#I did not have the willpower to make this a fully shaded piece so i did what any artist would do and put a multiply and glow layer

[derelictdumbass]

Family Outing 💕

[close ups & short excerpt of the scene that inspired this under the cut]

"Is that so?" The man mutters, tapping in the price of his items more aggressively than necessary into the register. He looks like he's about to say something else but the sound of heavy booted footsteps cuts him off and Caleb is relieved to see Dean step into the doorway.

"You good bubs?" He asks, one arm resting against the doorframe as the other was tucked away in his pocket.

"Yeah i'm good dad, i'll be out in a sec," He smiles and Dean nods, lingering for a second as he glances at the man behind the register.

"Kay, we'll be by the fence—Charmeine's about to eat your brother so don't take too long," He hums, tapping his closed fist against the doorframe as he pushes himself back and points to the right. Caleb giggles and Dean smiles warmly, but is quick to shoot the elderly man a warning look before he walks back out of sight.

"Seventeen bucks," The man grumbles, holding his hand out expectantly. Caleb places the money in his hand and swipes his small haul.

"Keep the change," he says, a hint of smugness in his words as he hurries out. He really just didn't want to be in there for any longer than he needed to be and he's glad as the scoff that follows him out the door is less than pleasant.

Charmeine spots him first and starts rushing up to him as he makes his way over, Dean holding Ace on his hip and leaning against the less than sturdy looking wooden fence.

"Did you get my juice?" Charmeine asks, pushing her sunhat up as she stops in front of him, blue eyes zoned in on the snacks in his arms. Caleb holds out the apple juice, yanking it higher in the air as she goes to grab it.

"What do we say?" He hums, mocking the words his dad had said to him many times and making said man roll his eyes as he grins cheekily.

"Thank you Caleb," Charmeine draws out the words similar to how kids greet their least favourite teacher in the morning and Caleb relents, tossing her the bottle. She squeals as she fumbles to catch it but a smile blooms on her face as she does and she happily skips with him back to their brother and dad.

"You want me to put that in my bag?" Dean asks, nodding his head to the snacks and his drink but Caleb shakes his head, falling into step with his dad as they head back onto the trail.

"Nah I got it," Caleb brushes off the offer and Dean nods.

"Okie dokie—So! My lovely little terrors, where to next?" He asks, raising his hand to fix Ace's wispy hairs and adjust his bucket hat so it was out of his eyes.

"Cheesburger!" Charmeine exclaims, swinging her stick around as she all but hopped ahead of them. Caleb giggled at his little sister, watching her jump over small twigs and rocks on the ground like an excited bunny.

"We already had lunch honey," Dean says gently, watching her with a smile of his own.

"No dad, she means the bear," Caleb corrects him, holding in his laughter as Dean looks down at him with confusion written all over his face.

"I'm sorry the what now?"

"Cheeseburger, look!" Charmeine digs a crumpled piece of paper from her dress's pocket, holding it up to Dean who takes it gingerly and struggles to straighten it out against his jeans. He looks over the paper and Caleb grins at the very unsure look on his face, he looks at Caleb who simply shrugs and unscrews the lid of his coca cola.

"I have some concerns," Dean says flatly, mouth closing in to a straight line as he tucks the paper away into his own pocket.

"Please daddy, i've never seen a bear before! They said you can pet him and everything!" Charmeine cries out, small arms wrapping around his waist, small sandaled feet standing on his boot as he manages to keep walking with her now attached to him like a baby koala. Caleb tries to hold back his snickering as his fathers face seems to pale at the thought of his five year old daughter patting a fully grown brown bear.

"The flier said it's safe dad, he's like domesticated or something," Caleb says in an attempt to reassure him, he kind of wanted to see the bear too if he was being honest. It would be cool.

"Ple—ease dad," Charmeine begs, leaning back and giving their dad her best puppy dog eyes and pout combo she could muster. Caleb was impressed, especially when he noticed the tears welled up in the corner of her eyes. He'd taught her well, he thought with a proud smile as Dean let out a sigh that Caleb knew was one of utter defeat. No one could deny Charmeine’s puppy dog eyes.

Dean looked down at Ace who was about as interested in what was going on as a toddler could be, big blue eyes looking back at him with not a single thought in them.

"What do you think Ace, you want to see the bear too?" He asks and Caleb grins, reaching up to grab his brother's small cheeks.

"Yes I do and if you don't take us I'm gonna throw up on your shirt," Caleb puts on a higher pitched voice, Ace giggling as he squishes his cheeks to make it look like he was talking. Dean bursts into laughter and Charmeine giggles. Caleb's hand falls back to his side as he watches his dad shake his head, looking down at him with an endearing gaze.

"Well it looks like I'm outnumbered," he sighs. Charmeine cheers in delight, jumping off of Dean and running ahead in excitement. Ace babbles happily and baps at Dean's face, wiggling in his grip and making him shift him to his other arm. Caleb happily falls into his dads side as he wraps an arm around his shoulders, watching Charmeine as she races up the trail.

"What am I gonna do with you," Dean mutters mostly to himself, looking down at Caleb who takes a contemplative sip of his drink.

"Feed us, love us, make sure we don't get eaten by a bear—you know, the usual dad stuff," Caleb replies, Dean chuckling and ruffling his hair.

"You know what I think I can do that,"

"You're checking all the boxes so far,"

[silvercrystalwhump]

The Town's Matron

TW: starvation, hunger, parental abuse, bbu warning

Flynn watches Kai out of the corner of his eye. Using one of Flynn’s mechanical pencils, Kai draws on the back of an old receipt. Eyes fully entranced on the pencil lines. Flynn pushes the shopping cart forward gently, so as to not disturb Kai who is sitting inside. A yawn leaves Flynn’s mouth as he looks across the shelves. The shopping list, if one could even call it that, sits clapped to the baby holder on the cart.

Holding up one of the sturdy backpacks, Flynn asks Kai, “Do you like this one?”

Kai eyes it for a second and hesitates before snapping to the chipper attitude he usually has and nods. Flynn blinks and looks back at the shelf, trying to follow where Kai flicked his eyes.

One thing he learned about box boys was that they never said no. That fact alone made Flynn worried for him.

What do they do to you to make you so compliant?

“Is there another one you like more?”

Kai pauses his drawing and slowly looks up at a green one. He points the pencil at it for a moment before going back to doodling. Flynn pulls the bag free from the shelf and holds it out. Kai beams and nods back at him, scrunching his nose like he usually does when he’s actually happy.

So, it’s safe to say that Kai really likes green.

Flynn looks over the price and the pockets of the bag. It’s made of decently sturdy material and is big enough to hold things other than one notebook. He slides it beside Kai in the cart and grabs the largest one he can see to go with it. These bags will need to hold a lot of things for a while.

Flynn tries to rub away the tiredness that eats at his vision. He had been driving for two hours before arriving at the nearest city to buy this stuff. He couldn’t do this in town. Everyone there knew him and someone would tell his father and he knew he would taste another piece of hell.

All of this needs to be yours and no one can know.

Kai sits in the cart surrounded by clothes for multiple seasons, bottles of soap, boxes of nonperishables, and a dozen donuts to use as a bribe for when Flynn returns to his Father’s house. One more month. That thought alone keeps Flynn going, keeping his eyes up. One more month until I take Kai and drive out west, leaving this hell behind.

Kai looks up and points behind him. Flynn looks over his shoulder and feels his stomach sink.

“Flynn!” an elderly woman, whom he knew well, cheers from across the aisle, “How are you?”

Pulling on his calm, practiced happy face, “I’m doing well Mrs. Dane, how are you and the family.”

“Oh excellent,” Mrs. Dane chirps, “The grandbabies are just so sweet and God has been good, what’s a young man like you doing this far out of town?”

“I could ask you the same,” Flynn smiles as he turns to the elderly woman. Mrs. Eliza Danes, the oldest woman in his small town and a woman who was respected. She is the kind of elderly woman with the tenderest heart but, at the flick of her eyes, could instill the fear of God into the devil himself.

“One of my kids lives out here sweetpea. Visiting the grandbabies, six, four, and three they are. All sweeter than honey! But you didn’t answer my question young man,” she beams as she looks past him into his cart, “And who’s he?”

“Oh, that’s Kai, he doesn’t do much speaking and well, something you just gotta come to the city for.”

Mrs. Dane raises a withered eyebrow, “Flynn, sweetie, you look like you haven’t seen a good warm meal in days. Whatcha doing with yourself?”

“Don’t worry, I’m walking on my own two feet.”

She smiles at him and says, “I don’t doubt it for a second honey. How ‘bout you come help little ol’ me finish shopping and come back with me to get you nice and fed.”

Flynn gives her a nervous smile, “I shouldn’t, my old man would wring my neck.”

And hurt Kai if he’s really mad.

Mrs. Dane drops her gaze and gives Flynn a knowing look before perking up again, “What did you eat last?”

A piece of toast yesterday morning.

“A sandwich for lunch, I’ll eat supper when I get home.”

Mrs. Dane shakes her head, “Lying does not please the Lord young man, and I know your father well enough to know exactly why you’re dodging this.”

“Mrs. Dane please-”

“Do not interrupt me young man, you and Kai are coming over to my house tonight and I’ma feed both of y’all, you hear? I do not care what your Father says I will personally escort to the Lord if he tries anyhing stupid.”

“Yes ma’am,” Flynn says, eyes on the floor and now very aware of the emptiness in his stomach.

Mrs. Dane looks up, “Now. Look at me.”

Flynn raises his eyes and meets Mrs. Dane’s. Fear eats at the lining of his stomach along with hunger. He feels his hands begin to shake against the cart handle.

“I remember when I was your age,” Mrs. Dane begins with a much softer voice, “There were alot more men like your Father raisin’ youngin’s and I know what that cart is for and you will be finishing the story after you're fed, is that correct?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Flynn turns around and locks eyes with Kai. Kai curled himself under Flynn’s hoodie and was watching the entire conversation. Unease reflects off the mirrors of his eyes. Flynn tries to give Kai a comforting smile but Kai sees through the facade like looking from a window.

Mrs. Dane talks about everyday things as they finish their shopping. The air presses into Flynn’s skin as he pays for what will be his salvation.

If Mrs. Dane doesn’t stop it before it even happens.

Kai helps Flynn stuff the bags into the area behind their seats. Flynn slides into the driver’s seat and Kai grabs his hand and gives him a sort of tender, questioning look. His slender fingers press into the hardened skin of his hand and send shivers up Flynn’s spine.

“It’s okay,” Flynn says, trying to reassure himself more than Kai, “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Kai nods and lets go of Flynn’s hand. Kai returns to a still sitting position that he is sure is one of the numbered positions but he just doesn’t remember which one. Flynn lets a panic attack stew under the surface of his skin. The air in his lungs doesn’t taste right and it’s never enough. His vision is only clear on the road, his periphery blurred beyond usability.

Somehow, he makes it to the small log cabin next to the church.

Mrs. Dane lived alone, her husband passed a decade prior. Flynn, despite only being eight at the time, still remembers the suit his mother wrestled him into for the trip to the church. Mr. Dane was buried in the church cemetery.

Flynn steps out of his car and lets the crisp air of Fall snap him awake. Kai zips to his side, clinging to his arm. Kai’s fingers squeeze around Flynn’s arm and Kai nuzzles his nose into his shoulder. Flynn nods to himself and walks up towards the house, Kai on his heels.

He opens the door to let Kai and Mrs. Dane through before carrying all of her groceries into her home. All while, Flynn fights through the pain of hunger and fear. The ache of his stomach drags at his eyes. The emptiness in his gut almost feels too full and Flynn chokes back the urge to vomit up air.

Flynn can’t deny, the idea of any food in his stomach, no matter how revolting, was tempting.

Mrs. Dane gives him a warm smile, “Thank you, now about supper, I have a pork roast in the crockpot and I’m gonna bake up some potatoes for you and your little buddy. Now you two wash up and sit down.”

Flynn’s stomach growls and it takes every ounce of willpower he can muster to keep from curling in on himself. The cramps get worse by the second and they keep growing in area and intensity. Kai, after washing his hands, wraps Flynn in a hug. His eyes silently apologize.

Since Flynn has been giving Kai his food for the past couple of days.

Mrs. Dane finally calls them to the table. The food looks like gold and diamonds to Flynn. The pork is falling apart on itself and he can smell the spices and marinade from across the table. His mouth waters as he pushes Mrs. Dane into her chair.

Kai sits anticipatedly at the table, bouncing in his chair.

Flynn wraps an arm around his stomach as he sits. Mrs. Dane bows her head and says, “Let’s say grace.”

Flynn doesn’t hear what Mrs. Dane says as a prayer of thanks leaves her lips. The warm smell of food encapsulates his senses.

“Amen, Let’s eat.”

That’s all he had to hear.

If it weren’t for the years of table manners drilled into his skull, he might have ripped the pork out with his bare hands. He lets Mrs. Dane fills her plate first and then he fille Kai’s, out of both respect and to excuse the fact he wanted to eat everything on the table.

After the couple seconds that felt like years, he finally sunk his teeth into actual food.

His body just takes over after that and eats.

“Hasn’t eaten today hasn’t he?” Mrs. Dane says after a minute of Flynn snarfing down his food.

Kai, barely through a baked potato, shakes his head no.

Kai! Why do you betray me like this?!

“I knew it,” Mrs. Dane huffs, “I’ma kill that man, starving his son because of what, a lack of care!”

Flynn looks up and pauses eating, “I- It’s not- Um-”

Mrs. Dane shakes his head, “Let me tell you a story. When I was a young woman I had a sister, Anabel Peterson, she was a lot like you.”

Flynn shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He glances over and sees Kai leaning in, listening attentively.

“How so?” Flynn asks as he continues to stuff his face, slower now.

Mrs. Dane sighs, “Your Father likes to talk and most of the town knows that you… as we would call it back in my day, fruity.

That I’m gay. Yeah, he yelled it out in church last weekend.

“So was my sister, and she had… relations with a woman who was of a darker shade than we are. My Father found out one day and began to treat her very poorly and one morning I saw her grab similar things to what you have in your car and left. I have not seen her since.”

Flynn looks up from his plate and sees remorse and regret across the elderly woman’s face, “That must have been hard.”

“Yes,” she replies with a sigh, “I deeply regret not going after her, to take back many of the hurtful things I said.”

Kai looks back at Flynn and blinks. His eyes have a flavor of understanding that looked unfamiliar even to Kai. It is strange to behold. Flynn looks back at Mrs. Dane, “What are you getting at?”

“I know you plan to leave and never return, it is obvious and I do not blame you for the sentiment. I want to help you,” she says as she finishes her plate, “I know we will more than likely not see you again but I wish to at least make your last memories of here have some dignity.”

Flynn sighs, tons of worry and fear falling away like petals in a torrent. His head falls into his hands and has to hold back the reins of his tears to keep himself from crying in relief. “Thank you.”

“Pack your things here and let me know if you need anything, when you decide to leave come here and pick them up.”

The world both spins and tears for Flynn at once, some pieces of this plan come together and he finds himself smiling, “I- Thank you.”

Mrs. Dane smiles, “You’re welcome sweetheart, I hope God leads you to a better place than this one.”

Flynn and Kai look at each other and Kai beams a thousand stars worth of joy in Flynn’s direction. Flynn can’t help but absorb some of that happiness and smile at himself. The air seems lighter around him and for the first time in weeks he feels like he can breathe.

“Do either of you two want ice cream?”

Kai instantly perks up at the idea of anything sweet and nods frantically. The redhead practically vibrates in the chair.

Flynn nods, “Yes please.” Letting himself feel calm for a moment, he takes what he’s offered and eats.

Then his phone rings.

[safrona-shadowsun]

A Courier and a Novice

(Part 1 of a retroactive Rp with @asharinhun​. It takes place a little while before the commencement of N’zoth and the assault of the Black Empire. Thank you for reading, if you do! }

"Seriously, cousin, you attract trouble wherever you go." Sharyssa berated Asharin, her hands didn't stop moving at all at removing the shards of glass from the druid's shoulder.

 "When you two were late I expected something had gone wrong, but a brawl at the inn of all things..." The young Nightborne muttered, removing the last splinter before sewing the gashes together. 

"What about you, Lady Courier, are you injured anywhere?" She asked the hooded woman with concern in her voice, but the void elf just stared at the druid murderously, a single green orb visible cast by the show of the cloak. If looks could kill, Asha would be dead ten times over. 

Still, Safrona eventually relented and removed the hood, revealing the reason: the courier's left eye was firmly shut by a fist-sized bump on her brow, the bruise already darkening and taking on a deeper purplish shade than her skin.

 "Ouch, that looks... bad." Sharyssa winced at the sight and hurried to the kitchen to get some ice, wrapped it into a piece of cloth and and with the Courier's permission, gently held the compress against the eyebrow of the shut eye.

 "I've already apologized many times, Safrona. I can't just shapeshift in the middle of the small inn and the tankard hitting your face was too far for me to catch it along the rest that were thrown at us by the drunkards." Asha explained, probably for the thousandth time by the roll of the void elf's working eye.

 "Still, this won't stop you from doing the delivery as we agreed just before the brawl broke out, will it? Just accompany Sharyssa to the outer area of Suramar, she will get you the delivery item there, its with her mother at the moment. From there you just need to get it to Hyjal. I will be already there by that time... hopefully."

 "Come on, this won't be like that first delivery of the ruby-" he was interrupted by a surprised "What?!" from Sharyssa.

 "It was her who got me that gem?" The young Nightborne lady bowed deep before the Courier before meeting her one-eyed gaze again, pulling the ivory hair covering half her face away and revealing the enchanted ruby in question shimmering in her eye socket. "Thank you very much, it saved a lot of lives, including mine.”

"Trouble really does seem to follow your cousin, yes..." the Courier's seething glance did not last long, emptying the rise of her choleric manner. Composure was everything in that moment of new introductions. As Asharin’s cousin offered relief from the pain of her recurring eye bruise, Safrona veered slightly away, taking it upon herself to care for her eye.

 "When you hire me for our little power walks I'll know better than to let us relax too long at a tavern." The pleasantries were slightly strained, like Safrona's smile for the Nightborne.

 "I'm nothing if not dependable, Miss Sharyssa. That's quite the special ruby, though I know virtually nothing about it. I hate to seem rude, but I'm ready to get the rest of this run done sooner rather than later."

"Duly noted. No more stops at inns and taverns for a drink from now on." The druid replied with a small smile. "In that case we will have to rely on your signature wine instead of whiskey in such cases." 

"Come on, Asha! This is not joking matter!" Sharyssa snapped back at him, taking the Courier's side in the argument. Fel, she knew all too well how much it sucked having only one working eye. "To be honest, I believe Eoloran is the one who has the most information about it. It is certainly useful though, enhancing and supplementing my arcane skills as few things can."

 The young lady commented, raising an eyebrow at the void elf's tone. "Very well... I'm packed and ready." 

"Alright, good luck then, you two. Sharyssa, try not to annoy the lady Courier too much." Asharin added with a chuckle before leaving the two with a wave of his hand. 

"Bahh, I'm sorry, Lady Safrona. He can be so infuriating I can't even..." Sharyssa grumbled before turning to her traveling companion. "Um, would you prefer if I walked on your left side, with your eye swollen shut like that?" 

Sharyssa's offer didn't seem to occur to Safrona until it went spoken. Bearing her handicap, the importer was forced to turn her face fully to regard the younger Nightborne rather than glance with both eyes as she was accustomed to. Still, the Void Elf wasn't making too much of a fuss of having to adjust. The slightest smirk pulled to the corner of Safrona's lips, observing the annoyance the elder Druid was to his kin as well. She briefly studied Sharyssa a moment before giving a slight shake of her head, answering with a composed grace.

 "You don't have to do that, lovely girl. Very thoughtful, thinking about your Courier like that. But that's really just playing to a convenience in the end that I shouldn't be training myself to get used to, yes?" 

A withering chuckle left her lips now as she straightened the portion of hair now waving down half her face. "I'm sure if it becomes too much a problem I can summon in help along the way." 

The two elves were starting down to the next destination when Safrona made an attempt at some continuing conversation. "You said something about being versed in the arcane? Sorceress, I assume?"

"That's not true. The least I can do is at least covering the blind spot, especially as it was his fault. As for it being a convenience, I don't see how it could be a "training". I mean, everything will return to normal once the swelling on your eye goes down enough, why not make it easier for yourself during the recovery?" 

Sharyssa chattered in reply as the pair made their way to the teleport crystal that would take them to Azsuna. "Calling me a sorceress is way overestimating my skills, but yes, I received some training in Suramar, then uncle Eoloran took over in teaching me the arcane arts. At least I have some aptitude for it, unlike with elemental magic." 

The Nightborne lady paused, looking up at the Courier with curiosity in her eye. "You mentioned summoning, right? As in, like warlocks calling up on their minions? I was always interested in how they do it."

Safrona only let her smile strain for Sharyssa in as far as her insistence in how she should approach, putting her words away with which was clearly becoming useless to argue. She was beginning to see the relation to the Druid in the Nightborne, sharing that stubborn trait.

"We're both coming to quick assumptions here, Miss Sharyssa," the Void Elf served her next answer with a touch of amused coyness, playing on the mystery of her own magical knowledge. 

"A summoner can cover many aspects of magic, yes? As far as what it takes to summon something into being I'd say it takes a cocktail of willpower laced with a fiery boldness, and poured over the icy rocks of discipline. A combination it can take years to understand to balance just right, including the swallow of many mistakes beforehand." A quietly hummed chuckle preluded her last point. 

"I imagine that's a summoner's creed, whether it's mana strudels, elementals or demons we're calling into the physical plane."

"You're probably right, Lady Safrona. I do not know enough about summoning in general, at least not yet. I only assumed it because I've never heard of magi referring to them summoning mana or elemental creatures as such, only warlocks." Sharyssa replied, her ears drooping in embarrassment. 

"Uncle Eoloran said using elementals is way too early for me, especially as I'm not really good at handling them, only the arcane is the exception." The young Nightborne sulkingly muttered, her disappointment in herself clear as day.

"What sort of summonings can you do, Lady Safrona? What types of creatures, I mean. I'd like to know more." The lass quickly corrected herself, bouncing back to her talkative and curious self in a few moments. Sharyssa was excited once again, almost missing over the gesture of the Courier delicately touching her swollen shut eye with her fingertips before quickly pulling the hand away. 

"Does the closed eye pain you a lot, Lady Safrona? I can try to conjure some ice if you'd like. It might take a few attempts, but I can do it."

The little smirk continued to play about the Courier's lips as the two continued to walk. Occasionally her glance drifted to the young arcanist as she spoke, always returning back to the road. 

"Your Uncle Eoloran is likely wise with his advise, and well-meaning besides. Magic takes time to master, as I'm sure you know. Your people's culture thrived within it. But, the Shal'dorei know techniques and have a mastery the rest of Azeroth rarely sees outside of its most senior circles of mages and magisters." 

An arch of a burgundy brow conveyed a playful urging. "I think both you and I know as well that no real knowledge is useful without it being put into practice. Maybe the right hands and mentality can help teach you more of what you hope to know...yes?" 

There was a slower pace taken with Sharyssa than she had ever taken with Asharin. For a moment the Courier weighs this openess in conversation, merely bringing her fingers up to the damaged eye to again test her depth perception. Carefully piecing together what she might have said regarding what she could summon, Safrona opted instead to let the excitable young woman detour from her own questions with her concern. She spoke again on a chuckle. 

"The pain is...an annoyance, but manageable. The Druid - Mister Ash -- could tell you I've been through worse. But I'll never really get over the feeling that I'm going to constantly trip over my own feet." 

Temporarily sweeping the curtain of her hair away from the damaged eye, the Void Elf cast more of a gaze as she could on the Nightborne. "But by all means. Let's see what you can do." It seemed safer in that moment to let Sharyssa talk about herself, the Warlock quietly decided.

"I know... It is just soooo frustrating that aside from Arcane magic I can barely cast the most basic fire or ice spells. I know everyone is good at something and bad at others, but it still feels like I got the short end of the stick." Sharyssa complained, a small arcane orb popping in and out of existence over her left palm, probably a habit as she took no notice of it. 

"Yeah... that's why I want to know more about other types of magic, so maybe I can find something again that I'm good at, or at least decent at. Definitely not nature magic, though. That was plain embarrassment." The young nightborne winced at the memory.

She didn't look away from the Courier as she replied, her frown just deepening at the Lady's mention of even worse misadventures with Asharin. "I'm sorry, he can be a big pain in the ass, even if he means well." 

Sharyssa sighed as Safrona mentioned the feeling of tripping constantly. "Yeah, I know the feeling all too well. It took me months before I could completely adjust to the lack of depth perception and limited vision. At least you will be fine in a day, Lady Safrona." 

After receiving permission, the young woman had a closer look at the void elf's swollen shut left eye. It was worse than she thought. "Fel, I take that back. With the swelling like that, your eye will saty closed for good for another 3-4 days. no matter of you ice it or not." 

Just as she expected, the nightborne failed the conjuring a few times before succeeding with a grunt. "Bahh, finally. Here, Lady Safrona. Hopefully this will help with the pain at least." Sharyssa wrapped the lump of ice in a cloth she pulled from her pouch before offering it to the Courier.

As the novice arcanist would concentrate on her own conjuring, Safrona took advantage of the moment to summon with a subtle, secret gesture of her own. The called presence slipped unnoticed as a shadow between realms, acting as her own eyes. Now under observance by the hidden succubus, the demoness stalked behind the two figures, the warlock gazing on sporadically to assure the figure shadowing them did not take too much interest in her younger companion.

 “To be completely honest, Miss Sharyssa..” the Courier started with a hesitating smile as she straightened her gloves over the glowing runes atop her hands, “If you are not able to control the basic arcane, flame or ice, I don’t think it’s a worthwhile effort to invest your time in other schools, let alone summoning.” 

The arcane orb the Nightborne managed caught Safrona’s eye. “You have enough understanding to summon that, so maybe that is your calling, just in a different way no one has shown you yet. Or you could have an undiscovered talent in the Light that you don’t know, yes? A healer is always a need. The world never has enough of them.” 

She sighed as the lump of conjured ice was set in her hand, and touched the chilled cloth to her swollen eye. “It’s all temporary, lovely girl, the pain little more than a nuisance. I have eyes where I need them, and my paths to where I aim to go is clear enough in memory.”

"Oh, arcane is easy enough, if I can be bold enough to say it like that. It is the only school of magic that I tried so far that came to me naturally, like breathing. Sadly I only get headaches when it comes to fire and ice. That's why I'm looking for other branches of magic I might be good at. Light and nature are out of the equation already and that... that leaves fel magic, the exact opposite of arcane. That's why I want to know more about summoning as well." 

What she voiced would be frowned upon by many, but the young nightborne thought that power was not inherently evil. It might be destructive in nature, but everything depended on how one used it. "You know, when you say it like that, Lady Safrona, I can't help feeling a little envious. A few days, a week in the worst case and you will have two working eyes again, while I-" 

Sharyssa suddenly spun around, the ruby in her eye socket aglow with an inner light, a bright arcane rune flashing into existence before it in the air. "Come out, whatever you are." She called out, her brows furrowed as she looked at a few paces behind them into the shadows. "Don't pretend, you cannot fool my wards." While Sharyssa missed the Courier calling upon the succubus, therefore not knowing it was a 'friend', her sensor-ward caught the demon's presence and alerted the nightborne.

The Courier gave a non-committal gesture of a hand, rolling her shoulders with an airy, brief chuckle. "Well if you're going to go straight for the throat of the entirely taboo, why don't we throw Necromancy in there too, hm? Even a little Blood Magic? Sprinkle a touch of Drust knowledge on top of that now and you might be well on your way to being ostracized from most society. It's not a rabbit hole most are so ready to jump down once it's realized what you'll find yourself doing along the way."

 Safrona drew to a stop as the ruby fully illuminated in her company's eye socket, causing the Void Elf to blink rapidly with what she witnessed. The light of the arcane rune now shimmered around the formerly phased Succubus, putting her in plain sight for the novice arcanist. A white predatorial grin stretched between blood red lips as the demon's eyes took their slow, invasive sweep of the young Nightborne. "Ohh. You're good." 

A husky laugh left the demon as she clopped over to the Courier's side. "Can we keep her?" 

The insinuation drew a narrowed gaze toward the demon, a silencing stare that at least prohibited Elernia to speak more. The devious smile remained. A sort of smile worn by a creature that lived to challenge her Mistress, and found great amusement in it all.

 "It's fine, Miss Sharyssa," the Courier sighed. "She's mine. I suppose that cat's out of the bag now." 

The succubus shimmied, mouthing the word 'meow', much to her mistress' disdain.

[ichigopanhpff]

BNHA Fic: Blink! Ch. 13

Read Ch. 12 | Masterlist

SPOILER ALERT: We’re now closing on the Hassaikai Arc.

Muffled voices could be heard shouting with a thumping rhythm of footsteps pounding on concrete. Her tongue had a metallic taste to it. Her body felt heavy like corroding iron in salty water.

“..—ink… B…—nk...”

Her eyes slowly fluttered open, her vision still blurry.

“Blink!” Uravity’s voice reacted and cleared up in her hearing. “You’re up!”

Blink squeezed her eyes shut and reopened them to refocus her irises. Letting out a soft breath and gasped, she laid still staring at the morning sky. Cautiously pulling herself back up, Uravity supported her back with steady hands.

“You shouldn’t move,” the brunette warned. “You’re injured.”

She looked down to see her bruised left arm was in makeshift sling with a splint. Blink audibly hissed upon feeling a sharp and numbing pain shoot up when she tried to move it. It felt like her shoulder was popped back in place while she was knocked out.

“You’re finally awake, ribbit,” Froppy hopped over with a worried look. “I tried my best to catch you when you fell, but…” Her sad eyes wandered over to her injured arm. “It was already like that by the time I did.”

“What did you do to it?” Uravity asked with worry.

“I… I don’t know,” Blink truthfully answered. The last thing she remembered was feeling a surge of adrenaline and power build up in her left arm and destroyed Chisaki’s monstrous arm before blacking out.

She asked the two girls to help her up, to which they obliged and supported her until she got her footing and balance back. Everything felt like it was in slow motion as Blink’s brain was trying to process the aftermath. Everyone around here were either evacuated with cuffs around their wrist or rushed out on gurneys to be treated at the hospital; she saw FatGum and Red Riot at a glance rushed out with IVs attached to them as they were placed into one of the ambulances to be treated. Both were passed out from exhaustion.

She shuffled her way from the girls and and found Chisaki restrained to a lone gurney. Glowering over him, he slowly regained consciousness.

“Do you know who I am?” she spoke softly, still feeling the scratchiness in her throat.

He looked at her with the eyes of a broken man.

“You look like him… Rennosuke.”

“I’m his daughter,” she coldly stated. “I’d say the despair you’re feeling from having your dreams crumble before you is a satisfying payback than seeing you dead.”

“You don’t want me dead?” he jested with a dry chuckle, as if he was daring her. 

“No,” she affirmed with a renewed sense of self in her eyes. “Not anymore.”

Local authorities and heroes pitched in to help with the aftermath of the battle. They assessed four houses were destroyed due to Chisaki’s Overhaul and three citizens had minor injuries. Were it not for Deku’s quick thinking in taking the fight up in the air, the collateral damage would’ve been much worse.

The heroes who were injured were taken to the hospital for treatment.

Kirishima had bruising and lacerations all over his body, but will make a speedy recovery; Amajiki had a huge facial injury but will heal up quickly without scarring. Fat Gum had numerous bone fractures but was fully alert and starving. Aizawa ended up with 10 stitches from his wound.

Thanks to Blink’s on the spot triage and the knife wound missing Rocklock’s internal organs, his injuries weren’t life threatening at all. The heroine herself had a few cuts and gashes at the side of her head and right rib, dark bruising around her neck, and a dislocated shoulder. The doctors said it would take about two weeks for a full recovery, but was able to be discharged.

Unfortunately, not everyone came out unscathed.

After helping Deku take down Overhaul with her quirk, Eri collapsed and ran an extremely high fever that placed her in quarantine for the time being.

Sir Nighteye’s injuries were far too severe to recover; not even Recovery Girl could do anything to help him and succumbed to it.

The next day, Ren and Midoriya decided to stop by the hospital to visit everyone; the former wanted to see Togata and be there for him, having lost his mentor. He must be sulking in his room.

“How’s your arm, Ren-senpai?” the freckled boy asked.

“Sore,” she grumbled and scratched her cast, pretending it’s her actual skin on her arm. “The dressing’s making it itchy. My mom’s gonna kill me with her nagging when she sees this on video call.”

“Ah, I know how that feels,” the boy chuckled out uneasily and rubbed the back of his head.

The two walked on in comfortable silence.

“Mido-kun…” Ren called, prompting the boy to turn around, only to be met with a gentle smile. “Thank you.”

“Eh? F-For what?” he stuttered out.

“You helped me take down Chisaki when I couldn’t…” She looked down with a bittersweet smile. “Honestly, I’m frustrated because I had to rely on your strength to do so.”

“It’s really nothing!” he replied and held his palms out at her in neutral. “I just wanted to save Eri and—”

“You gave me the justice I wanted. I’m in your debt.”

All he could do was stare at her bruised neck, thinking back to the moment she used herself as bait just so he could rescue Eri. Even though he did defeat Chisaki, he felt guilty being unable to help her. It was then he realized the limitations of what a single person could do on his own.

This is the heavy burden every hero carries.

With his thoughts beginning to spiral out of control again, a light peck on his cheek roused him back as he saw Ren’s face extremely close to his.

Midoriya was dumbfounded.

“Come along now. We don’t wanna be late,” she casually reminded him and trekked a few steps forward.

The green haired boy, however, couldn’t move and suddenly turned five shades of red, ready to collapse right then and there.

He got a kiss. On the cheek. From his senior.

Having calmed down a few minutes later, they entered the hospital with news reports all over the TV saying Chisaki was attacked en route to prison by the League of Villains and stole an important piece of evidence. The two saw Aizawa watching the report and quickly reassured Midoriya it wasn’t his fault before making his rounds.

Leaving their belongings with Recovery Girl, the two made their way to see Togata, despite Aizawa’s warnings. The two made their way over, with Ren stopping in her steps. Midoriya turned to see his senpai with a hanged head and slumped shoulders.

“You… go on ahead first,” she uttered out and leaned on the wall. “I… need a little time to collect myself.”

The boy quietly nodded and gave her a concerned look before going ahead.

She felt bad for lying to the first year; Ren really just wanted to talk with him alone. Gathering her emotions together, she saw All-Might strolling down from the other side of the hallway.

“It’s been a while, Uncle All-Might,” she greeted. “You’re looking well.”

“Oh, Ren-chan?!” the former number one hero excitedly replied. “You’ve gotten so big!”

The two exchanged hugs and he held her at arms length to get a better look at her. It was many years ago when he last saw her, when Dave was still his sidekick in California. He remembered her and Melissa were thick as thieves as children. And now here she was in front of him as a teenage hero in-training with eyes of a person who’s seen their fair share of trauma and tragedy.

“Last time I saw you, you were as tall as my calf,” the blond hero lightheartedly joked before turning serious with a soft voice. “How are you holding up? How’s your arm?”

“Dislocated but I’ll heal up fine.” She gave him a sad smile and looked down. “Emotionally and mentally, I’m... still processing everything.”

All-Might placed firm hands on her shoulders, drawing her eyes back up to his.

“It’s not easy, going through what you are right now. Every great hero before you have been where you are. But please know there are people here for you when you’re ready to talk about it, including me.”

The girl softly nodded as he drew her into a tight and comforting hug. She had to use every ounce of willpower to not cry on his shoulder. Instead, she quietly thanked him before releasing.

“I should go and find Eraser Head,” he finalized with a small smile. “Be well, Ren-chan. We’ll see each other soon.”

“You too, Uncle All-Might.”

After a beat longer, she saw Midoriya leave the room and swiftly entered after. She saw Togata smiling at her with a hint of sadness from his bed. Swallowing the weighty lump in her throat, she slowly marched up to him, ready to give him a piece of her mind for stupidly taking the bullet for someone who’d done so much harm. Ren balled her right fist up and shook with tears streaming down her face, unable to utter a single word.

All she could do was stumble in her last few steps before throwing her uninjured arm around his wide and muscular shoulders, sobbing.

The tears he couldn’t let out because Sir Nighteye told him to keep smiling no matter what.

Tears of defeat not knowing whether or not his quirk would come back.

The tears of anger knowing how damn hard he worked to get to where he was, only to give it up for a little girl.

Tears knowing he knew being a hero who was desperately saving someone meant sacrificing his dream.

And all he could do was return her embrace, knowing exactly how she felt.

Her pillar was gone.

–

The debrief and piles of paperwork from the raid continued even after the interns got back to school. Aizawa had one-on-one counseling with each of them to keep their mental health in check. Ren’s was particularly short considering her history; it was more like she had nothing left to say. Everything was blurry and numb to her at that point.

The raven haired man requested her to come to him if she wanted to talk and didn’t push her any more. The train ride back was in complete silence. By the time they made it back to the dorms, it was already nightfall. As much as Ren wanted to message Seri and Tomoe, she was far too exhausted to do anything and just wanted to sleep.

The five were greeted with the entire class of 1-A.

“We were all super worried!”

“Is everyone okay?”

“We saw everything on the news!”

“You bastards are always coming home after getting caught up in somethin’ serious!” Kaminari shouted with distress. “Just stop scaring us for once!”

As the barrage of uneasiness continued, Todoroki saw one individual in the back with un-styled rose-gold hair. Her face was decorated with bandages and puffy red eyes, her skin sallow and sickly. Outfitting an arm sling on her left, she looked completely disengaged and hollow. Ren looked like she was going to disappear if someone took their eyes off of her. From what he saw of the broadcast, the look she had on her face then was all too familiar to him: it was the exact same expression he had from the Sports Festival; full of icy rage and fury.

“Ren-senpai!” Hagakure called and ran into her in the form of a tight hug, jolting her mind halfway back. “You had it rough out there too!”

“All the cameras on TV could catch was you dashing up at the villain,” Sero said. “You were crazy fast and took out one of his arms like it was nothin’!”

“But when your body went limp after he caught you, I screamed my lungs out!” Ashido exclaimed. “I thought you were actually dead!”

Bakugou sitting on the couch also noticed his upperclassman and let out a soft sigh. Even not knowing her full story, the way she was fighting the villain was on a completely different level. The power she used on him was something she dug deep to let out. It was a power requiring necessary sacrifice.

“Yes, we were all worried about them, but let’s calm down!” Iida suddenly shouted. “We all saw what happened, but their hearts have also been worn down by everything that’s happened too. As their classmates, we should give them some space to relax.”

The commotion died down to reflect on Iida’s words. That was when Midoriya spoke up.

“Thanks, Iida but… I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

The freckled boy nodded to which the tall spectacled boy joined in on the worrying. As the group dispersed to the kitchen area with Midoriya, Kirishima, Uraraka and Asui, Todoroki made his way to Ren and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her desolate and weary eyes met with his troubled ones, another expression that all too recognizable.

All she could do was rest her forehead on his chest, feeling his heart beat calm her down through his sweater. His right hand naturally made its way up and rested it at the back of her head to comfort her, threading some of his fingers in her hair like his mom used to do with him.

Not wanting any more questions if someone saw them, Ren immediately got off. What they didn’t know was a certain spiky blond boy did.

“Good luck with your license exam class tomorrow,” her soft, hoarse voice said with a faint smile that never reached her eyes before turning in for the night. “Let me know how it goes.”

Even if everything felt normal with everyone in 1-A under the same roof again, certain individuals didn’t find sleep so easily. The mission played on repeat in their heads, the future uncertain.

Sure they rescued the little girl, but what will become of her?

Who would take care of her now?

And would her quirk act up again?

There were so many pieces up in the air and no one knew where it’ll land.

And then there’s the involvement of the League of Villains. Not that they know their true motives, but they were certain they stole the quirk-destroying bullets when they attacked Chisaki’s van. Not even the comfort of Ren’s bed could lull her to sleep after a day like this, despite how tired she felt.

All she could do was stare at was the box containing her past.

He was gone now. She got her closure.

So why did she feel so empty?

[savinscripts]

❝ Love is the biggest gamble of your life. ❞

The casino was massive. Built directly on the cliffs that made up one side of the private island, it faced out into the sea. The sun was just set, flaming the horizon with the soft colors of twilight. The lights of the casino lit up the night sky in contrasting shades of bright iridescent color that shifted through the spectrum as they swayed lazily back and forth. A sparkling fountain put on an equally impressive show out front, where marble mermaids beckoned casino patrons to toss in coins for good luck.

It was a sensory overload, yet remained elegant despite all the glitz. So to say Faye was impressed was an understatement. “You didn’t tell me it was this big,” she said, leaning towards Fane as they walked arm in arm towards the entrance. Faye slipped her hand in his pocket and pulled out a silver piece, tossing it to the mermaid that was making eyes at them as they circled the fountain towards the entrance. She blew them a kiss, and turned to the next patron.

Faye only smiled, and leaned her head back against Fane’s shoulder. They were dressed to the nines. Black tie was the theme for the evening. Faye wore a floor-length gown, split full up to her hip on one side. Stilettos gave her another couple of inches, but she still barely came to Fane’s shoulder. Her hair was up in a loose, elegant twist. Sparkling hairpins held it in place. A small bit of jewelry hung from ears and sparked at her wrist, but otherwise she was unadorned.

Fane had his own decoration (though Faye’s favorite bit wasn’t readily apparent). Not that he needed any help, as he already cut an impressive and striking figure. He drew eyes from all around the venue as they approached. They both did. Faye grinned. “How’re you doing, love?” she whispered. “So many beautiful bodies already undressing you. I’d be surprised if we got through one round of cards before someone asks to take you home.”

This past week on the island had been better then Faye could have ever dreamed. She was fast coming to wish they’d done this sooner. And even if they only had a couple of weeks left here, Faye was going to make sure that she and Fane got the most out of this vacation. Because the real world was waiting back in London. A murderer was still out there. And Faye had to catch them. Before they killed again. They may already have. There was no way of contacting either her or Fane here. They’d made sure of it. It was part of their deal to forget about the outside for awhile. So while the thoughts lingered in the back of Faye’s mind, they didn’t push forward enough to take over what was happening right now.

Waking up that morning with his choice of-- gift, to put his present adornment from his beloved was an experience and quite frankly not a comfortable one at all. Considering the fact he’d been rather rudely awoken during the night and left awake in discomfort while waiting for the pain of the contraption to send his typical morning wood into fast retreat. Several times throughout the the day he’d been forced to endure the discomfort in a similar fashion, no doubt a deliberate choice on Faye’s behalf but it had admittedly left him feeling just a fraction more on edge than he might have otherwise.

A full day, at least for him and his typical drive after all, felt like a goddamn eternity and a painful one at that. And the other thing was, there was no way for him to personally remove it, magic imbued into the contraption meaning only with Faye’s permission and wish would it offer him any relief. Thankfully no padlocks meant he didn’t rattle like the tin-can man from those Oz movies when he walked, and several times throughout the length of the day they had both caught others taking the time to admire the enhanced bulge the contraption also resulted being displayed rather prominently through the tighter material of his shorts and trousers. Well-endowed indeed but bloody uncomfortable and honestly very, very frustrated. Just as much when she’d stepped out in that dress that had once again, left him sat on the bed rearranging his trousers and grimacing at the latent rolling boil he felt deep in his belly. More than once he’d thrown the odd barbed name or comment at her, and while some might think he was genuinely pissed it was quite the opposite. Nuances to their relationship that only she could decipher and she knew, after all, that if he truly had issue he would tell her such.

“Of course it’s big, everything on this island is big, me included ” he murmured as they walked at a lazy pace towards the casino. But her teasing reminder of what might come from tonight caused him to huff, “well enough I guess,” he grumbled just a little but it softened when he saw the happiness glimmering in her gaze. “Well, they’ll have to ask you whether they can take me home-- not much I can do myself tonight after all.” With the mermaid appeased they trailed on, his hand sitting low on the curve of her hip deliberate so that when the fancy took him he could touch her how he pleased. Not that anyone on this island would care, except perhaps to watch him do so. He already had in mind the things he wanted to do to her tonight once his freedom was returned.

Faye would never do something that Fane hadn’t agreed to fully. And he had. In exchange for something. What that was remained to be seen, but Faye had agreed to it readily. She trusted him implicitly. As he did her. Hence the cage she’d magicked around his cock earlier in the day. Pain was part of pleasure, and could enhance the experience if one knew what they were doing. And Faye knew exactly what she was doing. It was a slow torture, but one that would be worth it in the end.

His rising mood only told her it was working. The sharp barbs he tossed at her evidence of that. Faye knew what they were, and a sly grin slid across her face as she’d watch him fidget uncomfortably. Though if he’d really wanted out, or was in true pain, or uncomfortable - psychologically - then she would cancel the charm instantly. He only had to say the word. But he hadn’t yet, despite some of the filthy things he’d said to her. Which in turn - though she’d become slightly better at hiding it - was pushing her willpower to it’s limits. Hearing him say such things fueled her own fire, which is why she chose to wear nothing beneath the flimsy bit of material that called itself a dress. She was hoping to push him a bit further tonight, which is why she’d chosen such an outfit in the first place.

“That you are,” she smiled lazily at him. Faye looked around. She wasn’t used to so much glamour in one place. Her job was not glamorous in any way. Some people thought it was. That being an auror came with fame and notoriety. And it did. If you caught the big bad. If you saved the kidnapped child. Stopped the wizard or witch that had gone on a murdering spree. Then you were the hero. But fail… and you were looked at with disdain. With hatred. Why couldn’t you save them? Why didn’t you act faster? Why didn’t you do this instead of that?? It was a duality that a lot couldn’t handle. But Faye had long since stopped caring what the public thought. She did her job, did it well, and left the hero status to others. To people like her fellow Auror, Harry Potter. Who, in truth, didn’t care for any of the fame or glory or anything else that came with being who he was, even now. But had grown used to the fact that it was part of his life, and always would be. So he used it to his advantage. It was a smart move, in Faye’s opinion. Use what was given to you. And while Potter might get sent on a lot of high profile cases, so did Faye. But Faye’s job was dark alleys, abandoned drug dens, and following cold trails that led nowhere. It was long hours, sweaty clothes, lots of coffee, and more paperwork than her desk could reasonably hold. It was nightmares and dead bodies and messages scrawled in blood. Leading, taunting… always taunting.

So the glam was welcome. Faye thought Fane might be proud of her even, for finally giving in to her indulgent side. For letting him spoil her a bit. Without a single protest, as promised. It made him happy, deliriously so, and that made Faye happy.

She grinned again at his comment, enjoying the feel of his hand at her hip. Again, she spoke low so that only he could hear. “If you’re good, just tell me which one you want, and they’re yours, hm? Providing they’re interested.” Which they both knew was highly likely. Fane was… well, Fane. And she wasn’t half bad herself. Though they weren’t everyone’s cup of tea, and that was fine. There were certainly plenty of options walking around.

“What should we do first? Find alcohol? Then pick a game? I’m shit for cards,” she grinned, “so that’ll be up to you. But anything else and I’ll give it a go.”

He was more than happy to let her take the time she wanted to admire the island, whether it was the beautiful vistas or the ornate and intricate attention to detail of the buildings here. They walked past a fountain, magic lights dancing and creating illusions behind the rushing water as it bounced across rock formations all trickling down into pools and streams that would run off into the crystal blue waters of the ocean. One they’d spent many an afternoon going swimming and lounging on the beach nearby. He’d promised that she would be relaxed from this trip, and she had in turn promised not to complain if he decided to lavish her with gifts and treats. She deserved it, she deserved so much and he wanted to give her everything he could and more. Anything that was his was hers and he wanted to see her just, well, be. Happy, free, indulgent in the things she wanted.

There was no talk of work here, no discussion of what they had left behind. To bring that up was just the allowance for entering a rabbit hole that didn’t need to be descended into. Not right now at least. So Fane was happy to leave that topic far, far by the wayside and plus there was plenty to provide distraction from those things.

“Why wouldn’t they be interested?” he chuffed softly giving her hip a little squeeze knowing that although she had glamoured them her scars were still sensitive to the touch and partly why he enjoyed stroking or occasionally being cautiously tactile with them and her. “Maybe we’ll see Damien tonight,” he commented idly leaning in to press a kiss to her head always inclined to press affections onto her whether they were touches or kisses he’d grown inclined to be overly tactile lately considering there was no reason to hide them unlike back at home. No danger here to do what he wanted.

“You’re shit at gambling period,” he murmured into her ear lightly bumping her affectionately. “Let’s get a drink, what are you in the mood for tonight babygirl?”

“Maybe you’re not to everyone’s taste, that’s all,” she teased. For the most part, though, Faye knew his question was valid. Most people he found himself having an interest in found it hard to turn away from him. Faye had watched it happen for the entire trip. And before. There was just something about him that drew people in. And Faye was content to watch it happen. She knew where they stood with each other. So she wasn’t jealous, or worried someone would steal him away. If anything, strangely enough, such things seemed to bring them closer.

She hummed as he stroked her hip, enjoying the feeling immensely. “Perhaps. You rather enjoyed him last time.” Fane’s old friend had only come around that one night, but what a night it had been. Faye had enjoyed him too, so they would simply see where the night led.

His touches were encouraged. She always wanted them, always needed to feel him against her or touching her in some way. But back home it was dangerous for them right now. They kept their personal life to themselves, unless they went out to the muggle city away from any potential wizarding eyes. Or far less of them at least. One day she would hold his hand in public, kiss him on the street for all to see. But only when she was certain it was safe. Until then, they would do what needed doing.

But right now they were here. And fun waited for them as they moved inside. Faye laughed. “I am not!” But she was. Her poker face was good, her job giving her that much. But anything else was just… almost sad. She bumped him back, trying to look offended but not managing it very well. “Something sweet with lots of alcohol in it. And then…” Faye looked around the room, though it was so large she was certain it had to go on for miles. “Sit a hand at cards? Or the roulette wheel?”

His thumb rubbed arcs into her hip through the tight material of the fabric, his touch feather-light and just deliberate enough to be just the other side of satisfactory. “You rather enjoyed him too if I recall, all tied up like you were” he reminded her with a slanted grin appearing on his lips. His fingers continued to linger, brushing and rubbing as they moved but always keeping her pressed in close proximity was always something he would enjoy from her. How could he not? She was a beautiful woman who deserved to be absolutely adored and appreciated as such.

A low chuckle sounded from him as she tried to dispute her miserable attempts at playing cards and he jostled her playfully as they entered into the casino that stretched on as far as the eye could see. All sorts of witches and wizards were around, all dressed to the nines and already the pair were catching a few eyes “how about a raspberry cosmopolitan? Unless you want a classic cocktail?” he suggested as he steered them over towards the bar ordering a manhattan for himself and whatever drink Faye decided on for the night leaning on the bar but staying in contact with Faye while the bartender mixed their drinks.

“Whatever you fancy,” he said looking around the room himself. They had every game from around the globe here for any such inclinations. “I’ll need to get some cash converted.”

“Willing to abandon a beautiful lady so soon?” a smooth caramel rich voice piped up from behind them and Fane turned his expression morphing into a grin as he found Damien dressed up in a slick deep red tux. “Tut tut, and there was me thinking that maybe you were a gentleman.”

“That sounds good.” She hadn’t had a Cosmo in a while. And Faye liked anything sweet, especially if it would give her a relaxed buzz if she drank enough of it. Her eyes scanned the interior of the casino, the sleek lines, the deep, bold colors, the lights… the beautiful people mingling and drinking and losing ridiculous amounts of money. It was like they were in a different world. And she supposed they were. A world all their own. A private playground to do with as they wished. That bent to their every whim.

Enjoying the quiet contact while she watched the bar elf mix their drinks, Faye contemplated what to do first. Fane was a good card player, and not afraid to bluff. They played sometimes, and he always beat her. But she supposed this was much bigger stakes than their wagers on where to eat dinner. She was just taking her drink from the elf, nodding her thanks, when a familiar voice followed Fane’s. Faye turned, handing Fane his own drink, and smiled at Damien’s strikingly clad figure. “He is a gentleman. Never leaves a lady hanging.” She eyed him up and down, leaning her shoulder against Fane’s and wondering how quickly his comfort zone was going to be breached now that the other wizard had shown up. “You’re looking dashing tonight,” she told Damien, grinning. . “Have you lost any money yet?”

While Fane took care of the drinks, charging them to the room tab he’d opened at the start of their vacation here he let Faye look around and take in the atmosphere. All around goblins and elves wandered, better treated here than in almost any other wizarding resort or establishment around the world and though it didn’t mean there wasn’t sometimes trouble for the most part the staff seemed content to work and serve their clientele. All around diamonds and magic glinted while glasses clinked, chips and cards were dealt and fates altered.

Cards were some of Fane’s favourite things to do when out, a balance of masterful acting and charm to con-- well, convince people to folding or bluffing them into a controllable position. Never play the cards, play the person. That was the aim of the game and though he’d tried to teach Faye it wasn’t so easy to teach that particular brand of skillset. No doubt she could manage it with time, but even so.

At the sound of a familiar voice he turned smiling cheerfully at his friend though setting eyes on him in that choice of suit resulted in a naturally interested brow and Fane was reminded by the discomfort that he struggled to conceal about the fact that his interested tonight was limited to Faye’s permission alone. Discretely shifting his weight to try and find some sort of comfortable position Fane handed over her drink “her on the other hand?” he offered for good measure “bloody conniving minx.”

Damien preened under the compliments Faye had to offer, “you cut quite the ravishing figure yourself love... “ though he looked quizzically over at Fane “and something’s made you mister grumpy pants tonight… Lighten up, have a drink or four.” Though he laughed at Faye’s question, “of course I have, who hasn’t? That’s part of the fun.”

Faye was content to stand at Fane’s side and be his good luck charm if he wanted. It would be interesting to see how he fared tonight, all things considered. Cards sometimes put him in a bit of a mood, depending on how the hands played. Though Faye had no doubt that he would win at least a few rounds. Faye like games of chance better. Roulette, Craps, Blackjack sometimes. And there were many more wizarding games that had much more interesting prizes besides cash or coin. They would come to that though.

For the time being, she had two handsome men all to herself. “You love me,” she whispered to Fane as she handed over his drink. She smiled at Damien around the rim of her glass. The drink was quite good, and Faye took a long sip before replying. “Thank you.” Though she saw Fane’s squirming, and since she was a merciful bloody conniving minx, she let him have a bit of breathing room, as it were. Not much, but a roll of her fingers expanded his confinement enough to take the edge off. For now. Damien was, after all, a friend. Later, perhaps, if the timing and the mood was right, Faye would let him in on her… secret. But the control was all hers. And would remain that way for tonight.

“You men and your money,” she said, shaking her head. But it was in good humor. When everyone had had a drink or two, chatting about the last couple of days, and what they were interested in for tonight, they moved away from the bar and mingled with the crowd.

Damien hung close to Fane’s left side, Faye on his right. The other man’s gaze took in the crowd at the high roller’s table, located on a raised dias near the center of this section of the casino. “See that man there,” he said to Fane, quietly from behind his raised glass. “The one with the gloves on?” He waited until Fane nodded before continuing. “Name’s Alexie Sokolov. Russian chap. Best card player on the island. Wears gloves because he thinks it’s unlucky to touch the cards with his hands.” Damien shook his head. “He comes once a year, spends millions, wins even more than that, then just… leaves. And no one hears from him again until the next time.” He glanced sideways at Fane. “No one’s ever beat him.”

Faye had heard the entirety of the conversation, and had already started to analyze what Damien was saying. Even though she tried not to, a bit of her Auror training came out. “Is it the same gloves every time?” she asked quietly. Meaning, did he cheat?

“Debatable,” he groused quietly in response to Faye’s light needling though of course they both knew she was right in her assumption. Granted, he was allowed a modicum of relief from the device she’d brought into play tonight and he almost, almost sighed as a little of the pressure eased off. Instead, taking a long pull of his own drink. He’d need it.

“Yes, our money buying you nice fancy things,” Fane commented leaning in to buss her cheek his arm slipping around her waist as they all settled into the mood of the night and crowds present. However, what happened next had Fane’s full attention and his brow cocked as he watched the confident grace with which their subject moved. Calculated perhaps, to instil a sense of unease in other players who no doubt knew who they were playing against. “Superstitious shmuck,” he remarked with a roll of his eyes.

“May be, but it’s worked so far for him,” this, earned a roll of Fane’s eyes and a huff in response as he eyed the man in gloves. He was nothing special to look at, not really. But what Damien said next had his eyes narrowing in a thoughtful fashion.

“Never been beaten?” well, if that wasn’t a proposition if he’d heard one. Faye asked her own question and it stoked him all the more to go over there himself. “Do you know the buy in.”

“Couple of thousands probably,” though Faye’s question was simply met with a slight look that was neither confirmation or denial to what she’d asked.

“Well…” Fane had a glint in his eyes, “why don’t we test his track record?”

Faye did know, so she only chuckled and kissed his shoulder. It turned to a hum of approval as he kissed her cheek a moment later. “The only pretty thing I need is you, love,” she said as they started to thread their way through the crowd.

She could feel the moment his attentions turned to the high rollers. His demeanor changed, but not so much as to draw attention from anyone watching. But Faye could tell, pressed so close as she was. And the moment the words left Damien’s mouth, that no one had ever beaten the Russian player, Faye knew Fane was hooked.

Because there was nothing Fane liked more than a challenge. And the gloved man and his unbroken streak - not to mention the millions of dollars ready to be won - was just that. “You’ve done it now,” Faye said sotto voice to Damien, who stood on the other side of Fane.

Damien only laughed and shrugged. “What can I say? Someone needs to beat the bastard, and who better? I lost money last year - a lot of money - betting against him. I need to win it back.”

“Ah, so you’re only using him for financial gain,” Faye teased. She glanced at Fane as he commented on the man’s use of gloves. “Maybe he is. I’d bet he’s a cheat though. No one’s that good. Well, except for you, love.” Her hip bumped Fane’s.

Damien named the buy in price. Faye knew that Fane wouldn’t have cared if it was ten times that. He was in. She only raised an eyebrow at Damien’s glance, ready as the other man was to see Fane leave the Russian in the proverbial dust.

“After you,” Damien said. He motioned that Faye and Fane should precede him towards the dias. They approached, Faye holding lightly to Fane’s arm and doing her best to look uninterested in the conversation as Fane spoke with the large, suited man taking buy ins. She sipped her drink, yawned a bit, and waved at someone in the crowd that didn’t exist. Though she listened intently to every word.

The buy in was exactly four thousand pounds. There were two spots left in the next game, once the current one was over. It was down to the Russian and two others. The man directed them to where the monetary exchange was made and Fane was handed a gold coin that saved his slot for the game.

“That looks fancy,” Faye said, glancing down at the little token.

There was no helping his intrigue, taking money from wealthy suspected criminals to line his own pockets for his own exploits? Not to mention doing it in such a fashion as a game of chance and skill like cards? How couldn’t he be enticed? Fane licked his lips eyeing the group with evident interest and a honed gaze, studying their movements with a thoughtful gaze.

“He uses me for more than that,” Fane off-handedly commented in response to Damien’s remarks “and if I win him his money back well,” his gaze finally left the table to look aside at him “I guess he’ll just owe me several times over won’t he?” Discussing the buy in was no major skin off his back, and once the fee was agreed and exchanged Fane spun the gold token between his index finger and thumb flicking it in lazy circles as he stood by watching the present game.

“All part of the game,” Fane explained picking up a canapé from a passing waitress and popping it into his mouth and chewing on it seeming rather non-plussed at the fact that the pot being dealt on the current table was about three hundred and fifty thousand total and climbing. It wouldn’t be the first or the last he’d have through the night, the casino’s extremely generous helpings of alcohol and food just enticing players to stay here even longer. “Now, I’m going to go and get some chips, I’ll be back in a little bit love” his fingers lingered on her elbow for a moment as he brushed affectionately by her though he knew she might have to give him a little more leeway during the course of his bout here in terms of easing off on the distraction she had control over. If he was going to win he needed to be able to focus.

“What do you think his chances are?” Damien asked watching Fane speaking with the cashier and exchanging a wad of notes for a stockpile of differently coloured chips keeping them to hand as he made his way back.

Damien could only raise his glass to Fane’s comment, turning back a healthy swallow as he grinned. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of… arrangement.” He watched his friend make fairly quick work of the buy in, standing by Faye as he walked off.

Faye watched too, and when Fane came back, she looked at the small token with interest. “Seems like the crowd is dwindling,” she commented on the group at the table as Fane snagged a bit of passing food. There was enough floating around that she would get some in a bit. Right now she was more interested in the card game, even though it was more in reading the players than the actual game itself. The amount of money was obscene, and Faye shook her head slightly. That was a decade’s salary for her. Probably more. But she didn’t comment. It would be nice to see someone else take home the money. Someone besides the man who was slowly driving away any and all competition.

It would come down to one or two players, Faye knew. Not losing was as much a matter of pride as it was chance and skill. Though the men - and one woman - left at the table all appeared to be sweating. The Russian barely looked invested. Faye watched him over the rim of her glass. Either his poker face was second to none, or something else was going on. She opted for the first, seeing as how the casino was charmed against any sort of magical cheating. Other magic, such as Faye’s glamours over her scars, were unaffected, being unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

Faye hummed in acknowledgement of Fane’s brush to her arm, watching him as he moved off to gather his chips for the game. She would certainly give him leeway for the game. Probably vanishing the distraction completely for the duration. She wanted to see him win as much as anyone. Damien included. Faye glanced aside at the other man as he spoke.

“I think if anyone can take him out, it’ll be Fane.” Her eyes fell back to where he made his way through the crowd again. “He hates to lose. At anything.”

“This is true,” Damien agreed. “All settled?” he asked Fane as he came back over.

The amount of money on the table was obscene, but hardly the most he’d ever observed in a game. He’d seen games where millions were the average on hand at a poker game. This, was barely anything in comparison to those. So he stood by, fingering the chips idly as the game progressed until it was the Russian with his almost indisputable poker face and one final player who looked just about ready to pass out from uncertainty. A testament to his foe’s nerves or something else entirely, Fane couldn’t quite say.

The game ended as all expected it to, with the Russian scooping the pot and then some while the other man departed. For a moment, Fane lingered studying his opponent with a schooled and thoughtful eye sussing out what might be his tell if any. It was an art in itself, and one Fane had grown rather apt at over the years. Finally, with the Russian stacking up his chips the dealer, a rather attractive young woman with dark features and a honey-sweet smile invited any other players to the table. No one seemed keen to be first, and so after pressing a lingering kiss to Faye’s cheek “wish me luck love,” Fane slid away.

Departing from Damien and Faye’s side he settled into a seat, adjusting himself slightly though a private conversation passed with looks between himself and Faye until he felt his earlier confinement ease off until he could settle comfortably. Setting his chips down in colour-coded order before slipping the silver disk across to the dealer whose name now that he could see her badge was Catarina.

Now that someone seemingly had the balls to take the offer of a match, more players gravitating around the table took their seats and set their chips out. And not very much time later the cards were being dealt and the game on. Fane’s features throughout were nigh unreadable, save for the easy confident posture he maintained. His hand was decent enough on the opening round, but nothing spectacular and though he made it to the last few stages of the river was called when the hands were revealed. The routine continued, Fane’s features analysing the board with laser-like accuracy and a couple more rounds going in the following order: loss, loss, small win, loss, slightly larger win and so on. Until it was only him and his opponent left, each having cleaned a lot of the other players at the table out. But Fane’s attention was on the stacks of credits still in front of the man who didn’t look all too pleased at having someone willing to challenge his games.

Where most might’ve been sweating under the losses, Fane took them in stride, barely reacting or acknowledging as the chips were dealt back and forth back and forth between them. Fane had won a couple of games against him, something that had drawn a sizeable crowd to watch the game and where most might’ve been satisfied by beating the supposed top player in the casino. Fane was insistent on one fact. That being taking everything this man was worth as his own. And so, the hands were dealt out again and the routine game continued.

Faye and Damien found a table to sit at around the periphery of the game. They chatted as they watched, Damien’s arm across the back of her chair, thumb brushing her skin lightly - explaining a bit of the deeper intricacies of the game to Faye. She understood on her own that Fane wasn’t going to blow the Russian out of the water right from the start. He lost more than once, with a decent win here and there. Weeding out the contenders who had lost enough money, and keeping the ones who thought they could at least beat Fane, if not the Russian. It was classic deception, though Faye saw the Russian watching Fane closely - in scattered glances over his hand of cards - as the throng of players thinned.

“Fane’s rattling him,” Faye said, leaning close to Damien so only he could hear her. “He’s looked up six times in the last few minutes. That’s more than the entirety of the last game combined.”

Damien grinned, turning his face closer to Faye’s. “Ten to one that once it’s down to the two of them, Fane puts all in. At some point. It’ll either be a damn good bluff, and the Russian counters, or he has a top hand.”

Faye glanced back at the table, eyes lingering briefly over the lovely woman dealing the game, before moving to Fane. “I have no idea,” she told Damien. “Whatever he does, when he wins, just be ready for it.” Her smile turned wicked as she gave him a nudge and a wink. More drinks were brought round, and Faye bought a pack of cigarettes from the floor girl. She lit one up, offering the pack to Damien just as the only other person at the table folded. Leaving Fane and the Russian.

Fane was coming to learn as the games progressed, the man he was targeting out of the crowd never lost so to speak. He folded when it suited but never let a game go unless it was to a point he could well and truly bluff. The games in which Fane won, the man folded, the ones he lost being the ones the Russian stuck out until cards were called. The chips were drawn in and exchanged more than once. The chips changing hands several times over until each player had amassed a decent total of winnings though none surpassing either Fane or the Russian.

One by one the crowd thinned, people realising either that they stood no chance to win here or that there was perhaps something more going on. Something that they likely didn’t wish to have a part in. Not to say there wasn’t a general crowd joining the table to watch the last two men standing. While Fane was well aware of his opponent’s glances, he didn’t seem to care either way though behind a neutral expression that gave away nothing his mind was working out strategies and deliberations on every single move and action that was taken. There was skill to this game after all, judging from a person’s decision to raise or call on how good their hand was and consequently decide whether they happened to be bluffing or not.

Fane was, of course, biding his time. Even now it was down to just the two of them, the cards were dealt the rounds passed and with fifty-grand in the pot Fane lost causing the crowd to hiss under their collective breath at the fact. The Russian seemed pleased with himself, scooping in the chips and stacking them up.

Of course you couldn’t land the biggest fish around without bait could you? And Fane was happy to stuff the hook full of the lures to get what he wanted in the end.

There was method to Fane’s madness, and where most might have been sweating buckets after losing the sum he had in the last match. He merely glanced at a waitress and ordered another drink in a quietly put request. The blinds were paid, and the game was once again under way. Fane occasionally taking a sip of his drink as he studied the cards on the deck, though in this round something was different about his choice of play style. Where before his choices were careful, calculated, this time he raised where he could pushing and pushing until on one of the Russian’s turns he was left to sit and wait on the other man’s choice of action. A sign that this had not been something he had anticipated, yet where the Russian might typically have folded now he merely stayed.

The pot was at a hundred thousand between the pair of them and Fane sat back into his seat, staring at his opponent while he waited for the next move to come. The river would seal his fate, that much he knew.

Back at their table, Faye gripped Damien’s arm as she watched Fane lose more money than she could make in a year. “Christ…” she muttered to herself. But she trusted that Fane knew what he was doing. He couldn’t wipe the floor with the man. Not if he wanted to win.

“He’ll be fine,” Damien said quietly. “But my arm won’t if you don’t loosen up.” He patted her hand and gave her a smile.

Faye loosened her grip. “Sorry. Just makes me nervous. Guess this is why I’m shit at poker.”

“Could be,” Damien said. “Though you’ve got other talents to make up for it.”

Faye merely glanced aside at him, seeing the smirk on his face. “I do,” was all she said before turning back to the game. It went on, push and pull, win and loss, until finally Fane sat back. Faye looked at the Russian. He’d fallen into a pattern over the course of the game. And Faye had picked it up somewhat. Now he was hesitating. She looked back at Fane. He looked almost bored. Though Faye knew that wasn’t the case. He was either bluffing, or he had something good. It was merely a matter of waiting on the other man to fold, or put his hand down and call Fane’s bluff.

The tension in the air was palpable. Even the dealer looked a bit tense as she watched the two men sit at a near standstill. The Russian watched Fane from under his thick brown. The cards moved slightly between his gloved fingers as she seemed to be deciding. Finally, after an age, he seemed to make up his mind. Perhaps it was arrogance. Perhaps it was pride. Perhaps it was underestimating his opponent. Whatever it was, the man laid down his hand.

“We have a four of a kind from Mr. Sokolov. Aces, across the board.” The dealer called out the hand that had been laid down, and there was a collective rumbling among the room. That was a damn good hand.

Faye craned her neck, feeling her cheeks flush as she watched the Russian. “There’s only two hands that beat that,” she said. “If Fane was bluffing…” She took a long pull off her drink as she waited - along with the rest of the room - for Fane to lay down his hand. “Come on, baby… come on, come on, come on…” she muttered.

The Russian simply waited, knowing that he’d called this other man out.

Fane had to pace himself, this was as much a game of patience as it was one of skill and Fane was well aware that he couldn’t simply rush in without a thought. You had to pick and choose your battles and Fane was conscious of every move being made. He was out of hearing distance of Damien and Faye not that he’d looked over at them much during the course of the rounds as they came and went.

He couldn’t afford distraction presently. Though he knew in his observations of his opponent that he was feeling rattled by Fane’s calm confidence and certainty behind his hand. The final round of betting came, and Fane paused looking at his chips, the Russian and the central deck of cards. You couldn’t give your hand away too early or risk spooking your fish to bolt before you could clean them out for everything they were worth. The fact the Russian was still at this point meant he either had a very good hand or was risking it on a bluff. Fingering a couple of chips, Fane knocked back the rest of his drink, set his glass aside and scooped his entire winnings into the middle. All seven million causing the crowd to mutter under their breath shocked by the boldness of the move.

“Mister Savin goes all in,” the young woman gave him a look and Fane half-expected her to think he was mad for doing such a thing against a man notorious for never losing.

Perhaps it was pride, or the egotistical nature that came from too many wins. Fane’s stack of chips was hardly comparable to the nineteen-million the Russian made his throne on. Perhaps it was the temptation to beat someone so thoroughly they never tried something so dumb again in their lives. Who knew the reason why, but Fane sat back and waited. Until the Russian called, and the pot was raised to the sum of their total value.

The hand set down was a very good one, rare to get a four pair on a single game and Fane could understand why people said the man had to cheat to get a hand like that. But the river was made up of an ace of spades and diamonds, followed by a four of hearts, and a jack and ten of spades. The tension in the room was palpable, eyes turning to see whether Fane was sweating but Fane’s expression remained neutral.

Until the moment he flipped his cards doing so in such a fashion that only the top card was visible a Queen of spades. He was sure that he saw several people crane forwards in anticipation of his absolute loss or victory. A smirk crept onto his lips followed by a flick of his wrist to slip the queen aside just enough to reveal a matching King sat beneath.

Stunned silence followed.

The look on the Russian’s face was certainly worth the wait, and Fane was sure he saw veins popping out of the man’s head not to mention his expression seemed a bit bug-eyed. The bystanders looked at the table in disbelief. The odds of it happening were so rare it was next to none.

“And... a royal flush from Mister Savin,” the dealer didn’t look like she quite believed she was saying it. “Twenty-six... million in winnings.”

Fane scooped it in, and rose from his chair looking over at the Russian who had barely moved an inch. “Better luck next time hm?” Fane looked at the dealer then, he wasn’t oblivious to the way Damien had been looking at her earlier “and thank you love, for a wonderful game.” Picking up five grand in chips he flipped them over to her. “And say, if you’d like to join us for drinks later… You would most definitely be welcome.”

“I--” she seemed a bit surprised to be acknowledged in all honesty, but a look between him and the couple approaching from behind him caused her to laugh a little and shake off her surprise. “Sure, this was my last game tonight anyway.”

“Positively wonderful,” Fane grinned scooping the chips into a tray so that he could get it changed into cash while Faye and Damien approached.

When Fane laid down his hand, Faye waited, holding her breath and Damien’s arm tightly. The other man didn’t seem to care. His hand gripped Faye’s thigh in anticipation. And when the dealer called out that Fane had won, Faye and Damien both yelled out loud. They clapped along with the rest of the crowd that had gathered.

“Wait-” Faye said, gripping Damien’s arm again, “did she say… 26 million?”

“I think she did,” Damien said, watching with a gleam in his eyes as Fane paid the dealer for her trouble. “I’d say that’s a fair payout.” He looked at Faye. “You know that’s chump change to a guy like him, right?” He was grinning a bit madly, the adrenaline of the last bit of the game flushing his cheeks beneath the dark complexion. “Come on, let’s go congratulate him.” Damien tugged Faye down into the crowd and they made their way towards Fane.

“I knew you’d wallop him!” Faye said. She leaned up wrapped her arms around Fane’s neck, giving him a sound kiss before stepping back to allow Damien to do the same. Though sans kiss.

“That’s my boy,” he grinned at Fane. A quick look around and he spotted the dealer making her way through the crowds. He leaned in again. “So uh… she’s coming with us? I know you slipped an invite in there, right?”

“If you’re talking about the pretty dealer with the fuckable mouth, of course he invited her. Right baby?” Faye said quietly as they both followed Fane to cash in his earnings. A trio of bodyguards (guarding the money, not Fane) walked in front of and behind them.

Fane didn’t bother to wipe the smug smile off his lips once the hand was called out, gathering the chips into roughly even piles before loading them onto a tray of coloured groups for easy reckoning. The Russian was still staring at him, and most might’ve been unnerved but Fane merely grinned lazily. “You know, if you want to play some other time-- I’d absolutely love to.” He probably shouldn’t dig, but how could he not? A winning streak lost just like that and to a stranger no less.

When Faye and Damien approached Fane was just getting to his feet speaking to a couple of staff that had come to congratulate him on the win, also to inform him that as a high roller they were willing to loan him a million to keep playing during the week if he so wished. A tempting offer and Fane explained that he’d consider it later in the week, a couple of security were moving around just to keep an eye on the chips not that he was too worried.

“Well, you know me,” Fane laughed as his arms slipped naturally around her hugging her close and lifting her off the floor. He practically melted into her kiss, and it took everything in him not to turn her round and prop her on the card table. Something had him figuring the staff wouldn’t appreciate that too much so he settled on holding her tight for now. Eventually, he let her go but not before he gave Damien a hug.

The question about the dealer caused him to glance over his shoulder at the young witch behind them, turning back to Damien to adjust the other man’s tie. Straightening it just before patting his chest when he spoke again “well I saw how you were practically eye-fucking her earlier and you mentioned you lost to the man so call me giving you the opportunity for a drink with her… Compensation hm?”

They made their way across the floor the cashier, Fane carrying the chips on the tray and sliding them under the caged barrier behind which a house-elf dressed smartly in a tux started changing and depositing it into Fane’s account directly rather than giving cash. Once it was all said and done, Fane turned back to the group (now four) grinning lazily. “Well, I say celebratory drinks hm? Ah-- but first introductions, this charming fellow is Damien Girard, the beauty beside me Faye Delacroix and you can call me Fane love” he finished dipping to kiss Catarina’s hand.

“Charmed, name’s Catarina but everyone calls me Cat,” the young woman explained to the group. Though her eyes lingered on Damien just a fraction longer than the rest.

“Careful with that one,” Damien warned with a cheeky little smile.

“Oh don’t worry love, I can handle myself.”

“I like her,” Faye said to Fane, though it was meant to be heard by everyone. “Nice to meet you, Cat.” Faye and Cat shook hands, and once the matter of Fane’s winnings was settled they moved off towards the drinks that Fane had mentioned. Cat and Damien walked a bit ahead of Faye and Fane, chatting quietly. Faye leaned over, her arm wrapped around Fane’s as they moved through the crowd. “I make my own bet with you that Damien and our new friend become very well acquainted before the evenings done.” It wasn’t as if it wasn’t obvious. Cat was already eyeing Damien like he was good enough to eat. She’d looked at Fane the same way, and Faye as well. But it was Damien that had drawn her attention first.

Faye grinned. “Speaking of bets…” A subtle flick of her fingers and the distraction she’d relieved him of earlier returned, though not as tight as before. “I can’t let you have too much leeway now that you made yourself a household around here. You might get a big head.” Her tone was teasing and playful, and she kissed his arm as they followed the other two towards another section of the casino. They passed through an archway, and unlike the brightly lit room of the gambling hall, this bit of the casino ascended up spiraling walkway. The lighting became softer, turning to deep purples and reds and blues. The air was cooler here too.

Faye looked around. She liked the semi-darkness of the walkway. Gave opportunity for a bit of playfulness. Though she kept her hands to herself for now.

“Best drinks in the casino are up here,” Cat said to all of them. “On the house for a VIP like yourself.” She turned a grinned slyly at Fane. “Though be careful with the blue ones. They’re strong.” A small wink in their direction and she turned back to Damien, taking the distraction of darkness to slip her arm through his. Faye could hear Damien’s deep murmur as he leaned over to talk to the other woman.

“Have you ever been up here before?” Faye asked Fane as the path seemed to level out and open up into a large, cavernous space filled with people. The music was less dance music and more a sort of hypnotic background beat. Not unpleasant, just different. They followed Cat to the bar, the colors of the room settling Faye into a more relaxed, almost lazy mood. Not the high-wire adrenaline she’d felt down below. Was it the music? Was it charmed to do such a thing? A glance over at Damien and Cat revealed that the man already had his hand on her waist as they ordered drinks.

It wouldn’t take them long.

Faye turned back to Fane. “Wanna get a blue one?” she grinned. “See if she’s fulla shit?”

With introductions sorted, Fane fell in beside Faye watching as Cat and Damien walked a little distance ahead. “That’s not even a bet worth making, of course they will,” Fane said as he watched the other couple ahead of them. “Only reason he probably roped me into that game is to get him a shot at talking to her, Fane tipped his head slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her close “because he would’ve looked like a fool in front of her if he lost a lot of cash.” Fane had feeling it wasn’t just that, but Fane had seen Damien making eyes at the card-dealer a couple of times in the week when they had been in here. “Plus, I’m an amazing wing-man,” he flashed her a cheshire cat smile; slow and lazy as they walked along.

Fane’s steps faltered as their earlier arrangement was settled into place once more and he had to try and discretely adjust the front of his trousers with his free hand. Not that there truly was any subtle method to do that. “Not the only big thing about me,” Fane couldn’t help the joke, his tone light and full of humour as they left the brightness of the casino and instead replaced it for darker corridors and more electro-beat music. He glanced up at Cat when she spoke, “oh I’m a VIP now, goodness, I do like special treatment,” Fane was, of course, for the most part joking on this topic. He didn’t really give a damn mostly because he always did his own thing anyway, regardless of whether it was the done thing or no.

At Faye’s question Fane let his eyes drift around the cavern “to be fair-- I’m pretty sure most of the time I was on this island I was high off my rocker… So, I don’t think I could tell even if I had been here.” Fane was hardly shy about his dabbling, Faye knew well enough about the unhealthier habits he partook in and while they had been here had shared in plenty of those together. But it was the truth, in all honesty, most of Fane’s last visit was a blur of things he could hardly remember and something he wasn’t sure he did wish to remember anyhow. Stepping into the softer lights, Fane stroked Faye’s hip interested in the feel of the material under his fingers humming contently as they arrived at the bar. “Mm,” he sounded giving a slow dip of his head in answer, “are you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me love?” He was teasing of course, “but how could I deny such a tempting proposition? Go on,” Fane looked to the bartender “two of the blue drink thingymajigs, whatever they are.” Leaning his hip on the counter, he looked at her “I want to dance with you after this… I love dancing with you baby.”

“This is true,” Faye grinned. She stroked a hand over the front of his trousers, feeling the smooth ridges of the metal cage surrounding his cock. “Yet you take it so well.” Building him up throughout the night was her goal, and though she had released him for the game earlier - and it had turned out very, very well - their arrangement was back on. The very thought of what she was doing to him, and where it might lead later in the evening, especially considering their new friend, made her belly burn with a low desire. But she wouldn’t rush. They had all night.

Cat just grinned over her shoulder at Fane before turning back to Damien. The entire island was a VIP resort, so having additional privileges could be fun. And Cat had been working here long enough to know some of the secrets that others might not. Though she also wasn’t naive enough to think that someone like Fane - who barely blinked an eye at the millions he’d just won - didn’t already know all of them.

Faye moved up to the bar, leaning against it as Fane’s fingers drifted over her hip. “Mmm. You know… I can see the appeal of some things. The way they just… make you forget your troubles.” Faye certainly wasn’t one to fuel the fire of Fane’s addictions, so to speak, but the things they’d experimented with while on the island had made her feel… amazing. She’d yet to smoke opium with him, but they had time yet. It was safe here at least.

“Maybe,” she said. “You do become a bit of a slut when you’re drunk.” Faye turned towards the bar and watched the woman move to mix up their order. Whatever the liquid was, it was a bright, neon blue. It smoked as it was poured up. But her attentions turned back to Fane, and she pulled him close by a beltloop. “Consider my dance card full then.”

Faye knew well enough exactly what she was doing, and in all honesty Fane didn’t mind a bit. He was happy to settle into playing his part but frankly he didn’t mind one bit about whether he was considered important or not. But the perks, well, Fane did always have a knack for sniffing those out and weaselling his way into places he might not ought to have been. Call it a talent. One that pissed people off just as much as it happened to impress them. Fane rather impressed himself with it too.

“Then can anyone ever blame me for running off to places like this?” Fane asked, though it was more rhetorical because Fane had very much been running when he had been here. Running from things and a life he’d wanted to forget for longer than a while. Unfortunately, memories were a pesky sort of thing that couldn’t just be removed entirely with the use of a drug but it was a decent enough temporary reprieve to give him peace of mind enough to sleep. “That one you had the other day was fun,” Fane said, referencing the serum he’d given her before Damien and he had taken it upon themselves to take her apart between them while she was lax and utterly willing. “Or maybe I’ll use something that makes you utterly desperate.” He’d gotten an utterly pure stash of bits and pieces back at the villa and they’d been toying around with them during their stay. Had Faye wanted to try smoking with him he would’ve let her but it hadn’t come up as of yet.

“Only for you,” Fane leaned down and nipped at her neck “only for you love.” The drinks were served up but Fane was promptly distracted by her when she tugged him in just so. “Not the only thing that’ll be full tonight I think,” his brows waggled in a playful fashion and his voice dripped with amusement as he made his comment. He never could pass up such an opportunity.

“I’m starting to see the appeal,” Faye agreed. Fane knew her near obsessive work ethic better than most. Once she had something in her teeth, it was near impossible to get her to let go of it, even for a little while. And considering the case that was in limbo back home - awaiting the tedious processing of the wands they had come across - it was a testament to their relationship that Fane had agreed to leave. But she had promised. And they’d already lost so much time. So many years wasted for one reason or another. Fane didn’t have to stick with her through all the Ministry bullshit. It wasn’t his job. But he had. He’d been right there through everything. Even as the case had slowly taken over their lives. Such as they were. And Faye recognized that. Which is why she had kept her end of the bargain and fully indulged in this long holiday that they both deserved.

“It was fun,” she agreed. “Maybe I’ll try it on you? See what it does.” Her hands stroked over his side beneath his jacket. He was warm as always, and it was pleasant in the coolness of the bar. Her pulse quickened a bit a the prospect of the opposite. “Does me begging for it make you hard?” Her hand drifted lower, stroking him lightly. “Maybe you should keep this on while I do? Have you begging me in return?”

The drinks arrived, smoking lightly, and she laughed as his breath tickled her neck. “Mmm, and you are good at it too.” Her grin turned devilish, and she pulled him even closer. “Promise?”

“Does that mean I’m corrupting my good little auror, hm?” there was a sing-song lilt to his voice when he said this and his expression was entirely mischievous. If he was honest he was lothe for the day to come where they would have to leave this place, much preferring the idea of staying right here with her and absolutely none of the responsibility they would otherwise have to return to. He couldn’t be blamed for it, it certainly wasn’t Fane’s job and in all honesty with how the Ministry treated him he couldn’t have been blamed for telling them to go and screw themselves (which he had, several times) much to their chagrin. But he stayed, and he stayed for one singular reason, and that was the witch presently at his side. If there was one person he would never leave (not again), it was Faye.

“Tease, would you?” Fane asked in a quiet exhale of air at the thought of her using the drug on him. The stroke of her hand was leaving him feeling just a little overheated but he didn’t let it show instead settling to enjoy the warmth of her beside him. “You don’t need to ask that to know the answer,” of course he knew she was asking because she already knew the answer, the brush of her hand caused him to look over at her. “Granted it doesn’t take much to get my interest let’s be honest-- like you said I’m a slut. Quite proud of that fact really.” It was hardly a secret either, he’d spent too long in indulging in things that physically felt good to distract from the lingering darkness in the recesses of his mind. Some might even go so far as to say he’d become hooked on such physical pleasure to avoid the pain he might otherwise be forced to confront.

“I know, I’ve had a long time to refine my craft.” They were practically flush the booze and smell of her perfume and something that was just so distinctly her overriding his senses as she drew him in and it was all he could do not to-- his mind was in the gutter as his slight wince of discomfort proved. “Well, you’re in charge of that...” Fane remarked licking his lips as he picked up his drink and took a sip, hit with the flavour of something refreshing almost blueberry in flavour. In all honesty this was both a great and horrendous method of torture, the pain of denial only serving to heighten the desire to have what was quite literally forbidden.

“It means… that I’m starting to see the appeal.” There was a hint of teasing in her voice as she repeated herself, because she would (most likely) never admit that he was corrupting her just a little bit. Even though Faye preferred to think of it as ‘broadening her horizons.’ She wasn’t nearly as tight-laced as a lot of her coworkers thought she was. She would do things off the book. Make deals to get what she wanted. Such as with the wands. Sometimes you had to look the other way. Especially if no one was getting hurt. Except the people that deserved it. But like Fane, the prospect of returning to all of that weighed heavily on Faye whenever it crossed her mind. As it was doing more often as the month slowly drew to a close. The sheer amount of things that would need tending when they got back to London was mentally overwhelming. Though all her minor cases had been streamlined to other agents once she’d taken over as Head Auror on the one they were working. It had taken priority. And Faye knew that Fane’s loyalty was only to her. That he didn’t two shits about the Ministry or anyone there. He stayed for her. To help her. And she would never be able to thank him enough, or express how much it meant. When they got back, things would change. There would be work and real life and obligations. Danger and the unknown. People that wanted to hurt them.

Which was why she pushed those thoughts away and focused on the here and now.

“I would if you wanted,” she said. “Having you at my mercy and willing to do anything I said without question…” Her lip found it’s way between her teeth. “It’s makes me wet just thinking about it.” Her teeth flashed white as she grinned at his answer. “You’re the only person in this world I’d ever get on my knees for. Or beg for anything.” Faye was fairly certain that he knew that. She was proud, and pride was her sin if anything was. But for him she would kneel. She would crawl. She would do anything he asked, if only to please him and make him happy. “And I’m proud of you too. Not everyone embraces their inner hedonist quite like you do, love.”

Faye reached for her own drink, a devious smirk on her face. “I am in charge of that aren’t I?” They were standing close, so she let her hip brush against him instead of her hand. Her drink tasted like blueberries as well, but with something a bit like… grape perhaps… mixed in. It was very good. She took another longer sip and turned back to Fane. Behind them, Damien and Cat were bent close together in conversation, but Faye couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“What’s your take on the dealer?” Faye asked Fane around another sip of her drink. “You think she’s down for… fun later?”

“Would it make you happy? Doing that, having that power?” Fane asked in a low voice his eyes widening just a fraction as he spoke his lips hovering by her ear and lightly bumping her temple where he’d leaned in close. She couldn’t see it, but the smile was evident in his voice. “And you’re the one calling me a slut, it’s so easy to get you worked up” Fane nipped at the shell of her ear his breath warm before he drew back. “And you’re the only one in the world that I’d ever let have this much control over me.” It seemed they were each their respective achilles heel, but for Faye he really couldn’t bring himself to care less about the harm she might bring to him if it meant being blessed with a fraction of her time.

Because to her he was worthy. Even if he wasn’t sure he would ever feel like he truly was.

Fane took another sip to mask his inclination to groaning at the pressure, he knew full well what she was doing and it was working. Faye turned and Fane glanced over his shoulder to follow her gaze, his heart was still thumping steadily in time to the lazy sway of the beat that was almost hypnotic. “My take on her? I think our good friend is infatuated,” Fane said in reference to Damien “he’s been making puppy eyes at her all night.” The topic of fun however, that had Fane turning, propping himself casually on the bar. “Love, if there’s one thing anyone on this island is down for… It’s fun. And her? Oh, she’ll certainly be down for it.”

“Just being with you makes me happy,” she said in return, a smile in her own voice. “But would it give me pleasure? To have that power over you? Yes, but only if you gave it to me freely.” In any other situation, Faye would have said no, that she didn’t want to have any sort of power over Fane. They were equals when it came to their personal lives. Each of them giving and taking as the situation required. Neither being jealous or feeling subordinated by the other. It was an equal partnership, and while some may have found it strange, for them it worked. That didn’t mean that they were always on the same page with everything. They argued fiercely sometimes. And didn’t always agree on the outcome. But it got handled. And they got over it. Moved on. Life was too bloody short.

She laughed, low and warm, as he whispered in her ear. The nip sent a rush of goosebumps over her skin, and she leaned against him. “I never deny it,” she said. It was no secret that he could work her into a panting frenzy with just his voice and a few choice words. It was also no secret that of all the people in the world, not one of them would dare try to control Fane Savin. No one that knew him at least. There were some that had tried. There were some that wanted to try (like Roger back home), but no one had the courage to look the man in the eye and call him out. Except for Faye. And perhaps Maya. But they weren’t just anyone.

“Ditto,” she said. Because they were each other weaknesses. Their one and only. Faye had spent her whole adult life working to avenge the death of the boy she’d loved since she was a child. While that same boy had stayed away, missing out on years and years, just to keep her safe. It was a tragic irony really. But they were together now, and Faye wasn’t going to take any of it for granted.

He was her forever. And for some reason, she was his. He loved her above all others, even after so long apart. And she would hold onto that for as long as forever might be. No matter who or what tried to get in their way.

“Damien? Infatuated?” Faye snorted. “Never.” She turned as well, leaning into his side as he posted against the bar. “You make puppy eyes at me,” Faye teased him, slipping an arm around his waist. “Let the man dote on her.” Faye hummed as Fane confirmed what she herself was thinking. That an employee of the casino would know where the best fun was to be had. As if they had heard Fane and Faye talking, Damien turned to find them and waved a hand, gesturing that they should follow. Cat was pulling him towards another section of the room.

“Looks like she might’ve already found something.” Faye tossed back the rest of her drink, already feeling muzzy-headed. She took Fane’s hand, though when her skin touched his it flared brightly, sending waves of color along his palm. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Faye blinked. “Did you see that?” Still pulling him along, walking backwards as she stared at their joined hands where color pulsed and faded and ran together with their pulses. “Am I hallucinating?” she grinned. If she was, it was the drink that done it.

There was a soft thump coming from where Cat and Damien had disappeared. A hallway that faded from the deep blue lights of the bar to deep purples and reds. Stone walls glittered, reflecting the lighting back on the guests. Faye saw ripples of color as she drug her fingers over the roughness of the rock. “Do you see that…” she murmured to herself.

Up ahead, Cat turned with a knowing grin, her arm looped through Damien’s. “Your friends tried the blue drink. I think it’s working,” she grinned up at him.

Damien, who was utterly taken with the witch, smiled back. “Then this should be fun, shouldn’t it? If anyone can down a hallucinogen and make the best of it, that man can.” He glanced back at Fane where he trailed along at Faye’s side. “They never disappoint. Promise.”

Cat grinned and they moved on through into the club. Bodies writhed in a huge central dance floor, long and rectangular and lowered two or three steps down into the stone to keep the masses contained. A large section to the right was the bar. Flooded with purple and blue orbs of light that kept changing shades as people came and went, the wall behind was filled with rows upon rows of bottles that reached up into the dark recesses of the ceiling. Chandeliers, brightly lit with multicolored forever burning candles, threw shadows onto the stone. Their flickering flames contrasted with the bright colors, but it somehow worked. Wax dripped down here and there, pooling on purposefully placed diases. Some held candles that were slowly rising towards the ceiling as wax constantly dripped. Others held bodies. Men and women that caught the wax on their skin, decorating themselves and watching others do the same.

Faye found herself unable to look away from the way the wax catchers hissed and arched away from the sting as the hot liquid fell onto their skin.

“You can try it, if you like,” Cat said as Faye and Fane caught up with them. “That’s what this place is. A showroom. Of sorts. There, see?” She pointed across the way. There were evenly spaced booths - large, dark, softly-lit spaces with a small stage and comfortable surrounding seats - each featuring a different ‘act.’ One held a woman telling fortunes. Another held a man performing intricate card tricks with a sentient deck of cards that kept snapping at his fingers. And yet another held a pair of contortionists bending their bodies around one another at impossible angles. Booths upon booths of entertainment, all of which Faye couldn’t stop staring at.

“If you want something a bit more exciting, we’ll have to go upstairs,” Cat said. “This is all a bit G-rated for me.” She tipped an eyebrow, and Damien looked at Faye and Fane a bit helpessly as Cat pulled him along up the stairs. “I didn’t come here for card tricks and fortune tellers.”

Faye blinked owlishly, watching them go and leave a trail of soft negative images behind. “I’m…” A grin twisted her face, and she turned her dark eyes on Fane. “...not interested in G-rated. Are you baby?” But she was already pulling him behind Damien and Cat. Up the stairs, down another hallway and through a curtained doorway.

The first thing Faye saw was the body of a woman displayed like an artpiece. Softly backlit, she was tied in intricate Shibari, eyes covered in black silk, with only one foot touching the ground. She was very much alive, as Faye could see her breathing softly as they approached. A man stood nearby in a black suit, watching the passersby carefully. He was also checking in with the woman periodically, to make sure she was still okay. But only when no one was admiring her.

They moved on down the way, stopping to admire a man that was being slowly encased in wax by a lovely woman with bright blue hair and a ring in her nose. The man was clearly aroused, but the woman was ignoring him, concentrating on the patterns of color the hot liquid was leaving on his skin.

“That looks like fun,” Faye said in a slightly dazed voice.

They moved on, admiring each centerpiece of living erotic art as they passed. When they had made their rounds and were deciding what to do next, a waitress came over and presented Fane with a small silver tray upon which lay a small white card, folded in half.

“From the gentleman in Booth 37. I believe he wants to meet you.” She tipped her head at Fane after he took the card, and then disappeared.

Faye frowned at Fane, looking at the mysterious letter. “Who would’ve sent that?” she asked, looking around as she stepped closer to him. Auror instincts flared to life without a second thought. Her wand was on her thigh, a familiar weight within easy reach should she need it. She knew Fane would sense her sudden tension, the subtle tightening of the hand around his waist, even if there were no other outward signs of it.

“He totally is, and if anyone knows what puppy eyes looks like it’s me considering I a hundred percent make them at you,” Fane’s grin was devillish as he wrapped her up in his arms hauling her close enough that he could bury his face against the curve of her neck. He pressed a few kisses to her skin, soft and utterly doting and affectionate. “Oh he wants to do more than that.” Fane had his eyes closed when she took his hand, though when she called his attention to something his eyes opened lazy and hooded from the drink they had both knocked back.

She was pulling him off then, but he blinked a couple of times a slow grin spreading across his features at the colour that radiated beneath their skin. “Maybe so…” his eyes moved from her hands up over her neck the lights serving to heighten the beating pulse and Fane found himself wetting his lips in anticipation as he was dragged further into the private lounge. While Faye explored the drink’s effects, Fane only had eyes for her, at least, he did up until the moment Damien’s commented and Fane could only grin. “Mm, if there’s one thing you’ll have with us love… It’s a bloody good time.”

The space beyond was unlike anything he’d ever seen, even since the last time he was here. Apparently they had done some expanding and renovating not to mention the general revamp this entire place had undergone. Fane’s gaze slowly dragged across the crowd and he felt his pulse thrum in response to the music the urge to drag Faye out under those lights and pull her flush… To feel her as purely as he could get her, loose and limber and entirely his to ravish. His fingers itched to drag her off, biting his lip in anticipation of everything that awaited them here. So many possibilities but before he could even say anything Faye was dragging him up the stairs and he felt his throat and something else tighten. Though this just earned a low grunt of discomfort as he made his way up the stairs a little more stiff than he might normally would have been.The things that lay beyond didn’t serve to help either, and Fane was already getting the idea of the things he could do to-- no, he shouldn’t think on those things. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to endure this enforced chastity considering the amount of times he’d had to deal with the fact he very much wasn’t able to let his body run the normal course in terms of what it very much wanted to show its appreciation to all this display.

“Maybe I could tie you up like that,” he said as they walked on around the display that is until a staff member approached and Fane stared at them for a very long moment, eyes unfocused but nevertheless plucked the paper up regardless. Unfurling it he scanned the contents humming thoughtfully, “apparently I’m owed a drink of congratulations.” There was a symbol on the paper though, one Fane recognised but he folded it up and tucked it into his pocket. “I think I’m just going to see who this is… You three keep browsing, you can tell me if there’s something you’d like to try later then hm?” Fane doubted it would work, but it was worth a try regardless he supposed.

The display was certainly unlike anything Faye had ever seen. Cat and Damien walked a bit ahead of them, whispering close together, much as she and Fane were doing. Faye let them be, her attentions solely on the man with his arm around her waist. She marveled at how well he handled what she was putting him through. As she always did when she pushed his limits. Though tonight was hardly the most torturous thing she’d ever done to him. Far from it. But it would be worth his patience in the end, Faye would make sure of it.

Faye grinned at the thought of him going over her body with such intricate knotwork. She had just leaned up to say something salacious when a woman approached with a letter for Fane. Faye blinked at him, much as he had the letter-bearer, and then again as he tucked away the missive before she could get a decent look at it. Faye looked at Fane, the lights moving under his skin fading ever so slightly as she pushed against the effects of the drink. For a moment, the most subtle of looks passed between them. One that told him to be careful, and that she didn’t like him going off alone to meet some stranger, even if it was safe here. And even if he could take care of himself just fine. But the glassiness returned to her eyes soon enough, and Faye blinked again, giving his waist a squeeze. “Alright.” One more hooded glance and she made her way over to Cat and Damien.

Faye whispered something to Damien, and he looked back at Fane over shoulder, slipping an arm around her waist and giving the other man a subtle tilt of his head. It was less than ten seconds worth of silent conversation before Damien was turning his attentions back to Faye and Cat, and they moved on around the display.

She didn’t ever need to tell him to be careful, he hadn’t survived this long without a certain degree of precaution and necessary measures. Careful calculations of the risks and benefits of entering into certain situations. The message was a surprise but Fane also hardly figured he would leave tonight without talking to his opponent in some degree or another. A polite request in a letter was a rather nice formality in all honesty and part of why Fane was curious to speak with the Russian.

Contacts and connections never hurt to build even on holiday getaways. Fane knew also the questioning look Damien sent him but a small shake of his head, colours flaring over his vision as he did so, told the man it wasn’t something to worry over.

“Take care of my babygirl, hm? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” he called after them grinning lazily as they walked on. Only when they turned the corner did he turn glancing at a booth number before he sauntered to the one in question. Number thirty-seven. A looming body guard stood on a silent vigil outside though Fane was let through after flashing the card. Stepping into the silenced interior to see his opposition from earlier in the night sipping on teal coloured beverage. Fane said nothing but did move to take the seat opposite pulling out a smoke and popping it between his lips, a wave of his fingers lit the end and he inhaled lazily.

“Surprised to hear from you so soon, looking for me to take more of your money hm?” Fane grinned roguishly knowing it was a ballsy statement given how much he had walked off with earlier in the night.

The man sitting in the booth merely smiled back at Fane around the large cigar he was smoking. He set it aside after a moment, exhaling as he watched Fane take the seat across the table. “The list of people who have bested me - at anything - is very short, Mr. Savin. Why wouldn’t I want to meet you?” The way he looked at Fane would have unnerved most men. A calculating, curious look, that was both neutral and yet… so very much not.

“And I’m never looking to have my money leave my possession. But…” He shrugged, as if it were something mundane and innocuous that had been lost, and not millions of dollars. “It happens from time to time.” He picked up the cigar and took another long puff. “So how are you enjoying the island this time? I see you brought a guest. She’s very beautiful.” He tapped the ashes into the tray. “Though some would say bringing an Auror to a place like this is in bad taste.”

There was no threat in the man’s words. Not really. But the conversation within a conversation said, ‘I know who you are. I know who she is. And I’m not the only one.’

Fane’s posture was, by virtue of his position, indolent to say the least; legs splayed lazily and the cigarette hanging from his fingers occasionally being raised to his mouth for a shallow drag before being pulled away and lightly ashed over the tray in the middle of the room. The scent of the cigar was strong, but Fane had spent a lifetime around the stuff to barely even let it faze him anymore. This was just as much a poker match as earlier even if the chips weren’t visibly on the table to count. So being studied, Fane remained nonchalant as ever and waited the Russian out. “Very short hm? So like you then?” it could have been interpreted rudely with how Fane grinned almost sharkishly as smoke in lines from his nostrils directing it away from the man opposite. “Now, while I am rather impressive company, I do suspect there’s more reason to you wishing to see me than simple congratulations being in order.”

The question about the island and his enjoyment of it caused Fane to reach for his drink and take a sip fingers tapping against the glass thoughtfully as he set it down. Was it worthwhile speaking to this man? Though he also seemed to already know who they were. So it was hardly anything new Fane supposed. “I’ve always enjoyed my retreats here-- a place you can do almost anything you want? Why wouldn’t anyone want to come to such a place?”

His direct mention of Faye’s occupation caused Fane to tilt his head, it was his turn to analyse the man sat opposite him. Fane knew a threat when he heard it, but this, as far as he could tell was general curiosity over why she was here. Whether there was an ulterior motivation at work here. “Well I can assure you, I have rather impeccable taste and… I must say she’s no average run of the mill auror. Though that’s a title she left behind when we decided to come here for a while.”

Contrary to Fane’s posture, the Russian sat easily reclined, but legs crossed ankle over knee. Body turned at an angle to Fane’s, one hand holding the cigar, the other gesturing as he spoke. “Very much like me,” the man grinned at Fane’s comment. “Though with that logic, one would assume your own list is a bit longer than most.” The same sort of tone carried the words through the smoke-filled air. But his demeanor changed a bit as Fane got to the point.

“Even now you see through me. I quite like that. Not many - another short list - would speak to me so openly. Which is why I find myself wanting to give you something else tonight.”

He laughed. “Why indeed? A paradise with no consequences. A place where anything you want is possible. Where everything is completely safe. Unlike the outside world.” The comment could have been innocuous, made to mean the world in general, but something in the man’s tone said it wasn’t. That it was far more specific to Fane himself.

Sokolov laughed again, though it was a different laugh. One that said he didn’t quite believe Fane’s claims about his auror companion. “A title, perhaps. But an Auror is always an Auror. No matter how… above-average they may be. The same can be said for many other… titles.” Savin could take that however he liked. Though not being one to play the long game once he’d made up his mind about something, the man leaned forwards. “My point being, Mr. Savin, is that - among other things - I’ve heard a rumor.” He glanced around, as if the booth wasn’t already sound-proofed and spell proof. “A rumor that you’re the new Dark Lord.”

“I never said it was logical, though I probably have a longer list of people who have tried to beat me and found out the hard way that isn’t something that very often happens.” Fane shrugged ever so slightly at the comment about him cutting through the crap, “You’ve seen the beautiful woman that is waiting on my return and I am admittedly very loathe to keep her doing so for too long. I’d rather speak plainly than in riddles.”

Fane’s expression remained neutral, though his eyes lingered on the Russian curious about what he might have to offer. “Part of the reason so many of us retreat here, who wants a reality that’s terrible when you could live in a place where every indulgence is catered for?” Unfortunately, Fane knew that was no option. Faye was too dedicated to her work to truly leave it especially in such a place with so many untethered ends.

“You’d be surprised,” Fane commented with a grin “she really isn’t like any other Auror you’ll have the opportunity to miss, I mean-- what other Auror you know would be in a place like this and not be wound up in trying to shut it down and arrest every person involved hm?” It said a lot about Faye, who she was and what she was willing to do with him and no one else. Fane did run his tongue along his teeth though when the Russian mentioned his rumour, and an icy chill shuddered down his spine “and rumour has it you’re a cheater and a thief,” Fane waved his hand idly “doesn’t mean there’s any truth to it… Do I really look like the sort interested in world domination?”

“Not much surprises me, these days, Mr. Savin, but I’ll take your word for it, hm?” He tapped his cigar again. “And you obviously trust her.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact. Though there was a hint of something else in the words. Still not a question, but more… as if the Russian wizard were trying to make Fane ask a question in return.

A low laugh trickled from the man’s throat as Fane countered him. “Yes. I’ve heard that. It’s the gloves, I know. But if you must know, I wear them to keep myself safe from any… charms or other nonsense some of these players try to slip onto the cards. Not so I can cheat. Though as you know, the cards are protected, just like the rest of the island. All very safe. But I’d prefer not to take chances. And of course, just because I also happen to be a very good judge of other people, and a very good card player, I must be cheating. No one could ever be that skilled at something.”

Sokolov watched the reaction - or mostly lack thereof - that rolled through the other man at the mention of the rumor attached to his own name. “Appearances mean nothing, Mr. Savin. But perspective. Perspective means everything. To me you look like a man that wants to forget the world at large. And the pain its caused you. You have no interest in ruling over anyone. You simply want to be left alone with the few things you still hold dear.” Another small pause, in which Sokolov stared at Fane very intently. “You and I are very similar, Mr Savin. We’ve both been accused - more than once - of being something other than what we are. Simply because of who we are.”

He fell quiet after that, leaning back and puffing his cigar. Waiting to see if there were any other questions to come. Though he felt certain there were. A man like Fane Savin wasn’t going to leave after a few shadowy remarks. He would need more than that. How much more remained to be seen. Though even Sokolov’s well of information had a bottom, loathe as he would be to admit.

If Sokolov was expecting another question from Fane in regards to what he wanted and why he was interested he would be sorely disappointed. Faye wasn’t their present topic of discussion and thus wouldn’t be mentioned unless necessary. Fane was fighting against the effects of the drug which while they were softening everything was something he fought against to try and keep a sharpness that was surprising by most standards. But then this was hardly surprising, Fane had endured far worse over the years than a few hallucinogenic drinks.

“You know I did debate asking you to take them off earlier, just for the shits and giggles of watching everyone else’s faces when you lost” cocky perhaps but it was all in good humour. Fane knew that going into that confrontation at the poker table you had to have a large degree of self-belief to sell the sort of bluffs they were. “Guess we’re both used to people making assumptions about us then,” and it was all Fane had to say on the topic because he knew as well as the man sat opposite him that this place was charmed against fraudsters.

“The question there is whose perspective then,” Fane drilled his fingers lightly against the tabletop passing over Sokolov’s assumptions about what he understood from looking at him. He was right of course, Fane had spent almost the entirety of his adult life running so the real world wouldn’t catch up. Had Faye not found him he very well would have continued along that train of thought and lifestyle until he ended up in some unassuming grave somewhere. Alcohol poisoning or something just as unassuming he supposed. “And because of our interests, considering magic isn’t inherently bad in my opinion… The intent of its user however? Well, I would argue that’s the true evil in this world” Fane fell silent as he took another inhale of smoke, filling his lungs and exhaling it in a small cloud the trails intermingling with the thick scent of tobacco from the cigar in his companion’s mouth.

“So first things first, this is related to the investigation back in London? It’s related to me? Or… these people that think I’m some new-dawn messiah?” Fane was far from an idiot, and it hardly seemed a far stretch to link the pieces considering who had been targeted. Old order members? People who had fought and defended some of the few pieces of goodness in the world? No Death Eaters. Which meant it was some sort of unhinged group of fanatics. “Question is, what do you know about them and more importantly, how?”

“The perspective of someone very dangerous. I don’t have a name, or I would give it to you.” Whether Savin believed him or not was up to the man himself. All Sokolov could do was impart the information. He nodded as Savin added to what the Russian had already said. “As much I agree with you, that it’s not the magic, but the intent, that makes something dark or evil, there are many others who don’t share my opinion. Others who would use those… interests… against you in any way they could.” A small warning, perhaps, to be careful in his pursuits. Sokolov wasn’t privy to the things Fane got up to in his spare time, or the less than popular practices he experimented with. He simply knew that when someone already looked at you like you were a bad person, any little pieces could add fuel to the fire.

“Yes. To everything.” It was all connected. Or so it seemed from what Sokolov had heard. “Your return to London… from the dead, as it were. The continued murders of the Order of the Phoenix. The Morsmordre in the sky over London? The death of that boy, and your role in it, indirect though it may have been. Your partner being the lead investigator on the case already. Who just happens to make you a consultant? A man accused of being a Death Eater since he was a child. A very infamous name, your family’s. Puts you very close to everything. All the inside information you could ever need.”

A cloud of acrid smoke rose into the air as Sokolov exhaled. “I have my sources that keep me abreast of any information that might be useful. I’ve told you all I know. Except…” He leaned forwards again, his eyes focused intently on Fane’s. “They know everything they need to know to hurt you, Mr. Savin. Everything. And everyone.”

“Do you have anything that links to them? Or some way I can try to get more information?” Fane had his own back channels but even then without some sort of name or point of reference it would be hard to truly pinpoint anything in particular. Though the mention of interests… Fane narrowed his eyes a little, the first real reaction garnered since the start of this conversation. Nothing was specifically mentioned, but it didn’t mean that it couldn’t be insinuated and Fane sat back, rubbing his mouth as he fought back a sigh. Of course. A lifetime of being accused of something only to have to return when he’d finally started trying to make a case for his own innocence.

How many more times could he be expected to fight this same battle? Could anyone truly judge him for being bone fucking weary of it? Of a mantle he’d carried since he was eleven and thought he was going mad when he’d nearly broken the sorting hat or heard whispers in his head. Voices that no one else could hear? Voices about cleansing and purifying the school so only those worthy could attend?

Years of a place that was a world away from what he’d experienced at Durmstrang but years that had slowly chipped away the pure innocence of a naive young boy who thought he might stand a chance of proving himself as something other than what his family legacy coloured him to be? Was it any real wonder then why he’d all but faked his death when the opportunity arose? To let the world thing him gone so that if only for a little while he might live a normal life. Anonymous and walk amongst people simply as another one of them.

But that would never be the case. His whole life would be spent running it seemed. The thought caused his heart to sink, and suddenly he didn’t want to stay. Because hearing it laid out in front of him… Fane closed his eyes for a long moment, but the emotions that were clouding him were categorised and put down. “So where should I start? I can’t very well hunt down people who I barely have any leads on can I?” And how could he protect those he cared about if he didn’t know who or what was coming for them? “I’m not running this time…” Fane seemed slightly more resigned but no less determined “but I need something to work from if I’m going to get ahead of this…” Fane’s eyes lifted to Sokolov’s then, steady and intense the drug all but worn off through sheer force of will “is there anything else you can think of that might be able to help me?”

Sokolov set his cigar aside and leaned forwards, steepling his fingers. “All I have is my source. I haven’t sought any information on my own. I only know what I’ve been told. However…” A flick of his hand and a small card appeared, very much like the one Fane had received earlier. “I can give you this.” It was a set of initials and an address. “Memorize it. The card will burn itself once you read it. Give them my name, and they’ll speak with you. Once. So don’t waste it.”

The Russian wizard watched the younger man with what might have been sympathy. He knew Savin’s history, knew his family name and what had happened during the Second War. He’d lost people in those dark years. Perhaps that was also why he was offering what help he could. To prevent another descent into madness. Into the shadow of a maniacal would-be ruler. Not that he believed Savin was that person. But there were people who did. And there was darkness in the younger man. The Death Eaters had seen it years ago. Tried to exploit it. His own family had tried to lull him to the dark. But he’d been stronger than all that. Stronger than the Dark Lord himself, Voldemort.

And that very fact - little known though it was - seemed to be the catalyst. The keystone - that partnered with his chance arrival back from the dead - that had sent Savin’s name spiraling out into the ether. A name that had been snatched and twisted and turned towards a purpose the man himself had no interest in.

“In my experience, the enemy you should fear most is always closer than you think. And it’s not always a person. Seek out the name on the card. If you ask the right questions, they’ll have the answers. Though it may cost you.” He knew what he was saying sounded misleading. But it was really all he knew. If he had had specifics, perhaps he would have given them, but as it was, he didn’t. “The only other thing I can tell you is to trust what you know. Never doubt it. No matter what the truth may seem to be.” It was nothing if not cryptically foreBut shadowing. Sokolov sat back then, taking up his cigar. “I wish you luck, Mr. Savin. You and yours. And I sincerely hope this is not the last time we speak.”

Fane took the proffered card, but didn’t look at it immediately as Sokolov explained what would happen once he did. Instead, he pocketed it for when he wasn’t fuelled up on a drug infused haze. “Do you think you could look into it for me? Or at least put a few feelers out in your network?” Fane knew that Sokolov owed him nothing, but for this Fane was willing to owe a favour himself regardless of how dangerous that was in their line of work.

There was an innate strength him that few had, but it didn’t make it any easier for him to withstand a lifetime of things whispered behind his back. Of looks and accusations to things he’d never been nor would ever be. There was darkness in him, perhaps more than the average person but darkness he tried to wrestle on a daily basis and more often than not managed to overcome. Demons could hardly darken his world when he had people like Faye around to help shine a light to chase that darkness away. Would Fane go mad? Perhaps, perhaps not. He would hardly be the first in his position or family to lose a few screws along the way if that was the way things went.

The warning, cryptic as it was caused Fane to look at the older man long and hard for a moment. He’d spent his life on the run, being accused of so many falsities it seemed that this was all setting up for yet another one to come and Fane wasn’t sure he would be able to do this many times more than he had already. “Right…” Fane said in answer to the given warning, but it seemed there was nothing more to be said of aid and he sighed ashing his cigarette and knocking back the last of his drink. “I suppose that’s yet to be seen…” Fane rose from his perch and a part of him debated leaving, but custom and formality considering the fact this man owed him nothing caused Fane to reach out a hand to shake before adding. “Thank you…”

And with that, Fane left feeling more dazed than he knew what to do with.

Sokolov considered Fane’s question for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll see what I can find. But only because I like you, Mr. Savin.” A twist of his mouth showed a row of very white teeth. “You remind me very much of myself when I was a young man, if you can believe it.” The owing of a favor went unsaid. It was what it was among those who moved in certain circles. Nothing needed to be said aloud.

He watched Savin consider his last words, and when the younger wizard extended his hand, Sokolov shook it firmly and nodded. “You’re welcome. Best of luck.”

****

Outside, Faye had set her drink aside, not caring to be without her wits anymore tonight. The colors still played over her vision wherever she looked, but the displays and all their erotic beauty did nothing for her. Her mind was elsewhere. Back with Fane. Something didn’t feel right. Though she knew it could have been overthinking on her part. Though Damien seemed as if he was trying just a bit too hard to keep her attention, whereas before he’d been fully focused on Cat. Again, that might simply have been her thoughts running away with her.

Either way, she was entirely distracted from anything other than waiting for Fane to show back up. When he did, his familiar silhouette moving through the deep purples and blues of the room’s lighting, she watched him closely, but didn’t say anything just yet.

“There you are,” Damien called, still with the same jovial tone he’d had all night. “I was thinking you’d forgotten about us. With all your new-found fame.” Cat merely watched the exchange with quiet curiosity, her arm looped through Damien’s.

With the meeting finished, Fane cut through the crowds of people quietly. His eyes not half so dazed as they were when he had departed, but considering what he’d learned it was hardly surprising. He spotted Damien first and then Cat, and Faye not a short distance from them. The sight of them immediately sent a wash of relief through him, not that this was evident but his expression immediately grew brighter as he approached and took a moment to give Damien a hug. “How could I ever forget you all? The most gorgeous people in this place.”

“Straight up we are,” Damien cheersed and took a sip of his drink glancing back at Cat with a playful little smile. “See, told you he’s a fun one.”

“Never doubted you to lie about anything like that doll,” Cat purred as she leaned in and lightly nipped at Damien’s ear causing the man himself to grin brightly.

Fane moved straight over to Faye then where she was sat and naturally sat down beside her, his arm slid around her waist and he pulled her in close. Dipping his head he caught her mouth in a lazy and utterly languid kiss, a silent way of saying thank you for waiting. A promise that he would make it up to her.

Faye did her best to smile along with the others as Fane returned. But as much as the expression passed across her face, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Not that anyone would notice. Fane slipped his arm around her, and she leaned into him, kissing him back just as slowly. Her hand raised to touch his face, and she looked him in the eye when they broke apart.

“I’m not feeling so well,” she told him quietly. “I think I’d like to go back to the room.” It was the first time she’d asked anything of the sort for the entire trip. Faye had been perfectly content to spend their nights trying any and everything that they could. Whatever felt good. Whatever tasted good. Whatever she hadn’t tried before. But right now… right now she just didn’t feel like it.

Fane’s return had eased Damien as well, and he turned to converse quietly with Cat. The two laughed at a private joke, and Damien turned to his friend. “So what’s on the agenda now that you’ve rejoined us?” he asked. “Should we sample something new? Or try one of these for ourselves?” He gestured around at the art gallery.

It was certainly uncommon to say the least for Faye to ask for anything of the sort, and so as she spoke in a soft sotto tone his head tilted. Quizzical and a little unsure what might be the matter. He knew his departure had been a little bit of a surprise but it hadn’t been anything he thought would worry her all that much. Fane’s thumb gently brushed over her chin and then her cheek as he studied her, but a small dip of his head was enough for her to know he’d heard what she’d asked.

Even if he’d been rather looking forward to sharing the evening with the others.

But they had a couple nights more he supposed. They could make up for it another night perhaps.

When Damien inquired about what their plans tonight were Fane’s smile was slightly smaller, seemingly more tired. “I’m feeling a little tired after everything tonight, bit overwhelmed with everything that’s happened… So, I think I’m going to call it an early one tonight...” Damien’s smile faltered a little replaced with a small frown of concern that Fane waved off. “Raincheck, we’ll make up for it I promise you can have some fun with me in any one of these you fancy… Have some fun with your lovely darling I think she deserves your undivided attention.”

Cat glanced between them at the exchange but she smiled, lightly placing a hand on Damien’s chest, “maybe we can try a few out, find out which ones are the best?”

Faye gave a minute shake of her head to Fane’s questioning look, saying that it wasn’t worth discussing here. Fane understood, as she was certain he would, and made his apologies to the others. Faye felt a bit bad for ruining the night, and started to tell him that she could go back to the room and he could stay if he wished. But she didn’t say anything just then. She truly didn’t feel all that well now that she thought about it. Fane’s mysterious meeting had only made the feeling more apparent. But for the time being she blamed it on the drink. Cat had said that not many people could handle it. Perhaps that’s all it was.

Either way, Faye wasn’t sure she could fully enjoy the rest of the night with the swirling feeling in her belly and chest. She caught the look that crossed Damien’s face, but pretended not to notice. Cat seemed to notice too - her observational skills coming in very handy it seemed - and made quick work of distracting her date with more pleasant ideas.

“Well… since you twisted my arm…” he said, the grin returning to his face. Though he gave Fane one more look that said he wasn’t far if Fane or Faye needed anything.

Faye bid the couple goodnight as well, embracing them both before she and Fane headed home.

Once there, she moved off to the bathroom, taking off the gown and taking the time to hang it up before pulling her hair down and wetting a rag with cold water to press over her face. “I’m sorry,” she said out into the bedroom. “If you wanna go back… I’m fine, really.” She wasn’t, but she had to give him the option anyway. Not that he would take it.

Fane would never leave her alone, especially not after what he’d been discussing with Sokolov but neither would he complain about it. So when Damien gave him a look Fane understood fully Fane smiled and brushed Faye’s back before the pair of them started to wander back to the villa. Fane was quiet on the journey, and while he hadn’t been planning on coming back his main concern was Faye.

Explaining why when they stepped into the villa and Faye headed for the bathroom Fane looked over at her, a frown of concern for her apparent on his features. He took a moment to pull off his jacket and hang it up, prior to moving to sit down on the edge of the bed, though grimaced a little in discomfort at the pressure between his legs but he pushed the thought away. Focussing instead on her. “Bull,” he said plainly to her insistence that she was fine “don’t lie to me love. What’s wrong?” He couldn’t stand to sit there, and so a moment later was stood and loosening off his belt.

“Actually-- first-- Can you get this thing off me?” Fane asked regarding the cage he was still wearing because there was no real point in wearing it if there wasn’t to be any sort of reward for the effort he’d gone all day with. Not that he minded, though his frustrations had been notching through the day and some relief would be more than welcome. It also would mean he could focus entirely on her. Once it was gone he sighed, leaving his belt unhooked he leaned on the door “so… are you okay?”

Faye felt slightly guilty about putting him through so much torture all evening and then it not coming to anything. No pun intended. The look on her face as she freed him said that well enough. But it couldn’t be helped for the moment. At least he wasn’t the type - usually - to have petty grievances. Especially when there was a larger issue at hand.

She leaned her hip against the counter, watching him after she’d relieved him of his confinement. She was stood in her underwear and nothing but. Her hair was over her shoulders, covering her chest, and her arms were crossed beneath. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I feel… ill. I think it was the drink.” Faye searched his face, looking for any sign that something had happened while he was away from their group. There was nothing but his usual look of concern for her.

“What did that man want? Really?” Because that was where the unsettling feeling had started. And if it could all be played up to having too much of a hallucinogen, which may or may not have made her slightly paranoid as a side-effect, then so be it. But she needed to hear it from Fane.

Fane said nothing as Faye spelled the device away, there was no need to make a scene or cause a fuss. It was hardly a massive inconvenience in his life and certainly something that was manageable. It would hardly be the first time he’d endured something of the sort so her concerns and offers to make it up were waved off without any thought for himself.

He didn’t bother to conceal how his eyes moved over her in the mirror, undressed as she was Fane would always admire her unabashedly. Why shouldn’t he? She was the love of his life and the woman he wanted to spend his life with. Not to mention she was stunning, but his frown remained and the expression pinched his forehead in a few thin lines along with his eyes as he stepped up behind her. “You feel sick?” he asked moving to wrap his arms around her until his own settled over her hands crossed over her stomach.

Her question was hardly unsurprising or unanticipated. You could take the person out of the role, but not the role out of the person it seemed. “To talk, about our reputations mostly, apparently he doesn’t use the gloves to cheat he uses them to stop jinxes and spells that might be on the cards affecting him-- go figure.” Fane knew he was leaving out details, but if she truly wasn’t feeling well then Fane didn’t want to flatten her with heavy information. It could wait until she was feeling better and they did only have a few days left. A few days wouldn’t hurt.

Faye’s expression softened just a bit as he looked her over. His gaze, directed at her in such a manner, was like a warm blanket; a comfort when she was feeling out of sorts. She didn’t hide from him, as always. And when he came over, wrapping her up, she leaned back into him. “A little,” she said. “I think that drink didn’t settle too well with me is all.”

It was to Faye’s credit that until tonight she hadn’t let anything affect their holiday. Not work, not the outside world, not her occupation. She was here to be with Fane, because they deserved it. Because Fane deserved it. For all the sacrifices he’d made for her. For her job. For the case that was waiting for them when they returned. But tonight she had to speak, feeling unsettled enough to do so. Fane’s answer settled her some, however. He wouldn’t lie to her, she knew. “Huh. I would’ve figured him a cheat,” Faye huffed, leaning her head back on Fane’s shoulder. “But I can admit when I’m wrong.” A small smile moved over her face, and she looked at their reflection in the mirror. Fane’s taller form nearly engulfing her shorter one. His dark features contrasting her lighter ones. They were quite handsome together, she thought. Though she was a bit biased about the man she planned to spend her life with.

Fane would never look on her with anything other than pure and undivided adoration, she deserved nothing less than that in its entirety. So having her wrapped up in his arms, her back pressed to his chest left him feeling secure that at least for now everything was good with the world. His mouth pressed to her head, an open mouth kiss, once, twice, three times before it lingered there. “Then why don’t we get a bath and have an early night?” his hand left where it was wrapped around her midriff to trail up and cup one of her breasts in his palm. Nothing enticing just savouring being able to touch and cradle her close like this.

“Appearances can be deceiving,” he mumbled in her ear smiling as he nuzzled against her affectionately. He met her gaze in the mirror and smiled though it was half hidden by her hair. “I love you, so much.”

Faye’s eyes closed finally as he kissed her head. Fane was always affectionate no matter where they were (other than the places they’d agreed not to be, like the Ministry or in public while working). Faye hated having to impose limits. She hated telling him no. Hated not being able to give him everything and anything he wanted. For that was all she wanted in this world: Fane’s happiness. Her own was irrelevent. Because when he was happy, so was she. He deserved everything. Deserved to stop running, stop looking over his shoulder, stop worrying about who was whispering behind his back.

“That sounds perfect.” She hummed her approval of his caress, threading the fingers of her other hand with the one that remained on her belly. He was warm, and the weight of him against her settled the sick feeling that had risen up earlier. It was mostly gone now, and she laughed a bit as he nuzzled her ear. “They can be,” she said. Her laugh sobered a bit as he spoke again, and she watched him intently in their reflection. “I love you, too. More than anything.”

Fane had been deprived of so much in his lifetime, sometimes it felt like he had to do his best to make up for it. So moments like these, shared with Faye where he could show her his appreciation for everything she was and everything she did were seized without hesitation. He couldn’t ever let one pass him by, and he didn’t want to. Faye deserved everything he could give to her and it was one of the many reasons he was often so frustrated in having to adhere to her rules. Because he wanted to hold her hand in public, wanted to kiss her without the worry of who might be worrying and judging.

Because for as wonderful as things were, as much as he managed their lives back in London that concern was an ever-present constant. Coming to this island had only made him all the more aware of how happy he was to simply be able to live a life with her where there were no worries other than their respective happiness. To appreciate her as fully as he wanted. This was the life he wanted when they went home, wanted normalcy, wanted to settle down, maybe have a family one who - who knows? But how could they ever have that sort of life when they could barely even allow themselves to hold hands in public because of how it might be interpreted. What he wanted and where things seemed to be stuck at seemed like such a world apart Fane was partly resigning himself to the fact that maybe those things were just meant to be dreams.

Faye cared too much for her job to need to be worrying about anything other than that right now, he would make do. He always would. Taking her hand and pulling her over to the large bathtub he started filling it with hot water. After a long soak they both dried off and fell into bed Fane’s arms lazily wrapped around her and cradling her close as they chatted idly and listened to the quietness of the island. Fane lay awake, pondering what might await them and everything he was going to have to do.

The truth was, Faye thought about leaving her job all the time. She’d made it her life for nearly twenty years. Since she was barely out of school. Since she’d thought Fane had died. She had done all of it, become who she was, for him. Because the pain she’d felt when she’d lost him had been nearly too much to bear.

She’d done it all for him, and now… now he was here, warm and real and just as in love with her as she was with him. She’d started along this path because she’d thought he was dead. So now that he was very much alive, now that they wanted to build a life together, why not let it end? Let it end, and let the new chapter of their lives begin? Faye was certain that’s what she wanted. She saw the toll it took on Fane. How he held back because she asked him too. Because it wasn’t safe. Faye wanted more than anything to announce to the world that she was his. That she was his and he was hers. And dare anyone to say otherwise. But they couldn’t. Not yet. Not until this case was done. Not until the danger it posed to them was gone. Because that was Faye’s main concern. That someone would come after them. Come after Fane. Did she want anyone else to get hurt? Did she want anyone else to die? No, of course not. But in the end, if came down to them or Fane? Faye would let the world burn to keep him safe.

Fane wasn’t sure in all honesty how much longer he could keep doing this, but also knew that no matter what that would hold out for as long as it to Faye to say the words herself and not just because he wanted her to. Despite the toll her job took she enjoyed the good she did and impact on the world her work had no matter how small it might be. But what was it all for if she gave her all only to sacrifice her own life, their life together for it? This trip was just an indicator of how much he wanted this, and Fane knew going back to the secrets and deceptions would be harder with the taste of could have been.

[doom-dreaming]

After The Dust Has Settled

In the aftermath of opening the Vault of the Traveler, Rhys and Fiona decide to act on their feelings.

Read it on Ao3 here!

******

"So, Rhys, now that all that…” Vaughn stopped short as he crossed the threshold into Rhys’ room. “Uh...Rhys? What's...um...what's Fiona doing? In...your bed?" Vaughn squinted, making sure he was seeing everything correctly. And...yes, he was.

Rhys, looking smug (more smug than usual, Vaughn thought), merely glanced over his shoulder with a smirk and went back to fixing his disheveled hair. "It's not what she's doing, Vaughn...." he laughed quietly and shook his head. "It's what she did..."

Vaughn's eyes widened and he looked back and forth between his friend and....his other friend. His friend who was currently asleep in his best friend's tangled sheets. "You...." he couldn't seem to get more than one word out. He swallowed thickly as Rhys pulled on a shirt, finally forcing out a laugh. “Well...um, that would sure explain the noises—wow, really? You two actually...?" He tilted his head with a subtle click of his tongue, hoping that conveyed what he was currently trying to say.

"Yes...." Rhys answered slowly, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Surprised?”

“No, no...well...maybe a little?” Vaughn shrugged semi-helplessly. “I didn’t even know you two were...a thing. I mean, are you? You never really seemed to show any kind of...but I guess opening a Vault is a big deal, so if you were going to make any commitments... I’m not saying you shouldn't have....but....it's...." Vaughn stopped himself and took a breath. "Does Sasha know?"

Rhys' expression morphed from passively amused to horrified in a heartbeat. "...shit."

"Cause...they are sisters. And...she'd probably want to know if Fiona's going to be..." Vaughn motioned to the bed vaguely. He still couldn't say it, for whatever reason.

Rhys slumped with a sigh. “Yeah...you’re right. But...she’d do better hearing it from Fi…” he glanced back at the bed. “You know what? I’m...just gonna take a shower and let her sleep and hope that I don’t have to say anything. Sound good? Sounds good.”

He almost managed to brush past, but Vaughn stopped him before he could make it through the doorway. “Hang on. I’m not gonna just let this go, either. Is this all...pretty new, or...did you two have some kind of thing going without the rest of us knowing?”

“We…” Rhys cracked his knuckles. “There’s always been some...uh...tension? I guess we just figured, hell, we’d come this far, why not...go all in, you know? And, um...we did—well, I did. Went all in—and...I’m gonna shut up.”

“Yeah...that’s probably good,” Vaughn muttered, allowing Rhys to pass him. “But hey. I’m actually really happy for you, man. You and Fiona...well, I’ve always kinda thought you two would be good together.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It just seemed to...work. The more time I spent with Fiona, the more she reminded me of you.” Vaughn shrugged again. “And...well, the fact that you two argued like an old married couple certainly helped.”

Rhys rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight a smile. “I’ll be in the shower if you need me.”

******

Fiona woke up feeling warm. And...a little sore. She blinked a few times, turning toward the other side of the bed, fully expecting to see— She frowned and sat up slowly. He wasn’t there. She looked around the room. Their clothes from the night before lay strewn haphazardly across the floor and over furniture, and her hat was perched delicately on the end of a bedpost. He must have picked it up off the floor that morning. “How sweet,” she murmured, stretching and sliding out of the bed.

Wow, it had been a long time since she’d...spent the night with anyone. It had been...well, to say “unexpected” wasn’t really right. They’d both been able to tell that whatever it was between them was only getting stronger and harder to ignore as the days passed. Opening the Vault had apparently been the tipping point. Or maybe it had been almost dying. Or maybe it had been when he subtly confirmed that he’d been thinking about her the whole time. Maybe it was a combination of the three. Everything had come together so quickly that it was hard not to get caught up in the rush of adrenaline.

Standing in the aftermath, beside him...it seemed right. They’d already been through so much...why stop there? So as the day turned to dusk and the last of the color left the sky to make room for the stars, she resolved that she wouldn't try to fight it. Her entire life had been built around taking each situation as it came, and adapting to make it work. This was no different.

Still, she'd put up a characteristic (if minimal) amount of resistance as they'd talked about the future, taking good-natured jabs at him whenever the opportunities presented themselves. She knew he'd been chipping away at her willpower since they'd first met, and she wasn't sure she could hold out through one more sly sideways glance or confident smirk.

And when their collective restraint finally crumbled and she found herself following him through the halls of the fallen space station, back to the room he'd claimed, she didn't even mind. She hadn’t protested when he'd shut the door or gently pushed her back against the wall and pressed his lips against her own. And she’d let go of the act altogether by the time the first piece of clothing hit the floor.

Shaking her head with a smile, she wandered across the room toward the dresser, picking up stray articles of clothing as she went. At least she could make things look a little more presentable if someone decided to come in. Before she could get dressed or glance in the mirror, though, a slip of obnoxious yellow paper caught her eye. Hyperion stationary. Of course. Tossing the clothes into a nearby chair, she picked up the note.

Mornin, Fi. I’m in the shower. Whether or not this is an invitation is up to you.  -Rhys

Fiona immediately felt her face turn at least three shades of red. How could that bastard be so charming on paper and make a complete ass of himself when he spoke? Gritting her teeth, she crumpled the paper, then grabbed the first shirt she could find and threw it on. Damn him.

The base was strangely quiet, which she was actually grateful for. The fewer people to see her scampering down the hall toward the showers, wearing one of Rhys’ shirts—and nothing else—the better. She rounded the corner and crept into the big washroom as quietly as she could—not that he could hear her over the water anyway. Luckily, it seemed that they were the only two people there at the moment.

She shrugged off the shirt as she approached the only occupied shower, and hesitated just slightly before tapping on the wall. “This is the address on the invitation, right?”

Rhys responded by poking his head out and flashing her the stupidest grin she’d ever seen. “Thought you’d get a kick outta that.”

She just rolled her eyes and pushed him aside so she could step in. “You’re an idiot,” she finally muttered, reaching around him to grab the bottle of soap. An idiot that looks great with wet hair.

He feigned insult with an exaggerated pout. “What happened to all that sweet talk I heard last night…?”

“Oh, there’s plenty more where it came from, you just don’t deserve it right now. I shouldn’t have had to run here in one of your shirts this morning. That’s trampy.”

Rhys scoffed. “Well, what were you expec—wait, you...wore one of my shirts?”

“You should have been sitting in bed with some coffee for me, like a gentleman. And yes. I did. It was huge.”

“I’m tall,” he mumbled, snatching the soap back from her. “Besides, I’m not the only one who screwed up, here. At least Vaughn knows now. You still have to ‘fess up to Sasha.”

Fiona’s stomach dropped. She did, didn’t she? And given the way Sasha seemed to feel… Well, she’d figure something out. She always did.

Her face must have revealed her thoughts, since Rhys chuckled. “Yeah...have fun with that.”

She just sighed and focused on washing her hair. “So how’d Vaughn find out?”

“He walked in a few minutes after I got out of bed,” Rhys answered with a slight shrug. “Saw you, and since I was cornered and it’s my room, I...didn’t have too many options. But he took it well. Said he’s happy for us and that we make a good couple.”

“Why did everyone seem to think we’d end up together?” she grumbled. “Was it obvious somehow?”

Rhys smirked at her. “Oh, come on. Even we knew. We were just in denial.”

She glared up at him, about to retort, but the sound of approaching footsteps stopped her.

“Fi?” ...Sasha.

Fiona stole a glance at Rhys, who had frozen where he stood, eyebrows high, hands tense. He'd apparently retained enough of his wit to mouth, "Speak of the devil..."

She resisted the urge to smack him. "Yeah, need something, Sash?"

“No, not really. Just...wondering how your night went…”

Fiona swallowed. That sounded like a trap. “Oh...I, uh...slept pretty hard. You know, all that fighting and Vault...opening…” She dared another glance at Rhys and was pleased to see that her comment had provoked a rather furious blush.

“Yeah...I bet you and Rhys were both pretty worn out. It was...quite the day.”

“Mmhm. Yes it was. So, um, how about you? Sleep alright?”

“Uh huh. Mostly. I kept waking up though...sounded like Rhys must have been kicking the wall or something.”

“Yeah, he, uh…” Fiona could feel her ears getting warm and wondered if it was even worth it to keep up the charade. Sasha apparently knew, or at least suspected, something… “Look...um...okay, I have to be honest—”

“It’s fine, Fiona. I know what happened.”

“I….figured.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what? Tell me? Really, sis, it’s okay. It’s not like you need my permission or anything. We’re all adults, here.”

“I know, but...I thought you—”

“I...he’s a great guy. And we’re friends. But that’s it. He’s always had his eye on you, we all knew it. Anything that happened between me and him is...I guess I was reading too far into it.” She let out a short laugh. “Wouldn’t matter much now, anyway. He’s obviously made his choice.”

Fiona studied her toes. “You sure you’re okay with it?”

“Of course I am. Don’t be ridiculous, Fi. You deserve this. Besides, I could never really see myself ending up with a business guy anyway. I’m sure you two will make lots of money together. Me? I’m happy as long as August keeps letting me use his guns.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re calling it…?” Fiona playfully raised an eyebrow, even though her sister couldn’t see the gesture.

Sasha snorted. “Shut up. We’re...trying to start over.” A comfortable silence settled between them for a moment before Sasha sighed. “Well, Vaughn’s called a meeting for everyone in the executive breakroom, so...come join us when you’re done. Oh, and Rhys? Don’t think that I’ll leave you alone just because I’m okay with this. You take care of my sister or you’ll have that stun baton shoved up your ass.”

Beside her, Rhys let out a scandalized yelp. "How'd you know I was in here?!"

"Really? Your clothes are right here.”

“Oh...yeah, I guess they are…”

“And after seeing what a mess your room was, I figured you’d want to clean yourself up a little. You should definitely wash those sheets, too.”

Rhys just stood there, face red, mouth open, while Sasha's footsteps faded out the way they'd come.

Before she walked out of earshot, however, she called back, "And I meant what I said about the stun baton!"

******

“Don’t think too much, you might hurt yourself,” Fiona muttered from beside him.

He stuck out his tongue, but didn’t tear his eyes away from the dark sky. “I was actually admiring Pandora’s ability to make the stars look so good.”

“Better than out there in space?”

“So much better.”

Rhys felt Fiona shift closer, leaning against his arm. Finally looking away from the sky, he reached out and draped his arm over her shoulders. She turned to face him with a small smile that he couldn’t help but return.

“You know, you aren’t so bad, Hyperion,” she joked, resting her head on his shoulder. “Or should I say…Atlas.”

“You’re not so bad, either. You know, for a Pandoran criminal. Or would you rather be called a Vault Hunter now?” She didn’t offer any reply, just allowed a small smile. That alone was enough to tie a knot in Rhys’ stomach and he gave her arm a light squeeze. “You know, you never told me how you got that scar.” He ghosted his left thumb over the little nick in her eyebrow.

She groaned and shook her head. “You really want to know?”

“Would...I be asking if I didn’t?”

“Okay, okay.” She shut her eyes and took a breath. “I got it when I was seven. I was chasing Sasha around and...I smacked a table.”

“With your face?”

“With my face. Right on the corner.”

Rhys winced. “Not as dramatic as I was hoping, but...ouch.”

“I’m pretty sure it was bleeding for hours after it happened.” She shrugged. “But hey, at least it looks pretty badass, right?”

“Oh, absolutely. And it could have been a lot worse. I mean, you could have gouged out your eye. Trust me, that shit hurts. Hurts like hell. Not that I regret it. Getting rid of Jack and all that. More than worth it.”

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Fiona quipped softly. “The Rhys I met a year ago wouldn’t have willingly torn out his own cybernetics. For anything.”

“Yeah...well, I learned a lot about myself after I came down here. More than I ever thought I could.”

“You’ve taught me a lot, too.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Before I met you, I thought I knew everything there was to know about people. How they lived, how they thought. And then...you showed up.” She looked down at her hands. “You in your stupid suit with your stupid hair and your stupid habit of thinking you had everything under control when you clearly didn’t.” She picked at her fingernails absently. “And for some reason, you threw me for a loop. I’d learned how to talk anyone into doing anything, but when I talked to you, it all came out wrong. Nothing worked on you. You’d just...shout insults back, or fight my sarcasm with some of your own. It was annoying.”

“Well, thanks—”

“Hey, hey, I’m not done yet.” She swatted his knee. “But it was also fun. You were the biggest challenge I’d had in years. You just wouldn’t give up when any other corporate dumbass would have left Pandora in a heartbeat, with or without their money. And then...well, after the money wasn’t an issue, you still stuck around. I couldn’t figure out why. At first, I just thought it was for the Vault. But—”

He placed a finger over her lips. “I get it. You’re happy you finally have friends.”

“God, you’re an asshole.” He laughed as she sat up and turned toward him. “Rhys, I’m serious. Will you just hear me out?”

He heaved a dramatic sigh, but humored her nonetheless. “Of course. Who am I to interrupt your monologue?”

“It’s not a monologue.”

“Feels like one.”

“I just…” she shut her eyes for a second and took a breath. “I guess I’m trying to say thank you. For...being different. For not being what I expected you to be.” She lapsed into silence once again, leaving Rhys to think about what she’d said.

He agreed with her. He’d had a set of (very negative) expectations the moment he’d set out for Pandora in Vasquez’s car, with Vaughn and ten million bucks. Any hiccups they’d faced during the deal had fit cleanly into his assumptions about Pandora and its people. But...along the way, something changed. It changed early on. It had been the thing that compelled him to hang up on Vasquez. The thing that had quietly told him to trust Fiona while Jack screamed in the back of his head. Some little switch went off in his brain that made him willing to fight and peel off faces and even tear out his own cybernetics—and all for...what?

He glanced over at Fiona. The breeze ruffled her hair, prompting her to reach up and tuck the longer strands behind her ear. Swallowing a sudden lump in his throat, he pulled her closer again. “So...hypothetically—” he could feel her turning to look up at him. “If this you-and-me-thing ends up being...long term...would you want to stay here? On Pandora?”

She hummed thoughtfully for a second before shrugging and turning her attention back to the stars.

“Cause, I know you promised Sasha that you guys would go out and explore the galaxy…”

“Yeah, I did.”

“So?”

“You know, Rhys...I think I’d be alright with wherever you wanted to be.”

He laughed. “That’s really cute of….oh, you—you’re serious? Oh. Damn. Okay… That means I have to...uh, alright.” He bit his lip. “...how about…Eden Four?”

She looked over, eyebrow raised. “Eden Four?”

“Yeah...it’s, uh...it’s where I’m from. I mean...I’ve seen Pandora...I could...show you where I was born.”

She was quiet for a second, then leaned in with a smile, pressing a very faint kiss to his jaw. “Like I said, anywhere you want is fine with me.”

[seashellwriter]

Come Closer

Holy crud, I didn’t mean for this to be so long but I guess that’s what happened ^^’ Hope you enjoy! Happy Egotober? lol

Summary: You find a monster in the night, wearing a charming disguise.

Trigger Warnings: Gore

The moon hovers brightly, like a halo, over smog ridden streets, casting a silvery light through the inky black of night. Your fingers are frozen and brittle from the nip in the air, a chilled breeze having you pull your thin coat closer to your trembling form. Though, despite the cold of fall, you find the walk back home after working the grave yard shift quite peaceful. Your town, normally bustling with life in the sunny afternoon, is empty, devoid of merchants, page boys, the chattering and gossip.  

It’s just you, trudging back to your humble abode, your shoes going clack, clack, clack against the pavement of the road, filling the silence.

Normally, this quiet that surrounds you like an ocean is comforting, but tonight... It’s different. It’s... eerie somehow... Shadows that you never noticed before skittering over sidewalks from street lamps, paranoia creeping along your spine, having you glance over your shoulder once or twice. It’s different tonight... But... Why?

You’ve walked along these streets all your life... You’ve never-

A scream cuts through the air like a knife, piercing your chest with fear as your legs halt to a stop. It ends abruptly, dying on the unknown woman’s tongue, and leaving you behind to be consumed by the quiet once again. You’re standing there in shock for several moments before you’re snapping to your senses, quickly seeking out the source of the horrifying sound. You’re stumbling upon an alleyway, foreboding and shrouded in darkness, accompanied by a stinging ring that dances through your ears.

You’re sure it came from here.

Your gut tightens in warning, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you hesitantly poke your head out. You’re squinting through the gloom as you swallow down a lump in your throat, every shred of willpower you have keeping your feet planted firmly in place.

Barely, you make out two figures, a woman pressed against the hard, brick wall, ensnared by a man dressed in a suit of black. His mouth is at her neck, rows of sharp, pearly teeth glinting dangerously over delicate skin before stabbing through. Rivets of blood immediately bubble up as he tilts his head back, ripping flesh and muscle, a chunk being torn cleanly away. Red sprays out from the crook of her neck, staining his pristine, white dress shirt, dripping onto the concrete below. She doesn’t scream, eyes empty and staring into the far wall as if she’s befallen by a spell, her shoulders loose and relaxed as she lets him devour her alive.

You’re frozen, your face a sickly white as you watch on with bulging eyes, mouth hung agape as your trembling fingers cling onto the corner you hide behind. That’s when his eyes slowly move to you, as if he knew you were there the whole time, cold and emotionless as they bore into your quaking form. You’re stumbling backwards as his face turns fully to you, his chin and lips caked in blood red, appearing as the monster he truly is.

You’re running, wind blasting through your hair as your heart hammers against your ribcage. There’s nothing but that ringing, immersing you with its deafening pitch, following after you like the plague. It’s dying out, abandoning you in silence, save for the shallow breaths you take and the clack, clack, clack of your shoes against pavement. No scream escapes you, your voice silenced by the sickening butterflies in your stomach and the pressure of doom squeezing against your heart.  

Your trip home is a blur, your hands slamming open the front door before you’re bolting up every window and entrance you have. You lock yourself in your bedroom, crawling under the safe haven of your bed, kitchen knife in hand.

You’re kept awake by phantoms threatening to claw at your insides, feral eyes that desire your flesh, the unnaturally pale face of the man, the woman with a dead smile.

You don’t get a wink of sleep that night.

…

Diana Perkins, that was her name.

Violently murdered, her head almost completely decapitated from her corpse.

She wasn’t the first, the constable had said.

But little did he know.

She wouldn’t be the last.

.

You quit the nightshift.

…

Your good friend that runs a merchant stand falls ill with a fever, typical from the cold weather as of late. He begs you to take over until he gets better, voice rough and scratchy as he grips onto the blue of your shirt desperately, telling you hoarsely that he’ll even pay you well. And, honestly, how can you say no? He’s been with you for a good long-time and... you really need the money.

You want to escape this nightmare of a place...

That man... You’re sure he remembers your face...

You don’t want to end up like her.

...

Red, mangled flesh, glittering fangs-

You’re screaming out in the night, sitting upright on your bed before lashing out your knife from under your pillow. You’re clumsily crawling under, almost tripping over your tangled sheets, tears blurring your vision as you sob helplessly.

You don’t want to die like that.

…

You’ve begun to realize after a few passing days that managing the stand isn’t so bad, selling fruits and vegetables to wandering folk with ease. As an added bonus, you find yourself becoming less and less skittish with the outside world, the early morning and afternoon sun adding to your comfort. Soon, traders are closing up shop, crowds thinning out at around the time of dinner, when the chill begins to bite in the air, leaving you one of the last to finish up. You’re swaying your hips, a tune playing on your lips as you count your earnings for the day. Your back is to the stand when a shadow creeps upon your form, blotching out the orange rays of light from the sunset.

Another last-minute customer you suppose.

You’re spinning on your heel, whipping on a friendly smile.

“Hello! Would- W... w....” Your smile drops from your face, twisting into an expression of gut-wrenching horror. Your eyes widen a fraction as your heart picks up pace, coins slipping from your hands, pinging against the ground.  

“What a lovely surprise.”

It’s... It’s him... standing before you now, his towering form keeping close to the tent of shade provided by your stand. He simply smiles at your shuddering gasp, one that’s thin and dangerous, lips peeling back to reveal dull, flat teeth.

Human... Normal...

You know it’s just an illusion to trick you- You know the truth- You saw him rip poor Diana to pieces-

“I thought I’d never get the chance to see you again,” He breathes out softly, voice deep and velvety, beckoning you closer, calling you in like a siren’s song.  

That’s the last thing you want to do however, you want to bolt, scream, escape- But... You don’t. Mostly, because of his eyes, endless and dark, captivating you to stay. And... Strangely enough, you do, following the tilt of his head with your own, wanting to maintain eye contact.

A part of you, strong and reasonable, asks what the hell you’re doing- You have to get out of here while you still can! But... Your eye lids are growing heavy, body growing almost weak. All you want to do is sleep. To stay here with him.

Something’s wrong.

“Oh, I’m so glad I found you. I can give you so much... I can release you from this pain, this fear, that memory that haunts you in the depths of the night,” His promises are sickeningly sweet, just like his tone, which only jumbles one thought after the other, confusing you immensely.

This is the monster you witnessed in the alleyway, this is the monster that forever haunts your nightmares... Right? It... It was him... Wasn’t it? It had to be...?

You’re doubting yourself more and more the longer you stare into those black voids, getting lost in them, in their emptiness and hollowness, finding yourself falling into them.

No, something is wrong!

It’s overtaking you, like a body of water, muffling your senses, the outside world beginning to dull and grey, his being the only clear figure now, the only thing that makes sense.

Why were you so afraid again?

He’s reaching out to you, an icy hand resting firmly on your shoulder, and you find yourself melting into his touch, “Let me help you. I know you want it.”

You... You want his help?

You’re in a fog, your grip on the world slipping and slipping... You can’t think, a haze overtaking your mind every time you try to... But... Why would you want to in the first place?

Yes, you want his help.

“You need my help.”

Yes, that’s all you want, that’s all you need, his help. You’re finding everything so confusing, you need his help, you’re in pain without it, in a burning agony. You find yourself slowly nodding your head along to his melodic words.

His grin is almost serpentine now.

“Good, now, just come to me, my dear.”

You’re rounding the stand, shuffling over like a zombie, entranced by his order and how it repeatedly echoes in your head. There’s a little voice however, perhaps your last shred of consciousness, crying out, pleading for you to stay away. But, he’s there, in front of you again, pale fingers beckoning you forth, smile and eyes welcoming you in.

“Come closer, and let me in.”

The voice, your common sense, is snuffed out like a candle flame, a peace you’ve never known before wrapping around you like a warm blanket, setting your soul at ease. You gladly take your final steps towards him. He’s enveloping you, caging you in with his arms. You don’t see his wolfish grin, you don’t see how his teeth grow and sharpen. All you experience is the warmth of his breath against you neck, and the empty, black and white of the sky.

[littledraga]

I’ve Fallen for You

[ailsaalice-blog]

What’s so special about the Women Dresses in Red?

Be the lady in Red!

The lady in red is dancing with me, cheek to cheek

There's nobody here, it's just you and me

It's where I want to be

But I hardly know this beauty by my side

I'll never forget the way you look tonight… by Chris De Burgh

You asked us for it! So, here we are discussing about all the Women Dresses’ in red. These dresses in red are a lot more special and very unique from the rest of the colours and owning a red Office Wear For Women is not an essential requirement, but rather a matter of privilege. 

 Why can’t the Work Clothes For Women be in Red?

Remember ladies, if you wish to stand out in a crowd, then probably wearing the red Business Women Dresses can be a smart weapon of your choice. The Online Shopping Site For Women’s Clothing has its own workwear clothing brand that always designs the Professional Dresses, Ladies Jackets, Ladies WorkWear Suits and other such products. We have worked hard to continually improve each of the products based on the demand for comfort, more flattering fits, trendy Material For Dresses and better features. 

 Why should one choose red?

Because ...Red grabs attention!!!Red screams loud of sexiness!!!

Without wasting much time, let’s begin and talk a little about this Office Wear For Women designed by us in particular – the Gold Ring Belt Pleated Dress. The deadly attractive dress is flame inducing, what more can one ask for? It even tops our list of the Smart Women’s WorkWear.

Beat the Power Dressing fashion style in Red!

Actually, the idea of this one originally was to give all the working women the ultimate corporate dress feeling in our amazing pure polyester fabric.The very luxurious sleeveless dress has a pleated detail and a very pretty gold ring belt decoration in the waist. This belt on the waist helps helps in forming a nice silhouette. This Business Wear for Women comes with an impressive delicate detail on the front part starting from one side of the waist with pleats in the middle. The pleated slit allows the wearer a greater ease in walking. This pretty red dress has a direct effect on the senses and almost always invokes a spell of imminent lust. The red colour of the Smart Dresses For Work from the online shops for women signifies longing, passion and temptation.

Why have we chosen red for this dress? 

The color of blood, danger, love and fire, red is associated with all earthy sensations such as yearning and sexual desire, and it encourages action and the unleashing of one’s seductive powers. This Women’ Office Wear can also be worn to your evening dates with that important person of yours.

Up next we present to you our favorite statements that no other color can make quite as prominently as red, the enchanting Rich Flower Lace Dress.This one in particular is a big addition to our Lace Dresses collection. A Full Sleeves Dress given a proper tailored fit on the top half leaving the rest as full skirt around the bottom, for comfort and also styling reasons is the perfect Office Wears For Ladies. The attractive red Lace Material Dresses represent femininity, temptation, seduction, fascination, excessive stimulation, and a fiery personality of the person wearing it, all these qualities wrapped up into one. 

Speaking of Vibrancy and Willpower,

Can the red colour ever set the Smart Dress Code at your office?

The red colour of the Lace Material For Dresses has its own powerful effect on the male senses and Feng Shui, associates the red colour with life’s energy, self-confidence, bravery, as well as willpower. Red is also responsible for one’s physical vitality, mental perseverance, passion for life, and sense of security. For centuries together now, people have believed that wearing the red coloured Women Dress or the red Women’s WorkWear awakens one’s physical life force and enhances the vigor, stamina, and spontaneity in people’s life.

The dress that screams of Vitality and Willpower: The Peplum Bodice Dress 

This stylish peplum dress has been designed with new features. It has a high neck bodice, and a contrasting plain skirt in the same colour. This style is combined with a concealed centre back zip,fully lined and falls elegantly till the knees. This Long Sleeves’ Dress has boosted the popularity of our peplum dresses collection and it also gives a beautiful shape to the body that wears it. 

    Look hot as hell for that new instagram post of yours in the Peplum Bodice Dress!

Be a lucky charm in The Button Lining Peplum Dress

The Business Formal Dress for Woman creates all the magic that you want and the button details on one side of the bust, makes the dress super expressive. The peplum design of this charming outfit gives the body line a slender look. 

The Business Women Dresses in red create a captivating beauty for red has its own set of powerful magic attributes. 

Red is the colour of Extremes! 

If you aren’t aware of this fact: Both the Western and Eastern cultures have strong beliefs when it comes to the color red and its ability to protect against malicious forces or to enhance good fortune. In many parts of the world, for instance, wearing any red Material For Dresses or a piece of clothing wards away evil eyes. 

Did You Know? 

The red colour brings good luck and prosperity in one’s life. Also, speaking of the potent magic attributes, in the Chinese culture the colour red is famously associated with fortune. The powerful colour is known to bring prosperity to one’s home if the doors are painted red.

If you want to give these ultimate Professional Dresses a try, visit our website soon. There is a shade of red for every woman in our collection of Work Wear Dresses. You can order these dresses based on your desired size and colour options available with us.

Ladies, choose your reds wisely to be the "lady in red" dress who makes a bold fashion statement!

[nh935]

Creepy America Episode 5: Hotel California

Creepy America

Episode 5

“Hotel California”

Bethesda, Maryland

When you stop and think about it, life has a strange momentum all of its own, doesn’t it? During the time you’re trying to get something started, whether that be a career, a commitment, or even a hobby, it feels like an uphill battle. It's exhausting. It's not fun. But if you have enough willpower, you can finally crest that hill and give it one final push, and then it’ll be rolling down the mountain side, and instead of propelling it, you’re just trying to keep up.

 That’s what I think about when I reminisce about our fifth episode, “Hotel California”. We had completed our trials by fire: the cohabitation, the methodology behind the research, the deadliness of our subject matter. One we had arrived at Bethesda, that large rock with “Creepy America” painted on the side was barreling down the summit. All that was left to do was chase after it and see where it led.

 ***

 “So I’m going to meet you back here at nine, right?” Zoey asked as I got out of the car.

 It was a solution to the problem we had been discussing since Hurricane. We had two needy children, “Faces of America” and “Creepy America”, and both were demanding our attention in ever increasing volumes. Particularly problematic was the research portion; for “Faces”, we had to spend a good deal of time on foot tracking down people who were worth interviewing, and ever since realizing that all our previous research topics were bogus, we had to do that for “Creepy America” too.

 After shooting around various ideas, we decided that the best solution was just to split it up. Zoey could spend her time looking around for interviewees. I would ask around town to see if I could find inklings of the bizarre and strange. Neither one of us would advance past that point; Zoey still wanted a cameraman and it’d just be stupid for me to go exploring the dark on my own. But this way, we cut in half the time it took to do one thing.

 Hence the question. Zoey was dropping me off at the “Ritzman” hotel that was just outside the boundaries of the town. My plan was to spend some time chatting with both the local staff and some of the out-of-towners, seeing if I could find anything worth investigating. After that, I’d read up on the potential leads online. We only had one car, though (minus the R.V., which wasn’t the easiest to maneuver around), so Zoey was dropping me off and catching up later.

 “Yeah. By that point I should have two or three things ready to follow up on.” As I got out, I cradled my laptop and a small hand-held camera. Zoey was still a little upset that I didn’t capture her heroic rescue from the blood curse on film, so she had bought two tiny camcorders and insisted that we have them on our person at all times, just in case.

Zoey gave a little snort and rolled her eyes.

 I looked at her. “What?”

 “No offense Liam, but finding topics requires talking to people, and that’s not always something you’re good at.”

 “I can talk to people.” I could feel my face going red.

 “Alright, how ‘bought we put a bet on it?” She leaned out of the doorway and offered her hand in my direction. “Five dollars says I can find twice as many people to interview as you’ll find episode topics.”

 I stared at the hand for a second. Zoey and I made these bets often, but I rarely won them. The safe decision would be to simply say no.

 But then, as always, pride won out.

 I grabbed the hand and shook it. “Fine.”

 She smiled. “Right. See you at nine to collect my five dollars.” She grabbed the car door and shut it, driving away before I could respond.

 “Your five dollars…” I grumbled. I shook my head and ascended the stairs to the hotel.

 ***

 The Ritzman hotel was a grand place. The entirety of the building was decorated in rich earth tones; green carpet the color of pine needles covered the floors and stairs while dark brown woods formed the walls and various railings. The lobby was huge and spacious, with tall doors opened to show the rooms inside. Ballrooms, gift shops, what looked like a resteraunt, and a bar.

 “Can’t talk to people” I muttered as I made my way into the bar. “I can talk plenty fine.”

 Inside was much the same as the lobby. The bar was a deep chestnut color. Various tables, booths, and even a pool table sat in the large area. I looked around the room, saw a man in a navy blue suit bent over a drink, and sat down next to him.

 He glanced over to me for just a second, then turned back to his drink.

 I nodded at him. “Um, hello.”

 He gave me another sideways look, then nodded at me.

“So, uh, how are you?”

 There was some kind of grunt as he turned to his drink.

 “Well, that’s… good to hear. You a local or…?”

 He fully turned around to look me in the eye. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m here to drink, not to socialize. This trip has been stressful enough.”

 “Alright, fine, but do you mind if I asked you one question?”

 He raised an eyebrow.

 “Have you seen anything strange around here?”

 He stared at me for a second, picked up his drink, and walked away to another corner of the room, sitting down in a booth as far away from me as possible.

 Maybe Zoey had a point.

 “Well, that went over as well as a lead balloon.”

 I turned towards the sound of the unfamiliar voice. It was a guy, not much older than me, dressed in a vest and tie. He grinned at me. “Want something to ease the sting?”

 I started to say no, then sighed. “Rum and Coke?”

 “I.D.?”

 I fished out my wallet and handed him the little card.

 He studied it, then began filling a glass. “Indiana? Safe to say you’re not from around here.”

 I took the drink and downed a mouthful. “On a road trip, actually.”

 “Staying here?”

 “No. We got an R.V.”

 “We?”

 “Me and my…” I stopped for a moment to find the words “...business partner.”

 “And the plot thickens. What kind of business requires a road trip in an R.V.?”

 I took another swig. “We’re doing a webshow, ‘Creepy America’. Going from state to state, trying to find weird or strange things to investigate.”

 “So is it like an educational thing? Going to spots of historic murders, famous cemeteries, that sort of thing?”

 “Kind of. But we’re looking for paranormal stuff.”

 He gave a slow nod. “Ghost hunting.”

 “That, and other stuff. Urban legends, supposed witches…” I racked my brain trying to think of other topics we covered. “...cursed paintings...”

 “So kind of like that ‘Supernatural Hunters’ show on cable.”

 “Yeah, exactly! Except we’re legitimate.”

 “Isn’t that what they all say?” he asked with a laugh.

 I could feel my face getting red again. “So, you’re, uh, pretty good at talking to people, huh?”

 He shrugged. “Comes with the territory. Some people, like suit over there, just want a quiet place to drink, but most people expect their glass to come with a complimentary conversation. And you got to make those people happy, because those are the people who tip.”

 “Sounds annoying.”

 “Not really. I mean, it can be, but only with annoying people. Besides, I’m too curious, and I hear too many good stories.”

 I sat up and leaned over. “Hear anything strange, or spooky?”

 “Sorry friend.” He smiled and shook his head. “Nothing that would work for your show. The only thing we got is Crazy Sims, but he’s just regular crazy.”

 “Crazy Sims?”

 He picked up a glass from behind the counter and started drying it. “Stevie Sims, room 405. He was a little-time rock-and-roller back in the 70s, before he lost his mind and became convinced that the Eagles were Satanists and their songs were secret warnings.”

 “I think I’ve heard other people say that. It doesn’t sound too crazy.”

 “Yeah, but that’s where most people stop. Sims was convinced that the Eagles knew he was onto them, and had summoned demons to stop him from letting the world know. The band ended up finding him locked in his hotel bathroom, screaming about ‘the Captain’ or something. They managed to talk him out, but he was never really the same. Gave up on his music, on his life. Spent all his time trying to piece together the ‘conspiracy’. Rarely ate or slept, that’s how obsessed he was.”

 He put down his glass and sighed, picking up another one. “Everyone wanted to have him institutionalized somewhere, but they couldn’t. Stevie just didn’t want to go. They tried to force him through court, but they couldn’t prove he was a danger to himself and/or others. The manager here was an old friend, so he let him stay here for free. He’s been here for about forty years now. Sad, when you think about it.”

 I sat there in silence, my drink forgotten. After a bit, I asked “Do you think I could see him?”

 ***

 It took a while, but I finally convinced the silver-haired manager to let me visit him. When I did, he handed me an ancient brass key. 

 “You can’t miss the door. It’s the only key without a card reader” he told me. “When you see him, please try to be calm about it. He’s easily spooked.”

 Unlike the other floors, which had door after door after door, the fourth floor only had five. That meant that the fourth floor was where all the penthouses are located. He must have been a really good friend.

 405 was at the end. Like the others, it was shut with a large set of double doors, but they were in poorer shape than the rest. Large scrape marks ran down the wood. Some of the edges of were splintered and broken. The room itself was nestled at the end of the hallway, and the wall lights had trouble penetrating the corners, not so much that it was hard to see, but just enough to shade the doors to a light black and give them an ominous weight, like an oversized headstone standing at the edge of a cliff.

 I knocked on the door. “Mr. Sims?”

 No answer.

 I knocked louder. “Mr. Sims? Is it alright if I come in? I want to talk to you.”

 More silence.

 I put my ear up to the door. I could hear footsteps, and talking, but the words were unintelligible.

 I turned on my camera and held it up to my eye. I put the key in the lock, heard a loud ‘click’, and slowly pushed the door open. “Mr. Sims?”

 There were papers everywhere. On the walls. On the ceiling. On the floors, blotting out the carpet. Some had faces, photos, maps. Others were covered in tiny, neat text, and more still were just large, black symbols, the kind you would find in an alchemist’s notebook. Whatever furniture was there, a couch, an end table of some kind, was drowned in the flood of information.

 Pacing from one side and back, one side and back, was a man in a white shirt and dirty jeans. His hair was a mess and his eyes were wild. Even though the doors were in full view of the room, and he walked in front of me close enough to touch, he acted like I wasn’t there, just muttering and kicking up papers.

 I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the wild, frantic look in his eye, the kind of look you would find on a wild animal trapped in a cage, told me everything I needed to know.

 I silently closed the door.

 ***

 By the time Zoey made it back to the Ritzman, it was close to 9:30. I didn’t notice; I had my laptop open and was in the middle of reading something.

 She flopped down next to me and gave a long, loud sigh. “Words can not express how much I miss West Virginia. I swear, everyone here treated me like I killed their dog or something. Not a single person was interested in the interview. Not one!”

 I didn’t respond, still engrossed in the text.

 She glanced over to me and smirked. “Buuut… if I remember my sixth grade math, two times zero is zero, so I think you owe me five dollars.” She held out her hand.

 I still didn’t say anything.

 “Hey!” she shouted, “earth to Liam! Hello?”

 “Did you know that there’s a rumor online that a group of Satanists bought an abandoned church and converted it into a Satanic temple and christened it the ‘Hotel California’, and a lot of people think that’s where Don Heley got the inspiration for the song?” I asked without pausing for breath.

 Zoey blinked. “What?”

 “In fact, one of the most persistent urban legends is that in the picture on the inside of the album label, the figure on the balcony is Anton LeVay, the founder of modern Satanism, who started his cult in California.”

 Zoey continued to stare at me, then her face changed into an expression of recognition. “Liam, you can’t just make up a topic to win the bet.”

 “I’m not!” I said. I told her about Stevie Sims, his obsession with the Hotel California, and what I saw in his room, then I showed her the recording I had captured of the crazed Sims pacing in his room.

 She watched, then shrugged her shoulders. “Doesn’t look like you found anything to me.”

 “What?” I protested.

 “Look at him.” She pointed to Sims on the screen. “He’s just plain old nuts! I should know, we had to commit my uncle.”

 A thought occurred to me. “So, with the painting, is that why…”

 “Yes” she interrupted.

 I paused for a second as I processed this. “Alright. But you told me to find a topic to investigate. That was the bet.”

 “A topic worth investigating.”

 “It is!”

 “Fine then,” she declared, “how about we double the bet? Ten dollars says Sims isn’t haunted by anything except unbalanced brain chemicals.”

 Without even thinking about the odds Sims was right or wrong, I stuck out my hand. “Deal.”

 We shook, and thus started the Sims investigation.

 ***

 We spent that night researching, Zoey looking up information on Sims and me continuing to dive into the rumors around the Eagles’ hit song. There wasn’t much on him; Sims was the bassist for a band called “The Velvet Keys”, but the band broke up after his incident, a little under two years after they were founded. Past that point, the information online was eclipsed by a motown band of the same name, which really drove home the point about how obscure they really were.

 I found out more about the song, but it was disappointing. The Eagles’ rumored involvement with Satanism was false, as well as the appearance of LeVay (it was a random woman hired for the shoot). As for the ‘Hotel California’ itself, the notion about it being about a Satanist church was proven wrong, as was the rumor about it being about mental hospital, a drug rehab facility, an inn run by cannibals, and, somehow, cancer.

 I kept my fingers crossed that our interview with Sims would go better.

 ***

 We got to the Ritzman bright and early the next morning and made our way back up to room 405. Camera ready and rolling, Zoey knocked loudly on the door.

 “Mr. Sims?” she called out.

 There was no response.

 She knocked again and called out louder. “Mr. Sims, this is Zoey Hammersham. I wanted to know if we could talk to you about the Hotel California.”

 The door slammed open and Sims stared down at us, dressed in the same clothes I had seen him in yesterday. His black hair was pointed every which way, like an overgrown thorn thicket, and his face was as pale as snow. The wild look in his eyes was only increased.

 “Who sent you here?” he almost screamed. “The Captain? The Night Man? Sherry? It’s Sherry, isn’t it?”

 Zoey held her hands up in a show of peace. “Mr. Sims, please calm down. We heard your story from the barkeep downstairs and we wanted to ask you some questions.”

 “The Miller kid.” His shoulders slumped. “So that’s it. You’ve come to see the freak.”

 “Not at all. We want to hear your side of the story, if you’d let us. Set the record straight.”

 “Sure, so you can pump me full of drugs? Spout psuedo-babble at me and tell me that the only demons are in my head?” He started to shut the door, but Zoey placed her hand on it. Not forcing it open, not a display of aggression, just a firm instance of one more chance.

 “Mr. Sims,” she said, “if you really want us to leave, we’ll leave. But I urge you to consider talking to us. You’ll find we’re a lot more open minded than most.”

 He raised an eyebrow. “Whatever makes you think you could possibly understand what I went through?”

 “Well, I recently got cursed by a blood spell. And I had to rescue him from inside a painting” she said, jerking a thumb over at me.

 He lingered on the door for a moment; I think he was scanning our faces for any sign of dishonesty or mocking. When he didn’t find any, he opened it wide and gestured inside. “I guess you’d better come in.”

 It was much as I remembered it. The earthen tones the hotel was decorated in were buried under oceans of paper, tacked onto walls, taped onto cabinets, sprawled across beds and other furniture. Everything from book pages to crudely draw magic symbols littered the walls. Signs that someone had been living there, like dirty dishes and cast-off clothes, existed, but had also gotten buried in the paper, as if the daily implements of existence were less essential than this amalgamation of insanity.

 As it to reinforce my thought, Sims gathered up a pile of papers on three wooden dining chairs and carefully placed them into three piles on the floor under the table. Zoey sat down while I tried to find open floor space to set the tripod up.

 “Is it alright if we record this conversation?” she asked.

 He fidgeted in his seat. “What’s it going to be used for?”

 “We run a web show called “Creepy America”, where we investigate stories like yours. Depending on how things go, we’d like to do an episode on your experience.”

 “So you’re going to interrogate me?”

 “Far from it. We just want you to tell your story, the way you know it, and the way you’re comfortable with. I’m going to ask as few questions as possible. Any research into whether you’re right or wrong is going to happen outside this room.” She turned to me behind the camera and I gave a thumbs up.

 He sighed, nodded, and then began to speak. What follows are his words, as best as I can remember them:

 ***

 The Velvet Keys were Dougie’s baby, no question about that. I don’t think any of us would have gotten involved if it weren’t for him. I mean, we could all play, but none of us were particularly serious about it. I only tried to learn to impress girls, and I chose bass guitar because it was the cheapest option at the pawn shop. But Dougie wanted to go places. Yeah we were shit, he told us, but everything on the radio was shit, so what was stopping us from becoming rich and famous shit? Man had a way with words.

 We’d been playing for about two years, local dive bars and an album that only our friends and family bought, when Dougie told us that he’d managed to twist the arm of his dad’s friend into giving us a spot at the L.A. Spotlight Music Fest. Looking back, it wasn’t a great gig; the pay was peanuts and the role was patronizing at best. I think we were supposed to be playing on some side stage with a bunch of other indie bands so that there was something to do besides the big acts that people had obviously came to see. But to a bunch of college kids from Reno, this was the biggest thing to ever happen in our lives.

 Problem was, we didn’t have enough space. James had to beg his girlfriend to let us take her van, and that could only fit our equipment and three out of four of us. We spent a whole night over at his garage, trying every configuration we could think of to Tertis some more space, but it was simply impossible. I volunteered to drive myself there. I was the only other one with a reliable car and besides, I enjoyed driving, especially through those long, cool desert nights, when all the stars are out and you can see for miles and miles and miles. Plus I could take some extra equipment with me, so the plan got a pretty quick yes.

 I left about three hours after I was supposed to, lost track of time strutting my new-found ‘musician’ label to a few chicks, so by the time I was on the road it was late. When I hit Willow Springs, the sun was already setting.

 I’m not sure when I smelled it. Past Willow Springs, obviously, but how far past, I don’t know. That sweeter-than-a-skunk smell of marijuana. Soon as it hit my nose, though, hit me like a freight train. My eyes started drooping, and I started nodding off. Woke up riding the shoulder at one point. That’s when I knew I had to stop. It wasn’t really a big deal. The gig wasn’t happening ‘til tomorrow night, and it was an eight hour trip, so I knew I was probably going to have to stop at some point.

 There was a big ol’ billboard on the side of the road. “Hotel California, next exit”. Seemed as good a place as any. I wish I would’ve kept driving, but part of me knows that no matter what I did, I would have ended up there. That Hotel marked me, somehow. From the minute I smelled it, I was stuck in its clutches.

 The place looked exactly the same as it did on that goddamn album cover, and I don’t care what anyone says about that place in Mexico. This was the spitting image of that photo: Medeterranian swooping arches made with white plaster, the style of a Spanish Mission house. It even had the neon blue sign. I’d heard the song, of course, but hadn’t seen the album. Part of me thought it was real neat, staying at the place with a name that was sung about on the radio. Romantic, I guess is the word. I told myself that I would have to ask the manager if this was the same one.

 I pulled into the parking lot, only car there, and there was a set of old fashioned clock-bells ringing out nine. Once I parked, I got out and there was this woman standing in the entrance, prettiest thing I’d ever seen. Luscious full auburn hair. Emerald green eyes. Perfectly curved, soft and sexy. No, not sexy. Beautiful. She wasn’t created in that fake Playboy way, with too much makeup and bits that obviously defy gravity. She was real. It was a Louvre sculpture came to life, like every woman in the world was a pale attempt to imitate her. I’m not making sense, am I? Nevermind, you get the idea.

 She had her back turned to me, but she turned around as soon as my foot hit the first step. “Stevie,” she said, “you’re here. Finally!” I wanted to ask what she meant, but I couldn’t. I felt drugged. Like my body was disconnected from my mind. And the weirdest part was I didn’t care. It was like a dream. You don’t question it, you just go along for the ride. 

 I climbed, no, floated up those steps. She took me in a warm, loving embrace, lips passionately caressing mine, dancing with our tongues. By the time it was finished, I had regained enough of my senses to talk again.

 “Who… who are you?” I asked.

 She laughed. “Stevie, you joker. Don’t tell me you don’t remember your Sherry.”

 She took my hand and began to lead me back deeper into the hotel. It was decorated exactly as you’d expect it to: white-washed walls, interior balconies, gold and black carpets lit with warm yellow light bulbs. As she practically skipped me inside, we passed this older black guy, tail end of middle age with thinning short hair and the barest hints of wrinkles around his eyes, with this grey suit behind the reception desk, staring as we went.

 I stopped. “Don’t we have to check in?”

 She giggled. The sound was intoxicating. “It’s all been arranged for, Stevie. Don’t you remember?”

 As she said it, the receptionist took out an old-fashioned key and handed it to me. “Room 102, the honeymoon suite.”

 I stared at him in disbelief as Sherry swung my hand back and forth like an impatient child. I turned to her, smilied, and the two of us raced to the room. It was a giant, over the top thing. The furniture was done in pink fur of some kind. The ceiling was covered entirely in big mirrors. The whole place was the size of a small apartment, and at the end was a massive, heart shaped bed, one Sherry draped herself over and beckoned to me to.

 (At this point, Sims became visibly uncomfortable.)

 Look, I don’t think I need to spell out every detail, okay? I think you can figure out what happened. I can say it was amazing, the best in my life. I had one or two exploits of my own. I was no dewy eyed virgin when I walked in. But somehow, those memories paled in comparison to what I was experiencing now. It made those nights feel like empty times spent alone, pleasuring myself.

 (The discomfort returned to his face, and it took him a few moments to begin speaking again.)

 I spent three days there. I knew that my bandmates were back waiting for me, that they’d be pissed if they learned that I bailed on them to hang around in this roadside motel. I didn’t care, though. More than that, it wasn’t important. I knew it, I remembered it, but it didn’t feel as real as the hotel. Thinking back on the gig was like thinking back on a dream: sure, it had seemed urgent in the moment, but now that I was awake, I realized it didn’t matter.

 It was always sunset, though. The first morning, I thought I had woken up before dawn, but nope. Just eternal sunset, right at the moment of pastel pink and purple skies. Never changing. Time passed just fine. You could tell by the church bell ringing out the hours, and your body didn’t seem to care. You got hungry and tired at the right times, so the perception of the day passed like it should. It was just frozen at a moment of beauty.

 Over the course of the next few days, Sherry introduced me to the “regulars”, as she called them. There was Mr. Barrows, the receptionist that I met the first day, as well as Junior, his son who worked there as a janitor/maintenance guy. He looked identical to his dad, ‘cept he was younger and wore a blue jumpsuit. And minus the thinning hair and wrinkles, obviously.

 Then there was Bradley, this chiseled Fabio-looking guy with this long black mane of hair and bronze skin who was really friendly with Sherry. They didn’t quite tell me that they’d been together before I got there, but they weren’t exactly hiding it either. When I confronted Bradley about it, he’d just grin and say “don’t worry about it, all I was doing was keeping her warm for you.” That answer only made me madder, but soon Sherry would be on me, draped over me, kissing me, and I’d forget everything except how much I loved her smell and the warmth of her touch.

 There was another couple there, Julie and Jared. Jared was a lot like Bradley, muscles and whatnot, ‘cept his skin was paler and his brown hair was cut shorter. Not short, just shorter than full-on main. Julie was this blond haired, blue eyed beauty that was almost as gorgeous as Sherry. Almost. They spent all their time together, kissing and holding hands, but they kept making remarks that it wasn’t serious, they were just passing the time while they were waiting for someone else. Waiting like Sherry had for me. I didn’t like the implication, and I liked it even less that, out of everyone else in the Hotel, these were the people Sherry seemed to enjoy the company of the most.  But I could never be mad for long, because soon her attention would turn back to me and the world would fade away.

 The last two people didn’t have names, just titles. The first was this large man called “The Captain.” He was almost seven feet tall and close to three hundred pounds of pure muscle stuffed into a white navy uniform. Not sculpted muscle, like the Fabios, but wiry, tough muscle, the kind that comes not from vanity but from necessity. He had these wild blonde sideburns and this crazy mustache and beard. I wasn’t quite sure what he was doing there; the guests seemed to treat him like staff and the staff seemed to treat him like a guest. He didn’t seem to have a preference one way or the other.

 The last guy, the one I liked the least, was the Night Man. He was almost as tall as the Captain and just as heavy, but with fat instead. He wore this filthy long black coat and, swear to heaven, an actual wood peg leg on his right leg. It made him wobble when he walked. He only seemed to show up during the evening and at night, when he’d walk up and down the halls with a flashlight. I guess he was their version of a security guard. But he did his best to stay out of our hair. If he walked into a room someone was in, he’d just nod and leave the same way he came in.

 There were more too. Lots of guests. There was this old guy in a tweed suit and a fat hispanic man. More I didn’t care to pay attention to. I barely looked at the regulars, all my eyes had room for was Sherry, and when we weren’t in our rooms, enjoying each other privately, we were out together, talking to others or drinking or just slow dancing in the evening light to music none of us could ever see the source to, none of us caring. Most guests joined into these dances.

 Once, when I had just completed a long dance with Sherry, I turned to the Captain and shouted for wine. He gave a hearty laugh and said something along the lines of “We haven’t had that kind of enthusiasm here since ‘69, at least”, and my memory of the song came back, as well as a feeling of unease. I tried to ask about it, but Sherry kissed me and my mind returned to it’s blissfully drunken state.

 On the third day, as my body was telling me that time had slipped close to night, I was lying with Sherry on the bed, pleasantly exhausted, drunk on the feeling of us, together. “I can see why no one seems to leave here,” I gasped between breaths, “nobody would ever want to.”

 Sherry sat up, and for the first time… ever , I saw sadness in her eyes. “They want to leave,” she whispered. “We all want to.”

 I turned to her. “Why don’t you?”

 “We all have a vice, and we chose to sell our souls to feed it. But that bill doesn’t come due until we check out.” She stood up and dressed herself. “Follow me, Stevie. It’s time for you to see something.”

 I got dressed and followed her out to the hallway, down a passageway we’d never gone down before, to a large ballroom. It was dimly lit. I could barely make out the faces of Barrows and Bradely, faces filled with dread, and I could see the silent silhouettes of all the other guests, but what drew my eye more was the large mass in the middle of the room. I couldn’t understand the shape, all I could figure out was that it was moving slightly. Breathing.

 Barrows reached out to it and grabbed the large cloth covering it. He ripped it to one side, filling the room with a “swoosh”, and underneath was a pig. A boar, more like, but even that’s not quite right. It was massive. It had to be six feet long, snout to tail, and it was so heavy I didn’t understand how the table under it didn’t just give way. The hair was a black tangle, rough as ropes. The eyes were a dull sheen of red. Its limbs were tied to each other with thick bindings, keeping it from moving, reducing it to the panicked fidgets I had seen earlier. And panicked it was. I could see the pure terror in its eyes.

 Barrows withdrew a long, thin knife. Everyone else soon did the same and, without a word, they all stepped up to the boar. Bradely. The tweed man. Even Sherry. And with a stone cold silence, they raised the knives and begun to plunge them over and over into the animal. Without ceremony, without discipline, this was the movements of unthinking frenzy as the droplets of blood flew all over the rooms, getting on the walls, the lights, their faces. In no time at all the whole place was red and the boar let forth a gutteral squeal, and through the animal sound I could hear one word…

 Pllleeeaaaasssseeee…

 The spell of the Hotel California broke for me. I was terrified. What was I doing here? How had I spent three whole days here? Who were these people? Why? I saw more and more blood fly, it was dripping out of Sherry’s hair, and I wanted to vomit. I ran out of that room, down the hallway, back to the lobby, back outside. As I did, I passed that damned Night Man, leaning on the doorframe, laughing as he did so. I bolted to my car, it was still the only one in the lot, how was it the only one in the lot with so many people staying there? And he laughed and called out to me:

 “You checking out, Stevie? Then run, flee if you must. But remember, just because you checked out, doesn’t mean you can leave.”

 ***

 Sims stopped narrating. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow. “I think I’d like to stop there. I’ll tell you more tomorrow.”

 Zoey nodded, and we left.

 ***

 “Yeah, yeah…” Zoey said, talking into her cell phone. “What was that?... No, of course not. Is it going to be used in an ongoing production, is that okay?... Well of course you’re going to be credited… All right, thanks man! Talk to you later.” She hung up the phone. “That was a classmate of mine. One of his projects was a music video for ‘Hotel California’. It doesn’t match Sims’ story perfectly, but it’s close enough to edit around.”

 I raised an eyebrow as I twirled more sesame noodles out of my Chinese take out box. “So… sounds like we’re doing an episode on this one, huh?”

 Zoey nodded and returned to her own food. “It might end up shorter than the others, but I’m not letting that story go to waste.”

 “Which would mean I won the bet.”

 She scoffed. “Nice try. You re-anted on the idea that Sim’s story was real, remember?”

 I frowned. “So you’re planning to do an episode on something you don’t think is real?”

 “Why not?” She shrugged. “Nobody thinks any of this is real anyway, remember? And it’s not like we have evidence to the contrary.”

 “But we’re supposed to be educating people.”

 She gave me a confused look. “I don’t remember agreeing to that, but…” her expression changed to a smirk, “does this mean that someone’s conceding the bet early?”

 “Fat chance” I said. We stop talking for a few moments, using the time to scarf down some more noodles, before I spoke up again. “You know, for someone who doesn’t believe him, you sure seemed to win him over really quick.”

 “You make it sound like I needed to trick him. He’s just a person. I think he knows I don’t believe him, but he was tired of being ridiculed and judged, and I let him know I wasn’t going to do either. That’s what won him over. Besides…” Zoey’s voice became softer, “even if it is all fake, the terror he feels is real.”

 I didn’t know how to respond, so I let the statement hang in the air as we finished our food.

 ***

 Stevie must have been waiting for us the next morning because Zoey barely knocked once before the door flew open and he beckoned us inside. He paced around the room as I set up the camera, and once I was finished, he turned away from the chair he had been sitting in last time and faced the window, one of the few places that didn’t seem to be covered in papers. As he spoke, he stared out at the pines and the river beneath him.

 “I don’t remember what happened after I left that parking lot. Fugue state, the shrinks called it. All I know is that the next thing I remember, I was in a dark room, on the floor, in my underwear, clutching my head and rocking back and forth. James was on the other side, I couldn’t quite make out the words, but he was pleading with me. For what I couldn’t tell, but the desperation in his voice was real enough. When I opened the door, he hugged me, then led me to the medics outside.

 “They wrapped me in a blanket and took me to the hospital. Medically, there was nothing wrong with me, but I told them my story, everything that happened at the Hotel California, and so I was diagnosed as crazy. They kept me there for a few days, attached to my hospital bed, but after they realized that I wasn’t going to try to steal any sharp things and stab ‘em where they weren’t supposed to, they let me go. Everyone came and visited me, my friends, my folks, the band members. I expected them to be angry at me, especially Dougie, but they all just stood next to my bed and looked worried. Like I had some kind of terminal cancer. Guess I really freaked them out.

 “For a while, everything seemed fine. Life went back to normal. But then it started bleeding back. First, on the highway. If I was driving out in the desert, especially at sunset, I would see the signs. ‘Hotel California, next exit’. I ignored them, of course, and then I started seeing the building in the distance. When I ignored that as well, I started seeing them again. I’d be out on the street, and the Captain would be in the middle of a crowd waiting to cross, staring at me, or I’d see Sherry, dining alone at an outdoor cafe, giving me a melancholy smile and disappearing when my line of sight was blocked, or, worst of all, I’d awaken at night to see the Night Man standing over my bed, laughing as the shadows made him fade away from view, leaving me alone again. It only added to my newfound insomnia, because at night, I would hear whispers, soft but all around me, telling me ‘Hotel California… such a lovely place… many a room here, Stevie… the master chamber is free, just for you…’

 “My parents paraded my in front of an army of shrinks, but it did no good. They told me I had schizoaffective disorder, prescribed drugs that did nothing, and told me to ease back into life. Shows how much an expert knows, huh? My problem wasn’t insanity, no, I was sane. Reality was insane. I was dealing with the supernatural and that was the problem that needed to be fixed. So I researched on my own. Didn’t do jackshit. Kept running into the same horse crap: the Eagles are Satanist, the Hotel is a desecrated church, LaVey is there. I hated that one in particular. I watched an interview with LaVey, man wouldn’t know magic if it shrunk him and fed him to a house cat.”

 At this point, Stevie turned around and faced us, the wild look in his eye bordering on full on madness. “Why can’t anyone see the truth? The Eagles weren’t in on it. They weren’t helping the Hotel. They were trying to warn us. They wanted us to stay away! But there’s something large and all seeing out there, keeping the truth hidden, keeping each and every one of us in the dark, swallowing up any information about the Hotel and what it really is. So they had to hide it, disguise it like a song. The perfect cover, and the perfect way to spread the news.”

 Stevie walked over to one of the cabinets, ripped off a piece of paper, and handed it to Zoey. It was a large drawing of a logo: a capital ‘A’ with what looked like large eagle wings.

 “Everytime I get close to something real,” he said, jabbing a finger at the paper, “this blocks me. It replaces information. It appears next to corrupted files. Redacted, deleted, lost, error retrieving file, every time walking hand in hand with that damnable ‘A’.”

 Zoey stared at the paper, then slowly put it down. “How did you come to end up here, Mr. Sims?”

 He returned to his window. “I noticed a pattern to the bleeding. It was worse near places that were similar to it. Out on the road, in the desert, at sunset, was the worst. But if I was in a city, during the daytime, inside an office building, well it hardly ever happened. I figured that I should move as far away from the desert as possible, so I told my parents that I was moving to New England and I wasn’t coming back. They were all for it. Honestly, I think they just wanted me gone by then. Luckily, my dad had an old war buddy there, a guy who used to be a pretty good friend of the family ‘til he moved away to run a hotel, and he said he would be happy to help me out until I got on my feet.” His face became an intense shade of scarlet. “I… never really moved out.”

 “It helped, for a while. But two, three years ago, the bleeding started again. I can see the neon blue of the hotel above the trees when I try to go to sleep. I see Sherry in the elevators sometimes. I see the Night Man in the halls. I hear the voices when everything else in my room is silent and dark. And I need to figure out how they escaped it! The Eagles made it out. The Hotel never snatched them. Or maybe it did, but they’ve found a truce, a way to live a life without its shadow hanging over them. I need to figure it out, because I can feel that I don’t have much time left. The bill is due and they won’t wait much longer.”

 ***

 “Schizoaffective disorder,” Zoey read from her laptop, “is primarily characterized by a combination of psychotic symptoms, such as hallucinations and delusions, and mood conditions, such as prolonged mania and/or depression. Such symptoms could include physical restlessness, such as pacing and frenzied research, intense periods of hopelessness, series of dream-like hallucinations about a hotel in the desert, and beliefs like the idea that the Eagles are communicating via song lyrics to him to warn about said hotel.” Zoey really loved to hammer the point home when she won an argument.

 I looked at my own screen in disappointment. Every lead in the Hotel California had wound up bust and there was no more trails to follow. I hated to admit it, but she was right.

 I sighed and handed her the ten bucks.

 She grinned, but it soon faded after she pocketed the money.

 “What’s wrong?” I asked her.

 “Look, I know that we’re just here to film stuff and all, and we really don’t know him all that well…” she fiddled with the end of her hair, “but maybe we should try to convince Sims to check in somewhere.”

 “He hasn’t agreed to it before” I pointed out.

 “I know, but maybe we can. We can at least try, and after seeing how tortured he is by all of this, we have to at least try. I don’t think I could just walk away knowing that he’ll forever live in that fear and agony and I did nothing to help.”

 “You’re really worried about the guy, aren’t you?”

 She didn’t say anything, but the expression on her face said it all.

 I nodded. “Alright. But we’re leaving tomorrow night. If he says no, we can’t wait around forever to change his mind.”

 A smile returned to her face. “Thanks.”

 ***

 “So what’s your plan?” I asked as we stepped out of the elevator and onto the fourth floor.

 “I dunno… I don’t think reason will work with him” she said. “Probably just ask him if he wants this to stop and try to convince him that getting help is the best way to do that.”

 “So what am I here for?”

 “Emotional support. Help if he gets… violent.”

 “Violent?” I stared at her as we continued to walk down the hall.

 I felt a sudden solid mass hit my side; I had accidentally ran into a kid in a blue jumpsuit, carrying janitor supplies. I turned around to him and gave him a quick “Sorry!”

 He shook his head and muttered something about tagalongs.

 “I don’t think he will” Zoey continued. “But it never hurts to be sure.”

 We were now in front of Sim’s room, the dark door somehow darker and more ominous as it stood in front of the gold and black carpet. Zoey knocked on it loudly. “Mr. Sims? It’s Zoey again. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

 I took out my little camcorder and turned it on. As I made sure it was recording, I noticed the little geometric patterns in the carpet, repeating patterns over and over again. It reminded me of the some of the mosque patterns you would see in a Medeterranian…

 I stopped.

 “Zoey,” I called out, “what color are the carpets here?”

 She turned to me, confused. “What does it matter? They’re gree…” she looked down at the gold and black carpet and stopped. Her eyes went wide.

 I moved past her, put in the key into the door lock, and opened it wide. Inside was the same it had been, except the papers were everywhere. The ones on the walls had been ripped off. Those sitting on the floor were no longer organized into neat piles. It was like a twister had blown through.

 Sims was nowhere to be found.

 Zoey strode into the room. “Sims? Mr. Sims, are you in here?”

 I moved in behind her. The room was silent and motionless, save for the fluttering of the occasional paper moved by the warm night air coming from the window. I looked out at it, then gasped and grabbed Zoey shoulder. “Look…”

 The pine trees were gone. The river was too. In its place was a flat desert landscape, drenched in sunset, the long horizon painted with pinks and purples.

 There was a sudden terrified scream behind us. It was the voice of Sims, coming from outside the room. And outside the room was no longer the Ritzman. The walls were white and rough with uneven spreadings of plaster. The enclosed hallway was replaced with an iron wrought banister separating the ledge from the open space. There was the sickly smell of something sweet wafting through the air and the light was a warm gold.

 Sims screamed again, and Zoey ran for the open door. “Wait!” I yelled. “We don’t know what’s over there!” She ignored me and barreled into the hallway and I followed after her. She turned a corner and ran down a staircase, taking the steps two at a time, exiting into the lobby of this place. Couches and chairs were scattered about, a receptionist counter with a wood paneled background lay empty to one side, and neon blue letters painted onto a large sign confirmed what I already knew:

 “Welcome to the Hotel California!”

 “Tagalongs, or are you planning on checking in?” a voice behind me questioned. I turned around to see a man with long, full black hair and toned bronze muscles sitting on one of the couches, lit cigarette in hand.

 “Bradley?” I guessed.

 He nodded.

 “Where’s Sims?” I asked.

 He pointed a finger down a hallway lined with doors. “Took off that way. Thinks he can run, I guess. Poor bastard. I liked him. He treated Sherry right. Not everyone does.”

 “C’mon. If we’re gonna save him, let’s do it quickly.” I moved towards where he pointed. Zoey didn’t follow; she was still staring at Bradley. I noticed that there was a small amount of drool leaking out of the corner of her mouth.

 “Zoey!”

 Sims screamed again, and Zoey snapped back to reality. She rushed with me down the hallway. The very last door at the end was open and we darted into it.

 Inside was a hotel room, a small foyer leading to a long room with a couch and TV on one side and a bed on the other. Sims was backed up into the far corner, his eyes bulging in fear. An older black man in a grey suit was standing at the other end of the room. Near him, on the couch, was a pale white guy in a polo who was shifting his gaze between Sims and the other man in bewilderment.

 “Mr. Sims,” the black man said, “I’m going to have to ask you to calm down. Please, you’re disturbing the guest.”

 “LEAVE ME ALONE!” Sims screamed.

 Zoey moved past the man and stood in front of Sims, arms outstretched wide. I made my way next to her. I had no idea what she was planning to do, but I wasn’t going to let her do it alone.

 The man, Mr. Barrows, I remembered from the story, raised an eyebrow at her. “Ma’am, please step aside.”

 She shook her head. “I’m not going to let you do anything to him.”

 “This man has a bill to pay, forty years overdue.” As Mr. Barrows spoke, two more men entered the room: a large, grizzled man with blonde hair in a navy uniform and a fat man with a greasy black overcoat and a fat wooden leg.

 Barrows nodded to the blonde man. “Captain, thank you for assisting.”

 “No problem” he responded. “Who are these two?”

 “Tagalongs, from the looks of it. They don’t appear to be marked by the Hotel. They are protesting us collecting Mr. Sims.”

 Zoey spread her feet a bit further apart, rooting her stance more firmly.

 The Night Man shook his head. “Kid, get down from there before you get hurt.”

 “Threaten me all you want, but I’m not leaving!” Zoey yelled back.

 “The danger’s not from me” the Night Man said darkly. I felt a strange, hot breath on the back of my neck and I looked back.

 Sims was gone, and in his place was a gigantic boar, with dark red skin and tangled black hair collected into stringy lumps on its spine. The crimson eyes held no recognition for me, or Zoey, or anyone else in the room.

 Just rage.

 I grabbed the back of Zoey’s shirt and dragged her to the side just as the thing charged. I held her hand and tried to run out of the room, but the fighting was right in front of us. The Night Man grabbed onto the beast’s mane and used it to hoist himself onto its back, riding the creature like a bull as it bucked and spun, slamming him into the walls and ceilings and he held on for dear life.

 “Ya’ gonna help, ya bastard?” he bellowed at the Captain, and the Captain lunged into the thing, forcing it to rear back on its hind legs. The two of them grappled as the Night Man tried to wrap his arms around the boar’s throat.

 The room was falling apart now. Chunks of ceiling fell onto the floor and a large hanging light crashed next to me. Zoey grasped at me and guided me under the bed with her, huddling in fear with me as we watched the battle play out.

 The Night Man was wrapped around the creature’s neck in a bear hug, choking it. The boar’s staggering dance with the Captain was becoming weaker, and, with one final heave, the Captain shoved the creature backwards, causing it to fall. As it did, the Night Man swung around it with an impossible grace so that once it had landed on its back, he was lying on the thing’s stomach. He withdrew a length of rope from his pocket and handed one end to the Captain. The two wasted no time winding it around the creatures ankles and legs, binding it completely.

 Zoey and I slowly got out from under the bed as the Night Man heaved the creature back upright. “I always knew Sims’d be an ornery one, but didn’t expect the bastard to be this mean!” he proclaimed with a chuckle. The boar writhed in fury, the ropes making the movements useless, but it only stopped when a woman walked in. A woman with auburn hair, perfect curves, a face of pure beauty and soft, inviting flesh.

 She knelt down beside it and stroked its head. “Stevie, please don’t be upset. You knew this would happen. If you reject heaven, the only place to go is hell.” She stopped petting the creature and it began struggling again, but the Night Man grabbed a section of the rope and started to pull him along as Barrows guided the guest out, saying “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, sir, we’ll get management to compensate you…”

 “Stop!”

 The group of people turned to Zoey, who had her arm raised after them. “Please...”

 Barrows arched an eyebrow at her. “Ma’am, this man has a debt to pay, and we fully intend to extract it. Now, if you wish to stay and lodge a formal complaint, you can always check in…”

 Zoey lowered her arm and didn’t respond.

 Barrows smilied. “Well then.” He and the others left the room, leaving us alone in the ruined space, with the furniture overturned and large broken chunks in the walls. An unearthly hush fell over everything, then there was a flickering of black, like a failing lightbulb, except it covered all our sight. When it stopped, we were back in Sim’s room at the Ritzman. The papers seem to have become even more scattered, but other than that, there was no trace that any of it had ever happened.

 The Hotel California was gone.

 ***

 We sat in the lobby all night, silent for hours and hours, too numb to even think. It was only when I saw the golden glow of the dawn begin to peak over the trees that my brain began to function again and a small voice told me that I had won the bet.

 A louder and far more sane voice responded that the bet was the least important thing in the world right now.

 “How are we going to explain what happened?” Zoey asked.

 I withdrew the small paper I had taken from Sims’ room. “I don’t think we need to.”

 Before she could respond, a man walked through the doors of the hotel, dressed in a black suit and tie with shiny mirror sunglasses on. “Where is the manager of this place?” he shouted.

 The silver-haired manager appeared behind the desk. “Can I help you sir?”

 The other man flashed some kind of badge quickly in front of the man. “Agent Thorn, with the parks department. You had a Steven Sims staying here, did you not?”

 “Yes?”

 “I regret to inform you that he’s dead. We found his body in the woods a few miles away. It appears to be a suicide.”

 “Oh god…” the manager seemed to buckle a bit.

 “Bullshit!” Zoey exclaimed.

 The agent turned to look at her. “Who the hell are you?!”

 I put my hand on her shoulder. “Sorry agent, she’s just upset. We got pretty close to Sims the last couple of days and this is a shock.”

 Zoey looked at me with confusion. “Liam…”

 I slowly shook my head.

 She stared at me, then stormed outside. I followed behind her, watching the agent track our movements until we had left.

 She got in the car and slammed her door. I got in as well, minus the slam.

 “What the hell was that?” she asked.

 I handed her the paper and she unfolded it. Inside was the winged ‘A’ logo Sims had shown us. “I’ve been thinking about what Sims said. About something hiding the truth. And what we learned, and haven’t learned. There’s no information about ‘Worlds of Wonder’. Or the Iris Broadcasting Company. And the stuff we do hear about, ghost lights and dogmen, all turns out to be fake.”

 She gave me a hard look. “But why stop me from telling the guy what really happened? He deserves to know.”

 “Do you remember the cops from Three Rivers, with the pit?”

 She nodded.

 “When I called to ask about them, the operator just denied that any officers were dispatched to the scene. Acted like they never existed. But their uniforms were in there. Bloody. Whoever these people are, they’re powerful, and they’ll do anything to keep this secret.”

 She looked away and stared at the windshield. “What are you saying? That we should stop the show?”

 I shook my head. “Of course not. But we need to be careful about what we say and who we say it to.”

 A moment of silence passed between us. “Do you think we’ll find out who they are?” Zoey asked.

 “I don’t think we need to worry about that,” I replied. “I’m sure they’ll find us soon enough.”

[yvaena]

Satele’s camp is empty. The ship she lived in remains, but is dusty and dark. The fires are cold. The books and weapons have not moved. Even the Force is quiet here, but for a humming along the edge of her senses. She knows who it is; she doubts he will disturb her.

The Wrath closes her eyes, senses for the former Jedi, and finds nothing.

Piece by piece she unlatches, unstraps, and removes her armor. She leaves the pauldrons and breastplate and bracers on an unused bunk, and after a moment of consideration, leaves her lightsaber next to the pile.

She walks to the cave where she forged once forged a weapon. The shade beasts evaporated along with Valkorion; the sleen and the makrin leave her be if she stays on the path, and so she does.

The Wrath cannot extract anything useful from her distress. To be Sith is to betray and be betrayed, and she learned early on to separate fairness from affection, to sift through her hurt and find resolve. She has always disdained the Jedi way of suppressing emotion - but she has never felt any kind of emotion like this before. Baras betrayed her, Baras betrayed her, but why is Theron’s treachery so viscerally, so brutally different?

The realization crystallizes in her mind and she stops in her tracks, the inner tumult quieting long enough for her to understand her own anguish:

You loved him.

Even as she resists the thought, strains against it with every ounce of willpower she has, as her eyes fill with tears and her fingernails dig into her palms with the effort of it, she knows the truth when she is faced with it, when it is a blaster pointed in her face and a mountain looming behind her.

She barely makes it to the edge of the water before she begins to sob.

She cried when she was a child, before she knew how to turn ache into anger into action. She learned at Korriban that she could be seen with a blade between her ribs and her throat in someone’s grip and still know victory, but tears would never bring her anything she wanted. Later, as an adult, in the wake of losses unforeseen, she would cry - she wept in the face of Senya’s sacrifice for her son, and she wept over Torian’s broken body, and she wept after Valkorion perished and she found herself seated upon the Eternal Throne. Respectful in her sorrow, dignified with her grief, she could always return to Wrath.

She is not prepared for this. 

She covers her mouth to stifle her cries but it doesn’t help. She is on her knees at the water’s edge, wailing, no longer the Emperor’s Wrath or the Outlander or the Commander of the Eternal Alliance, but a woman with a broken heart and a lost friend.

To be Sith is to wield passion as a shield, to sharpen fury and hatred into weapons, but what of sorrow and despair? What does she do with these? Where does she funnel them, who can they help? Why do they hurt so much? Why did she not see them coming?

She knows his smiles and his presence caught her off-guard, and she knows she should have avoided him. They should not have become friends - she should not have allowed her defenses to be slipped past, should not have allowed his wry comments to make her smirk, should not have valued his input above all others, should have stifled the swell of affection and warmth whenever she laid eyes on him.

The Wrath reaches for anger but cannot find it; she reaches for spite but cannot find it; she reaches for anything small, anything petty, and finds nothing. She cannot escape this ugly morass of feeling, and so she sobs harder.

He said he loved her, but did he? Could he? Why would he lie? But he lied about everything else. The Korriban in her blood calls for death but everywhere else, everything else she’s been and seen and done calls for understanding - why? Why would he betray her after everything he had done to help her succeed?

Why would he tell her he loved her if it was not true?

She is lost, she is afraid, she does not know what to do, and she finds she cannot stop returning to the why of it all, and the broken love of it all, and she cries anew, and she cannot stop.

Hours later, Senya is the one that finds her by the edge of the lake.

The Commander is standing knee-deep in the water, clad only in her exosuit, hair unbound, boots forgotten near a massive log. Her chest is heaving, her eyes are wild with grief, but she does not speak. 

Her struggle to regain composure sends ripples through the Force, ones that Senya can feel on her skin, ones that raise goosebumps underneath her armor. She tries not to forget that this woman is the most powerful creature in the known galaxy, but neither does she necessarily appreciate being reminded in so unsettling a manner.

The lake is unnaturally still, even as Wrath struggles, even as the ghostly figure on the shore steps into it to join his former comrade.

“What are you doing?” the spirit of Darth Marr asks sharply. “You are the Emperor’s Wrath, you are the--”

The Wrath does not answer him; she moves deeper into the lake, away from him, the surface of the water as glassy and immobile as a mirror. For a wild moment, Senya perceives the Wrath standing amidst an inverted winter sky like an ancient broken goddess, some avatar of vengeance and rage, and her goosebumps are renewed.

Still, she dare not interfere. Not yet.

Darth Marr tries again. “Satele felt you coming; she has no answers for you. She does not know why her son would--”

“Enough. She relinquished any maternal claim upon him long ago,” the Wrath says, her voice thick and rough. She turns her gaze to Marr, her unsettling smoke and honey stare, and she continues: “I came to tell her to leave Odessen. I know she is still here. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to convey the message for me.”

“Her insight, and mine, will be useful to you, Wrath,” Darth Marr said. “We have not outlived our ability to help you yet.”

“I,” the Wrath said, “don’t want your insight. I do not want Jedi nonsense; I do not want your disapproval. I want you to leave.”

“Wrath,” he tries, but she turns on him fully then, nearly as tall and a thousand times as dangerous, her voice and her ire raised.

“Enough,” she cries. “Enough. I admired you, Marr, I respected you, I would have died so you could have lived, but I didn’t - and you didn’t. I do not know what keeps you in this place, and I do not care, but I need you gone now, and I need Satele Shan away from here. I need you to remember what it felt like to care about someone, even when you didn’t want to, and let me allow myself a moment of weakness.”

For a long moment, Darth Marr does not move, unreadable in his stance and behind his mask. The Wrath has begun to cry again, but she cannot summon the feeling of shame or embarrassment - she can only stare at where Darth Marr’s eyes should be, and will him elsewhere.

“I...” he begins, and pauses. “I once felt as you did, about someone I should not have cared for.” His head tilts back, and he seems almost to stare up into the cloudless, cold sky. “I remember being unable to wish that kind of... regret... upon anyone.”

The Wrath’s stance relaxes.

Darth Marr returns what must be his gaze back to Wrath. “If you need us,” he says, his voice quiet, “you will find us on Dantooine.”

And then he is gone.