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connan-l · 3 years

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Skeletal Doll

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationship: Michel Bollinger & Morgana, slight Michel/Giselle in the background

Summary: Michel had met her as a soulless skeleton, hated her as a witch, saved her as a girl — so of course he would do his possible to keep helping her even a thousand years later.

Content Warnings: Death mention and depiction of a corpse, slight trauma, vague allusions to child abuse and Michel and Morgana’s pasts.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Michel and Morgana’s friendship means the world to me.

Takes place post-canon/Reincarnation, so spoilers for all the games.

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That place always smelled like death.

Whenever he would cross over the chapel, climb up those long, interminable stairs and open the door leading to the room on top of the tower, a suffocating odor of dust and mold and dried blood would flare up his nostrils.

To be honest, he didn’t really know what “death” smelt like, but if it had a smell it certainly would be this one.

This should be repelling — something that would make anyone run away with a grimace, but for some reason, it had the exact opposite on him. It drew him in.

The skeleton — the corpse — that rested there, immobile, at the bottom of the room had an unusual alluring attraction to it. An attraction that couldn’t help but makes him comes here regularly, once every few days.

He knew there was something deeply unhealthy about this routine he had created. Climbing a tower to spend time with a skeleton was deranged, creepy. Mad. In his darkest hours, he thought with irony that maybe his family had been right about his lack of sanity, after all.

Whenever he would go down the stairs and stir away from the tower, his stomach would turn and an urge to threw up would overwhelm him. He felt disgusting and unsightly. Taking comfort in the corpse of an abandoned mansion, how depraved was that?

And it was not a positive kind of comfort, either.

Even so, he still stepped forward towards the dead body. He stared at it in silence for a long time, then after some hesitation slowly sat next to it.

When he was a child, his mother would often gift him dolls. Pretty, girly little things, that were certainly made by skilled artisans and must’ve been quite expansive. He had played a bit with them when he was really young, but once he started growing up he began to actively hate them and to hid them away in their house, to his mother’s chagrin. He couldn’t help but think she seemed to love these dolls a lot more than he ever did.

At some point, he started to wonder what girls even found alluring to these — if he were to be honest, they looked more creepy than pretty to him. Those were miniature little girls who stared at you with glassy, vacant eyes without moving, without flinching no matter what happened to them. They were just like dead bodies.

He had came to hate dolls over the years, and yet, now almost an adult, he found himself playing with one, except the difference was that this one was a real dead body.

The skeleton wasn’t really all that different from a doll to him, he thought cynically. It wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing, wouldn’t flinch no matter what he would do to it. He played make believe with it, talking to it as if it could answer, embracing it as if it could understand his pain and loneliness.

He could pretend pitying the poor thing, look down on it for being more pitiful than him, and found some kind of sick comfort in it.

It was both his plaything and his companion, and the only thing in this manor that could bring him some sort of peace and solace.

Slowly, he extended his arm and brushed the dirty bones with his fingertips. They looked so frail, so feeble, that he thought he could break them just by doing so. Yet, when he reached out to the fleshless hand and hold it in his tightly, the bone stayed solid and firm.

It was cold, and lifeless, and rough. The doll didn’t flinch at his contact, like always.

He knew this was miserable and pitiful and creepy and insane.

But at this point he was just as broken and dead as this skeleton, and in the end it did not matter.

So he kept holding the bony hand in silence.

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Michel woke up with a start. Beads of sweat ran down his face, his messy hair clung to his skin disagreeably, and his chest struggled to get back a normal breathing.

In his upset, half-asleep state, his first reflex was to look around him, his eyes searching for Giselle — but she was just next to him, sound asleep, just like she had been when he first went to bed.

In the past year they had been together, he had noticed Giselle was a pretty heavy sleeper, unlike him. She never seemed to wake up in the middle of the night, or to have nightmares, for that matter. A part of him wondered if she slept so much to get back at all those centuries she had spent without experiencing tiredness.

Either way, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep now. He looked at the clock on his bedside, which indicated ‘02:17’ of a faint red light, and sighed. He gently kissed his fiancée on the forehead, then got out of the bed as silently as he could so as to not wake her up.

His legs were still trembling when he stumbled into the kitchen, the emotions of his nightmare fresh in his mind. Now that he was awake, he couldn’t really remember what the dream had been about — his past life, definitely, but which part of it precisely was unclear… Usually it was those miserable months he spent suffering Aimée’s abuse, or his brothers’ betrayal, or the way his corpse had been crucified. Sometimes all of those blended in together and he couldn’t make any difference between the events anymore.

Having memories of his past life was odd — sometimes they felt like fibers of his imagination, something so far away he made it up himself and could almost forget it at any moment, and at other times it felt so vivid that it was almost like he was back there again. Dreams were when he had the most palpable experiences, almost as if he revived those moments in real time, but nowadays they weren’t all that frequent and happened rarely. He wondered if Giselle or Morgana felt the same too, though he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

His mind still a fuzzy mess, he grabbed a mug and turned on the machine coffee, which purred softly as it started to work. The sound felt reassuring somehow, grounding him in reality and reminding him he was in the 21 th century and not lost in a cursed mansion in the middle ages. When his coffee was finally ready, he felt the need to get some fresh air, so he snatched a vest and his mug and headed towards the door.

Michel stepped into the building’s courtyard and breathed the cold air of the night. The sky was still dark outside, but he couldn’t distinguish any stars, as per usual in Paris. That was something he missed from the mansion — being able to see a beautiful, black starry sky, which was impossible here in such a big, polluted city. He hadn’t cared at all about the sky or the stars during the ten years he’d been locked inside the cursed house, but when Giselle arrived this changed, and from times to times she would drag him outside in the middle of the night so they could watch the stars together. Michel had found this annoying at first, but little by little he’d started to secretly enjoy it, though he never admitted as such to her. So he was sad this was a habit they couldn’t reproduce here in their new home.

As a sad smile rose up on his lips, he was about to take a sip of his hot coffee when suddenly he caught sight of something moving. His first thought was that it must be a stray cat or a dog, but quickly his imagination began working and he got worried. What if it was a thief? Or worse, what if the building was actually haunted and it was a ghost? Honestly, among the worst parts of having his past memories returned to him was that now he knew that stuff like ghosts and curses were real, and so sometimes he couldn’t help but be a little paranoid. He certainly had his fair share of bad spirits for the next hundreds of centuries.

Michel quickly surveyed the area, then tried to look for something to defend himself with — unfortunately the only tool he could find was an old broom Giselle must’ve forgotten here the day before. It certainly wouldn’t be very effective against an actual threat, but it was better than nothing, so he grabbed it tightly, slowly advanced towards where he heard the noise while brandishing his made-up weapon… and then a scream resounded.

There, he didn’t see a criminal or some supernatural creature… but just a young girl who looked at him with two wide golden eyes.

“M-Morgana?”

“Oh my God! Were you going to hit me with this thing?”

The girl stared at him with disbelieved eyes which quickly morphed into a glare, as Michel stood there with the broom still up in the air.

“I-I thought you were a thief!” Or a ghost — but that, he wasn’t going to tell her. He shook his head and quickly put down the broom. “A-Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” the girl replied dryly.

“Morgana. You’re pacing in the courtyard at two A.M.”

“So what? Is that illegal now or something?”

“No, but most people don’t do that. Most people sleep at two A.M.”

“Well, clearly, you’re not sleeping either.”

Well, she had a point, he supposed. But he wasn’t that much of an obtuse fool to not notice this was a way to try to deflect the conversation and put the matter on him.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“Why is that the conclusion you’re jumping to?” Morgana replied defensively, but somehow, Michel instantly knew he was right.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked gently.

“I did not have a bad dream. Good grief, do you even listen to people when they talk?”

She sighed in an annoyed way, then began to play with one of her long red lock with her finger. Her hair was let down and she was still in her nightgown — a strange sight to Michel, as he wasn’t used to see her without her braids like that. It made her seems a bit more vulnerable than usual somehow, an understanding he had caught her at a bad time he chooses to be considerate enough to not press the topic any further — he knew well enough that trying to make her talk would only close her off even more, anyway.

“Well, I had a bad dream.”

Morgana arched an eyebrow. “I’d guessed as much. And?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at Morgana’s cold indifference. “Usually when people tell you they had a nightmare, you ask if they’re all right and what the bad dream was about, you know.”

The girl eyed him from head to toe, then crossed her arms. “You seems fine. And I am not interested in knowing what your dream was about.”

Michel smiled wryly. “As expected of you.”

“I have always thought it was stupid to ask someone what their bad dream is about. They said ‘talking about it make you feel better,’ but it’s a lie, I have never felt better after talking about a nightmare. It is not going to erase it not matter what, so why bother?”

“Is that why you don’t want to talk about yours?”

Morgana narrowed her eyes, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to though, Michel already knew what she was thinking.

“It’s not the first time you wake up in the middle of the night because of one either, right?”

“And how would you know that? Are you stalking me?”

“No, I have ears, and I do notice you seem to make quite some noise while the sun isn’t up yet.”

Morgana seemed a little surprised at that. She probably didn’t know Michel was aware of her nocturnal walks — and to be fair, it did took him a lot of time before noticing them, given she was as discreet as a cat. It was only when he himself had sleep troubles he would remark that his neighbor wasn’t as asleep as she should be.

“Well,” the girl said after regaining her composure. “Again, I’m not the only one, am I?”

“That’s true, but I am not trying to hide it.”

“Me neither. That’s just none of your business to start with. Also, are you really not trying to hide it? I wonder if Giselle knows about these, hmm?”

Michel frowned, as the provocative voice tone of the teenager in front of him started to get under his skin. “She does know, actually.”

“Oh really? Then you don’t mind me asking her tomorrow?”

His frown deepened and he had to muster all he could to not glare at her. Most of the time, the three of them were getting along perfectly fine, but if Michel were to push Morgana a little too much about a topic she didn’t like, she would resort to some of her manipulative tactics from when she was a witch. Michel wondered sometimes if she did it in purpose or if it was just a habit hard to kill for her. Either way, he still didn’t appreciate her doing this, at all.

“In case you weren’t aware, after everything that happened I swore to not keep any secrets to Giselle anymore. You can ask her if you want, but I already told her all about my nightmares, so I’d rather you’d stop threatening this kind of underhanded blackmail, would you?”

“Then stop putting your nose in my business, and when I told you I have no bad dreams then that mean I have no bad dreams.”

She glared at him coldly, then turned around and disappeared inside the building, before almost slapping the door behind her.

Michel winced and let himself fall on the bench in front of the house, before staring at the sky with exhaustion. Morgana could be so annoying, but still he hadn’t meant to anger her — he genuinely was worried about her, and had thought that there was maybe a way he could soothe her nightmares. That certainly wasn’t healthy to wake up in the middle of the night so often.

He took a sip of his coffee — which was now lukewarm — and kept gazing at the pure black sky, trying to find any glimpses of some stars or of the moon.

But he couldn’t find any.

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“—and then she told me I didn’t need it! Can you believe that? How on earth does that makes any sense?”

“Hmm.”

Giselle was spacing around in the living room agitatedly while Michel stared outside the window and nodded vaguely to every sentences she uttered without actually understanding their meanings. He wasn’t sure what his fiancée was upset about — and he knew that he should listen to her, but somehow her words couldn’t manage to pierce through his thick skull that was currently engulfed by other worries.

“I mean, I like to think I’m a rather patient person, but there are still some limits, you know? What am I supposed to do now?”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, Michel. Are you listening to me?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Michel, this morning I went out and killed your father so that we could eat him for dinner. Does that sounds good enough to you?”

“Hmm, perfect.”

Giselle suddenly placarded her hands on the table brusquely, almost knocking over the water pitcher and glasses that were on it. Michel jumped and practically fell off from his chair, before blinking with incredulity at the frustrated woman in front of him.

“I’ve been talking to you for at least half an hour!” She exclaimed, offended. “Did you even realize I was here at all?”

“Y-Yeah, of course… Sorry, I was… lost in thoughts.”

“Well, obviously,” Giselle said dryly before crossing her arms. “May I ask what’s worrying you so much that you’d dare to ignore your beautiful, lovely future wife?”

Michel smiled a little in an apologetic way, but thankfully Giselle didn’t seem all that angry. Maybe screaming in the void about what had frustrated her had been enough to soothe her mind, even with her partner not paying attention to her at all.

“Really, I’m sorry,” he added. “I was just… well, I didn’t sleep well last night, you know, so…”

Giselle hummed pensively, then took a seat at the table and sat in front of Michel, her face now serious.

“Another bad dream?”

Michel sighed and nodded vaguely, his gaze falling once again outside the window next to him.

“What was it about?” Giselle continued gently.

“I don’t really remember it… It felt too blurry and far away… I just know it wasn’t a good one. But that’s not actually the thing that’s bothering me right now, not really.”

Giselle arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It’s Morgana.”

She narrowed her eyes at this, and her expression became unreadable. Michel wondered if that meant she had been expecting it, or if that was something else entirely.

For all the time they’d known each other, Giselle still felt like a mystery to him sometimes.

What he had told Morgana yesterday had been the truth — in the past year they’d been together, he had always tried his best to be as open with her as possible, even with things he’d rather keep to himself.

He just didn’t feel like Giselle tried her best to do the same in return. In fact, it felt like she would often actively shut him down and tried to hide things from him.

But that wasn’t an issue that mattered right now.

“I came across her last night after I woke up from my nightmare. You know how I told you I noticed she often wandered around in the middle of the night?”

“Yes. Well, her having nightmares wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“I tried to talk to her then, but she just ended up getting angry at me.”

“Not surprising here either. Is that what’s bothering you?”

Michel sighed. “It might not be surprising, but that’s still worrying me. I wish she could be… more open about her problems, at least with me.”

“She might have said she wanted to move on with her life, but you can’t expect her to suddenly act like a whole new person. It’s only natural for her to want to keep some things to herself.”

Giselle’s jade eyes shined of an odd glow as she said this, and her mouth formed a tight line. Michel couldn’t help but vaguely wonder if she was talking about herself more than Morgana, but quickly chased the thought away.

“I’m aware, but still…”

“Well, if it bothers you that much, just go apologize to her the next time you see her and try asking her more subtly. Just don’t pressure her, or she’ll shut down completely again. She trusts you more than anyone, Michel, so I’m sure she’ll talk to you when she feels like it.”

Giselle smiled at him — the same kind smile that always managed to make his heart beat a little faster — and he slowly felt the knot in his stomach untangle itself. It was amazing how just a simple chat with her managed to instantly make him feel better.

“You’re right, I’ll do that,” he said while returning her smile. “Thank you for listening to me.”

“You’re welcome. Maybe next time do the same thing with me when I’m angrily complaining about clients.”

Michel grimaced. “Uh, right… Sorry about that.”

Giselle giggled and winked at him. “I forgive you. I still feel better now that I got to yell in to the void, even if you didn’t listen to a single word!”

Michel smiled again as he watched her head towards the kitchen, then heaved a sigh. He might also feel a bit better now, but Morgana still preoccupied his thoughts. He felt that he’d be unable to accomplish anything until he was able to see her again, so he decided to go talk to her as soon as possible.

Morgana was still at school at this hour, but her classes should end in two or three few hours. Michel didn’t know her exact schedule, but she generally came back around four or five in the afternoon. He could just wait for her here, but somehow he felt unable to stay put while doing nothing, so he had the strange impulse to go get her to her high school directly.

He didn’t realize how bad of an idea it was until he reached the building and saw the groups of teens hanging out all around. Michel had pretty much only bad memories of his high school years. He had been an awkward, introverted and solitary kid uncomfortable in his own skin — and this added to his growing body and newfound gender identity had created a lot of issues both at home and at school. His parents were thankfully decent people in this era, so there was no abuse, disownment or forced confinement involved, but it didn’t mean it had been easy for them to understand and adapt themselves to the situation. And that was without even including the weird dreams and flashback that sometimes plagued him from his past life, which at the time, without his full memories, he had no idea what this had been all about and was quite disturbing. Yeah, it had not been a fun period at all for him.

So somehow, setting foot once again near a high school and hearing some teenagers’ laughters and teasing revived some dreadful recollections and anxieties he hadn’t felt in about a decade, and it instantly made him feel like wanting to turn around and run away.

Don’t be ridiculous, he started to tell himself. You’re a twenty-eight year old grown ass man, why would you feel anxious approaching a bunch of high school kids?

He took a big inspiration, then got closer to the school’s gate with firm steps. He felt some the kids’ eyes fell on him questioningly, probably wondering what this weird, tall white-haired dude they’d never seen before was doing at a high school, and Michel couldn’t really blame them. Still, he tried his best to ignore them and his gaze darted left and right, desperately looking for some familiar red braids that would pop up at a corner. He kind of had the sensation of being like a father waiting to pick up his kid at the school’s gates, except Morgana wasn’t his kid and she wasn’t an elementary school child so it just felt doubly ridiculous and embarrassing.

He waited patiently for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. After twenty and still seeing no trace of the girl he was looking for, he started to question whether Morgana was actually finishing much later today. Or worst, maybe she had finished earlier and had already left. Michel bit his lip, and looked around at the group of high schoolers. At this point, he really couldn’t feel dumber than he already was, so he decided he might as well try to ask.

Trying to bury his nervousness about having to talk to some teenagers — except for Morgana, he hadn’t talked to one in years — he slowly approached the nearest group, constituted of two girls and three boys. The kids stopped chatting as soon as they realized the weird white-haired man wanted to talk to them, and they exchanged a confused glance with each others.

“Um, sorry to bother you,” Michel started, and he hated how awkward he sounded. “Would you happen to know a girl named Morgana? She’s short, with long red braided hair, and she kind of always have a glare that make her seems like she wants to kill you.”

At first, the kids’ faces scrunched up in bafflement, but one of the girls’ face lit up in understanding.

“Oh yeah. She’s in my class.”

Michel sighed in relief, then continued: “So are your classes finished already? Do you know where she is?”

The girl, Morgana’s classmate, tugged at one of her blonde locks while staring at Michel suspiciously. “We finished an hour ago, yeah… but, uh, who are you?”

“I’m—”

Michel opened his mouth, then realized suddenly he wasn’t sure what to answer. Her friend? He certainly was, but it sounded off to answer this somehow. Her landlord? True, but here again it didn’t sound like a good answer. The poor guy who found himself dragged into her thousand years revenge scheme against his will? Yeah, right.

“—her uncle,” he finally concluded. Right, that’ll do it for now. “I was supposed to meet her after she was finished, but…”

“Uncle?” One of the boys repeated in a joking tone. “Wow, so that weirdo isn’t some kind of cursed ghost and has an actual family? Ow!”

“Shut up, you’re not funny,” the blonde girl curtly replied while elbowing him in the ribs.

Michel looked at them and arched an eyebrow. “Are you friends with her?”

The boy chuckled. “Friends? No, we just see her from time to time.”

“She’s alone most of the time,” Morgana’s classmate added, shrugging. “I’ve never seen her hang out with anyone here. It’s not like we didn’t try to include her when she first came here, but… she either refused or ignored us. So, well, we left her alone.”

She added this in an annoyed tone, which meant Morgana’s cold behavior had slightly peeved her. Michel smiled wryly at this. It wasn’t really a surprise, as this was something he had kind of suspected already. Morgana never told them anything about her school life, but knowing her it wasn’t hard to guess she wasn’t especially looking for friends at her school. Still, a part of him couldn’t help but be a bit sad about this. As someone who had also been pretty much friendless during high school, he hoped Morgana would’ve been able to get at least a normal teenage life this time around.

“Either way, if you’re looking for her you won’t find her here. She left a while ago already,” the blonde girl continued.

“I see… Would you know where she went?”

The classmate winced. “Well, I’m not really sure, but… if I have to give it a guess, she’s probably at the graveyard again."

Michel kind of felt his brain shut down. "G-Graveyard...?"

He heard some of the boys snickering again, but they didn’t add anything when their friend shot them a glare.

“Yeah. There’s a small cemetery not far from here. From what I’ve seen, she goes there regularly, at least once a week.” She shrugged. “Gotta admit, it’s not a very common hobby. I think she gets along well with the graveyard caretaker too.”

Michel felt too stunned to say anything. Why on earth would Morgana go to the cemetery? And regularly, on top of that?

The only reason for that would be if someone she used to know was buried there… but Michel knew that both her mother and stepfather were still alive, and that she knew nothing about her birth father. So, her grandparents, maybe? She never talked about them. It was possible, but even so, it seemed a bit off for her to go visit them so frequently given how… distant she had seemed to be with her family.

“Well, uh… I see,” he finally added once more. “Thank you.”

He asked the teens where said graveyard was, and after they gave him directions he waved them good bye and finally left the high school. The place was indeed quite close from here, only about fifteen minutes of walk, right after a little church. Most of Paris’ cemeteries were quite big and carefully taken care of, but this one seemed to be the opposite of this; it was small, appeared badly maintained and almost abandoned, really. Michel stepped inside, and while looking for any trace of red he couldn’t help a shudder to spread through his body. It was desert and quiet, and almost felt like penetrating into some kind of eerie parallel world.

When he walked through the forest of large, gloomy tombs, a wind of nostalgia submerged him. He had only been to a graveyard a rare few times in his life, and the last was probably at least five or so years ago, when he went there with his mother to take care of his grandparents’ tombs. He had already lost all four of them — the last one was when he was three years old, and he had only brief, vague memories of the funerals. Even in his previous life, he had never known any of them either, as they all died long before he was even born — even before Georges was born, actually. Only Didier had known them, but even then he had been so young he had no recollections of them, according to what he had told him.

Lost in his own thoughts, it took him some time before realizing there was something off in his field of view. The place was completely empty, not a soul seemed to breath around, but then a few meters away from there he spotted what looked like a silhouette squatting on the ground. It was shaking and breathing heavily, as if hyperventilating, and curled up very tightly as if they tried to disappear. It would’ve been worrying and Michel would’ve intervened regardless of who this person was, but once he noticed the long burgundy braids falling behind the trembling shoulders his concern went up a notch and he ran towards the curled up girl.

“Morgana!” He exclaimed, his voice filled with panic as he kneeled down next to her and grabbed her shoulder. “Morgana, are you okay?”

However, the girl didn’t react at all to his questions, didn’t even glance at him. It was as if he wasn’t even here. Michel hesitated a moment, then tried to shake her gently and call her name once again — but nothing managed to get a response out of her. Her golden eyes were vacantly staring into the void, as if her soul itself had left her body, and an unpleasant feeling ran down Michel’s spine as the horrifying memory of that instant he had found the young girl dying on top of the tower flashed back into his mind. The sensation of her livid body in his arms felt as vivid as it had back then, and it unconsciously made him tighten his grip on her shoulder.

“Morgana!”

Finally, the girl tensed, and then she turned her head towards him. Her eyes very slowly regained some life and shine.

“You…” She uttered. “Ah…”

Michel wanted to feel relieved he’d managed to get her back, but… something felt off. The way she stared at him — it was like she was seeing a ghost or something. She didn’t seem to be here, even now.

“Morgana? Can you— Are you okay?”

“Um… I— Yes. Yes.”

All while talking, she eyed Michel from head to toe, then drifted her gaze on his hand on her shoulder, as if trying to analyze the situation bit by bit. Then she slowly started to get up, but her legs were trembling and she was clearly struggling to gather her strength, so he grabbed her arm firmly and helped her stand up. He didn’t let go until he was sure she stood steadily on her own two feet. She turned her head towards him, and then Michel thought he was the one hallucinating this time. Because she offered him a small smile, and gently uttered “Thank you,” as if it was the most natural thing in the world and not the most abnormal reaction he had ever seen. Since when Morgana could smile so sweetly and thanked people in such a genuine way?

“Morgana…? Are you okay?” He repeated once again, really doubting his eyes and mental health.

The girl tiled her eyes and looked up curiously at him.

“Yes? I am fine now. Thank you for asking.”

Once again, Michel felt a deep sensation of wrongness overwhelm him, but before he could open his mouth Morgana squinted her eyes and brought her hands to her head, as if her skull was suddenly aching. She stayed that way for a few long seconds, then rubbed her temples and shook her head. Finally she narrowed her eyes at him, and frowned.

“Michel…? What… What are you doing here?”

“What?” He replied, dumbfounded, because he really didn’t see what he could say much more.

“Since when are you here?”

“Since when…? Are you serious?”

Her frown deepened, and she stared at him as he was the one being unreasonable here.

“Of course I am. Have I never been anything but serious?” She asked coldly, and at least Michel was relieved to get back the normal Morgana he was used to. “So what are you doing here? Are you really stalking me after all?”

“Ah… no, um, I was… I wanted to talk to you, and some classmates of yours told me I could find you here… M-More importantly, are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine,” she said annoyingly, in a tone of voice that clearly showed that she wasn’t, in fact, fine at all.

But Michel felt he couldn’t press any further the topic without her snapping at him, and angering her was the last thing he wanted to do. She turned around and started to walk slowly among the tombstones, her feet steady despite the fact she was still trembling a little.

“You wanted to talk to me?” She brutally cut off the silence.

“Yes… I wanted to apologize for yesterday. Um… you were right, it was none of my business, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“You didn’t. No need to apologize.”

Silence fell back between them again as Michel just kept on following her silently. Morgana didn’t seem to have a destination in mind, she just crossed the graveyards while her eyes wandered aimlessly among the silent, motionless tombs, and he wondered why she might be thinking about.

“Can I ask you a question?” Michel finally asked.

“Since when do you need permission?”

“What… What are you doing here? Did you come to… visit someone?”

“No. I don’t know anyone buried here,” she answered. “In fact, I’ve come to this cemetery for the first time when I moved in at your building.”

“What…? Then… why are you coming here regularly then…?”

Morgana heaved a long sigh, then finally came to a stop. They were in front of a particularly tall, elegant tombstone, which Michel guessed must belong to an old and wealthy family. But it also seemed to not have been maintained for quite some years, which made it seems lonely.

“Maybe that’s going to sound odd,” she finally said after some time. “But I… love graveyards.”

Michel blinked and looked curiously at the young girl next to him. She was staring at the old tombstone in front of them, but no expression crossed her face and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“I’ve loved them ever since I was a child. There was one not far away from my old home, and for as long as I can remember, I would sneak out of the house and go there, take care of the tombs and stuff.” She snorted. “Of course Mother hated it when I was doing that. She thought it was creepy and scolded me about it a lot of times, but I never listened when it came to this.”

Her eyes fell on the ground, and she mindlessly put one of her red locks behind her ear.

“That’s also where I went whenever things got too tough at home. Guess it’s a bit like my secret base. I always feel at peace and safe when I’m here. Dead people are easier to deal with than the living. At least I felt like I was doing something useful for once, by taking care of them. It felt… comfortable.”

She marked a pause, and then added, in a much smaller voice, almost a whisper:

“To be honest… I’ve always felt more at home in cemeteries than in my actual house.”

Michel stayed quiet. It was a very rare moment for Morgana to talk so freely about herself, and he felt that if he were to say something back to her, it would break the instant and make her shut down all over again. Furthermore, it wasn’t like he really know what to answer to what she was confessing to him right now.

“Of course, back then I wasn’t sure why, but now that I remember my past life it makes sense. You know it, don’t you? That when I was still living at the brothel as a child, I made that… makeshift graveyard for all the nameless corpses we found in the slums.”

He didn’t answer, but yes, he was aware of that. He hadn’t witnessed a lot of Morgana’s past, admittedly, but he could still remember that moment when he saw Jacopo’s memories — of that disfigured little girl crouched down in front of those rough graves, taking care of them meticulously.

“Back then, I started doing that because… well, I felt it was my duty, as a saint. These people had no one else, so I couldn’t bear the idea of their souls not being able to reach purgatory. I couldn’t use my blood anymore, so I felt like I had to do something, at least. But, when I think back on it now… this wasn’t really out of selflessness. It’s just it made me feel… better about myself — it made me feel not so useless. In a way, maybe it was really pretty egoistical of me.” She smiled bitterly. “I was pretty pathetic, wasn’t I?”

“You were just a little girl, Morgana,” Michel replied gently. “A severely traumatized little girl, at that. And even if you doing that wasn’t absolutely out of selflessness, I don’t think it is something pathetic at all. In the end you still gave those people a proper burial and took care of them every day, right? I think it is more than worthy of respect.”

Morgana sighed. Michel knew his words probably wouldn’t do much to change her mind, but he still felt the need to say it.

“In any case, doing this became a comforting routine to me,” she said. “I guess it just stayed with me even all those centuries later. And I like doing that.”

Michel took a deep breath, and nodded. “Somehow, that does sound like you,” he simply added with a slight smile. “If you feel comfortable doing so, then that’s good.”

Morgana didn’t reply. Her eyes fell back once again on the tombstone erected in front of them, standing solemnly.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? A lot of things changed in a millennium, but cemeteries are always the same. They’re constant.”

This was certainly true. No matter the time period or culture, humans were always faced with death and grief, and had the need to honor their lost loved ones and gather around a place to think about them.

That was, unless they were bestowed with a particularly cruel fate where no one would bother to give them a proper burial, like it had happened with Morgana a thousand years ago.

Her body and soul had been left abandoned, and that entire cursed mansion had become her graveyard and prison.

None of them uttered a single word, but Michel instinctively got closer to Morgana and gently wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to him.

For a long time, the girl didn’t react, before finally slowly let her head fall on his shoulder.

And for what seemed like an eternity, none of them moved, lulled by the sound of the wind and the company of the dead.

______________________________________________________________

Things went relatively back to normal after this. In the following days, Michel got really busy at work and came back home pretty late, so he didn’t get the time to see Morgana much or have any more conversation with her. He also didn’t get any nightmares, which meant there was no secret night meeting with her either. In fact, the only time he got to really see her was the tomorrow of their graveyard encounter, when she burst out into their apartment angrily and wanted to know why on earth her classmates were now questioning her about her “weird, tall, white-haired uncle.” He tried to justify himself that this was the less odd explanation he could come up with, but then she retorted he should not have come to her high school to begin with — and, well, she actually had a point here. Giselle watched their argument from afar while giggling quietly, and then she teased him about being “Morgana’s weird uncle” for the next few days.

In any case, despite the heartfelt conversation they managed to have at the cemetery the other day, Michel’s worries about her still hadn’t decreased at all, at the contrary. From time to time, he thought about maybe visiting Morgana to her graveyard, but in the end could never bring himself to do so. After all, she had told him herself that this place was like a ‘secret base’ to her, so it felt wrong, somehow, to trespass this place without her consent.

However, these peaceful days came to an end about two weeks later when the phone suddenly rang one afternoon.

Michel was completely focused on writing an important email about an upcoming project to his superior, so it took him some time to realize the ringing, and when he did he caught sight of Giselle heading towards the phone before he could even get up. As her hands were already occupied with what seemed to be a big cardboard — maybe something from the café? — she hurriedly put on the loudspeaker and wedged the receiver between her ear and her shoulder in an elegant movement. Michel had always been in awe by the way she was able to take care of multiple things like that as if it was the most natural thing in the world, whereas in her place he would’ve just let the box fall on the ground.

“Hello?” Giselle asked, her voice politely playful.

“Hello, sorry to bother you,” a courteous, feminine voice resounded faintly from the phone. “Um, I would like to speak to Mr. Michel Bollinger… Are you Mrs. Bollinger?”

Michel frowned slightly upon hearing his name — the person’s informal and serious tone made him wonder if it was something work-related — but Giselle seemed unconcerned and only giggled.

“Um, well, not yet! Why?”

“You are the guardian of a seventeen-year-old girl named Morgana, aren’t you?”

Giselle blinked curiously, a little confused this time.

“Um, well, we do live with a girl like that but we’re not… Wait, what is this about?”

For a short moment, there seemed to be a bit of hesitation, before the person finally answered by saying something that made Giselle’s smile fell from her face.

“This is the police. We got her in custody. Could you please come pick her up at the station?”

______________________________________________________________

Michel had only went to a police station maybe two or three times in his life, always for trivial, unimportant things like retrieve lost objects, so that was why, when he stepped inside the big building and was greeted by a bunch of solemn-looking officers in uniforms, that he couldn’t help but feel a little anxious.

The woman on the phone hadn’t told them much about what had happened, just that apparently Morgana had gotten into trouble and that she had told them he was her legal guardian, so he was the one who had to come to get her. To be honest, Michel felt a bit annoyed by this and didn’t understand why Morgana had claimed such a thing given he was far from being her guardian, but he certainly couldn’t refuse to help his friend if she had problems.

So he headed towards the reception, trying to make himself as discreet as possible but as usual it wasn’t very effective, as his appearance always attracted looks wherever he went. When he presented himself, the woman at the desk sighed, and with tired eyes she lead him to a nearby room. The moment he opened the door, he heard angry yells fly out at him, and distinguished three persons: a police officer, a middle-aged man, and Morgana.

“Do you realize that this is all your fault to begin with, right?” The man shouted exasperatedly. “You’re the one who assaulted me! Stop playing the victim here!”

“I’m not playing the victim,” Morgana replied coldly with annoyance, before rolling her eyes. “And ‘assaulted’… No need to use such words. You’re oversensitive.”

“Oversensitive?” The man screamed in disbelief. “Are you saying that this—” He showed up his hand that was wrapped up in bandages. “—is me being oversensitive?”

Morgana eyed him, then shrugged. “Well, you still have your hand and it still moves, right? Not sure why you’re making such a big deal about it.”

The man’s face became completely red, and Michel honestly thought he was going to strangle the girl here and there if the cop hadn’t instantly stepped in, putting a strong hand on the guy’s shoulder and separating the two of them.

“All right, please keep your calm, sir… I see that her guardian has finally arrived, so let’s settle this peacefully.”

While saying this, the officer looked up at Michel, and suddenly all the attention was reported on him. A look of relief spread on Morgana’s face upon seeing him, while the middle-aged man’s face hardened and glared at him.

“You certainly took your sweet time! I swear, what kind of father are you, raising such a brat and letting her hang out in a police station for hours?”

“Um… that’s—”

“Well he’s not my father,” Morgana cut in annoyingly, and when she saw the questioning gazes of the two other men she quickly added: “He is my guardian, but we’re not blood related.”

“Well, fine, in any case could you all please sit down?” The cop asked, his voice straining and Michel could tell he had been taking care of this issue for a while now and was starting to get quite frustrated at it.

“Uh, I’m sorry but, we still didn’t explain to me what had happened? What did Morgana do?”

“Why would you instantly assume I’m the one who did something?” Morgana retorted while glaring at Michel.

“Because you are!” The man shouted yet again. “That kid, I swear…! Here’s what happened: your girl stabbed me in the hand!”

Michel had to admit, he was expecting a lot of things when he heard Morgana was at a police station, but this he still wasn’t prepared for that. He frowned in confusion, and threw a questioning glance at the concerned girl, who just sighed as if this was none of her business.

“So, wait,” Michel started, massaging his temples. “She… stabbed you? With a knife? Do you just walk around transporting a knife, Morgana?”

“Okay, first of all, it wasn’t a knife, it was a cutter,” she argued, as if this was a very important detail.

It doesn’t make it any better! Michel almost burst out, but did his best to control his temperament.

“It doesn’t matter what it was!” The man resumed. “I was just walking in the street when I saw she dropped her wallet, so I tried to tell her, but then when I grabbed her arm she suddenly pulled out that thing and stabbed me with it!”

“I thought it was a thief or something, so I panicked.”

“And when you panic you stab people?” Michel interfered.

“Well, that was just a reflex. Seriously, you should not accost young girls like that without warning. It’s your fault this ended up like this, really.”

The man seemed so taken aback by Morgana’s flippancy that he couldn’t even seem to be able to yell at her anymore. He just stared at the girl, eyes and mouth wide open, until Michel let out a sigh.

“Okay, I think I got the situation. I am genuinely sorry for what Morgana did to you. It wasn’t her intention, she’s just a very cautious person—”

“It was absolutely my intention,” Morgana cut him off. “And you don’t need to apologize to that man. I certainly won’t. He’s the one overreacting over nothing.”

“You’re not helping me here!”

The man stared at the both of them, then shook his head as if giving up protesting. “I don’t care about apologies at this point. “But I certainly won’t stand for that. She stabbed me. I want to file a claim and you owes me at the very least the treatment fees.”

“File a claim? Treatment fees? As if I would—”

“That’s understandable,” Michel interrupted in a serious voice. “I’ll make sure to see through that.”

“What? Michel—”

“Just let me take care of this and try not to make matters worse, please.”

Michel’s voice was not severe, but still firm enough to make the girl understand it was best to let him handle the situation from now on. Morgana sighed, then finally after a few moments of hesitation, she nodded, although she clearly wasn’t satisfied with this.

What followed was a very egregious, long hour of trying to salvage the situation somewhat despite Morgana’s icy jabs and the man’s punctual anger. Michel felt much more exhausted at the end of this than at the end of a heavy week full of work. When they finally managed to get out of the police station, his head was still full about the future appointment with his lawyer he’ll have to make and the treatment fees he’ll have to pay.

“You really didn’t need to do that,” Morgana said, and Michel really hoped this was her way of saying ‘thank you’ because he didn’t feel like dealing with any more jaded cynical retorts.

“You’re the one who told them to call me to start with. Actually, why did you say I was your guardian?”

“Well, I didn’t want to at first… but I’m not yet eighteen, and I didn’t want them to call my parents. If my stepfather had showed up, it would have gotten ugly.”

Michel suddenly felt a bit stupid for not having realized this by himself, and softening a little, he sighed. Morgana was pretty secretive about her family situation, but he knew she had a bad relationship with them — so it wasn’t hard to imagine that if her stepfather had been called because she was at a police station it would’ve indeed not ended well.

It truly was a cursed fate that this girl had ended up again with bad, uncaring parents in this era. She deserved to have an actual loving family… In a way, although he still felt a bit annoyed with her for this, he also was kind of happy she had not hesitated to rely on him when she was in trouble.

“All right, fine… Still, what a mess… Now I’ll have to talk to Giselle about all of this and organize our finances, huh…”

“Like I said, you don’t need to do this. I’ll take care of it.”

“And how, exactly? If you don’t want to contact your parents, then I fail to see how you’ll be able to deal with this… Is the association you’re in contact would really take care of something like this?”

“Oh, no, I would never ask them that even if they could help me. I’ll just call Jacopo.”

Michel stopped walking.

“Uh, what?”

“I’ll ask Jacopo to pay and handle this for me.”

“But, you… I thought you hadn’t talked to him since you came back from your trip in Italy?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“And you’re going to call him now just to ask him for money?”

“Yes.”

“Did you… Did you keep in contact with him just to extort him?”

“Is that a problem? He has to be useful for something, at least. Furthermore, he’s pretty rich, you know.”

Michel sighed deeply and put his face in his hands. “You’re impossible… Are you really serious?”

Morgana stopped in her trail brusquely. She turned around to face him, and her eyes suddenly turned cold.

“In case you forgot, I shall remind you it is the man who killed me we are talking about. So no, I have no problem at all in taking some of his money. I believe it is actually a pretty low price to pay for ruining my life. He owes me at least that much, don’t you think? Plus, he’s also the man who indirectly ruined your life too, so I’d say he really do not deserve your pity.”

“I wasn’t pitying him…”

And you had more of a hand in ruining my life than he did, is what he restrained himself from adding. Certainly, Jacopo was basically the cause of the whole mess that had happened in the cursed mansion, but Morgana had still been the one who spent all those years tormenting Michel. She’d been the one who had enslaved Giselle in the mansion until she broke her and destroy her very identity. Even if Morgana had been a victim and that some of her actions were rooted in rightful pain and anger, no one had forced her to do those things.

Michel had forgiven her and had a lot of deep affection for her now, but he still didn’t like the way she sometimes glossed over the very real harm she had done to instead push all the blame on her killers — and specifically on Jacopo.

Still, he didn’t want to have that peculiar argument with her right now, and on top of that… Even if Morgana had never been at the mansion, even if the place had never been cursed, unfortunately Michel’s life would have still likely ended in tragedy… This thought made him pause, though.

He wondered… what would have happened if he had never met Morgana?

If there had been no cursed witch at the mansion? No skeleton to hug and makes him feel better about himself — about his pain and loneliness? No mean spirit to abuse and drain him? How would he have spent those ten years completely alone? How would he have reacted to Iméon and to Giselle without a witch to whispers in his ears?

Things would have been… a bit different, maybe, but in the end it would still have ended up with him being pierced by his brother’s spears.

The biggest difference would have been… that Giselle wouldn’t have become the Maid. They never would have reunited centuries later as lost ghosts in this dark haunted mansion, and maybe they wouldn’t even have reincarnated together in this era at all… But that also meant Giselle wouldn’t have had to suffer during all of those centuries, so wouldn’t have been better…?

Or maybe there would have been no mansion at all, and he would have been sent in exile elsewhere. Maybe he wouldn’t even have met Giselle at all. He had no idea.

What he did know was that if none of that had happened, he wouldn’t be walking next to this young girl right now.

______________________________________________________________

The wind was raspy and the sky gray when he finally reached the cemetery, which made it looks even more gloomy and eerie than last time.

It looked the exact same as it did before, as if he was back a few weeks prior in time. The place was just as abandoned as ever, and it made Michel wonder if anyone even ever bothered to come here. Except for Morgana, that is.

He wouldn’t have bothered to come either, usually, but as strange as it may sound, it was actually Morgana herself who had asked him. He had tried to talk to her yesterday, but she evaded him before slipping “I’ll be at the graveyard again tomorrow after class,” and promptly disappeared. Implying, “You can come to me there to talk to me.” Well, that was how Michel had interpreted it at least, but with Morgana he was never sure of the exact meaning of her words.

“Oh, you’re here.”

He brusquely turned around, and Morgana was there, holding a pretty big watering can in her arms.

“Right in time,” she said. “See this tombstone? I’d need you to water the flowers next to it. I still have to clean those two others in the meantime.”

Michel arched an eyebrow, but didn’t have the time to ask anything that Morgana pushed the heavy can in his hands and headed towards another grave.

“What— Wait, what do you mean?”

“I don’t think I’ve said anything all that complicated?”

“No, what I mean is— why are you doing this?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him.

“What? Did you think I just spent all my afternoon looking melancholically at those gravestones? Sorry to disappoint, but generally I actually take care of the place.”

“You… take care of the place?”

“Yes. You know, I clean up, arrange the plants, all that. That’s a small graveyard, but it still actually takes a lot of time.”

Michel felt more and more confused. Indeed, now that he thought about it, it seemed a bit weird that Morgana would spent hours hanging out in a cemetery just walking around the tombstones despite knowing no one buried here. But the idea of her cleaning up the place was even weirder.

“What are you, the graveyard caretaker?”

“No, though I talk to him from time to time.”

“He’s okay with you doing that?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

Well, Michel supposed it did remove some work for him, so of course he wouldn’t complain. “But why would you do this?”

She shrugged. “It relaxes me.”

“Taking care of a graveyard relaxes you?”

Morgana turned around without answering and kneeled down in front of a tomb a little further away. Michel sighed, looked at the water can in his hands — which was starting to feel pretty heavy — and decided to do as she said for now. While watering the daffodils and begonias that littered the ground, he threw slight glances at the girl behind him, who was very meticulously concentrated on her task, and that’s when their talk from a few weeks ago came back to him.

Right, Morgana had spend a good chunk of her time as a child taking care of a graveyard in her past life. With this in mind, then her behavior did makes sense. Maybe it’d seems odd from any other person, but Morgana loving to take care of such place wasn’t weird at all.

“You’re holding the can badly. You’re not used to gardening, are you?”

Michel got startled as the girl appeared by his side and grabbed the can, carefully bending it with expert hands.

“I don’t have much occasions to do this,” he admitted.

“Don’t Giselle loves gardening? At least she did back then.”

“She does, but… we’ve never done it together. Plus her family lives in an apartment…”

“Is that so…”

“I didn’t know you loved gardening, though?”

“I don’t really like it. But it’s necessary when taking care of a graveyard.”

Morgana kept arranging the flowers, and Michel’s mind wandered back to the roses Giselle had grown in the mansion, centuries ago. They didn’t have a garden in their current house, only a courtyard, but maybe he could arrange himself to make one… It would surely make her happy.

“Ugh, stop that.”

“S-Stop what?”

“Thinking about doing something ridiculously cheesy for Giselle. I hate when you do that.”

“How do you even know what I was thinking about?”

“Because you always make that stupid, disgusting face whenever you think about her.”

Michel sighed. “Well, do forgive me for being happy while thinking about the woman I love. I’ll try to do it discretely from now on.”

“Thank you.”

He rolled his eyes, and almost retorted another jaded reply before he just remembered that he had a reason, actually, for coming all the way here today, and it wasn’t just to bicker with Morgana.

“Did you call Jacopo?”

“Yes. He was kinda annoyed, but he’ll pay. I don’t have any worries about it.”

Michel grimaced, guessing she probably did her best to remind him all the horrible things he had done to her to make him feel as guilty as possible. Then again, a part of him couldn’t entirely reprehend her for that, because, like she had said before, it wasn’t much compared to what he had actually did to her. He couldn’t reproach her anger, but at the same time he didn’t like at all this unhealthy relationship she had started in this era with Jacopo. Maybe he’ll have to talk about it with her. Later.

“So, um…” Michel started, then hesitated.

He did come all the way here to talk to her, but now that he was actually there he couldn’t bring himself to find the right words. He was afraid of setting her off if he brought this in the wrong way. As if reading his thoughts, Morgana brusquely stood away from the flowers and turned towards him, brow burrowed.

“Yes?” She pressed on. “Stop beating around the bush and tell me already.”

Michel took a deep breath in, and nodded.

“All right. All right, um… So, I talked with Giselle about this for a bit, and I was wondering…” He paused, and eyed Morgana cautiously. “What would you think about going to see a therapist?”

Ar first, it seemed as if she didn’t understand the question. Then, as it sunk, her shoulders slumped, her mouth formed a tight line and she uttered the following with so much disdain it almost made Michel choke:

“What?”

“I, er… To tell you the truth, that’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while… but the recent events decided me it was, probably, really necessary.”

“What recent events?”

“Do you I really need to remind you your visit at the police station?”

“That has nothing to do with this, and it’s already solved.”

“That’s not the issue. And it’s not the first time something like this happen, either.”

There was the episode that happened the first time he came at this graveyard, and the frequent nightmares, but those weren’t just isolated incidents either. There were moments where Morgana would just stare off into the distance and didn’t seem to… respond to anything. As if she was just cut off from reality. And even without all of this, Michel thought it’d do her a lot of good to see a specialist, even just to talk. However, Morgana visibly thought very differently.

“I’m not crazy,” she dryly cut out, her eyes shooting daggers.

“It’s not about being ‘crazy’,” Michel replied patiently. “It’s about talking to someone about your problems, which you obviously really, really need.”

Her reaction was pretty ironic, Michel thought, given how many times she had tempted him to “just go insane” or to “join her in her madness” during their time at the mansion. But maybe she just didn’t remember that.

“No way,” she continued, her tone sharp. “I’m not going to see a shrink.”

She spat out the last word with so much vitriol Michel actually wondered if a ‘shrink’ had done something to her in the past or something.

“I’m not saying this to piss you off, Morgana,” Michel resumed in a more concerned, serious tone. “It’s because I’m worried about you. A therapist could actually help you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like hell they could. What would I even tell them, anyway? ‘Oh yeah I remember by entire past life where my life was a miserable hell and where I was killed horribly which turned me into a witch and made me curse my killers for centuries.’ How good they’d take that, you think?”

“Obviously, I’m not saying you need to tell every single details… You could start with your modern life, I believe there’s already enough things to work with here.”

“And with what money would I pay that? I certainly can’t ask my parents, and the association already do enough for me.”

“I could take care of that if you want. That’s not a problem.” Or you could extort Jacopo again, he almost said, but he thought it wasn’t a good idea to encourage her in this kind of behavior, even for a joke.

“Oh please, stop acting like you’re my father or something, it’s extremely annoying.”

Michel groaned. Of course he had expected her to react this way, but it didn’t mean it was any less annoying that she just completely refused to listen to him.

“Morgana. You are not okay. You realize that, right?”

“How am I not okay?”

“Oh, I don’t know, to me stabbing some guy’s hand in the street because you ‘freaked out’ is not something a person who’s perfectly okay would do.”

“It was just an accident. It never happened before, and it won’t happen again.”

“But how can you know? Do you really realize how serious what you did is? You’re lucky you ended getting away with it this time, but maybe the next you’ll get in trouble with a much more dangerous person. What would you do then?”

Morgana lifted her head and grinned at him. “I’ll kill them and dispose of their body, obviously. See? That way, no problem.”

Michel stared at her blankly. Morgana stared back.

“I’m joking! Oh my God, you didn’t actually think I’d do that, right?”

“I mean… With you, I can never tell for sure.”

Morgana snorted. “Then what about you? Are you seeing a shrink?”

“Yes, I do, actually.”

Manifestly, Morgana wasn’t expecting this answer at all, because she just stared at him with her eyes wide and her mouth open.

“W-Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been in therapy since I was around fourteen, I think.” As Morgana was still staring at him with a confused look, Michel added, “Ever since I came out as a boy to my parents. They insisted because they… weren’t sure how to deal with this.”

“Oh.”

“And you know what? I thought like you at first, but I think it really helped me in the end. It still does.”

“Well, I’m not you. And again, you’re not my father, you can’t force me to do anything, so the conversation stop there.”

And as if giving more weight to her words, she turned around and started walking towards the back of the graveyard with steady steps. Michel sighed for what was probably the tenth times since he entered this place.

Dealing with Morgana was always a real headache, but he wouldn’t give up on her just yet. He hadn’t given up on her back when she was a cruel witch who had tormented him and Giselle, and he wouldn’t do it now that she was just a stubborn teenage girl.

“Morgana.”

He didn’t even had to grab her hand or to hold her back — the tone of his voice seemed to be enough to make her understand it was important, and she stopped.

“I am not going to force you if you really don’t want to,” he continued, then smiled wryly. “Like you said, I am not your father, and even if I was I still wouldn’t force you.”

This time, it was Morgana who sighed, and he could see her shoulders drop, in what seemed to be more tiredness than annoyance.

“When we met again in this era, you said… that you wanted to take your life back into your hands. Were you lying?”

The girl turned around and glared at him, her gaze shining determinedly.

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you so afraid of living and trying to be happy?” Michel took a step forward, ruby eyes not letting go of the golden ones for a second. “You have a life full of opportunities in front of you, but somehow you prefer to stay stuck in your suffering. Like you did back then.”

Morgana opened her mouth as if wanting to say something, but her lips trembled and no words could get out.

“You’re not locked up in that cursed mansion anymore. You can go wherever you want. Taking care of a graveyard is nice if that makes you happy, but… it’s not by staying with the dead that you’ll take back your life. It’s by being with the living.”

It hurts, sometimes, to look at the girl in front of him. It was a similar sensation as to stare in a mirror and seeing the reflection of a painful past self he had managed to overcome.

A child playing pretend with dead dolls when they were too old for that.

Morgana had done this since she was a little girl, but unlike him she had never let it go. He had left this behind in the past, but she was still desperately clinging to it.

Michel advanced once again, and stopped only a few centimeters away from her. Morgana was small and only barely reaching his chest, and the way she seemed to intensely stare at the ground in this moment made her seem even smaller.

He put both of his hands on her shoulders, making her look up at him, and when her eyes finally crossed his, he smiled softly.

“I love you and want you to be happy, because you deserves it. You don’t have to treat the entire world like it’s your enemy, so let people help you and love you. That’s all I really wanted to tell you.”

Morgana’s eyes widened as if not believing he had actually said this, and Michel had to admit he kind of felt the same. The words were like ashes in his mouth, and he had never been good at being open with people, not even after all those centuries. It was hard and uncomfortable and awkward, but he meant every single one of them, and he hoped Morgana could sense that, too.

Before the girl had the time to recover, he leaned in and gently kissed her forehead affectionately. He didn’t hear her gasp, but he could feel her shock and her body tense through his hands. He pulled away slowly, smiled one last time at her, before turning around.

He didn’t need to face her to know she was completely motionless and inert, but this was in a good kind of way this time.

______________________________________________________________

The odor of death was the thing that remained the most vivid in his dreams.

It wrapped and clung to his sense of smell and made him want to wince and gag. Even after he’d wake up, it would still linger with him, stuck to his skin. He had to really struggle to get it off and to fight the blurry images of the dark tower and of the soulless, dusty skeleton sitting next to him.

The unmoving, unbreathing dead doll.

But the doll wasn’t here when he came back to him, only the warm body of the black-haired woman he was going to marry in a few months. Her chest was slowly moving up and down, her lips ajar and eyelids closed. She was smiling and breathing and living, a far cry from the corpse that had been his only companion for years and years a long, lost time ago, and that was enough to bring him back in the present.

As he had often the habit by now, he stood up and headed in the kitchen, preparing his mug of coffee almost mechanically before getting outside. He noticed with regret as he sat on the courtyard’s bench that still no stars sprinkled the dark sky.

“Seems like meeting down there is starting to become a routine for us.”

There she stood in front of him, the skeletal doll.

But she wasn’t skeletal or unmoving or unbreathing anymore — with her golden eyes and long red hair slightly illuminated by the moon, she looked more like some sort of unworldly nymph.

“Seems like it,” Michel said quietly.

Morgana grimaced slightly in disappointment. “And here I thought I’d manage to pay you back and startle you like you did with me last time. Were you expecting me or something?”

“Something like that, I suppose. Maybe a part of me can always sort of tell your presence, like when we were in the mansion.”

“That’s not possible. You’re joking, right?”

“What do you think?”

Michel smiled mischievously at her, and the girl rolled her eyes, before simply sitting next to him. For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

If he closed his eyes, maybe he could feel like he was still that barely adult young man in the tower seeking comfort from a corpse.

“That was kind of unfair, what you did at the cemetery,” Morgana finally said in a soft, quiet voice. “Leaving me all alone behind after saying something ridiculous like that.”

“It wasn’t ridiculous. I meant it.”

“I know. That’s what makes it ridiculous.”

She was staring at her feet now, and while there wasn’t any expression on her face, her voice was barely a murmur. Michel felt that Morgana wanted to talk for once, and it was a rare enough occasion that he kept his mouth shut as much as possible.

“You shouldn’t love me. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not?”

“Not after… I don’t know. Everything.”

“Hmm… Could it be some backward way trying to apologize for what you did to me and Giselle? That’s quite something, coming from you. Did you hit your head or something?”

“It’s not. I just don’t get it. I don’t get you. You don’t make sense, that’s all.”

Michel sighed. It didn’t really surprise him. Forgiving Morgana and becoming her friend made sense to him, but it certainly was understandable that it wouldn’t really from her perspective. The sad thought of how a part of her probably would not believe anyone who’d say ‘I love you’ to her regardless of who it was crossed his mind…

“I did felt a lot of ways towards you during these years,” he finally said. “I hated you, and resented you, and pitied you. You did a lot of heinous things to me. But I think I myself did a lot of bad things to you. Though, well… you already know that, don’t you?”

No response came, but he didn’t need any, so he just let his eyes wander at the starless sky.

“My point is, that when I really started to see you as a person, when I really started to emphasize with you and wanted to save you, I’ve stopped resenting you and started loving you. I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, but that’s how it is. I hope you’ll be able to understand it one day.”

Morgana sighed, and also raised up her head. “I… will not make any promise,” she finally said. “But…”

She bit her lips. Looked away.

“But I’ll… I’ll think about it. The shrink.”

And then Michel couldn’t help but chuckle, because in this moment she sounded so much like the stubborn teen girl she was supposed to be and not like the centuries years old cruel, vengeful witch, and it was how things was supposed to be.

“You know, Morgana… some time earlier, I got myself wondering what would have happened if I had never met you.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

“How would that work…?”

“Well, I don’t know… Maybe if you never had died the way you did, and never put a curse on the three men. Maybe if Jacopo had never locked you up in that tower.”

Morgana snorted. “That indeed would have prevented a lot of annoying events, yes. But that would mean counting on the fact that this idiot can possess anything resembling human common sense.”

“Well, regardless… I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“Hmm… Well, if I had indeed never been killed that way… for starter, the mansion itself would have never been cursed. So maybe you would not even have been sent at that mansion at all. Or maybe you would have, but either way I do not think it would have changed much about what happened there, or changed anything about your death.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

“However, Giselle… would have never become the Maid.”

“Indeed…”

Morgana’s gaze seemed unfocused as she looked into the horizon, and Michel wondered what was going through her head. Maybe she reminisced all those centuries she spent in company of the Maid.

“Maybe… it would have been better for her,” she finally blurted out.

“That’s… also what I thought. But then… that might sound selfish of me, but… if she had never become the Maid and stayed in the mansion, then we likely… would have never been reunited. The both of us getting reincarnated here was principally thanks to your wish.”

“Heh, I’m not so sure about that. That’s going to sound cheesy, but I think your bond was strong enough for you to meet again.”

“Maybe… It’d be nice if it is the case…”

Michel put his gaze inside his cup of coffee, that was probably cold by now.

“But you know… while I do wish Giselle hadn’t gone through so much suffering during her time as the Maid, and that I would do anything to take it back… I still… do not regret meeting you.”

He turned his head towards the young girl sat next to him, and stared straight into her eyes.

“Despite everything, I am still glad to be your friend now.”

Michel smiled gently at her, and put a hand on the top of her head, gently ruffling her red hair. Morgana sighed and rolled her eyes. “I am not a child,” she grumbled, but even so she did nothing to put off his hand. So Michel chuckled, and despite her reluctance, Morgana joined in his laugh soon enough.

Years, decades, centuries ago, she was just a lifeless doll he’d shared an abandoned mansion with — a convenient plaything to make a desperate, broken boy feel less lonely.

And then when she started talking as a witch, she became an annoyance and he wanted nothing but to get rid of her.

But he was glad to not have given up on her in the end, so that he could now see into what kind of woman she would grow into.

And just like he had done an eternity before, he extended his arm and grabbed her hand, holding it gently but firmly.

This time, those were not cold, dusty bones that met his fingers, but warm, smooth skin.

This was not a skeleton sat next to him that he could play pretend with like a doll, but a dear friend he had pitied, hated, resented sympathized with and loved all at once.

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nhaererynjtj · 3 years

Text

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fallen-gravity · 4 years

Text

Fightin’ Back Chapter 4

Chapter Notes: I’d like to give a shoutout to @elegiesofemptiness for throwing suggestions my way for this chapter and helping me out of a rut.

We’re really in it now, boys. Scary-oke this time around, and the next chapter following this one takes place in my favorite episode in season two. >:)

AO3

“You have to promise me you’ll only use the journal for self-defense, and won’t go sniffing around for trouble.”

Dipper crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, but only if you promise that you don’t have any more bombshell secrets about this town”.

“Promise” Stan replies, placing one hand against his heart and the other crossed behind his back. Dipper squints at him for a moment, but then he sighs.

“Promise”, Dipper echoes, and his tone doesn’t sound any more genuine than his own.

Maybe he should just hide all the black lights in the house so the kid doesn’t get any big ideas. For now, though…

“Oof, we have a lot of zombie damage to clean up.” Stan pokes at his recliner with his foot. “Where’s my handyman, anyway?”

As if on cue, the zombified Soos wanders into the room from the kitchen, arms outstretched and eyes glossed over.

“Holy Moses!” Stan yelps, instinctively grabbing for the nearest piece of furniture to smash it over Soos’s head, before Dipper stops him, placing a hand on his arm.

“Wait! It says here there’s a cure for zombification. It’s gonna take a lot of formaldehyde”

“Ooh, and cinnamon!” Mabel beams, popping her head over Dipper’s shoulder.

“C’mon, Soos, let’s fix you up”

Mabel picks up one of the dining chairs off the floor and prods Soos in the stomach back towards the kitchen. Dipper’s about to follow her into the kitchen, but Stan places a firm hand on his shoulders to stop him in his tracks.

“Not so fast, little man,” he scolds. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy. I saw that zombie pick you up”

“Are you...accusing me of being a zombie?” Dipper turns to face him, and Stan almost laughs that he looks more baffled than he does angry. “Wouldn’t my head have exploded while we were singing together if that were true?” He asks, and visibly cringes at the mental image.

“Well, yeah. Maybe you weren’t infected as quickly as Soos, but zombies don’t always gotta bite you to infect you. It’s about direct contact.” Stan grins. “Matter of fact, most zombies only bite cause they’re hungry! If they’re just looking to infect, they’re more likely to leave a nasty scratch” he offers out his hand. “Lemme see”

Dipper places his hand in Stan’s, and Stan tugs him a bit closer so he can get a better look at Dipper’s arm. His shoulder looks fine, which means it isn’t spreading as quickly as Stan expected it to. That’s a relief. He turns Dipper’s hand to inspect the other side of his wrist, and sure enough, there are three large gashes right on the spot where the zombie had grabbed him. It doesn’t look like it’s bleeding, but the skin surrounding the gashes are already turning a sickening grayish green.

Dipper’s face goes white as a ghost at the sight of it, and if Stan weren’t holding his wrist he’s almost sure the poor kid would pass out right then and there. Stan squeezes his hand, just to give the kid a grounding gesture to prevent him from passing out a second time. “Whoa, whoa. Deep breaths, kid. You said it yourself! There’s a cure for this. We just gotta follow your sister into the kitchen before she uses it all on Soos, okay?”

Dipper sighs, and his breath is shaky. “Okay” he replies, and he takes three steps forward before he stops. Stan’s afraid he’s going to pass out again, but he turns back around and points a finger at him.

“How did you know that?”

“Know what?”

Dipper’s rubbing at his infected wrist, and the sound it’s making is akin to someone walking through a pile of dead leaves. “How did you know that zombies can infect someone without biting someone? All Journal 3 talked about was how to cure a bite”

...Shit. That must’ve been the first journal that talked about home remedies for monster attacks.

“W-Well I’ve lived here for over thirty years, y’see? You have to learn these things pretty quickly.” Stan straightens out his posture to better sell his lie, and gestures vaguely towards Dipper. “Look at you, kiddo. You’ve had the journal for...what, two months? And I see you going around every day like you own the place”

Dipper blushes. “I guess that makes sense”

Stan rolls his shoulders. “Of course it makes sense. I’m older and wiser, and all that”

Dipper chuckles quietly, mumbling something under his breath about I don’t know about wiser, but Stan’s too distracted by the fact that Dipper keeps scratching at his infection to bite back. “And speaking about older and wiser, I of all people would know that all scratching at that thing is gonna do is make it worse”

Dipper’s hand drops to his side immediately. “Right, right” he murmurs. Stan rolls his eyes, and places a hand on Dipper’s back to gently shove him towards the kitchen.

“Hup to. The last thing we need around here is a zombie with an irrational fear of himself” Stan slaps Dipper on the back and roars in laughter, who only responds with a roll of his eyes. When they step into the kitchen, Mabel and a dezombified Soos are sitting at the table chatting casually. Soos has an ice pack on his head.

“Oh, hey dood!” Soos grins. “Hey Mr. Pines! Sorry about the whole trying to eat your brains thing. I got like, way too into the character.”

“Uh, water under the bridge” Stan waves him off before he turns his attention to Mabel. “Listen, sweetie, you got any more of the formula?” He exchanges a quick glance with Dipper, who’s hiding his arm from his sister behind his back. “I, uh, wanna toss some of it around the yard. See if it doubles as a free fertilizer for the...dead flowers”

Mabel gasps, her eyes going wide. “Those poor zombified flower pixies!” She yelps, and gestures to a pot bubbling with oil on the stove. “Take as much as you need. I accidentally made, like, ten batches too many anyway, so if it works you could sell bottles of it in the gift shop and tell ‘em Mabel sent ya”

Stan laughs, and takes a moment to muss up her hair. “Ah, I knew my swindling skills would rub off on one of ya! Atta girl” he grins, and she grins back in equal measure before returning to her conversation with Soos. As soon as she has her back turned to him, Stan grabs the entire pot and walks as fast as he can towards the back porch without spilling any of the oil.

“Follow me”, he whispers to Dipper once he’s sure he’s out of Mabel’s earshot, and Dipper doesn’t hesitate to trail closely behind. He places the pot of oil on the ground beside the porch couch, and pats at the armrest. Dipper wordlessly complies and takes a seat, and Stan takes one last peek through the window to make sure Mabel hadn’t followed them out to watch him “revive the pixies” or whatever it is she’d said. Once he’s sure that she’s too engrossed in her conversation with Soos to notice they were gone, he takes a knee beside Dipper.

“Alright, lemme see it again” Stan says, and Dipper spreads his arm across the armrest. The infection seems to have spread to the base of his elbow, and the skin surrounding the initial gash in his arm has withered to a faded gray color. Stan sighs, and dips both of his hands up to his wrists into the pot of oil.

The smell of it makes Stan sick. It’s far from his first time dealing with formaldehyde, and a tiny little demon at the back of his head is screaming at him that Dipper could’ve been coming into contact with it for much, much worse reasons if he came up from the basement to help him just ten seconds later.

No. He squashes that thought down before it can get any worse, and begins rubbing the oil into the worst of the infection on Dipper’s wrist. It makes him flinch, and Stan’s not sure if it’s because of the smell or the burning sensation.

“Y’see, this is exactly why I tried keeping you and your sister away from the supernatural.” He flicks the excess oil off of his hands, but it’s a redundant gesture because he’s right back to sticking his hands in the pot anyway. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you if I hadn’t heard you in time? Or if I’d looked anywhere else in the Shack for you first? I would’ve been forced to assume the worst”

He’s trying to sound strict, but damn these kids for tearing him down so much that it hurts his chest to even think about it. “I can’t have the people I care about aimlessly running around and throwing themselves into danger”

“I’m not being aimless!” Dipper whines, but hisses in pain when Stan accidentally rubs some of the oil directly into the gashes in his wrist.

“Mhm,” Stan hums. “And I’ve never spent a year in a Colombian prison”

“I’m not!” he squeaks. “Look, Grunkle Stan, I’m not just running around trying to hunt and capture every monster in the journal for fun, or anything! I’m so close to discovering the identity of the author that I have to follow leads when they present themselves! Nobody can really just...disappear out of thin air, right? He has to be around here somewhere”

Every nerve in Stan’s body freezes up at once.

I’ve been telling myself that for thirty years, kid.

“Look, kid…” he pauses. What can he say? You’re never gonna find him cause I accidentally pushed him through an interdimensional portal? Oh, and by the way, he’s my twin brother and your other Grunkle and he would probably love you and your sister to bits if he were still here? “...I get it. I do. But you have to understand that I’d never forgive myself if anything horrible happened to you or your sister.” He waves a defensive hand in the air. “I don’t mean to say that you can never go anywhere, ‘cause even I know that tryin’a strap you down and make you sit still would be like caging a rabid animal.” He wipes the rest of the excess oil on his pant leg, and places a gentle hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “I just can’t have ya gettin’ hurt on my watch, ya hear?”

Stan can’t help but drift his gaze towards his wrist,

More than you already have, anyway.

“It’s not like that. Mabel and I can take care of ourselves”

“Watch it.” Stan points an accusatory finger at him. “You’re twelve. The last thing you need is a hero complex”

“What?” Dipper shakes his head. “No, Grunkle Stan, I mean, Mabel and I’ve already fought half of the monsters in the journal and won. You don’t need to worry about anything happening to us”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Kid, didn’t I just rescue you two from a hoard of zombies?”

“That’s just the thing! We’ve been chasing after monsters all summer, and this is the first time you’ve ever had to get involved!” Dipper’s beaming, and okay, someone better tell this kid to stop being a picture perfect replica of his brother before he finds out it’s his biggest weakness. “You saw Gideon’s giant robot the other day, didn’t you?”

Stan blinks. “You mean that giant pile of metal scraps everyone was crowding around?”

“Yeah!” Dipper backtracks. “Okay, well, before that, it was a giant robot.”

“You’re losing me” Stan huffs. “What could Gideon’s broken robot have anything to do with why I should trust you running off on your own?

Dipper blinks, like he’s in disbelief that Stan hadn’t already connected the pieces together himself. “We’re the ones who broke it”

If Stan had a drink in his mouth, he’d be spit-taking all over the place right now. “You two? Wasn’t that thing twice the size of the shack?”

“Oh, it was. As soon as the bus you put us on to go home pulled away from the bus stop, he tried chasing after us in it because he insisted that we still had something that he wanted”

Stan snorts. “Was he goin’ off about Mabel’s hand in marriage again?”

Dipper laughs, but then he shakes his head. “No, he just kept rambling on about Journal 1 and how bringing the journals together could, I dunno, end the world or something? And he wanted to bring them together so he could hold the world hostage, or something.” He shrugs. “It didn’t make any sense to me. I mean, I know the author’s missing, but I just assumed he’d been kidnapped by some...thing that didn’t like being recorded. I didn’t think it was some kind of superweapon”

Stan swears he can feel his blood turn cold. He tugs awkwardly at the collar of his shirt, and hopes Dipper assumes it’s because of the mid-summer heat.

“...But we didn’t have it!” Dipper throws his arms up in the air. “We tried telling him we had no idea what he was talking about, but he just kept getting angrier and calling liars. He had both of us in his...giant robot hands at some point, but then he decided there was nothing else he wanted from me and literally tossed me away”

Dipper’s hands are balling up into tiny, shaking fists. “He tried taking Mabel hostage. I wouldn’t have cared how much he insulted me, but...we’ve never been separated like that before”. He glances down at his shaky hands. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never been the braver one between us. But next thing I know, I’m flinging myself off the train tracks”

“Train tracks?” Stan blinks. “Y’mean the ones up on the cliff?”

Dipper nods, blushing. “I just...went for it. I probably got a ton of cuts from the broken glass when I smashed through the eye of the robot,” he muses, pausing to give his own arm a look over. “But I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much adrenaline in my life”

Stan snorts. “You’re trying to tell me you punched the robot so hard that you knocked it off the cliff?”

“What? No, Gideon was inside of it. He was wearing one of those weird...motion control suit...things. The robot only lost its balance because I punched him in the face.”

Stan roars in laughter. “You punched Gideon in the face?”

“Yep!” Dipper beams. “Quite a few times, actually. I think with everyone treating him like he’s a god he tends to forget that Mabel and I are three years older than him.” He flexes an arm to show off his nonexistent muscle. “Remember that trick you taught me about punching someone in the face with their own fist?”

“Hah!” Stan grins. “That worked?”

“Knocked the robot’s head clean off!” Dipper grins back. “Or, well, it probably would’ve, if that wasn’t what pushed the robot over the edge”

Stan’s keeling over in laughter. He can’t believe how casually Dipper’s talking about this. Just a month ago, if Dipper had told him the same story detail for detail, Stan would’ve been sure that Dipper was describing a movie he’d watched the previous night.

“Not bad, kid!” he grabs Dipper into a gentle headlock, messing up his hair. “But what about your sister, huh? Don’t think I don’t see you trying to take all the credit”

“Oh, not at all!” He’s beaming again. “That’s the best part. Mabel’s the one who saved us from falling to our deaths. Don’t ever tell her I said this, but I think the grappling hook is the best thing she’s ever owned”

Stan nudges him with his elbow. “Yeah, last thing we need around here is both of you having giant heads”. Dipper glares at him, which only makes him laugh harder.

Stan wipes a tear from his eye with his wrist. “Alright, kid. You convinced me. If you two can come out of fighting a giant sci-fi monster without so much as a scratch, I trust that you and your sister know what you’re doing”.

Dipper’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

Stan nods. “Really. But you have to promise me you’ll still be careful, okay? I can go back on my word and hide that book away from you faster than you can say journal. Got it?”

Dipper nods. “Got it.” and then, after a short pause, “I promise”.

#gravity falls #my writing #stan pines #dipper pines #team brawn

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glassprism · 4 years

Note

Are there certain aspects of the phandom, or interpretations of the show that you a bit repetitive or even annoying? I understand it, but I find it kinda reductive when people say 'the show is about Christine's PURITY and X represents SEX with Y showing...' etcetc, like there's nothing to her character except her virtue, and I know Gillian Lynne said stuff along those lines but still..., Another one for me is a Christine's hair colour like yeah it's interesting but um ok. (Also Rierra ughstoppp)

Oh, I feel you on the whole “sex vs. chastity” interpretation. It is a theme and does underlie part of Christine’s conflict, but sometimes people act like it’s the only theme running through the story, and that’s when you get weird-ass opinions like this. Nope, nothing about Christine growing by letting go of her grief, nothing about the Phantom’s redemption, it’s just sex and passion, that’s all a woman’s growth is all about.

The “blonde vs. brunette!” debate is also so old; I enjoy examining the various shades Christine actresses get as a whole, but I got sick of it come the Stockholm revival, where all anyone talked about was Emmi Christensson’s wig change. It gets especially galling when people use it as the sole indicator of whether an adaptation is more accurate to Leroux’s novel, and yes, I have seen that, I have seen people claim the 1990 miniseries with Charles Dance is closer to Leroux because Christine is blonde, which is like... what. There’s more to book accuracy than a character’s hair color!

Random misconceptions are sometimes tedious, things like Christine’s age (no, she is not 16 except in the 2004 movie and a poor translation of the novel), what “slave of fashion” means (it does not mean you are into fashion), that ALW chooses every cast member of every production ever (he does not), Christine and the Phantom had sex sometime during the original show (NO).

This is more in regards to the phandom on social media other than Tumblr or Discord (ahem, Facebook), but boy am I sick of the “Raoul vs. Erik” debates. I’m so tired of people constantly pitting and contrasting them to each other. You know what’s a really fascinating area of study? Finding their similarities. Ooh... but it’s mainly because, come on, people have been arguing over this for literal decades, both sides are quite chill with each other because they know they’ll never agree, stop asking which “team” you are on, I am begging you. One day you’ll see me snap and go running in the streets, Homer Simpson-style, shouting, “Erik and Raoul are the same person! It’s a conspiracy, people!”

I’m so tired of people pulling out the same old anti-Raoul arguments. “He didn’t notice Christine until she was in the spotlight!” (So? I’ve literally walked past my best friend because I didn’t expect her to be there and wasn’t looking for her.) “He didn’t believe Christine!” (I love Christine but she was hysterical and talking about a ghost, of course he wouldn’t.) “He forced her to be bait!” (He was in a sucky situation, doing the best that he can.) “He was gaslighting her!” (Not. The definition. Of gaslighting.) I’ve literally read people saying that Raoul was marrying Christine so he could be rich and famous, and I was boggled that people would have such a poor grasp of social class in the 1800s. (Y’all, Raoul is a vicomte and patron of the opera house, he’s already rich. And marrying Christine is marrying down, she’s not a frigging pop star.)

And this is probably because I have a YouTube account and upload videos of other casts, but it does get tiring to see people compared (often poorly) to Ramin Karimloo and Sierra Boggess. It’s annoying if people do it using some of the other “Big Four” casts (Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman, Gerard Butler and Emmy Rossum, Ben Lewis and Anna O’Byrne, though they’re to a much lesser extent), but the comparisons to Karimloo and Boggess seem to be most frequent right now. Heck, I don’t care if people prefer them, so long as it looks like they at least gave a different cast a shot (e.g. “Ramin will always be my top, but David Thaxton really brings a different element to the role”), but more than once I’ve seen someone hop onto a video and just go, “Yup, this just proves Ramin is the top, bye!” and I’m left wondering, “Why did you watch this. Did you really click on the video willing to give another cast a chance, or did you go there solely with the attitude that so-and-so is the best and will never, ever be beaten?”

EDIT: Just remembered this one - no, a new proshot is not going to come out. It’s not going to come out just because you love that cast so, so much and think they’re oh-so-deserving of a filmed version. It’s not going to make enough money to justify the cost, no matter how big you think the phandom is.

Also, some things that seem to always pop up: yes, I know Ramin Karimloo played Christine’s father in the 2004 film. Yes, I know he’s the only one to play all three of “Christine’s loves”, ooh how special for him. Yes, I’ve seen that video of Nick Pitera. I’ve seen that video of Lindsay Stirling.

Ah, those are the major ones for now; it’s pretty dependent on the “mood” the phandom feels (like right now the last one is pretty prevalent because the 25th anniversary concert was streamed a few weeks ago, but it always dies down). Makes me realize how long I’ve been here... the things I’ve seen...

#Anonymous #GP gets asks

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thebladeblaster · 3 years

Text

Pokémon: the Dark Circuit (aka Vanguard Descends season 2)

Chapter 5 Battle At Sea

Aichi’s current team

Level 79 Wingal (Lycanroc (dusk)) rock

Moves:

Stealth rock

Crunch

Stone edge

Play rough

Level 77 Llew (Golisopod) water/bug

Moves:

Sucker punch

Blizzard

Liquidation

First impression

Level 78 Gancelot (Lucario) fighting/steel

Moves:

Focus blast

Stone edge

Meteor mash

Dragon pulse

Level 85 Soul Saver (Haxorus) dragon

Moves:

Outrage

Iron tail

Dragon dance

Scale shot

Level 100 Alfred (Aegislash) ghost/steel

Moves:

Sacred sword

King’s shield

Iron head

Shadow Claw

After getting out of the bath, they went to the dining room. Like most other rooms in the castle it was unnecessarily large. Aichi didn’t linger on that too long after the food was set on the table. He felt his mouth water as his stomach growled again. He tried to remember his table manners despite his intense hunger. Though, just shoveling food into his mouth was extremely tempting. He resisted the urge and ate at a reasonable pace. Llew however instantly dug in. Wingal sniffed the food cautiously before deciding it was safe and started eating. Gancelot ate more cleanly than the other two, but in their defense they can’t hold silverware anyway. Soul Saver mimicked his table manners similarly to how she did in Alfred’s castle. Speaking of Alfred…

Aichi looked over to where Alfred was; he seemed to have wandered off. He felt a bit worried especially with Ahmes already missing.

“Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario.(Don’t worry about Alfred, he told me he’s just checking up on something.)”, Gancelot told him.

“What would that be?”, Aichi thought.

With Alfred…

“Oh is that you Aichi boy?”, Pegasus asked as the door opened.

“No, it’s Alfred Pendragon. The once and future king of Galar.”, Alfred replied, revealing himself.

“Ah, it talks?!”, Pegasus replied with mock surprise.

“Why are you doing this?”, Alfred asked.

“Is it hard to believe I’m just helping out Aichi boy from the goodness of my heart?”, Pegasus replied.

“I know you already know about him. You knew who were before we ever entered the castle.”, Alfred replied.

“What makes you say that?”, Pegasus asked.

“You didn’t react when Aichi talked to us. I noticed your men giving him weird looks, but you didn’t look weirded out or surprised at all. Also, it’s your tone. I can tell you know more than your letting on.”, Alfred explained.

“Ah, I see you are rather clever Alfred. Yes, I know very well who Aichi boy is. It’s hard not to know when he was able to defeat one of Team Asteroid’s Psyqualia users. I don’t want anything bad if you’re thinking about that. I simply don’t like Team Asteroid. They have spoiled the fun of the whole world. Back in the olden days people used to do fun things like make cartoons that aren’t war propaganda. Cartoons just for the sake of entertainment they were the best. Now, it’s all about the war blah blah and convincing young chaps to risk their lives for their region. Anyway, I want things to go back to a more whimsical and fun time. Giving Aichi boy medical attention, a bath, and food is a small price to pay for that.”, Pegasus explained.

“I see...you don’t seem to be lying. Sorry about being so paranoid, but with the nature of what Aichi is. A lot of people with not so good intentions try to take advantage of him.”, Alfred replied.

“Even his own father only thinks about him as a tool for world domination.”, Alfred thought.

“I don’t blame you, Alfred. It’s just smart for you to be cautious. You all are so protective of him, he definitely seems like he needs it.”, Pegasus replied.

Alfred nodded, that’s why he had originally joined Aichi in the place. He’s young, naive, and has lots of power. A very bad combination. And all the malicious programming placed in his brain certainly didn’t help. Iit messed up his ability to think clearly and made him act very unlike himself when it took hold of him. He seemed to be grappling with it again. He needs positive guidance in his life. So, he wouldn’t end up going down a dark path not unlike his father and even himself at one point. He saw him personally almost like a son. He had gotten rather attached to Aichi.

“Right, goodbye Pegasus. I believe Aichi still intends to leave after dinner to find our lost party member.”, Alfred said, with a light bow before seeing himself out.

With Aichi…

Every few minutes Aichi paused his eating to look over for Alfred. The poor boy was so worried about him. He was very relieved when he saw Alfred float back in. It made him able to relax a bit and focus on filling his stomach. He’s going to need all the energy he can get to find Ahmes. Eventually, they finished and Aichi was given a new bag along with potions, revives, and food.

“Thank you very much, Pegasus. For everything, I don’t really have anything to give to repay you. I hope we meet again one day.”, Aichi thanked, with a polite bow.

“It’s nothing Aichi boy. I was glad to help you.”, Pegasus replied.

Then, they all left Pegasus’s castle and were back into the wilderness of Alola. Aichi put his finger to his head trying to sense around for Ahmes. He didn’t feel him at all. Sure, he felt other Gallades but not Ahmes. Aichi frowned hoping he hadn’t gotten too far or...the worst had happened to him. Aichi shook his head, not wanting to even consider the possibility. He was probably just somewhere else in Alola out of his range.

In Sanctuary town…

Naoki looked around Sanctuary town after school, eventually ending up in front of the Sendou household. Word had already gotten around fast that Aichi didn’t go to school today. He felt a bit worried for him and decided to go to his house.

“Maybe he’s just sick and I’m making a big deal out of this.”, Naoki thought.

He hesitatingly walked up to the door and knocked on it. The door slowly creaked open a little eerily which made Naoki raise an eyebrow. He flinched when a scaly finger pointed at him with a watery bullet starting to form. Naoki couldn’t help, but let out a startled gasp.

“Mom, that's Aichi’s friend.”, Naoki froze, recognizing the voice of Aichi’s sister.

The door opened more and he now saw Shizuka with Elaine by her side who was the one pointing at him.

“Man, your guys’ mom totally gives off gang boss vibes.”, Naoki blurted out.

Shizuka’s eyebrow twitched a bit at the ‘gang boss’ comment and Naoki flinched.

“I’m sorry, but Aichi is not here right now.”, Shizuka informed him.

She still felt very ticked off that the evacuation people wouldn’t let her look for her son. Now, he was lost who knows where and possibly in her ex-husband’s hands. She honestly considered just tying her son to her hip at this point. He always finds a way to get himself in danger. She was finding it extremely difficult to contain her motherly worry for him. She wanted to go out and find him, but she had to take care of her daughter too. She was completely stuck and it was frustrating. She remembered back when things were so much simpler. However, she never regretted having kids just the person she had them with.

“Oh...do you know when he’ll get back?”, Naoki asked.

“No.”, Shizuka replied, feeling her heart sink.

“Okay...uh...see ya later Mrs.Sendou and uh...Aichi’s sister.”, Naoki replied, waving goodbye.

“My name is Emi.”, Emi told him.

Emi looked down very worried about her brother as well. Especially after she kept having those weird dreams of what seemed like Shuka’s world. She never wanted to see Aichi be like how he was in those dreams. She just wanted her dorky older brother that she knew back. She didn’t mind having to deal with waking him up as long as he was safe at home. The dreams still felt like some kind of a bizzaro world to her. Though, Aichi was able to do some of the stuff she saw in them. First of all he could obviously always understand Pokémon. Second, he was crazy strong. She wasn’t quite sure if he was as strong as the dream Aichi. Third, he was able to do that weird absolute lock thing against Shuka just like in the dreams. She had this really bad feeling that wherever he was something was wrong with him. She just hoped when he came back he would still be himself.

In Alola…

Aichi brandished Alfred as a blade. He held up Alfred’s shield in defense when a Turtonator breathed fire at him.

“Wingal use stone edge! Llew use Liquidation! Gancelot use focus blast! Soul Saver use scale shot!”, Aichi ordered.

The Turtonator growled in pain as it was bombarded by sharp rocks. However, he wasn’t the only Pokémon attacking them. Those Pokémon are hit by the others attacks. A Bisharp charged at him and he guarded. With a simple foot movement he got behind him and delivered a hard knock on the back of its head with Alfred’s hilt. They continued on like this for a few days walking through Alola and ending up with fights from the not so friendly locals. Aichi grew increasingly worried as he still had no luck finding Ahmes. They ended up setting up camp a few times with rotating who’s on lookout.

Near Alola…

Our heroes and the Quatre Knights soon approached Alola. Little did our heroes know they were slowly being pursued by someone hiding their power. Yami couldn’t put down this bad feeling he had. He continued looking over the boat, but didn’t see anything. He stopped when he picked up Aichi’s aura and was getting closer and his exact position became a lot clearer. The Quatre Knights arrived before our heroes and quickly flew over the islands looking for Aichi. Though with the massive overgrowth it was rather hard. The trees had grown up super high in some parts and plants covered most of the region. They all flinched when in the distance the Akala island volcano suddenly went off. Lava seeped from the volcano quickly overflowing at an unnaturally rapid rate. The Kantonians looked especially panicked at this especially when they saw the shadow of a titanic Pokémon.

“It’s him!”, Yugi said, sweating nervously.

“That jerk must have followed us!”, Jonouchi said.

The others rushed up as they got a better view of the colossal Pokémon. It had red scales and a grey underbelly. It had lots of spikes on it and strange black markings. It had massive claws, a row of sharp teeth and golden eyes.

“You have got to be shitting me. Is that Groudon?!”, Misaki gasped in disbelief.

“He’s huge! He’s not even dynamaxed, yet he’s that big?!”, Kamui commented, his jaw dropped.

They all paled as a massive fiery blast was sent in their direction. They quickly threw out their Pokémon to try and get out of the boat. Kai threw out Overlord and flew on his back. Misaki threw out Guardian and flew on its back. Kamui threw out Kaiser who for some odd reason could surf. (How it could, was beyond me. Even I don’t know. It just works. I’m not joking, you can actually teach Tyranitar surf.) Miwa flew in Dauntless. Kourin flew on Bridgette. Yugi surfed on his Blastoise with Anzu. Joey threw out his own Charizard which was shiny and flew on it with Honda. The others on the boat hastily jumped onto their own Pokémon who could fly or swim.

Kai, Misaki, and Kamui mega evolved their Pokémon. To their surprise Yugi and Joey were able to as well. Joey’s mega Charizard was mega Charizard Y though. They didn’t have much time to dwell on it though and quickly rushed to stop Groudon. Though, they were at a massive disadvantage right now because they couldn’t use all their Pokémon while over open sea.

“Overlord use hurricane!”, Kai ordered.

“Guardian use psychic!”, Misaki ordered.

“Kaiser use surf!”, Kamui ordered.

“Dauntless use giga drain!”, Miwa ordered.

“Bridgette use giga drain!”, Kourin ordered.

“Catapult use hydro cannon!”, Yugi ordered.

“Red eyes use solar beam!”, Joey ordered.

“Punisher use eruption!”, the boy from before ordered on top of Groudon.

The attacks all collided with each other causing the ground to shake.

Meanwhile on Melemele island (Alola)...

Aichi and his Pokémon minus Alfred stumbled as they felt tremors ripple through the ground. They were in a thick forest and the mountain covered their view.

“What’s going on?!”, Aichi questioned.

“I don’t know, maybe one of the volcanoes erupted?”, Alfred replied.

“Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. Lucario. (I sense one did, it’s on one of the other islands though.), Gancelot said.

“Ahh!!! One of them erupted! Where is it?”, Aichi asked.

“Lucario. Lucario. (The one right of us.)”, Gancelot told him.

Aichi turned to the direction of the island.

“Lycanroc! Lycanroc! Lycanroc . Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc . Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc . Lycanroc. Lycanroc. Lycanroc . Lycanroc. Lycanroc. (Oh no! No you don’t! There’s no way you can save all the Pokémon on that island unless you stopped the lava somehow.)”, Wingal yelled, knowing exactly what Aichi’s thinking.

“Then that’s what I’ll do.”, Aichi replied, they jumped as Aichi seemed gone in an instant and Alfred lunged forward nearly catching Aichi before he seemed to disappear.

“Lycanroc! (That stupid idiot!)”, Wingal yelled.

“Haxorus! Haxorus! Haxorus. (We gotta catch up to momma!)”, Soul Saver yelled, running as fast as possible after Aichi.

They all ran and Alfred floated to catch up with their reckless trainer. Aichi was flying high in the air looking over to the island. He had a light blue aura around him and his eyes had rainbow spirals. However now that he was in the air the Quatre Knights spotted him as he flew over to Akala island.

With the other…

Misaki got in closer with guardian who punched Groudon with icy punches. The others continued to launch their attacks at Groudon in different spots. The boy sat on top of Groudon not very impressed as he could hear Groudon cringe in pain. It shot more fire balls and swiped at them with its claws. Large spikes erupted from the ground which nailed Kaiser and Catapult. Thankfully, it didn’t impale them but it did damage them, cutting them multiple times. Their strong shells protected them from being impaled.

“Kaiser!”, Kamui called out.

“Catapult!”, Yugi called out.

They started sinking as the Pokémon that they were riding on was heavily injured. Their hearts beat loudly against their chest.

“Y-yugi!”, Anzu called out, holding out her hand to Yugi.

Yugi reached out for Anzu as his necklace suddenly glowed with a bright golden light. Kamui threw out Tough Boy and recalled Kaiser.

“Yugi!”, Kamui called out concerned, riding over to him on Tough Boy.

“Yu-gi-oh!”, Kamui had no idea where that noise was coming from, but the light got brighter.

Kamui stumbled a bit surprised when Tough Boy shook a bit. He looked up to see Yugi? No Yami, but he wasn’t transparent and others could see him. He was holding Anzu in his arms sitting on the back of Tough Boy with Kamui. Yugi became Yami? Kamui blinked in shock, completely stunned.

“How the heck did you do that thing where you grew taller?”, Kamui asked.

“We’re at a disadvantage in the sea. We need to get to land and attack there.”, Yami told him, as he pointed to land.

“A-alright man.”, Kamui replied, still trying to process what just happened.

They rode Tough Boy over to the shores of Melemele island because there was no lava. As they reached the shores Aichi who was in the air saw Groudon. He gasped in shock seeing Groudon. He quickly flew over to Akala island too focused on saving the Pokémon to notice the other people flying in the sky especially since they were tiny dots compared to Groudon. He had to stop the volcano somehow. He hoped Groudon didn’t cause it. Aichi flew so fast the others didn’t see him they only felt a sharp wind blow past them.

“Woah, that the heck was that?!”, Joey questioned, desperately holding onto Red Eyes with Honda.

The Quatre Knights pursued Aichi who hovered over the Akala volcano.

“Now...how do I stop it?”, Aichi questioned.

He remembered that blast attack he shot from his finger. Maybe he could just destroy the volcano? Wait...that was probably a horrible idea and would be too destructive.

“Stop...stop...how do I make it stop...wait a minute.”, Aichi pondered, before looking at his pointer finger wondering if what he was thinking of would work on inanimate objects like lava.

“Well...I might as well try. Absolute lock!”, Aichi called out.

He shot at the lava hoping for the best. He squealed when Groudon shot fire at him in annoyance.

“Well if Groudon is the cause then...Absolute lock!”, Aichi said, pointing his finger at Groudon.

The others gasped in shock when Groudon suddenly became stuck in place. Two intersecting white rings with a golden lining and a light blue aura surrounded Groudon. Misaki and Kourin’s eyes widened, realizing who shot the attack at Groudon instantly. Aichi looked relieved when the eruption actually did stop and the lava came to a halt. Kamui was too preoccupied trying to get to land. The boy on top of Groudon’s eyes twitched with annoyance.

“Who dares?!”, the boy questioned angrily, looking around.

The aura the rings gave off was unfamiliar to him. No one he knows did this. The boy growled angrily.

“Kill them. Whoever they are.”, the boy said.

Groudon roared as the red orb was activated. Suddenly Groudon was encased in a red gem. A golden omega symbol flashed on the gem. When it broke out it’s markings had changed and now looked like lava. It’s underbelly was now black and it’s spikes became black. Not to mention it was even bigger than before. The boy touched its head and it was surrounded by his murky gold aura and broke through the absolute lock. Aichi’s jaw dropped, looking stunned that Groudon actually broke out.

“That dumb giant! He broke through my absolute lock!”, Aichi sweated nervously as he felt a anger that wasn’t his boil up inside him.

Aichi twitched trying to keep control of himself.

“Calm down!”, he told himself, hoping that would work.

“You! You don’t understand! My pride is being threatened! I am supposed to be the supreme being! First you let yourself get punched by that stupid armored scientist! Second you let us get thrown around by Celebi! Freaking Celebi! Third, that lower Psyqualia user knocked us out! Then some dumb giant is going to breaks through one of my signature moves!”, 003v replied, his voice full of venom in his mind, which made Aichi jump.

Aichi sweated nervously in complete disbelief not understanding 003v’s complete insanity. He didn’t even realize 003v was keeping score. He thought maybe he was insane too for talking to himself.

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blueandyellow1 · 5 years

Text

Witch Hunt Chapter 5: Loneliness

Ao3 link

As soon as Azurea fled Yellow’s apartment, regret flooded her mind. I should have stayed. She was the only one in my whole existence as a spirit that could speak to me.

I probably scared her away.

Tears were still streaming down her cheeks, but the strange blue light had faded. Azurea didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t even know why she left. Maybe she was scared of direct speech, after centuries of being looked through.

Azurea stops, her bare feet still underneath her. I should go back.

She stands there for an eternity, thinking about the blonde and their conversation. Time didn’t hold the same meaning to her anymore. She stood, rooted in place, until her tears dried up and the phantoms of her heartbeat slowed.

I’ve scared her away.

She’ll never want to talk to me again.

Finally, she shakes the thoughts out of her head, choosing to check up on the young man at the end of the hall. If she recalled correctly, he had had a date that evening.

…

The conversation weighed heavily on Yellow’s mind. Never before had she been able to hold a conversation with a ghost. She was fairly certain Azurea was a ghost.

I hope I’m not just going crazy this time. So lonely, I’m talking to strange voices, she thinks to herself as she’s getting into bed.

She turns the conversation over and over in her head, thinking about what happened and what it could mean.

She was so sweet. But I saw her. That’s new too. She doesn’t look like what I imagine ghosts to look like. She’s young, pretty even.

The image of Azurea still etched in her brain, she reaches to her phone on her nightstand. I’ve got to tell Connie about this. She’ll be thrilled.

Her sister was the only one she’d ever told about the voices. Even though she was always busy studying, she had a love for fantasy, specifically the supernatural. Connie had always been jealous of Yellow, wishing it was her who heard the ghosts.

“Connie, you’ll never guess what happened. I heard another ghost, but she talked to me! I saw her too.”

Her phone immediately pinged back.

“OMG really? I’m SO coming over when finals are over!!”

Yellow smiled. She would love the company, but finals were a few weeks away. Still, her sister’s enthusiasm for ghosts was adorable as always.

She scrolls through her contacts, thinking about her sister brought back the crushing loneliness. With the ghost’s words in her head, she types up a message to Pearl.

“Hey Pearl. I don’t have any classes this Friday, how about meeting up for lunch sometime?”

Another immediate response.

“Yellow! How are you? How is everything? Why didn’t you text sooner? And when the stars are you coming back to visit?”

The blonde laughs. It was so like Pearl. But it gave her an idea.

“Actually, I could come home this weekend. I’ll leave after my last lesson on Thursday. We can catch up then!”

As she waited a few seconds for Pearl to respond, the idea began to warm her heart. It would be good to go home for a few days.

“Finally! It’s been long enough.”

She smiles at the message before putting her phone down and laying back down. It’s only been two weeks, she thinks.

But she’s secretly grateful for the warm response.

…

Azurea wandered the halls aimlessly for days. She didn’t step a foot in any of the apartments, just paced back and forth, lost in her own thoughts.

She no longer had any interest in the lives of the building tenants. Her conversation with Yellow rekindled her longing for living interaction. Something she’d lost centuries ago. It was miserable.

So she walked, tears often trailing behind her. Thinking about Yellow, thinking about her sister, about the witch.

Her mind often strayed to her sister. Rozalia, the most precious being in her life. She had been dying that fateful day, when she begged the old woman to bring her back. After she pledged her body away, the witch gave her a small vial. Inside was a potion that would revive her sister, but force her soul out of her body.

After receiving the small bottle, she ran back to her village. Sprinted back through the huts, to the one where her sister lay. Shrouded in blankets, just as she had left her. Rozalia’s jovial face was flushed and dewy with sickness. Her eyelids lay half-closed, almost as if she wasn’t quite ready to go. But she was gone, her chest did not rise to fill her lungs with air, her body cooling as her heart did not beat to bring warm blood through her form.

Seeing her beloved sister in this state almost broke her. Azurea had fallen to her knees in grief, nearly forgetting the lifegiving vial.

She took the small cork off with shaking hands, being careful not to spill any of the precious liquid.

“Rozalia, I love you. I love you,” she had whispered as she opened her sister’s plump lips.

The liquid, clear as water, flowed out of the vial, glistening in the moonlight. After the final drop fell into the child’s mouth, Azurea felt herself slip away.

Her sister sat up in the bed, groggy. “Azurea? Rea?” the child whispered.

It was then the older woman let herself weep. She held onto the small hand in front of her, desperately, repeating three words over and over.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Slowly, the small hand she was clutching faded away from her. Her hands slipped through them, her own form no longer having any substance. She watched her former body stand and walk mechanically out of the hut. She never saw it again.

Her gaze was wrenched back to her Rozalia. The child was recovering her strength, calling her name louder. “Azurea? Where are you?”

How she longed to go to her. To hug her once more, to speak to her. But she had made a promise, and such things were not to be taken lightly.

“I dreamt I died, Rea, and that you were here. And you saved me, but then you left. Why did you go?”

It was then her heart truly broke. She had fled, wanting to get away from her poor sister. She ran, to go back to the witch, to beg for her body back. But she stopped, right at the edge of the forest. She had no regrets. Her sister was alive and that was all that mattered.

…

“Hey Mom, Dad! Connie?” Yellow calls as she steps through the door. Her parens’ house is small, just slightly bigger than her own apartment.

“Yellow! Mom and Dad are both at work. They’ll be home in a while. How are you?” Her sister emerges from the bedroom they once shared.

Connie’s appearance is the exact opposite of Yellow’s. Where Yellow has short blonde hair, Connie has long dark hair. Her features are soft, not angular, like the blonde’s. Atop her button nose, sit large circular glasses. And in her hand was a book.

“You’re still studying?” teases Yellow.

“Shut up!” Connie responds, “besides, it’s not even for school. When you told me about this ghost, I went to the library to check out books.”

“Alright, let me just put my stuff down. You didn’t completely take over our room did you?”

“Maybe!”

The two share a look, and Yellow swats her sister with her duffle bag.

After the blonde places her bag in their room, they settle at the dining table to pour over the book.

“So tell me everything about this ghost. You said you could talk to her?” Connie’s eyes are full of stars as her brown eyes stare at the other woman.

“Yeah, well it was just like the others at first. She said a few things to me, but I just thought it was like the others,” Yellow begins.

Connie nods, having heard about the other ghosts Yellow has encountered.

“But then the other day, I was working out, and she talked to me, like directly to me. Which was strange, but she was strange in general. I just thought maybe she was a really troubled ghost? Maybe stuck with some unfinished business?”

“Well what did she say?

Yellow’s cheeks flush. “Just some reassurances.”

“Okay, and you said you saw her? What happened before that?”

“I just told her I was surprised she hadn’t left yet and she asked me if I could hear her. And then I said yes and asked her name. Then I think she started crying? But I saw her, it was only for one second. I told her she had pretty hair. It was long and silver, really cool. After that, she disappeared and I tried calling her name, but she didn’t come back” Yellow explains.

Her sister hangs on her every word.

“According to this book I read,” Connie begins, shuffling through book pages, “a ghost can only been seen if they want to. Of course, the others say one has to be a medium to see and hear ghosts. And we already know you are one, so maybe we can look at some of these and have a seance!”

“Connie, don’t you think we’re getting a bit carried away? I mean, I only saw her once and it was just for a second,” Yellow cuts in, “besides, it seems like she doesn’t even want to talk to me anymore. I haven't heard or seen her in the past few days.”

The dark haired woman groans. “Yellow, come on! You have to do this, it’s for science! We have to test these theories out. Aren’t you curious about that girl? You said it she was different from the others.”

Yellow relents and the two fall into deep conversation. She was much more skeptical than Connie. But her older sister had read every book with the word ‘ghost’ in the library, and Yellow did want to know how to contact Azurea again.

Night falls by the time they finish talking. They had come up with a few ideas on how to open up a speaking link with the friendly spirit. Yellow falls asleep thinking about her, and her striking hair and flowing tears float through her dreams.

…

A few days after Yellow saw her, Azurea finally allowed herself to go back to the blonde’s apartment. She had paced outside the door for hours, thinking about the perfect words to say. It was hard to think of the right words to say, now that she knew Yellow could hear her.

She settled on a simple apology and an open ended question about Yellow’s life. The phantom had decided that she would like to know more about her life, especially since she seemed to have lived a very interesting life.

But when she finally worked up the courage to walk through the door, she found herself alone. The lights were off and there was no Yellow, even though it was evening. She floated through the small space, double checking for any signs of life.

At first, she decided Yellow must be off, perhaps meeting one of her friends, or teaching a new class. But the longer she stayed, the more apparent it was that the blonde had left. There was no toothbrush in the cup by the sink, no black phone charger on the nightstand. The closet door stood slightly ajar, showcasing empty hangers.

She really left, thought the spirit in dismay, I scared her off.

Still, she waited a few days, hoping, wishing that the lively woman was coming back. Sitting on the ground, facing the front door, she waits.

After two days, she grew bored. Azurea lets her gaze drift from the door around the apartment. At the empty counter and table. The hook where Yellow’s coat would be.

Cerulean eyes found a spider in the corner, slowly spinning a web in the dust. It’s the final straw.

Azurea got up, walking silently to the bedroom. She came to a rest on the neatly tucked bed in the room, pretending that she could sink in the softness of the duvet. She laid down, closing her eyes, which had begun to tear up.

In her centuries of walking the Earth, she had only once felt such a devastating ache in her chest. She hugs her knees to her chest, feeling the ache growing stronger.

Finally, someone talks to you and you have to go and scare them away.

She wishes she had stayed there with Yellow that day. Or that she had just kept her mouth shut in the first place.

She brings a hand to her mouth, as if she could take back all the words. Clamped shut, no words or sobs can escape.

Her fingernails dig into the soft skin of her cheeks, leaving a mark. Azurea allows the feeling of pain to wash over her, transferring some of the ache in her heart to her face.

Why are you even holding it back, she thinks darkly, no one is here to listen or care.

The floodgates open. Two pale hands ball up in fists begin to shake as sobs wracked through her body. Azurea loses herself in a pit of sorrow, mentally falling deeper and deeper into despair.

This is pointless! My existence has no meaning.

She begins to claw at her skin, leaving deep scratches she can feel, but can’t see.

Maybe it did when Rozalia was alive, because her life was a constant reminder of everything that was good in the world.

Once her skin grew numb, her hands shifted to her hair. Her fists balled up once more as she tried to pull out locks of her thick hair.

But now she’s gone and so is Yellow and all anyone ever does is leave.

When her fingers fail to loosen any strands of hair, she tugs harder. Anything to combat the ache in her heart.

Azurea begins to scream. The crushing loneliness she’s built up over the years comes to a head and she begins to drown. Pain shoots out from her chest to the scratches, to her head, until it envelopes her entire body in white hot, searing pain.

It hurts...it hurts! It’s never going to stop…

Now that the pain has spread out from her heart, she stops pulling at her hair, instead curling up in a ball. Her white hair splays around her, creating waves around her as her body quakes. She buries her head deep in her chest, her tears pooling in a puddle.

Azurea’s wails are so loud, she doesn’t hear the door unlock and a figure step in.

#my writing #bellow diamond #yellow diamond #blue diamond #witch hunt #fanfic #su fanfic #steven universe fanfic #my post

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draculalive · 5 years

Text

Dr. Seward’s Diary

3 October. — Let me put down with exactness all that happened, as well as I can remember it, since last I made an entry. Not a detail that I can recall must be forgotten; in all calmness I must proceed.

When I came to Renfield’s room I found him lying on the floor on his left side in a glittering pool of blood. When I went to move him, it became at once apparent that he had received some terrible injuries; there seemed none of that unity of purpose between the parts of the body which marks even lethargic sanity. As the face was exposed I could see that it was horribly bruised, as though it had been beaten against the floor — indeed it was from the face wounds that the pool of blood originated. The attendant who was kneeling beside the body said to me as we turned him over:—

“I think, sir, his back is broken. See, both his right arm and leg and the whole side of his face are paralysed.” How such a thing could have happened puzzled the attendant beyond measure. He seemed quite bewildered, and his brows were gathered in as he said:—

“I can’t understand the two things. He could mark his face like that by beating his own head on the floor. I saw a young woman do it once at the Eversfield Asylum before anyone could lay hands on her. And I suppose he might have broke his neck by falling out of bed, if he got in an awkward kink. But for the life of me I can’t imagine how the two things occurred. If his back was broke, he couldn’t beat his head; and if his face was like that before the fall out of bed, there would be marks of it.” I said to him:—

“Go to Dr. Van Helsing, and ask him to kindly come here at once. I want him without an instant’s delay.” The man ran off, and within a few minutes the Professor, in his dressing gown and slippers, appeared. When he saw Renfield on the ground, he looked keenly at him a moment, and then turned to me. I think he recognised my thought in my eyes, for he said very quietly, manifestly for the ears of the attendant:—

“Ah, a sad accident! He will need very careful watching, and much attention. I shall stay with you myself; but I shall first dress myself. If you will remain I shall in a few minutes join you.”

The patient was now breathing stertorously and it was easy to see that he had suffered some terrible injury. Van Helsing returned with extraordinary celerity, bearing with him a surgical case. He had evidently been thinking and had his mind made up; for, almost before he looked at the patient, he whispered to me:—

“Send the attendant away. We must be alone with him when he becomes conscious, after the operation.” So I said:—

“I think that will do now, Simmons. We have done all that we can at present. You had better go your round, and Dr. Van Helsing will operate. Let me know instantly if there be anything unusual anywhere.”

The man withdrew, and we went into a strict examination of the patient. The wounds of the face was superficial; the real injury was a depressed fracture of the skull, extending right up through the motor area. The Professor thought a moment and said:—

“We must reduce the pressure and get back to normal conditions, as far as can be; the rapidity of the suffusion shows the terrible nature of his injury. The whole motor area seems affected. The suffusion of the brain will increase quickly, so we must trephine at once or it may be too late.” As he was speaking there was a soft tapping at the door. I went over and opened it and found in the corridor without, Arthur and Quincey in pajamas and slippers: the former spoke:—

“I heard your man call up Dr. Van Helsing and tell him of an accident. So I woke Quincey or rather called for him as he was not asleep. Things are moving too quickly and too strangely for sound sleep for any of us these times. I’ve been thinking that to-morrow night will not see things as they have been. We’ll have to look back — and forward a little more than we have done. May we come in?” I nodded, and held the door open till they had entered; then I closed it again. When Quincey saw the attitude and state of the patient, and noted the horrible pool on the floor, he said softly:—

“My God! what has happened to him? Poor, poor devil!” I told him briefly, and added that we expected he would recover consciousness after the operation — for a short time, at all events. He went at once and sat down on the edge of the bed, with Godalming beside him; we all watched in patience.

“We shall wait,” said Van Helsing, “just long enough to fix the best spot for trephining, so that we may most quickly and perfectly remove the blood clot; for it is evident that the hæmorrhage is increasing.”

The minutes during which we waited passed with fearful slowness. I had a horrible sinking in my heart, and from Van Helsing’s face I gathered that he felt some fear or apprehension as to what was to come. I dreaded the words that Renfield might speak. I was positively afraid to think; but the conviction of what was coming was on me, as I have read of men who have heard the death-watch. The poor man’s breathing came in uncertain gasps. Each instant he seemed as though he would open his eyes and speak; but then would follow a prolonged stertorous breath, and he would relapse into a more fixed insensibility. Inured as I was to sick beds and death, this suspense grew, and grew upon me. I could almost hear the beating of my own heart; and the blood surging through my temples sounded like blows from a hammer. The silence finally became agonising. I looked at my companions, one after another, and saw from their flushed faces and damp brows that they were enduring equal torture. There was a nervous suspense over us all, as though overhead some dread bell would peal out powerfully when we should least expect it.

At last there came a time when it was evident that the patient was sinking fast; he might die at any moment. I looked up at the Professor and caught his eyes fixed on mine. His face was sternly set as he spoke:—

“There is no time to lose. His words may be worth many lives; I have been thinking so, as I stood here. It may be there is a soul at stake! We shall operate just above the ear.”

Without another word he made the operation. For a few moments the breathing continued to be stertorous. Then there came a breath so prolonged that it seemed as though it would tear open his chest. Suddenly his eyes opened, and became fixed in a wild, helpless stare. This was continued for a few moments; then it softened into a glad surprise, and from the lips came a sigh of relief. He moved convulsively, and as he did so, said:—

“I’ll be quiet, Doctor. Tell them to take off the strait-waistcoat. I have had a terrible dream, and it has left me so weak that I cannot move. What’s wrong with my face? it feels all swollen, and it smarts dreadfully.” He tried to turn his head; but even with the effort his eyes seemed to grow glassy again so I gently put it back. Then Van Helsing said in a quiet grave tone:—

“Tell us your dream, Mr. Renfield.” As he heard the voice his face brightened, through its mutilation, and he said:—

“That is Dr. Van Helsing. How good it is of you to be here. Give me some water, my lips are dry; and I shall try to tell you. I dreamed” — he stopped and seemed fainting, I called quietly to Quincey — “The brandy — it is in my study — quick!” He flew and returned with a glass, the decanter of brandy and a carafe of water. We moistened the parched lips, and the patient quickly revived. It seemed, however, that his poor injured brain had been working in the interval, for, when he was quite conscious, he looked at me piercingly with an agonised confusion which I shall never forget, and said:—

“I must not deceive myself; it was no dream, but all a grim reality.” Then his eyes roved round the room; as they caught sight of the two figures sitting patiently on the edge of the bed he went on:—

“If I were not sure already, I would know from them.” For an instant his eyes closed — not with pain or sleep but voluntarily, as though he were bringing all his faculties to bear; when he opened them he said, hurriedly, and with more energy than he had yet displayed:—

“Quick, Doctor, quick. I am dying! I feel that I have but a few minutes; and then I must go back to death — or worse! Wet my lips with brandy again. I have something that I must say before I die; or before my poor crushed brain dies anyhow. Thank you! It was that night after you left me, when I implored you to let me go away. I couldn’t speak then, for I felt my tongue was tied; but I was as sane then, except in that way, as I am now. I was in an agony of despair for a long time after you left me; it seemed hours. Then there came a sudden peace to me. My brain seemed to become cool again, and I realised where I was. I heard the dogs bark behind our house, but not where He was!” As he spoke, Van Helsing’s eyes never blinked, but his hand came out and met mine and gripped it hard. He did not, however, betray himself; he nodded slightly and said: “Go on,” in a low voice. Renfield proceeded:—

“He came up to the window in the mist, as I had seen him often before; but he was solid then — not a ghost, and his eyes were fierce like a man’s when angry. He was laughing with his red mouth; the sharp white teeth glinted in the moonlight when he turned to look back over the belt of trees, to where the dogs were barking. I wouldn’t ask him to come in at first, though I knew he wanted to — just as he had wanted all along. Then he began promising me things — not in words but by doing them.” He was interrupted by a word from the Professor:—

“How?”

“By making them happen; just as he used to send in the flies when the sun was shining. Great big fat ones with steel and sapphire on their wings; and big moths, in the night, with skull and cross-bones on their backs.” Van Helsing nodded to him as he whispered to me unconsciously:—

“The Acherontia Aitetropos of the Sphinges — what you call the ‘Death’s-head Moth’?” The patient went on without stopping.

“Then he began to whisper: ‘Rats, rats, rats! Hundreds, thousands, millions of them, and every one a life; and dogs to eat them, and cats too. All lives! all red blood, with years of life in it; and not merely buzzing flies!’ I laughed at him, for I wanted to see what he could do. Then the dogs howled, away beyond the dark trees in His house. He beckoned me to the window. I got up and looked out, and He raised his hands, and seemed to call out without using any words. A dark mass spread over the grass, coming on like the shape of a flame of fire; and then He moved the mist to the right and left, and I could see that there were thousands of rats with their eyes blazing red — like His, only smaller. He held up his hand, and they all stopped; and I thought he seemed to be saying: ‘All these lives will I give you, ay, and many more and greater, through countless ages, if you will fall down and worship me!’ And then a red cloud, like the colour of blood, seemed to close over my eyes; and before I knew what I was doing, I found myself opening the sash and saying to Him: ‘Come in, Lord and Master!’ The rats were all gone, but He slid into the room through the sash, though it was only open an inch wide — just as the Moon herself has often come in through the tiniest crack and has stood before me in all her size and splendour.”

His voice was weaker, so I moistened his lips with the brandy again, and he continued; but it seemed as though his memory had gone on working in the interval for his story was further advanced. I was about to call him back to the point, but Van Helsing whispered to me: “Let him go on. Do not interrupt him; he cannot go back, and maybe could not proceed at all if once he lost the thread of his thought.” He proceeded:—

“All day I waited to hear from him, but he did not send me anything, not even a blow-fly, and when the moon got up I was pretty angry with him. When he slid in through the window, though it was shut, and did not even knock, I got mad with him. He sneered at me, and his white face looked out of the mist with his red eyes gleaming, and he went on as though he owned the whole place, and I was no one. He didn’t even smell the same as he went by me. I couldn’t hold him. I thought that, somehow, Mrs. Harker had come into the room.”

The two men sitting on the bed stood up and came over, standing behind him so that he could not see them, but where they could hear better. They were both silent, but the Professor started and quivered; his face, however, grew grimmer and sterner still. Renfield went on without noticing:—

“When Mrs. Harker came in to see me this afternoon she wasn’t the same; it was like tea after the teapot had been watered.” Here we all moved, but no one said a word; he went on:—

“I didn’t know that she was here till she spoke; and she didn’t look the same. I don’t care for the pale people; I like them with lots of blood in them, and hers had all seemed to have run out. I didn’t think of it at the time; but when she went away I began to think, and it made me mad to know that He had been taking the life out of her.” I could feel that the rest quivered, as I did, but we remained otherwise still. “So when He came to-night I was ready for Him. I saw the mist stealing in, and I grabbed it tight. I had heard that madmen have unnatural strength; and as I knew I was a madman — at times anyhow — I resolved to use my power. Ay, and He felt it too, for He had to come out of the mist to struggle with me. I held tight; and I thought I was going to win, for I didn’t mean Him to take any more of her life, till I saw His eyes. They burned into me, and my strength became like water. He slipped through it, and when I tried to cling to Him, He raised me up and flung me down. There was a red cloud before me, and a noise like thunder, and the mist seemed to steal away under the door.” His voice was becoming fainter and his breath more stertorous. Van Helsing stood up instinctively.

“We know the worst now,” he said. “He is here, and we know his purpose. It may not be too late. Let us be armed — the same as we were the other night, but lose no time; there is not an instant to spare.” There was no need to put our fear, nay our conviction, into words — we shared them in common. We all hurried and took from our rooms the same things that we had when we entered the Count’s house. The Professor had his ready, and as we met in the corridor he pointed to them significantly as he said:—

“They never leave me; and they shall not till this unhappy business is over. Be wise also, my friends. It is no common enemy that we deal with. Alas! alas! that that dear Madam Mina should suffer!” He stopped; his voice was breaking, and I do not know if rage or terror predominated in my own heart.

Outside the Harkers’ door we paused. Art and Quincey held back, and the latter said:—

“Should we disturb her?”

“We must,” said Van Helsing grimly. “If the door be locked, I shall break it in.”

“May it not frighten her terribly? It is unusual to break into a lady’s room!”

Van Helsing said solemnly, “You are always right; but this is life and death. All chambers are alike to the doctor; and even were they not they are all as one to me to-night. Friend John, when I turn the handle, if the door does not open, do you put your shoulder down and shove; and you too, my friends. Now!”

He turned the handle as he spoke, but the door did not yield. We threw ourselves against it; with a crash it burst open, and we almost fell headlong into the room. The Professor did actually fall, and I saw across him as he gathered himself up from hands and knees. What I saw appalled me. I felt my hair rise like bristles on the back of my neck, and my heart seemed to stand still.

The moonlight was so bright that through the thick yellow blind the room was light enough to see. On the bed beside the window lay Jonathan Harker, his face flushed and breathing heavily as though in a stupor. Kneeling on the near edge of the bed facing outwards was the white-clad figure of his wife. By her side stood a tall, thin man, clad in black. His face was turned from us, but the instant we saw we all recognised the Count — in every way, even to the scar on his forehead. With his left hand he held both Mrs. Harker’s hands, keeping them away with her arms at full tension; his right hand gripped her by the back of the neck, forcing her face down on his bosom. Her white nightdress was smeared with blood, and a thin stream trickled down the man’s bare breast which was shown by his torn-open dress. The attitude of the two had a terrible resemblance to a child forcing a kitten’s nose into a saucer of milk to compel it to drink. As we burst into the room, the Count turned his face, and the hellish look that I had heard described seemed to leap into it. His eyes flamed red with devilish passion; the great nostrils of the white aquiline nose opened wide and quivered at the edge; and the white sharp teeth, behind the full lips of the blood-dripping mouth, champed together like those of a wild beast. With a wrench, which threw his victim back upon the bed as though hurled from a height, he turned and sprang at us. But by this time the Professor had gained his feet, and was holding towards him the envelope which contained the Sacred Wafer. The Count suddenly stopped, just as poor Lucy had done outside the tomb, and cowered back. Further and further back he cowered, as we, lifting our crucifixes, advanced. The moonlight suddenly failed, as a great black cloud sailed across the sky; and when the gaslight sprang up under Quincey’s match, we saw nothing but a faint vapour. This, as we looked, trailed under the door, which with the recoil from its bursting open, had swung back to its old position. Van Helsing, Art, and I moved forward to Mrs. Harker, who by this time had drawn her breath and with it had given a scream so wild, so ear-piercing, so despairing that it seems to me now that it will ring in my ears till my dying day. For a few seconds she lay in her helpless attitude and disarray. Her face was ghastly, with a pallor which was accentuated by the blood which smeared her lips and cheeks and chin; from her throat trickled a thin stream of blood; her eyes were mad with terror. Then she put before her face her poor crushed hands, which bore on their whiteness the red mark of the Count’s terrible grip, and from behind them came a low desolate wail which made the terrible scream seem only the quick expression of an endless grief. Van Helsing stepped forward and drew the coverlet gently over her body, whilst Art, after looking at her face for an instant despairingly, ran out of the room. Van Helsing whispered to me:—

“Jonathan is in a stupor such as we know the Vampire can produce. We can do nothing with poor Madam Mina for a few moments till she recovers herself; I must wake him!” He dipped the end of a towel in cold water and with it began to flick him on the face, his wife all the while holding her face between her hands and sobbing in a way that was heart-breaking to hear. I raised the blind, and looked out of the window. There was much moonshine; and as I looked I could see Quincey Morris run across the lawn and hide himself in the shadow of a great yew-tree. It puzzled me to think why he was doing this; but at the instant I heard Harker’s quick exclamation as he woke to partial consciousness, and turned to the bed. On his face, as there might well be, was a look of wild amazement. He seemed dazed for a few seconds, and then full consciousness seemed to burst upon him all at once, and he started up. His wife was aroused by the quick movement, and turned to him with her arms stretched out, as though to embrace him; instantly, however, she drew them in again, and putting her elbows together, held her hands before her face, and shuddered till the bed beneath her shook.

“In God’s name what does this mean?” Harker cried out. “Dr. Seward, Dr. Van Helsing, what is it? What has happened? What is wrong? Mina, dear, what is it? What does that blood mean? My God, my God! has it come to this!” and, raising himself to his knees, he beat his hands wildly together. “Good God help us! help her! oh, help her!” With a quick movement he jumped from bed, and began to pull on his clothes, — all the man in him awake at the need for instant exertion. “What has happened? Tell me all about it!” he cried without pausing. “Dr. Van Helsing, you love Mina, I know. Oh, do something to save her. It cannot have gone too far yet. Guard her while I look for him!” His wife, through her terror and horror and distress, saw some sure danger to him: instantly forgetting her own grief, she seized hold of him and cried out:—

“No! no! Jonathan, you must not leave me. I have suffered enough to-night, God knows, without the dread of his harming you. You must stay with me. Stay with these friends who will watch over you!” Her expression became frantic as she spoke; and, he yielding to her, she pulled him down sitting on the bed side, and clung to him fiercely.

Van Helsing and I tried to calm them both. The Professor held up his little golden crucifix, and said with wonderful calmness:—

“Do not fear, my dear. We are here; and whilst this is close to you no foul thing can approach. You are safe for to-night; and we must be calm and take counsel together.” She shuddered and was silent, holding down her head on her husband’s breast. When she raised it, his white night-robe was stained with blood where her lips had touched, and where the thin open wound in her neck had sent forth drops. The instant she saw it she drew back, with a low wail, and whispered, amidst choking sobs:—

“Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh, that it should be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom he may have most cause to fear.” To this he spoke out resolutely:—

“Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame to me to hear such a word. I would not hear it of you; and I shall not hear it from you. May God judge me by my deserts, and punish me with more bitter suffering than even this hour, if by any act or will of mine anything ever come between us!” He put out his arms and folded her to his breast; and for a while she lay there sobbing. He looked at us over her bowed head, with eyes that blinked damply above his quivering nostrils; his mouth was set as steel. After a while her sobs became less frequent and more faint, and then he said to me, speaking with a studied calmness which I felt tried his nervous power to the utmost:—

“And now, Dr. Seward, tell me all about it. Too well I know the broad fact; tell me all that has been.” I told him exactly what had happened, and he listened with seeming impassiveness; but his nostrils twitched and his eyes blazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the Count had held his wife in that terrible and horrid position, with her mouth to the open wound in his breast. It interested me, even at that moment, to see, that, whilst the face of white set passion worked convulsively over the bowed head, the hands tenderly and lovingly stroked the ruffled hair. Just as I had finished, Quincey and Godalming knocked at the door. They entered in obedience to our summons. Van Helsing looked at me questioningly. I understood him to mean if we were to take advantage of their coming to divert if possible the thoughts of the unhappy husband and wife from each other and from themselves; so on nodding acquiescence to him he asked them what they had seen or done. To which Lord Godalming answered:—

“I could not see him anywhere in the passage, or in any of our rooms. I looked in the study but, though he had been there, he had gone. He had, however — — ” He stopped suddenly, looking at the poor drooping figure on the bed. Van Helsing said gravely:—

“Go on, friend Arthur. We want here no more concealments. Our hope now is in knowing all. Tell freely!” So Art went on:—

“He had been there, and though it could only have been for a few seconds, he made rare hay of the place. All the manuscript had been burned, and the blue flames were flickering amongst the white ashes; the cylinders of your phonograph too were thrown on the fire, and the wax had helped the flames.” Here I interrupted. “Thank God there is the other copy in the safe!” His face lit for a moment, but fell again as he went on: “I ran downstairs then, but could see no sign of him. I looked into Renfield’s room; but there was no trace there except — — !” Again he paused. “Go on,” said Harker hoarsely; so he bowed his head and moistening his lips with his tongue, added: “except that the poor fellow is dead.” Mrs. Harker raised her head, looking from one to the other of us she said solemnly:—

“God’s will be done!” I could not but feel that Art was keeping back something; but, as I took it that it was with a purpose, I said nothing. Van Helsing turned to Morris and asked:—

“And you, friend Quincey, have you any to tell?”

“A little,” he answered. “It may be much eventually, but at present I can’t say. I thought it well to know if possible where the Count would go when he left the house. I did not see him; but I saw a bat rise from Renfield’s window, and flap westward. I expected to see him in some shape go back to Carfax; but he evidently sought some other lair. He will not be back to-night; for the sky is reddening in the east, and the dawn is close. We must work to-morrow!”

He said the latter words through his shut teeth. For a space of perhaps a couple of minutes there was silence, and I could fancy that I could hear the sound of our hearts beating; then Van Helsing said, placing his hand very tenderly on Mrs. Harker’s head:—

“And now, Madam Mina — poor, dear, dear Madam Mina — tell us exactly what happened. God knows that I do not want that you be pained; but it is need that we know all. For now more than ever has all work to be done quick and sharp, and in deadly earnest. The day is close to us that must end all, if it may be so; and now is the chance that we may live and learn.”

The poor, dear lady shivered, and I could see the tension of her nerves as she clasped her husband closer to her and bent her head lower and lower still on his breast. Then she raised her head proudly, and held out one hand to Van Helsing who took it in his, and, after stooping and kissing it reverently, held it fast. The other hand was locked in that of her husband, who held his other arm thrown round her protectingly. After a pause in which she was evidently ordering her thoughts, she began:—

“I took the sleeping draught which you had so kindly given me, but for a long time it did not act. I seemed to become more wakeful, and myriads of horrible fancies began to crowd in upon my mind — all of them connected with death, and vampires; with blood, and pain, and trouble.” Her husband involuntarily groaned as she turned to him and said lovingly: “Do not fret, dear. You must be brave and strong, and help me through the horrible task. If you only knew what an effort it is to me to tell of this fearful thing at all, you would understand how much I need your help. Well, I saw I must try to help the medicine to its work with my will, if it was to do me any good, so I resolutely set myself to sleep. Sure enough sleep must soon have come to me, for I remember no more. Jonathan coming in had not waked me, for he lay by my side when next I remember. There was in the room the same thin white mist that I had before noticed. But I forget now if you know of this; you will find it in my diary which I shall show you later. I felt the same vague terror which had come to me before and the same sense of some presence. I turned to wake Jonathan, but found that he slept so soundly that it seemed as if it was he who had taken the sleeping draught, and not I. I tried, but I could not wake him. This caused me a great fear, and I looked around terrified. Then indeed, my heart sank within me: beside the bed, as if he had stepped out of the mist — or rather as if the mist had turned into his figure, for it had entirely disappeared — stood a tall, thin man, all in black. I knew him at once from the description of the others. The waxen face; the high aquiline nose, on which the light fell in a thin white line; the parted red lips, with the sharp white teeth showing between; and the red eyes that I had seemed to see in the sunset on the windows of St. Mary’s Church at Whitby. I knew, too, the red scar on his forehead where Jonathan had struck him. For an instant my heart stood still, and I would have screamed out, only that I was paralysed. In the pause he spoke in a sort of keen, cutting whisper, pointing as he spoke to Jonathan:—

“‘Silence! If you make a sound I shall take him and dash his brains out before your very eyes.’ I was appalled and was too bewildered to do or say anything. With a mocking smile, he placed one hand upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as he did so, ‘First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You may as well be quiet; it is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my thirst!’ I was bewildered, and, strangely enough, I did not want to hinder him. I suppose it is a part of the horrible curse that such is, when his touch is on his victim. And oh, my God, my God, pity me! He placed his reeking lips upon my throat!” Her husband groaned again. She clasped his hand harder, and looked at him pityingly, as if he were the injured one, and went on:—

“I felt my strength fading away, and I was in a half swoon. How long this horrible thing lasted I know not; but it seemed that a long time must have passed before he took his foul, awful, sneering mouth away. I saw it drip with the fresh blood!” The remembrance seemed for a while to overpower her, and she drooped and would have sunk down but for her husband’s sustaining arm. With a great effort she recovered herself and went on:—

“Then he spoke to me mockingly, ‘And so you, like the others, would play your brains against mine. You would help these men to hunt me and frustrate me in my designs! You know now, and they know in part already, and will know in full before long, what it is to cross my path. They should have kept their energies for use closer to home. Whilst they played wits against me — against me who commanded nations, and intrigued for them, and fought for them, hundreds of years before they were born — I was countermining them. And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for a while; and shall be later on my companion and my helper. You shall be avenged in turn; for not one of them but shall minister to your needs. But as yet you are to be punished for what you have done. You have aided in thwarting me; now you shall come to my call. When my brain says “Come!” to you, you shall cross land or sea to do my bidding; and to that end this!’ With that he pulled open his shirt, and with his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast. When the blood began to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight, and with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound, so that I must either suffocate or swallow some of the — — Oh my God! my God! what have I done? What have I done to deserve such a fate, I who have tried to walk in meekness and righteousness all my days. God pity me! Look down on a poor soul in worse than mortal peril; and in mercy pity those to whom she is dear!” Then she began to rub her lips as though to cleanse them from pollution.

As she was telling her terrible story, the eastern sky began to quicken, and everything became more and more clear. Harker was still and quiet; but over his face, as the awful narrative went on, came a grey look which deepened and deepened in the morning light, till when the first red streak of the coming dawn shot up, the flesh stood darkly out against the whitening hair.

We have arranged that one of us is to stay within call of the unhappy pair till we can meet together and arrange about taking action.

Of this I am sure: the sun rises to-day on no more miserable house in all the great round of its daily course.

#vampires #dracula #draculalive

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jack-kellys · 5 years

Text

thank u, next

CHAPTER THREE HAS ARRIVED IN THEATERS AT LAST THAnks tumblr for literally melting down yikes

sorry I’ve been RIDICULOUSLY MIA guys requests are coming soon after this :)

—————

chapters one (x) and two (x)

warnings: cursing, implied past NSFW things, death mention

words: 1800+ sorry not as much as I’d HOPED

—————

Three

Race woke up happy, which was bad.

That hadn’t happened in a century.

He was also tangled in someone’s warm arms and laying against someone’s tanned chest, which happened a lot, but the fact that Race regretted it in a different kind of way this time was definitely a strange feeling. And bad.

“Mornin’,” said the someone, voice groggy.

Race shifted slightly, looking at Al’s face.

This poor, poor boy.

The first thing Race noticed were his eyes—unfocused and cloudy with something, but content. His cheeks were a bit more flushed than normal, too. Al looked hazy so say the least, but he was smiling through it.

Guilt crashed down onto Race and he curled back into Albert’s chest, unable to meet his eyes. Al didn't deserve this. He wished he hadn’t gotten involved, wish he never stepped through that door.

But now here Al was anyway, much to Race’s dismay. The first person he truly felt bad for, despite the hundreds before him.

Over his years, Race had learned that most people weren’t…good. Most people had an edge to them, or such a lack thereof that they turned uninteresting, and nearly everyone he had come across were never a good balance of the two. And then Al happened. Race didn’t understand. His streak had suddenly broke like that, his heart was suddenly beating like that, he suddenly wanted to touch someone like that. Albert somehow made him want to try and be more of himself, more real, more honest, just like that.

“Hey, Albie, I...should tell you something—important—about me,” Race said quietly into Al’s chest, tracing down his side to distract his racing mind.

“Does this important something require pants?” Al sighed, starting to untangle himself from Race, who couldn’t help huffing out a slight giggle.

“No, I guess not, but get ‘em anyway,” Race shrugged, lugging himself out of the bed to put his own back on too, then flopping back down face-first.

He couldn’t just...tell Albert, right? Not everything at least. There would probably be some consequence for that. He mumbled into the mattress instead, opting for stalling, before Al moved Race into his lap.

“What’s wrong, Race? Actually,” Albert added, his expression much clearer than it was before. His brown eyes were sharp and worried instead of dazed and dreamy. They flitted around Race’s face, almost protectively, and Race could tell that it was instinct and not just Race’s effect. That made him a little more comfortable.

“It’s just really, really weird, okay? Like nothing you’ve heard before,” Race mumbled.

“Then out with it,” Al urged. “It’s easier to just get it out of you than to just sit with it, I swear. I won’t judge you or nothin’.”

“But you will. You’ll kinda have to.”

“But I won’t.”

“Well, you will.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes I do!” Race burst, “because—because I’m not…” He took a deep breath.

“I’m not like you, on a metaphysical level. Meaning, like, um…”

Al’s expression had turned slightly confused and only more worried. Race let out a short sigh.

“I’m not technically a person. A human. Anymore. Ya know?”

Race shrunk down at his own confession, not meeting Al’s intense gaze. He was putting pieces together, Race could tell.

“So, what, you’re like dead or somethin’?” Al said after a minute. Then he gasped lightly. “Race, I better not’ve committed necrophilia, oh my god, Race, this might be bad, like really bad, god...” Al’s voice grew slightly frantic, pulling himself away from Race.

“Al, hey, wait…” Race tried, but Al had drawn back, muttering ‘I just fucked a ghost’ over a few times. Race rolled his eyes and grabbed onto Albert’s hands, locking eyes with him.

“You didn’t just fuck a ghost, okay?” Race said, saying his words slowly.

“I didn’t?” Albert’s eyes were wide, and a little scared. Race winced.

“No, you didn’t. I’m not dead—anymore. Just, um, lemme explain.”

After a beat, Albert nodded slightly, looking at Race expectantly.

Oh, shit. Obviously he had to follow through. Race let himself think a moment before speaking again.

“So, um, all the way back in the late 1800s, my mom brought me and my siblings here from Italy. That apartment—when it was a tenement, I mean—was where we lived for a while. But it was really shitty, and gross, you know. Our landlord didn’t give a shit, just like everyone else. The city was really disgusting then—and now, but then was...real bad, Al. And so I got sick. And died.”

Race watched Al rest his chin in his hand, contemplating the first part of Race’s history. Race couldn’t read his expression, which was new.

“No, keep going,” Al murmured with a nod. “Can’t just stop there, right?”

He smiled, which made Race smile. “Right.

“So I died in, uh, that apartment. But my mom was...kind of a witch by today’s definition. And she put this spell on my, like, body, is what I gather. So when she died, I would be revived, and generally haunt this area. Specifically the apartment.”

Albert nodded, not speaking for a few moments. He was taking this surprisingly well for just some guy, Race thought.

“But we’re at your apartment. You own your own apartment…” Albert trailed off for a second. “Are you not... tied to the other apartment? Metaphorically?”

Race shrugged. “Haven’t really thought of it that way. Uh, I guess...only...a little, ‘cause I’ve been the realtor since...yeah. I kind of still don’t know what the hell I am, since this was all done to me when I was...dead,” Race said quietly.

“Right, yeah. Sorry,” Al added. “This just ain’t usual ghost stuff as far as I know. So we can rule that out.”

“Yeah, we can rule that out,” Race laughed softly.

“One thing doesn’t make sense—or, well. Makes less sense than the rest of this,” Al said, unsure of his words and unknowing of Race’s heart slamming against his chest as he said those words. “Why would your mom do that? Why not just bring you back to life so you could be with your family?” Albert’s nose was slightly scrunched in thought, his gaze lowered. Race could tell he was thinking; maybe too much thinking.

Race bit his lip. He knew why his mother had done this to him, but there wasn’t any way in hell he was saying that.

Quick, Race, c’mon.

“Maybe I’m here to make sure...” Race briefly lost his thought before grabbing hold of the lie again. “To make sure that anyone who buys that place doesn’t end up like me?”

Al’s eyebrow raised at Race’s inflection. “Ain’t you sure?” he asked Race.

Al looked alarmingly skeptical, making Race irritatingly nervous. He still wasn’t used to feeling outdone, not used to others feeling unimpressed by him; even if Al normally was impressed, he did have moments when he doubted things too much.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Race nodded, Albert’s expression still remaining.

“You realize that implies that anyone who buys that apartment would die, right? Without you?”

“Yeah, yeah, the place was probably cursed before me and my family moved into it,” Race tried to clarify. “I’m like a blockade. Against it.”

But Al’s expression only furrowed further. “Well, then that implies that...that supernatural people before your mom occupied that building, which...I have trouble wrapping my head around,” Al sighed. “Like, okay, whatever, you’re a mix between zombie and reincarnation, sure—long as I didn’t commit necrophilia. But the weirdest thing to me is that your mom wouldn’t just bring you back to life in your time, and instead make you stay behind for...who knows how long. You’re her family, I just…the motive is wacked out. It’s not a good enough reason to leave her own son behind...” Albert thought out loud, then he flinched at his words and muttered an apology.

Race scoffed, heart hammering. “Thought you said you were a physics major, not an investigative journalist.”

“It just so happens,” Albert said, raising his eyebrow again, “that I took a course in legal studies ‘cause my friend dared me too, and paranormal stuff was kind of, like, my shit.”

“Really,” Race said, pulling at his hands nervously.

“Yeah. Really. I don't wanna push anything, but there's definitely something you ain't telling me,” Al said quietly, his serious expression unwavering. “Don’t worry—I get it, a lot, I’m just telling you that I can tell somethin’s up.”

Race’s eyes narrowed, pulled back into business mode. He shouldn’t have told Al anything, he was too smart. Race had to control this—control him.

Race reluctantly crawled forward, Albert glancing up and down at him looking like he wanted to say something. Race sat himself right in front of Al, then placed his index and middle fingers on Albert’s temple, his ring and pinkie fingers on the corner of his jaw, and rested his thumb on his cheek, Race biting down hard on his own lip to will himself to keep to it, to stay strong.

This was just business. Always business.

“Race, what are you…” Al said, trailing off and gazing at the position of Race’s hand.

Race leaned towards Albert’s ear. “You will accept my words and only think desperately of me, my love,” he whispered faintly, kissing beneath Al’s ear gently before pulling away, feeling like his insides were eating away at themselves.

Race had always hated this part before, but it was even worse with Albert.

Al’s face had slackened, his expression an empty page on which Race had just written instructions. His eyes were glazed over, and he stared straight ahead at nothing. Race knew that the only thought running circles through Albert’s head was Race’s sickening, sweet-toned command.

“I will accept your words,” Albert murmured, his voice like a recording, head swaying slightly from the trance, “and only think desperately of you, my love.”

“Thank you, my heart,” Race choked out before removing his hand and throwing his arms around Al, crying into his shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He cried for a small while, only quieting himself when he felt Al’s arms wrap around him.

“It’s okay, Race, oh,” Albert mumbled, “I just spaced for a sec, I’m sorry. You’re okay, it’s okay.” He kissed Race’s hair, rubbing his hand up and down his back.

“I just dumped all that onto you, I don’t know why, it-it just made me feel worse..” Race breathed, closing his eyes and putting his head into the crook of Al’s neck. “I’m so sorry, you don’t even know…”

Albert shook his head gently, placing a kiss on the back of Race’s neck. “I could never be mad at you, y’know that?” Al said softly, only causing Race’s heart to break even further. “You had to let that out. It’s heavy stuff, you don’t wanna keep that inside. All I ever wanna do is help you…”

Race tore himself away a moment to look Al in the face. His concern looked so honest and real that Race nearly started sobbing again. Al’s eyebrows were scrunched together in a grimace, but smiling through it, trying to reassure Race. After all, his brain was telling him that that was his only job.

“You’re too good,” Race whispered. “So, so good.”

Albert smiled shyly, but shook his head again. He gently kissed Race’s cheek, pausing briefly before continuing lazily onto and down his neck. Race couldn’t help leaning into it.

“No one could ever be good enough for you,” Al mumbled over Race’s skin, glancing up for a moment. There was that cloudy look again.

“You’re perfect, Race.”

Race didn’t resist as Albert pulled him into his lap for a tighter embrace. There wasn’t any way Al’s arms could be more crushing than this guilt was coming to be.

And Race wished it couldn’t be any worse than it was right then. But after so much time, he knew.

Of course it would be.

It always got worse.

————

some tea huh. anYWAY IM BACK SORRY EEK

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#thank u next series #my writing #yayeet #fizz freaks #fizz wants to write #ralbert #albert dasilva #racetrack higgins #newsies au #newsies #newsies fics #and the plot.....progresses?

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mimik-u · 5 years

Text

Flower Child, Chapter 10, “Steven”

A/N:

Hi, friends.

I'm incredibly sorry about this long hiatus. Inspiration just... flagged, and it was hard for me to pick this fic back up after days and days of, well, not picking it up.

That being said, I still appreciate every kind word and every Kudos on this fic... and I promise, come hell or high water, I will finish "Flower Child" one day. <3

AO3

—

It was the heat, he tried to tell Pearl as she frantically worked to revive him on the wooden floor, but the words were jumbled on his tongue, stew. Steven could barely keep his eyes open, could only dimly make out her face in the darkness—pale, dripping with her tears, terrified.

“Steven!” she cried, her spidery fingers crawling across his face, his neck, his chest. The sensation was vaguely unpleasant. “Steven!”

It was the heat, Amethyst! I’m fine! I’m fine! Please don’t cry. But the gurgling and the bile percolating like acid in the back of his throat would not assume the form of these words. When he turned his head to the side, he could just make out her bare feet stumbling over one another, her apologies coming in hiccups.

“I-I’m sorry, Steven! I’m sorry! I-I just opened the window so he could hear, and—”

Pearl’s hands suddenly stopped on his chest, her sharp features turning to stone.

“You what now?”

“I-I opened the window, Pearl! He wanted to know what was going on. He had the right to know!”

“It wasn’t your right to make that call,” she snarled, her fingers twisting tightly into his shirt. “Now look at him! He’s—”

I’m fine! As he tried to speak, bile trickled out of the side of his mouth in a thin line. With a tenderness that did not befit the scary expression on her face, Pearl lifted his head gently, so he cough the phlegm out. His face was streaked with it. He was limp in her arms, a rag doll.

“Get it all out,” she whispered, her thumb brushing his burning cheek. “Shh, shh”—for he tried to talk again—“I’m here.”

“Hello, 911?! Yes, yes, this is Greg Universe. My son’s in renal failure, and he just suddenly collapsed, a-and we need to get an ambulance out here immediately…”

“Amethyst, make yourself useful and go get our overnight bags. We won’t all be able to fit in the ambulance.”

It’s not her fault, Pearl—please.

“Yes, we live at…”

“Garnet, can you call Dr. Maheswaran? She’ll… she’ll want to meet us up there.”

“Pearl,” Steven moaned, grasping feebly at her silky pajama shirt. Darkness was closing in on him quickly now, weighing down his chest, his legs, his arms. He clung tight to what he had. His hands looked as distant to him as the stars. The bruises on his arms were little blue nebulas, burning and blurring in equal turns.

Pearl’s head snapped down in an instant.

Her touch was soft, gentle, warm—and he was so cold, freezing.

When did it get so cold in here?

“I… I…”

She tried to shush him again.

“Shh, save your strength—an ambulance is on the way.”

But he wouldn’t be deterred.

His grip loosened, but his words did, too, all of his consonants and vowels slurred with sickness as they tumbled out of his mouth.

“I don’t wanna go to the hospital.”

All those needles and machines.

Poking and prodding and taking something out of him.

At that very moment, he couldn’t quite recall what they did for him.

Pearl’s breath hitched in her throat, but she never stopped dragging her thumb across the side of his face. She was insistent in her touch, almost feverish, perhaps trying to assure herself of his pulse.

“I know you don’t. I know,” she choked out, “but you have to, Steven. It’s the only way.”

He’s heard this one before—time and time again.

Maybe he even believed it to be true.

Laying in Pearl's arms, he couldn't remember if he did.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered.

It was a child’s prayer.

It was an admission.

Pearl’s eyes were wide, pale moons above him, leaking.

“I know, but you have to stay awake, please—at least until the ambulance gets here, okay?”

He swallowed thickly.

He could give her that at least.

“O-okay.”

But as much as he would have liked to stay, Steven fell away from consciousness in the way that stars fell away from the sky.

Like confetti, drifting.

—

If Steven dreamed of anything as he was being transported to the hospital, he dreamed of darkness.

He dreamed that he closed his eyes and never opened them again, his world full of blackness, devoid of any light. He dreamed that he was at his own funeral, and Pearl’s long fingers shook on top of his still chest as she attempted to straighten his little bow tie. Amethyst was crying, and Garnet was crying, and Dad was, too, his red face hidden beneath his big, calloused hands as he sobbed. He dreamed that Lapis buried her nose into Peridot’s neck and that Dr. Maheswaran gripped Connie’s shoulders as Connie gripped her thick copy of My Unfamiliar Familiar. Her little straw wrapper bookmark poked out between the pages he would never get to hear now.

They’d stopped on a cliffhanger.

Her eyes soft, her smile bright, she had promised to read him more.

He dreamed that Blue Diamond sat in the front row, her silvery hair falling across her shoulder in a thick plait.

She was wearing that silky bathrobe of hers.

She twirled a pink hibiscus flower between her fingers as a lone tear slipped down her face and collected on her pointed chin.

Steven dreamed that he was dead...

... and then he woke up.

It was dark when he opened his eyes, not in the way his dream was dark, but dark in the way nights usually were—as though the promise of day just lurked around the corner. As his vision adjusted, he discerned that he was in a hospital room, the lights off, the TV on, a square of orange light slanting in through the crack in the doorway. His entire body was heavy, as though it was weighed down with insistent hands instead of blankets. He tried to wriggle his own hand but found that it was encumbered with wires and tubing.

“Ugh,” he groaned into the darkness, subsequently discovering that his mouth was rather dry.

(Not that he liked to curse, but without a doubt, Steven felt like... poop.)

“Steven?” The mass at the foot of his bed that he originally took to be a pile of blankets suddenly shifted and said his name, which, of course, would have terrified him witless if the light wash from the TV hadn’t happen to flicker across the silhouette at just the right moment.

It was Pearl, and her features were devastated with relief.

“Steven!” She stumbled out of the chair where she’d been sitting and fell next to his head, her lanky arms encircling his neck in such a studiously gentle way that he instantly knew that she wished she could hold him tightly. She was still in her pajamas, he realized with a jolt. Silk brushed against his neck and all of the wires protruding out of it.

He didn’t dare tell her that he was a little sore there, didn’t dare hurt her just a tiny concession to his own sickness more, but fortunately enough, she fell back on her own accord, pressing her elbows into the mattress.

“That’s my name,” he joked feebly, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a tired smile. “Don’t wear it out.”

She laughed incredulously, tears glinting in her big eyes, but she wiped at these quickly, her mouth wobbling to keep its smile.

“Silly boy.”

“You know it.”

Steven grinned at her.

(His teeth were like concrete, aching.)

She tried to grin back.

(And that was something, an improvement, at least, on her tears.)

He glanced up at the TV then, squinting to make out the time stamped on the corner of a generic weather channel. It was almost 3AM... he’d passed out around ten if he had to guess.

So much time unaccounted for.

His gaze trailed down to his right arm where a thick tube was laden with some kind of crimson liquid—blood, he realized too many seconds too late. Pearl’s eyes followed his, and her tentative smile collapsed on itself like a balancing act gone wrong. She reached out and laid her hand on his left arm, which was considerably less machinated than the right.

She was so... warm... and he was so... cold.

“Your hemoglobin dropped to a dangerous level,” she explained quietly. “Dr. Maheswaran had no choice but to transfuse you.”

“Oh,” he said. He couldn’t quite draw himself away from the sight. “I... I guess that’s okay. I mean... we knew this was a possibility, right?”

It was a poor man’s optimism, but it was all Steven had in him right now. Pearl’s gaze dropped from the crimson tube to the place where their arms were meeting. Studiously, she began rubbing rhythmic circles into the back of his hand.

“Steven...” He barely heard her. Even the distant hum and buzz from the outside hallway was louder. Someone was tired of working night shifts, and someone needed a mop bucket in Room 11037—stat—and someone was sitting by his bedside, staring at him as though he was already a ghost.

He looked away, eyes flicking upwards towards the ceiling to abate the burning that had suddenly risen in them.

“Just tell me, Pearl... please,” he whispered to the light fixture. “Rip off the bandaid.”

I can take it.

I’ve taken everything else already.

“I… I don’t know if I…”

“Pearl.”

“You’re very sick, sweetheart.” She flinched as she said it; she couldn’t believe it for herself.

“I know.”

He had known for awhile now.

For days, weeks, months.

Tell me something I don’t know, Pearl.

Pearl’s fingers stilled on his hand.

“Dr. Maheswaran wants to keep you here for… for a little while longer.”

He did not skip a beat.

“How long?” (He did not skip a beat, and yet, he was smart, clever—he already knew the answer before it left her mouth.)

She was silent again, agonized, her eyes screwed up against the truth.

Don’t make me say it, the expression said.

With his furrowed brow and grim mouth, he shot back, Why not?

“Pearl… please.”

“Steven—”

“Please," he croaked.

She opened her bright blue eyes; it looked as though it cost her to do so.

“… until we find you another kidney.”

The if was implicit.

—

They unhooked him from the transfusion machine around five, and he fell asleep shortly afterwards, Pearl’s trembling lower lip the last sight his dark eyes lit upon before they succumbed to the utter exhaustion in his body. If Steven dreamed of anything in that lonely hospital room, he dreamed of darkness. He dreamed that he died in the hospital, that he slipped away one night when everyone else was asleep. He was alone, and the white walls were so cold, so sterile. His monitor flatlined, the insistent beeping noise shrilling across the line of his vision like a premonition, a ghost. A scream of discovery dribbled down the air.

Amethyst, he guessed wildly. Or was it Garnet? Pearl? Dad?!

Was it all of them at once?

The sound was agony.

Inhuman.

Steven woke with a start, gasping heavily. The heart monitor whirred in time with his panic, beating a frantic, insistent tattoo.

“Hey, hey, hey—breathe, kiddo!” Where there were once empty ceiling tiles, Dad’s face appeared above him, his bushy brow furrowed in concern, eyes wide with the anxiety he usually tried so hard to hide. He placed a big hand on Steven’s chest in an attempt to regulate his breathing. “Yeah, that’s it, buddy. In and out! In and out.”

In and out.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Steven feebly brought his left arm up, up, up... and let it fall against his dad’s as his chest rose and stumbled in short, staccato bursts. His head was light; the touch almost grounded him.

In and out.

Inhale.

Exhale.

In and out.

Inhale.

His fingers curled weakly against his father’s forearm.

Exhale.

Dad's eyes were the color of driftwood, burning bright.

When he could finally catch his breath, Steven did not use it to speak; rather, he closed his eyes, exhausted from even the simple act of trying to breathe. Were his dad not hovering above him, there was a good chance that he’d just pass out again—slip into the familiar nothingness that slipped into nightmares—but slowly, painstakingly, he made himself unclose his eyes.

“Sorry,” he rasped. The gray light pouring in from the window stung him. He tried to focus on his dad’s face, but everything was blurred, fuzzy around the edges. “Nightmare.”

Dad brought his hand from Steven’s chest to his head, resting his palm on top of his curly, black hair. Relief made him look ten years younger, ten years less sad, but the wetness around the corners of his eyes told a different story.

“No apologies needed, champ,” he sighed, a weak smile rippling across his mouth. “I’m just glad you’re”—he hesitated slightly—“okay.”

Of course, okay was not the right word.

Steven tried to return the smile anyway.

(It fell flat in his eyes.)

At that precise moment, though, he was spared from being caught out as Dr. Maheswaran burst through the door, looking, for all intents and purposes, harried. Her salt-and-pepper hair was tied back in a haphazard ponytail, and the usual lines under her eyes seemed harsher, as though someone had run through them with a Sharpie.

“Your heart,” she said gruffly by way of greeting. She barely threw either of them a glance as she proceeded over to the monitor mounted on the wall, arms crossed firmly over her chest as she studied it intensely. “What was wrong with it?”

“Nightmare,” Steven explained again.

“He couldn’t catch his breath,” Dad elaborated further, finally removing his hand from Steven’s curls. “Think he might need oxygen?”

Dr. M pressed a few buttons on the monitor as she nodded tersely.

“Precisely, Universe. Looks like he’s not getting enough oxygen while he sleeps. I’ll get a nurse to come set him up shortly.”

She then swooped down, in a manner vaguely if not exactly hawklike, and briefly looked at the catheter bag poking out beneath Steven’s many blanket layers. It was amazing he hadn’t woken up for that ordeal; when he was conscious, it was rather uncomfortable to say the least.

“Not as much as I’d like,” she murmured, seemingly to herself, “but I suppose that’s to be expected.”

And with that bleak assessment, she straightened back into a standing position, her brown eyes lighting upon Steven properly for the first time.

Looking closely, and knowing where to look, he observed that all of the hardness in them had seemed to melt, like liquid.

For that was the thing about Dr. Maheswaran—she was all bite and no bark—not so much of a conundrum as she was a Russian nesting doll, hiding oh-so-many layers. Her hardened facade was one, and here was another; he could see it in even the way she held her shoulders back, like she was holding something else back in the posture, too.

Something soft.

Something vulnerable.

“I’m glad to see your eyes open,” she said, tucking her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “You scared me for a little while there.”

And maybe he had; her entire appearance certainly attested to it.

“You—scared?” But he'd try to make this old grizzly bear smile anyway; that was his wont. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it, Steven.” Her lips just barely twitched. (He’d take it.) “When Garnet called, I just threw my lab coat over my pajamas and hightailed it up here.” She jerked a thumb over towards his dad. “Greg was there. He can tell you.”

Dad chuckled gamely, lowering himself back into the chair next to Steven’s bed.

“Yup—she got you stabilized all while wearing a onesie.”

“It was a matching two-piece,” she corrected him, “but I digress.”

Steven laughed—how could he not at such a ridiculous image?—but even that proved to be too much on his poor chest. He winced involuntarily, and to his chagrin, the monitor called him out on it, stuttering as he did. Dr. Maheswaran and Dad both collapsed into their former sobrieties as quickly as they had tentatively shed them—stretched rubber bands recoiling.

“I’m going to find a nurse to set up your oxygen,” the nephrologist said suddenly, terse as she ever was but trying too hard to be so. “Universe.” She nodded awkwardly at Dad. “Steven.” Her incisive gaze settled on him for a brief moment before she turned away; he felt pierced through, like an x-ray.

And then she left—(fled)—her white lab coat flaring behind her as she stepped out of the open door. Dad stared at the place her back had been for only a short second more before shaking his head and returning his slow, somber gaze to Steven. There were bags under his eyes, gray whiskers in his beard.

“She was torn up last night,” he murmured, and then, as though it was an afterthought, added, “We all were.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.” It was all he could say. As much as the wires crisscrossing his torso would allow, Steven tilted his head on the pillow, so he could see his dad more easily. The man’s hands were on his lap, limply pointing to the tiled floor.

“S’not your fault, kiddo,” came the mumbled reply.

They were silent then.

It was a small comfort, but Steven’s heart monitor carried on.

—

By eight that morning, the sun was fully peeking out—warm and arresting, falling upon his swarm of blankets in little golden dapples. Steven watched these as the nurse slid the oxygenated cannulas around his ears and into each of his nostrils, and then he watched them some more as she changed out his catheter bag. She hmphed at the less than satisfactory output in the very way Dr. Maheswaran had.

Around nine, his dad left to go find them some breakfast other than the mush that the cafeteria offered, and Garnet came in soon afterwards, her bicolored eyes still edged with the dregs of recent sleep. Attached to the hospital was a hotel that visitors could stay in while they were visiting patients, and only earlier that morning, Dad had made Pearl go join the others for a few hours of shuteye as only one guardian had been allowed to stay with him while he was still being transfused.

Garnet stepped in uncertainly, her discomfort scribbled all across her person in what could have very well been neon for all of her usual subtlety. She wrung her hands in a clear betrayal of the stoicism she espoused on a day to day basis, and she stared at him for what seemed like a long time before she crossed the room and placed her warm palm on his forehead, smoothing away a few of his stray curls. She’d never particularly cared for hospitals, but even still, every time Steven landed in one, she came and stayed anyway.

She was steady like that.

Constant.

“Garnet!” He exclaimed as she patted him.

“Hello, Steven,” she rumbled, her voice rich and soft. (She tended to be the very same.) “How’s my little fighter doing?”

It was a running joke between them. Ever since he’d been small, Garnet had taken him up to the gym from time to time to help her “train” her various clients. This practice ultimately amounted to Steven taking a few concerted shots at a punching bag while his guardian awarded him with a silent thumbs up each time that he did.

You’re a fighter in a whole different way now, she once told him after the diagnosis. Her square chin laying atop of his head, she whispered it into his hair. Keep fighting. Please, Steven.

“Still fighting.” His smile was like a bruise, but it was a smile nonetheless. “But I guess I’m a little worse for wear.”

She was quiet as she absorbed the notion, her gaze flitting from his oxygen cannulas to the multitude of wires springing like roots from his chest—finally landing upon the couple of tubes snaking in and around his arms, red spots already popping up around the injection sites—promises of later contusions.

Garnet brushed her thumb across his forehead one last time before letting go and collapsing backwards into the chair next to his bed in what was more or less defeat.

“Mm, yeah.”

She looked down, her broad shoulders caved in on themselves, fingers templed and fallen between her lap.

That was another thing about Garnet.

She was present—always, without fail—but she could be so very distant at precisely the same time.

Usually, Steven took it upon himself to bring her back, his hand reaching for her hand, his smile a loud invitation home.

Sometimes, he failed.

“Garnet?”

“... yes, Steven?”

And sometimes, he did not.

“Will you come lay down with me?” It was a familiar question, one he asked every time he had a bad nightmare, or every time he landed in a hospital to live through another. In answer, Garnet would curl around his body, her warm arms holding him close.

She’d tell him stories.

She’d hum him to sleep.

She'd be there for him.

And never, would she ever let go.

She stared at him painfully now—well, not him so much as all of the machines that currently swarmed and intruded him. The oxygen filtering in through his nostrils tickled his nose.

“Please?” He intercepted her rational protestations long before she could lay them out with all of her usual practicality. “We can move all this stuff aside—just like before.”

A long pause, long enough that the hum from the outside hallway filled the gap.

Garnet rubbed the heels of her hands against her legs, pulling them back and forth as she mulled the request over.

“Okay,” she finally whispered.

“Okay.”

—

In Garnet’s arms, he slept soundly for the first time since he’d arrived at the hospital.

She was conscientious of every wire, every tube, letting them drift over her shoulder like rivers.

—

One nightmareless hour later, Steven picked feebly at his breakfast to the chagrin of the motley audience who had come to watch him do it: Garnet (still tucked next to him, propping her head upon her fist and her elbow upon the pillow), Pearl, his dad, and Dr. Maheswaran. Amethyst was… missing in action.

(“Last night rattled her,” Garnet murmured in answer to his ensuing question. “She didn’t sleep well.” Pearl was close enough to hear. She shifted uncomfortably where she stood, crossing her arms over her chest.)

“C’mon, buddy,” Dad encouraged, his beard lightly frosted with the yogurt parfait he’d gotten from McDonald’s. “Just another bite.”

Steven stared into the mostly full cup of his own yogurt and tried to envision himself picking up his plastic spoon and shoving another scoop into his mouth. Upon waking up from his nap with Garnet, his stomach had felt full, bloated, as though he’d already eaten a full course dinner.

It was just another symptom in a long litany of many.

Loss of appetite.

Something, something about cytokines, Dr. Maheswaran had wearily explained.

“Maybe later?” He shoved the yogurt backwards on the hospital tray lofted to his height. “Sorry—I’m just not hungry right now.”

He could feel Garnet’s frown better than he could see it at the angle he was laying. It leaned quietly against his shoulder; it worried for him.

He tried to ignore it as best as he could.

“Dad, do you have my phone?”

“Yeah, yeah… it’s in my pocket…”

In the corner of the room, Pearl and Dr. Maheswaran were having a conversation that they believed to be softly spoken.

“UNOS just got his blood work,” Dr. M said. “They’ve moved him up significantly on the list.”

As his dad passed him his phone, Steven worked to listen to what the two were saying, which became increasingly hard as the TV played some stupid jingle about vacuum cleaners, and as Garnet asked Dad about who was taking care of the cats.

Pearl murmured something that he couldn’t quite catch, but her thin mouth floated upwards into a weak smile that collapsed just as quickly as she seemed to realize something.

“But… but what does that say about him, how he's doing?"

Dr. Maheswaran simply shook her head.

Steven's phone buzzed in his hand before he had time to glean any kind of meaning from this tilt of the doctor's head to the shadows in the planes of Pearl's skinny face.

He looked down to see who’d texted him, surprised to find that he had more than a couple of missed messages.

(And, like, thirty notifications from Candy Crush.)

Sunday, 12:09 AM

Group name: Dork Squad

Peridot: Don’t give up, Steven.

Lapis: we’ll kick your ass if you do

Peridot: Yeah, what she said.

Peridot: Text us when you can.

Sunday, 8:24 AM

Connie: Hi, Steven. Mom told me that you were sick. Are you okay? Can I come visit you soon?

Sunday, 10:17 AM

Blue Diamond: Hello, Steven… I drank tea on the balcony this morning and, strangely enough, came to think of you. You would have loved the skyline, I think—all of its many colors. Pink, gold, and blue.

Blue Diamond: But enough about me—have you been well?

At this last message, Steven's chapped lips tilted upwards into a smile, or at the very least, the suggestion of one.

He began to type.

—

Sunday, 10:20 AM

Group Name: Dork Squad

Steven: Hi, guys. Please don’t kick me. :)

Lapis: steven!!!!!

Peridot: STEVEn!

Peridot: You're not dead!

“If we can get him to eat,” Dr. Maheswaran shrugged, “that’d be great, but if we can’t, then we’ll need to resort to something more proactive… a feeding tube, another intravenous line maybe.”

As Pearl opened her mouth to protest, the nephrologist cut across her in a manner that was both curt yet kind.

“I know it seems soon. Hell,” she laughed bitterly, “it seems soon to me… but Steven can take it, Pearl. I’m sure of it.”

If her words were surprising, her next gesture was staggering.

She lifted one of her lined hands and placed it firmly on Pearl's arm.

And to Steven's continued amazement, she squeezed.

Seemingly in spite of herself, Pearl appeared to unbend—just a little, just enough—a wry smile appearing at one corner of her mouth.

“Be careful Priyanka,” she teased. “You're verging on sentiment."

“Oh, shush.”

Sunday, 10:22 AM

Steven: Hi, Connie! Your mom’s in here right now.

“Dr. M, I’m texting Connie! Have anything you want me to tell her?”

“Tell her to tell you that you need to eat more,” Dr. Maheswaran quipped before returning to talk to Pearl.

Steven: She said hi. Come visit me when you can… I’m going to need the company. Bring the book!!

Sunday, 10:27 AM

Hi, Blue, he typed and re-typed into the box. His other well-wishers knew the state he was in, knew where he was and why he was there; Blue Diamond did not. He ate her chocolate cakes and puked them up in her gold inlaid toilet minutes later.

He hadn't told her this.

Didn’t even tell Amethyst.

What could he say?

What did he even want to say?

Hi, Blue. I hope you're doing great! Me? I’m in the hospital on the verge of dying.

No, no, too direct.

Hi, Blue. I’m doing well. How about you?

And that one was both deflective and a lie.

She didn't care much for lying, he knew.

Oh, my boy, she murmured once upon a time, her smile sad, her eyes soft, it’s been a very long time since I’ve been me… and yet, here you are, completely, unrepentantly you.

Completely and unrepentantly, he was Steven Universe... and he wasn't... wasn't doing great.

But he wanted to be.

And that made up for some of the difference.

Hi, Blue, he typed again, his mouth set in a resolute line.

He’d tell her the truth.

Steven: Hi, Blue… that sounds really cool. I wish I could have been there to see it.

Steven: But I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news. :/ I passed out last night and, well, had to go to the hospital. Still here this morning.

Steven: Please don’t worry!

He added as a hurried afterthought.

Steven: I hope you’re doing well!

“Are you feeling okay?” Garnet whispered into his ear. She’d been watching him closely, had been skimming her long fingers up and down his arm, so that he could feel something other than his own coldness. “You look sad.”

He hesitated to respond to her, didn't want to tip off everyone else in the room.

His loss of appetite was one symptom, and his sadness was another.

And it was contagious that one.

Infectious.

So he only nodded.

Garnet, if possible, held him even closer.

Sunday, 11:13 AM

Steven: Hi, Amethyst.

Steven: I miss you.

Steven: Come see me when you can?

I'm okay, he backspaced.

Promise. He deleted that unkeepable word, too.

He texted her later than he did the others because suddenly, without warning, he had begun to spew up yogurt.

#steven universe #pearl #garnet #amethyst #greg universe #priyanka maheswaran #blue diamond #connie maheswaran #lapis lazuli #peridot #s: steven universe #mimik-u #flower child #long post #holy hell - i can't believe this is out

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nicoletteduclare · 5 years

Text

Morning comes, and Wilson burrowed more into the blankets. Stars, did morning have to be so obnoxious? At least no one else had woken him up, it was just the natural timing he'd developed, but why today?

He wasn't ready to face today yet. Head somehow still managing to swim with worried and thoughts and memories that made his chest hurt if he thought too hard about them. "Damn it, get yourself together." He grumbled to himself as he finally unwound himself from the cocoon of blanket. "Go check on him, and then do something else for a few hours." He muttered to himself, even if he had no idea what else to do.

Chop more wood, maybe. Though now he wasn't sure if that would actually work with Maxwell back with them and not out alone in the wilderness. Still, it was worth a shot, maybe work would clear his head and ease the ache in his chest. Besides, at least then no one would say he was hovering.

He glanced at the pile of hair and sighed. Well, that came first, didn't it. Check on Maxwell, help him get a meat effigy set up, then go chop wood.

It was a plan, at least. With a extra check to make sure he had a well repaired vest and hat, even though he knew he'd just patched them up before the last few days, it never hurt to check again, he pulled them on and snagged his satchel with a blue heat stone. He'd replace one of the fresh ones at the fire with his.

Well, he got to the fire and set the stone down before he heard harsh hacking. There was only one person it could even remotely be and he didn't even grab a fresh stone before heading over to the tent he'd left so abruptly the night before. "Oh, stars..." Wilson managed as he pulled back the canvas. There was a lot of blood, some of it must have been from last night, brown and dried, though there was far more fresh, staining the white fur and some of the ground, but most of all it covered the man's mouth, at least what he could see of it, an uncovered hand covering his mouth, dried blood on the back of it.

Wilson didn't have any more words at his disposal, there was just the sinking pit in his stomach at the other little details. The pale, drained look to his face, teary eyes darting around before another horrible cough wracked his shaking body. There was absolutely nothing he could do at the moment.

It felt like there was nothing he could do, period.

All his determination fell away, and Wilson only felt helpless as he finally entered the tent, kneeling down and only then did he notice the discarded flower crown, still encircling the woolen hat. With his own shaking hands, he settled it back onto Maxwell's head. A effigy would literally kill Maxwell at this point. So much for that.

His voice felt dis-attached and far too quiet to really be his. "I guess I can't fix this, can I?" It was a sad approximation of sarcasm, his hand on Maxwell's back. "I'm sorry."

He'd slept. Somehow. Maxwell wasn't going to look too deeply into it, and it was frankly hard to think too deeply about it when his throat wasn't working. He must have passed out. Everything since coughing up the last flower had been somewhat a blur. He could believe passing out with how much he wanted to pass out right now.

It hurt to breathe. The slightest bit of air going to or out of his lungs was misery, not to mention the involuntary swallow when he woke up. There were tears budding in his eyes, if it wasn't for the lack of voice, Maxwell would probably be unable to hold back any sort of noise from the pain that just existing was granting him at the moment.

And then the coughing started up again. Oh, he was most certainly near the end. Hopefully he wouldn't recall this. It was a stupid hope, knowing his luck, but Maxwell could go for just a bit of mercy right now.

Not that he was going to get much mercy from this disease when it seemed like it tore his throat apart again. If he was going to ever use this tent again, he'd have to burn this poor fur roll, but he covered his mouth anyway. Maxwell tried to breathe again, but after a brief, painful inhale, the cough started up again.

It was around this time that there was a rustling he couldn't fully pay attention to, frankly, he was surprised that there wasn't a crowd growing. Instead, the familiar oath of stars told him exactly who it was, but there was no energy to even try and turn away, shadows flitting past his vision as he started another fit, petals spilling from his lips as readily as the blood.

He didn't feel the crown, though he was vaguely aware of the hand, and the barest thought of 'Why do you go through this, do you pity me that much?' flashed by before it was overtaken by pain, once again.

"I'm so sorry."

Wilson stayed until the end, trying to at least be comforting; he didn't know what else to do. He choked on blood, mercifully enough. Grotesque business, and Maxwell wouldn't remember it, but he couldn't find it in him to leave until he saw the ghostly shadow that death left now. "I'll take care of it, don't go running off." There was a quiet wind noise that these shades could produce, and it wasn't like he'd have any memory of the events after he woke up again, But he also just didn't want to deal with chasing down a damned ghost.

The man was stubborn enough to manage to even do that in death if he didn't warn him off the mere idea. Exhausted; emotionally, and somehow physically, Wilson picked himself up and walked out of the tent to wash up and prepare the heart. There should be some spider glands in one of these chests, if not, he'd have to ask Webber where the nearest un-befriended nest was to avoid killing any of the young child's spider friends. There was a bit of blood on his clothing, that he finally noticed at the worst time, just as he ran into a bleary eyed Winona. "Mornin' egghea- what's with the blood." It went from a tired mutter to alert at the sign of fresh blood.

Wilson sighed, pressing the clean hand over his eye, the other covered with specs of blood. "Nothing you need to worry about, I just have to do some clean up and make a telltale heart." To be specific, he needed to burn that roll and break up the skeleton and dispose of it properly. Stars, he was so drained from all this. It was heart wrenching and taxing all at once to try and comfort someone in their death throws.

"Someone die?" She asked, looking over him.

Wilson sighed. He was well aware of the vague contention between Winona and Maxwell, and that it revolved around Charlie of all people, because Maxwell had loved her, and she was Winona's sister. "Maxwell's still sick, I found him a couple of days ago and brought him back to camp. He died this morning."

There was a light frown. "Ah. Right. Remember you talking about petals and choking a while back. 'Maxy' can't even bother to care about her now." Oh stars.

"How are you so sure he isn't sick over her?" Wilson said back, already exhausted. There wasn't anyone else it could be, and he shook his head. "Never mind. I have to handle this."

Winona shook her head. "They were a couple, at least briefly. They were going on vacation together, to our family's cabin. You don't do that if you aren't at least somewhat romantically entangled. She was so syrupy over that idiot, and look where it landed her." He did somewhat understand her anger, but honestly? He wanted to get this done, set Maxwell up with a effigy, and go to bed. "So it can't be her. He's fallen in love with someone else." She rolled her eyes and waved it off. "It doesn't matter, she's better off without him anyway."

He hummed, sightly and left with a nod. He wasn't going to argue about it, it made him sick to think about anyway. He was sick enough after having to let Max pass away in his grip once again.

Maybe something was giving him a break, there were spider glands in the medical supplies, and Wilson sighed a breath of relief as he gathered the rest of the materials, along with a flint knife and a booster shot. He'd make it after he cleaned out that tent, there was too much bone and blood to really want to revive someone who also was probably going to just collapse in a heap.

Surprisingly, the ghost was actually listening, still in the tent, though Wilson wouldn't doubt part of that was also the man's pride also managing to linger. He was shocked everyone else wasn't reacting to the lingering presence, ghosts tended to do a bit of number over time.

Wilson was already planning on something warm and mentally healing, after this whole fiasco. Maybe after a nap however.

"Ooo?" A more audible variation of ghost noises, Wilson shook his head. "Need to get rid of the blood soaked things first, then I'll get it made. I already know what your reaction would be to reviving and then dealing with your own skeleton. It'll save both of us some bitching."

Oh, even dead he could assume there was an eye roll there. Stars, Maxwell. It was normal enough though that it actually managed a small smile onto Wilson's face as he quickly smashed the skeleton to bits and gathered it all up in the ruined bed mat. "Can you be patient for once, or is that just not feasible?" Somehow, the next "Ooo" managed to sound indignant. Wilson shook his head in actual amusement as he took the mess outside.

"Did he not survive the night?" Wilson's back shot up, as much as he knew exactly who it was, stars, he could do without being snuck up on. Instead, he turned, the bone shards clinking against each other.

"He did, Ma'am, just didn't survive the morning." Wilson shook his head, tired. He really didn't want to go through this again. "Just handling clearing up the mess it left before I revive him. I promised him I'd help." Well, more like he'd promised himself.

She sighed, a sad smile on her face. "You do certainly care about him. I checked in on him before I went to get warm, he seemed to be sleeping fine. I'm sorry that I didn't check this morning."

He winced lightly, "It's okay, I mean, I think I'm the only one who knew he's been coughing up a lot of blood. Should have seen it coming." He gestured to the disaster he was holding. "I need to handle this."

She nodded. "I need to make myself some breakfast, I'll make you something as well, you probably need it."

His shoulders relaxed. "Thank you. I'll get this finished up, and get him on his feet." She waved him off and he went to dispose of the bone. They kept a pile of them to pulverize and use in the gardens during the growing months, the bone meal was a decent fertilizer. After dumping those off, he tossed the ruined mat into the flames, finally taking a few moments to warm up. He wasn't freezing, but now that he had a second to himself, Wilson knew he was losing body heat at a decent pace, considering he'd lost the beard.

So, he took the time to sit and put together the heart, might as well not add more blood to the ground near Maxwell's tent. Wilson winced as he sliced his arm open and held it over the tied up glands. It started to beat and he waited til his arm started to scab over before picking it up.

At least now he hopefully wouldn’t be coughing up blood for a few days.

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bluerosesburnblue · 6 years

Text

Liz Liveblogs Bravely Second: Chapter 5, Part 2/2

And now for the actual story of Chapter 5: This is Our Coup de Gravy!

There were... so many Coup de Gravies in this chapter. Too many. It seems like everyone had one

You know, thinking about the Sidequest Roundup last time, I don’t think I’ve ever said how much I love the way Bravely handles obtaining jobs. It would be so easy to just hand you a magic job crystal at different story beats, but no. You have to fight someone using the job you wish to obtain. You have to figure out how it works and overcome its abilities at their most powerful before you can use them against others. It serves as both a neat tutorial for how the job works, since you’re on the receiving end of most of its attacks, and proof that you deserve to have the job since you overcame its user. It feels earned every time you get a new job. It’s kinda like how I feel about the Island Trials in Pokémon Sun and Moon, where you have to fight a difficult boss of a specific elemental type, and once you do you gain the ability to use the strongest move of that type. I dunno, I just really like this trend in games of proving your worth for the skills you gain by besting them in combat

Anyway, let’s head on to the Harena Sea Caves to stop Geist from performing his heist

You could absolutely stab a man with that compass

Oh, come on, Edea. When did you get possessed by Rev? Just now? When we walked in? How long have you secretly been a ghost child?

Heyyy Templar Braev to the rescue! TBH, I’d stop running if Edea’s dad was staring me down

Wait... Geist didn’t recognize him until he said his name? Dude, like, even NPC #67 knows Braev, get with the program!

I wonder if the exploit I used to insta-kill Rev the first time will work again. I also wonder if Geist might be able to undo that

Oh, it’s backstory time. Geist left his ill son because he got called to do an exorcism in a foreign country. I guess he was probably a priest, fitting with the Bestiary tidbit of his name, Grace, being given to those respected by the Orthodoxy. But the girl wasn’t possessed, she was sick. Patient Zero for the Great Plague. And she was taken onto his boat because she wanted to go home one last time. But she was used to spread the disease around. He still blames himself for what happened and wants to make up for both spreading the Plague and his botched attempt to revive his son

Geist may be the bigger problem with his Undo abilities, so I’m gonna focus on him

Rev actively refused to move on because he loved his daddy and didn’t want to go without him. Ohhhhh my god, kiddo, that’s so sweet in a morbid way

Stop being dramatic, Geist. Best timeline rules dictate that we’re keeping you alive. You’re not dead. Relax

Undo HP after Rev possessed someone does work, it just took him until he was about halfway down to start possessing people

This poor kid’s in a tough spot. I don’t expect him to understand the full implications of “rewrite time to fix things.” He just thinks they’re gonna make everything better. He doesn’t understand the Butterfly Effect, and how it’ll erase the future. He just thinks what he’s doing will make his dad happy, so he’s gonna do it

At least we got through to Geist. Changing the past could wipe his son from existence. A second “death,” if you would. And harming Rev is the one thing he could never do

Now that is a cute hug. even if it’s between a man drenched in blood and the ghost of his son possessing armor that’s a full head taller than him

And Geist does know Braev... but on a personal level. Braev was a young priest back when he worked with the Orthodoxy

And there it is. Geist sent a warning back, which allowed them to gather a team of physicians to find a cure. The Plague would have been much worse without that warning, but all Geist can see are the people who died in the first place

And he finally gets some closure. His son doesn’t care that he’s a ghost in a suit of armor, he’s just happy that he can stay with his dad. And his actions did save plenty of people. It’s just that the guilt has been crippling him for years. Now that he’s free, he’s allowing himself to be arrested for crimes of the present, and no longer for assumed crimes of the past

I really appreciate Edea’s speech to Rev here. She talks about how she used to blindly believe everything her dad told her until the events of the last game. It broke her heart to fight him, but ultimately, in doing so, she started to actually understand him instead of just parroting what he said. And when they met again? It was as equals, and their bond was stronger than it had ever been. So she encourages Rev to come up with his own ideas, try to understand his father’s, and then come together as equals. Truly understanding each other, instead of blind faith, because that’s the best way to support your loved ones. And she says this all in front of Braev, too, and the pride he feels towards her is so evident. It’s moments like this that make this game a great sequel. Edea’s come so far from the person she was at the start of the last game, but she’s still not flat in this one. Sure, the focus is more on Yew and Magnolia’s development, while Tiz and Edea had the brunt of it in the last game, but our returning party members are still growing, too, and it’s nice to see them in a mentor role

Phase 2 of Magnolia’s plan: use the compass to lure out the Kaiser. Unfortunately, it seems something’s come up on Kamiizumi’s end of this plan, so now we’re off to Florem Gardens to help

Also, I love how Kamiizumi is so useless with the pendant call. He can’t work the thing at all

On to Florem Gardens. Good to see my old grinding grounds are doing well. I’ll be back for more next chapter!

Aww, they called Edea’s dad with the pendant. It’s really nice to see them getting along in this game

Yew’s call to Norzen didn’t go half as well, though. Turns out Norzen, Braev, and Kamiizumi have a shrubbery group chat

Altair is now telling them about how he and Vega would call each other using cell phones and video phones. The more things change, the more couples keep talking forever on the phone playing “No you hang up”

Chill, Kamiizumi, I’m like, one screen away. We’ll be there in two minutes

Oh dear lord Angelo set up shop in the forest. And Aimee’s here, too. Time to beat her down using her own job I guess

So they think the last timeline was a dream, but Angelo’s memories of Aimee’s dying words spurred them on to being an actual couple. Also, they’re still gonna fight us, because definitely fight people who made you mad in (what you assume are) dreams?

Also, Aimee is literally from Florem Gardens. They met there. That’s why the shop’s there

Some neat tactics going on with them, with Angelo inflicting the party with fire weakness and then having Aimee use Firehead to give all her attacks fire damage. Not much else of note though

And Yew just totally hired them to open up shop in Gathelatio. Not... sure they deserve it, but I guess they were the least attached to the Kaiser’s plan in the first place

...thanks for all the help, Kamiizumi

Oh good lord there’s so many cats here. I see where this is going. We’re gonna have to take on Minette, aren’t we

Kamiizumi’s cat’s here. Forgot that was a plot thread

Hide the compass in Sagitta? With how easily Geist got in? I don’t know if that’s the best plan

Ah, I see. We’re feeding the cats false information to report to Minette, who will lead the Kaiser right into our SP Cannon’s blast. Not a bad plan

Of course Tiz is “all catted out.” He’s been my dedicated Catmancer for a long freaking time

Alright, Elder Sirius. Time to shoot that Skyhold out of the sky

I appreciate Yew’s conviction in stopping Denys. He may be his brother, but he’s also gone (or about to go) too far. And I’m sure Yew feels responsible for it, since this all started after Denys lost his hand due to Yew’s mistake

Making Yew be the one to fire the cannon seems a BIT cruel to me, though

I can’t believe that plan actually worked

Minette’s gonna buy time for Denys, Janne, and Nikolai to escape, and they’re all treating it like she’s gonna die, but guys. We haven’t killed a single person this timeline. We have fought six of your people and the worst they got is prison! You really think we’re gonna kill the kid and only the kid?

You can see Denys actively fighting with his Big Brother Instinct to protect the kid. But he renounced that to be the Kaiser. Best he can do now is send the lion with her, just in case

Please. Child. Just stop the cat puns. You keep making it so tempting to actually kill you

Okay, I know this kid was experimented on and crossed with cat DNA or something equally ridiculous, but her backstory and mannerisms REALLY say “I’m a cat who was turned into a human”

She became a cat to... please her mom? What? Why would her mom be upset her daughter WASN’T a cat? Did the experiment fail? Or did she just have a kid and go “you know, I should’ve just adopted a cat instead”

Holy shit, I was gonna say “not a hard fight” but then Minette got off a lucky full-party Catnap+RIP combo and totally wiped the team

Definitely sticking a Clothespin on Yew this time

I probably went about that in the dumbest way possible, but we beat her

Child! I will take you in if you just! Stop! The cat puns! That’s it! That’s all I ask of you! Maybe people are abandoning you because every time you open your mouth you make yourself as insufferable as possible!

Oh no Kamiizumi just adopted her. Dude... dude please break her of the cat pun habit

Hey! She’s not a cat! She’s a human who thinks she’s a cat! Stop telling her she can sleep in front of the fire all day every day! How about you freaking rehabilitate the kid and then send her to school like Gho

You are adopting a daughter, not a pet

Minette is one of the worst characters in this whole series. I can’t even muster any sympathy for her because all she is is a GIMMICK with a cute face. She isn’t even a character! She’s just the human embodiment of cat puns! And I hate it!

So Norzen, Rifa, and Pudgius just enchanted a crystal to trap the Skyhold. Guess we’re storming it again already, huh? I’ve gotta say, after the Empire being constantly one step ahead last timeline, it’s nice to be the ones in control for a change

And Norzen knew Minette’s mom. He was working to make a cure for the Plague. It killed so many that it mostly died down, but they saw that it was going to make a comeback, even worse than before. Minette’s mom noticed that no cat got infected, so she used them as the base for her vaccine, and tested it on herself. And died. But not before giving the vaccine to Minette, who the scientists took in and studied, and in doing so found the cure they needed to stop the Plague for good. Nope. Still feel nothing for Minette. This is a half-assed justification for making a Walking Gimmick. Minette could be deleted from existence and I would not care and it is entirely to do with the fact that her entire character is Cats™ and Abandonment Issues™ with no further substance

Back to the Skyhold. The big diamond in the center is looking quite a bit worse for wear now that the SP cannon landed a direct hit on it

I hate this stupid dungeon and its useless map that does a really awful job of showing how platforms overlap

On the way back to where we fought Anne. Everyone’s treating this as a point of no return, but I’ve gotta wonder about that considering there’s three jobs, one summon, and several more Catmancy skills left in locations that I can’t access yet

“Regrets... are like rutabagas - far better overcooked than left untouched in the pantry.” Altair I have never eaten a rutabaga in my life, your metaphor is lost on me

Oh, we’re finally going to hear about Vega. Good, I was looking for a reason to be invested in Altair and his story

Wait... Altair’s from the Celestial Realm? Does that make him a Celestial? Does he know the Celestial/Player from the first game (and probably also this one, since I’m assuming it’s the same Celestial guiding the party both times)? ...is he aware that I’ve been making fun of his metaphors and the way he pronounces his name for a while now?

Vega was his wife. A great Calamity befell the Celestial Realm, so they planned to take a ship and flee to Luxendarc... but Vega never made it to the ship. Altair didn’t realize she wasn’t onboard until after the ship had left on its one-way trip to another dimension. He doesn’t say it outright, but he probably doesn’t even know why she never made it or if she’s even alive anymore. He never said goodbye to his wife. He wasn’t expecting to need to. The last time he saw her was never supposed to be the last

Since a female voice narrates the ends of chapters, and what seems to be Altair’s theme plays there, I can only assume that that’s Vega. I don’t think she’s THE Celestial that guides the party, but I do wonder if the two know each other and The Celestial/Player is showing her what they’re seeing. Or maybe just intercepting messages from her

Yeah, I’m sure this is a “final” battle and your backstory is entirely irrelevant, Altair. The Kaiser is definitely the Big Bad, just like Braev was last game. Definitely

So I have Magnolia as a Black Mage and the brim of her hat is just barely covering her eyes. It almost looks like she’s trying to hide tears behind it, which is especially noticeable since she had the biggest reaction to Altair’s story

“With the right dressing, a simple piece of lettuce can become a salad.” Have you ever even eaten a salad before because it takes more than one piece of lettuce to make those. Otherwise it’s just lettuce with some sauce on it

Altair, we both ship Yew/Magnolia, but maybe lay off the kid a little? I know your romance went poorly, but I have no intention of letting these kids die. That only ever happens accidentally

“Give Tiz the pendant. ...I believe he has something to tell someone.” Agnès probably already knows... but I think they both need to hear it spoken. Two years can be a painfully long time to wait just to hear someone say “I love you, too.”

And all I can think of during this is poor Edea. I think she loves Alternis... but as a brother. The Alternis that she’s in love with, the one who grew and changed, the one she shared an adventure with, who she came to care for beyond their shared history but as an equal... well as far as she knows he isn’t in this dimension anymore. She’s already had her Altair/Vega situation, a goodbye that never was. Of course, if my theory’s right and one of the Alternises running around is Ringabel, then she may have another chance. But as for now... she just has to sit here listening to her new family get resolutions that have been lost to her

So I did end up grinding out the Bestiary entries for Skyhold just on the off-chance it was a one-time location and let me just say: Ranger Edea is terrifyingly strong and I love her

Dammit, Denys, just stay still so I can fight you, rip your sword out of your robot hand, and then steal your job!

Oh fuck OFF, Janne!

“In the end, you understood me. You’re a true friend, Yew.” Yeah, he’s a much better friend to you than you are to him. It’s a two-way street! So kindly take that newfound modicum of introspection and use it for something, you brat

So it’s a Janne/Nikolai dual boss as they cover Denys’s escape. My team’s level 65 and pretty damn tough at the moment, though. Nikolai’s gonna have a hell of a time trying to out-heal Tiz’s Exorcism HP Undos and Janne’s barely gonna make a dent with Yew’s Spellcraft-boosted Healing

“Now isn’t the time to wallow in sentiment!” Sure, Janne. “Stop thinking about the past!” Yep. Sure. You fucking hypocrite

Whaaaaaaat the fuck was that rumbling. What did you three idiots doooooo!?

Don’t know why Nikolai thought using Sacrifice was a good idea. Janne’s really useless on his own

Guys. We haven’t killed anyone this timeline. Stop being dramatic! We aren’t going to kill you. ...but you are going to prison for Mook #4′s death, Janne. You brought that one on yourself

“Only death can stop us” or some really good chains, you know

Atta boy, Yew. Don’t compromise your own morals for these idiots

“You can still change the world without destroying the past!” And that’s the crux of this whole game, isn’t it? What’s done is done. We’d all like to go back and change things. It seems like it would be so easy to erase the mistakes of our lives... but things aren’t that simple. How much good can come of the bad? If the Plague hadn’t happened, a cure never would have been developed, and the technologies and medicine that arose from it can be used to great benefit in the future, and so on. This is a game about accepting the bad and moving on. Working not to undo your mistakes, but fix them and be better the next time similar situations arise. And as someone who struggles a lot with self-blame, that’s really powerful to me

“But... what about my revenge!?” Oh. MY GOD!!! I get that you’re 16 and moral complexity seems to fly right over your head, Janne, but have you listened to nothing this entire game!? I actually hate you more than Minette, and she makes insufferable cats puns every. Fucking. Sentence. I swear you two are the worst goddamn characters in this game. Give. It. A. REST

Oh, so Janne’s motives are entirely selfish, too. Because according to him, he’s not looking to see his family again. He’s not looking to bring back his parents because he loves them and thinks they deserved better. No, he just wants to undo the years of emotional suffering and living on the streets he had to go through in the aftermath, and he’s taking it out on everybody else

God, fuck, why do people like this character!? Is it because he falls into the “tortured-but-physically-attractive character with a tragic backstory, so even if they do awful things they’re sympathetic so I can change them (or have the other participant in a ship with them do so)” archetype? Because fuck that archetype, it’s been romanticized to hell and back and I have literally always hated it. I’m not shy about my distaste for Kylo Ren in the new Star Wars films, a certain villain from Pokémon Sun and Moon, Merula Snyde in Hogwarts Mystery, and I’m certainly not shy about my distaste for Janne Balestra, the most self-centered brat in existence still trying to pretend that just having a tragic backstory somehow justifies all of the shitty things he’s done in this game, with no effort to make amends on his part. People don’t deserve to get off with no consequences like that!

“What am I supposed to do!?” How about you grow the fuck up, listen to what we’ve been telling you this whole game, and stop taking your frustrations out on everybody! Get a therapist! Open up an orphanage or something so other kids don’t end up on the street like you! You’re the one who decided that rewriting time and killing anyone with even the slightest connection to the Balestra deaths was the way to handle this. Honestly, your lack of direction is not our problem to fix now that that’s out the window. The only thing Yew’s obligated to make right is his relationship with Denys

Oh, nice! Yew’s gonna hand control of the Crystalguard from House Geneolgia to the Orthodoxy. That won’t stop corruption entirely, but I’m sure Agnès will make good use of being able to control the knights sworn to protect her and her faith

And the other Houses in control of the guard are in agreement. Enough of using the Crystalguard as a tool against each other, now we’re letting Agnès decide. One, unified voice in the organization, instead of the warring factions it’s been made of

And Braev, Goodman, Norzen, and Lotus will help out, as counterbablances to Agnès, representing the needs of the four Continents (with Crystals on them. Sucks to be Caldisla, I guess)

Yew’s finally figured out who he is and what he wants out of life. He’s not just the kid following Crystalguard orders or filling in for Denys out of a sense of duty. He’s seen the corruption and he’s going to work to change it. To make the organization he was told was his to inherit into something worth inheriting. Something to be proud of. And now, he’s not doing it alone. He sounds just like a certain blonde in our party...

And Nikolai and Janne agree to help us... without even the slightest hint of an apology from Janne. Fuck you, just leave the story already

And Denys’s in the Geneolgia mausoleums beneath Gathelatio. Time to kick some sense into big bro’s ass while surrounded by the corpses of our ancestors?

I can’t help but notice the game’s letting me walk around but still hasn’t addressed the shaking during the fight. I get the feeling there’s another boss coming and it isn’t Denys

I got off Skyhold and literally nothing happened, but I don’t think that’s the end of the rumble shenanigans

Ah, making use of that tiny door next to Yew’s house. Down into the Crypts we go!

I love how Alfred’s first thought upon seeing Nikolai and Janne is “Hey, it’s you jerks who betrayed Yew! Get lost!”

And we didn’t even need Alfred, because Denys left the door open instead of locking it behind him, as would be smart. Though in his defense, the only people he’d want to stop could just use Alfred’s key, and Denys doesn’t seem like he wants Alfred to know who he is just yet so it��s safer to leave his old butler alone than sneak in and grab the key

Denys has the other key because he told Alfred he wanted to lay flowers on his mother’s grave before he was exiled. So even if her son wasn’t the favored heir of House Geneolgia, they still had the decency to bury her with the rest of the family

I love how Alfred really loves the Geneolgia kids, more than even their father. He doesn’t want to believe that Denys is the Kaiser, it seems so out of character for the boy he knew, but when it’s Yew saying it... how could he not believe?

No, Yew, let Nikolai and Janne turn themselves in to the police. I know you still hold some affection for them (despite how much Janne doesn’t deserve it) but they totally committed some atrocious crimes and need to atone in some way

“A crime is a crime. How can we hope to reform others if we cannot admit our own trespasses?” And that, right there, is why I have sympathy for Nikolai and not Janne. He’s willing to admit he did wrong, and willing to attempt to make it right. Janne may be going along with him, but he still hasn’t apologized and is throwing a minor fit about explaining himself. His behavior is beyond unsympathetic, no matter what his backstory is, and his “reformation” comes across more like he’s just doing it to please Nikolai. Like when a child begrudgingly apologizes because their parents told them to, but you can hear it in their voice that they don’t mean it

The Geneolgia Crypts. The location of the final summon, one of two remaining places with Catmancy skills... and the last story-mandated asterisk. Time to find Denys

I know it plays in a lot of locations, but I love the music in the Crypts, “Dungeon of the Nature.” It’s somber, but grand. Soft, not bombastic, but still powerful. It’s great, I’d recommend people look it up if they haven’t heard it yet

Why are there instant-kill rabbits in here

Also can’t help noticing that the other enemy types are female mummies and ghost knights. Doesn’t seem like the Geneolgia family is really at rest, does it?

So it’s a maze, where I have to light each crystal to unlock the door, huh? Not too complicated

Susano-o Obtained! He’s been changed from non-elemental to Dark, but it’s otherwise our same old friend from Default

I find it bizarre that Amaterasu is listed after Susano-o, despite unlocking earlier. I suppose most people would run into Susano-o first, since there’s literally nothing out by Amaterasu’s anchorite and no reason to go there

I also appreciate that the two “strongest” summons are named after sibling gods from Shinto mythology, though I do wish there was a Tsukuyomi to go with them, considering the abundant moon symbolism in this game

Ah, is Yew’s fear of ghosts from being down here as a kid? He says he came down to bury his father and pay his respects, but he doesn’t remember it well because he tried to forget. He didn’t want to remember how lonely his childhood was because of the emotional divide between Denys and his mother, Yew and his mother, and their father. Going off to school was his first taste of freedom

“It’s... perfect.” God, can we give Michael Sinterniklaas an award for just the delivery of that line?

Hey, Denys. Fancy seeing you in what is clearly a boss room. No hard feelings for what comes next, yeah?

OH MY GOD I put my 3DS down and the screen went black for two seconds. Scared the hell out of me I thought I was gonna have to play part of that over again

I can just leave the room. The stairs are right there. The game is letting me walk right past him and go... but that won’t solve anything, will it?

We stand at the grave of Foundar Geneolgia. Captain of the Crystalguard, first leader of the Three Cavaliers... and completely corrupt beyond belief, using his position to take out personal enemies by accusing them of being enemies of the Orthodoxy, all to keep his own power. Sometimes to gain more

This was the standard of House Geneolgia. Those who deviated, who tried to be better... what remains are unmarked gravestones. Still here, within the family, but shunned and forgotten. Even in death. Denied the opportunity to be remembered by the lives they touched and shackled by the legacy of a bloodline they were unable to escape. Lost to an underground cavern for eternity.

And that’s his goal. Denys, disgusted by his ancestors and bearing the weight of a bloodline he never asked for, planned to travel back in time and kill Foundar, erasing the entire Geneolgia line and their sins with it

He’s so caught up in his plan that he’s failed to see something that I think Yew’s already figured out: these brothers are the only members of the Geneolgia family left. They aren’t beholden to the laws of the family anymore, because who will enforce them? Each other? There’s no guarantee someone worse won’t spring up in the place of Foundar, but Yew and Denys together can take what their bloodline has been given and turn it into something worthwhile. Erasing the past is a gamble on a brighter present. Working together is a guarantee of a brighter future

*squints* There’s a single dead pixel on my screen right in the middle of Denys’s face right now and it’s driving me nuts

“So you, too, would slumber in an unmarked grave. We are more alike than I thought...” And you always have been. If you’d spoken openly to your brother, you would have noticed who he is deep in his heart. Someone who doesn’t care for money or power, who takes in and cares for others as if they were family, an idealist who wants nothing more than a better world for those they care for, even at the cost of their own life... You two make quite a pair.

This whole conflict probably could have been avoided if these two had the chance to be closer as kids. If Denys had a single family member to confide in... If Yew had someone to guide him away from the indoctrination of their father... The tragedy is that the only times they’ve been able to speak freely to each other... have been at the end of this game

It’s just a shame Denys wants to fight. He wants to be proven wrong, not just have his baby brother spout nice platitudes at him

Still, I warned this chinstrap-beard-sporting jackass. I’m going to RIP. THAT. SWORD. OUT. OF. HIS. DUMB. METAL. HAND!

(By which I mean I’m stealing the Chaos Blade, the only missable item as far as I’m aware, from him. I was just being dramatic about it so I wouldn’t forget)

No pretense of fighting “The Kaiser,” an untouchable force of nature. Now he’s just Denys. A brother lost to his own guilt. Flawed, human, and in need of a guiding hand to bring him towards a redemption I think he’s willing to start

Aaaaaand of course he has reraise

I mean... that’s a decent argument. If Denys goes back to change the past, he actually ruins the future because he’s given Anne access to the Holy Pillar

And now the party gets the Kaiser job. Almost like a spiritual relinquishing of the role from Denys

I assumed we’d be taking Denys home to rest. Can’t help but notice we took his coat, though. Really shows off the fact that Yew cut off his entire right arm, not just his hand

Denys was always going to try and make a martyr of himself. It didn’t matter what he did, how bad his actions were, his final act, erasing himself from existence, was supposed to be his atonement. Now what does he do, living with the things he’s done and no easy end to absolve him of it?

It’s like the game thought I wouldn’t recognize Agnès‘s voice immediately

Agnès is willing to give him the chance to atone. Not forgive him outright, but a chance to earn that forgiveness. And why wouldn’t she? Agnès was once the puppet of a fairy herself, nearly driving the world to ruin with the goal of its salvation. Killing countless Duchy soldiers (and I know the game’s gonna act like the random encounter soldiers didn’t exist, but they did) in the name of her cause. Denys really is in the same position as Tiz, Agnès, Edea, and Ringabel were just two years ago

Denys really thinks all of his companions are dead, huh? “The only mercy I need is a quick death, so I may apologize face-to-face.” “Then come with me to the Sanctum.” We’re just gonna arrange a prison meet-and-greet with the other Glanz Empire higher-ups that we didn’t kill, just stuck in prison, and Denys’s gonna have a change of heart and join us, I can already see it coming

According to the Bestiary, Denys met Anne when the Great Chasm “disappeared” (where... did it go?), captured the Ba’al Diamante and seized the asterisks left behind in the crater, and then created the Skyhold using Diamante. So the Ba’al that the Sagitta thought they were firing on, and the one sealed within... is Diamante, which I thought was just the official name for the Skyhold when it appeared on the location intro card. I... I think I know what those rumbles from before may have been

Yew makes sure to note that everything he wrote was told to him by Denys, presumably off-screen. And there’s a little note that makes a similar point to what I did during the fight: his Bestiary entry is listed as Denys Geneolgia, not Kaiser Oblivion, because should anything happen, Yew wants him to be remembered not as the leader of the Glanz Empire, but as his beloved brother

“To meet those who sacrificed themselves for your cause... This is what you truly wish? Then let it be done!” I see you trying to be dramatic, Agnès, but let’s cut the man a break, yeah? Faking him out like this is just a bit mean. The look on his face is gonna be great, though

Yup! And Minette even got adopted with no jail time. Isn’t that great?

“I-I do not deserve...” Maybe not forgiveness, but no one has given you a second chance to atone yet. It’s about time we do

Okay, I know Braev was cutting his restraints, but it still looked like he slashed Denys across the back. Could you imagine if he had! “Grand Marshall! I meant cut his restraints!” “Oh. OH. Oh no. My apologies. I thought this was going somewhere else! Oh dear... someone call a healer! Nikolai!”

Family dinner! FAMILY DINNER! FAMILY DINNEEEEEER! Aw man, get in here, Agnès! It’s the whole dang team! Magnolia, Tiz, Edea, Yew, and Agnès all sharing some down time together is what I live for!

Aaaaaaand Agnès made it sad by asking if Magnolia’s gonna go home to the Moon when her work is done. Now Yew’s sad. And Magnolia’s sad

Denys, get in here! If the team’s willing to forgive and forget, well, I’ve been willing to with you for a while! Family dinner! Estranged older brothers and adoptive extradimensional aunts and all!

I am desperately in need of a reconciliation hug between Denys and Yew right now

“What do you say we go for a bath, Brother?” Or... you can make it weird, Yew. I feel like that’s a few steps past a hug

Just two bros chillin’ in a hot spring, five feet apart ‘cause they’re estranged siblings awkwardly attempting to reconnect

This is good for both of them, really. Just finally getting to chat it out, maybe air some grievances...

Denys never blamed Yew for what happened with his arm. It actually gave him the perfect opportunity to walk out on their father and never look back. One of his big regrets was that he never got to tell Yew that before he was forced to leave. He’s just glad they even have the opportunity to talk again. That he had the opportunity to finally tell his brother that he doesn’t have to bear that weight anymore

And now he’s giving relationship advice to his little bro... awww, that’s sweet, but I gotta wonder what Denys actually knows about romance. Like... at all

Denys’s just sitting here like “Oh this dense kid. It’s so obvious they belong together. Come on, Yew, confess. That’s gonna be my new sister-in-law, I can tell.”

Nothing like a GIANT FUCKING DEATH LASER IN THE SKY to ruin your nice chat with your brother, huh!?

Dammit, I knew Anne was suspiciously absent and yet I still overlooked her. I bet she used Sylvie to overload the Crystals and form the Holy Pillar

MMMMMMmmmmm Skyhold again. I’ve got... a bad feeling about what’s going to happen to Denys. Please don’t go Redemption Equals Death, please don’t go Redemption Equals Death he has so much potential...

Yew’s apologizing to Magnolia because she helped him repair his relationship with Denys, but he still hasn’t returned the favor in helping her defeat the Ba’al and save the Moon. God, I love this kid’s sense of honor

Oh, hey, confirmation that the Moon and Appleberry are still okay. At least until Anne does something again

I knew it. The Matriarch and Sylvie are here

Anne you fairy fuck get over here! I know you’re aware of my existence, you’re the one who asked me to play the original game!

“You’re here already? Not bad! You beat my estimate by fourteen minutes.” Not bad considering I took a day’s break before getting here. That estimate must have been pretty generous

She pulled an Airy on Sylvie and the Matriarch and convinced them to help her. Where the Fairy Flies, am I right?

“Denied!” Denys you ham this is supposed to be serious

Oh... I forgot that Anne sent Denys to the future instead of the past and he still remembers that

You didn’t realize she sent you to the wrong time!? How do you not notice the technology and architecture being way off?

She had no intention of sending him to the past. Of course not. Why would Airy’s sister have you invalidate all the work she had the player/Celestial do last game?

...Master?

Here we go. The freed Diamante, Ba’al that destroyed the Moon civilizations. And Magnolia’s freaking out, but her new family won’t have it! We avenge her people together!

Diamante looks freaking awesome. A diamond unicorn with a skeleton rider, with butterflies in her long, teal hair and shredded wings for arms.

And don’t think I haven’t noticed the background. A woman with a ponytail kneeling behind a chain-link fence, reaching her left hand out towards what appears to be a rocket ship flying off into the distance. The ring on her finger glinting every once in a while

A married woman left behind, longing to reach a ship... Vega...

Diamante, the diamond ring

Health doesn’t look too bad, but I’m worried about the 100% Mirror. Seems it even reflects physical attacks

It’s gone down to 60% after a round of attacks. Maybe I’ve just got to wear its shield down

It did... something to Tiz that prevents him from doing anything besides Default and Summon and brings its Mirror up for one more hit every turn, but this seems manageable. Turns out attack items count as hits to bring it down, so if I toss one out per turn it can’t do anything

I love the effect of the diamonds on the unicorn breaking away to reveal an electric interior

Reraise was to be expected at this point

They only make you fight it twice and it still revives at the end, but I think it’s poetic that I beat it while I had Magnolia’s theme playing thanks to her special being the second-to-last hit on it

Do what you did to the Moon? “Let the cleansing fires cover the world, and burn for three days and three nights!” Why so specific, Anne? It sounds like you’re quoting a Bible verse at me

You sound ridiculous, Anne. Tone the formality down a peg

“Yes, it is time I atone for my sins.” Denys don’t you fucking dare

Yew, do not give him the compass.

You are not taking this Ba’al to the end of time, young man! No! You aren’t allowed to pull a Redemption Equals Death on me

“I trust you. My sacrifice will not be in vain.” You don’t have to do this! I can keep this boss fight going forever! We weren’t even struggling! I’ve got the resources to keep trying!

Denys, please. You could be Party Member #5. You could have a well-written, non-copout redemption arc. Let’s think about this

God...

...dammit.

#bravely default #bravely second #liz liveblogs bravely second

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