#I wrote this with a wicked case of vertigo

[kiaxet]

So it turns out the latest update in @somerandomdudelmao‘s apocalypse comic has been living in my head, and when that happens I need to get it out, so ~900 words of sad it is!

~~~~~~~~

Donnie is good at birthdays. He has been once he was old enough to understand the concept. It's a point of pride.

Specifically, he's good at presents. According to his data, most people who fail at presents do so because of the guesswork they seem to think needs to be involved. He's never understood the point of that. Data and hypotheses, certainly, but why guess when a definitive answer is available after a simple direct inquiry?

"What do you want for your birthday?"

Early on, the presents are easy. Art supplies. Comics. Stuffed animals. Things he could hand to Papa in an easily followed list format, or obtain for himself once they all got old enough to start safely leaving the lair and venturing into the city above. It's simple and straightforward and so, so easy to get right.

(Of course, he always has an annotated list of his own desired gifts to provide to his brothers; if he's solved the guesswork issue, he may as well make things easy for them too. Plus, that method ensures he gets what he wants.)

Things start getting a little more complicated as he and his brothers get older. Art supplies and comics and stuffed animals are still very much appreciated, and he's documented his brothers' tastes well enough to know exactly what they like, but the answers to his simple direct inquiry are different.

"Dee, can you help me plan this mural out? I think I have enough space, but I could use a hand with the measurements."

"Donton, my half of the day is gonna be a Jupiter Jim marathon, and I need you there. Without your laptop." A beat. "But you can pick one of the movies if you want."

"Hey Donnie, you think you can help me out fixing up the gym? Things just stay put longer if you weld 'em."

After a few years of documentation, Donnie spots the pattern. His brothers appreciate physical gifts from him, certainly, but that's not what they want anymore. What Donnie's family wants from him is time - time outside the lab where he spends a good amount of his days, time spent in conversation or shared activity or simply in the same room. It's not as easy as finding the right physical gift, but if that's what they want, then he's more than happy to provide. Now that he's discerned the pattern, it's just as easy to give his brothers what they want, and Donnie can continue to maintain that he is Good At Birthdays as a point of pride.

~~~~~~~~

The Hamatos don't do birthdays anymore. There's no time in the apocalypse, no supplies, and Donnie is one of the few who actually keeps track of the calendar date. The apocalypse certainly has its share of anniversaries, a list that only grows the more people they lose, but birthdays are no longer celebrated.

With one exception.

Casey Jones Junior, their collective adopted kid, is young enough that birthdays still matter - should still matter. They do their best to keep him safe and keep those days calm and happy for him, despite everything happening around them, and while they don't always succeed, they at least try.

And damn it all, Donatello is still good at birthdays.

"Casey Junior!" He greets the kid with a grin, leaning on his bo like it's not both an inconvenience and a humiliation to need to rely on it in order to stay upright.

"Uncle Tello?"

"Since I'm not very good at guessing, I'll ask straight out." This is not entirely true - he has a list of potential gifts for Casey drafted, with 98% certainty that whatever Casey asks for will align with one of them - but he requires that confirmation to move forward. A certainty in a world where certainty is in short supply. "What do you want for your birthday?"

"My...ah." Casey's expression falls and he looks away, gaze fixed on the paperwork in his hands. Donatello says nothing, pointedly ignoring the elephant in the room in order to give Casey space. "You...can do anything," Casey starts.

"Pretty much, yes." Material issues aside - spirits know he'd have a cure for whatever the Krang had infected him with if those weren't a concern.

"I want you to stay alive," Casey says, and Donnie's smile freezes in place as Casey looks back up at him. "Can you do that?"

Damn that two percent uncertainty.

"Ah. Of course." He shrugs, as though he doesn't know exactly what Casey is asking for, and pulls up a holographic display of a calendar. "According to my calculations, I will be alive next month, which means I'll be here for your birthday." Not talking about it won't solve the problem, but it may salvage this conversation. "So! What's an actual gift you want?"

"I want you to be here." Casey's gaze finds a point on the floor, and Donnie falls silent. "Not just for a month."

No. No, he needs something concrete - something he can act on - he knows how long his list of responsibilities is, but he still feels stymied, rushing up on the end, and he needs something he can do- "But it's not a gift," he replies, a last-ditch effort he's fairly certain is bound for failure-

"No. No, it is."

As always, all Donnie's family wants from him is time.

And now, at the end of his rapidly-shortening life, it's the one thing he can no longer give them.

[aion-rsa]

Mel Brooks Recalls Alfred Hitchcock’s Unique Review of High Anxiety

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Mel Brooks has made a career out of poking fun at other filmmakers and the conventions they deploy. This sweet and largely underutilized form of parody was often done with love and affection, but it could still leave a mark. Just ask some Western fans about Blazing Saddles (1974) or George Lucas about Spaceballs (1987), the latter of which he gave his blessing to but insisted that Brook never merchandise or use to compete with the Star Wars toy line.

Yet for all of Brooks’ frivolity, there was only one time he was desperate to get the approval of his spoof’s subject matter: Alfred Hitchcock. Unlike all the other satires and ribbings in Brooks’ oeuvre, the 1977 film High Anxiety was not a parody of a whole genre or certain commercial trends in filmmaking. Rather it was both a back slap and a blown kiss to one singular storyteller, a man whose style was so distinct that even before “auteur theory” was popularized, the phrase “Hitchcockian” had entered the pop culture lexicon. There was only one Hitch.

So when the filmmaker and his creative team lit on the idea of making what became High Anxiety, Brooks felt obligated to seek Hitchcock’s approval before even shooting a frame. He recounted as much in his new memoir, All About Me! My Remarkable Life in Show Business.

Brooks didn’t approach the man he would come to call “Hitch” until after he had a rough outline of the script in place, penned by himself, Ron Clark, Rudy De Luca, and Barry Levinson. And according to Brooks today, if Hitchcock didn’t give those early goings his blessing, “I probably would have abandoned the whole notion.”

Luckily for all audiences, that isn’t how it turned out. Hitchcock was immediately flattered to have Brooks’ attention this late in his career, especially after seeing Blazing Saddles, which Hitch reportedly told Brooks was “miraculously funny.” They met for an extravagantly decadent lunch. It turned out to be the first of many weekly meetings, as Hitchcock gave acute notes and suggestions to Brooks throughout the pre-production process. Hitchcock even pitched a dryly amusing sequence that did not end up in the finished film.

Wrote Brooks, “He told me the following: ‘Our hero is running from someone who’s trying to kill him. He’s running full tilt, full speed. The killer is right behind him and closing in. He comes to a dock and sees a ferry. The space between the ferry and the dock is about eight feet. He leaps with all his might and comes crashing to the deck of the ferry. He just makes it. But unfortunately, instead of going out, the ferry is coming in.’”

It reads like a darkly acerbic visual gag that could fit into one of Hitchcock’s own movies. According to Brooks, however, it was too expensive to shoot. Nevertheless, Brooks still went out and shot a funny movie in his own style, all while emulating some of the best scenes in Hitchcock’s legendary career. The shower scene from Psycho (1960) is enacted with a disgruntled bellboy and Brooks’ dad body standing in for Janet Leigh; the violent death heard over a phone from Dial M for Murder (1954) is turned into a case of mistaken-kink as Madeline Kahn interprets the choking sound as a welcome come-on; and the ending of Vertigo (1958) is arguably improved upon when Cloris Leachman flies from the bell tower like she’s Wicked Witch of the West.

Germs of many of these scenes began incubating in Hitchcock’s office, but when Brooks came back with a finished film that was constantly being rewritten, he still was anxious to get the master’s final review after the film opened in December 1977. That same month, Hitchcock attended the premiere, sitting next to Brooks for the entirety of the film.

“I had my own high anxiety awaiting his reaction,” Brooks recalled. “He didn’t laugh. He just sat and he watched. He only broke up once. When the birds let go and plastered me with their droppings, then I could see his shoulders shaking. When the film was over, he got up and walked out. He didn’t say he liked the picture. He didn’t say he hated the picture. He didn’t say anything. He just left.”

Brooks was devastated. He needn’t have been.

Shortly after the movie’s premiere, Brooks found in his office a huge box covered with silver paper and a red ribbon. It was a gift wrapped case containing six bottles of Chateau Haut Brion 1961—a very old, and very expensive French wine. The bottles also came with a note.

“My dear Mel,

What a splendid entertainment, one that should give you no anxieties of any kind.

I thank you most humbly for your dedication and I offer you further thanks on behalf of the Golden Gate Bridge.

With kindest regards and again my warmest congratulations.

Hitch.”

Barring perhaps the notices that catapulted both the 1968 film version and 2001 Broadway musical version of The Producers into the stratosphere (the former coming thanks to a full-page ad taken out by Peter Sellers after the New York Times eviscerated the movie), that might be the best review in Brooks’ career. It certainly was one of the most unusual.

Brooks wrote more about his adventures with Hitchcock, including the time he rather naughtily kicked his idol “in his tush.” You can read about that and more in All About Me!

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[kierongillen]

Writer Notes: The Wicked + The Divine Christmas Annual #1

Spoilers, obv.

There's a backbone of Specials which I consider essential to WicDiv's plot. This is one of the main reasons we've ended up putting the Specials trade into the schedule before the last trade in the series rather than after it – as fractally as WicDiv is structured, this is information you should know before the end rather than after it.

They also work off a weird time-switched aspect – so they're read at the time of publication (for single readers) and also at the latter point in the story (for trade readers). In other words, they're revealing different information and to different import depending on whether you read them as they're released or as they're collected.

Which is an interesting challenge.

The Christmas Annual is the first Special which doesn't work like this. Looking at the schedule, we thought it healthier to add an extra month to the gap between arcs. The next arc is six issues, as is the one after that. We decided to add another special, and then saw what would be fun to do.

This was a boon for me. The problem is never not having enough material, y'know? The difference between something I'd like to do and something that is essential I do is narrow. Jamie had the idea of going back to periods we skipped and showing some of their key moments. I initially kicked against it a little, but when the thing I was trying proved too hard to make work, it seemed the simplest thing to do for me, and seemed a cute gift to the fans in a year that's been pretty fucking brutal.

(That we rarely get happier than bittersweet speaks to me, really. All happiness is tinged with sadness. “I love you” is married to “and one day we will all be dead”.)

But it was also a fun time. We got a gang of our favourite people together and did a bunch of short stories. Most of all, I got to write a bunch of people I haven't written for a while. I've missed them.

How were the stories chosen? Rapidly! The main limitation was not choosing anything which would spoil anything in Imperial Phase: Part Two. The Specials are designed to be spoiler-free for any trade which isn't released when it's released. We also wanted to show a bunch of kissing and similar social activities, as for a book which has as much emotional and sexual stuff driving the characters, there's relatively little on panel.

I wrote 'em, showed them to the gang, and then we worked out who we could ask to draw them. I was expecting I would remove several of them, but they all ended up going in, with tweaks in some cases in the story's focus. In terms of the characters selected, I definitely paid attention to characters who had relatively little screen time – so, Lucifer, Inanna and Tara.

Jamie's Cover

Using a bought Photoshop filter, this actually a lot more work than Jamie was expecting. It is wonderful though. It is to my eternal regret we never actually arranged it as a Christmas Merchandise thing. This is a delight to me. Really, we're aware that Jamie doesn't do many playful covers, so this was an opportunity we grasped with both hands. For all the iconic drama, there's also a playfulness to WicDiv that doesn't always show up on the covers.

Kris Anka's Cover

It's a Christmas Annual in the mode of a British Annual – in that these are annuals released at Christmas rather than having Christmas as a major theme per se. Anyway, despite all that, Inanna and Baal in hot make-out beneath the mistletoe is an absolute joy. I am pleased we get to do this.

IFC

The main editorial note to Designer Sergio was “Tackier! Tackier!”

The photo was taken in North London cocktail bar “Every Cloud.” Jamie is probably drinking some manner of Old Fashioned. I think I'm drinking some kind of Buttered Rum-containing cocktail. Chrissy draped the only decorations she could find over our heads.

1-6

Kris Anka! Jen Bartel helped out on inks on this as well, due to time constraints. Kris is currently on a Marvel Exclusive, so we had to get permission to do this story. Marvel said yes, so thanks to them enormously.

Yes, if you examine the timeline, Valhalla was certainly erected quickly. And yes, “Erected quickly” is a major theme in this story.

It's one of the lighter stories in the issue – obviously delineating what we know about Baal to this moment says a lot, and the same for Inanna.

I tried to write the scripts to the artists, but I also was interested in leaving it open for them to express things in their own ways. Generally speaking, I let the artists choose how to show the characters in a sex scene, as I want to see their own interpretation. It was a delight to see Kris go as far as he did here.

We did wonder whether we'd be okay with showing hard cocks. We're told that hard cocks are fine, but ejaculation is the problematic limit. I'm glad it's not an issue. This is a hot scene, but it's primarily a romantic one.

I love what Matt is doing with the panel on page 5 – the pinks and purples of Inanna here.

Baals expression on the first panel is very funny, as is the confidence in panel 3 of it.

7-8-9-10

There's seven stories, but several were just two pages. We realised the best way to do it would be to group the shorter of the long ones with the short ones so all collaborators get 5-6 pages each. This makes it much easier with trade royalties down the line, and organising 5 artists (plus colourists and flatters) is a significantly easier one than organising 7 (and their associated collaborators).

This is the first of the stories coloured by Tamra Bonvillain. I've never worked with Tamra before, but we loved her work, approached her, and she said yes. Thanks for joining us on this journey.

The artist here is Rachael Stott, who is probably best known for her Doctor Who work, but is about to do Motherland for Vertigo with Si Spurrier, which looks excellent.

There was quite a lot of careful balloon work here, to try and guide the eye and provide the necessary exposition (or really, reminders – all this is building upon or just showing events that have been alluded to earlier.) The eye-guiding is key – for example, due to a minor quirk of the first two panels, the Shard is hidden by the column which means that the view in the second panel feels instantly wrong. We end up disguising the shard with the dialogue so it's far less noticeable.

This event is alluded to by Lucifer in issue 3 of WicDiv.

The penthouse is the one we see in issue 1, which I presume is rented by the Pantheon for their purposes.

Writing Lucifer after all this time was a pleasure. Well, pleasure may be the wrong word. She's herself, and she's always very able to show bits of herself. Lucifer says things that no one else in the cast does, which is obviously one of her huge problems.

Yes, the first panel of page 9 did make me think of an OBJECTION! style WicDiv Phoenix-Wright-esque game.

The panel is also a place where we really had to do the work to put this in continuity – the obvious assumption would be that Baal is pissed off about Lucifer sleeping with Sakhmet, which is only really a minor cause of WTF-ness.

That Lucifer explicitly fucked with Baal and Inanna was hinted at early in WicDiv and made explicit in WicDiv 23. Inanna didn't consider the relationship exclusive, as he doesn't see why anyone would automatically assume a romantic relationship is exclusive. Inanna's great weakness is not always realising that everyone is like him.

The “You're a bad person” ties off why Lucifer and Sakhmet never slept together many times, also mentioned in issue 3. Sakhmet, I suspect, just doesn't like the complications and drama. She is deeply averse to complications.

The last three panels are classic comedy steady-angle shots. That the sprinklers aren't visible led to adding an alarm sound at lettering, to avoid the possible assumption that Baal made it rain indoors or something.

Reading this I find myself thinking about Lucifer in the Special versus Lucifer in the Annual – in the sense that we're seeing her much more humanly, which is leaning into what makes her comic (and awful). The last three panels are not ones you could imagine in The Faust Act, as seen through Laura's star eyes. Nice fucked off expression in the last panel from Rachael.

11-12-13-14-15

Chynna Clugston Flores is just one of my indie comic crushes. Blue Monday is basically one of those key links between 90s and 00s comics. Bryan Lee O'Malley pitched Scott Pilgrim as Blue Monday meets Dragon Ball Z. We pitched Phonogram and Blue Monday meets Hellblazer. She's a wonder.

As such, writing for her was a dream, and I was explicitly writing for her. While this is much more rigid in terms of panel shapes than Chynna would write for herself (the steady angle on the two people in the front seat is very much me trying to write a sort of claustrophobic talking heads kind of set-up) but I'm really exploring a very Chynna type place.

I've been thinking of Dionysus as a “Umar” for a while. When thinking up Dio, the image of writer Umar Ditta leading the Thought Bubble dancefloor was definitely in my mind, and I thought it'd be fun if they share a name, despite being very different dudes. (Not least that Umar could bench Dionysus now.) I asked Umar, and he said yes, so Umar he is. His first comic Untethered has just come out, and is well worth your attention.

This is the second sort of story in the special. One is just showing some key things which impacted the rest of the book, which were usually sexy funtimes. The other was showing some key relationships in the pre-pantheon lives. We've said that Dio was a friend of Baph and Morrigan, but never actually showed what that meant. It was good to get it here.

For those studying the timeline, this is the same day as Hazel become Amaterasu. It would also be the same day Dio takes a photo of Morrigan, and Cameron sits in the tunnel waiting for Morrigan. Busy day!

If I call out my fave Chynna moments, we're going to be here forever. Cameron with his sign on the rain is a joy. Honestly, this is such an odd thing – it makes me imagine what a Blue Monday set in the Midlands would be like.

There was a panic when page 12 arrived and I thought that Chynna had (for some reason) reversed all the seating orders in the car and had the car riding on the wrong side of the road. This is obviously a disaster, because the only way this story works is the characters' speaking order is based upon where they're sitting. But then we realised that the page had been flipped in the dropbox for some reason. Phew.

The quote is from Young Avengers 13, which came out a week or two before this arrived. Yes, I know.

(The question who wrote YA13 in this universe, when Kieron Gillen's career ended with Phonogram: Rue Britannia, is open.)

Page 13 was designed to be a mood break of the lived-in autobio, and Chynna really goes for it, in terms of the leaves and the panel breaking. Not using techniques in the whole piece makes them especially meaningful when they turn up. Tamra also did wonders in the colouring, going for the spooky autumnal reds, teals and purples.

(Tamra and Matt basically split the issue near 50:50.)

This is definitely a more Morrigan way of publicising gigs rather than standing outside shitty clubs and passing out flyers.

The WHAT!? panel is everything I could have hoped for.

The “Oh god. He puns. Morrigan fucked a punner. A wet punner's in my car.” immediately made me feel that I'm trying to channel a Warren Ellis character.

The off-panel MOTHERFUCKER is also a delight.

16-17-18

Emma's one of my favourite people, but I haven't worked with her since a B-side in the second issue of Phonogram: The Singles Club, with a Kate Bush short story. (EDIT: Plus in the Young Avengers Afterparty, which I’d blanked. This is the second time that’s happened to an artist from that. Which, given the time period I was writing that, is unsurprising). So it's lovely to get back with her, and she does some of my favourite work in the Special. Do go and have a look at her Breaks, which she draws and co-writes.

When Tara has had so little panel time, trying to work out how to approach her is key – and Emma manages to find a place which is clearly her, but also informed by Tula's iconic take. Matt also brings us much of those choices to the page in the colours.

It's useful, as this story almost acts as a prequel to issue 13. It's essentially the first time Tara pitches what she wants to do to Ananke, a moment which is at least alluded to in 13.

I wrote the story originally as two pages – specifically, the last two pages. I talked about it with Editorial Assistant Katie, and she noted it's a shame we never actually see Tara happy ever. Which struck me as true, and a problem – at least in part this Special is about showing different sorts and times of happiness. So I added the first page, which is my best pitch for Tara at her most positive. This is the unspoken stuff that's under the surface in issue 13, and Tara talking about the drive is one of her main bits of happiness. I talk about how the cast are all me in different ways? Tara definitely includes the part of me which never feels better than after having written something I think is good. I've certainly done the “if get a disease which means I have six months to live, have I got time to finish writing WicDiv?” maths.

Much like issue 13, I wrote considerably more captions than are used on the first page. You write it like a diary entry and then edit to the core.

I always say that an artist can make the script their own, and that I try to write to the minimum number of panels. Of all the artists in the script, Emma's the one who added most panels. This looks great, and is very much a part of her style.

Quick call-out to Clayton in the second panel of page 17: that tiny string of notes positioned either side of those captions is beyond perfect.

The last page is all kinds of sad. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I'm pleased with how the masks work on the page.

19-20

Second Rachael story. She's an enormous Lucifer fan, so was very excited to do this.

This is as simple as the stories get, in terms of a tiny yet meaningful continuity insert. This was there already, but I felt underlining it and reminding people of it at this point in the narrative is meaningful for obvious reasons.

(I had things I wanted to do in Imperial Phase II which I never found space for – or when I did find space, felt off and wrong.)

Writing Laura captions again after all this time was definitely a thing which took a while to find again. But I liked it.

(Spangly New Thing has captions to the fore again, for various reasons, so them as a formalist element is certainly on my mind.)

21-22-23-24-25-26

This absolutely was formative Indie Crush mode. Carla Speed McNeil's Finder was one of my initial loves when I came into comics in the early 00s. It's just astounding stuff. I'd suggest starting with Mystery Story, I suspect, but there's two big omnibuses of it, and I'd recommend just getting them. She's continuing doing other Finder stories alongside her work elsewhere.

It was originally 5 pages, but Carla suggested an extra page. I'd deliberately left an extra page space in the issue, in case anyone wanted more space... and Carla grabbed it. Good work.

When writing this, I was thinking of Carla's storytelling... but I also realised that a part of Carla's storytelling is to warp and make her own. Seeing what she would do with my script was a big part. I wanted the Carla magic applied, and she did – the extra page is a big part of that.

Notice how Tamra uses the palettes to distinguish the two different settings. Eleanor in the dark and Hazel in the light seems pretty useful, right?

That Lucifer and Amaterasu were friends and knew each other were one of the elements of the background I never had a chance to really run with, for obvious reasons. In the same way as I wanted to do some Dio/Baph pre-scenes, doing a Lucifer/Amaterasu: The Early Years appealed.

H's fanart was mentioned in issue 15, I believe.

As much as it's a dual story, it's really more about Lucifer. Amaterasu may not even appear to really aware of how much she's been slighted in the story. Or maybe she is? It is Eleanor's perspective. This is also the first dialogue we've ever had as Eleanor, rather than Lucifer reporting Eleanor. The resentment and anger is so much cleaner, the saying the unsayable aspect with less glitter.

Hazel is right. Eleanor is mean.

Adding a page appealed for various reasons, but at least part of it was that it's the only in-story chance to see a Lucifer performance. There was an alternate cover in the first arc, but it's not the same – though it's probably the same performance. We've talked about her Brixton performances before, and this is there. This would be a gig that Laura saw, as previously referenced.

The last page (and final panel of page 5) is a take on a scene that's already on canon – specifically, the story as reported in the WicDiv Magazine Special.

The last-minute panic of the issue was Jamie realising we'd forgotten to have Amaterasu’s facepaint on her in the final panel, so that was a quick patch from Tamra. Phew.

The “I'm sorry” panel is A+.

As an example of the Carla Speed McNeil of it all, the last montage of shots is her addition, which brings a visual closure to the sequence.

27-28

Back with Emma Viceli, with a missing scene after issue 8. The actual core details were alluded to in issue 10, but this actually takes us there. If you remember, at this point Inanna and Baal are no longer in any way romantically involved, but fucking the best friend of someone you were with is almost always drama. The purple and red colouring seems to make that be the subtext there.

We checked Laura's age here repeatedly, to ensure she was 18 in these images. It would be actively illegal if we messed up.

Clearly my fave thing is the call back to issue 4's PLAY IT COOL gag.

This issue's structure came after all the art started coming in. It's a mix-tape curation – in terms of what's the best order to take people on a journey. Things like Kris' story being first seemed obvious – his was the alternative cover after all, featuring Inanna and Baal, which makes it a de facto lead story. That this story is furthest along in the timeline made it a suitable end, plus that we open with Inanna/Baal. The real thing is that it's a story which ends with something resembling a concluding beat. “This is going to be complicated” feels like something that ends an issue in the way that many of the stories don't. I suspect the only other credible option was Chynna's story, with Dio/Baph riding off down a motorway. What feels like it could be an ending? What feels like Closure?

IBC

The titles were all added in the last minute, when we realised the best way to actually discern which story was which for the credits was to actually give them a title.  

SUMER LOVING was miscorrected to SUMMER LOVING at every stage of production, and had to be changed back every time. There is no love for Sumerian humour in the modern comic market place.

Anyway – off for the season now. The Imperial Phase II trade drops in January, followed by The Wicked + The Divine 1923 special in February and the new arc in March.

Thanks for reading.

[worldguardian]

fic: small kindnesses

fic summary and notes: Rosa does her best to keep existing after the horrorshow that was Endgame, and finds herself receiving help from an utterly unexpected place. Featuring Zaros being generous? Getting in Rosa’s good books? The two are probably one and the same to him.

this fic was inspired by a reread of Zaros’ dialogue from FoTG and how he comes shockingly close to treating the World Guardian with Actual Decency (inasmuch as Zaros ever treats anyone well). set some time after Endgame and the various fuckery therein, this sort of ended up as an introspective piece more than anything else.

also I wrote the first half of this on the plane ride to Fiji and the second half on the plane ride back (mostly at ten o’clock at night after a twenty-hour day), so it’s pretty disjointed.

I hope you enjoy!

Silence reigned in the temple, a thick, unyielding silence that lapsed only for the break of voices or footsteps. Marble walls and features bounced those sounds but just as quickly returned to undisturbed stillness. The walls were too solid, the doors too reinforced. A conversation could be happening in one room yet be inaudible in the next.

Down one of those branching, subterranean hallways, past a sturdily locked bedroom door, the World Guardian sat crumpled in a chair, head bowed. One hand covered her face and the other gripped the chair's arm, knuckles white and tendons raised in exertion. Her chest rose and fell with short, shaking breaths, yet her eyes remained defiantly open, staring steadfastly between her fingers to the tiled floor beneath.

Such were the only outward signs of her struggle, combined with her greyed cheeks and lighter frame. The trailing scars over her eye stood out livid black against the pale backdrop of her face.

All Rosa could feel now was an interminable pressure, a shackle around her entire being that inched itself tighter every time she breathed. Any time she shifted, the pressure reacted, lancing through her body and into every nerve. Every time, she felt them respond slower.

He wasn't actively wrenching control from her; no, today he was apparently content to squeeze until she had no room left save for that within her own mind - and not even that.

Rosa drew a shuddering breath and clenched her teeth for the fifth time that minute. This wasn't something she would even muster the energy to fight; control was still hers - for now - but she had no way to resist, as mobile as an animal within an ever-shrinking cage.

Not that she had the faintest idea how to retaliate in the first place. How did you shift your own soul?

One that's half torn out, no less, she thought bitterly to herself.

Stop whining. You're still conscious, aren't you, Rosa? It could be so much worse. I could make it so much worse.

A shiver wracked Rosa's form and she straightened up enough to wrap her arms around herself, fingers digging painfully into flesh.

That voice. Every day, that voice, that stilled her heart and scattered her mind with the merest word. And her own was so quiet against it; a wailing child to the inevitable darkness.

On a normal day it had taken everything she had not to curl up and shut down at that voice. Now, it was her perennial companion.

More than anything else Rosa was struck by the overwhelming desire to sleep, but she knew that it wouldn't be her who woke up afterward.

She dragged a hand over her face, glaring sullenly at nothing, when something else caught her attention.

She felt another pressure, though this one insinuated itself throughout the entire room, and didn't make her very essence ache. For the briefest of moments, she felt her binds twitch, followed by the suggestion of muffled anger.

Rosa.

And then, in the blink of an eye and so slowly that she barely saw it happen, He was there. The Empty Lord, towering over her, countenance and presence so undisturbed and unruffled that Rosa half-wondered that He hadn't always been there.

The fixtures and details of her room retreated subtly around Him; regardless of where she steered her gaze, Zaros remained the centre of her attention, more ineffably real than anything nearby Him.

Half from shock and half instinctively, Rosa stood up, leaning heavily on the chair's arm as a fresh wave of vertigo took her. She was never sure how to speak to Zaros, or even how to react to Him. Personal visits were not exactly a frequent occurrence. Part of her thought it might be appropriate to bow; a larger part of her scorned that idea but nonetheless quailed at the thought of open rudeness. She settled for standing as firm as she could and nodding... politely.

You owe me no greeting, Rosa. I would not ask it of you in any case.

"I-I... thank you. Why are y-you...?" Her voice trailed into uselessness. Questions felt too direct; silence felt too brazen.

Zaros lifted one gauntleted hand and waved it languidly, in one easy movement dismissing Rosa's apprehension, yet somehow heightening it all the more. His expression was as opaque as it always was - not just for the covered face, but in His voice and demeanor. Rosa could never confidently intuit a single clear emotion from His words, not until the moment that it shook the world around Him. So much of what He was was beyond her.

So why was He here now?

I see your struggle, World Guardian. In this moment especially, you are subjected to an unbearable trial - I can see clearly what Sliske is doing to you.

And yet, you persist. Faced with a challenge that would have felled so many others, you hold the strength not only to deny him but to stand before me.

Rosa blinked, her vision threatening to blur again but still stolidly fixed upon Zaros. If a solitary meeting was rare, then such... praise was rarer still. For a heartbeat she was back on Freneskae, in that sheltered border between her mind and His, once again shocked at how...

... gentle He was.

She said nothing, at a loss for any appropriate response in the first place. The air hung heavy around her, pressing her for a reply, but Zaros seemed, if not understanding, then at least unbothered.

I feel I owe you an apology, World Guardian. You are central to all things, my own intentions most of all, and as such you are under my protection.

Yet I failed to foresee what Sliske would do with the Siphon, despite my own experiences with it. Further still, I have taken few actions to help you as you are now.

You don't say, Rosa thought to herself, but not too vehemently. She was sure He could hear her, sometimes. Vaguely, she imagined she could feel the rough-hewn violet shard around her neck buzzing.

I have been remiss in my duties to this world, and of all who have had to suffer Sliske's machinations, you have been impacted most, Rosa.

Where had this spiel come from? Rosa couldn't tell whether it felt hollow or genuine. She blinked, head pounding. She'd been so distracted in the conversation that she'd failed to notice the creeping numbness clawing its way down her arm. She clenched that fist, wrenching some feeling out of it before taking a breath in readiness to speak. Zaros inclined His head towards her, mask's eight eyeslits unfathomably deep and inscrutable. The motion faltered Rosa, and He broke the pause.

A verbal apology from me at this time would hold no weight and be little more than an insult to you.

You are aware that there are limitations to what I can do in this situation. Guthix's blessing protects you against many things, but it also stymies my efforts. I would release you immediately were it not for Sliske twisting those wards to his own gain.

So, World Guardian, in this situation I ask your permission and yours alone:

Will you allow me to ease your pain, to the extent of my ability?

Rosa stared up at the robed figure in front of her, taller even than a mahjarrat, and any words she might have had fled her. Of all the things she'd been expecting today, the Empty Lord Himself coming to her aid was not among them. Once again her memories skittered back to Freneskae, in the midst of a melee that she frankly had no right surviving. The flash of a wicked blade, the crashing impact of primordial, untamed magic, and yet, none of it proved fatal. She was gouged her whole body over and covered in smouldering burns, but never fell.

That had been His doing. Rosa hadn't gone into that battle alone; though at the time it had terrified her to do so, she had accepted Zaros' help against the onslaught of newly-dreamed muspah. She'd had no delusions of victory under her own power.

And here they were again: tiny, shattered World Guardian offered the assistance of a god.

She had no apprehensions this time. Anything Zaros did to combat this would have been infinitely better than the methods she'd invent by herself.

She took a breath.

"Yes. I will. P-please-- help me." Her voice shook and she loathed it, but she was long past caring anything for how she appeared to others. She wanted nothing but an end to it.

I shall.

Zaros leaned in, narrowing the distance between them, and lifted His hands. Rosa tensed in nervousness and shock.

One metal-clad hand could have held her entire head, but here both were cupped feather-light to the sides of her face. Almost unthinkingly, Rosa sagged into that hold, exhaustion eating bone-deep.

Warmth seeped through her mind and her vision hued purple. For half a moment, the world around her vanished, and she was aware not only of her own consciousness, but Zaros', boundless and incomprehensible, looming from all angles.

Oddly, it was almost... soothing.

Sight returned to her, as did everything else. Zaros was once again straightened to His full height, observing her impassively.

Rosa shook herself, feeling the vestiges of Zaros' power leaving her, then - stopped.

Silence. Blessed silence. No insidious ache, no unbearable weight dampening her every action.

Her thoughts were her own again. There were suspicious gaps in between each thought, but his voice was absent from them. Stunned, Rosa merely stood where she was, rooted to the spot.

"Wh-what did you do?" she asked, voice wavering.

I encircled your soul in a barrier. I am unable to remove him, but with your consent I can act freely upon your soul. This is all I can do for you at this juncture, Rosa; you will not hear him and he cannot reach you, but I have not reduced his presence. He may still wrest control from you, but you are sheltered now.

Tears sprang to Rosa's eyes and she covered her mouth, relief so strong in her expression that it bordered on disbelief. Her shoulders shook and for a moment it was all she could do not to weep. She swallowed ungracefully and bowed, all prior reticence forgotten.

"Thank you."

Rest. Be with your family, World Guardian.

His only reply was a choked nod. Satisfied, or at the very least finished with His work, Zaros folded His arms and left. One second His image flickered as if underwater, transparent and monochrome, the next He was gone.

The room jerked abruptly into focus in His absence, and Rosa's head swam for a second. The presence of a god was overbearing enough with the energy that streamed off of them in waves, but Zaros took it one step further. There was something primally unnerving about Him.

Still. She was by no stretch of the imagination ungrateful.

Rosa exhaled heavily and turned back toward her chair, only to startle at the sound of knocking behind her. Taking a moment to still her heart, Rosa moved over and opened the door, fumbling on the lock briefly.

There, stately and imposing as ever, stood Azzanadra. In contrast to recent events, his expression was soft.

"Rosa... are you well?"

Rosa almost smiled at him. Her energy failed her at the last second, but she managed a teary nod, for once simply tired instead of harried to defeat.

Azzanadra smiled for her. Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders and she slumped against him, all pretence gone. He was warm, and safe, and she fitted against his chest perfectly.

"Then please... let us take this time together. I miss you. We all do."

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

Thank you, Lord. She deeply needed a reprieve. I fear for her, mind and soul.

For now I can do little more than that. She must not be lost to this.

She is strong, but her will suffers dearly from this. She is truly grateful for what you have done for her.

I only desire that this will bolster her resolve long enough for a solution to be found. Watch her, Azzanadra, and comfort her.

I will. She has spoken to me... she is warming to your presence, Lord. I believe you offer her a certain measure of... confidence that we cannot.

I am glad.