashful. “...I owe you both. If it weren’t for you all...I might not have been able to reconcile with Mia.” “How is she, by the way?” you asked, tilting your head, then smirked teasingly. “Have you proposed yet?” “Well...um...yes and no?” chuckled Cael, pausing to flick a stray dreadlock out of his face before continuing. “We had a talk about that, actually, and...we decided it would be best to wait to get married till after I finished school.” “Well, as soon as you have your wedding, make sure you guys send me and Grim an invite!” Cael nodded to say he would, then both of you paused as you heard a sort of growly groan come from Grim. “Having trouble, Little Monster?” Cael asked, tilting his own head this time. “I wish people would stop calling me that,” grumbled the imp, and continued to march onward, tail flicking angrily behind him as the blue flames in his ears crackled faintly. “I’ve got it. The Great Grim won’t be defeated by a box!” He paused, blinked, then mumbled: “That’s something I didn’t think I’d say today…” Both yourself and Caelyum snickered.

“Why’d the otaku guy ask for all this, anyway?” Cael asked as the three of you continued on. “It’s for the science expo!” Grim said. “Science expo?” frowned Caelyum. “Idia’s final exam,” you nodded, and explained: “Crowley is holding a science expo here in a couple of weeks, and Idia has to create something for it for one of his classes.” “Well...cool, but why are YOU guys getting it?” “Because the thought of leaving his room multiple times to take multiple trips nearly made Idia have a heart attack,” you answered, dryly. Cael blinked...then sighed. “Yeah,” he muttered. “From what little I’ve seen of Shroud, that sounds about right.” “I hope he appreciates the help,” huffed Grim, and bounced the box of equipment in his little arms as he continued to march forward, moving ahead of you both. “It’s not easy hauling all this from the Mystery Shop all the way Igni-YIPE!” Grim let out a shrill yelp, and fell back onto his bunce; he’d bumped into something, which hit the floor with a crash. The box full of equipment fell to the ground. Yourself and Cael quickly but carefully put down your own boxes and hurried to gather the fallen items and inspect them swiftly, while Grim growled and rubbed his sore haunches. “Nothing’s damaged,” Cael sighed with relief. “Are you alright, Grim?” you asked. “No,” pouted Grim. “My dignity is wounded, and it’s hard keeping it intact as it is.” You smirked affectionately. “Oh my gosh!” exclaimed a new voice. “Are you okay?!” The three of you looked up to see a new figure rushing towards you all. The figure was a young man, dressed in the black-and-blue, informal, leather-jacket-clad dorm costume of Ignihyde. His skin was pale, and he had moppish hair, which had been dyed mint green with blue tips. His eyes were heterochromatic, and similarly colored: one was emerald, the other cobalt. He was somewhat gangly in build, yet handsome in features. “Nya...I’m not hurt, if that’s what you mean,” Grim muttered out, stumbling back onto his hindpaws and dusting off his fur. “I wasn’t talking to you!” the young man snapped, catching Grim off-guard...then knelt down to what Grim had bumped into. “Abe! Abe, are you okay?” The figured Grim had bumped into, you soon realized, was a robot. It was dressed like a porter, and - in contrast to the synthetic skin and almost fully human appearance of Ortho Shroud - had a decidedly mechanical, industrial look: all metal plates and gear-twisting joints. Its face was mask-like, with two yellow lamps for eyes. The robot shook its head with a whirring noise, as if to clear it, then the mute bot - it had no mouth - nodded to the young Ignihyde student. The mint-eyed boy sighed with relief, and smiled at the bot as if it were an old friend, patting its shoulder. Then, he glared at Grim almost childishly. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?!” the lad snapped. “Me?!” snapped Grim, stomping one foot angrily, ear-fire flaring up. “Your stupid robot was the one who bumped into me!” The green-and-blue-haired youth gasped, looking deeply offended, and hugged Abe close. “Don’t listen to the mean little raccoon, Abe,” he crooned to the bot, stroking the back of its head like it was his child. “You’re perfect just the way you are.” “I AM NOT A RACCOON!” screamed Grim. “I don’t even LOOK like one; why does everyone keep calling me that?!” The student from Ignihyde was too busy fawning over his robot like it was a spoiled child to answer. The robot squirmed, its yellow eyes flickering; you got the feeling that if a machine had the power to blush, Abe would have been doing so from all the attention. Grim pouted and grumbled while yourself and Caelyum stepped closer to address the newcomer, who helped the robot to its feet. The machine called Abe clattered and clanked a bit as the young man pulled a screwdriver out of his pocket and began to check over the mechanical wonder’s form. “Buddy, I keep telling you, you have to make sure to look both ways,” whispered the young scientist. “Maybe some of your circuits need rewiring; it’s like your memory bank has a hole or two in it somewhere. Tch. My fault for using-” “Excuse me,” you spoke up. “Who are you?” The Ignihyde student looked to you...then smiled. “Oh, hey there!” he said, waving with the hand that held the screwdriver. “Name’s Xavier. Xavier Madoc, if you, ah, wanna get all formal and stuff, heh. I’m a, uh, first year here in the dorm. I was just taking my buddy Abe here for a tour around the campus!” He patted his robot’s back; Abe stumbled forward, and rubbed his arm, looking a little nervous as he nodded to you in greeting. Sensing the AI’s anxiety, you gave a disarming smile of your own and bowed your head in return. This seemed to make Abe perk up a bit. “Nice to meet you both,” you said. “Speak for yourself,” mumbled Grim. “Hey, not Abe’s fault you’re an imperfect specimen of biology,” frowned Xavier. Before either yourself or Grim could point out Abe was clearly not a perfect machine, either, Xavier’s eyes lit up with recognition as he noticed the other member of the party. “Oh, it’s you again! Kale, yeah?” “Cael,” De Macabre corrected, with a mild smile. “Is this your presentation for the science expo?” “Pffft! Oh-ho, yeah, like...c’mon. Making artificial life? That’s, like, SO twenty years ago,” Xavier snorted. “Nope! I’ve got somethin’ a whole lot bigger in mind! It’s gonna REALLY put me on the map!” “After how much all those parts cost you, I should hope so,” mumbled Caelyum. “Hold on, back up,” you said, giving a “time out” gesture. “The two of you know each other?” “Only peripherally,” admitted the shopkeeper’s aid. “Just like you guys, I helped Xavier pick out some items for his project.”

“Cool,” you commented. “They work perfectly, by the way!” Xavier butted in, and then giddlily clapped his hands. “Ohhhh, this is gonna Rock. The. World. Like, if there was a world, and my new invention could hold it, it would just…” He made explosive noises as he mimed shaking something in his hands, then puffed them out with a long, whining “Aaaaaah!” noise. “...That would be it,” he declared, grinning from ear to ear. “Nothing is gonna top this one, nothing!” “Well, you seem pretty confident,” you chuckled. “Trust me, if there’s one thing I know...well, actually, I know, like, a lot of things, I guess?” Xavier frowned, turning his eyes heavenward as he counted on his fingers. “I mean, there’s, like mechanical engineering, alchemy, anatomy, welding, potion making, computer science...basically, yeah, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s how to make something awesome. With SCIENCE!” The last word was spoken with great melodrama, complete with Xavier lifting one hand theatrically, throwing his head back with pride and puffing out his chest arrogantly. Abe seemed to roll his eyes at his creator’s hammy attitude. “I wouldn’t get too cocky,” Cael said warningly, as he stepped back to lift his box up off the floor. “Yeah! Especially with all this to contend with,” Grim grinned a little smugly, picking his own box back up as well. Xavier frowned as he saw you lift the third and final box, now looking both curious and perhaps borderline suspicious. “Yeah, about that...what’s with all the toys?” he said, pointing to the box with a slight frown, as if the items within were beneath him. “Is there, like, a kid entering the expo, or are you cleaning out trash…?” You blinked, and the three in your party shared looks. The strange part about that comment was it didn’t sound like it was meant to be an insult. Xavier seriously seemed to see the tools in the boxes as inferior. “These are for Idia. Your dorm head,” you said, slowly. Xavier’s eyes widened, and so did his smile. “Oh! Oh, COOL! So, wait, holdupholdupholdup...you’re saying Idia Shroud - THE Idia Shroud - is gonna come outta his hideout and tussle with the muscle at the contest?” “That’s...one way of putting it, yep,” you answered unsteadily. “That’s TERRIFIC!” Xavier exclaimed, clapping his hands and bouncing on his heels with giddy delight. Abe tilted his head with curiosity, and Xavier, noticing the robot’s reaction, decided to explain. “When I beat Idia, that’ll be, like, the best thing ever!” Madoc told Abe. “I can finally show just how perfect and brilliant my machines are! Abe, it’s gonna be DA BOMB! HA HA HA!” Xavier cackled with almost unhinged delight, pumping his fists. Abe turned his lamplike eyes towards your group. You see what I have to put up with? he seemed to be saying. “Be wary,” Caelyum warned. “You shouldn’t underestimate Shroud: he’s dorm head for a reason. He literally made his own brother, you know; have you made anything that impressive before?” Xavier looked to Cael...and his smile fell. A sudden coldness came over his expression, and his eyes narrowed. “Are you saying my machines aren’t impressive?” he whispered, his voice lowering an octave. “No, I don’t think he’s saying that at all!” you interrupted, sensing the tension and wanting to cut it short. “Just...um...Idia’s not half bad either, you know.” Xavier smirked, but his eyes were still glittering like emerald daggers. “Hmph. He may be dorm head, but he’s got nothing on The Madoc,” Xavier boasted, jabbing a thumb at himself...then, his eyes brightened, and his whole being became exuberant once more. “Hey! Hey, you should totally come see the expo! All of you! That’d be great!” “Then we could see you win, huh?” you smirked right back, already sensing his thoughts. “Well...or see the others lose,” he said with a sinister laugh. “Your choice of how you wanna word it.” “Nya...that seems a jerky way to put it,” grumbled Grim, but no one paid attention to him. “Well, Crowley is probably gonna ask us to do something there anyways, with his track record,” you muttered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we saw you there.” “Perfect,” smiled Xavier, then cocked his head innocently. “Uh...right, I, ah...yeah, just realized I never got who YOU were?” You gave your name quickly. “I’m Prefect of the Ramshackle Dorm,” you explained, and pointed to Grim. “This is Grim.” “Aww...nice that your dorm allows pets.” Grim looked like he was pondering the many ways he coil make life excruciatingly painful for Xavier Madoc. “Why do you say that?” Cael spoke up. “Does yours not?” “Honestly, I dunno,” shrugged Xavier. “I’ve never had a pet. Never wanted one, really.” He tapped Abe on the chest; the robot - who had been staring off at something on a wall - jumped at the clanking on his abdomen. “I just deal with machines,” he said. “Pets are so...fussy. And unpredictable. You have to feed them and clean up their mess...my machines are clean and easy to handle. A machine can’t leave you or get sick; if there’s a malfunction, just a touch of oil or a twist of a wrench, and it’s all fixed, usually! And, hey, if something breaks, I can just rebuild it!” Abe looked hurt. “Oh, not you, buddy,” Xavier chuckled, patting his metal shoulder. “You’re irreplaceable.” Abe seemed to smile, but since he had no visible lips, you couldn’t tell. “I think it’s a good thing to have pets,” Caelyum argued, then gave a joking smile. “Maybe you should buy a lab rat or something?” Xavier shuddered. “Right, and be around animals AND people? Thanks, I think I’ll pass.” “And you were teasing Idia about leaving HIS hideout?” Grim taunted. Xavier glared at him. “I’m not scared of people,” he protested. “I just...don’t like crowds. I don’t like most people, either.” “You seem to be chatting easily with us,” you observed. “Well...yeah, but…no offense, I’m not gonna be inviting you to my lab anytime soon,” Xavier smiled weakly. “I like my privacy, that’s all.” You weren’t quite sure how to respond to that. “Speaking of,” Xavier went on, without waiting to see if you WOULD respond, “I gotta get back to work: I’ve gotta work out some clibrations for my new invention, then maybe see about modifying Abe’s storage banks, not to mention figuring out a few blueprints for future projects…” “Jeeze, don’t you do anything fun?!” Grim exclaimed. “Science IS fun,” huffed Xavier, sticking his nose up snootily. “And I don’t see a reason to stand here and be insulted by a furball.” While Grim sputtered, offended, Xavier looked to Abe. “Come, my friend!” he called out, theatrically. “Back to the laboratory!” Abe saluted, and he and his creator turned on their heels before marching away. The metallic footsteps of the robot echoed down the hall for several seconds after they vanished from sight. “I don’t like him,” grumbled Grim. “We gathered that,” Caelyum smirked. “He seems...eccentric,” you murmured, then shook your head. “Then again, I guess it’d be hard to find anybody at this school who ISN’T at least a little bit odd.” “He seemed like a good sort to me,” Cael nodded, then frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps a bit too sure of himself for his own good...not to mention a little too antisocial…” “Hey, I’ve dealt with Idia; trust me, that was nothing on the antisocial level,” you scoffed, as the three of you went down a side passage and headed off to find Idia’s room. “That’s not quite what I mean,” mumbled Caelyum, and then went on, aloud. “You know the donation jar at the Mystery Shop?” “You mean for the Medical Center?” “Yeah,” Cael said. “He didn’t donate anything. That’s not surprising, I guess, and it wouldn’t have really bothered me at all - donations from customers are hit and miss, always - but when I asked him if he’d like to make a donation, his response was…unsettling.” “Nya?” Grim meowed, one ear flicking with curiosity. “And what did he say?” “He said, ‘Sorry, but there are too many people out there to worry about the sick ones.’” You blinked...then scowled. “Okay...that’s...not very nice...and a little confusing,” you murmured. “Yeah,” Caelyum said. “The weirdest part was he then started rambling about the machines in the Medical Center. He seemed more interested in how the machines worked than what they actually did to help people.” You glanced back over your shoulder. Now, you were starting to feel worried. A person that strange, that obsessed, and that sure of his own superiority… ...Suddenly, Xavier’s eccentricities were starting to take a more sinister undercurrent. “Let’s just forget about him,” snorted Grim. “Come on, the scaredy-cat’s waiting!” “Right,” you muttered, then shook your head to clear it, and picked up the pace, this time taking the lead yourself. “Come on, you two...if Idia’s going to have any shot at that science expo - Madoc or no Madoc - he’ll need these parts.’

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Several weeks later, the science expo at Night Raven College commenced. Various students from across the campus were readying their inventions and projects. You had been right, of course: the Headmaster had, indeed, demanded that you attend the expo. As custodians, your job was to help those preparing their experiments, and to clean up any messes that might come up. By some miracle, not a drop of an acid, nor a bit of any base, had yet to stain the floor, and nothing solid had broken. Of course, that could change at any time, so yourself and Grim wandered around the expo, peeking at different experiments on display. A lot of what was being shown you didn’t fully understand - science had never been your strongest point - and, truth be told, the majority of the students involved were not ones you knew personally. There were, however, two familiar faces you were hoping to see. “Nya...where are the Shrouds?” meowed Grim, flicking his tail from side to side and blinking his big blue-green eyes up at you. “Shouldn’t Idia and Ortho have set up their panel already.” “Yeah, they should have,” you nodded. “Maybe they just didn’t get things ready in time?” “Not the way I heard it.” The voice caught your attention, and both yourself and Grim smiled as you saw who it belonged to. “Oh, Cael! So you came here after all, huh?” you grinned. “Yup. I actually invited Mia, but she couldn’t make it; some kind of royal business,” the shopkeeper’s assistant shrugged. “I wanted to see how the items Sam and I sold were being used, so I asked him if I could get out of my job at the Mystery Shop a few hours early to check things out.” “I see. I’m sorry to hear Mia couldn’t make it,” you said, sympathetically. Caelyum smiled gently. “For years I lived without her,” he said, faintly. “Even if we’re not together, my heart will always be with her...and hers with mine…” “Ugh...gag me,” sneered Grim. “You don’t have to make it sound so dramatic, you know; you’re a bigger ham than the guys at Pomefiore!” Cael blushed and you giggled. “Anyway...Ortho told me he and Idia had finished their work,” Caelyum informed you and the imp. “They actually have it stored here at the hall, since they felt that would make it easier for transport and setup.” “That’s strange, then. Even Idia usually isn’t late for these things,” you murmured, looking a little concerned. “He’s not?” Cael asked, curiously. “I would have thought, with his reputation, he would try his hardest to avoid them.” “Well, Idia usually has Ortho attend the Dorm Leader Meetings - and other events - and then uses his computer to do a voice stream from his room,” you explained. “That way he can make his presentations without having to face the crowds directly. There should be no reason for at least one of them to not be-” “Excuse me! Pardon me! Coming through! Thank you!” “Idon’twannagoIdon’twannagoIdon’twannagohelphelphelp…!” Grim turned around fast at the sound of the familiar voices, and tugged on your leg, pointing in the direction they were coming from. Both you and Cael quickly looked in the direction he had indicated, and saw the crowd of students and helpful staff members parting… ...Revealing the form of Ortho Shroud, who all but skipped merrily along through the campus convention hall where the expo was being held, dragging along what looked like an enormous black-and-blue bag. You quickly realized the “enormous bag” was really Idia Shroud, who was lying belly down on the floor. His dead-white hands were holding up his hoodie in a steel-knuckled grip, while his glowing blue, ethereal hair spilled across the floor from under it. Ortho noticed your group soon enough; his cybernetic eyes widened, and he waved, trotting over to three of you. You looked to Caelyum, who was staring bug-eyed, stunned by the bizarre tableaux. You had to admit, it said something that, somehow, you were a lot less weirded out. “Hi ya, Prefect!” Ortho chirped in his electronic way, as he stopped a few feet away from your trio. You could see that, now at a standstill, Idia was shaking like a leaf. “Uhhhh...hi,” you greeted awkwardly. “Nya! Why are you two so late?” Grim grimaced. “And what exactly is going on?” Cael asked, sounding like he was trying not to shout that out in confusion. “Oh! Well, um, Big Brother’s thingamajig that he uses for remote conference? It, uh...kinda had a malfunction,” Ortho said, an embarrassed smile flickering behind the mask-like apparatus on his android face. “Malfunction?” the three of you repeated, looking at each other, and then back at Ortho. “Yeah,” Ortho said, and scratched the back of his head. “My brother convinced a stray cat into our room so he could give it some food...but when he tried to snuggle it, it bolted back out the window, and knocked the device off a table and onto the floor. We...didn’t have time to fix it.” A keening whine from Idia made it hard from you to determine if you should laugh or just feel sorry for the poor, anxious noble son. “Yeesh...and that’s what all this is about, huh?” “Yep!” Ortho siad, cheerily. “Big Brother still has to attend his final for the class, after all! So I made sure to get him here with enough time to set up shop!” Ortho’s chest was puffed out with pride; you swore, if he had a tail, it would have been wagging like a puppy’s. You couldn’t help but smile, even as Grim and Cael both rolled their eyes, crossing their arms over their chests. “Well, good job, Ortho; that’s being responsible!” you said, and playfully patted the boy-like droid’s head; you would never understand how that fire-like hair DIDN’T burn your fingers, but no matter. “I’m sure once he’s done having a panic attack, he’ll be proud of you.” Ortho giggled happily and his eyes crinkled with another sweet “smile.” You now turned your attention to Idia, as Ortho released his leg. The instant, Idia felt his leg being let go, he stopped shaking and froze. Slowly, he rolled onto his back...and huge amber yellow eyes, glowing like warning lights, peered out from behind the hoodie. Idia took one look at the crowd in the hall, and the faces looking at him...and squeaked like a mouse before hiding his face. He clumsily tried to get to his feet and run away...only to let out a shrill, strangled sound as he tripped on his own feet and fell over. Ortho let out an “eep!” and rushed to catch hold of his brother before the computer genius could eat tile. “Nervous, Idia?” Grim drawled with a smirk. Cael couldn’t help but chuckle as Idia whimpered with terror, quivering once again. “P-People,” came Idia’s voice behind his hood. “Too...t-too many people...please...t-take me back to my room...I-I’d rather watch the English dubbing of Ghost Stories than do this…heck, I’d rather play Iron Gear: Survive than be here...!” “Not till you finish your presentation,” Ortho said. “Come on, Big Brother! Show everybody how cool you are!” “I don’t wanna be cool!” Idia nearly sobbed. “Please, not this! Not…” He gulped and nearly choked on the next words. “...T-Talking to people...having them judge me...no, no, not that…” Idia shook his head behind his hood stubbornly. Ortho looked at you helplessly. You sighed and knelt down to Idia’s level. You cautiously reached out to the trembling socially anxious scientist, who whimpered as he felt your hands brush against him, and curled up tightly, as if afraid of being struck. With a sympathetic smile, you carefully parted his hands and pulled down his hood. His face now fully exposed to the outside world, Idia blinked his giant yellow eyes at you with real fear. His dark lips were trembling, and you swore those golden irises were getting a little misty as he looked on the verge of crying with fear. You could hear his shark-like teeth chattering as if winter had come early that year. “Idia,” you said softly, “It’s got to be done, and you’re the only one who can do it.” “Why is that?” peeped Idia, childishly. “Because it’s YOUR creation, Idia,” you said, with an encouraging smile. “No one knows it better than you do.” “Yeah! It’s not like we can talk about all this science-y junk!” Grim broke in...then subsided when Idia reacted by looking hurt, while Ortho gave him an almost murderous glare. “The presentation only has to be a few minutes long,” Cael thought to put in helpfully. “A few SECONDS is too much!” Idia said, and hurried to try and hide his face again...but you prevented it with your hands as you carefully held his wrists. His black-nailed fingers twitched with mortal dread as he looked into your earnest, honest eyes. “Idia, does Ortho know anything about the project?” “Well...n-no, not enough to tell them everything,” Idia admitted, squirming uncomfortably and almost guiltily, like a child admitting he’d stolen five cookies from the cookie jar. “Is there anybody else who could give the presentation on your behalf, with the knowledge you have?” Idia blinked. Those last few words seemed to have stirred something in his breast, and he looked at you anew, blinking a few times, as realization dawned on his pale face. “...No...I guess not,” he said, softly. “Well then?” you urged, tenderly, raising one eyebrow. Idia bit his lip; his sharp teeth almost drew blood. (Almost.) “...But...b-but I’m scared,” he cheeped out, like a wounded baby bird. It took all your willpower not to kiss his forehead. How could a denizen of the Underworld be so friggin’ cute?! “It’s okay to be scared,” you assured him. “Being brave means doing things even though you are scared.” “No, being brave means enduring unpleasant situations without showing fear,” Idia droned. “That’s literally in the dictionary.” “And how brave do you think the Lord of the Underworld was when he fought the Mighty Hercules?” “A lot braver than I am!” Idia replied, without missing a beat, and promptly hid his face again, rolling onto his side, like a child refusing to get out of bed. “I’m not doing it!” You bit your own lip, and looked around awkwardly. A LOT of people were staring, and that was only going to make Idia feel worse. You had to pacify this quickly. “Mr. Shroud.” You blinked up at Caelyum, who knelt down beside you with a reassuring smile of his own. Idia peeked out of his hoodie timidly. “Wh-What?” “Once this is over, I’d be happy to give you a free Jumbo Jar of Jelly Babies from the Mystery Shop as a reward for your efforts,” Cael offered. Idia’s eyes went wide at the mention of so much candy. “...F-Free?” “Yes,” Cael nodded. “I’ll just put my own money back into the shop to make up the expense. BUT,” he said, in a stern, almost parental tone, holding up one finger, “You have to at least try to make your presentation first.” Idia licked his lips, but he still looked uncertain. “...What if they don’t like my creation, though?” he whispered, shivering a little. “They’ll love it, Big Brother!” Ortho declared. “It’s the best thing ever! You’re so smart, it has to be!” “And all three of us,” you thought to add, “Will be there. Myself, Cael, and Grim: we’ll be watching and cheering you on.” Idia squirmed again. “...The watching part I could live without, but…” Finally, at long last...he gave a scared, small, hesitant smile. “...The cheering part...I-I’d appreciate it,” he chuckled, and seemed to perk up a bit. “And, h-hey...I get lots of candy out of it, yeah?” “Sugary gummies galore,” winked Caelyum. Idia paused once more, and took a deep breath, before finally relenting: “F-Fine...I’ll...I’ll try not to screw up...” “That’s the spirit, Brother!” cheered Ortho joyously, and helped Idia to his feet. Idia gave a nervous nod to his brother, then gave you a shy wave and a smile that showed just a hint of his pointed teeth, as the young android led him away to another part of the hall. Both yourself and Caelyum stood to your full heights and sighed with relief. “Sam’s gonna kill me,” he mumbled. “He gets pretty strict with inventory; I think it’s the con-man in him…” “Just don’t make a deal with him, and you’ll be fine,” Grim giggled. “You know, maybe another incentive we could have used was a chance for ‘snuggle time’ with a certain ‘Little Monster,’” you said, airily, giving Grim a teasing smile. The cat-like little beast blushed bright red, and his ears flared up. “Th-That’s not funny, Minion!” he snapped, huffishly, while Cael chortled merrily at the thought. Just then, another laugh was heard from the far end of the hall; you recognized it instantly. “Xavier?” you murmured, remembering the strange scientist from a few weeks ago. “Sounds like the judging has begun,” Caelyum remarked, as he noticed a group of official-looking gentlemen, along with some students, gathered in the area. “Nya! Let’s go see what’s up!” Grim suggested, and loped off on all fours to do exactly that. You and Caelyum shrugged to each other, and followed at a casual pace. You soon came to the panel hosted by Xavier. To one side stood Abe, who had traded out his porter’s costume for a buttoned-up labcoat...although, amusing, he still wore his porter’s cap upon his head. The mechanical man’s mask-like, expressionless, featureless face somehow still managed to look rather bashful as he waved shyly at the mob that now surrounded the corner spot. It was Xavier Madoc himself, however, who most arrested your attention. He stood in front of a table, over which was draped a light gray table cloth...and on top of that was a large, oddly-shaped...something. No one could tell what, exactly, for a second tablecloth - also colored gray - was covering it. Xavier was dressed in a long labcoat, which stretched past his knees and halfway down his shins. Underneath this, the eccentric inventor wore blue jeans and white tennis shoes; the former was held up by a peculiar teal-colored belt. A light gray midriff shirt, with black pinstripes, was perhaps the weirdest part of his ensemble; emblazoned on his chest, upon this shirt, was an unusual design: a black-stenciled image that, on one side, resembled a skull, while the other side resembled a clockwork gear, the two parts meshed together unsettlingly. With his wild, wide grin and the way he bowed to the crowd - more like a circus ringmaster than a distinguished scholar - one couldn’t help but find him a most uncommon figure. “Ladies and gentlemen...and undecided!” he greeted, and laughed at his own joke (no one else did, but he didn’t seem to care) before continuing: “Allow me to introduce myself: I am Xavier Madoc! Also, allow me to introduce my trusty counterpart, Abe! His name stands for Assistant Bot Extraordinaire. Yeah, ha, not the most, uh...SCIENTIFIC name I could’ve come up with, but what can I say? I liked the acronym.” Abe rolled his electronic eyes and nodded to the judges, who nodded back before refocusing on Xavier, who rubbed his eyes as he moved to the opposite side of the table from Abe. “Friends and colleagues of science, let us talk about emotions, shall we?” he began, still speaking in an almost carnival-esque tone of voice, which made Cael roll his eyes and scoff. “He sounds almost like Sam at times,” the Swamplands native mumbled. You and Grim smiled at him, then looked back at Xavier as he began his spiel. “Emotions are a fickle thing,” Madoc said, lifting a finger in emphasis. “Emotions can be our strength, but they can also be our weakness. What a beautiful world it would be if we could all be logical, without those...pesky things like jealousy or greed to spur us in the wrong direction. Even here, in a school of black magic, love is just as revered as vengeance. There is a reason, of course...two, really. One, I would argue, is human frailty. We cannot help ourselves; we are, very tragically, made to be feeling creatures more often than thinkers. But another is perhaps more practical, in this particular world...and that, my friends, is that we need it as fuel. Magic is a powerful entity in our world, arguably more than science, and while it is not uncommon for the two to mesh together, no one has found a way to properly harness the power of the human spirit that allows our magic to work. Well, my friends...I, Xavier Madoc, have found the solution to that quandary!” So saying, Xavier through out both arms in a grand gesture and sang out: “TA-DA!” Silence. Nothing happened. The judges and the crowd just stared at Xavier awkwardly. Xavier blinked, then looked to Abe, who was looking around the room blithely. He frowned and whistled, getting the droid’s attention. “Abe,” he said, and pointed to the table. “You’ll want to take off the tablecloth on that cue, ‘kay, buddy?” Abe nodded, and scooted closer to the table. “Thank you,” whispered Xavier, and tried again, louder: “TA-DA!” A horrible grinding sound was heard as Abe grabbed the tablecloth on the table, nearly knocking over the item under the second veil as he gave it a tug. Xavier yelped for him to stop, and swooped in just in time to right the object before it could crash to the floor. You forced yourself not to laugh; Grim and Caelyum were not inclined to do the same. “So much for ‘the perfection of machines,’ huh?” the fluffy little imp whispered. “Hush!” you scolded...but internally, you conceded he had a point. Abe shuffled sheepishly as Xavier brushed his mint-and-cerulean bangs from his face and gave him an impatient, toothy smile. The dark doctor-in-training could hear some of the crowd snickering, and he hated it. “Not THAT tablecloth,” he said through clenched teeth, and pointed to the device under the covering. “THIS tablecloth. Got it?” Abe nodded, looking like a scared child. “Thank you,” Xavier sighed in frustration, and took a deep breath before trying one more time: “TA-DA!” Finally, Abe swirled off the right tablecloth with great panache. Underneath it was unveiled a strange machine, about the size and shape of the average backpack. Most of it was covered in white leather, but several mechanical apparatuses were jutting from it. Among these were two large copper tanks on either side, several steel cylinders, and two long tubes of tough, transparent rubber, which led from one of the sets of caps into the copper tanks. Two beige-colored leather straps were attached, and it was into these straps that Xavier slipped his long, lanky arms, putting the strange pack on his back. “Introducing my newest invention!” Xavier declared with a beaming, proud smile. “The Emotion Reservoir Power Converter - or ERPC, if you want to shorten it. We can’t all have cool acronyms like Abe, heh...ANYWAY! I would argue that negative emotions have more importance here than positive ones: Blot is the result of an overabundance of black magic use, and much of dark wizardry involves the channeling of negative power. The ERPC can drain small doses of negative emotional energy directly from the subject, and then convert them into magical energy, without the user suffering a state of Overblot!” “Can you give us a demonstration?” one of the judges spoke up. He was a portly man, with spectacles perched upon a crooked nose. “I hoped you would ask that, Dr. Alcott,” Xavier answered with a Devil-May-Care wink, then looked to his robotic companion. “Abe? The book, please!” The robot nodded, and reached into the folds of his labcoat, before handing his creator a small book with a bright pink cover. On it was the title “Princess Pony and the Island of Fluffy Squirrels,” by Lorina Faustus. Xavier blushed bright red and swatted at Abe, who hurriedly put the book away while giggles and chuckles once again came from the audience. “I told you not to…! THE OTHER BOOK, ABE!” Abe quickly fished a second book out: this was a black leatherbound volume with the image of a galaxy festooning its front. Xavier took it and sighed, shaking his head before flipping to a bookmarked page. “Here,” he declared, pointing at the page in question and tapping it with a finger, “Is an excellent example. Keep in mind, gentlemen and ladies, I am but a first year here. The spell I’m about to perform is typically a fourth-year level spell, and I have taken no classes on the subject. Should you wish for confirmation of this later, simply consult the members of the staff on standby today.” Xavier thus cleared his throat, and lifted one hand, extending his thin fingers towards the ceiling before mumbling the incantation in the book. He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow and gritting his teeth, trying to concentrate...his fingers clawed as he flexed them, arm trembling as he forced all the power he could muster into his spellcasting… A dim, murky cloud of purple - shapeless and formless - hovered over the heads of the judges. Specks and blotches of many hues, like splatters of watercolor on a half-burned piece of parchment, appeared and disappeared...before, finally, Xavier gasped and relinquished the attempt, and the colors all faded, the cloud dissipating in an instant. “Haaaaah...a-as you can...ahem...as you can s-see,” Xavier gasped out, wiping some sweat from his brow. “That was hardly an easy task, gentleman...and hardly a good demonstration of that spell. Thankfully, my new invention can allow me to ‘upgrade’ my abilities, through use of my Unique Magic…” He lifted his left hand, the one that he had first used to try and enact the spell, and flexed his fingers as he recited his magic words. “...Paint & Thinner.” There was a flash of turquoise-toned light...and suddenly, Xavier’s left arm had undergone a startling and somewhat disquieting transformation. The fingers and thumb of his left hand had turned into a set of what looked like syringes, the needles resembling claws, his whole hand now seemingly mechanical and metallic. “My power,” Xavier smirked, flexing his taloned hand, “Allows me to extract emotion from a person. This is the ‘Thinner’ part of the equation. The emotional energy is converted to a liquid state. I can, of course, also return the emotions to their original owners, in a gaseous state: this is the ‘Paint’ aspect. Now, I know this is, uh...you know...a little freaky, but...I’m going to need a volunteer.” He handed the spellbook to Abe and added: “My assistant doesn’t exactly have veins to target.” Naturally, at first, nobody stepped forward. Xavier’s expression shifted, and he started to seem crestfallen, perhaps even a little scared… You sighed, shook your head, and stepped closer, raising one arm. “I volunteer,” you said. Xavier grinned, and nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Prefect,” he said, and addressed the audience as - with the clinical care of a master surgeon - he pulled you closer by one arm. “Everyone watch closely, please.” He then looked back at you; his voice was the professional, bland calm of a medical expert as he said the timeless refrain: “This won’t hurt a bit.” The syringes were inserted into your arm. You closed your eyes, trying to relax, remembering all the injections you had gotten. You did not feel the slightest prick as they did their work, and soon, bright green fluid - the color of some toxic acid - was drawn from your very body into the syringe fingers. “Sit down,” whispered Xavier, in the same clinical, almost cold tone, easing you into a nearby chair which Abe had prepared. His actions seemed more dismissive than in the vein of proper bedside manners. You sank into it gratefully. You felt...lightheaded. Cold. Almost ill. You didn’t know it at the time, but before the congregation of onlookers, your skin had suddenly turned very, very pale, and your hair and eyes had lost all color. Even your clothes seemed to have become more faded, causing you to look like a monochrome character from a black-and-white movie. You hoped the sickening, hollow sensation inside you wouldn’t last long as Xavier turned to the audience again. “Generally speaking, draining the emotion from the victim will leave them feeling weakened; enough power drawn can lead to them being rendered unconscious. My machine allows me to withdraw more than I would usually be able to manage in a single dose without even touching the subject, should I wish...but for safety purposes, I think we had better focus on the OUTPUT demonstration. Observe…” He closed his eyes...and suddenly, the syringes emptied, as if the power was being drawn through his arm and into his core...then, the same green fluid bubbled through the pipes, and a slosh came from the copper tanks as your emotions filled them with liquid energy. “Now,” said Xavier, and waved a hand for Abe to open the book and show him the page, as his syringe hand lifted to the ceiling. “Let’s see if the emotional energy I’ve drained from my volunteer can be converted to enough magical power, via the ERPC, for the spell I attempted earlier. Remember, everybody: first year here…” Once again, Xavier lifted his hand to the ceiling...and this time, as he spoke the incantation, the purple cloud became a beautiful circle of deep indigo, revealing the boundless reaches of outer space. Splashes of color became perfect images of planets and stars, so real in appearance one swore they could touch them. In fact, one student DID try to touch one...and yelped, as the sun actually burnt their finger slightly. “Careful,” chuckled Xavier, and then flexed his fingers...and the beautiful image disappeared. He then turned to the judges and, without a word, bowed. He had rested his case. The judges seemed most impressed. Dr. Alcott and the others applauded and smiled, looking quite pleased. However, they had other presentations to attend to, and after a few more perfunctory questions, they moved on. As the judges moved on, and the crowd went with them, Xavier looked two, kneeling down to look at your face. You felt dizzy and queasy, and the look on his face indicated he could tell. He extended his fingers. “Breathe normally,” he instructed, and a faint blue mist poured from the needle like fingers...and you sighed as you felt the ill feeling go away. Steadily, the color flooded back into your being at the same time. “Oh, dear Gods...wh-what was that?” “That was what it was like to be drained of emotional energy,” Xavier said, and gave an anxious sort of smile. “Pretty icky, huh?” “You said it,” you grumbled. “That was a bold decision, Prefect,” Cael observed, as Grim nodded in agreement. Both he and the imp looked rather concerned; they had lingered behind to check on you. Abe placed a mute hand upon your shoulder. You glanced up briefly at the featureless mechanical man, then smiled weakly back at your friends. “Well, he needed someone...who else would have done it?” you reasoned, then shuddered. “I really don’t like needles though…” “Not my fault it’s how my power works,” chuckled Xavier, but obligingly lifted his hand and spoke the counter-curse: “Thinner & Paint.” Another flash of blue-green light, and his hand returned to normal. He gave it a shake, then extended it to you. “Thank you for the help,” he said, sincerely. “Gotta admit, I didn’t expect anybody to put their best foot forward for me like that…” “I’m glad I could start a new custom,” you said, and shook his hand before shakily standing up. “I still don’t feel quite ready for work though…” “Give it a couple short minutes, and it’ll wear off on its own,” Xavier said sweetly. Just then, more applause came...louder than before. The four of you looked; Xavier frowned and the rest of you perked up as you realized who the next contender was… “The Shrouds!” exclaimed Grim. “Let’s see what they are up to,” suggested Cael. “Right,” you nodded, then smiled at Xavier. “Really cool invention. I hope you win!” Xavier’s eyes widened as he looked back at you, seemingly taken aback by the compliment and well-wishes...then smiled awkwardly. “Heh...uh...th-thanks, um...enjoy the rest of the expo. I mean, no one else is gonna be as awesome, but...you know…” You just laughed, and joined your friends, giving Xavier a wave as you strolled towards the Shrouds’ panel. You never noticed how Xavier’s smile faded into a cold, almost lifeless expression behind you while your back turned away. “No one else is gonna be as awesome,” he whispered to himself, forebodingly. Unaware of the ominous moment that had passed, your gaggle descended with the rest of the onlookers to see what the Head of Ignihyde and his “Baby Brother” had in store. Said “Baby Brother” was brushing humming in a vocoded-sounding way (he WAS an android, after all) as he brushed down a machine on the table. The device was not hidden by anything, the way Xavier’s power pack had been, which meant you and all and sundry could take a peek at it. It was...difficult to describe. The shape of the thing vaguely resembled a small ice maker, colored black and gray, but with three glass tubes on the top, each filled with strange fluids in primary colors: red, yellow, and blue. While Ortho dusted it off, Idia, was standing off to one side; his knees were almost knocking together, and his fingers fiddled endlessly with the dangling pullstrings of his hoodie as he stared at the judges, brow bathed in cold sweat. “Okay, Brother-o’-mine!” cheered Ortho, and looked to Idia happily. “It’s all set.” Idia said nothing. He didn’t move. He stared straight ahead, like a statue, still focused unblinkingly on the judges. “Uh...brother?” Idia whimpered, still frozen and shaking. “BROTHER!” shouted Ortho, fire-hair flaring up and turning orange for a second as he stomped his foot in frustration. Idia yelped and jumped about a foot in the air. “IWASN’TTHINKINGABOUTHIDING!” he exclaimed in a jabbering sort of way...then blinked when he saw Ortho’s pouty expression. (How the android could pout with no visible lips was anyone’s guess.) He flushed; Idia never blushed red or pink, but his cheeks turned a sort of bluish-purple color. “C’mon!” Ortho urged, and gestured towards the group. “They’re waiting.” This did not seem to encourage Idia, who flinched and looked nervously at the impatient judges. “I...um...uh...w-well, uh...aha...er…” You frowned, glancing with concern at Grim and Caelyum; the former matched your expression, while the other mostly looked bored. This was not going well. A thought came to you, and you stepped forward slightly. Idia must have heard your approach, because his eyes quickly darted to see you, and the encouraging smile you gave. Suddenly, he seemed to relax...but only VERY slightly. Idia was the sort to fear he was BREATHING too loudly and that would get on people’s nerves, he could only be so calm. Still, it helped enough for him to clear his throat and begin talking. “Ahem...s-sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, with a nervous smile, tapping his fingers together childishly. “I’m, ah...not used to this sort of...front and center kinda thing, heh...honestly, I wish I were hiding under my blankets right now...BUT! But, ah...I think the device I’ve made will at least be of interest…” So saying, Idia seemed to pluck up some courage. Your own smile widened as he placed a hand on the machine, and his stance straightened. If there was one thing that Shroud could talk about with SOME pride, it was his work. “I don’t need to tell all you that, uh...th-that the source of magic for m-many wizards and witches is their magic crystals, right? Right. So, ah...I, well...I got to thinking: the problem with the crystals is they can...well...run out. We have to mine for them, we have to dig for them, and there’s always a chance that someday...y’know...th-there might not be any left. Which would...kinda suck, ha. SO! I decided to try and create SYNTHETIC crystals…” He tapped the tubes on the top of the machine. “With these three simple potion compounds, mixed together in the right order, I can...well...do that. Using this machine.” “Would you say there are other advantages to this idea?” Dr. Alcott spoke up. “Oh, y-yes!” Idia said, starting to smile as he realized he had someone’s interest, though he seemed a bit nervous when he noticed the way the other judges scribbled some quick notes down. “Ahem...yes, sir. See, with synthetic crystals, not only do you not need to dig them up, but...well...if you have these compounds, and this machine, you can make as many as you like.” “Well, yes,” Dr. Alcott nodded, “But are they any more advantageous than natural crystals?” Idia paused, as if to think on his answer, then nodded slowly. “There is one other thing,” he said, almost shyly. (Well...there was no “almost” about it, this was Idia Shroud, but you gave him the benefit of the wiggle room anyway.) He paused before steadily elaborating: “Synthetic crystals do have a couple of weaknesses. They are not as physically strong as natural ones, for a start, the same way synthetic gems are not as strong as real jewels. You also can’t make them as large as natural crystals, because with the compounds being used, they can become unstable. But, at the average size of the average magic crystal…” He pointed to the one he wore himself, on his arm, before continuing. “...It can actually last longer than a natural crystal. It...well...um...I don’t know how to explain it, actually, but my experiments have shown that...well...you can use them for a longer period of time before worrying about Overblotting.” “Well, that’s definitely an advantage,” smiled Dr. Alcott, seemingly impressed, then turned serious as he scratched a few notes down before speaking again: “Can we see how this machine works?” “Y-Yes! Yes, of course!” nodded Idia...then tapped Ortho on the shoulder. “Little brother? Um...w-would you do the honors?” He then added in a whisper, “I’ll probably mess up…” Your smile became slightly less proud: Idia was still Idia. Ortho just giggled. “You can’t mess up turning the machine on, Big Brother!” he teased quietly, but still obeyed, pressing a button on the contraption. A loud whirring sound was heard, and the potions in the tubes bubbled and then began to lessen in volume; you could hear the sound of fluid being stirred and mixed, followed by the low humming buzz of another item either cooling or heating the stuff inside the machine… ...It only took about two minutes - during which the judges’ attention was raptly focused on the device, and several in the crowd mumbled to one another with interest - and then, with a rattle and a clatter, a teardrop-shaped, transparent, pale blue crystal dropped into a tray inside the machine. Idia opened the lid and pulled the crystal out of the tray, holding it up for everyone to see, then offered it to the judges, who inspected it closely. Finally, Dr. Alcott handed the artificial crystal back to Idia with a smile. “Fine work, young Master Shroud,” he nodded in approval. “Fine work indeed.” The other judges and the audience applauded. Idia smiled bashfully, tucking his head down and mouthing a quiet word of thanks as he hugged the crystal to his chest. Ortho, noticing the way his brother was shaking, gave him an encouraging hug as the mob and the judges - still chatting betwixt themselves - moved away. Once again, yourself and your friends stepped forward, all of you wearing matching grins. “I’m so proud of you!” you cheered, and gave Idia a hug. You felt the eldest Shroud freeze up in your embrace, and couldn’t help but smile still wider; Idia, bless his heart, still wasn’t used to much physical interaction, and you could feel him starting to twitch. You gave him a very gentle, comforting squeeze, and rubbed his back reassuringly. Only then did his arms steadily move upwards to gingerly return the hug. “Nya!” Grim called out happily, trotting over with a wide grin, purring up at the fire-haired Ignihyde head. “You did a lot better than I expected!” “An interesting invention, too,” Cael complimented. “I’m sure you’ll end up with first place!” “Oh, I-I dunno,” mumbled Idia, rubbing one arm and squirming slightly with embarrassment. “I thought Madoc had a pretty cool creation, too…” “His was neat,” nodded Grim, “But I think yours is better.” “His energy converter DID have one noticeable issue,” Cael thought to add, glancing back towards Xavier’s panel - by now, the odd scientist and his assistant had turned their attention away, and were seemingly polishing the power pack. “It depends on HIM in order to work. No one else would be able to use it: it’s not something you can mass produce, because no one else has his Unique Magic.” “That’s true,” Ortho spoke up. “But hey! The basic idea isn’t bad; with a little adjusting, he could make it something really special for everyone to use!” “If he cares enough to try,” mumbled Grim; he subsided at the look you gave him. “It’s up to the judges, and the contest has just started,” you said, crisply, then smiled at Idia once more. “Whatever happens, you did good. Don’t doubt that.” Idia smiled sweetly. “Th-thank you,” he whispered, then glanced at the crystal in his hand and back up at you...before offering it cautiously. “Would you...like a souvenir? Heh…” You chuckled, and took the crystal, placing it in your pocket. “Sure,” you said. “Thanks, Idia.” “Y-You’re w-w-welcome,” stuttered Idia, looking like he was scared of feeling too happy. He paused and cleared his throat with a cough before reaching into his hoodie’s pocket, pulling out his cell phone. “Well, um...I wanna catch up with a new show I’m watching, so...I’m, uh...y’know...gonna go find a nice, safe corner till the judgment call comes, and...well…ju st, uh...exist, heh…” “Can I watch with you, Big Brother?” Ortho peeped hopefully. “Sure,” Idia said with a smile and a nod, then gave you the same gestures before scurrying away, looking like he couldn’t wait to get away from everything that had the power to breathe. Yourself and your two companions chuckled and gave a collective mock salute to the Shroud brothers, as Ortho followed Idia quickly. Then, still chattering amongst yourselves, you hurried to rejoin the group and see what else was at the exposition… None of you were aware of Xavier Madoc’s eyes following the mob’s movements, before glancing back at Idia’s device. One could have sworn his one green eye flashed.

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The exposition had come to an end, and after two hours of deliberation, the judges were ready to deliver their verdict. The contestants had lined up on either side of the room, while the audience sat in chairs before a podium. Yourself, Caelyum, and Grim all took seats in the second row (the front row had filled up too quickly) and watched as Dr. Alcott approached the podium, adjusting his spectacles and shuffling some papers in his hands. You glanced to the right. Along with the other contenders at the expo, Idia and Xavier were naturally lined up, both on the same side of the hall. Xavier stood with a cocksure smile, arms crossed, while Idia was nervously twiddling his fingers, biting his lip with his dagger-like teeth. He looked towards Xavier and smiled nervously. “S-So, uh...may the best man win, huh?” he said, awkwardly. Xavier didn’t even look at the dorm head as he narrowed his eyes and simply said, “Don’t worry. I will.” Idia looked a bit befuddled. Abe and Ortho - who stood beside their corresponding creators - looked at each other and shrugged. The sound of Dr. Alcott brought your attention back to the podium. “It’s time,” Cael and Grim murmured at the same time, as the lead judge addressed the audience, crooked nose pointed high. “Friends of science,” the doctor began, “I am not one for grand speeches or over-sentimentalizing the talents we’ve seen on display here today. Virtually every experiment we viewed today, every invention created or formula concocted, was of interest.As far as those doing this for an assignment go, my supposition is you will all pass with flying colors. However, there can only be one winner: one person to leave this exposition a proper champion.” He snapped his fingers and one of the other judges stepped up beside him, and handed him a trophy, with a golden ornament resembling a ringed planet. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Dr. Alcott intoned, “The winner of the Annual Science Expo is…” Xavier smirked, and straightened up his labcoat, taking a deep breath, as if ready to thank everyone… “...Mr. Idia Shroud!” Xavier froze, the smile seemingly slapped from his face as his eyes widened. Idia’s eyes widened too, and he gasped in surprise as the crowd applauded. One could almost see tears in his eyes as he realized what had happened. Yourself and your party cheered as Ortho nudged Idia up to the podium to accept his trophy, which he did with trembling fingers. You were grinning from ear to ear, and so was Idia; his shark-toothed smile had never been wider, you felt, nor more genuine in nature. His amber eyes sparkled like a pair of glittering gold coins. As Dr. Alcott began to congratulate Shroud - who was hugging the trophy to his chest almost like a teddy bear - you turned to see the other contenders. Most of them - including Abe - were clapping politely. The only exceptions were Ortho, who was literally dancing with joy… ...And Xavier Madoc. He looked absolutely livid. His face was almost as red as Riddle Rosehearts’ could get, his fists clenched, one eye twitching as he gritted his teeth angrily. His mismatched eyes were burning… You felt your blood run cold as the blue eye was surrounded by a matching aura. “Grim!” you hissed, tapping the feline-like creature on the side. Grim turned fast...and his ears flattened back and he mewed as he saw droplets of ink dripping from the magic crystal Xavier wore… “Oh, no,” he gulped nervously. “What’s wrong?” Caelyum whispered...then frozen when he saw the same. “Oh, barnacles...is that…?” “Overblot,” you replied, gravely. “Here we go again…” Just as Dr. Alcott shook Idia’s hand, and was about to dismiss him, Xavier suddenly let out a screeching cry of apoplectic rage, which startled everyone present. All eyes watched as the white labcoat of the first-year science master flapped behind him like the wings of a huge war bird, as he flew back towards his panel, and hurriedly strapped the ERPC to his back. “Unacceptable!” he shouted. “I will not allow it! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT! No one outsmarts me! NOBODY! My machines are perfect! My work is superior in every way! And if you doubt that - if ANYONE STILL doubts that…!” A feral grin came to his face as he extended one arm. “...Then I’ll just have to prove otherwise, won’t I? Paint & Thinner.” A flash of turquoise light was immediately followed by an explosive sound. KA-ZAM! A gale wind ripped through the hall, as a swirl of black mist surrounded Xavier Madoc; you cursed violently under your breath as blue and green light burst through pockets in the spiraling cloud of inky darkness. No doubt Xavier’s strong emotions and the level of magic he had put out earlier had blended together, and with the power pack on, he could burn through magic and cause damage with greater force and strength than you could guess. “Brace yourselves!” you called to Caelyum and Grim, as everyone else in the hall dove or ducked for cover. “This isn’t gonna be easy!” “Is it ever?!” Grim yowled, while Cael simply squinted, watching with you as the mist began to clear… ...And soon, you could see the change that had come over Xavier Madoc. The right side of his body had seemingly not changed at all...but the left was another story. Not only was there now a blue aura surrounding his left eye, not to mention the metallic, syringe-tipped left hand...but his whole left side seemed to have become a cyborganic nightmare. The left side of his face was covered in metal plates, and his entire left arm and leg had become robotic in nature; the clothes on the left side of his body were seemingly frayed and shredded, exposing portions of a metal chest and clockwork-esque innards. In-between the joints of his limbs and face, black ink oozed like oil. Xavier’s one green eye was feral looking; bloodshot with a pinprick pupil. He grinned in a manic way, and let out a cackling laugh that rebounded off the hall walls. “HA HA HA HA HA! You dared to overlook my creations?! You spurned my talents, eh?! Then let me show just how powerful I can REALLY become!” he roared, and the ERPC roared to life as he thrust out his syringe hand. “I told you, I can extend my unique abilities without proximity! So now...NOW, ALL OF YOU, GIVE ME YOUR POWER!” In horrific fashion, the needles extended...and five members in the crowd collapsed as they were pricked, turning gray and pallid. Their entire being became monochrome as, in a split second, all emotion was drained from them and into Xavier’s being. Xavier shot out his claws again, the protracting talons jabbing into another five people and rendering them the same. Now, panic set in, and people screamed as they raced for the door. “Don’t leave in such a rush!” laughed Madoc, and snapped the fingers of his one human hand. The doors suddenly shifted, becoming solid walls, and all the windows clicked as they were locked into place. “The party’s just beginning!” Xavier’s claws lunged at you now, but yourself, Grim, and Cael all quickly dropped, ducking the attack. Three other people who had been standing behind you, along with two more, were drained in your stead. Xavier shuddered, a toxic aura surrounding him as the tanks were filled with more and more emotional energy. “More...MORE!” he bellowed. “If I can’t have your respect, I will have your rage...your despair...your panice...fuel me! FUEL ME!” Idia and Dr. Alcott ducked behind the podium with twin yelps. Ortho hurried to check on his brother, and barely avoided the needles as they shot out. The other judges weren’t so lucky, and crumpled in an unconscious, grayscale-colored heap as their emotions were drained. Abe rushed forward to try and stop his creator, desperately grabbing hold of Xavier’s one human arm. Xavier snarled, gnashing his teeth. “Imbecile and traitor!” he roared into the droid’s pleading face. “I have no further use for YOU!” Xavier jerked away his human hand, then, with a sneer, thrust it out again...and - THOOM! - a magical shockwave slammed into Abe’s chest, sending the robot flying. He crashed down beside your trio, the three of you still lying on the ground as Xavier continued to stick his needles into everyone who moved. The room was in a panic, the other contestants’ creations smashing on the floor as people dove for cover. Slowly, Xavier began to make his way through the hall, laughing dementedly. “All this over a freaking trophy?!” hissed Grim. “I think there’s got to be more to it,” mumbled Caelyum. Abe nodded, as if to confirm this, and then gave you a look as if to ask, Now what? This was the burning question; you had to figure out a way to keep Xavier from hurting more people, as well as remove the power pack. As long as he still had the converter on, his power wouldn’t drop. He could potentially stay in Overblot for a much longer period of time, burning the power almost as quickly as he got it...growing just strong enough to overwhelm… “Okay, I’ve got a plan,” you said at last, and whispered to your compatriots. “Listen closely…” Xavier, meanwhile, grinned as he approached a group of people, huddled together. “Let’s try an experiment,” he hissed, a mad grin on the young doctor’s face as he lifted his syringe hand. “I now know how swiftly I can drain an organism...now, can I make it more slow and painful?” He cackled, his victims babbling pleas for him to stop as he lifted his hand, preparing to shoot out the razor-sharp needles and drain them dry. “Every emotion in your body...slowly siphoning into mine...let’s see how long it can really-” FWOOSH! “Nya! Back off, crazy-coat!” Xavier jumped back with an almost animalistic sneer, and swirled his ragged cape around as he looked towards the source of the fire that had distracted him. Grim was standing in a ready pose, balls of blue flame held in each forepaw as he smirked challengingly. “Insufferable hairball!” shouted Xavier. “I WILL NOT BE DENIED! I WILL HAVE MORE POWER!” He lunged at Grim, swiping with his robotic talons, but Grim moved aside quickly. As Xavier plunged towards him, a loud smashing sound was heard from behind. The mad doctor turned quickly, and his one good eye widened in surprise as he saw that Abe had kicked a hole clear through the wall, and was ushering people through the hole and out of the area, Idia and Dr. Alcott leading those still conscious to safety. “NO!” shouted Xavier, and shot out his needles...but he was just too late as Abe blocked him, giving him a determined glare as they scratched helplessly against his armored plating. Then, giving Xavier an almost pitying expression, the robot leapt through the hole himself. Xavier moved to try and give pursuit, but Grim thrust out his arms, and formed a wide ring of fire that blocked the scientist’s path. “You think this will stop me?!” Xavier bellowed. “You can’t defeat me! My invention gives me power beyond yours!” “Good to know. I’d hate to have to refund anything.” Xavier stopped short and glanced about, trying to find the source of Caelyum’s voice...before, suddenly, he felt a strange sensation brushing up against his legs. He looked down...and screamed in a mixture of panic and rage as a horde of marble white Locker Crabs began to swarm over him, their pincers latching onto parts of his clothing and the edges of his inkstained metal carapace, trying to drag him to the floor. “GET OFF ME, YOU CRETINOUS CRUSTACEANS!” yelled Xavier, trying to kick and swat away the crabs, unaware of the shadow that stepped through a gap that formed in the flames, and approached from behind. The crabs snipped their claws at the leather straps holding the ERPC in place. Xavier slapped them away...then jerked as, suddenly, the weight of his invention was pulled away. “WHAT?!” he spat, and turned around fast, pupils pinpricks as he saw you jump backwards, holding the device in your hands. “NO! NO, YOU-GACK!” He hit the floors as the crabs tripped him up. You scampered back through the gap in the flames, which Grim soon closed up. The little monster was jumping up and down, pumping his forepaws/fists and cheering. “NYA! Get ‘im, Cael! Pin ‘im down!” the cat called. “We’ve won now!” A low laugh from under the swarm of Locker Crabs knocked the smile from Grim’s face. “Won? Hardly. I’m still getting warmed up!” ZAM! Xavier sent out another shockwave with a loud shout. You toppled onto your back, the ERPC falling from your hands and thunking onto the floor. The crabs scattered, and the flames were extinguished as Grim was sent rolling across the hall. You quickly sat back up...and shuddered. Xavier loomed over you, the acid-colored aura around him showing his fury as trails of spilling ink traced his steps. You snatched up the ERPC and scrambled to your feet, making a dash for the whole in the wall. “NOT SO FAST!” roared Madoc, and lifted his human hand. He screamed some foreign incantation, and the shattered section was suddenly patched up, the debris flying back into place, stitching together like a jigsaw puzzle’s corners. You swerved and made a dash for a window; you could break it, after all, even if it was locked. Xavier snarled out another incantation, however...and teleported directly in front of you. You skidded to a halt, but not fast enough as he grabbed hold of your arm with one hand, and lifted his syringe claws, a wild grin on his cyborganic face. “HA HA HA!” he cackled. “What a foolish attempt that was! You truly thought you could defeat me?! I will drain you till your very soul is rendered inert! Nothing can resist my power! With the ERPC, I can remain like this for eternity! And when the world grovels at my feet, I will build more machines! BRILLIANT machines! My mechanical creations will-!” FWOOMPH! A burst of flame slammed into Xavier, bowling him over and singing his labcoat. You fell back down and scrambled away as you held tightly to the power pack. Xavier snarled as he stood back up, his mechanical pieces clicking and sparking...as the two of you saw who had re-entered the room. It was Idia Shroud; Ortho had evidently picked the lock on one of the windows, and the pair had climbed through. Idia was visibly trembling, but tried his hardest to look brave, twists of orange curling through his ethereal blue hairdo. “Leave. Them. Alone,” Idia intoned. Madoc sneered. “First you steal my prize, now you RUIN MY MONOLOGUE?!” he yelled. “Alright! Just for that, I WILL OBLITERATE YOU!” Xavier charged at Idia, but the head of Ignihyde narrowed his eyes, gritting his sharp, jagged teeth. His hand shook as he held it, as if showing doubt… ...Then, his stance and expression hardened, and the shaking stopped. Just as Xavier Madoc leapt through the air, swiping his syringe claws through the air...he snapped his fingers. KRAK-KOOM! An explosive blast of fire and noise, like a grenade had gone off, erupted directly before Madoc. The explosion sent the mad scientist flying backwards, his labcoat tattered and scorched, black marks on his skull plates. Xavier cried out as he slammed headfirst into a wall...then crumpled to the floor, and fell still. He was out like a light. The mad doctor was done. You sighed with relief and stood up as Ortho cheered. “WOO-HOO! Way to go, Big Brother!” he exclaimed, and gave Idia a smack on the back. The hunched head of Ignihyde flinched and smiled shyly at his artificial sibling. “It was nothing,” he whispered faintly, visibly blushing. “Are you okay, Prefect?” Ortho asked. “I’m fine,” you nodded as you approached them, and glanced around. “Where are the others?” Right on cue, a low growl was heard. The three of you looked to see Grim was just sitting up, massaging his skull after evidently banging his head during his tumble. “Me-owwwww…! That creep hits way too hard!” he moaned out. “Did anybody get the number on that-MREOWR?!” He was cut off as Idia scooped the imp up and began to snuggle him, crooning and planting chaste, loving kisses on his head. “Awwww, the poor wittle kitty!” he cooed sympathetically. “Did you get an ouchie? Did the mean cyborg hurt you, huh?” “HISSSSS! I’M FINE!” Grim spat, kicking and squirming. “L-Lemme go! For the last time, I DON’T LIKE SNUGGLES, STOP!” Idia just let out a happy hum, squeezing Grim, repeatedly crooning, “Awww, poor thing, you poor little dear…!” over and over again. Ortho giggled sweetly, while you just rolled your eyes and smiled. A skittering sound heralded the reappearance of Caelyum, who reformed out of a pillar of white sand crabs. He stumbled on his feet as he returned to his normal state, and you placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “You okay?” you whispered. “No,” mumbled Cael, and smiled wearily. “When I use the power that way, a fraction of my will - my mind - is in every single crab. I feel like I just got thrown through the loop-the-loop of a roller coaster seventeen times.” You gently patted his shoulder and smiled back, gratefully. “Walk it off, matey,” you said softly with a wink. Cael chuckled. “Aye,” he nodded, as your group moved to look down at the defeated Xavier Madoc. “I will.” For several seconds, the ink-leaking cyborg lay on the ground, unmoving. But that was alright: none of you were expecting him to move. By now, you knew the drill of how things worked after Overblot...and sure enough, after a few seconds, wisps of silvery-white mist began to drift up from the defeated scientist, as his whole body began to glow a blinding white. All of you shielded your eyes from the light, watching as the mist began to spiral, and soon enough, images formed in the center of the floating cloud. Pictures from the past… “Dad! Dad, look at this!” A tall, thin man in white, with a pointed goatee, looked down from the workbench he was stationed at. He smiled as a small boy - with mismatched eyes of blue and green - came waddling into the room, holding a piece of paper. “What is it, Xavier?” “I made a blueprint, dad! I wanna make a robot! Like one of yours!” squeaked the young Xavier, and held out the paper to his father. “Do you think it’s any good, Dad? Do ya? Huh?” The older man lifted the paper and looked; he chuckled at the untidy crayon scrawl drawn on the page, the acronym “A.B.E.” accompanying a childish drawing of a metal man in a porter’s outfit. “Not a bad idea, Xavier,” he complimented his son, and handed the “blueprint” back to its creator before ruffling his son’s hair. “You’ll make a fine inventor, at this rate.” Xavier giggled, playfully swatting at his father’s hand, then gave him a wide but shy smile. “You promise?” he peeped. “Could I...could I be as good as you, Dad?” “No,” the man answered, and leaned down, kissing his son’s forehead. “You’ll be even better.” The child’s happy hum was interrupted by the shifting of time, as a new image spun into view: Xavier was a little older now, and working in a laboratory. He whistled as he fitted a screw into place on a device he was building...only to freeze as he heard voices coming from outside the shop. Curious, he trotted over to the door, and peeked outside. He could see the shadows of two men, arguing not so far away, and heard what they were saying. One of them he recognized as his father’s voice… “Oscar, you can’t be serious!” “I’m sorry, Xander,” the other voice said. “All I know is that Charles got to me first. What would that tell you?” “That Charles is a faster runner,” droned Xander. Xavier giggled softly, but clapped a hand over his mouth to avoid being heard. “Very funny,” Oscar’s voice drawled. “I’m serious, Oscar. You KNOW me, we’ve worked together for years! Are you going to take his word over mine?” “Right now, I haven’t got a choice. His patent has been in development at my company for a while; all that’s left are i’s to dot and t’s to cross. Even if what you say is true, Xander, he finished his work more quickly; I’m not seeing a lot of incentive here.” A pause. “...So that’s it then?” came the terse voice of Xavier’s father. “What about my family, Oscar? What about my son?” “Relax, Xander. You’ll come up with more inventions, you always do, and I’ll be just as willing to buy!” “Forget it. I’ll find another person to sell to.” Another pause. “...Okay. Okay. If that’s how you feel about it,” came Oscar’s weak reply. “Goodbye, Xander.” “Goodbye, Oscar. Tell Charlie he knows where to stuff it.” Oscar’s shadow disappeared, and a few moments later, the sound of a door was heard opening and closing. Xander was heard sighing, and Xavier saw his father’s silhouette slump into a nearby chair. Curious, the boy trundled out of the room to his father’s side; the older inventor was sitting with his head in his hands, massaging his brow. “Dad?” peeped Xavier. “What was all that?” Xander blinked at his son. “Oh. You...heard that, huh?” Xavier nodded slowly. Xander blinked...then sighed and picked his child up, placing him in his lap. “Listen to this, Xavier, because it’s very important,” said the doctor to his son. “Not all inventors are good. You must guard your inventions well, and you must always do your best to make sure no one can top you. People will try to steal what you make, people will look for weaknesses in it. Never let them find any way to stop you.” He placed a hand under his son’s chin and gave a sad smile. “You’ll be brilliant someday...but with brilliance comes danger. You can’t trust anyone, understand?” “I can trust you.” “Of course,” chuckled Xander. “And I can trust my machines,” added Xavier. “Well, yes, but a machine isn’t a person,” Xander said. “Machines only exist to follow their programming. Machines will always do what they’re supposed to. Machines will only let you down if people making them make mistakes. People aren’t like that: people are flawed, and people are foolish. They will pass you over and cheat you if they find a way or reason. Never let that happen. Okay?” “Okay, Dad. I’ll do my best.” The scene shifted again. Xavier was now much older, nearly the same age as he was now. Abe now stood at his side as he worked on a project in his laboratory, building a new machine. “This is going to be the greatest thing ever!” he cheered, grinning to his mechanical companion, who nodded in happy agreement. “Just think of how much fun the science fair will be with this completed! Ha Ha! Man, Abe, we have this in the bag!” “Hi, Xavier!” The pair looked towards a new face that had entered the lab: a fellow youngster in red. “Oh, hey, Gus! What’s up? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the science fair?” “I haven’t figured out what to do yet,” sighed the boy sadly, then smiled weakly. “So, uh...I thought, well...maybe you could help me come up with an idea. I mean...you’re like a billion times better at this stuff, heh…” “Sure, I can help!” smiled Xavier, helpfully, and clapped his hands together, dusting them off, waving for Abe to go fetch a few books. As the robot marched off, the teen in red noticed the item on the workbench. “Hey, what’s that?” “Huh? Oh! It’s my project for the science fair. Looks pretty cool, right?” “Yeah! What’s it do?” Xavier explained quickly. The lad looked envious of his science-savvy friend. “Wow...I’ll never figure out how you can do all that stuff...you’ve gotta be the best inventor ever!” “Awww,” blushed Xavier. “It’s just a knack.” “Can you show me how you make it?” the teen asked, hesitantly. “Sure, if you want,” Xavier said, blithely shrugging and smiling. “Then I’ll help you figure out what you’ll do yourself. Sound fair?” The boy smirked; Xavier didn’t notice the cunning in his eyes. “Yeah. That sounds fair,” the classmate answered. The scenario changed once more. Xavier now glared with absolute hatred at the boy in red...who was smiling, chest puffed out with pride, as he showed off his machine to the judges, who cheered and applauded. It was a machine identical to the one Xavier had made...and the boy had made it first. Xavier had been forced to change his plans, and the experiment he’d come up with at the last minute had been sub-par. The cheat got first place. Xavier got nothing. Xavier snarled, fists clenching as the boy in red smirked in a sidelong way at him, and mouthed the word, “Sucker,” before continuing to bask in adulation. Xavier Madoc scowled as he packed up his items. He was shaking a little. “You can’t trust anyone,” he whispered to himself. “Well, you’ll see...you’ll ALL see...I’ll come up with something no one else can top. I will PROVE to you how good my science is. Just wait and see…” His mismatched eyes burned as he turned his back on the laughing classmates and applauding teachers...and stalked back to his lab. Alone. With his machines. “...I don’t need anybody. Just my machines.”

The mist cleared and evaporated, and the white light faded...revealing Xavier Madoc had changed back to normal on the floor. He was still unconscious, but the glow was gone from his blue eye, and the machinery parts had vanished. Silence reigned for a few seconds. This was not unheard of. By now, you had accepted there was always a “digestion period” where everyone was taking in what they’d just learned. This time, however...the silence stayed unbroken. No one spoke a word, looking like they were trying to properly form thoughts, even as Xavier began to stir again. As he did, he reached out with a hand, fumblingly, mumbling incoherently… ...And froze as someone knelt down and took that hand. Xavier looked up...and seemed stunned when he stared into the wide yellow eyes of Idia Shroud. For a moment, the two looked at each other...then Xavier pulled away with a sneer. “Cheat,” he hissed. “I never cheated,” whispered Idia, sounding surprisingly confident for once...confident, but careful. “It’s not that no one recognized you, Xavier; no one was trying to neglect you. It’s just...there could only be one winner. And I happened to be it.” “It wasn’t an easy decision, either,” added Ortho. “Oh, no?” Xavier grimaced, looking skeptical. “No,” Idia answered. “Dr. Alcott spoke to me before I returned: you would have been second place. Your invention really impressed him and the other judges, they just...felt mine was more easy to use widespread. Yours needed a few tweaks for them to give it the topmost prize.” “They said they couldn’t have asked for a better start to the expo than you,” added Ortho, in a quiet, helpful voice. The bitterness in Xavier’s face had faded slightly, leaving his expression blank and cold. He turned away quietly, and hugged himself, curling up against the wall. “You can’t shut yourself out because of one bad incident,” whispered Caelyum. “Trust me: I know what it’s like when you seal off your heart. It doesn’t get pretty.” “No one is invincible,” added Grim. “Well...except for me, but...that’s because I’m awesome.” You rolled your eyes at the hubris of “The Great Grim,” and knelt down beside Idia, looking into the heterochromatic eyes of the mad scientist. “Just because you’re brilliant doesn’t mean everything is going to be perfect. Similarly,” you said, “Just because one person did something terrible, it doesn’t mean you can shun all people. Everyone and everything has flaws. The important thing is to learn from them.” Xavier furrowed his brow and looked down at the floor for several seconds...then looked back up at both of you. “...I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I...I shouldn’t have lost control. That was...that was childish of me. And...I’m sorry for what I did.” He looked to Idia and smiled shyly. “Your invention was...not too bad.” “Thank you,” Idia said, with a slight blush, and helped the scientist to his feet. Just then, the sound of metallic footsteps echoed out. The group of you turned...and Xavier’s heart seemed to sink as he saw Abe re-enter the hall, yellow eyes fixed on his creator. “Abe, I’m so, SO sorry,” Xavier said, seriously. “I shouldn’t have-EEP!” He was cut off as the metal man crushed him in a solid bear hug, nuzzling his steel cheek against his creator’s hair. Ortho and Grim both giggled, while yourself and Caelyum smirked. Idia, for his part, didn’t seem to know what to make of the scene. “I think he already forgives you,” you said teasingly. Abe nodded to show this was the case. It was obvious he was just happy his maker was back to normal. Xavier smiled bashfully and gestured for the metal man to put him down, then looked to Idia. “So, uh...y-you’re the head of the dorm,” he said, and rubbed his arm. “Do you, uh...like...have any ideas on how to make the ERPC better? More...accessible?” “I can think of something. You know...maybe,” Idia said with a timid smile. “I mean...I’m r-really not the best choice, I...I got the whole idea for MY thing from an anime-” “Anime?” Xavier asked, and perked up visibly. “What anime?” “Oh! Uh...Magica Marocca. It’s...um...a Magic Girl series? You, ah, probably don’t know what that is-” “YOU WATCH MAGICA MAROCCA?!” Idia blinked, stunned, at the sudden look of exuberant excitement on Xavier’s face. “You...you’ve seen it?” the otaku nearly squeaked out. “I love that series!” exclaimed Xavier. “I mean...okay, it’s not, like, the GREATEST thing, in terms of story? Kinda rushed...but I really love the art style, a-and the way it plays with the themes and ideas of a typical Magic Girl series! It’s like Watchmen, but for...that!” Idia looked like he’d just found his soulmate. “I feel the same way! A-And have you seen Glitter Cure?” “Rascal is one of THE best villains ever.” “I AGREE!” squealed Idia, clapping giddily, that wide, almost manic smile you saw so rarely stretching across his face, matching Xavier’s instantly. “Oh, my gosh, no one EVER knows about that one! This is great!” “It is!” nodded Xavier eagerly...then took his turn to blush. “Um...d’ya think we can...oh...I-I dunno...maybe watch some together?” “I mean...only if you want to,” peeped Idia, ducking his head anxiously. “I’m...n-not used to people who...WANT to watch it with me, heh...normally I-I can only talk about it online…” “I’d like to watch it with you,” Xavier promised. “And...and we can talk about our inventions in the meantime. Does...does that sound fair?” Idia nodded slowly, and began to smile wider once more. “Yeah...yeah, it sounds like a plan,” he said, then looked to Ortho. “Is...is it okay with you, Little Brother?” Ortho gaped. “...You’re asking me if YOU can have a VISITOR in the apartment?” “Yes.” “Like...you WANT to HANG OUT WITH SOMEONE?” “Yuh-huh.” “...Okay, who are you, and what have you done with my Big Brother?” You snickered. So did Xavier, as Idia smiled awkwardly. “You wanna come with, Abe?” the mad scientist asked his robotic companion, who saluted in response. “Great!” Idia laughed. “Let’s go then!” And with unusual, uncharacteristic joy, the otaku and the eccentric sauntered off together, their androids following them as the exit door reformed and they left the convention hall. You smiled. “Well,” you sighed happily. “All’s well that end’s well. Looks like Idia’s found a new friend at last.” “I’m happy for them,” smiled Caelyum. “Finding a person who you can connect with is important.” “Uh-huh,” nodded Grim. “Now, there’s just one problem.” “What’s that?” both you and Cael asked. Grim wordlessly pointed to the mess of chairs, scorch marks, busted machines, and dented walls that the hall had become. You went pale. “...Ohhhhh...right...I forgot...we’re the janitors.” “Uh-huh,” Grim said again, drably. “Well, good luck with that!” Caelyum chirped, and began to saunter off towards the door. “Hey! HEY! Where are you going?!” snapped Grim. “Back to the Mystery Shop,” Cael called over his shoulders. “I have a job of my own to do, me hearties! Take care!” “But-!” Your call was unanswered. Cael disappeared, leaving you and Grim standing alone in the mess. You both looked around, then at each other. “...Grim?” “Yeah, Minion?” “It’s moments like these where I wonder if helping people is worth it.” “I never wonder, Minion,” sighed Grim. “Moments like these, I know it isn’t.”

Your feet shuffled as you went to find the broom and dust pan. From saving the day to cleaning up the wreckage, a Prefect’s work was never done.

The End

#fanfic #story #commission #disney #twisted wonderland #oc #mad doctor #epic mickey #xavier madoc #idia shroud #ortho shroud #idia #ortho #caelyum de macabre #caelyum #cael #grim

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a-hundred-jewels · 4 years ago

Text

cruel summer ch 12: i have these lucid dreams

Ao3 Wattpad

Summary: sabrina starr, pegasuses, and oh no! the fourth wall broke! do we have a carpenter in the audience?

Word Count: 9000 ish

Tags: Rachel Elizabeth Dare/Jane Penderwick, Rosalind Penderwick/Tommy Geiger, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jane Penderwick, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Rosalind Penderwick, Skye Penderwick, Chiron (Percy Jackson), Martin Penderwick, Elizabeth "Batty" Penderwick, Elizabeth Penderwick (senior), Iantha Aaronson-Penderwick, Ben Aaronson-Penderwick, Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Annabeth Chase, Jeffrey Tifton-McGrath, Percy Jackson, Demeter (Percy Jackson), Apollo (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood AU, Demigods, demeter!elizabeth penderwick, demeter!rosalind (second generation), demeter!batty (second generation), apollo!alec mcgrath, apollo!jeffrey (second generation), demeter!jane (second generation), demeter!skye (second generation), all of that's in no particular order, main focus is on jane because i love her and she's so so fun to write, tomsalind is there (and stuff will happen - i can't really say what, it will really be eventful though), yes of course there's solangelo, takes place right before Penderwicks In Spring, After Trials of Apollo, more tags to come??, Minor Swearing

Notes and Full Chapter below cut:

Hello everyone and welcome back! I'll admit, this is a little later today than I'd been planning to post (was hoping to get an early start), but hey! If the Puppet History season 4 finale can be late, then so can I!

First off, a massive massive thank you to waterbottle_stickers for being the best beta reader ever. This chapter would be a mess without you. Also, if you haven't already, please check out their enola holmes fic wherever you stray, i follow it's truly wonderful.

If you've been following me on tumblr, then you'll know that, in addition to reblogging an alarming quantity of good omens fanart, I've been making some plans for fics this month. The original plan from back in august was to post every day of the month, but... ahhh.... I just don't work that fast lmao. I'll have to be content with just posting a fair amount this month. Happy october! Anyway, stay tuned.

On this fine day, we've got two lovely QUEER fanfic recommendations that I'm very excited to share. Up first is one from the tumblr blog izzielizzie (which you should all absolutely check out! especially if you're into the one of us is lying fandom!). it centers around the skye/melissa pairing and their senior prom, which Skye is said to have only gone to last minute, and also wearing a lab coat, in a passage of the penderwicks at last. featuring some oblivious lesbians and also jane. once again a massive thanks to izzielizzie, as this fic is one of my favourites!. click here to take a look! (also keep an eye on her blog in general bc her penderwicks fics are awesome!)

The second fanfic is also one I'm very fond of, as it focuses on the siblinghood of skye and jane, which is one of my favourite topics on earth. check out rolling down the ancient high street by hanchewie/ramblemadlyon (tumblr and ao3 respectively) for the sibling antics of aroace skye and bisexual jane when the latter visits the former at her college in california! and, if you like it, ramblemadlyon has two other penderwicks fics from the past couple days that look fantastic as well, and that I look forward to reading.

This chapter is dedicated to my therapist, since I've decided this will be the month of oddly specific dedications. thank you for telling me to stop referring to cruel summer as my "trash baby" and help me recognize the true worth that it holds in my life.

Disclaimer: not my characters, you know the drill. Jeanne Birdsall and Rick Riordan are lucky ducks indeed. chapter title is (obviously) from "lucid dreams" by Juice WRLD.

FROM THE POV OF JANE PENDERWICK

The woods loomed around me, seeming as tall as buildings as they invited me in further. I took another step, the sharp pain of a pinecone digging into my foot barely registered in my mind. I kept walking. A crack sounded throughout the air, and, behind me, a tree splintered round its base and fell down, only inches away from crushing me dead, and completely blocking the path out.

Frightened, I began to run, looking for a way out of the forest. But no matter which way I went, there were only trees in front of me. Where was the path? Where was the grassy hill I had walked down to get in here in the first place. Had I even walked down that hill to begin with? Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I remembered coming here. I wasn’t sure I remembered waking up this morning, or going to bed last night, or anything besides existing in the forest. Who was I? What was I doing here? How could I get out?

Panicking, I stood in the middle of a clearing, looking frantically at the trees around me, trying to find something familiar. Nothing. I was exhausted. How long had I been here? An hour? A day? A lifetime? I collapsed at the base of a tree, sobbing as I tried to remember. Something. Anything.

Then, a voice echoed around me. “Welcome,” it said, and my mind went black.

I bolt upright in bed, a scream halfway out of my throat. I clamp it back, not wanting to wake my cabinmates. Thin light whimpers through the window--enough for me to see my white-knuckle grip on the sheets, but not enough to pass as daylight.

What time is it?

Our cell phones don’t really work here--that was one of the first things Miranda told us when we arrived, and Batty’s been gleefully lording it over us that her Mp3 player will still play music and, like, function, while our smart phones recline sadly in our duffel bags. That being said, I don’t feel quite brave enough to get out of my bed just yet and tiptoe over to the big analog clock that Rio bought at a pawn shop in Colorado. Maybe my phone will at least show the time.

I reach under my bed and fumble for my duffel, hooking my pinky through the zipper loop and yanking it out onto my floor. My phone’s in the front pocket, buried under two pairs of headphones, several gum wrappers, and some strawberry leaves (?????). A piece of gum peels off the screen as I disentangle my phone, and I mentally chide my past self for being so messy.

My phone does not turn on. Big clock it is.

I tiptoe across the cold tile and peer around the tree.

5:45 .

Jesus Pagan Christ.

It’s too early to wake anyone up (as I think this, Batty lets out a snore to rival any crabby Tyrannosaurus Rex), so I wrap a blanket around myself like a criminally attractive burrito, and creep out onto the porch, with my notebook and pen tucked into my shirt.

As long as I live, I will never get tired of summer mornings. There’s something deeply lovely about the soft light of the still-sleepy, pink lemonade sun, the quiet anticipation of the cool air, damp from dew and preparing for the upcoming heat. At home in Cameron, Skye’s woken me up many an early morning to go for a run or do soccer drills or for a grueling “Seven Minute Workout Except You Don’t Follow The Rules And Torture Your Sister by Making It Actually A Forty-Nine Minute Workout.” (But it’s okay, I’m not bitter). But, as delightful as those experiences have all been, I don’t think Skye really gets it. The beauty of the summer morning is not what it can do for your workout schedule, but rather in its gentle softening of an otherwise boiling day. It is to be appreciated in the way that I am now, sitting curled up on this frighteningly creaky porch (I mean, seriously, who built this?) and calling up the Sabrina Starr section of my brain to try and write away the residual panic from my nightmare.

Sabrina sighed as the plane took off. She wasn’t sure if she should have followed the voice in her head telling her to come here. Saying it out loud--even just thinking it--made it sound ridiculous. A dream, a voice in her mind. Barely more than a whim.

Worse than that, Sabrina wasn’t even sure where this whim was taking her. On a napkin in her pocket, she’d scrawled everything she remembered about the dream from the night before. The dark sky, lit only with spiderwebs of lightning, the shadowy figure huddled on a beach and soaked through with rain. The voice crying for help.

And a name. Aeaea.

After she’d woken up, Sabrina had looked up Aeaea, too tired to fully connect why the name felt familiar. Her heart had sunk further after reading the Wikipedia entry, and a breath of hopelessness had left her lips. According to the internet, Aeaea was not a real place. It had been the island prison of Circe. Fiction wasn’t new to Sabrina, and neither was mythology (she recalled an adventure spent with a ghost called Rainbow from a few years back).

Fictional places, though, were another matter. How could she get somewhere if she didn’t know where she was going? Was she trusting her gut with too much this time?

Sabrina folded up the napkin and put it back in her pocket. There was no point in worrying about that now. She’d looked at enough maps to make a guess at where Aeaea might be if it was real. When she got there, she could get more information. Sabrina Starr had survived this long in her career of rescues and whims. She could survive one more adventure. Worst case scenario, she said to herself, I spend a few days running around for nothing and have to brush up on my Greek.

She repeated it to herself like a promise. Worst case scenario, worst case scenario… Eventually, tired out from all her anxieties, and from trying desperately not to worry about what would come next, Sabrina fell asleep.

FROM THE POV OF RACHEL ELIZABETH DARE

“Okay, I give up. Tell me what’s wrong.” Annabeth’s voice startles me away from my plate of eggs, which I had been pushing around with a fork. Anxiety bubbles in my throat, just as it had been since I woke up, and food just doesn’t sound like a good idea.

“I--what?”

Annabeth waves her hand impatiently. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve been talking to you for five minutes and I don’t think you’ve looked up once. Also you’re always hungry in the mornings, so unless you, like, ate an entire cow before I got here, this ,” she gestures to my uneaten eggs, “is unusual behaviour.”

I give her a look. Sometimes, I get the feeling that Annabeth exists as a part of multiple different dimensions at once, like she’s having four other conversations that I can’t hear, and is still ten steps ahead of me in the one I’m actually a part of.

Or maybe I’m just easy to read.

“Nothing’s wrong.” I don’t want to talk about it. “I’m fine.” I’m terrified.

Annabeth sighs. “Is this about the prophecy?”

“No,” I spear another piece of egg, and don’t eat it. “Maybe. Yes.” I feel like going back to my cave and staying there for the rest of my life. Waiting with a book and some paints for the prophecy to get bored and go away. Maybe I’d take Jane with me, or Nico, for some company. That sounds nice.

My plate is pulled away from me as I aim my fork again. “I can’t pay attention when you do that,” Annabeth huffs. I think I wouldn’t invite her to stay in my cave. She’s too on the nose when I want to mope. Then again, she says the same about me.

“Fine,” I turn and face her. “Let’s talk feelings.” Connor Stoll, who had been making his way towards our table, abruptly turns around and walks the other way. I should get Chiron to hire a therapist. Gods know we need it.

Further proving my point, Annabeth’s eyes widen a little, before she remembers it is I who will be spilling. (I make a point to corner her later. It’s a routine we have). “Wow. You broke fast.”

I nod. “I’m tired and you’re annoying.” (False. We both know it. Another routine). “Like you said, I’m nervous about the prophecy.”

Annabeth nods. “And?”

I frown. “What do you mean, and ? There’s no and.”

Annabeth frowns back at me. A mirror, a mime, an annoyance. The nerve to look disappointed in me. “I thought you were spilling, Red.”

I roll my head back and study the roof of the pavilion, which Annabeth designed, and slowly lean my head down to stare at the table. I really don’t want to have this conversation. I go along anyways. “I’m worried about Jane.”

Annabeth leans back, triumphant. “Ah, yes. Your girlfriend.”

Maybe if I try reeeeeeeally hard, I can activate the Oracle of Delphi and freak Annabeth out enough to make her go away. “ Not my girlfriend. You know that.”

“You called Percy my boyfriend for weeks before we actually officially decided.”

I wave my hand dissmissively. “That’s different, you guys were dancing around each other for like three years. You needed a bit of a push. Jane and I kissed once! Over a week ago! And nothing came of it.” We actually haven’t really talked about it. We’re in this sort of in-between zone where we spend a ton of time together, but don’t have a label for it. Honestly, it’s been nice.

Annabeth grins, apparently reading my thoughts. “You’ve been eating lunch with the Demeter cabin, like, every other day. I saw you doing archery together yesterday. Both of you were awful at it, but you stayed there for hours. I’ve never seen you focus on something that long outside of your paintings.”

I stare at the ceiling again. Maybe Annabeth designed it so that a single square foot of rock might fall down onto my head and relieve me from this conversation. “Yes, fine, we spend a lot of time together. But that doesn’t make us a couple, and has nothing to do with what I’m actually worried about!” I can see in her face that Annabeth is more serious now, and is about to fully listen to me, when Percy and Malcolm show up, sliding into the seats across from us, and clanging several plates of pancakes down onto the table in front of them.

“Made them ourselves! Wanna share?” Percy gives Annabeth heart eyes and a kiss on the cheek when she folds a large blue pancake into thirds and bites it like a burrito. I roll my eyes at them because they are a horrifying and disgusting couple and also I kind of want to be them when I grow up. Malcolm ignores them, instead turning to me. “Were you talking about Jane?” he asks, pushing wire rimmed glasses up his nose.

I frown. “Sort of. Why?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You know. Just, uh, just wondering.”

I narrow my eyes at him, then Percy, who tears himself away from looking at Annabeth to sigh dramatically. “Malcolm wants to ask out Jane’s sister. You know, the blond one.”

I snort. “ Skye? Seriously?”

Malcolm looks vaguely offended. “What’s so weird about that?”

“Sorry, it’s not weird.” I reach over the table to pat him on the shoulder with my fork. “Perfectly normal teenage hormones.” He glares at me and I smile sweetly back. “I just can’t imagine Skye going out with anyone, that’s all.”

Malcolm stares down at his pancake, disappointed. “Oh. You sure?”

I nod, feeling a little more normal with my friends and less doom-related breakfast conversation. My eggs are past the threshold of “warm and appetizing” but I take a bite anyway. “Pretty sure. Jane told me that she’s aroace and, based on past occurrences, there’s a seventy percent chance she’ll punch anyone who asks her out. Anyway, why the interest? I didn’t know you guys talked.”

Malcolm shrugs. “We don’t, really. She just seems cool.”

Percy pipes in, “He’s been practically obsessed with her since she won that soccer game against the Nike kids and made them cry.”

I nod approvingly. “Well, Malcolm, at least we know you have good taste.”

Annabeth pats him on the head, ignoring his complaints that her hand is covered in blue maple syrup. “Better luck next time, brother of mine.”

Piper and Leo join us next, contributing an alarming volume of grapes and a single hardboiled egg to the breakfast display. Leo grabs a pancake and wraps it around some grapes, before taking a big bite. “I hear you’re discussing Malcolm’s romantic failures,” he says around the world’s worst breakfast burrito. Piper gasps in mock offense, then swallows the unpeeled hardboiled egg whole, like a snake. (This is a regular morning routine. She’s trying to work up to being a sword swallower, since her dad did it in a movie once and she thought it looked like fun). “ Malcolm, why didn’t you come to me? I could have given you a verdict within five minutes!”

“I wanted advice on whether I should ask out that Heaphestus boy two weeks ago and you told me to fuck off.”

Piper pouts at him. “That’s on you, you caught me at a bad time.”

Annabeth holds up a pancake with the air of a respected royal and we turn to her. “As delightful as this is, Rachel and I were initially talking about her romantic prospects and also her worries and fears, and I feel that we should get back to that before she slinks off and avoids the rest of the conversation.”

I glare at her. “Why would you bring this away from the very nice conversation we were having about everyone else’s problems? Do you hate me?” Annabeth rolls her eyes. “No, dumbass, I’m just not letting you walk away from a potential breakthrough. Now, where were we? You were saying that you’re worried about Jane but it has nothing whatsoever to do with your relationship, or lack thereof.”

I give a long suffering sigh, and try to communicate telepathically with Piper that she needs to Save Me Now, but she’s looking at me in interest with her chin resting in her hands, her long fingers adorned with rings sent to her from her Mortal girlfriend, Shel, who bought them at a vintage punk store. The traitor. Defeated, I turn back to Annabeth.

“It’s just that, whatever ends up happening with this prophecy, I don’t want it to fuck her up, in the way the quests have sometimes done to us. Like, we’re used to this by now, but it hasn’t been a smooth road. I don’t exactly like going on quests, and at first I was really worried at the prospect of being included in a prophecy, since that’s fairly abnormal, but Jane was only made aware of her heritage a couple months ago! What if this turns out like Silena or Beckendorf or-or Jason, and the prophecy destroys her, and it’s all my fault because I’m the one who pulled her into all this?”

Everyone tenses up at the mention of Jason, but they continue to look at me with a mixture of concern and love that makes something soften inside of me. For the hundredth time, I think of how lucky I am to have these people who love me unconditionally. Even if they really, really need therapy.

“I know that I didn’t plan any of this, but we’re both tied in now, especially since both Chiron and I had the prophetic dream and I actually gave the prophecy that day in the woods, and, well, this isn’t her world yet. She’s only got a little bit of ichor in her, and she grew up knowing nothing of any of this. In a way, I did too, and I have no ichor, but I had clear sight. For me, it was ineffable, but she could technically leave any time, if it weren’t for the prophecy. She can leave, and I feel like it’s up to me to make sure that doesn’t change.”

“Oh, Rachel.” Annabeth reaches her arms out to me and I let myself be pulled into an embrace. “Jane’s going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it.”

Sabrina stood in line at the boat rental hut, her arms crossed and a frown plastered on her face. It had not been a successful afternoon. For hours, she’d been searching the coastal towns near where her plane landed, looking for some trace of Aeaea, or anything else she’d seen in her dream. She was used to working with dregs. It was normal for her to have to squint a little at the evidence, have to shuffle things together around big holes of “Maybe,” like she was working a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.

But this was something else.

Sabrina had read about places where mythology shaped the culture. Places where the tourist draws were events that had supposedly happened thousands of years ago, or creatures that only existed in grainy photographs and people’s imaginations. Hell, she’d met the Loch Ness monster. Was it insane for her to have assumed she’d be able to find the same kind of thing here? All her training and years of experience had told her that, if you sniff around long enough, you’ll find a conspiracy theorist or a slightly off-the-rails guidebook.

So far, though, Sabrina had found nothing. Absolutely nothing. She hunted around, searching up library catalogs, checking every store on the street. “Aeaea,” “Circe,” even “the Odyssey.”

Nothing.

The line edged along slowly, and Sabrina ran her hands up and down her arms. The air was chilly from its proximity to the cold sea water. There were three people in front of her now. She just had to wait a little longer, then she would have a boat and be able to explore these waters herself.

Something was wrong with this place. Something was wrong with all of these places. And Sabrina was going to figure out what.

Later, Jane and I are taking our time walking to the pegasus stables to watch the riding lesson that Rosalind has reluctantly agreed to let Batty take (provided that Percy, who’s teaching today, doesn’t let her fly high enough that she’ll die if she falls off, and that Batty wears all of the necessary protective gear). Jane looks lovely, wearing a sunshine-y yellow bandana that sets off her dark curls and warm sepia skin. She has on her Camp Half-Blood shirt again, and a short green skirt, and all of it should clash horribly, but it doesn’t.

We’ve decided to cut through the strawberry fields, and I swallow a sun-warmed strawberry while Jane tells me about the dream she had last night. I think back to my conversation with Annabeth this morning when she tells me of the dark woods and the feeling of drowning, the memory warping and the echoing voice. At some point we sit down in a patch of grass, a simple circle amidst strawberry plants with a couple logs where the campers and satyrs take their breaks when they work here. Jane finishes her story and we sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, only broken by the grunts of annoyance Jane makes while trying to get her plant powers to activate again. She’s been doing that a lot.

“Well that sucks,” I say finally. “Have you been having other dreams like it?”

Jane shrugs, the neon orange fabric of her shirt wrinkling on her shoulders. “One or two, I think. Last night’s was the first one I really remembered. ” She smiles out of the corner of her mouth. “I hardly ever remember my dreams. It used to upset me. I thought I was losing potential writing material.”

I laugh. It’s such a Jane thing to think, that I can’t help it. She goes quiet, like she’s reminiscing, and I picture a tiny version of Jane, sitting crossed-legged on her summer quilt, writing. I look at her now, scrunched up nose and big brown eyes. Oh gods, she must have been an adorable child.

“My mother used to say that my imagination was the eighth wonder of the world,” Jane says. She’s looking down the hill at the cabins, plant powers temporarily forgotten, and I remember her telling me about her mother, the first Elizabeth Penderwick, who came here and was a daughter of Demeter and loved opera. The Penderwick siblings’ beloved mother who died so young.

I move closer to Jane on the log. “I can understand why she’d say that.”

Jane smiles again, a little sad this time, a little absent, but full to the brim with love.

“Bet you she’s in Elysium,” I say softly. I explained the Underworld to Jane a couple weeks ago, and she’d gotten this same absent look on her face, that I now know means she’s thinking about her mother. Jane nods, now, then turns to me. “Could we talk about something else?” Her voice is quiet, her eyes a little shiny.

“Course,” I say. “Shall I regale you with tales of dimwittery at this camp in the years past?” I told her last week about the time some Hermes kids tried to order pizza to the camp, accidently causing Chiron to think we were under attack. Jane had nearly fallen off the bench laughing.

She grins now, but shakes her head. “Tell me what it’s like being an Oracle.” I give her a look. She’s asked me before and I never really know what to say. When I give prophecies, it’s like I black out. I’m taken over by another entity who shares my body. (“Like that lady in Suicide Squad ,” Leo had said when I tried to explain it to him once, but I’d refused to be compared to such a gods-fucking-awful movie). So, in a way, I don’t know what it’s like to be the Oracle.

As if reading my thoughts, Jane shakes her head. “Not that part. I’ve seen you all green and smokey, and I know you can’t feel it. I mean the other stuff. How did you know it was you? What did you have to do to become the Oracle? That kind of thing.” I relax a little. Jane’s asked me all sorts of weird questions about Greek mythology and the gods recently. She calls it “research for her book,” but sometimes I think she’s just nosy. It’s cute.

Jane shrugs and looks off into the distance. If you tilt your head a little you can kind of see the stables from here. We have fifteen more minutes to get there, according to my watch. I decide to take it easy. “Delphi is this weird ethereal spirit,” Jane continues, “but there’s also just everyday, Oracle you, who likes paint and denim and bagels.” At that, I laugh. “I actually don’t like bagels that much. I’m just late to breakfast so often that they’re usually the only things available.”

Jane pouts at me and plays with the bracelet tied around my wrist--the one she gave me. “You know what I mean! You know all this weird shit about me because my siblings don’t shut up at lunch, and I know stuff about you, like the denim thing, which I still think is funny by the way. But you’re also the freaking Oracle! Your dormant self lies waiting!” I laugh at her, and she rolls her eyes, but I see the corner of her mouth tilting up. “Rachel, that’s very cool!”

I give in. “Honestly, there’s not much to say, that’s why I don’t talk about it.” I pause. “Well no, it’s that a lot of the stuff beyond the obvious is actually sort of creepy and weird, and not in a good way. There’s stuff I try not to think about, is what I mean.”

The edge of her yellow bandana sticks up as Jane tilts her head at me. “That makes sense. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

I shake my head. “No, it feels okay right now.” I mean it. Now that I’ve gotten into the swing of it, I do want to talk about it. Still, a small sigh escapes me. “I like being the Oracle, because that’s what brought me to a place where I feel like I belong and I have people who love me. It’s nice to know that I’m fulfilling my purpose in life.”

Jane pulls her knees up to her chest. “But?”

“But I also get lonely.” It comes out in a rush. “There are other oracles, but I didn’t know about any of them until the Apollo thing happened, and even then, they’re all supernatural beings--I know, I know, but not in the way I am. It’s not the same. Also, there are all these weird rules. Like I have to stay an unmarried virgin my whole life.”

“That’s fucked,” Jane says softly.

“I know! Chiron won’t even tell me why, just that it’s ‘the rules’” I let out an annoyed huff. “And, like, it’s not even that the idea itself bothers me. That’s pretty much what I was planning to do with my life anyway.”

“Same.”

“But it’s the principle of the thing!” I flick a strand of hair out of my face, offhandedly noticing that the tip of my pinky finger is slightly green. I ignore it. It’s not important. “Just because I don’t want to have sex or get married doesn’t mean it’s a fair rule to impose on me! Besides, why is it always the women in these things whose identities are tied up in who they do or don’t fuck? Last I checked, Grover didn’t have to sign an ‘I shalt not fornicate’ contract when he became Lord of the Wild!”

“Exactly!” Jane raises her hands and shouts up to the sky. “Don’t you fuckers realize we’re more than that?”

“The Hunters of Artemis, too!” I’m a jack-in-the-box, and something’s winding me up. “Thalia and Reyna send me letters all the time, and they seem really happy! Which is great!” I pause to emphasize the greatness of their happiness. My pinky is completely green, now. “But, they also had to make a stupid ‘ode of chastity,’ like I did!”

“Are you kidding me?” Jane’s hair flips as she turns to me. “I thought Artemis was one of the good ones!”

My voice lowers to a husky rumble, and I stare into the distance towards you, the reader. “In a broken system, there are no good ones. Abolish the police.” I clear my throat and my voice turns back to normal. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.” My green pinky has begun to vibrate.

“Happens to the best of us,” Jane’s voice is light and nonchalant. “And yeah, I know. Pretty much all of the gods have skeletons sitting on their shoulders, but it just seems out of character for her. I thought all of Artemis’s groups were supposed to be safe havens, not oppressive structures in their own right.”

I frown. “Yeah you’re right, that is weird. I’d never thought of it much beyond the gods having weird rules, but I wonder if something bigger is at play. The gods might be fucked up in the way that regular people are, and are undoubtedly responsible for all sorts of crap. But then there's more personal things, like the ‘chastity vows’ the Hunters and I had to take, and the fact that Nico was initially outed by Eros, and the weird unexplained eye condition that Piper had during some of her quests that made her eyes a bunch of bright, Eurocentric colors, rather than their natural brown. All sorts of other stuff, too.”

“Wow!” Jane says, sitting up straight on the grass. Her hand moves from where it was resting in her lap to cover her heart. “It’s almost like a bunch of genuinely good and inspiring material, such as including prominent queer people and characters of color in fun children’s fantasy, as well as having an immortal group of warrior women who support each other and are free from the gaze of men, was taken into the hands of a cis white man armed with unchecked misogyny and a fair amount of white Twitter feminism, both of which really showed when he tried to create an inclusive and empowering book series for children! Like yeah, it had its moments, and definitely some good characters, but overall, a lack of meaningful research in certain areas really made it fall flat!” Once again, I stare through the bindings of URLs and internet coding, now joined by Jane as we lock eyes with you, the reader. This time, we hold eye contact for nearly a minute, giving you time to read and process the long tangent spat out by this fanfic’s author, who, if we’re being honest, has gone just a tad off the rails right now. Finally, Jane and I look away from you, and resume our roles as fictional characters, still shaking off that strange cloud that comes with staring into the soul of those who give you life.

“Ugh, what’s going on with me today?” Jane groans at the same time I mutter, “What’s Twitter?” We turn to each other, blinking in the sunlight, then grin. This is normal. We’re fine. Jane looks up at the sky again. “I wonder if the gods are watching us. Maybe we should make them think we suck so they’ll leave you alone.”

I laugh as she sticks her tongue out, grinning wickedly at a nearby cloud. “Better yet, make them think we’re too powerful to be messed with,” I say. Jane sees me watching her and opens her mouth, sucking the cloud in between her teeth. The sky seems bluer in the space where it had been, and Jane’s eyes glitter with mirth as she swallows. “Mmm, tastes like sugar.” I giggle, feeling a small shiver on the top of my head. When I peer up, I see another cloud has floated over to me. I open my own mouth, and take it in, just as Jane did hers. “Sugar, yes. But there’s a touch of blood, too,” I say. Jane nods sagely. “What were we talking about?”

“The inherent misogyny in much of Greek mythology and the world of Camp Half-Blood in general.”

Jane nods again. “Right. A very important topic. It makes it weird when I’m writing sometimes. You know, cause I want to bring in Circe and Zeus and Apollo and all these fascinating characters, but there’s just so much bad stuff tied up with them that comes up when I research.” She looks down at our feet, which are standing in the midst of a strawberry patch. We seem to have been walking, crushing sweet summer strawberries as we go, which is odd because I don’t remember getting up. “You know Rachel, I’m feeling a bit strange.”

I look at her, and see an odd blankness in her warm brown eyes. “Now that you mention it, Jane, so am I.”

“My thoughts and words are my own,” Jane says, “But there’s something up with my body. I can’t really feel it.”

“I agree, I’ve honestly gone a bit numb.” I try to glance down at my fingers, wondering idly if they’ve gotten any more green, but find that my neck won’t bend.

Jane’s eyebrows furrow. “Yet, at the same time, I feel as though I could do anything. Grow another grass blade. Grow a flower. Grow a tree. Bend the world to my will if I wanted to.”

“Or is it the world bending me to its will.” I grin at my own philosophical point, but find that the smile won’t go away. Pretty fucking inconvenient, since the next thing I was going to bring up was part of the whole serious misogyny conversation. I decide to go for it anyway. “And I’m not the only one with weird rules!” Jane nods, as if this is a perfectly normal segway, and the only extraneous thought that floats through my mind as we find ourselves walking down a hill is how unfair it is that she still has control over her neck and I don’t. “Remember when I told you about the Hunters of Artemis?”

“Oh yeah! Your friends Reyna and Thalia, right?”

“Yeah, them! They send me letters sometimes, and seem really happy, which is great.” I pause, meaning to add emphasis, when I’m hit with a great sensation of deja-vu. “Wait a second, we already talked about this, didn’t we?” I try to remember, but something in my mind is rapidly melting. I cannot find it. I cannot find anything.

“Jane?” My voice quivers, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh gods, please let this be a dream. For a moment, I try to convince myself that it’s the Oracle of Delphi taking over, just like she did the other day and generally does a couple times a year. But I know that I’m lying. This is not what that feels like. “Jane, where are you?” I can barely move my mouth to say the words. I can feel nothing but the frozen fear of paralysis, of lost control. When I open my eyes, this other thing in my body has brought me to the edge of the forest. “Jane? Jane?” She could be right beside me, unable to speak, and I wouldn’t know because I can’t turn my head, can’t move my eyes, can barely even hear right now.

It’s okay, something says.

“Jane?” It’s not her voice. It’s no one’s voice.

It’s okay. You’re home.

With every cut the wooden oars made through the choppy ocean water, Sabrina knew she was getting closer. She could feel it in her bones, in her brain, a little voice that whispered in her ear. It had been three hours. Her body was worn down, energy levels dipping dangerously low, when she felt something scrape the bottom of her boat.

A rock.

Frantically, she peered through the fog that had begun to surround her boat a mile ago. The island. Had she finally made it?

As if answering her call, a peel of thunder rang out, and Sabrina’s boat began to fill with rain that pounded down from the sky. The storm from her dream. She rowed even faster, then, fear sparking a renewed strength in her tired muscles.

Just as Sabrina was about to reach the shore, a massive wave crashed over her, and her boat capsized. She came back up, sputtering, holding her sopping wet bag above her head. Another wave swept against Sabrina’s face, and she found herself spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. Finally, she washed up on the shore, heaving breaths raking through her lungs.

Sabrina blinked, pushing herself up onto her elbows. It was real. She was here.

She had made it.

FROM THE POV OF ROSALIND PENDERWICK

It’s been a pleasant day so far. Breakfast with my siblings and some of the Demeter cabin (though Jane did seem a bit absent-minded). Miranda, Florien, and Rio convinced me to practice some plant magic with them for a couple hours and I built up to growing a small sunflower. Lunch (again with Jane seeming distracted, though Rachel ate with us this time, which appeared to help). Then, Skye and Jeffrey disappeared with some of the older campers (supposedly for a regular game of soccer, but the unsettling gleam in their eyes had me doubting that was all there was too it), Jane and Rachel went to take a walk in the strawberry fields, and Batty and I were left to prepare for a pegasus riding lesson. If it had been up to Batty, the latter could have easily taken up the entire afternoon, but changing into durable pants and finding a bandana can only take so long.

After a somewhat restless hour, during which I grew three peonies and Batty rhapsodized about the stable of unicorns that another demigod camp apparently has, Batty and I arrive at the stable. We’re ten minutes early, and she’s been talking a mile a minute the whole time, not stopping from before. I swear I now know as much about pegasuses as she does. According to Rachel, the teacher today is Percy, her friend, who’s very responsible “when he puts his mind to it.” I wasn’t sure how to tell her that’s actually not very comforting, but Batty looked so excited and I figured there will be plenty of other people there, so. Why not. She’s been spending so much time there anyway.

Needless to say, I very much regret my decision now.

The stables are modest, made of wood and painted green, and I’ve been there several times by now. There’s a long line of stalls visible when we first walk in, but Batty skips straight to the far end, where a massive pegasus the color of a carrot pokes its head over the door and nuzzles Batty’s hair. She looks up at me with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart, and pats the horse on the nose. “Rosy, this is Queen Lotus Flower. Percy said we have a impenetrable bond.”

I look at the two of them with a questioning gaze. How can they both have the exact same puppy-dog eyes? I swear to god. The gods. All of them. “Batty, sweetheart. That horse is like ten feet tall.”

She nods enthusiastically. “I know, she’s so much taller than any other horse I’ve seen. Percy says she has the biggest wingspan of any horse at camp.”

I nod, slowly, wondering why my sister picked the biggest pegasus to fall in love with. At that moment, Percy pushes the door open. “Hey Batty! Ready for your lesson?” Batty leaves her post by Queen Lotus Flower to wrap her arms around my waist and nod. I look Percy over. He’s a few inches taller than me, with brown skin and curly hair. A beaded camp necklace, orange tshirt, and jeans. Weird arm tattoo aside, he’s one of the most normal-looking people at camp. I’ve only met him a couple times before, but, my nerves over Batty flying around on massive horses aside, I do trust him. Rachel seems to have a good taste in friends. Also, Batty likes him, and she’s still shy around a good number of Skye and Jane’s friends back in Cameron.

For the next few minutes, I watch as Percy instructs Batty on buckling Queen Lotus Flower’s giant saddle and looping the bridle over her nose. Not wavering a bit from the “lesson” aspect of all this, he steps back to let her show what she’s already learned from hanging around the stables so often, only stooping in to guide her when she gets confused. As the minutes tick by, more people show up for the lesson: three other students, and a good sized crowd of people who just like watching the pegasuses. By then, I’m seated on the grass outside the stables, soaking in the blistering sun and watching as Percy (seated atop a wiry black pegasus who Batty pointed out as Blackjack) darts around the large dusty enclosure, making final preparations for the lesson.

Skye and Jeffrey show up then, and sit on either side of me. I want to ask them where Jane and Rachel are, but they’re talking non-stop about a game they just played in the woods with some of the other campers, only switching the subject when Percy and Blackjack return and they begin discussing whether or not it should be scientifically possible for a horse to fly.

Just as Batty and Queen Lotus Flower begin a gentle trot around the enclosure, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and hear the familiar sound of Tommy’s chuckle. “She’s got a weird knack for that,” he says. I nod, grinning.

It’s been good with us. We’ve had breakfast together a few times, even played a game of basketball one afternoon. Our conversations aren’t the same as they used to be, and there’s a sense of newness that feels cold and strange every so often. But it’s good. It feels right. At least for now, this feels like where we’re supposed to be.

As Percy starts demonstrating how to take flight, I look around again. Jane and Rachel still aren’t here. They promised to come. (“For moral support!” Jane had said. “Wouldn’t miss it,” Rachel had added with a smile). I try to push it out of my head. This lesson is a big deal. Batty’s going to be flying.

She leans forward on Queen Lotus Flower’s neck.

They begin to run, moving together like a single being.

Just as they burst into the air, Batty’s euphoric smile lighting up the sky, Katie grabs my shoulders from behind. I shush her so I can lean forward and watch Batty silhouetted against the pegasus’s wide orange wings.

“Rosalind. Rosalind, guys. ” Something about the panic in Katie’s voice makes me turn around. Her usually tied back hair is loose and her clothes rumpled, giving the impression that she was dragged out of bed for this. (Some part of my brain distantly remembers her saying she was going to take a nap). Skye and Jeffrey turn around, too.

“What, what’s happening?” I reach out my hands, trying to calm her as she collapses into a squat, breathing heavily.

“Billie… found me in the cabin… had been looking for you guys… been running all over the camp… lucky I remembered about the riding lesson…”

Jeffrey leans over and puts his hands on her shoulders. She stares down at the dirt while her breathing levels.

“Katie, what are you saying? Why were you and Billie looking for us?”

She looks up, and I see that her forehead is drawn into well-worn creases of worry. “Jane and Rachel have gone into the woods.”

Something was wrong. Sabrina crouched on the wet sand, straining to see through the heavy rain. In her dream there had definitely been someone else on the island. She remembered the hunched figure, the sound of sobs leaking through the rain.

But she’d circled the shore at least twice by now, and there was nobody to be found. “Am I late or something?” she wondered aloud. Somehow, she’d gotten that dream It felt like it had been sent to her. Why did it show a person when there was no one?

Sabrina sighed and began to traipse inland, tucking a knife in her pocket. It wasn’t a big island, and she might as well find some shelter aside from her boat, which was now overturned somewhere on the beach. Circe lived here, didn’t she? There must be some sort of roof, especially if this kind of weather was standard.

Or maybe this was just a random island and there was no Aeaea and Sabrina’s dream had just been the unhinged work of her unconscious mind.

There was a small grassy hill set aside from the sand, which Sabrina crawled up with the determination of a dying warrior. Something was pushing her back. An invisible force, a last crumb of survival instinct, plain old fatigue, she wasn’t sure. But something wanted her out of here, and it pushed back harder and harder as she climbed.

She let out a cry of frustration, clawing at the ground, at the air, at whatever this goddamn thing was, and found a renewed burst of strength that pulled her to the top of the hill. Once there, the force that pushed back ebbed a little, like it was giving up. Sabrina let herself relax, and simply took in the view for a moment.

The hill she lay on top of gave way to a deep valley, sprawling and green. In one corner, there was a cluster of trees that looked healthy and comfortable, despite being on a random Greek island in the middle of the ocean. A modest garden lay next to it, somehow appearing unaffected by the rain, and a narrow river wound around the whole scene.

There was also a house.

Sabrina wasn’t sure what she might have expected from the lair of an infamous Greek enchantress, but it wasn’t this.

She hauled herself up on the hill and started down, rushing through the rain onto a wide wooden porch. There was a large stone vat of something dark and crumbly, with a heavy looking staff of sorts leaning against it. The door to the house was short, and Sabrina heard it scrape on the floor when she pushed it open.

The scene awaiting her was surprisingly cozy when she stepped inside. There was a fire in the hearth and rows upon rows of little viles arranged on a set of shelves beside it. A broom leaned against the wall. Sabrina looked around, noting the way that the rain didn’t make any sound as it thrashed against the roof and window, and the almost drug-like stupor that threatened to take over her brain, whispering that everything was fine, she was safe, nothing bad could happen to her.

Sabrina had encountered hypnosis before, and it only ever made her more jittery.

There was an open hatch in the floor with stairs that lead into darkness. She followed them down, feeling the air grow cooler with every step. Sabrina was quiet, taking tiny steps on her toes, and wincing when one of the stairs creaked. She didn’t know what was down there, and she didn’t want to find out the hard way. But there were no arrows flying up from the space below, no sounds of footsteps or slashes of swords.

Sabrina stepped onto a dirt floor and let herself exhale, shuffling along until her toe hit something hard. Only seasoned reflexes made her reach for the knife in her pocket instead of crying out in fear. She knelt down and squinted in the darkness, trying to see what she’d hit.

A leg.

She frowned, shaking it until she heard a low growl. “Stop that.” She stopped.

“Who are you?” Sabrina leaned closer. If they hadn’t killed her yet she was probably safe.

Instead of answering, they reached out a hand. Sabrina could see a gold ring on the thumb that glinted in a little sliver of light that had crept down from the room above. “Pull me up,” the figure said. “I’ve been paralyzed by the witch.”

Helping the stranger sit turned out to be no simple feat. They were tall and muscular, wearing a cape and a heavy metal chest plate. “The witch?” she questioned, propping them up against one of the cellar’s dirt walls. Her eyes were beginning to adust to the dark, and she could just make out their sharp chin sticking out as their head lolled back.

The figure made a noise. “The witch, the sorceress, the woman. Whatever you want to call her. I figure she sent you down too?” They snorted. “Good luck. I told Zeus not to sent mortals, but does he ever listen? You’re gonna die.”

Sabrina tried to piece together what she could from all this. The witch must be Circe, unless she’d wound up on an entirely different island. And if Circe was going around paralyzing people, then something must be going on. She must be hiding something. As for the person in front of her, Sabrina wasn’t sure who they were. By the way they talked about Zeus, and casually said “mortals,” she’d guess some sort of god? As if that narrowed it down. She’d have to be careful.

“Why did she paralyze you?”

Another weird gutteral noise. “She didn’t like my offer. It’s not the first time this has happened.”

She was growing impatient. Why’d he have to be so vague? “What?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why he always sends me. I don’t think he trusts me. He’d rather me stay her paralysed in the basement of a witch than come back home.”

Sabrina let out an exasperated sigh. This wasn’t working and she needed answers. A whole coast of people with mythology-shaped holes in their memories awaited her. “You’re going to need to be a little more specific. I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

The figure sounded confused. “What do you mean? Don’t you know who I am?”

She leaned forward and inspected them in the darkness. “No. No I don’t.”

They slid their eyes down to her face. “I am the god Apollo. I came here for Circe and she did this to me.”

“What? Why?”

The stairs creaked behind Sabrina and she felt a long nail drag up her back. “I just want to be left alone,” said a voice as deep and powerful as the smell of red wine. “You don’t mind, do you?” Before Sabrina could grab her knife and turn around, before she could even scream, strong arms had surrounded her shoulders and a hand was clamping a damp cloth over her nose and mouth. Shock made her breath in, sharply, and she smelled the sweetness of sleeping drugs.

A heartbeat, a brief struggle, and Sabrina Starr was gone.

#cruel summer fic #cameron writes #the penderwicks #penderwicks #camp half blood #camp half-blood #rachel elizabeth dare #jane penderwick #rosalind penderwick

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ikeromantic · 5 years ago

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Horns

Day 24 of Ikemektober!

I chose Shakespeare - I’ve no idea what happens in his route. This is entirely my brain (caffeinated), the prompt, and deciding The Bard had to get his own story. It’s spicy fluff. Approx 1800 words.

Will picked up the costumes for his next production - a new play, inspired by his patron. They were fanciful pieces, with bat wings and goat horns and hooves. There was even a serpent-skin coat in the lot. Perfect for the story of a devilish king and his court of impish jesters.

The play was equal parts suffering and passion. He hoped Comte would come to see it, or that rumors of it would reach his ears at least. Taunting the old vampire was a dangerous sport, but for William, that only made it a more alluring pursuit.

If he had eternity, or close to it, to make his plays, there was no subject that was taboo. He would push his art to its limit - and his life with it, as his plays were so enmeshed with experience that sometimes he had trouble separating one from the other.

“Will? Will, is that you?” The voice caught him mid-thought. His arms were so full of costumerie that he couldn’t see who was speaking, but he knew anyhow.

“What fair maid calls mine name so sweetly? Could it be my newest friend?”

She laughed in reply, a bright sound. Unburdened. “I don’t know why you always speak in poetry, Will.”

He felt her hand touch his arm, the lightest brush of her fingertips like a touch of fire. “Do you need help carrying those in?”

“Fear not, I’ve strength enough to finish - but if you could - the door?” Shakespeare heard her open the door to his home. He walked in and set the costumes on the nearest table.

The girl followed him in, her eyes darting about in curious fashion - as if she wanted to see everything before he stopped her looking.

Will smiled. It was strange to see her here, alone. He wondered if the Comte’s imps knew she’d come. He somehow doubted it. “To what do I owe this unforeseen pleasure? I hope tis nothing untoward.”

“Oh, no. I was just going to market to pick up a few things and I saw you getting out of the carriage.” She shrugged, the gesture gentle and indefinable feminine. “I thought maybe you’d like to have a coffee with me - or a tea. We didn’t get to talk much last time I saw you.”

“No, indeed we did not. You are always most welcome here, whither you’ve only passed by or come to visit with intent.” He motioned to his parlor. “Please, go in and sit down. I’ll put on some tea.”

Her bright smile returned. “Good! I was hoping you weren’t busy right now, but when I saw you with all those - clothes?” She glanced at the pile with wide eyes, “I thought maybe you were in the middle of something.”

“I am never to busy to see you, fair one.” He found his own mouth curling upward with genteel pleasure. The sensation made him vaguely uneasy, as if this was dangerous ground he tread. She always did this - setting him on edge with her cheery disposition. He wondered if something dark lay beneath it, something that, with prying, he could uncover. If so, it lay deep.

Will left to put on a pot of tea. When he came back, she was still in the entry hall, picking at the pile of costumes.

“What are you doing?”

She jumped back, dropping her hands to her sides. “I - sorry! They just looked so interesting. I wanted to see if I could figure out the play from the clothing.” Her hands grasped her skirt, a nervous gesture.

Shakespeare closed the distance between them in a few quick steps. He knew how unnerving his heterochromatic gaze was, especially on silly little girls. “And? Did you find me out?”

“M-midsummer Night’s Dream?” She guessed, voice full of hope.

“No.” Will leaned down until his nose almost touched hers. “I am afraid you’ve now been rude on two accounts. Searching through what belongs to another, and assuming a dramatist is bound by their older work.” The irritation he felt around her lent heat to his words, a sharpness despite his soft voice.

She looked down. “I’m so sorry, Will. I didn’t mean to be rude.” She sounded almost at the edge of tears, far more upset at his reprimand than he expected.

Will drew a line with his finger at the edge of her jaw and tipped her face up to his. “I shall forgive you this once, if you consent to a single favor. What say you, fair maid?”

“A favor?” She was trembling, her pulse racing. Excitement or fear? Will wasn’t certain.

“Indeed. I’ve need to check each costume you’ve handily sorted through in that pile. I can try on the gents’ clothing but the ladies’ outfits I must use a mannequin for. Today, you will be my mannequin.”

Her face brightened, though he could still feel her galloping heartbeat. “I could - could do that. It sounds exciting!” She bit her bottom lip, suddenly thoughtful. “Would you tell me what the play is about?”

“Perchance, if I am pleased.” Shakespeare stepped away from her, relieved and disappointed by the distance between them.

She immediately headed back to the pile of costumes, picking at them until she’d found a woman’s costume. “What is this one supposed to be?” She held up the oddly cut dress. It was all long, straight lines and harsh edges. Dark colors.

“It is clothing from the future.” He couldn’t help the wicked smile that lit up his thin face.

“Oh! Neat!” Her innocent enthusiasm missed the point entirely. She took a step toward the parlor, uncertain where she should go to change.

“Yes, you may undress in safety there. I shall refrain from opening the door.”

The tea kettle summoned him with its high pitched whistle. He went to pour the tea, and brought back a tray to set out for them both once the costume-modeling was done.

For himself, he chose the horned outfit. It was Faustian, at a glance. The jacket was black-furred, and the boot cover was made of hoof. The horns themselves were from a goat, but polished to obsidian black. The knobby twists seemed to capture the afternoon sun, reflecting nothing back.

Shakespeare stepped into this study to change. It felt odd to slide on the heavy jacket. The pants were a little big on him, but solidly made and adjustable with the addition of a belt or suspenders. He slid the headpiece on last, savoring the weight of the horns.

The mirror showed him what a monster he’d become with just the change in wardrobe. He looked wild now, like a faun or a devil, out to hunt virgins in sacred groves. Will shook his hair loose to further the effect. In this, he was the divine hunter. The gentleman demon. It was funny how a costume could often bring out secrets closely held.

He stepped back into the entry hall. The girl was still shuffling around in the parlor. He could hear her.

“Are you in need of assistance, fair one?”

“I- uh - the buttons are, they’re kind of hard to reach.”

“Then rescue you, I shall. For what troubles lie under the sun that cannot be bested by two hearts in concert?” He pushed open the door.

Sunlight came through the curtains, painting the room in sunset hue. The girl was standing straight, trying in vain to hold the gown up with one hand, the other reaching for buttons ill-placed. Her cheeks were stained pink, eyes wide.

“Tis no matter, fair maid. I’ve seen many a pretty half in, and half-out of costume. You’ve no need to fear my eye, nor my helping hands.” Will tried to reassure her, though he found her discomfort amusing. He had, in fact, seen many beautiful actresses in all stages of undress, but none quite like her.

Her face didn’t have the diamond hardness of the determined beauty. She lacked the edge of feminine weaponry, as if ignorant of her body’s charms. It only made him more away of her bare shoulders, the curve of her breast at the side. The naked line of her back as she turned to present him with the impossible buttons.

“You look amazing,” she babbled. “Like a faun! It’s called a faun, right? But . . . more cultured?” She inhaled sharply as Will brushed a finger down her spine.

“More of a devil, I’m afraid.” Her shiver provoked in him a need to touch her. He resisted it. He was the writer of passions - a witness. Not a participant. The director did not star in his dramas. He buttoned the dress and stepped away from her.

The girl turned to face him, brushing a hand down the front of the dress to smooth it. The dark blue was perfect for her. And the way it clung to her curves - indecent. Will did not think he’d see a clearer map of her body even if she stood nude before him. Best was the slit up the side of the skirt, as if made for a dancer. Her skin tantalized in glimpses, drawing the eye.

“You’re staring. Is it - is it bad?”

“No.” Shakespeare shook himself. “It is a perfect costume for the victim of a demon.” He gave a wicked sharp smile. “Do you feel like a victim, fair one?”

She started to laugh, but stopped at his forbidding expression. “You kind of scare me sometimes, Will.”

“And fear me you should. For I am a wicked creature.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest. She smelled sweet, like perfume.

“Will,” she gasped, trying to pull away.

“It is too late for you, fair maid. To my lair you came, and now you shall never leave.” He lowered his head to her neck, letting her feel the slightest prick of his fangs.

“Th-this isn’t funny. Let me go,” she whimpered.

Shakespeare realized his own heart was beating as wildly as hers, his breath as ragged. He pushed her away. “I am - am only acting my part. The horned devil.”

“Then you’re a pretty good actor.” She stared at him, wary. “I think I should probably go.”

Will reached up, touching the cold, sharp tip of one of the horns. “Yes, perhaps you should. Send the dress - no, better, keep the dress. It fits not the character of my new script, but I think it sits perfectly upon you.”

She blushed. “Ah, alright. If you’re sure.” Though she took a few steps toward the exit, it seemed she would hesitate, now uncertain if he posed a danger to her.

Shakespeare stepped closer to her, widening his thin, sharp smile. “Unless, fair maid, you’d like to stay and allow me to remove the garment from your skin . . . with my teeth.”

“Nope! No thank you!” She practically ran away, comical in her haste.

Will stood there in the sun-drenched parlor, still smelling her light perfume. It felt so much emptier with her gone. And though he’d hoped for peace in her absence, he felt only turmoil.

“Perhaps I truly am bedeviled,” he mused. The blackened horns atop his head bobbed in silent agreement.

#ikemektober #ikemen vampire #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp william #ikemen shakespeare #ikemen william #otome #otome guys #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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homespork-review · 5 years ago

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Homespork Act 3: Insane Mindscrew Haymakers (Part 2)

CHEL: Rose finds a transportaliser platform in the centre of the lab.

FAILURE ARTIST: The sylladex misadventures come to something this time. Jasper’s corpse lands on the pad.

CHEL: The dead cat vanishes; Rose assumes it was vapourised but we know better, though we don’t see where it went. She finds an unlocked hub and plugs in, noticing another ominous countdown on the wall, with only three minutes left till the lab will be “UNESTABLISHED”.

Years in the future again, PM beheads the worm creature, which turns out to be a robot. The bunker landed on its side so PM stands on a pile of mailboxes to press the button, which causes more robot worms to emerge from beneath the bunker, pushing it upright, and a propeller to emerge from the top and carry it away.

Dave’s strife with Bro continues, getting more and more ridiculous and animesque, until Dave ends up plummeting down the stairwell. In a realistic work, this could quite easily break his neck, but here we just get some comical flailing and a SBaHJ IT KEEPS HAPPENING macro. Again, Dave looks more angry than afraid.

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 8

FAILURE ARTIST: I think Hussie said the Bro slicing the Abscond box is symbolic of the trap of child abuse and shows this guardian fight isn’t like the others but it is still an animesque fight that ends with a fucking meme.

CHEL: Yeah, he seems to be expecting us to pick up on these details which don’t mean anything until he actually explains them, which would be fine and in fact clever if they didn’t conflict so strongly with what’s actually noticeably shown. If he wanted us to take it seriously, he’d have done better not to put the Abscond button there at all.

Rose finds, in the lab, a console showing SBurb sessions in the northeastern US where her home is located, monitoring the time to impact of their respective meteors. There is a large cluster of already-landed ones around her house, with a much, much bigger one centred directly on the lab, with an even bigger one centred on the house. She zooms out, and finds the second-biggest upcoming impact in the world is heading for Texas, while one bigger by an order of magnitude will later land in the middle of the Pacific. "Oh look, up in the sky/ It's a hole about the size of Texas..."

"Circus Contraption - Hot Potato" (Watch on YouTube)

Checking on John’s house, Rose finds it overrun by imps, the building shaking violently. Investigating this, she finds the ogre fight; John is at least getting a few blows in now, but they’re still not doing much good. Nannasprite is able to provide support with eye beams, but the ogres are still standing, and Rose’s attempt to drop a fridge on one is useless too. Nannasprite’s teleportation proves more useful, allowing John to take a flying leap out of a hovering oven to strike with greater force and allowing her to drop a full avalanche of household appliances on the ogre. With Rose’s assistance providing him a platform to bounce off again, John strikes the final blow on one ogre, exploding it into grist pieces bigger than himself, and Nannasprite and John occupy the other ogre until Rose drops the alchemiter on it.

FAILURE ARTIST: Seeing a fight like this not long after the Bro and Dave fight makes it hard for me to take the serious one seriously. John should be dead.

CHEL: John has a backup healer and Dave doesn’t, but yeah, cartoon physics prevail here.

Rose checks in, explaining that Dave’s not connected yet, but that she’s determined that activating the cruxtruder does not actually cause the meteor to strike. John levels up to BOY-SKYLARK and collects tons of grist and boondollars, although he still doesn’t know what those actually do.

You can't wait to find out what amazing items this new supply of grist will be just barely insufficient to produce.

Hehehe. We’ve all been there.

John sees that more grist fell down to the platform below, including one huge piece stuck in the hole leading into Dad’s room.

One of those big SOUR GRAPE ELECTRIC HOLOCAUST FRUIT GUSHERS is jammed in the hole in the platform. CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 9

Yes, because Holocaust references are a perfect way to describe candy flavours. Technically “holocaust” can refer to, I quote from dictionary.com, “a great or complete devastation or destruction, especially by fire”, and I’m guessing it’s a parody of all the flavour names with words like “explosion” in them, but, especially when it’s not obviously uncapitalised, that’s very much not what the immediate association of the term is!

FAILURE ARTIST: John asks Nanna why she doesn’t just throw him up to the gate and she says it’s important he build up himself. Though later we do see a character that just jumps up to the gate.

Then we switch to a mysterious castle all in purple. Dad is fighting some imps with shaving cream. A new yet somehow familiar character wearing harlequin clothes watches with disgust both Dad and John on strange window screens.

We cut away yet again to Peregrine Mendicant. PM is still stuck in the mobile station with a letter addressed to David Brinner. There was a real person who went by the alias Doctor Brinner on his Portland-area radio show where he played a mad scientist. Dr. David Brinner is also a comic Hussie made before Homestuck. I’ve never read it myself. I didn’t even know it existed until I googled David Brinner.

Anyway, PM refuses to open this letter and gives stirring speeches that sound like they come from a movie (Kevin Costner’s Postman?) but I don’t think they do.

BRIGHT: PM believes very strongly in the purpose of mail delivery as the bedrock of civilisation. It comes across as funny, but not as mocking.

FAILURE ARTIST: PM then turns to the terminal. Jade appears on a screen shrouded in green static. PM finds Jade familiar. Unfortunately, before PM can converse with Jade, the terminal explodes.

Cut back again to Rose in the lab. There’s lots of cutesy pink little girl stuff down there that Rose decides to ignore. Why is it down there? Did Mom expect Rose to live there one day?

CHEL: I thought it was supposed to signal that Mom was living down there herself.

FAILURE ARTIST: Anyway, Rose also finds a mutant cat.

We cut away again to John contemplating going into his father’s bedroom through a hole in the roof. He decides to do it.

Cut to a fireplace with a portrait of Jade above it. It looks similar to Nanna’s shrine, minus the urn. But Jade isn’t dead, is she? She scampers right into the room the next panel. She arms herself with a huge rifle and tries to sneak across the room. However, her Grandpa appears, shadowed by the huge fire that suddenly lit up in the fireplace. She tries to run away only to fall asleep.

We cut to Dave’s final round - or rather, Jade fighting her Grandpa. Who, in another surprise, is a taxidermed corpse.

She talks to him like he’s alive, though after it, she says he was easier to deal with when he was alive. This disturbing state of affairs is never treated seriously.

CHEL: This, more than anything else, is why we set up the ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY count. Horrible as Bro would be by any realistic standards, at least Dave’s guardian is obviously living and Dave is not merrily talking away to a dead person. We later find out that Jade was the one who taxidermied Grandpa, while she was barely more than a toddler. Not only was she actually able to do this to professional standards, at an age when she shouldn’t have been handling sharp objects at all, but she displays no trauma from it, nor from having had to raise herself. And yet we’re supposed to take Dave’s issues seriously, and to a much lesser extent Rose’s, with no real indication that they’re any different.

TIER: It's one thing when an author's intended depiction of “an abusive household” for the most part flies over people's heads due to the absurdity of the whole situation when it initially got presented, that happens sometimes! Especially when one factors in Bro's total screen time, how he generally ticks the boxes for “absurd but really cool” guy visually, and how late in the game this knowledge was spelled out. It all comes together to make the whole Strider situation kinda come out of left field to judge people for finding the absurd situation funny.

But when it's sitting right next to the arguably worse scenario (stuffed.dead.guardian.) and the latter pretty much never gets brought up while the former gets a big ol’ spotlight shining down on it, yeah that's what the folks call Fucking Weird and in my personal opinion, suspect Ò_Ó.

CHEL: While I can’t really state one way or the other at this point, I do think it’s worth considering a reason that has already been brought up by a non-Homestucker; in the scenarios we’re not supposed to take seriously, the children are girls. I doubt this was even slightly what Hussie intended, but it certainly explains a lot about the fandom’s reactions. The more likely scenario regarding the canon explanation is probably that the ones we’re not supposed to take seriously are not Hussie’s self-insert.

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 9

BRIGHT: Not to mention, Jade grew up on an island in the middle of the ocean, physically isolated from any other people and with only an animal for company. There are known cases of children who grew up in similar circumstances in real life. Suffice to say, it generally does not end well.

You could argue that Jade is pretending her Grandpa is alive because she’s lonely and needs the company, but this is in no way implied by the text.

At any rate, Jade informs her grandfather that the rifle she has is perfectly adequate for killing things and she doesn’t need his oversized blunderbuss.

CHEL: To be strictly fair, we do later find out she had some contact with other people, but not in a way which I feel would be a substitute for having a living human parent in the “real” world.

FAILURE ARTIST: With Jade out the door, we go again to PM. They are fine except for some cartoon burn marks and a fire on their hood. The metal snake saves their precious mailbox.

BRIGHT: It earns PM’s affection for doing so.

Back at the lab, Rose utterly fails to ignore the four-eyed mutant kitten. She carries it over to a peculiar machine that turns out to be another Appearifier. This one is locked onto her cat, Jaspers, nine years ago. Not only was he alive, but the younger Rose was holding a psychotherapy session with him.

Rose attempts to appearify Jaspers, but since this would cause a time paradox, the machine leaves Jaspers in place and instead produces a ‘Paradox Clone’, which swiftly collapses into green slime. The machine next to the appearifier sucks up the paradox sludge, analyses its genetic sequence, and spits out another cat, rather more mutated than the last, in a process referred to as ‘Ectobiology’.

CHEL: John’s screen name, we remind you, is “ectoBiologist”, so it seems he heard of the concept somewhere, perhaps?

BRIGHT: On the appearifier’s screen, Jaspers reveals a stunning secret to young Rose, and is appearified to an unknown location before he can clarify anything. Two weeks later, his corpse reappeared. Oddly, the appearifier can’t see his whereabouts for the intervening period.

It can, however, see where his body went when it landed on the pad earlier! Rose appearifies the corpse and hightails it out of the lab, using the transportaliser to make her escape before the meteor can hit.

FAILURE ARTIST: If you click on the pink horseshoe that appears at the end of the Rose: Fast Forward To Now flash, there’s a little animation of Rose enjoying Maplehoof. I guess she’s making up for the loss of her precious Jaspers.

BRIGHT: We make a brief detour back to Jade, who’s searching for Becquerel. Two new things about Jade’s mysterious abilities: One, Becquerel is invisible to them. Two, this is unusual enough that it used to disturb her. Becquerel appears briefly in the background, and there’s clearly something strange about him…

CHEL: Additionally, it was clearly his face that was carved on the pumpkin we saw earlier, and he looks canine but it’s hard to make out details at this point...

BRIGHT: But before we can find out more, the comic jumps back to John.

Now in his Dad’s room, John is struck by an unwelcome discovery — there aren’t any clowns. Not on posters, no figurines. His father’s briefcase, rather than being full of the tools of a street performer, holds only boring papers and spreadsheets. In fact, the room is pretty boring...like his Dad is just a normal businessman?

"[S] John: Examine your dad's room." (Watch on YouTube)

FAILURE ARTIST: I wish more had been made of Bing “Douchebag” Crosby in this comic but that’s just me being an old movie nerd.

BRIGHT: While John attempts to recover from the BSOD this causes, his father breaks out of a jail cell armed with a safe. This is watched with displeasure by another black figure in brightly-coloured clothing, whose name is not Spades Slick. (He likes the ring of that, though.) No, he’s Archagent Jack Noir, and he oversees the affairs of a dark kingdom through three fenestrated walls.

CHEL: He usually has a fourth one but it got stolen.

FAILURE ARTIST: Those fingers typing the name Spades Slick are a suspicious color...

BRIGHT: He also despises the jester outfits everyone has been forced to wear, and refuses to don his comical hat until the Queen hijacks his fenestrated wall and orders him to wear it. The wall cuts back to Dad, who has now disarmed an especially burly-looking agent and is punching him in the head.

CHEL: Jack Noir makes mention of his carapace at this point; I don’t remember if his species is also referred to as “carapaces” in the comic but that’s the name the fandom knows them by. Guess we’ll see if they are as we go on.

BRIGHT: Meanwhile, John opens some birthday presents he found in his Dad’s room! He gets some Fruit Gushers, a very dapper suit, and best of all, an Array Fetch Modus, which lets him retrieve an item from any card in his deck! Of course, this would be too straightforward, so he combines it with his other Fetch Modii until he gets something properly inconvenient.

FAILURE ARTIST: How much do Modii cost and does everyone in this universe have one?

CHEL: The implication is tech like this is how Skaianet made its money, but since we never really see anyone who’s not involved somehow with the game, we don’t really get a good sense of the company being part of the world, so we don’t know. If I had to guess, though, I’d think getting the sylladex in the first place costs a big lump sum and then the various fetch modii cost much smaller amounts, sort of like apps on a phone or programs on a computer.

When prompted, John closely examines the Fruit Gushers box, this flavour being “MASSIVE TROPICAL BRAIN HEMORRHAGE”. Tasty…? John thinks so. However, in the corner of the box is a small, easily-missed logo…

THE HEINOUS BATTERWITCH HAS HER GNARLED CLAWS IN EVERYTHING.

After the destruction of his planet, the disappearance of his father, the appearance of his ghost grandma, and fighting numerous monsters, THIS is what finally sends John over the edge into a full-out meltdown, despite the onscreen caption declaring that THIS IS STUPID.

FAILURE ARTIST: I actually have a box of Fruit Gushers signed by Andrew Hussie.

CHEL: Back on the island, Jade, accompanied by dramatic music, attempts to retrieve a blue package from the ruins, but just as she reaches it, Becquerel appears between her and it, and we snap right back into STRIFE!

"[S] Jade: Retrieve package." (Watch on YouTube)

Becquerel, as we can now see clearly, is an enormous white dog, lacking facial features of any kind and emitting crackling green lightning - worthy of the description “devilbeast”, I think. Jade aims her rifle at his head and takes multiple shots, but none hit. The first heats up and melts into nothingness. When the second is fired Becquerel turns into green fire and next frame he and Jade are both riding on the now-enormous bullet which carries them across the lagoon to the other side of the island. Becquerel teleports the third bullet into space and himself and Jade to the top of the frog building, and he teleports himself out of the way of the fourth, the background flashing through several different locations. Finally, Jade shoots a bullet in the opposite direction with the instruction GO FETCH!, which Bec does, giving Jade time to grab the package. She rewards Bec for fetching with the irradiated steak and announces that he is a GOOD DOG, BEST FRIEND. After dancing around in celebration, she very abruptly falls asleep again, and Bec scoops her up on his back, takes her back to bed, and tucks her in.

FAILURE ARTIST: The music in Jade: Retrieve Package

is another replacement. Currently it’s An Unbreakable Union by Robert Blake but originally it was Mutiny by Bill Bolin. The original is very retro science fiction and the replacement is safari.

CHEL: For the record, real dogs are not horses and are not built to carry people like that, even very small children can damage a large dog’s back by riding it, but given Bec’s abilities, I don’t think that applies to him.

Rose comes out the other side of the transportaliser, she and the cat having both kept their atoms unmingled, and discovers she’s back in the house, in the room she thought was her mother’s bedroom. It seems the cutesy pink bed and stuff in the lab was in fact her mother’s bedroom, and this room is a well-stocked bar.

You decide not to be especially melodramatic about this revelation.

Good idea, Rose; there isn’t time, as the lab is promptly unestablished by a meteor, sending flaming debris flying through the window. The booze-filled room is especially endangered by this, so Rose decides to flee.

John punches some more cards and complains that he’s the one doing the work while Rose is just messing around on her computer, while Jade dreams and little red lights on her bedposts glow. A metal cabinet in the corner of her room has similar red lights on top, and it bursts open, revealing a Jade-shaped robot.

Sudden cut to a mysterious copy of Jade’s bedroom, except with pink walls, in which Jade stands, wearing a golden dress. Back in her real room, the DREAMBOT stands in the same position. The gold-clad Jade is, we find, a depiction of Jade in her dream. Dream Jade tries to get into bed, but complains of a heavy weight pressing down on her, as the robot is copying her actions and is now lying on top of the real sleeping Jade. Instead, she decides to fly, which of course she can do since it’s a dream (and the robot has jet propulsion).

The dream room also contains the blue package, addressed to “GG” from “GT”. This isn’t John’s current handle, but she knows it’s from John, and that she must deliver it to somewhere else without opening it.

Flashback to the previous winter. In a shot of John’s window, we see his calendar and the edges of some of his posters. The calendar is marked with smiley faces in party hats in green, red, and purple, marking Jade, Dave, and Rose’s birthdays, but more noticeably, there are creepy faces with jester hats and huge teeth scrawled on the wall and posters. I didn’t notice it until just now, but there are some purple lines on the arm of one of the poster characters which might just be part of a drawn-on clown outfit but from this vantage point look like self-harm scars. Brr. Ominous.

John at this point in time is going by “ghostyTrickster” on Pesterchum, hence the “GT” nametag on the package. He’s chatting to Jade about having sent off everyone’s birthday gifts, and how he hopes Jade’s will “help you solve those problems you’ve been having lately”. John is embarrassed to realise it will take much longer than he thought for the package to reach Jade’s island, but she assures him it will arrive “exactly when it needs to”.

BRIGHT: With the reveal of John’s previous handle, and from the characters in the Trollslum, we also get the theme of the handle initials being the letters of DNA. (GCAT.)

FAILURE ARTIST: Jade complains about “trolls” and we have the first time this beloved and perhaps overshadowing species is named. However, John calls the “trolls” the r-slur so that’s another point.

CLOCKWORK PROBLEMATYKKS: 10

CHEL: Also, the trolls are why he changed his handle, in an attempt to avoid them bothering him.

FAILURE ARTIST: We go back to current day. John is peeved at the graffiti on his posters. He thinks it’s the imps. However, we just saw it was there months before. What is going on, hmmm?

Rose decides to name the cat Vodka Mutini. She then talks with John. Rose wonders where Dave is and John figures that Bro is kicking his ass. Considering that this ass-kicking is later treated as serious abuse, this is a callous thing for a friend to say.

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 10

CHEL: I’d also say that counts as HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING. There’s not much an internet friend can do about someone’s abusive situation on the other side of the country but they could at least support Dave and tell him to call the police, if it is supposed to be that bad. Or at least, you know, be worried. Then again, Dave might not have told them what the ass-kicking entails, but Rose knows about his brother’s websites, and given that we know Bro made at least one film in which Dave was involved and may or may not have been on camera, and the film certainly would show the state the apartment was in…

HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING: 4

FAILURE ARTIST: Anyway, when John complains about his posters being defaced, Rose says they always looked that way. John naturally freaks out at this creepy revelation.

We cut to WV. They are trying to get down from the mobile station without sacrificing the MAYORAL SASH. While working the Appearifier, they get John’s present with an envelope addressed to “Mister Mayor”. After WV gets more cable, they rappel down the mobile station with the package under their arm.

Meanwhile, a figure in yellow caution tape watches WV through a sniper rifle. This is Aimless Renegade, a wonderful but forgotten character.

We go back to John and Rose. John discusses the mystery of the defaced posters while he futzes around with the Alchemiter. Rose thinks that John had blocked out the memory of defacing the posters and the revelation that his father isn’t who he thought he was unblocked his memory. She thinks maybe his father thought he was interested in clowns because John drew clowns everywhere. Yet John also wrote “LAME KID”? Maybe Dad should have taken John to therapy.

CHEL: “Lame kid” with arrows pointing down at his bed, to be exact, among other insults, and the clown faces don’t look like the product of someone who liked clowns at all!

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 11 HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING: 5

Yet Dad Egbert is supposed to be the good parent of the group, so here we go with a new count:

RELATIONSHIP GOALS?: 1

This one’s primarily for romantic relationships, but other relationship fumbles apply too.

Rose thinks that the drawings are the result of John trying to express something subconscious, possibly a repressed past memory. John changes the subject to the upward building process; Rose complains that chimneys weren’t meant to bear such a weight, and considers switching to walls now they can get grist more easily, but she’s running out of time as the house proper is now on fire. John blames Dave, so I think we can assume that either they don’t know his brother forces him into swordfights or they don’t think it’s a problem. Which one is hard to determine.

FAILURE ARTIST: We cut to Jade playing a bass solo so advanced it doesn’t have a bass line. Another Bolin replacement. We find out Dream Jade is in a castle on a planet that’s a gold copy of the one Jack Noir and co are on. While flying around, she sees an inhabitant that looks familiar. CHEL: This is what I was referring to when I said Jade did have some contact with people; she is able to contact the carapaces in her dreams. However, the carapaces are, as we’ve seen from WV and company, somewhat childlike in behaviour, living in a society that’s nothing like Earth’s, biologically not the same as humans so they couldn’t easily advise her if she got ill or injured, and they don’t appear to be able or willing to speak, at least not most of the time and/or in a way the humans could understand, not to mention they would have no way to physically assist her in the waking world so she’d still have to raise herself from a very young age. Hence, why I don’t think they’re a substitute for an actual human parent.

#Homespork #homestuck #homestuck review #homestuck meta #homestuck reread #let's read homestuck #literary critique #sporking #Let's read

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ranger-report · 5 years ago

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Thoughts On: Mortal Shell Open Beta

I want to start this off by stating up front that I am not a fan of Dark Souls in any way, shape, or form. Don't get me wrong, I don't think Dark Souls is bad per se. I actually really like the world the games have built up. I watch videos on the lore, the environments, the bosses, and I find it all thoroughly fascinating, it's just that when I play video games I like to enjoy playing them, and playing Dark Souls is like bashing my head against a wall repeatedly because I'm using my forehead in lieu of a hammer and these goddamn nails just won't go in the wall. Oh, I've tried to get into it; I've put in two separate six-hour runs, along with diving into Bloodborne because I'd heard that game rewards players who are more aggressive vs the measured style of Souls, but no matter what, I just don't have the patience to be punished over and over again by a game that actively hates me. So imagine my surprise when I not only got into Mortal Shell, but actually persisted to play through the entire demo.

Mortal Shell, developed by Cold Symmetry, is a Souls clone and proud of it. Currently, the open beta is available to download via the Epic Game Store. Pre-purchase is up and running for $29.99. The first trailer was released on April 1st of this year, but make no mistake, the game is no joke. Far from it. For those coming in late to the party, Dark Souls's gameplay revolves around slow, methodical combat in which the player has to read enemy patterns in order to know when to strike, parry, dodge, etc. Any enemy in the game can potentially be a bad time, meaning that if the player gets a little too cocky and impatient, a solid run can so south pretty fucking quickly if they're not paying attention to timing. That's literally what the game is: a massive, calculated game of timing, fueled by trial and error. If you die – and you will, frequently – you're sent back to the last checkpoint you camped at or visited or lit up. You'll have one chance to forge your way back to the point where you died, and reclaim all the currency you worked so hard to accumulate, but if you die again before you do, all of it is lost. So essentially we're working with a complex risk and reward system, in which any fight could be your last, any moment could turn ugly, and your character is having the worst fucking day they could imagine.

Mortal Shell takes this formula and puts a bit of a spin on it. Sure, you've got the health bar, the stamina bar – which depletes any time you attack, dodge, or run – the quick items, and the ability to parry and commit heavy attacks if your timing is right. But what it does differently is the character system itself. Most Souls games involve the player creating a character and slowly leveling up as time goes by. You could become a super beast depending on what you choose to invest in. Shell puts you in charge of a Foundling, basically a nameless/faceless lost spirit, who can inhabit the bodies of fallen warriors it comes across. Each warrior – called a Shell – has different attributes which can be leveled up. Some Shells are faster, some are tougher, and each one has their pros and cons to fit your play style. In the beta, we get two, named Harros and Tiel. Harros is a well-rounded fighter, your basic bitch knight class, while Tiel is more of a rogue, which a much higher stamina bar but can be hurt a lot quicker. Regardless of which Shell you choose to inhabit, you're carrying around what has to be one of the most badass swords I've seen in a video game in quite some time. Called the Hallowed Sword, it's two handed and looks like it could ruin pretty much anything if you put your mind to it. It has a secondary attack where it turns into a goddamn spear for massive damage. There's another weapon in the beta, a hammer and chisel, but I somehow missed that in my playthrough. I'm eager to dive back in and find it, but for now we'll focus on the sword. Sweet Jesus, that sword. If a fantasy game had the equivalent of a double-barreled shotgun, it would be the Hallowed Sword.

There's also a catch to hitching a ride in the Shells: if you take too much damage, the Foundling will be knocked out of the Shell, vulnerable and weak. You'll have an opportunity to get back into the Shell, and if you do, it's an instant HP refill and you're back in the fight. Your Shell can die twice, but if you're knocked out of the Shell a second time, it's game over and back to the checkpoint. This is inventive because dying isn't immediately a punishment, and it's also neat because the Foundling can still carry the Hallowed Sword while trying to get back to the Shell. I have a feeling YouTube is going to be full of No Shell Runs in which players go hard as only the Foundling, chopping, parrying, dodging, somehow escaping damage. And make no mistake, the naked Foundling will die in one hit without a Shell. Having a safety net like this automatically makes gameplay more forgiving and also more intense. Say you fuck up and get knocked out of your Shell early on, leaving you with just one more chance to get through to the next checkpoint knowing if you get knocked down again, you're done. That's a rush unlike many I've played in video games. Also the frantic panic of running and dodging as the Foundling, surrounded by enemies, trying to get back to your Shell, desperate to stay alive, is shockingly effective.

However, there's another weapon in the Foundling's arsenal: the ability to Harden. Pressing the left trigger instantly turns the Foundling into a rock solid statue, unable to move, but also unable to take damage for one single hit. Once the hit lands, the Harden goes away and the Foundling starts moving again. What is absolutely wild about this are the potential combat tactics that can arise. Because if the Foundling is moving or attacking when the Harden goes into effect, they will immediately resume what they were doing when the Harden is gone. So say you're going in for a light strike, followed up by a heavy strike, and before you can land the heavy strike the enemy goes into attack animation. You hit the Harden, freezing mid-swing, and the enemy connects – and then your heavy strike animation resumes, smashing into the enemy, staggering them, freeing you up to either dodge away or get in another attack. Some enemies will be staggered just from hitting your Hardened form, so even if you're not mid-swing, you'll have a window of opportunity to get in and sucker punch. But Harden has a cooldown period, so if you use it at the wrong time, you'll have a wait a minute before you can use it again. And come out of it at the wrong time, you could be facing the business end of a bad day.

What initially drew me to Mortal Shell was definitely not the concept of a Souls game, but rather that Cold Symmetry cited old-school first person shooter Quake as one of their influences on the game. By and large this comes across in the aesthetics: browns, grays, armor textures, otherworldly pagan imagery, skulls and bones and dark caverns, it's all over the place, and it's lovely. Grimy industrial atmosphere permeates everything. Enemies range from brutish bandits with swords and pikes, to imp-like creatures that poison you when they strike. And the monster design is a visual chef's kiss, craggy and awful and menacing. My personal favorite is the Pincushion Warrior, which I've dubbed because it looks like a goddamn pincushion. Walking around with an eyeless helmet and multiple fucking swords sticking out of its torso like, well, a meaty pincushion, when it notices you from afar it will pull out one of the swords and throw it you. It'll keep doing so until you get into melee range, at which point it pulls out two swords, one for each hand, and come at you fast and hard. Do enough damage to it and it will attempt a kamikaze maneuver, in which it rips off its fucking head to throw at you and release a poison cloud which does massive damage over time. Seriously one of the most metal things I've seen, and I cursed the fuck out loud when I saw it the first time. But the showstopper, the truly most outstanding beast in the beta, is the Enslaved Grisha, a lumbering monstrosity that looks like a combination between Silent Hill's Pyramid Head and BioShock's Big Daddy. You fight it in an icy cave, and its attacks are so thunderous it will shake loose stalactites from the ceiling which can fall on top of you for damage. It's fast, brutal, mean, and intimidating, and beating it was such a terrific rush that it made me wonder why I've never gotten into this style of game before when it feels this rewarding to win against a tough enemy. Maybe it's because Soulsborne games are vicious and unrelenting in their assault on the player as they slowly attempt to crawl their way through the environment. Here, it seems like there's just enough stacked in the player's graces to save them that it's simultaneously more forgiving and more brutal. With the Harden ability and the different Shells as combat style options, the choices presented to the player are unique enough to offer a deep challenge, but one that players themselves can modify depending on how they want to play.

There's a couple other mechanics that I want to touch on briefly while I'm here: Resolve, and Familiarity. Resolve is essentially a limit break with multiple uses. When you're attacking enemies, you're building Resolve, and can keep track of how much you're gaining via the meter above your health. But while it builds through attacks, it slowly goes away unless you fill a whole bar, and each Shell will have a different number of bars to fill. For example, Harros has four bars, Tiel has only two. Once a bar is filled, you'll be able to use the Resolve in one of two ways. The first is parrying; you can attempt to parry if you don't have resolve, but in my experience it worked better when I had a bar built up. If you've got the Resolve when you parry, you'll do so with greater success, but it'll also open up a window for you to hit the attack button immediately after. Time it right, and you'll do a powerful strike which will regain a large portion of health, which is handy as fuck when you don't have healing items, but also uses up a lot of Resolve. This can hinder you a little bit if you want to use your special strike. Remember how I said the Hallowed Sword has a super strike where it turns into a spear and does a fuckload of damage? Yeah, you need to fill up at least one or two Resolve bars in order to use it. I'm not sure if you need one bar, two bars, or a full load, haven't done as much experimenting with that as I'd like. Some things in the game are still obtuse, relying on trial and error to discover, which brings us around to Familiarity: picking up items in the game world at first gives only a brief guess at what the items will actually do, so you have to use them to figure out what their effect is. This can be positive, or negative, but the more you use said items the more familiar the Foundling becomes with the effect. Each item has a different number of times you need to use it to become completely familiar with it, but once you do, it'll unlock bonus side effects. For example, the weltcap mushrooms restore 40 hit points over the course of 60 seconds (the regen shrooms I mentioned earlier). But use them often enough, and the Foundling will get a bonus effect of being able to dodge once without using any stamina to do so. Meanwhile, using the tarspore mushrooms – which infect poison damage – will eventually make the Foundling immune to poison damage for 120 seconds. For me this is one of the more revolutionary parts of the game, which requires the most amount of trial and error and experimentation. Of course you're not going to want to use the poison mushroom again after it killed you with poison, but if you take it enough, next thing you know you're immune to poison for two minutes? This is wild when confronted with Imps that deal poison damage with each strike they land, or the fucking Pincushion Warriors and their suicide poison bomb. But at the same time, this could be a bit frustrating when the player gets rare items that are hard to come by, which may have huge bonuses, or massively negative effects. I love it, but also kind of hate it, though where Harden and Resolve add complementary aspects to the combat, Familiarity throws in the gamble of figuring out whether a consumable will do you harm, or make your day.

Mortal Shell has already impressed the hell out of me simply by being a Soulsborne game that I can play and not feel vandalized by, but also through sheer innovation and attention to detail. The atmosphere is thick and luscious, the combat is deep and so are the RPG elements, and there's a genuinely terrifying obtuse story being played out. I did have a few issues with my playthrough, notably the two times the game crashed, one of which forced me to force restart my desktop. A few other ragdoll glitches notwithstanding, the beta is a resoundingly solid experience which is promising great things for the full game. Something which, to my unending surprise, I have already pre-purchased based on this demo. May wonders never cease.

#ck burch #rubyranger #thoughts on #mortal shell #cold symmetry #dark souls #bloodborne #quake #soulsborne #soulslike #review #open beta #epic games store #ranger report

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madsmikkelsenschesthair · 6 years ago

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Blood of the Dragon ch. 8

Summary: Freyja meets the Mad Grandfather and has a strange but prophetic dream.

A/n: yaaaallll I am so sooo sorry but our dear Danny won’t be in this story. I will be using her to make my aesthetics so technically y’all are kinda her? But not really her HER? Get it? No? Me neither! Enjoy! Remember to send me a message for comments, questions, and concerns. Like I said before, Keep it nice.

Warnings: insults, uncomfortable situations, mad Grandfather, one sad papa Rhaegar, fluff, cursing, violence, angst, a hint of death of character

“Look sister! That’s Dragonstone” Little Robb pointed excitedly towards the grey castle that nearly stood on the edge of a cliff. Freyja couldn’t believe it! She had never seen such a big castle in all her life. According to her books and her father, Dragonstone was where her family first settled when they fled Old Valyria. Hundreds of generations have lived in that very same castle and gave birth to new generations and now here she was! This was far too exciting! Freyja could only imagine how big and beautiful Kingslanding was. She couldn’t hardly contain herself her body was jittery and she was grinning from ear to ear until she could no longer feel her face. Little Robb coughed into his cloak breaking Freyja out of her daze, it had been getting chillier these past few weeks and her little brother seemed weaker than when she first met him. On the other hand, Fenrir was growing fast and strong and his puppy eagerness was gone replaced by the adulthood overcoming him. He was ever so faithful as well always by her side,

Freyja took off her own cloak, red with black fur trim and gold dragons, and put it around his shoulders. “Go back to your chambers,” she told him, “I think we will be there in an hour or so. Stay warm” The cold wind brushed against her cheeks reminding her to do the same, Freyja was far too excited to go back to her own chambers though. Today she will meet her Grandfather Aerys. Her father had not told her much about him or his other brother and she wondered why. Anytime Freyja asked about them the conversation was immediately changed to another topic or her parents would ask her about her day. Freyja kept a mental note of that for later.

Little Robb stopped midway to the stairs that lead below deck and stared at her, “Are you coming? You’ll get sick too” Freyja kept her eyes on Dragonstone, she could feel magic swarming in her blood as they grew closer. This would be their first and last stop before they left for Kingslanding. She looked down to her wolf, “Come on, Fen” and the pair followed her little brother below deck.

After sailing for so many weeks, the Targaryen fleet stopped and the family got back on the little boats and sailed to the shore. Freyja had no problem stepping off the boat and getting her boots and dress a little wet but her family looked to be in anguish to have their fine clothes soiled. She was used to it after so many years of fishing with her boys. Looking at it now, Dragonstone castle was bigger that it loomed over them. The closer they walked to the entrance the more nervous she got. Freyja saw a group of people waiting for them at the top of the grey steps all of them wearing dark clothes. Her hand closed around the Thor’s Mjolnir on her neck homesickness tightening her stomach. She followed her father and his guards close behind enclosing them, protecting them. The leader of the group that was waiting for them was a short man, an imp, with curly dark hair and a beard and he smiled at her.

“Welcome home Your Grace!” he said his smile growing wider.

Her King Father’s face broke into a grin, “Lord Tyrion, such a pleasant surprise we thought you would be back in Kingslanding”

“There is no ‘we’ my love” Cersei intervened, her voice cold, “what are you doing here? You should be helping father at the Red Keep”

Freyja was surprised by how much malice there was in her voice towards the little man but he didn’t seem so phased, he only smiled sweetly at her.

“Good to see you too, sweet sister,” Lord Tyrion answered, “but I couldn’t wait to see my new niece” Freyja smiled shyly at her new uncle and she stepped forward. “Look at you!” he gushed “Pure Valyrian beauty! You look just like your father, Princess Y/n” He took her hand and gingerly placed a kiss on top.

She flinched at her new name and her smile almost disappeared but Freyja managed to compose herself after all Tyrion seemed like such a kind man, “Thank you, Uncle Tyrion. It is very nice to meet you and I can’t wait to meet my grandfather”

The grownups gave each other wary looks. Even Uncle Tyrion’s smile faded, “Speaking of,” he turned to Rhaegar, “Your father wishes to speak to you, Your Grace even you Cersei. In the meantime, I will help the children settle and get to know my new niece”

Her parents wasted no time and hurried up the steps with Uncle Jaime and a group of knights following. Freyja watched them, dumbfounded. What were they hiding from her? Why did everyone grow quiet when her grandfather was mentioned? She would have to ask her Uncle these questions.

The interior of Dragonstone was as breathtaking as it was outside. The was seemed to be made of some rare dark stone, the torches on the wall gave it a hint of red golden streaks. That wasn’t all; carvings, drawings, and statues of dragons stood on almost every corner and wall. It truly lived up to its’ name. It was also surprisingly warm, so warm that Freyja took off her cloak.

“I can’t believe I’m really here,” she said smiling her eyes still wandering up and down the walls and ceiling. “The home of my ancestors”

Tyrion watched her facial expressions, how happy she looked and even the sparkle in her eyes. And there was something else but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. All he knew was that he was glad the rightful heir to the throne was home Even with her Valyrian looks, Y/n looked Viking or at least a small one in the making. Still, she carried the heavy and dreadful burden of homesickness. Tyrion could see it.

A woman came in making Freyja lookup. She had on a plain grey dress along with the same colored wimp on her head covering her hair. Little Rob instantly lit up when he saw her. “Ah, dear Septa please take my nephew to his room,” Tyrion said and the woman curtsied. The pair left them alone. He smiled at his niece. “Come, you and I have much to talk about dear Niece. Tell me about Kattegat, your home”

Freyja’s throat began to close, she followed her uncle down a long corridor it took a bit for her to find her words. “My home”, she began to say slowly, “is very beautiful. There is so much green everywhere and it rains a lot. During the winter it gets really cold but I love it”

“It does sound like paradise” Uncle Tyrion commented with a smile, “I hear you worship different gods”

“We do! We worship Odin, Frigg, Thor, Baldur, Loki, Freyja” her eyes had that sparkle again, “I was born during the wrath of Thor and that’s why I’m Thorsdottir”

Tyrion chuckled. “And you were named Freyja after your mother. It was a nickname Ragnar Lothbrok gave your mother”

Freyja’s smile faded. She missed her family so much and prayed to the Gods Ragnar was safe wherever he was. Uncle Tyrion led her and her wolf to a room that was more elegant than the one she had on the ship. Like the rest of the castle, there were beautiful soaring dragons on the walls and ceiling but in the middle of the ceiling, there was a painting of a man with short pale hair and a beard his gaze hard and intimidating. By his side, two beautiful women; one feminine and the other wearing armor. Both of them with the same pale hair and violet eyes as the man.

“Who’s that?”

Tyrion followed her eyes, “Ah! That my sweet niece is Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys”

“Conqueror?” she said full of wonder and curiosity.

“Yes, he is Aegon the Conqueror. Many Targaryens were named after him” Tyrion explained as he poured himself a cup of wine, “Many of them not as brave or sane as him though”

The painting was beautiful but her favorite part of the room was the window. She could see the dark ocean from here and smell the sea salt that was stronger than any pungent smell. Freyja was about to open the window when a knock on the door brought their attention. Uncle Tyrion opened the door to find a knight.

“Pardoned me Your Grace but your grandfather has asked to see you,” he said.

There was that look on her uncle’s face again and now Freyja knew that this meeting with her grandfather was not going to end very well. How she wished Bjorn was here to protect her. Even Ragnar. Suddenly the halls of Dragonstone were no longer welcoming and Freyja wished to be anywhere else but here. The whole way to her grandfather’s sickroom, they were quiet not making the situation any better. Finally, they reached two heavy double doors guarded by two more knights. Before they could go in, Tyrion turned to Freyja.

“Be careful, sweet niece, Your Grandfather is not right in the head.” And the guards opened the door before she could even open her mouth. They were all waiting for them, Father, Stepmother, Uncle Jaime, and...grandfather. He was laying in a large bed with many pillows to keep him propped up, his pale white hair long and matted, lilac eyes sickly and frail or at least what she thought was frail. His nails were longer than hers and the room smelled heavily of illness. Her father motioned her forward. Even the air was uneasy.

“Father,” King Father said gently, “Y/n is home. This is your granddaughter”

Aerys Targaryen’s eyes studied the girl, “Rhaella? Is that you?” Freyja looked at her father and he gave a dry chuckle. “No father, It’s Y/n. Your grandchild”. Her grandfather’s face molded into a bitter twist. “Come here, girl let me take a look at you”. Freyja gulped and inched her way closer to him. She gasped when he suddenly snatched her wrist gripping it tightly. Aerys’s pulled her closer until she could smell his foul breath. He didn’t say anything only his eyes wandering her face. Freyja’s heart pounded loudly against her chest. The more he stared the angrier he got. There was no illness in those eyes only madness and he was swimming in insanity.

“You smell like the Norse,” he said harshly, “You smell like your bitch mother”

“Father!” Rhaegar hissed and stepmother gasped, Freyja only stared at him dumbfounded.

“You little wench! Your mother was the one to cause that Rebellion! You are exactly like her. You look like the dragon but you have the stench of a wolf!” Her grandfather roared startling Freyja and everyone else in the room. She then felt a sharp hot sting on her cheek and she fell to the floor from the harsh blow. Stepmother shrieked next she heard the wrestling of men and through watery eyes, Freyja watched her father fight his own. He called for the guards and immediately they busted in holding back the Mad King from hitting her more. Fear shook her entire body.

“I’ll burn them all!” he screamed, his face red and eyes on fire. “I’ll burn them all starting with you!”

Freyja ignored Uncle Jaime’s strong arms and Stepmother’s desperate cries, she fled from that room as if fleeing from the wrath of Hel. She ran, ran all the way to her room slamming the door behind her. Freyja collapsed on to her bed sobbing inconsolably. No one in her life had hit her. Ever. Everyone had always treated her kindly, her home was full of love and laughter and here she didn’t have that. She missed her Bear, Kraka, Lagertha, Athelstan, her boys. Everyone! It wasn’t fair that these people had to take her away from her family!

“Freyja? It’s us, Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion, can we come in?”

She didn’t wipe away her tears or respond. Freyja was far too heartbroken. Her uncles came in anyway.

“I want to go home!” she wailed “I want my family! I miss my bear!”

Uncle Jaime sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her back. “Don’t cry, little Freyja. Your grandfather will not burn anyone” She sat up still sobbing. Jaime put her head against his chest, letting the tears run down his armor.

“Hey, hey now,” Uncle Tyrion said, his voice soft and kind “Let’s get your mind of that, hm? Tell me about your family, about Bjorn and Ragnar”

“They would have killed that monster!”

Jaime shot his little brother a look and Tyrion’s eyes went wide. “Alright let’s not talk about that! Please, tell me about Bjorn. You talk about him a lot” Jaime took out a handkerchief and wiped away her tears.

“His name literally means bear,” Freyja said, she touched her necklace, “I call him bear because he is protective of me. A bit overprotective, really. He loves me a lot. I am like his daughter”

“Are you?”

“Yes, and he is like my father” Talking about Bjorn made tears swell in her eyes again. “I really, really, really want to go home. I miss my family”

Uncle Jaime got on one knee taking her hands in his, “I understand, little one but I cannot take you home. We don’t have that power”

“But we can speak to your father,” Uncle Tyrion said, “we can tell him how you feel. In the meantime, you have us to come to for anything else”

Freyja thanked them with all her heart. Stepmother came in after her face was back to its normal bright self and she was laughing at a funny story her Uncle Tyrion was telling. Her stepmother comforted and told her she loved her but her King Father did not come in to talk to her. It stung her. Such coldness from a man who had not seen her once, nonetheless this being the first time as a family. Her supper and dinner were brought to her room and she spent most of her time avoiding her father as much as he had been avoiding her. Freyja spent her time with the rest of her new family, She played with Little Rob, had tea with her stepmother, took a long walk on the shores with Uncle Tyrion and Uncle Jaime. Still, Freyja couldn’t help but have a tiny bit of hope that her King Father would speak to her.

Thunder roared through the skies, dark clouds covered the blue sky and sun. Waves crashed against the cliffs dangerously. Every time lightning struck, Freyja was seen walking through the corridors of Dragonstone. The dragons on the walls and their statues looked more terrifying than they did during the day. Yet Freyja was not scared, she could hear her people’s music through the thunder. In between those flashes, she saw the familiar woods of home or at least she thought was home.

“How the little piglets' would grunt if they knew how the old boar suffered?” A voice boomed. He sounded familiar but Freyja couldn’t name the owner of the voice.

A heavy door with the Targaryen sigil opened by itself, creaking. Freyja grabbed a torch from the wall and entered.

“It gladdens me to know that Odin prepares for a feast. Soon I shall be drinking ale from curved horns. This hero that comes into Valhalla does not lament his death!”

Freyja walked down the stone steps, the smell of humidity hung heavy through the air. Thor’s wrath pounding the sky. As she walked, the images of home came flashing back. Somewhere an eagle screeched. The sky was too cloudy for her to see where it was. Freyja followed several more flights of steps until she stumbled on a trap door. She almost missed it through the very dirty floor. Freyja struggled to open it and the door hit the floor with a loud clang. It was very dark down there, she grabbed the torch and squinted to see.

“I shall not enter Odin's hall with fear. There I shall wait for my sons to join me.”

Freyja finally found felt a wooden step and she went into the darkness, careful not to fall. Another image. This time she saw a cage hanging from a tree, sturdy enough to hold a man. Something dreadful will happen here. The closer she got to it the more afraid she was and the more her heart dropped.

“And when they do, I will bask in their tales of triumph. The Aesir will welcome me!”

When she reached the bottom, Freyja was shocked when she came face to face with rows and rows of eggs. All of them as large as a child's head and all of them came in different colors. Their shells scaley and weathered they almost looked to be made of stone. A thousand years old. Freyja put the torch where it could help her see and she picked up an egg, admiring it. Back home, crows circled above her cawing. She braced herself for what she was about to see. There, surrounded by serpents of all sizes, laid her Ragnar. Dead. In the dungeon, the dragon egg burned into glowed but it did not harm her, boiling until it cracked and a baby dragon with golden eyes screeched at her. With Ragnar, Freyja’s screams of terror and anguish turned to the roars of a dragon.

“My death comes without apology! And I welcome the valkyries to summon me home!”

Freyja lurched forward, cold sweat sticking to her skin and her heart pounding. Fenrir padded to his mistress sniffing her to see if she was alright. The princess stroked her wolf’s fur and she was stunned to see that the window was wide open. Thor pounding his hammer furiously.

@lettersofwrittencollective @mellxander1993 @faeeiiry @blonddnamedhandz @-thatgirloverthere- @wanderlustimagines @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @colie87 @whatwhyc-c

#game of thrones #game of thrones and vikings #vikings imagine #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones writing #game of thrones imagine #vikings fanfic #vikings writings #hvitserk x reader #sigurd x reader #ivar x reader

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vulpinmusings · 5 years ago

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Ski’tar and Friends part 19: Bringing the House Down

This week, Ski’tar, Vemir, and 6 head to the Drow planet, Apostae, to catch a thief.

Part One

Last Part

Archive

Our next mission was given to us by Venture Captain Niaj, a pale-skinned gnome. We met her in a room lit entirely by holo-maps of various planets, including a few that Vemir, 6, and I had personally visited. Niaj explained that her primary purpose right now was tracking the Starfinder Society’s trade connections old and new, and that included the recent weapons deals. After the false deal we’d just dealt with had been flagged as suspicious, the Society had cut a new deal with a more reputable source: one of the largest Drow families on Apostae.

Apostae is a real charming world. It has little to no atmosphere on its surface, is honeycombed with networks of barely-explored tunnels made by some ancient extinct race, and the entire planet now basically belongs to those creepy subterranean demon-worshiping elves known as the Drow. I’ve heard that the Drow aren’t as bad as they were back in the pre-Gap days on lost Golarion, and they do have a somewhat reputable weapons trade running out of Apostae.

I still dislike them strongly.

The plan had been for us to accompany Niaj to Apostae to help guard the weapons the Society had bought, but a complication had arisen: someone had stolen the weapons. And for some reason, Niaj didn’t feel up to personally joining us on the new mission to locate the thief and get the goods back. With very little to go on, Vemir, 6, and I were shuttled off to Apostae.

Security around the planet was rather tight – our perfectly legitimate shuttle was scanned by a squad of fighters once we got into orbit, and as soon as we’d stepped out of the ship we were rounded up by some security Drow and escorted to the office of the head of the Drow family we’d bought the weapons from.

We were left waiting in a dim and grimly-decorated office for several minutes before Seobarn Zeizerer deigned to show up. While he said he was sorry that the weapons had been stolen, he felt it was not his business to help us locate them and deal with the thief. The thief in question happened to be a former member of House Zeizerer who had been disowned and ejected for just this sort of deal-interrupting behavior, and as Seobarn explained that to us we all saw that the situation weighed on him more than he was admitting. We reasoned, cajoled, and stole peeks at his computer screen until he admitted that he would very much like to punish the traitor properly and would give us leave to act in his name so long as we didn’t dally. He pointed us to a couple possible informants and, for good measure, gave us twenty-four hours of carte blanche to use his name to get whatever resources we needed, so long as we got the weapons and got off Apostae by the end of that period.

Twenty-four hours seemed like a lot of time to work with, right up until we tried to hunt down the first informant. It took us five hours just to navigate the dome-city of Nightarch and find the guy. Sixer intimidated him into revealing what he knew: the thief was named Violet, and he’d taken the weapons to a warehouse underneath an empty club.

Now realizing that our time was of the essence, we split up to apply our specialties to gathering more information. I hacked my through the planet’s computer network to get a floor-plan of the club and warehouse and spent several hours manually translating Drow in a search for information on Violet’s possible associates. Vemir inquired at a bounty office, got some useful information, and decided to rent the services of a few Orc thugs to give us some extra muscle in case of a fight.

I was not feeling inclined toward fighting our way through the building, so I came up with a plan: once we got to the club, I’d hack into its security system to find where Violet’s gang was hanging out and where the weapons were located. On the assumption that the gang would be hanging out in a central location, I would wire up bombs to blast the floor out from under them and leave us free to just waltz out with the weapons.

Considering my history with conflict-avoidance plans, it should come as no surprise that things did not really go my way.

We requisitioned explosives using Seobarn’s authority and hired some vehicles in order to get to the club faster. We had no difficulty getting past the simple chain-link fence around it. I knew from the floor plans that there was an exterior door that would lead us straight to the freight elevator down to the warehouse, and that door was unguarded. As it turns out, it didn’t need a guard because the lock on it involved some dark Drow magic that I had no idea how to hack through. So, we would have to go through the front door, and that would involve beating up a guard and walking through some hallways.

The front door was guarded by a single Drow, who fell quickly to the fists of Sixer and our Orcs, and the hallway was clear so we had no trouble getting to the elevator. I was still sour about failing to get past that first door, so I hurried everyone along and slammed the button to take us down.

The warehouse was packed with rows and rows of loosely-piled crates. As we stepped out of the elevator, we were greeted by some sort of sulfur-smelling flying imp thing. Vemir fed it a line about us being newly hired help, and it vanished without giving us any more trouble. I, still grouchy, proceeded to stalk through the aisles with reckless determination to get things back on track, and stumbled right into a magical trap that wrapped me up in shadowy tentacles and slammed me around.

It was at this point that I realized I had completely forgotten to figure out where Violet’s gang was before dragging everyone down into the warehouse.

With the grouchiness thoroughly beaten out of me and resigned to the fact that this probably wasn’t going to go smoothly anyway, I decided to just wire the entire ceiling to blow and take down the entire building, just to be sure. These Drow deserved nothing less for making me come to their planet to do extra work just to pick up weapons the Starfinders had bought fair and square.

It turns out we weren’t alone in the warehouse. Triggering the trap had caught the attention of a few Orcs who were overseeing a forklift robot several aisles down. One of those Orcs had been heavily modified with far too many tentacles (assuming there’s a normal number of tentacles for an Orc to have). Between my friends, Toosie, and our own Orcs, I didn’t think my own efforts were needed in the fight, so I resolved to sneak around and check out the forklift bot. As the team dispatched the first Orc with ease, I tried and failed to climb on top of one of the crate stacks and opted to just squeeze through it rather than run all the way to the end and around to the forklift. When I emerged into the next aisle, I saw 6 and Vemir shooting and slashing the tentacle-infested Orc while Toosie traded light blows with the remaining normal Orc. Our own Orcs were busy trying to get to good positions, and one spotted another of the traps like the one I’d set off. Tentacle-orc was thrashing about, and despite all the damage it took it just wouldn’t stop moving. Intrigued, I ran over to see if my decoupler pistol would do the job that knives and cryo-guns couldn’t. Short answer: no, it couldn’t.

One of our Orcs managed to get up on some crates and shot Toosie’s opponent through the head, and about the same time the tentacle-Orc, which was more goo than living creature now, made one last attack that knocked me and Vemir for a loop and then evaporated.

With that problem resolved, we went over to the forklift robot – Toosie in the lead in case of any more traps we couldn’t spot – and checked its load. The box it had been moving was full of weapons with Starfinder insignias roughly scratched out. So, hey, target acquired. As I was instructing the robot to move the box to the elevator, everyone split up to start setting up the bombs. Sixer triggered another trap in the process, but he took it like a champ. Vemir walked by a comm unit just as it turned on to broadcast the voice of Violet Zeizerer asking what all the noise was about. Vemir had one of the Orcs try to bluff that the forklift had just dropped its load, but Violet wasn’t fooled. Turns out he actually knows the voices of the Orcs that work for him.

In what would turn out to be a less than wise move, we tried to intimidate Violet into letting us just walk out by alerting him to the bombs we’d set up. The guy decided to send goons down anyway and get himself out of the building while we were occupied. I set the forklift robot into motion and we all hustled to get good positions before the elevator arrived. There were four Orcs and two Drow inside. Vemir and 6 opened fire to mixed results, and then the enemy Orcs piled out and engaged our trio. One of the enemy Orcs got the bright idea of climbing up the nearest stack of crates to remove the bomb that was stuck to the ceiling there. Using its hammer. The resulting explosion reduced the Orc to chunky salsa and collapsed some of the ceiling. The Drow team were not deterred by this; one of the Drow lobbed a grenade that killed one of our Orcs and harmed one his own and his buddy. I stepped out my cover and shot my laspistol at the grenade-thrower.

As Vemir moved in front of me to line up a shot, one of our Orcs bashed in the skull of one of the Drow’s Orcs, bringing the Orcish numbers back into balance again, while our other one shot grenade-Drow square in the chest with its cryo-pistol to great effect. The Drow who had been hit by the grenade tried to punch 6 and broke his hand, then stumbled backward into one of our Orcs, who’s gun went off right into the Drow’s spine. It would have been awesome if I could have seen that first hand, but Vemir was blocking my view. As Vemir related the sequence of events to me, laughing, the remaining Drow and one of the enemy Orcs took advantage of his distraction to hit with him a one-two blast of sonic and cryo guns. Vemir was hurting bad and wisely withdrew into cover to drink several healing serums while Toosie and I advanced to finish the fight.

Sixer engaged one of the remaining Orcs with his word, and the Orc responded by trying to shoot him. By luck, the bullet ricocheted right back into the Orc’s head, taking another enemy out of the fight.

I was starting to think 6 had suddenly become some sort of android demi-god the way things kept going perfectly his way.

The forklift robot was approaching the elevator at this point, dragging the mushed remains of our earlier fight along with it, and our current fight was pushing back into the elevator. Things were about to get a bit tight.

As the forklift loomed ever closer, 6 and the remaining Drow entered the elevator and struggled over the buttons while also trying to kill one another. Toosie and our Orcs pushed the remaining enemy Orc into the forklift’s path by accident while I missed my shots repeatedly. Our Orcs cleared out of the forklift’s path in time, while Toosie had to dodge away at the last second. The enemy Orc didn’t get away in time. 6 and the Drow were unaware of their impending death by forklift, so I told our Orcs to rush in and pull the Android out. They couldn’t shift 6, but their effort alerted him enough to avoid being completely crushed as the forklift, undeterred by all the viscera, dutifully completed it route. The Drow and one of our Orcs were utterly squashed, 6 was pinned painfully against the wall, and the last of our faithful Orc thugs managed to get out of the situation mostly unharmed.

Violet had apparently been watching the show via some remote security feed, as while were riding the elevator up he commed to inform us he was long gone and that Drows never forget.

So that’s another enemy that may show up again later.

Once we were clear of the building, I triggered the detonator. The blast erupted through the middle of the club, and then the whole structure collapsed inward into the warehouse below. It was a wondrous sight, but a small part of me was disappointed that the building had been fully vacated first. The point had been to take out Violet in dramatic fashion and maybe earn some points with Seobarn. Still, we had what we’d came for and just enough time left in our diplomatic immunity to get to the spaceport and away with minimal questioning by the authorities.

On the journey to the spaceport, 6 and Vemir got it into their heads to bring the surviving Orc back with us rather than return him to Apostae’s slave market. The Orc was quite reluctant to accept the proposition, having been raised in the system and quite well trained, but eventually my buddies brought him around. I stayed out of the whole argument since I honestly didn’t care one way or another.

The return trip and reporting to the bosses went off without much of note. Zigvigix was willing to take our Orc on as an Exo-guardian recruit and was glad to finally have some actual weapons for his teams. Niaj gave us a basic congratulatory debrief, and we went off for post-mission drinks. At the bar, a Drow approached us and gave us a card. Inside was fifty credits and a note from Violet reminding us that he was still out there and that we were on his list.

Drow are weird.

#ski'tar #Starfinder #Vulpin plays

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annes-andromeda · 6 years ago

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GOT Virtues AU: The Lions and Their Cubs

N/: Finally, something not Jon related😅. So in this AU, the Lannisters own Lions and I wanted to make a drabble showing how they got them. I’d like to think that here, animal relationships are important. So expect some direwolf and dragon drabbles on the way. And maybe even a kraken one. *gasp* Have I said too much?😆

Tywin Lannister was a man to be feared, that much was known. His presence alone was enough for an entire hall of men to stand in silence and listen to this proud lion roar. The Warden of the West was currently at a matter of business with the lords of the Westerlands.

His three children: Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion were all waiting out in the halls of the Golden Tooth where Tywin had been sent to resolve the matter. Jaime and Tyrion sat side by side, while Cersei stood by the door, listening to her father’s every word.

“Why are you still standing over there?” Jaime called to his sister “A political meeting is no place for children”

“Shush!” Cersei said, hushing Jaime “I’m trying to listen! Unlike you, I actually pay attention to what father has to say. You might learn something from it”

“Well sure. Learn that father could never loosen up when he was a child”

Tyrion snickered alongside Jaime, earning a nasty stink eye from Cersei

“Unlike you, I actually listen to father. Properly” Cersei sneered “I’m sure if you’ve remembered, but there’s a reason father has us practice every day with our virtue”

“Oh of course, I remember. I especially remember the scrapes on my knees I earned afterwards”

“And don’t forget about that one time you got a cut lip and battered knuckles” Tyrion said, addressing Cersei not so subtly

Cersei simply scoffed at her imp brother “Like you would ever know or understand what it’s like to live with such power”

“And I do not wish to know” Tyrion said “I think will all those bruises, it shows that your place should be in the court and not the field”

“We’re not meant to use them for fighting” Cersei snapped back “The eldest child holds The Dusk and we’re learning how to control them. Not for petty fights, but for survival”

“Perhaps fighting and survival are more or less in the same context” Tyrion said

Jaime simply sat idly by, watching his siblings argue. For a child of eight years old, Tyrion knew how to use his words cleverly. Sometimes, he even sounded smarter than his fifteen year old sister.

The sound of chairs pushing in and footsteps were heard, and Cersei moved from the doors as they opened. Men walked out of the room, with Tywin coming out last.

“Were you waiting for an invitation to the meeting?” Tywin said, looking down at his daughter “Or have you been missing my lessons that much?”

Cersei didn’t answer, and instead followed her father along with Jaime and Tyrion.

“Father, can we go to the marketplace? Just for a bit?” Cersei asked

“And what would you hope to find there? A new dress for your closet?” Tywin said, never looking over his shoulder

Cersei scoffed at that “No, I could just get the tailors back home to make one for me”

Jaime stepped in “I believe what Cersei’s trying to say, Father, is that she saw something in the marketplace that peaked her interest”

Tywin stopped in his tracks, and turned to his children. He sighed deeply “We’ll stop at the marketplace for a moment, and you can use your money to get... whatever you considered special enough to be in your delicate hands”

——————————————————————————————————————————

The Lannisters stopped their horses at the marketplace in the Golden Tooth. It was rowdy and all the stands were full of food, cloth, or steel. Tywin offered Cersei gold coins that he had in his saddle.

“Don’t think I’ll be the one paying for it. Now go on, show us what was so eye catching that you had to stop me on this endeavor of mine”

Cersei rolled her eyes, walking towards the stand she had seen while on horseback. Jaime and Tyrion followed her, not knowing what she was doing.

“Did she secretly drink wine while on the way here?” Tyrion asked Jaime. The older boy simply shrugged, walking behind Cersei who stopped at a stand with a large pen in it. It held a litter of kittens, each piling up on each other. The Lannisters stared at the cats, with the male members eyeing Cersei in a not-so-fond way.

“Cats?” Jaime said “That’s what you thought was so amazing? Cats that father could buy in Lannisport?”

“No, you idiot!” Cersei said, grabbing Jaime’s arm and pointing behind the kittens “Look behind there! Don’t you see them?”

“See what?” Jaime turned his head, tarting to catch a glimpse of what she was looking at.

Cersei scoffed frustratingly. She walked up to the salesclerk “Sir, could you open these gates for me and my family? I’d like to make a purchase for your finest felines”

“But my lady?” The salesclerk said, easy with his words “The creatures you speak of are right before your very eyes. Wouldn’t you like to purchase them? They come at a good price”

“I don’t want to buy any of these cats” Cersei said “They’re boring. The ones I saw are all the way in the back. Open these gates or I’ll have your stand removed”

The salesclerk hesitated, but opened the gates for Cersei. She walked into the pen, ignoring all the kittens begging for her attention. Instead, she strolled pass them and stopped to where her prize was. Three felines lay together: one black, another white, and the last cream.

“These are ones that I saw” Cersei said to her father “They’re not ordinary cats. Their-“

“Lion cubs” Tyrion finished for her “The white one appears to be a hrakkar. They’re only found across the Narrow Sea where the Dothraki live”

“I want one” Cersei stated “A lion will be perfect for the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms”

“You’re not Queen yet, young lady” Tywin said “And a lion would be far too dangerous to keep in a confined space. What could these cubs bring to the table that would be of any use to us?”

“What if...?” Jaime stepped in “They were to be trained?”

Tywin turned to his eldest son “What are you suggesting?”

“What if we took all three of the cubs, one for each of your children, and they were trained to be guards. Think about it, there are people out there who want to steal our virtue. The lions could protect Casterly Rock if someone were to steal The Dusk from me or Cersei”

Tywin thought for a moment. Jaime had a point. The Dusk was the pillar of Casterly Rock, and if someone were to steal it, they’d need another pillar to hold the castle in place. Lions were perfect for the Rock. And they’d provide the best security, more so than regular knights or guards.

“You’ll make sure stay fed and well trained. I will not have rampant pets under my roof” Tywin said, walking out of the pen while the children grabbed the cubs. Cersei grabbed the black one, Jaime the white one, and Tyrion the cream one.

Cersei gave the coins to the salesclerk, and climbed atop her mount alongside the other Lannisters. She looked down at the black cub, and smiled “Your name will be Everan. You’ll be the most feared lion in all of Westeros, and men shall tremble at your feet”

The cub now named Everan simply stared at his new owner, not knowing that what she said would become true in the years to come.

——————————————————————————————————————————

While on their journey back to Casterly Rock, Tywin insisted that the cubs be put through their first test. A test to see how each lion would survive on their own.

“But they’re only babies” Tyrion said “They won’t be able to wander out there on their own”

“They won’t be alone” Tywin said “We’ll be right here behind them, observing to see what kind of training they’ll have to endure”

The cubs were dropped from the children’s arms and walked aimlessly around the fields. Everan snarled at his younger siblings, and lead the pack with pride of that of a king.

Cersei held her head high and smirked proudly “It appears I’ve picked right cub. Everan may be young, but he holds himself like a true pack leader”

The white cub, instead of backing down, snarled back at Everan and ran through the grass carelessly.

“He seems a bit reckless” Jaime said “But my cub seems to hold his ground quite well. He’ll be as fearless as the Rhoynar and the First Men” He stopped for a second, and then his eyes lit up “Hmmm, perhaps Rohar would be a good name for him. To remind the people of where his strength comes from”

Tywin looked at the cubs. This test seemed to be working well for the first two, but the last lion was having trouble catching up. The cream one was nearly at the heels of the horses they were riding, barely making an effort to catch up to Everan and Rohar.

“She doesn’t seem to be moving much” Tyrion said, looking over his horses head to watch the lion walk “There’s something wrong with her”

“If she can’t learn to make a move, she’ll be left in the dirt while her brothers roam the world” Tywin said, as he signaled on of the guards to come up

The guard grabbed the sheath of his sword and struck the cub, making it tumble on the ground. The lion could be heard giving a yelp of disapproval, and the dirt became red with the blood of her wound.

“You hurt her!” Tyrion yelled, getting off his horse and grabbing the cub “She’s bleeding! Why would you do that?!”

“Because she needs to learn” Tywin said “If she’s going to protect the Rock, then she needs to be prepared for any threats. She can’t be walking aimlessly around the castle while a stranger walks into its walls”

Tyrion looked at his father with hatred, but stopped as he turned to the lion in his hands. The sheath has struck her face, leaving a scar on her face that went from her left eye to the bottom of her right cheek. The wound was reassuringly not deep. Has the sword gotten deeper, the cub would’ve not have been able to get on her feet or make her cry of anguish.

“I’ll take care of her” Tyrion said to his father “Whatever’s wrong with her, I’ll try and fix it. She’ll protect Casterly Rock proudly, I promise. You may not see it, but she’ll be the strongest and biggest of them all. I know it”

A scoff could be heard from Cersei, but Tywin paid no mind to it. Tyrion was so determined to keep his new pet, and Tywin had no interest in starting an argument with the dwarf.

Tywin turned to his other children “You too, grab the other cubs. We’re done with their tests. For now”

Jaime and Cersei grabbed Everan and Rohar, while Tyrion climbed back onto his horse. The female cub could be heard purring into Tyrion’s chest, her wound no longer bleeding. The cut would affect her sight on her eye greatly, but it wouldn’t stop her from living.

Tyrion looked down at the cub, smiling fondly “I shall name you Cira. You will wear your name proudly, and you will wear it like armor. You’ll be stronger than any of the First Men or even any of the Unsullied across the Narrow Sea”

Cira looked up at Tyrion, licking his face lovingly. Tyrion giggled softly “You are my cub. And I’ll be your momma. Not your master or your owner, but your momma and your friend. And you shall be mine. From this day, until my last day”

Cira settled into Tyrion’s lap, accepting that this boy was her home. And she’d do anything to protect it. The same could be said for Everan and Rohar, who would make their owners proud.

Very proud.

#game of thrones #my writing #virtues au #tyrion lannister #jaime lannister #cersei lannister

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mister-e-mime · 8 years ago

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The Dramatic Return

“No. All my great plans… ruined!” The words echoed in the dimly lit room, filled with piles of wooden beams, broken pillars and all kind of strange ornaments. A few Goblins rummaging through the piles were startled by the scream, but quickly returned to their previous activity as the oppressive silence returned to the room, only disturbed by the sound of water dripping down from the ceiling.

In the center of the room sat a lonely figure on a throne of some sort, flanked by a monstrous wooden statue from behind. It was actually more a like a giant battered marionette than a statue, as it consisted of multiple moveable parts, several missing, and currently stooped over the throne as if no one was pulling its strings.

The figure in the throne slightly resembled the giant puppet, wearing a menacing helmet with a large hairdo, spiky epaulettes and red gloves adorned with garish white bangles. The rest of his upper body was bare and was rather lean and pale. Below that he wore khaki jodhpurs with a gaudy red belt and high boots. All together a truly dramatic ensemble.

But this look, although flashy, has just like the rest of its surroundings seen better days. There was wear and tear everywhere and it didn’t seem to fit his wearer all that well. The helmet and epaulettes seemed a tad too large, causing them to shift. The right eye of the mask was normally covered by a mechanical monocle, but was replaced by the bottom of a bottle. All in all a rather ragged look fitting in with the rest of the room.

The masked man slumped in his throne as he looked at a scale model of a complex airship lying at his feet, surrounded by little wooden puppets in tiny outfits. Most of them were wearing hoods in beige, blue and red, but one had a completely black outfit with a pointy hood and cape. He grabbed this black puppet and took off his cowl, revealing a blank white mask covering the faceless head.

“How could I have failed? I planned every little detail. Every piece was primed, individually, for years on end. The stage play was so extensive, the script immaculate… How did we get to this premature curtains?” He clenched his fist around the puppet. “Such farce! That arctic aristocrat shouldn’t even have noticed my masterpiece until it was too late! Who spoiled my spectacular finale?”

He raised his other hand as if he had strings attached to them and the disk on the palm of his hand started to glow. Next to his chair, a life-sized wooden puppet in his likeliness came to life and rose to its legs. “This seems like a dreadful reenactment of your original drama. Everything laid out in detail, working as it should and then completely ruined by something as trivial as a bunch of rodents revealing your rehearsal studio!”

He stood up and kicked the scale model of the Zeppelantern into the room, hitting one of the Goblins straight on the head. The little creature yelped in pain and scurried away. “I will not go down so easily!” the man shouted into the darkness. The puppet just stood there stoically as if he was watching the masked stranger’s outburst. “This was but the first act! No deus ex machina will ruin my grand design! Dramak the Schemer will not fade into the shadows! Not before the World of Twelve has seen and tasted my talent!!”

At the mention of this name, the puppet seemed to stir and his wooden monocle lit up. The masked monologist hesitated for a moment. “Yes, yes, Dramak the Second. I know. But I’ll show you: I’ll surpass you and become the greatest villain the World of Twelve has ever seen! Even Ogrest and Harebourg will dance to my tune! Once I’ve rebuilt your theatre and gained the power of the Dofus, I will become the one true Puppet Master!”

His dramatic punctuation was interrupted by the sound of a piece of scenery that came crashing down in the back of the room. Two Goblins appeared out of the following dust cloud: “Sorry, boss-man. Goblin dung no good cement!” Dramak put his face in his palm. “How did you ever manage to get anywhere with such subpar stagehands? Sigh, it’s so hard to find good help these days.”

He stretched out his hand and as his palm lit up again, the two Goblins were lifted up the floor as if strung up by invisible strings. “Listen to me and listen well. I’ve given you nails. I’ve given you hammers. I’ve given you every other tool required to rebuild this stage. Dung is not, I REPEAT, is not one of them! Do you understand?!”

The two imps looked sheepishly at their master, at each other and then back at him: “So what we use dung for then?” “You can eat it for all I care. But if I find one grain of excrement in my theatre, I will strip your skins and use them to mop the lavatories!!” He swung back his hand back and by an invisible force the Goblins were launched into the back of the room.

He swiveled around to face the puppet again: “Now, where were we? Right, my glorious comeback!” At that moment both he and the puppet stopped dead in their tracks and looked at the small Hoodlum puppets lying on the floor. “No, it can’t be…” Dramak walked up and kneeled next to them. “Yes! They’re alive!” He held the black hooded puppet that had been holding all this time close to his ‘monocle’. “Faintly, but he’s still there.”

He stood up again: “Ha-ha! What a wonderful plot twist! Not even the Cursed Count could take out my pawns! And now they’re there, in the eye of the storm, almost at the feet of the Ogre. The stage is set, the actors ready. My second act can unfold as scripted!” He took a closer look at the little white mask. “And with an unexpected bonus!”

“That foolish Frigostian has unwittingly given me a powerful plot device: he has charged my mask of mimicry with his most potent spells. Now my masqueraider will be invincible! From peon to demigod in one instant. Even my Machiavellian mind couldn’t have conceived such brilliant turn of events.” He shook the little puppet at the Puppet Master marionette: “Now watch me succeed where you failed!”

He jumped back into his seat and grabbed the control paddles in the armrests. As he started pulling them, the huge puppet in the back came to life: it came back up, outstretched its arms and its right eye and hand palms started to glow. In front of him the tiny puppets got to their feet and lined up before him. "Now, to turn this temporary tragedy into a full-blown spectacle!"

#dramak #wakfu #dofus #masqueraider #hoodlum #hoodfella #mask of mimicry

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lightening816 · 8 years ago

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So last night, I was chatting with Beckham, AKA @themarquisofdorks, and I came up with this ridiculous Modern AU where we worked as double agent criminals for The Red Hats’ Mafia in a more modern Cheesebridge, all from The Boxtrolls.

Mr. Snatcher is the big bad crime boss, Mr. Gristle is his weapons technician, Mr. Trout is his brute muscle, Mr. Pickles is his right hand, and Beckham and myself are double agents for the Boxtrolls. He pretends to be Snatcher’s backup lackey, and I am Beckham’s platonic gun moll (in real life, we’re just good friends, but I pose as his moll so that I can stay around as Snatcher’s informant).

My Boxtrolls OC, Pepper, is the victim of a rigged adoption after she accidentally witnessed the head bashing of local inventor, Herbert Trubshaw, who’s head injuries keep him from pointing out his perpetrator, much to the despair of his wife, Marjorie and their little son, Arthur. Snatcher forged a background check and illegally adopted her, right from under the nose of her manageress, Lady Portley-Rind.

When Pepper comes in, asking for something from her brute of a father during on of his meetings, he’ll send me to go tend to her needs. Pepper loves his stooges, especially Uncle Becky and Auntie Lucy.

...

The third floor of the Snatcher and Son's factory in Cheesebridge, England was dimly lit as people of various ages sat across from a wide, smooth desk make of dark wood. A thin line of smoke made Lucy, a young woman wearing a long blue gown and a red headband in her hair, place a hand near her nose. Next to her was a young man with short blue hair and a handsome brown business suit, Beckham Marque. They stood across from three older men, a beanpole with a cone shaped head and worrying eyes named Mr. Pickles, a giant with bulky arms, thin legs, and a cauliflower ear named Mr. Trout, and an imp with black rimmed glasses and ice blue eyes named Mr. Gristle. The last of them held the handle of a club in one hand, patting the end of it onto the palm of his hand.

His giggles made Lucy a little nervous, but she knew better than to complain. After all, it was The Boss's turn to speak."Have the preparations been met?" A thick, oily voice said from behind a huge red, leather chair. "Yes, sir," Lucy confirmed. "The Mayor will pass the Curfew Bill any day now." "Excellent," the voice replied. "Boss," Beckham had the nerve to interject with blushing cheeks from the nerves. "I want to be the one to go out ahead of time and scout for those Boxtrolls." Everyone looked at him as Lucy nibbled her bottom lip.

"J-Just to get a head start on those monsters, ya know?" He insisted. The voice from behind the leather chair chuckled, causing Beckham to tremble in stress as well as a little bit of excitement. "I admire your spirit, Mr. Marque...but Boxtrolls will never come out as long as the sun is up. We'll have to wait until sunset. Simple as that," the voice concluded. "But, if Lucy and I could-" "Mr. Daniels, I will not say it again." Lucy took his shoulder, causing the boy to sigh. "Very well..." "Good show," the leather chair swiveled around, showing its occupant as a tall man with thin limbs, and a enormous potbelly that shifted as he moved. His ovular face held the coldest gray eyes Lucy had ever seen. As if to say that he had probably seen plenty of grown up things she and Beckham could only dream of. Mr. Archibald P. Snatcher smirked a little at the disappointment on the boy's face. He loved implementing his authority at the best of times, especially as he put out his old cigar and lit up a new one. He pushed back loose strands of thinning brown hair, tied back.

"Mr. Gristle, how are you with weapons?" "GUNS!" The two kids flinched, before Mr. Gristle showed a arranging gun with a net attached. He placed it in Mr. Snatcher's hand surprisingly gently, so that the Boss could really examine it. "Hmm...nice projectile, firm elastics-" he shot at an empty corner on the wall, getting a stir out of all of them except Mr. Gristle. "And shoots at a reasonable distance, well done, man," the Boss concluded. "Now, Mr. Pickles, have you identified every sewer entrance in town?" "Yes, Boss," the beanpole replied, as he plucked out a map of the steep hill of Cheesebridge.

Mr. Snatcher grumbled at a couple of imperfections here and there, but accepted it all the same. "We will use this one until you can make up a new one," he replied plainly. "Oh! Yes, Boss," Mr. Pickles accepted, with a hint of disappointment. Mr. Snatcher nodded as he turned to the gentle looking giant. "Mr. Trout, has the agreement with ‘Loch, Stacchi, and Barrel’ gone through?" "Yes, Mr. Stacchi is willing to accept the discounted payment for gas, like you said." "Perfect! I knew he'd see things out way." He rose from his chair and strides towards his employees. "Lady and Gentlemen, we are coming upon a new era for our little 'family' as it were. With this new curfew in place, we'll surely be able to destroy every Boxtroll in this town. And I will take the place past Snatchers should have taken before me, a White Hat!"

"Ooh..." the rest of them replied.

A White Hat meant power, prestige, and position. Only a man of valor, chivalry, wealth, or fame could even dream of winning such a prize. It was sure to be Snatcher's soon. "My descendants shall always know the power of respect and brotherhood. Just think of it: Snatchers are, in my experience, a league all their own. A prime example of civilization and culture!"

"Daddy?..."

Everyone spun around and in the doorway stood the smallest 6 year old any of them had ever seen. Her long deep, red mop of hair fell gracefully down her shoulders and her brown eyes were wide and full of life, despite their innocence. Lucy looked on her with compassion, Beckham with fondness, and the stooges with humor and joy. Snatcher, on the other hand, grumbled.

"I told you to stay in bed," he said with almost a threat in his voice. "I-I-I know but I can't sleep." Snatcher rolled his eyes and sighed. "Again? This is the third time this week!" He exclaimed, unamused. Pepper seemed nervous.

"Damn that little runt, never sitting still-Lucy!" "Yes, sir!" "You're a girl, go put Pepper to bed!" "Me? I don't know much about putting kids to bed." "I know you don't, but you'll do as you're told. Mr. Marque, you will supervise." "I-I will?" "Yes, I'm done with you two for now anyway. Off with you."

...

Pepper enjoyed the company of her Daddy's stooges, especially Uncle Becky and Auntie Lucy. Every since Mr. Snatcher had caught them and brought them home like he had with her, she didn't feel as lonely. She also felt more tired. During their off time, they would watch the likes of Inertia Tumbles, Andrew Galaxy, and Pepper's favorite: My Small Horses: Love is Enchantment.

After Lucy got her ready for bed and Beckham cooked them something to eat in Mr. Snatcher's fancy, rustic loft, they watched a couple of episodes of Inertia Tumbles, only to have Beckham and Lucy tuck her in just after the second episode. "Am i going to bed?" "Yes, Miss," Beckham replied. "I don't want to go to bed." "Aww, why not?" He asked. "Because I want to watch Flyer-Meek in My Small Horses. She's my favorite." Lucy laughed. "Me too, tomorrow perhaps."

They sent her to sleep and left her there in her pitch black bedroom. Lucy sighed. "Saying 'goodbye' to her is going to be tough when they find out whose team we're really on," she explained, looking at a cardboard box on the counter. Beckham smirked. "Who says they have to find out?"

#Modern AU #Pepper Snatcher #themarquisofdorks #lightening816 #Lucy #Beck #Beckham #Archibald Snatcher #Mr. Pickles #Mr. Trout #Mr. Gristle #My Small Horses: Love is Enchantment #Andrew Galaxy #The Red Hats #The Mafia

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sparetimeentertainment · 8 years ago

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To Share, A Marth/Roy Short by SpareTimeEntertainment

Written for my dear friend @ckr-the-cat!

The sugar twinkled as it caught the morning light, an enticing white glaze that shimmered in the fine sun of mid-morning. Placed there among its baked brethren, the sweet pastry scroll upon which the topping was layered sat, fresh and inviting, before it was torn from its rest by a hand and raised to meet the discerning eye of a man on a mission.

“You’ll do,” he said, before placing the treat onto a platter already occupied by other delicacies on offer around the generous dining room. The room was empty save for one or two service staff, who dutifully moved recently-used platters and cutlery from the tables. They worked around the pastry thief, whose odious work went unchallenged until a voice came from the doorway.

“Still hungry, Lord Eliwood?”

The lord in question, a dignified man of thirty-five, spun on his heel fast enough for the movement to stem from genuine surprise. He caught the sight of the elegant Altean princess, Elice, and cracked a relieved smile. The young woman giggled, a fine sound devoid of malice.

“Ah, princess. I thought for a moment you were your mother.” The redhead glanced at the sweets in hand, back to the girl. “Still, it seems I’ve been caught red-handed.”

“How do you know I’m not?” she laughed. “Father says I look more like her every day.”

“And Cornelius is right,” Eliwood snapped back good-naturedly, brazenly retrieving another sweet from the platter. “But even if you were your mother, she wouldn’t tattle, would she?” He handed the new pastry encouragingly to the girl. “Come, walk with me. I have to deliver these to my wife, and I would adore the company.”

Taking the fresh bread from the man and biting in, Elice fell in line behind him. “Is the lady Ninian feeling better?”

“Better, yes. But she’s still a few days away from full wellness.”

“Does she always get like this, your grace?”

Eliwood’s face settled on fond melancholy. “Every few months. I know the illness so well, we could set our clocks by it.” He turned to face the princess’ inquisitive eyes. “Still, it has never worsened, not even after she had Roy. I thank the Saint for that.”

“Would my healing staff help?” Elice asked sweetly. “Sometimes I can cure father of a stomach ache.”

“You’re a delight, princess,” Eliwood said, chuckling courteously. “But I’m afraid only time can help. Where is the King, anyway?”

“My father is, ah…” she consulted her memory as she took another bite of her pastry. “Meeting with the Commander, I believe.”

Letting out a low whistle, Eliwood turned the corner in the hallway. “I don’t envy him,” he said. “I’ve always found those particular mercenaries to be a little churlish. More so than most.”

“You just like Ogma’s group more because you see them more,” Elice jibed. “They aren’t too bad, honest. They’ve only been here for a few days.”

“I swear to make an effort for you, princess!” Eliwood laughed. “They are necessary for the security of the region, after all. Who else is yet to arrive, do you know? Ninian could do with something to look forward to.”

“Let’s see… there’s King Fado arriving on the weekend, bringing the twins. And Lord Sigurd’s family is coming on behalf of his father, they’re due tomorrow.”

“Goodness, Sigurd and Deirdre too? That’s quite the voyage. Last I saw them, Seliph was just a baby. If he’s grown even half as beautiful as his parents…”

“Oh yes,” Elice gasped. “They say admirers are already gathering at the port.”

“Oh, that will be wonderful,” Eliwood sighed. “Your father is good for holding these annual meetings.”

“What about you, Lord Eliwood?”

“Hm?”

“You and your family are here much more often than any of others. Several times a year, for a week or more at a time…”

“Well,” Eliwood thought out loud, scratching his clean-shaven chin with his spare hand. “Pherae is so close, Hector’s too busy, and Lycia does need to maintain ties. It’s a natural fit that I should come.”

Elice shook her head, blue locks curtaining her face. “I mean you and your family. How do you handle being away so often?”

“Well, Ninian and I…” the older man gave off a laugh to stifle his embarrassment. “We’re fine so long as we have each other, and Roy.”

“But doesn’t Roy get homesick?”

Nodding, Eliwood finally stopped outside the heavy oak door which led to the quarters currently allocated to him and his wife. “Sometimes,” he says. “Roy has a lot of friends back home. But I think he’s fine here. Because he has your brother.”

Elice’s face lit up. “Marth? He likes my brother that much?”

“Oh yes,” Eliwood confirmed with a fond laugh. “To the point their names are uttered in the same breath. They veer from the kitchen earlier on, to the library, to the barracks…”

From the gardens a loud banging noise suddenly reverberated throughout the castle, causing both lord and lady to jolt with surprise.

“In fact,” he said, “I’d put good money on that being them now.”

Laughter came in stops and starts of exerted breath as two boys ran, sprinting through the open doors leading to the castle interior. The taller of the two, an upright young man with a groomed head of dark blue hair, grabbed the shorter by his torso and threw them both over the back of a large plush dais. Soaring over the backrest and hitting the soft cushion below, both boys held their breath as a pursuing wave of jade magic sizzled over their heads – and impacted against a nearby vanity, knocking it and the flowers atop it to the ground with a loud bang.

The younger boy, a redhead with a kind and thoughtful face, panted as he observed the damage. “Well,” he gasped between breaths. “I didn’t plan for that.”

Untangling himself from the redhead, the young prince Marth, dusted himself off and rolled over so that he was on his back next to his friend. There the two laughed, a mix of relieved chuckles mingling in the air as their blue eyes, both warm and wide and welcoming, stared into one another’s.

“Are you okay, Roy?” Marth breathed, “Did he get you?”

Keeping his head firmly below the sightline of the dais, other boy sat up. “I don’t think so,” Roy said, patting himself down. “What about you?”

“I think I’m alright,” Marth started, before reaching around to his cape and pulling it up – a triangle of cloth had been cut out of its hem, severed clean by the cutting edge of the wind magic. The sight of this caused Roy to laugh again, the younger prince’s giggling causing Marth to start laughing in turn.

As he laughed, Roy leaned back, his hand coming to rest against the soft cloth of his own cape – where the fabric proved frictionless, sliding across the velvet of the couch without difficulty. Separated at once from his balance, Roy fell back with a yelp – but not before flinging out a grasping hand that clutched at anything for balance. Pulled forward by his shirt, Marth also stumbled forward, and after a brief moment of panic managed to stabilise himself with outstretched arms.

He then realised that he hung directly over the Pheraen prince, the blue in the younger boy’s eyes suddenly enhanced by his closeness and his surprise. Without meaning to, Marth gasped as his breath was unexpectedly taken by Roy’s visage; everything, from his crimson locks flattened against the cushions, to his pale skin – unblemished save for the flushing of his cheeks – was pure and innocent beauty.

“Umm… Marth…” Roy mumbled from beneath the azure prince. “Are you okay?”

Swallowing hard, Marth watched Roy’s lips as they parted and pursed to release the concerned sounds. The throbbing heartbeat in his chest whispered to Marth. How nice it must be to kiss them.

“Y-yes, my apologies,” Marth breathed politely as he helped the other back to a seating position. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

Roy’s shade deepened as he realised he had neglected to withdraw his hand from Marth’s, their fingers momentarily flexing comfortably together before the redhead withdrew his in a hurry. “W-we’d better get going,” he stammered. “They probably saw us come in here.”

Marth murmured in agreement, and the two flustered princes rose ungracefully from their hiding place – unaware of the human mass that loomed behind them.

“Too late,” it declared.

A great python of an arm, a jointed clamp of youthful muscle, coiled its way around Marth’s neck with frightening speed. With a sudden pull, the arm’s owner jerked Marth in, pinning the boy against his torso and keeping him there. In the chaos, only Roy noticed the glint of gold as it fell to the ground – and instinctively moved as he saw the new entrant’s foot, stomping blindly as he balanced to restrain Roy’s friend, threaten to trample it.

Roy dashed in, taking aim at the lean torso of their assailant and unleashing a vicious jab with his gloved fist – only for it to produce a dull thud as it was stopped by a wall of hard muscle.

“Mistake number three,” came the other’s second interjection.

Roy was kicked off his feet as the figure swept one leg across Roy’s shins with surprising force. Hitting the floor with an ungraceful thud, Roy’s hands scrambled, fingers clasping around the object he needed and holding it close to his chest. He rose to one knee – and suddenly spluttered with difficulty as a muscled arm, identical to the first, now wrapped its way around his neck in turn. Pressed against the same torso as Marth, Roy looked up to face his captor.

He had known it immediately. The speed, the ferocity. He was only a year older than them, barely fifteen, yet his body was a honed weapon compared to theirs – a body ready for war.

He also was actually quite pleasant, when he wasn’t angry at you.

“Hey Mist, come look at this,” said Ike of the Greil Mercenaries. “I’ve caught two grubby little imps.”

Skirting around him, as always, was his little sister. The demure brunette, a usually sweet girl of seven, laughed lightly as her brother admonished the two boys he held in headlock. Roy couldn’t help but notice she had a wooden spoon in her hand, worryingly free of any signs that she had been baking.

“I gave you two rules when I arrived here,” Ike started, voice dripping with menace. “What were they?”

Marth spluttered. “Lord Ike…”

“Still not a lord, kid,” Ike squeezed tighter. “What were they?”

“L-lordlings are worms!” Marth squeaked out.

“There we go! Lordlings are worms.” Ike nodded approvingly as he turned the pressure from blue prince to red. “And the other?”

Roy groaned with difficulty as he answered. “Y-you mess with Soren…”

“…You answer to me,” Ike finished. “And imagine my surprise, you’ve messed with Soren. That was your first mistake. Second was getting caught.” Ike’s binding arm tensed further, causing Roy to splutter. “Still,” Ike said. “I expected it from Marth – the prettier the prince, the grubbier the attitude – but you, Roy? Father tells me you Pheraens are smarter than you look.”

“Ike, p-please,” Roy coughed, “we weren’t trying to-”

“Mist, whack him.”

The girl stepped forward, and, brandishing her spoon, knocked Roy cleanly on the scalp with it. Roy cried out in surprise, the pain of the light impact heightened by his gasping for air.

“Ike, please!” Marth gagged. “You’re hurting him!”

“Mist, him too.”

Now Marth yelped as Mist gave him a sharp smack across the crown of his head with the instrument.

Roy’s eyes turned from watching the girl to the doorway behind her – seeing a silent figure draped in raven cloth. There, clad in sable and with a sombre expression, was the young mage and tactician-in-training, Soren. His burning scarlet eyes glowered through at Marth and Roy with a unique contempt, pride and defiance mingling on his face to disguise hurt. Visible as always on the boy’s forehead was the sharp birthmark that indicated him as a Branded, half-caste child of two species. The odd boy, with his long dishevelled black hair and perennial expression of judgemental disdain, struck Roy as tragic. His face was weighed down by frowns. Moving for the first time since his appearance, Soren revealed his hand and the object it held: pinched by the string between forefinger and thumb, a cloth bag weighed down with soft contents.

“Think you were being funny, did you?” Ike snarled. “Think you were the first ones to think of that? I’ve dealt with gossiping princesses more daring than you two.”

“Ike, we weren’t making fun of Soren!” Marth gasped between wheezes.

“And I have a sword made of gold,” Ike growled. “You little royals are all the same.”

“Really, Ike!” Roy gagged. “It’s-”

“Enough,” Ike declared, quieting both with a firm pull of his arms. “I don’t give two figs about your excuses.” The mercenary suddenly stepped forward, dragging both princes along to bring them before the black-clad boy. “Now, I have had to do this to many little snobs across many different castles, and I’ve learned that the heads of bratty little princes don’t just pop off. They squeeze. Soren is going to open this bag you threw at him, and we’re going to smear whatever’s inside all over those prized faces. Then I’m going to squeeze some more.” Ike leaned down, whispering to both restrained princes caught in the fleshy stocks of his build. “No-one messes with my Soren.”

Hardly able to breathe, much less speak, Marth and Roy watched as Soren agonisingly loosened the drawstring on the cloth bag and reached in with a gloved hand. Feeling around grimly, Soren’s eyes never left the accused princes as he scooped up a handful of its contents and brought them up to the surface…

“What the…?”

There, crumbling away between the baffled student’s fingers, was a lump of doughy pastry.

“Hey, Soren,” Ike mumbled, loosening the grip on his captives ever so slightly, “you… didn’t have to switch the bags around. You don’t have to protect these guys.”

“I… I didn’t,” he replied softly, staring at the sweet bread in disbelief. Opening the bag with both hands, Soren gazed in to find the thing piled high with baked goods pilfered from the kitchens.

“We never see you at mealtimes,” Marth added from his headlock, causing Soren to look at him with fresh surprise. “Father says you’re always studying.”

“I read a lot too,” Roy gasped, nodding as best he could, “but not nearly that much! We were worried you weren’t eating enough.”

Silence held court over the proceedings for a long moment, the quiet of consideration broken only by the soft splutterings of Marth and Roy.

Ike released both boys with a shuffling of his strong arms. They collapsed to the ground in two piles of slumped lordling, gulping in sweet oxygen and rubbing at sore necks, soothing wounded prides.

“Well, blast,” Ike pondered, pleasant surprise finding its way onto his face in the form of a smirk. “Looks like we didn’t give you two enough credit.”

“Look alive!” Came Mist’s chirping voice, and the girl leaned over both princes with a petite trainee healing staff, the instrument flashing blue briefly as its curative powers relieved the boys of their reddened skin and throbbing heads. Then, realising she still had the spoon in her other hand, smiled by way of apology and tucked the weapon of blunt trauma into the blue ribbon wrapped around her skirt.

Ike’s great arms moved again – but this time, they stretched out in firm welcome to invite Marth and Roy above their recuperating position on all fours. Accepting gratefully, they rose to their feet, where they met with a sheepish smile from their Crimean counterpart.

“Well, I have no excuse,” Ike said. “I called it wrong this time. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright, Lord Ike,” Marth said, recovering his princely posture instantly. “In hindsight, maybe throwing the bag wasn’t our finest idea.”

“Yeah,” Roy added, then turned to Soren. “I’m sorry if we scared you. We didn’t want to… we just thought you… we didn’t think we’d be welcome.”

The eyes of the withdrawn young man in question welled with uncertain emotion. He glanced to Ike, who smiled and nodded encouragingly, then turned to address the princes.

“Ike brings me my meals after the designated times. I eat with him,” Soren explained, a near-invisible blush entering his cheeks. “But, thank you for your concern. I will share these with the others.” He completed the sentiment with a deep bow, a strangely courtly motion for the unusual boy.

“Lordlings are still worms,” Ike said after a pause, grinning. “But you two are lords. Come by anytime.”

Marth and Roy’s faces lit up with success, looking at the Crimeans first, then to each other in the rush of accomplishment.

“We’d love to!” Roy exclaimed.

“Thank you, Lord Ike!” Marth celebrated.

“Heh,” Ike grunted. “Still not a lord, Prince Marth. Come on, Mist.” Turning around and kneeling down, the young girl eagerly jumped onto her brother’s back and clambered up, hands and limbs scaling the surface of his body. She perched herself on his shoulders, legs and arms gripping tight the laughing young man’s head.

Stabilising Mist’s legs with one arm, Ike rose and turned to Soren, who was still looking at his unexpected benefactors with curious gratitude. Ike held out his other arm, hand firm, inviting, reassuring. Soren took it without hesitation, the motion clearly something of a ritual between the two. The brooding boy’s uncharacteristic blush intensified as Ike’s fingers enclosed his own, squeezing tight and giving off warm waves of presence. Then the three walked away, boys clasped together, and Mist giggling all the way.

Blushing, the two boys that remained hadn’t realised the display had left them in awe, their hands brushing together as they had beheld the overwhelming security and devotion of the two. When at last the moment expired, Marth brushed himself down once more, rubbing at his still-aching neck and then sweeping the fringe out of his eyes. Realising the lack of a particular weight, Marth’s hands turned to his blue locks – and his eyes went wide with worry.

“Roy!” he burst out. “It’s gone! My circlet is…”

“Marth,” Roy replied, holding out a reassuring hand.

“W-where did it go?!” Marth demanded, eyes going to the floor as he spun around on his heel feverishly. Roy’s hand tugged at Marth’s sleeve until the other prince faced him. Held out in offer, in Roy’s other hand, was the shimmering golden circlet.

“I saw Ike accidentally knock it off,” Roy explained. “I knew he’d stop me and possibly step on it if I tried to grab it, so I…”

“That’s why you tried to…” Realisation dawned on Marth’s face, and with a flooding of gratitude flung his arms around the redhead. He’s warm, was the first thing to flash through Roy’s head as he felt the soft comfort of Marth’s presence surround him with thankfulness.

“So, it was given to you by your sister?”

The two were now in the library, Marth and Roy having pilfered cushions from the dais and piled them into a corner in the cool, dim space of learning. They leaned against the wall, Marth smiling fondly at the circlet as rubbed it down the hem of his shirt and delicately slid it into his azure hair.

“Yes, my sister and Caeda. It was when she had to go back to Talys after spending a year here,” Marth’s eyes were full of memory. “I wonder how she’s doing now.”

Roy smiled. “You have a lot of friends, huh?”

Giving off a polite chuckle. Marth leaned back and thought. “Oh, yes. Caeda and I write to each other, there’s Merric – he’s studying in Khadein – Gordin, Draug, Cain and Abel…”

“I met them at the trainee meet the other day!”

“That’s right,” Marth confirmed with a nod. “And that’s not even mentioning the friends from other Kingdoms. I have friends in Macedon, in Aurelis, Grust...”

“W-wow,” Roy stammered, suddenly feeling quite small. “That’s… a lot.”

“Oh?” Marth noticed the other’s hesitation. “Surely it’s the same for you?”

“A… a little,” Roy replied, head perched on his tucked knees. He thought of Lilina, and Wolt, his own friends and vassals. He also had friends scattered all around, but…

“Marth?”

“Mm?”

“Will you promise me something?”

Hesitation. “Sure.”

“You don’t even need to hear it first?”

Marth’s hand touched Roy’s encouragingly. “Go on. Say what’s on your mind.”

Roy swallowed back his nervousness, finding the other’s presence comforting. “Well… I want you to promise that we’ll always be able to see each other.”

The Altean prince cocked his head inquisitively. “Why wouldn’t we be able to?”

“Well, I just…” Roy struggled with the words. “I can’t shake the feeling that we’re not supposed to be able to do this.”

“What do you mean?”

Struggling with the words, the Pheraen toyed with the hem of his cape frustratedly. “I mean… everything is so nice. Mother and father bring me here all the time, and I love being here. But…”

“But…?”

“But I get the feeling it’s not supposed to be like this. I imagine this world, or rather this set of worlds, where Elibe and Archanea and Magvel and Tellius are all… divided. Inaccessible to one another, like a curtain has been drawn across them.” Moving forward onto his knees, Roy put his head in his hands, suddenly struggling to hold back the wavering of fear in his voice. “And in those worlds, pain and tragedy fester like wounds… and the people we love are hurt. I… I don’t even want to think about it. But I can’t help it.”

“Hey.”

Roy felt warm hands on his own, and slid them off his face – his eyes opening to see Marth, on his own knees, before him with the most serene expression of calm Roy had ever seen. Patience ruled the dashing prince’s movements as he guided Roy’s motions, keeping one hand intertwined with Roy’s while placing his other on Roy’s hip and pulling him forward, until all the boy cared to see was Marth’s eyes – which burned with purpose and patience.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be together,” Marth breathed, the words filled with precious meaning. “But since we are, I want to be part of your life.”

His eyes glassy and reddened, Roy squeezed Marth’s hand. “As in, while I’m here?”

Marth shook his head elegantly. “As in, always.”

The twin heartbeats of the two princes pounded to crescendo as Marth, no longer able to contain the emotion pounding in his heart for the redhead, leaned in, lips beckoning. Roy, for his part, watched with eyes half-lidded and surrendered to the comfort and the love the prince offered, the blush in his cheeks and the heat in his head proof enough that, no matter how strange it might have seemed…

They belonged together.

Roy gave off a soft murmur of content as their lips met, feeling naught but perfect adoration for the other prince, his gentleness and elegance suddenly filling the Pheraen with blissful images of a life to spend together. Suddenly the moment was over and Marth withdrew, looking sheepish.

“Was… was that alright?” he asked, doubts clouding his eyes.

Wordlessly, without hesitation Roy reached out and cradled Marth’s head in his hands, placing a trio of his kisses on the other boy – cheek, nose, and lips. “Y-yes,” Roy whispered with a giggle. “I’m just– I’m so happy to have you.”

Marth’s embrace now wrapped around Roy in turn, pulling the prince close as their love radiated out from their castle of cushions, in their quiet little kingdom in the corner of the library.

“And you always will,” Marth breathed.

Blinking back tears of joy, Roy nodded as they let themselves fall in love, a laugh shared with every grateful beat of their delighted hearts.

“M-mother, please!”

“Hush, darling! They’ll be here any moment!”

Roy glared indignantly at the ground as the lady Ninian, improved but still weary-looking, dabbed at her son’s face affectionately with a handkerchief, clearing his cheek of the remnants of the day’s morning tea. His father watched on smiling, as did Princess Elice and, more importantly, Prince Marth. The blue prince shot his new lover a glance of understanding reassurance as he endured the doting.

“There, all done!” The cerulean woman flashed a smile as she re-examined her boy’s face. “See? Much better.” She gave Roy’s pale cheek a gentle squeeze to complete his humiliation.

Eliwood caught sight of the body language Roy now shared with Marth, seeing the comfort, the confidence. “Roy,” he said in offer. “Would you like to join King Cornelius and his family in greeting our new guests?”

A smile spread across Roy’s thought at the idea, and he glanced at Marth, who nodded. “Yes, please!”

Taking his place under King Cornelius and Queen Liza – both of whom greeted him with warm smiles and a hand on the shoulder – Roy waited for the cheering of the throngs who had gathered to meet the latest arrivals to this royal conference.

What started as a murmur among those closest to the garden gates soon grew to applause as, in a blaze of royal presence, the crowds parted to reveal Sigurd and Deirdre. They were the very image of a perfect union, splendid lord and beautiful maiden, seeming to walk just above the ground, perpetually graced by flower petals and fanfare. White and blues and purples in endless regalia, they stopped before the King, and all the necessary rites were spoken.

Then, ceremony was done. “Sigurd, you look well!” Cornelius boomed, his voice carrying across the gardens. “And milady, you are as exquisite as ever.”

Deirdre nodded, and the forest maiden began to reply in turn – but her words suddenly became of lesser interest to Roy than her smaller doppelganger, a girl not much younger than he, who gazed at Marth with unbreaking eye contact.

“Marth,” Roy whispered. “Who is she?”

“Oh, her?” his lover whispered back. “I am told that her name is Julia. Seliph’s younger sister.”

“There’s two of them?” Roy asked, the slightest hint of threat in his voice. “Just my luck. All anyone ever talks about is how pretty there are.”

“Roy,” Marth laughed. “Relax. I’m not about to-”

“Sister!” a new voice hissed, interrupting their exchange. “It’s rude to stare.”

The heads of both princes turned to watch as a boy, about their age, talked to young Julia with a patient, if frustrated voice.

“But, brother,” Julia said. “He looks rather like you.”

“Be that as it may…”

From their angle, Marth and Roy could only see the boy’s strong frame, lean like his father, and sharing his crop of blue hair. Although, it struck both that he was a softer soul than Lord Sigurd, gifted great gentleness by the Lady Deirdre. Prepared for the typically Chalphian features of a handsome face, Roy felt assured –

And then Seliph turned around.

He was, quite possibly, the most beautiful boy that Roy had ever seen. He was at once effortlessly handsome and exquisitely attractive, his soft flowing locks of rich blue hair framing a face of supreme softness. His eyes conveyed generosity and nobility, and his smile was a thing of wonder. Everything about the lordling inspired reverence and adoration, and indeed Roy could not stop the heart pounding in his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, turning to Marth and Roy, his voice as rich as his looks. “This is her first time on one of these expeditions. How do you do? I’m Seliph, of Chalphy. My father represents Duke Byron and wider Grannvale.”

Marth shook his hand with all the composure he could muster. “M-Marth, of Altea. Son of King Cornelius.”

Roy was next, as Seliph courteously turned to him. “A-and I’m Roy, son of Marquess Eliwood of Pherae. We represent Lycia.”

“Such fine company!” Seliph chimed with a chuckle, a harp-song that graced the air with its presence. “I wish to get to know you two very well.” He cast a glance over to his family as he heard his name called, then turned back to the two princes with a pleading smile. “I will return as soon as I am able.”

Giving a courteous bow, Seliph then left them – and both princes exhaled breaths they had kept stuffed in their lungs. Turning to face each other, both examined that the other was beet red. The lovers each felt ugly guilt blossom in their stomach, their relationship only a day old and already a source of confusion.

Marth was the one to broke the silence, as he saw Roy’s expression transition from guilt to worry.

“Hey,” he said, angling Roy’s chin to face him. “He’s out of my league.”

Roy was unable to stifle the tiny sliver of cheer that came to him, the snigger becoming a chortle, and the chortle a laugh. “I – I’m glad,” he gasped between guffaws.

Marth wrapped an arm around his shoulder and kissed him in his hair, causing Roy’s face to flush crimson.

“M-Marth, not in public yet!”

The prince chuckled. “I know, I know, just needed to prove something to myself.”

“Which was…?”

He held Roy closer. “That he can’t make you blush like I can.”

Smiling with reassured confidence, Roy’s clung to his Marth by the arm and turned back to face life – the life that was theirs to share.

#fire emblem #marthroy #marth #roy #marroy #ike

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