#I’m considering Percival? but I feel his name should have an F in it

[mobbothetrue]

Omg you changed your profile pic!!

I did!!! It brings me much joy :) it’s an adoptable I purchased from beetljuuc! He’s my boy and I love him so much

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable - Ch 7: The Fisher King: Part 2 (S2E1)

Summary:  A Spencer Reid x OC fanfic that retells select episodes, starting in season 1, from the point of view of Lydia Ambers, a forensic scientist.

Warnings: mentions of death, swearing, death threats, graphic injuries

Ch 6 | Ch 8

~ ~ ~

When Lydia got back to the conference room, Spencer was the only one there. He stood directly in front of the whiteboard, murmuring to himself. He’d written ‘Possible Book Titles’ across the top, but so far had nothing listed.

“The rest of the team leave you to figure this out on your own?” she asked.

He startled slightly, not having heard her walk in. “Um, JJ and Morgan are going to interview Rebecca Bryant’s parents… and Hotch and Gideon are interviewing the guy who brought the numbers to Haley.”

“Someone found him?”

“He turned himself in,” Spencer explained. “So, now it’s just me and the evidence boards.”

“Now it’s us and the evidence boards,” she corrected. She sat down and picked up the medication bottle from the table. “Sorry I stormed out.”

“Sorry you were so stressed,” he mumbled. “We didn’t mean to push you.”

“You didn’t. It was important for you to know. I’m just… so done with this, you know?” She stopped herself. “Sorry, of course you do. You were on vacation when you got these weird messages. I was just home doing my schoolwork.”

“Lydia, stop apologizing,” he argued. “This is very stressful, we’ve all been here a long time, and you got a package delivered to your door. I can easily understand why that’d freak you out.”

She shrugged. “I just feel like I should be able to piece together these clues the unsub’s giving us and I can’t.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” he agreed, indicating to his empty list.

She looked over the label on the bottle in her hands. There was a patient name, a doctor’s name, drug, and an RX number. Prescription bottles always had more than that. They had instructions, pharmacies, manufacturers, fill dates, expiration dates.

“This number must mean something,” she wondered out loud. “He didn’t put any unnecessary information on it, but there’s a long RX number.”

“Read the number out loud,” Spencer told her.

He wrote it across the board as she went. “3-1-5-1-2-1-2-5-3-2-0-1-5-1-8”

“Okay,” he stepped back. “We can start with the basics. A equals 1, Z equals 26.” He got to work, writing the corresponding letter underneath the number.

C-A-E-A-B-A-B-E-C-B-

He stopped at the zero. “That’s definitely not a word. But some of the letters have double digits, so… let’s see if we combine everything we can combine…’C’ stays the same. The 1 and 5 could be fifteen, which is ‘O’...” He began again.

C-O-L-L-E-C-T-O-R

“Collector?” He stepped away. “That mean anything to you?”

Lydia shook her head.

“Alright. Collector. Collecting things. He’s collecting things.” He snapped his fingers so sharply Lydia almost jumped. “Collector! Baseball cards, music boxes, butterflies, skeleton keys. These are all things people collect!”

“That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

He shrugged. It was basically impossible at this point to rule anything out.

“Medieval,” she rambled. “Collectable things. Numerical codes. What else have we got?”

“We’ve got this note from the music box?” he offered. “I think I’ve heard it somewhere, but I can’t place it… And I think the book was published in 1963.”

“Why’s that?”

“That’s the year on the baseball card, but it’s not the year Gideon went to all those games. If the unsub knows Gideon likes Nellie Fox because he went to almost all the White Sox games in 1959, why give him a ‘63 card?”

“Okay,” Lydia agreed. “So, the type of butterfly JJ got, that probably means something too, because she collected butterflies, not pale clouded yellow butterflies.

He nodded. “Let’s get Garcia to look up some of these things and see if we find anything.”

She followed him out as he dashed towards Garcia’s office. He was very stiff and awkward when he was in a rush, she noticed, but he refused to run through the office. She was glad for it at the moment, seeing as with her foot, she probably couldn’t keep up with him, but it was almost comical, the way his feet skipped underneath him with repressed anticipation.

Garcia looked up when they walked in, then turned back to her computers. “This guy is infuriatingly good. He routed his IP through major corporations, crisscrossed it through countries, bounced it off satellites-”

“I thought you already tracked the hacker,” Spencer said, pausing behind her and glancing over her shoulder.

“No, I only found what he wanted me to find,” she huffed. “Apartment where Giles was dead. Reid, a hacker capable of getting into my systems is going to have amazingly sophisticated equipment. Did Giles’s apartment have that?”

“He didn’t have a couch,” he responded.

“Exactly. Giles was a smokescreen I should have seen through. But now I have this glorious program I wrote, tracking the hacker through his other identity: Sir Kneighf.��

“Sir Kneighf?” he cried.

Lydia’s eyes widened. “The doctor on the prescription bottle!”

“The what?” Garcia flipped her chair around and Reid leaned over to see the name on her screen

“K-N-E-I-G-H-F. That’s an odd spelling.”

She waved him away. “Do you need something?”

“Yeah, is there a database, which lists all the books published in a given year?”

“Individual publishers have lists, but I don’t think there’s anything like a master one. Plus it would depend upon the year, because the further back you go, the less likely there’ll be any database at all.”

“1963.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, ok, that would be an example of extremely less likely.”

He hummed in contemplation. “Could you do me a favor? Type something into a search engine for me?” She pulled herself back up to the keyboard. “‘Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight’.”

“Okay, that’s from a poem, ‘The Parliament of-’”

“Fowls!” He jumped in recognition. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah! Chaucer! My-” He hesitated. “My mom used to read me that. It’s widely considered as the first Valentine’s poem.”

Garcia chuckled. “Your mom read you Valentine’s poems? Hello, therapy.”

Lydia smacked her over the shoulder.

“Chaucer. Chaucer. ‘Parliament of Fowls’.” He began mumbling to himself again, trying to fit pieces together. “It has to be at least 283 pages long. Something published in 1963… A butterfly indigenous to Great Britain. Why? Something born. Something from Great Britain… Medieval. Chaucer. Chaucer was Middle English. Middle English spelling of the word Fowls… F-O-W-L-E-S…”

Lydia thought he was losing it, but somehow, this rambling was productive, because he blinked and ran back over to Garcia’s side.

“There- There was a contemporary british author-- Fowles. John Fowles. Will you type it into a search engine?”

“Uh… He wrote The Magus, he wrote The French Lieutenant’s Woman-”

“Anything in 1963 published in Great Britain?”

She narrowed her search and her computer started beeping. “Yeah. The Collector.”

Lydia wanted to scream. Finally, they were on the right path. “Are you serious? The code on the bottle was the book title.”

Garcia clicked on the book and the cover photo showed up, which ruled out any chances of the book being a coincidence. Three objects were displayed underneath the title of the book: a butterfly, a skeleton key, and a blonde lock of hair.

“I’m gonna start calling libraries. We need a copy of that book immediately,” Lydia said, leaving abruptly.

~ ~ ~

“Hello, my name is Lydia Ambers, I work for the FBI. We’re in desperate need of a very specific book to help us on a recent case. We’re looking for a copy of The Collector by John Fowles, but it has to be a copy that was published by Jonathon Cape. Would you have any of those?”

Lydia followed Reid and Garcia to one of the interrogation rooms, to talk to Hotch and Gideon about their findings, but she was thoroughly distracted by her call and ended up stepping on their heels a few times accidentally.

“According to our database, we should have two copies, but it’s going to take me a while to search for them. Can I call you back once I’ve found a copy?”

“Yes, thank you.” She hung up and promptly tripped, falling between Reid and Garcia’s shoulders. She would have run directly into Gideon if Reid hadn’t grabbed her by the arm and held her up steady. “Sorry!”

She shuffled back behind her two friends and let them talk to Hotch and Gideon.

“We know what the book is,” Spencer explained. “The Collector by John Fowles.”

“You sure?” Gideon demanded. They were both clearly on edge. Hotch had his arms crossed which didn’t look comfortable in his suit and Gideon was punchy. She didn’t fail to notice the way he and Garcia avoided each other's gazes, Garcia more than him. He was still pissed at her and she was probably thoroughly embarrassed. And hopefully, a little pissed too, because Lydia believed he’d been way too harsh on her.

“Not absolutely. Not until we see if the code works, but Lydia’s called four separate libraries to search for the 1963 edition published in Great Britain.”

“Well done,” Hotch complimented the group, tiredly.

“Agent Gideon,” a woman called, approaching the group of them, “there’s a call for you on line two. Says it’s extremely urgent.” 

“Is there a name?” he asked.

“Sort of. He calls himself the Fisher King.”

Lydia groaned before she could stop herself. Everyone raised an eyebrow at her.

“Sorry. The Fisher King is the one who guards the Grail. You know, the one that ‘Sir Percival’, over there is supposed to find.” She pointed at Reid, who was grabbing the notepad the woman had in her hands.

“This could be the unsub, guys,” he confirmed. “‘Sir Kneighf’ is an anagram for Fisher King.”

“The Fisher King is at the end of all Grail quests,” Gideon agreed.

They rushed to the bullpen, all crowding around a nearby phone.

“Line two trapped and traced,” Hotch demanded of one of the nearby agents and Gideon put it on speaker.

“Gideon.”

“What I had to do was not my fault,” the unsub replied, his harsh voice unmistakable.

“Excuse me?”

“It was distasteful and barbaric.”

“Who is this?”

“No one else had to be hurt.”

“Call yourself ‘The Fisher King’?” He was trying to throw the unsub off his rhythm. Gideon had been training her to speak to hostile people and profile what responses to give them, so she followed along his game.

This guy had clearly planned what he wanted to say and expected them to shut up and listen. If Gideon made him interrupt the strict script in his mind, he might slip up and give information he didn’t want to or forget his point.

“I told you there were rules.”

“I’m actually more interested in exactly how you got all those burns.” Different tactic. Make the unsub think we’re closer to catching him than he thinks.

“Remember this next time you decide to step outside my instructions,” he warned. “Agent Greenaway did not have to die like that.”

The phone buzzed as he hung up the call.

~ ~ ~

After many attempts at calling Elle, Hotch got ahold of Agent Anderson, who was in charge of taking her home. Anderson explained that Elle had been shot and the ambulance was on its way to a nearby hospital. And then, he and Gideon were off, leaving Lydia, Spencer, and Garcia to work on piecing together this mystery.

“Mrs. Valez, are you there?” Reid asked, putting the librarian who’d just called them back on speaker phone.

“Yes, Dr. Reid. I am. I have a first edition of The Collector, published in Great Britain in 1963.”

“Wonderful.” As they spoke Garcia cleared off room on the whiteboard to copy down the code. “Mrs. Valez, I’m going to read you a set of three numbers. The first is going to be a page number, the second a line number on that page, and the third, a word number in that line. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“All right, the first is page 222.”

“Page 222, got it.”

“Line 23.”

“Line 23. Got it.”

“What is the 16th work on that line, Ms. Valez?”

“The.”

“The,” he repeated. “Great.”

Garcia wrote it up on the board and Lydia suddenly very much regretted not going along with Gideon and Hotch. But just in time to save the day, her phone started going off with a call from the unit chief.

She dismissed herself quickly and stepped outside to answer.

“How’s Elle?” she asked, figuring greetings could be dismissed for the time being.

“She’s in surgery. Ambers, I need you to go to her house and look for any evidence you can find. And if you can, I need you to tell me what exactly happened when she got home. Anderson will meet you there.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get back to you when I have something.”

She quietly signalled to Reid that she was leaving before grabbing her FBI windbreaker and latex gloves and running off to the elevator. She hadn’t taken a company SUV since her first case (after which she learned she wasn’t supposed to be driving them on her own because she wasn’t supposed to be unsupervised while working), but she figured that, if caught, she would be forgiven, given the circumstances.

The street was littered with cop cars by the time she got there and it took a minute for them to recognize the car and jacket she was wearing and let her through. Once she had parked, she ran across the front lawn and inside, looking for Anderson. Right now, the only reason she hadn’t been thrown off the scene was her jacket and until Anderson arrived with his badge and the orders to clear the place, she was at the local PD’s mercy.

“Excuse me, miss,” a man called to her as she walked into the living room. She shut her eyes tightly. Damn it.

“Hi. My name’s Lydia-”

“Ambers,” Anderson greeted her, stepping past the cops to speak to her. “CSU’s on the way, but Hotch wanted you to survey the scene before they processed it.” He turned back to the officer she was just speaking to. “Hello again, Detective Markes. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask your team to leave, as you’re currently on a crime scene under federal jurisdiction.”

As he went on to argue with the detective, Lydia flipped around to make her initial determinations. Elle had lost a lot of blood. Lydia could assume she’d been shot in the abdomen, because it was the only area of the body where she could survive long enough to get to the hospital and into surgery while she was losing blood at that rate. Elle had a comforted seat built into an indent in the wall where the blood trail started.

The coffee table was awkwardly placed in the center of the room, so the paramedics probably moved it to get to her. And from the marks on the carpet, it looks like they had to drag her body onto its back in order to perform CPR. Then, there was the looming note on her wall in blood: RULES.

“Can I do anything to help?” Anderson asked. When Lydia looked up at him, it was clear to her that he’d been crying. His eyes were rimmed with red and his voice was shaky.

“Did the police tell you what happened?”

He nodded, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “There is evidence of forced entry on the back door. The unsub probably broke in and waited for her to get home before he shot her. She dialed 911 herself before she passed out. And her badge and gun are nowhere to be found.”

“She dialed 911 before she passed out?!” Lydia exclaimed. “Unless the unsub let her… but no, he thought she was dead. He was in the room with her and wrote in her-” Lydia took in a deep breath and started to put her gloves on. “Try something with me, Anderson.”

~ ~ ~

“What did you find?”

“CSU lifted a partial print from the unsub’s message,” Lydia told Hotch, driving back to Quantico.

“What message?”

“Rules,” she responded. “This is about the press conference.”

He sighed. “Did they get anything from the print?”

“They aren’t sure if it will be enough, but they’re running it through their systems now.”

“Good. And what did you find?”

Lydia’s breath hitched. “Me?”

“I asked you if you could figure out what happened. How did the unsub get the upper hand and shoot Elle?”

Lydia glanced at her phone, which was on speaker beside her, as if Hotch would be there looking sternly back.

“Here’s my theory,” she began. “We know he broke in through the back door and waited in the house. If he was in the dining room, he would have been able to hear her set her stuff down and lie on the couch. Now with her eyes closed, he’s able to walk into the room and aim a gun at her before she can react. At some point, Elle makes a move off the couch and he shoots her. The blood pattern indicates she was falling when she got hit. That makes me think her gun was on the table across from her. But anyway, she’s shot and is lying on her side, between the seat and the table. Elle has got to have an insanely high pain tolerance, because she was still conscious when he wrote on the walls in her blood. But somehow, she had him convinced she had died when he left. Then, she calls 911 and passes out.”

“Good work, Lydia. When all this is over, we need to talk.”

Her phone beeped to indicate he had hung up and it took everything in her not to pull over and call him back immediately.

A talk? What the hell did that mean?

~ ~ ~

When Lydia finally made her way back to the bullpen, she was exhausted. So, it was a bit of a relief to see Spencer there at his desk, simply toying with a pencil between his fingers.

“Did you go to Elle’s house?” he asked, softly, as she took off her jacket and placed it on her desk.

“Yeah… It’s a crime scene.”

He nodded, understanding what she meant. It was bloody.

“How did the book code go? Did it work?” she inquired.

“‘The path to the end began at his start to find her first calm her long broken heart’,” he recited. “‘She sits in a window with secrets from her knight. Is it adventure that keeps him out of her sight?’”

“Any clue what it means?”

Reid opened his mouth to explain, but Garcia approached and started talking to him. “She’s okay,” she said, sitting on the edge of his desk. “Your mom. Agents picked her up.”

“Your mom?” Lydia startled. “What happened?”

The panic in Garcia’s eyes was evident. “Lydia! Sorry, I didn’t even realize you were back yet.” Her eyes darted between the two of them. “I’ll… I’m gonna go now.”

“No, no, no!” she assured her. “It’s fine. If this is private, I can leave.”

“It’s not private.” Spencer looked slightly amused by the anxiety both girls felt, but it didn’t last long. “It’s… pertinent to the case.”

“Is everything okay?” Lydia asked him, standing up next to Garcia at his desk, so that the conversation didn’t drift around the room.

“She’s flying here right now,” Garcia explained, and Reid nodded, looking down at an evidence bag.

It was the poem they’d found in the music box. The valentine’s one that he’d said his mom read him.

“I forgot she used to always read me this poem.” He sighed. “It’s funny, huh?”

“Funny?” Garcia asked.

“I should have realized this sooner,” he admitted. “I mean, nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collects butterflies except for me. People tell me their secrets all the time. I think it’s ‘cause they know I don’t have anyone to betray them to… except my mother. I- I tell her pretty much everything.”

“I don’t think anyone would mind,” she grinned.

“Do you know that I write her a letter everyday?” he continued.

Garcia’s eyes watered slightly, but her smile didn’t let up. “That’s nice.”

“It depends on why I write her.” His eyebrow furrowed. His demeanor had changed considerably and Lydia started to piece together what she had missed.

This unsub had gotten all this info on them from his mom. Maybe he’d been stealing her letters or just talking to her, but he knew her and that’s why Reid was bringing her to Quantico.

“What do you mean?” Garcia asked.

“I write her letters so I won’t feel so guilty about not visiting her.”

The girls exchanged a look. Reid had just been in Las Vegas. He said he was going home. So, why was he claiming he didn’t visit her?

“Did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?” he asked, randomly.

At least, she thought it was random. Until Garcia gasped under her breath. She excused herself quickly, leaving Lydia with the fidgeting doctor.

“Spencer, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she spoke up. She kept her voice low and her town concerned, undemanding.

He was clearly on edge. He wouldn’t look up at her, eyes focused on the poem in his hands. “‘The path to the end begins at his start’... I’m the ‘him’. And my start is my mom. So, she’s the key to lead us to the Grail. ‘She sits in a window with secrets from her knight’. The doctors tell me my mother loves to sit by the window and read my letters.” He dropped the bag suddenly and clasped his hands together. “Lydia, my mom is a paranoid schizophrenic who lives in a mental hospital.”

His knuckles started turning white and the muscles in his arms shifted under pressure. He was getting tense. Lydia knew exactly what he was doing. Normally, when she felt her anger manifest itself physically, she would excuse herself to blow off steam, but something told her Reid wasn’t about to find an empty hallway and start punching the walls.

But even with that knowledge, she never would have consciously done what she did to calm him. Her impulses took over and one of her hands reached out and settled itself on top of his fists. She bent down slightly, not forcing herself into his line of sight, but making it easier for him to turn to her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That must be hard on you… does the rest of the team know?”

He shook his head, turning one of his palms over to hold onto her fingers. Lydia’s heart sped up, but she swallowed down her feelings. He was looking for comfort, not a relationship. Besides, they weren’t even holding hands, really. He was just grazing his thumbs over her knuckles.

“Lydia,” he began, finally meeting her gaze. “Earlier you left because Hotch brought up your mom…”

Here it comes. She braced herself for the inevitable question.

“...and when you came back, you had bruised knuckles.”

She almost choked on her own saliva. He wasn’t going to ask about her mom? And how had he even noticed that?

Awkwardly, she slipped her fingers out of his grasp. “I wasn’t hitting anything alive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she informed him, suddenly closing off again. “I just had to let off some steam.”

“Lydia, I wasn’t insinuating anything-”

“It’s fine, Spencer,” she replied, far too quickly. “If you need any help with anything before your mom gets here, let me know. And if I get any updates from Hotch or Gideon, I’ll tell you.”

He spun his chair around in an attempt to stop her, but she was already leaving, trying to look dignified as she walked into the conference room. She didn’t want to make him feel guilty when he was already dreading his mom’s arrival, but she couldn’t have that conversation when there was work to do.

It wasn’t until she was staring at the evidence boards that she realized, there really wasn’t any work to do.

What was she running from?

~ ~ ~

After hours of pacing and repeating the clues the unsub had given them outloud, Lydia had ended up back at her desk, absolutely drained. She pushed everything aside and lay her head down. She’d just been… off today. 

She felt so guilty about abandoning Spencer. He needed more help than she did. His mother was involved in a murder case and probably wasn’t stable enough to look out for herself. And Lydia was just wallowing in her past.

She had no right to do that to him.

So, what was it? As far as she knew, Spencer didn’t even know her mom was dead. He had no idea what the mention of her mother could do to her. He wasn’t pressuring her to tell him about it. And even more so, she’d never struggled to tell anyone her mother was dead before. Her first day in Quantico, she told Gideon and Garcia.

Lydia rarely talked about the cause of her mom’s death. If that’s what the team needed to know, then she could forgive herself for being on edge, but they didn’t. No one had asked her to say out loud how her mother had died. And if they did need to know, Hotch, Gideon, or Garcia could probably tell them. Her mother’s death was definitely in Garcia’s files.

What is it? She asked herself. What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you just-?

“Lydia!” Garcia cried. Her head shot up to watch the blonde woman running by, making a beeline for the conference room.

She ran after her, just catching up as she opened the door and grabbed the attention of Spencer and an older woman with a pixie cut.

“Reid, I got to the end of the IP string,” Garcia started, barely even noticing the other presence in the room. “Sir Kneighf? The Fisher King? His name is Randal Garner. He’s Rebecca Bryant’s biological father.”

~ ~ ~

Once the air in the room had settled, Spencer introduced the other woman as his mother, Diana Reid, before quickly distracting them with work. Lydia sensed that he didn’t want his mother to be a part of the conversation.

Lydia stepped aside to call Hotch, listening to their conversation as she explained to him what they’d found.

“Our file says that Rebecca’s father’s name is Joseph Bryant,” Spencer argued. “Who’s Randal Garner?”

“Rebecca’s mother and brothers died in a fire when she was four and her father was so badly burned that he couldn’t take care of her, so he gave up parental rights and she was adopted by the Bryants,” Garcia informed them.

“Okay,” Hotch responded over the phone, pulling her back to the conversation she was having. “I’ll tell Gideon and be there soon. Find out everything you can on this guy.”

“Doing that as we speak,” she replied, putting her phone back into her pocket.

“I can’t believe she’s real,” Diana mumbled.

The three of them trained their eyes on her.

“What do you mean?” Garcia asked.

“Whenever he talked about Rebecca, he never said she was his daughter.” She said all this directly to her son, her stance nervous, almost defensive. “He said all his children died in the fire. He spoke of a Rebecca, more in the abstract. I really thought she was a metaphor and not an actual human being. An ideal.”

“A grail,” Reid said, confirming her thoughts. This man honestly didn’t see her as his daughter anymore. His daughter had died. And this girl was a prize to be won. “He thinks he’s the Fisher King.”

“Who does?” Morgan asked, entering with JJ.

“Randal Garner, our unsub,” Spencer responded.

“He believes you’re all modern-day knights of the round table,” Diana explained, gesturing around the room.

Derek raised a hand and they could see his question about who this woman was coming a mile away.

“Uh, Derek Morgan, this is my mother, Diana Reid.” Spencer ran around the table to step between his colleague and his mom.

“This is your mother?” He pointed at the woman almost accusingly, but seeing Spencer’s tight smile, pulled back and said, “Ma’am it’s a… it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Finally, the last of their group stormed in, Hotch’s footsteps audible from across the bullpen. “So, where are we on finding this son of a bitch?” he demanded.

“Gideon?” Lydia inquired.

“Hospital.”

Everyone sat down around the table in time with one another.

“I rechecked all the clues,” Spencer began. “There’s nothing that points to an address.”

“The adoption records for Rebecca listed an address of the fire, so I made a call to Nevada, and it’s vacant. No one ever rebuilt,” JJ continued.

“Nevada?” Hotch scoffed. “So we don’t even know what state he’s in?”

“I’ll search the tax records,” Garcia offered. “See if he owns any property.”

“Excuse me,” Diana said, catching the attention of the team. She was leaning forward in her seat in the corner of the room.

“Mom, do you want to wait out-” Spencer started, trying to usher her out of the room, but She was already making a move towards Hotch.

“Just before the agents got me from the hospital,” she fumbled for something in her purse, “a man delivered this to me. It’s a photo of a house with an address on the back.”

She held it up for them to see the scrawl on the back of the card: 1024 Winston Dr., Shiloh, VA. 22485.

“Shiloh, Virginia?” Morgan muttered. “That’s only ten miles from here.”

She flipped over the photo. The house looked more like a castle, with multiple stories and barred windows. It was made with gray bricks and black roof tiles with a circular extension that looked like a tower.

The team filed out quickly, with the exception of Spencer, who was telling his mom to stay put until he got back.

Garcia ran back to her office and Lydia sat at her desk, still unable to go on raids with them.

Almost over, she told herself. This whole thing is almost over.

~ ~ ~

“We’re sending Rebecca to the hospital now and then we’ll be back,” Hotch informed her. “Any news from Gideon?”

“Elle just got out of surgery. Doctors say she’s gonna be fine.” It was already the next morning and Lydia couldn’t wait to go back to her apartment and sleep for the rest of the day. “Randal Garner?”

“Dead,” he responded and Lydia didn’t bother to ask how or why. “Why don’t you start clearing off those evidence boards?”

“Yes, sir.” She put her phone down and walked up to the round table room.

When she got inside, she startled to see someone else there. Spencer’s mom sat on the sofa underneath the window and was writing something in one of the journals she brought with her. She hadn’t seemed to notice Lydia walk in.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Reid,” Lydia started, politely, walking over to the evidence boards. “I forgot you were still here.”

After a second of silence, Lydia got to work, making piles of evidence, pictures, and all the pins they had used. She didn’t take the woman’s silence personally, knowing that schizophrenia could cause dissociation. She figured she’d leave her to her journaling for now.

As she was finishing up, however, the woman looked up at her, an eyebrow raised. “Is it time for lunch yet?” she inquired.

“What?” Lydia asked softly.

“I’m lecturing everyone on Tristan and Iseult,” she explained, scanning her journal suddenly like an analysis paper. “They’re all gathering in my room after lunch.”

Lydia was intrigued. Clearly, Diana was not in touch with reality and Lydia wasn’t sure how best to deal with it, but her curiosity won over her common sense.

She wanted to know who Tristan and Iseult were.

“I’m here to attend the lecture, ma’am.” She smiled and sat down on the floor, like a kindergartener.

“Let’s get started, then.” She went on to talk about the basis of the myth: Tristan was sent to bring Iseult back to his uncle, King Mark of Cornwell, with whom she was to marry. On their journey however, they consumed a love potion (whether or not they were aware had varied throughout history) and fell for one another. They were forced to have an affair behind Mark’s back, despite them both holding a lot of respect for the king, because the effects of the potion were too strong for them to ignore. When the king caught them, he sentenced them both to death, but Tristan escaped and saved Iseult and they ran off together. When King Mark finally found them again, Tristan agreed to give Iseult back to the king and flee Cornwell so long as neither of them would be harmed. And eventually, he found another young woman named Iseult and married her instead.

Diana was just beginning to explain how this compared the Arthurian legend and the love triangle between King Arthur, Sir Lancelot, and Guinevere, when Spencer walked in.

“Mom, we found her. Rebecca’s safe.” The two women turned their heads to the newcomer and Spencer flushed, seeing Lydia sitting quietly on the floor across from his mother. “Lydia! I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Young man, we are in the middle of a lecture,” she reprimanded. “May I ask why you’ve so rudely interrupted us?”

Lydia covered her mouth to suppress a laugh and Spencer looked shocked by his mother’s scolding. “What?”

“I am giving a lecture on Tristan and Iseult,” she repeated, impatiently. “Are you here to attend or do you want to just keep standing there and gawking?”

He seemed to understand his mother’s headspace, but his confusion returned when he remembered Lydia. She gestured for him to sit with her, smugly, and turned back to Diana. “You can continue Mrs. Reid, he was just late.”

“Has he read any of the material?” she asked, suspiciously.

Lydia raised an eyebrow at Spencer, teasing him despite the fact that she definitely had not read whatever it was that Diana would have previously assigned.

His face was gentle, almost unsure, and slowly he sat down besides Lydia. “I’ve had them read to me.”

Lydia knew he was talking about his mother. He’d grown up listening to her read valentine’s poems and old mythology. It was honestly really touching and she wondered if she should leave them to have a moment together but couldn’t bring herself to get up.

“Wonderful,” Diana sighed. “That’s the best way, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am. By far.”

They sat there for a few more minutes, listening to her thoughts and analysis of different versions of the story. Lydia would glance over at him at times, checking to see if he was still smiling, which he always was. Sometimes he’d catch her in the act and they’d share a look of amusement before turning their focus back to their temporary teacher.

Unfortunately, it had to come to a sudden end when Hotch walked in.

“Ambers.” His tone was serious. “I was worried you’d left. I need to speak with you.”

Lydia could see Diana’s frustration at yet another interruption, so she quickly stood up.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Mrs. Reid,” she apologized, shuffling out behind her boss.

He nodded for her to follow him to his office. Was this about what he said earlier? They needed to have a talk?

She wondered if it was possibly the fact she took out an SUV again despite being informed not to after the last time. Or it could be about her harsh comments that morning towards Gideon and around Haley. Or even worse, about her mom and how she stormed away.

She sat across from him, waiting for his exasperated voice to come through, but it didn’t.

“Lydia, I think we need to have a discussion about your future,” he started, unexpectedly. “I created an internship into the team for you because we’ve never had the need for a forensics expert before, but for these past several months, you’ve been an incredible help. You’re knowledgeable in crime scene analysis, lab work, and, as you proved today, profiling. So, I’ve brought you here to tell you that I’ve discussed with Chief Strauss the possibility of giving you a full-time job in the BAU and she has agreed to speak with you and myself about creating you a position as a government contractor. You can’t apply to be an agent until you’re 23, but I want to be able to lift the restrictions on you and have your help on the cases I see as necessary. If Strauss likes you, you’ll be allowed to make calls for yourself, carry a badge, take the gun qualifications tests, and work without agent supervision, which if she asks, you haven’t been doing already. Would you be interested in such a position?”

She blinked, completely floored by the offer. “Agent Hotchner, I… wait, ‘proved today’?”

It was not what she wanted to say in the moment, but it had thrown her off slightly.

“Today, you walked onto a crime scene and told me an hour later exactly what had happened. You could identify when and from where the unsub entered the room, how Elle was positioned when she got shot, and what happened between then and her call to 911. Yes, I asked you to go there as a scientist and to look for evidence, but when I asked what you thought had happened, you became a profiler and you’re clearly fit to join the team. Again, you becoming a profiler is something we can discuss but not act on for another year, so hopefully contracted work is okay with you.”

“Okay with me?” she laughed. “That sounds amazing. So, just like I’ve been doing in the past, I’ll only be called in when you want me on a case and not for any office work?”

He nodded. “This is dependent on Strauss’s approval, but yes, that’s what we discussed.”

Lydia grinned. “So, how does one get Strauss’s approval?”

~ ~ ~

Lydia didn’t get back to her apartment until around 6 AM and promptly slept for most of the day. She was startled awake by her ringtone in the early afternoon and prepared herself for Hotch to ask her to come back in, but it wasn’t him. Interestingly enough, it was Spencer whose name popped up on her screen.

“Hello?” she answered, sitting back against her headboard.

“Hey, Lydia. Sorry, I’m sure you’re still exhausted after everything. I would have waited a few days to call you, but if I don’t do this now, I’m not sure I ever will.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Is everything alright, Spencer? Did you make it to Las Vegas okay?”

By the time she’d finished talking with Hotch, Spencer had left with his mom and she’d heard that he was planning to fly with her back to the sanitarium, because she had a fear of planes. After everything, she expected him to stay with his mother for a few days, so she hadn’t thought she’d be hearing from him anytime soon.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be back in DC tomorrow. But I have something to admit to you. I didn’t realize this earlier, but I know why Randal Garner sent you what he did.”

Lydia’s breath hitched. “What do you mean? Have you… did Garcia tell you?”

How did he know? Maybe he’d just guessed with the whole scene she made about the bupropion. Garcia had told her that she wouldn’t spill any of her secrets. But would Hotch or Gideon tell him what happened to her mom?

“What? Garcia didn’t tell me anything. I think you should wait for me to explain, so that you don’t accidentally tell me something you don’t want me to know.” His tone was joking, but there was a wavering nervousness that she could hear over the line. “Lydia, when you worked that poisoning case… on the jet back the whole rest of the team was asleep and you had a conversation with Hotch. You said that seeing an orange prescription bottle made you angry because it reminded you of your mother… I overheard that.”

She waited a minute for him to go on. She thought for certain he was going to say he’d figured her whole past out. He was going to tell her that he’d profiled her fidgets and glances and found out every last detail of her mom’s death, but he didn’t. That was all.

“That’s okay, Spencer,” she reassured him. “It wasn’t… I’m not keeping secrets from the team, I just don’t really like to talk about it.”

She faintly heard him huff, frustratedly. “No, I mean, the unsub got all this information on us from my mom. From all the stuff I’d tell her about my team… I told her about you,” he admitted. “I told her about how I’d overheard that conversation and I’m so sorry that you had to go through all this because of me.”

Lydia’s fingers ghosted lightly over her face as she processed this and shut her eyes tightly. It didn’t bother her as much as she’d thought it would, in fact, she didn’t seem to mind at all. The only thing on her mind when he said that was her stupid crush and the fact that he’d been writing to his mom about her.

She shook it aside. He talked about the whole team. It wasn’t a big thing. But… the unsub had, in his fantasy, assigned them two characters who were in love…

“I really appreciate the thought Spencer, but this isn’t your fault. I never said anything to Hotch about the bupropion, so you couldn’t have known about that. The unsub probably just did some research on me or looked through my files. Even if he chose the bottle because of your letters, he had everything else to torment me. Please don’t put this on yourself or your mom.”

He hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t hate me?”

“I can change my mind if you’d prefer,” she laughed.

He joined her for a moment, but fell silent far too fast. Lydia suddenly racked her brain for whatever she’d done to cause him to freeze, but hadn’t come up with anything before he spoke up again.

“Hey, Lydia? When I get back to DC, do you, uh… want to get something to eat?”

Lydia’s heart stopped. She wasn’t a profiler and definitely not an expert on asking people out, but she wasn’t about to let this crush rot in her brain. These past few days were torture enough. “You mean, like a date?” she prompted.

Bad move on her part. He flipped suddenly trying to deny it and she had to interrupt him before he hung up on her in mortification. He was so flustered she wasn’t even sure he was speaking English.

“Spencer. Spencer!”

He tried to mumble a quick apology, but she wasn’t about to let him close off just like that.

“Spencer, I’m not going to get food with you unless it’s a date. I don’t play mind games like that.”

“You wha- So, you’d like to- I’m sorry, it’s just… Mind games?” he finally spit out.

He was a funny one. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen so quickly for some dork. When she was a kid and all the other girls would ask her ‘What do you want your future boyfriend to be like?’ she never recalled saying, ‘A real mess. Just a true goof.’

“Yes, Spencer,” she responded. “Mind games. Getting food together could easily be misinterpreted as a date and I want to go on a date with you. But if we’re going to do that, we need to both be on the same page about it. If we go get something to eat, will it be a date or are you just suggesting it to be nice?”

“I would like that. I mean, yeah… it’d be a date. If you want! I don’t wanna pressure you or- are you sure that a date is-”

“I’m still fairly new to the Virginia-DC area,” Lydia interrupted, knowing that if he wasn’t able to form a complete sentence, he’d just keep starting new ones. “Is there anywhere in particular you want to go?”

“Um… well, what do you like?”

A grin graced her face, glad to hear him finally calming down. “I’m sure whatever you like I’ll enjoy as well.”

This was it. She’d scored herself a date with the bumbling boy genius.

[cypris-thalsian]

To The Vicar Go The Spoils

(( Written with @thalsianiii​ || @brian-wellson​ @thegrimoirewra for Mentions/Pertinent ))

It started with a watchful eye from a distance. Careful planning with a drabble of winging it. A recipe that built so many plans as of late, but still had seen her through. Hope for the best but always prepare and expect the worst. Now, the plan was set into play. Cypris would infiltrate the Abbey under the guise of a cloistered sister, new to the church. Getting close to the Vicar should be a relatively simply task. Knock her out, and whisk her away from the abbey.

Brian had warned about loyal guards. But even they wouldn't attack an innocent sister. Percival waited on the other side of the river amidst the vineyards. Close enough to mobilize should the worst occur, but far enough to avoid being noticed. Cypris adorned in white linen and lace robes, a thick belt round her middle, her hood catching in the wind as she made her way along the road. A gloved hand quickly rising to catch it before her fiery locks unfurled. Beyond her dark skin, the only color to her was the peek of crimson covering her chest and the fingertips of her gloves.

Upon entering the abbey a Paladin paused his step on his way out. A considering nod greeted the robed woman as she tucked a stray hair back beneath her hood. "Hello there miss, don't recognize your face. Are you new to the abbey?"

It was soft features that met the knight, "Aye." She offered her accent more common than exotic. "Brother Nelas in Booty Bay pointed me this way." She explained as sweetly as she could manage.

"Brother Nelas... Booty Bay..." The Paladin hummed for a bit, but he obviously wasn't very wary. "Well welcome to Northshire all the same. Did Brother Nelas tell you to meet anyone in particular? Or to just join the other sisters?" he asked with an honest and wholesome tone. He was clearly a good dude.

Feigning a blush she shook her head, "Ah well, he suggested to mingle, and to touch base with the Vicar? I'm not terribly familiar with all this." She blinked a few times, mustering a glimmer on her honeyed hues, "He was just so kind, said she'd get me sorted help me fit and feel a bit more comfortable here."

"The Vicar... that's unlikely. She doesn't usually handle new sisters..." he replied seemingly unsure. But also relatively trusting all the same. He paused to give her one more chance to explain herself a little further.

With the news she instantly appears confused, "visc..Hm..I could be remembering it wrong, I was so terribly moved you see." A small hopeful smile pulled at her lips. Reaching a hand to gently touch the man's arm, lofting her gaze up through dark lashes, "I'm fairly certain he said Vicar, something of her being a dear friend of his. It's no trouble if not." She recoiled her hand, fingers curling beneath her bust. "Where do the newcomers go?"

The paladin blushed rather bashfully. He was an easy sell. Her hand on his arm made him puff up his chest proudly. "awe well I didn't know it was a foreign friend miss." he said with an honest smile. "The vicar is on the upper floor of the library wing right now. Probably going over the days service for the Bishop. I'm sure she'd want to meet a friend of a friend." he agreed. "I should get out to the fields and see some of the new recruits. But welcome again to the abbey. I look forward to seeing more of you." he smiled before taking his leave.

The feigned a blush returned to match the paladin's, her head dipped lower before peeking back up towards him, "I'll not keep you." Starting to slip a step around to follow the direction only to pause and half turn on toe to accentuate her curves, "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name? I'm Emma Johanson."

"Corporal Peterson." he answered as they parted ways, "Lovely to meet you, Emma Johanson!"

She gave a quick dip of her brow nearly tripping herself up in the feigned distraction. Even going so far as to add a nervous giggle at her expense. She then slipped further into the abbey, following the guidance up the stairs. She didn't let the facade drop, even in the shadows, especially the shadows, that came before she rounded the corners. Her thoughts maintained the idea that she was in fact Emma, a lost soul from the Bay, seeking out the Vicar at Brother Nelas' instruction.

As 'Emma' entered the library and the ascending stairs, she was met with yet another complication. This man was much more stern looking. He didn't hold a hammer and polished armor like the Paladin from before. He looked closer to a mercenary than any church goer. "Aye. Where do you think you're goin, girl?" he asked in a hard voice as she approached.

There was a faint start to the woman as she settled eyes on the man, holding to the softness that was Emma, along with the information she gathered from Peterson, "Good afternoon. Corporal Peterson pointed me this way. I'm just up from the Bay, you see.Do you know Brother Nelas?" She asked hopeful. Waving a dismissive hand, her shoulders lifted as if she could hide between them for feeling a bit silly, "He suggested I visit the Vicar on my arrival that she might help me get sorted. I guess she's a good friend of his and wishes I also deliver his regards."

"I don't know no Brother Nelas and Peterson is a piss ant," Spat the Mercenary. His hand rested on the hilt of his short sword. "The Vicar is busy. Ain't got time for some slut-turned-nun from a goblin shit hole. Get lost." he ordered

Blinking rapidly feigning offense at the insult, though some of it she found was genuine. "Excuse me? Is this not a holy place. You would speak so?" She scoffed and started to sniffle. "Brother Nelas is a good man doing the Light's work. You're just angry I'm here to see her and not you." She retorted. Hiding her face within her hood she muttered under her breath just loud for him to hear and no one else, "Probably long over do for a f..no need to be so sour."

The mercenary looked at her for a hard while. Her words seemed to hit him in a sore spot. "Ain't no rules about not talkin’ how I want in them holy books." he replied, "And so what if I am over due? You offerin to help?" he propositioned. His hand had left his sword and he was acting a little more amicable. Probably just because he was trying to get laid. But it was progress all the same.

Wiping at her cheek, she glimpsed up, shoulder slumped. Righting herself to appear to be overcoming the hurt he'd caused she stepped nearer, letting him catch scent of the sweet florals of Stranglethorn in her perfume. She kept her head and voice low as, "Will you let me see the Vicar after? I'm trying to be true to my word, sir. I just want to help deliver Brother Nelas' message. If it helps you.. that's the light's work too yes?"

"That it is," he whispered. Now he was fully relaxed, save for a tight spot on his leather pants. "You can deliver your brothers message after we're done. C'mon. We'll go to the top of the abbey. No one goes up there ever." he instructed. "You take care of me, and i'll let you see the Vicar." he winked. Placing a hand on her shoulder with a confident creeper smile.

Giving a small nod, she took a deepened breath. Still she hung to the idea of 'Emma' as she afforded him a small smile, "You'll have to show me the way, I'm likely to get lost here."

"Oh I will," he agreed. Grabbing her hand, the pair headed to the top floor of the Abbey...

Somewhere not far... was one really pissed off Warlock trying desperately to stay his hand...

When they reached the very quiet, very isolated, very removed area of the Abbey attic, the Merc immediately started undoing his pants. They, and the sword strapped to his belt dropped to the ground. "Alright. Now let's make this quick." he urged as he scooted closer, hands reaching forward to cop a feel. He was desperate, and currently unarmed.

Eager eyes held forward in case he glimpsed back to her. She didn't shy when the pants were dropped. Her own anticipation feigned with heavy breaths. The hand that was once in the mercenary's found his coat lapel, taking hold she pulled and tugged him to follow. With her backside pressed up against the heavy wine barrels, her skirts were lifted to just above her knees, "Not too quick, if it's to last.. unless you call again." She whispered teasingly.

An easy hop had her sitting on the barrel, her hands guiding his around her waist, and upper back, keeping them away from her belt, Honeyed hues glimpsed over his features, "How long has it been, you don't strike me as one who should have to wait.."

"Oh so now you're gonna tease me eh? Some sister." he whispered as he moved closer. His hands wanted to move to hike up her skirt so he could get in. Though she did a good job at keeping his grubby paws above the belt, for now. "It's been long enough in this dumb abbey. Long enough that waiting ain't a fun idea. Making it last though, that sounds fun."

Licking her lips she settled an understanding look on the man. There was a brief nod as a hand coiled around the back of his neck to pull him to the bend of her neck, concealed by her hair and hood. The other hand Slipped around his side, letting the tips of her nails rake down his sides. A breathy moan spilled onto the edge of his ear. "In the name of the light then." a last curtesy afforded that he might feel the plush of her cheek on his. The moan and press of her form had served as a distraction, he raking hand had slipped a blade free from her belt. "Just for you..." She gave a needy whisper to his ear as she sent the blade upward through the flesh just behind his chin.

Splurch was the noise that was made as Cy's dagger popped up into the mans head. He was dead before his body would drop. He even still held a smile to his face. His last moments were at least pleasant. Not that he deserved it. Two obstacles had been disposed of. Now, the path to the Vicar was wide open.

Minding the now limp body and it's new wound, a drop or two may have landed on her chest, fortunately she was wearing her red blouse beneath to match the red tips of her gloves. A heavy shove, she loosed the dagger to leave it in place and save the mess. A hop free of the barrel, careful hands dropped her robes, one fishing out a coin. The coin being placed between the man's lips and the last care as she stepped out of the tower heading towards the Vicar. Left hand smoothed her skirts then slipped around her belt, noting one more dagger remained in place.

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

As Cypris entered the room. A tall, kind looking woman looked up from the table with books and an ink quill in hand. "Oh why hello child," she said in a soft, matronly tone. "I don't think I recognize you. I'm the Vicar here at this abbey. Left hand to the Bishop. Can I help you with something?" By all accounts. This woman seemed... really nice actually.

As she approached the door, she'd retreated back to her 'Emma' mindset. Clearing her throat as she stepped into the door, She dipped her head to the woman, "Good afternoon. I'm new. Just up from the Bay. Brother Nelas had pointed me this way and wanted me to deliver his regards. He spoke highly of you both."

"A Brother Nelas?" The Vicar cantered her head with a confused look. "I'm afraid the name doesn't really ring any bells... Are you certain he meant me?" she asked with a cooing voice. Her robes flowed elegantly as the woman walked closer towards Cypris to get a better look. She herself looked quite young and lovely as well. Almost out of place for someone to appear so youthful and hold such a high position in the Clergy...

She gave a nod, "Unless there's another Vicar among the Abbey." She reached a hand into her pockets, quickly producing a small noted parchment, the seal one of the church. "I'm pretty sure I followed his direction. But very possible I took a wrong turn."

She considered shifting unsure. Her gaze moving from the Vicar drifting over the table, about the room and back. Righting her shoulders she offered across the forged note, one friendly in tone and formal enough for business friends. The paper same as the church.

"Hmm..." The Vicar hummed as she read over the note. It was a good forgery. She could see no flaw in it other than the fact that she herself didn't know of a Brother Nelas. "Well I suppose us members of the clergy do good work. Perhaps he's simply a fan of our efforts." she surmised as she took the note. "So then, miss. What is it you've come to me for? So rarely are people directed towards me. Are you looking for something... special?" she asked with an almost hinting and sinister tone. She was dancing around a dangerous offer.

"It's hard to say, he may be. He's a good man though. Always pleasant. Spent years trying to turn my ear." She hummed as she looked towards the table. A side eye turned back towards the Vicar, "Hmm? Special.. oh yes.. well I came at his request mainly and to get situated. I guess I wanted to see you too if I'm being entirely honest. The fan bit that is." 

She grinned. "But I.. just before I left the Bay, I saw this thought it was interesting. It kind of looks religious. But I wasn't sure. You're the expert." She reached to her pocket pulling a small strand of stormy blue beads with white pearls and various other beads that could be bone or similar mineral. This she kept a firm hand on the longer part of the strand.

The vicar leaned forward to look at the beads. But was careful -not- to touch them. "This definitely isn't anything pertaining to the Light. Looks rather primitive really. Would make sense if you found it in a jungle full of savage trolls." she cooed before standing upright. "But I respect your interest in other cultures and other religions. It's the staple of an open mind. I hope your mind is as open in other areas as well..." she whispered. A gentle hand lifted up to rest on Cy's shoulder. "Perhaps we should talk... away from the Abbey. Someone else saw those and might proclaim it...sacrilegious."

'Emma' looked from the Vicar to the beads, "Ah well, entirely possible. I don't want to offend anyone. She considered briefly as she eyed the beads whether to use them now or allow the talk to make way outside. Looking back to the Vicar the beads were tucked away, "Of course, Vicar." A small smile curled as her gaze drifted over the woman's features. "Perhaps by the river, not much drifts past the sound of the water. You've piqued my interest. Where I come from, I wish more had open minds, you know?"

The Vicar patted 'Emma's' face gently. "Clever girl," she praised, "The river sounds like a nice quiet place to talk. Or perhaps you're just a little nostalgic from your time near the ocean." she mused. "Let us walk. We can discuss the finer points of faith, loyalty, and commitment." she agreed. With a gesture, the Vicar offered Emma to take the lead out of the room and down towards the river.

'Emma' seemed to sink between her shoulders, "Oh thank you!" nodding as she stepped back out, "Thank you, I certainly appreciate it. I know how busy you are." Slipping back in step she turned walking along slightly ahead of the Vicar. "And yes, I do miss it, but on to bigger and better things as they say, right? Look at little ol' me walking with a Vicar, I'd have not thought it a week ago."

---------------------------------As they drew near the River------------------------------------

"Oh sweet child you need not paint me such a celebrity. We're both here to serve a greater good." she answered humbly. "And if I get to help mould a fresh young mind to see all the truths of the world, well that is just one more way I can serve as well."

"Celebrity or no, to be a shepherd to those who are lost.. that's something to be admired. I'll not apologize for that my lady Vicar." She spared the woman a smile as they walked, she took in a deepened breath once they were outside, hands dipped into the pockets appearing to stay any chill that might be lingering in the new spring air.

"Oh you are a clever girl." The Vicar replied as she kept her eyes on Cypris. Failing to notice a man just on the other side of the river sitting under a tree. Cypris, however, would surely know precisely where Percival was and need only give a word to warrant his intervention.

"What if I told you that the Light isn't the only truth? That there's many paths we can follow? Would you be interested in seeking an alternative faith?" she asked with a motherly smile and soft voice.

Looking over the Vicar as they walked, she came to pause by some of the taller reeds well out of sight from the Abbey. "I think everyone has their own truth. People who worship old gods, dragons, kings, naaru." She rolled her shoulder, "I just want to be strong and.. well, rise above what happened to me in the Bay." Lifting her gaze she looked to the Vicar, "you mean to say there's more than one path within the church?"

"Precisely." she whispered, "You can follow me." It was a almost seductive tone she used. But still she held the grace and poise of a holy mother. "Power can be yours. Freedom beyond your dreams. All you have to do is follow my truth rather than the rest of the church. Keep it hushed when we're in the grounds. But know that much of the abbey agrees with us."

'Emma' kept her gaze on the woman as she paced about the bank. Only briefly did she turn her back on the woman, nudging a stone from it's place in the mud to kick free to the water. Hands fidgeted beneath her skirt. Unheard to any but Percival was the hushed whisper, 'Be ready.'

Cypris shivered feeling the woman's power flow along her spine with it's promise of power and more. Turning then to face the vicar, eyes wide, "All that.. Just to follow you? Sounds too good to be true." Beneath her skirt the bead fetish was pulled through her palm, slipping the razor, letting her own blood spill over the beads. As they absorbed the essence the magics within lurched free spreading in a wide radius in an effort to stifle any use of shadow magic.

The magic of Cy's fetish spilled forth. The Vicar suddenly became aware of the situation as she felt her source of power suddenly just vanish from her being. She had been played... but by who? An absolute stranger had ousted her out of nowhere.

"What?! Who?! What is the meaning of this? Who are you?!" she demanded to know aloud. Her seeming matronly and calm demeanor had all but crumbled away to reveal a spiteful, evil woman. That was the moment Percival approached from across the water in full raiment.

Cypris stepped around the woman, to place the Vicar between herself and Percival, she let the 'Emma' facade drop. Withdrawing her hands from her pockets, palms were raised upward, draped over one was the string of beads now coated with blood that steadily dripped from Cypris' own hand, "You should keep an open mind, dove. I do respect your choice in religion, even if it's wrong."

"And Respect, is an important thing in our world," chimed in Percival as he approached. "For example. Brian Wellson respected me so much, he trusted me to destroy you on his behalf. Something I plan on taking the utmost pleasure in." He proclaimed as he stepped forth. "Cypris, darling. Would you do the honours of holding our friend here still?"

"So Brian finally betrayed me. And he didn't even have the nerve to do it himself. I'm hurt..."

Stepped nearer to the Vicar, expecting her to run or fight she left her knees bend and ready to move. It was all too tempting to smear the blood over the woman, Instead Cypris swayed off to her right only to return left with a punch in an effort to knock the woman out.

The Vicar would of course make a move to run. Having no power to draw on in the moment. But her turn to run was met with a hot first clean into her temple. The Vicar dropped, hard. She was out cold. And ready to be moved if they so desired.

A grin spilled over Cy's lips, standing over the woman she lofted a brow a little surprised with how she went down. Still she knew better than to brag just then. Instead she leaned forward and low, placing the fetish over the Vicar's head and around her neck, that in transport even if she woke she'd be restricted. Once her hands were free Cypris lifted her skirt and began ripping free a bit of fabric to wrap her bleeding hand. Honeyed hues shot to Percival, "Don't say I never gave you anythin' dove." The Smirk went wide with a wink.

Percival grinned. Though his mask covered it up. "I've never doubted you darling. Well... maybe for a fraction of a second..." he admitted with the slightest hint of shame in his voice. "Let's open a portal to the tower and get her restrained. I'm sick of this abbey..."

Dipping her head in a nod, the smirk widened as she tried to read past the mask. Canting her head, "You thought I was really going to fuck him?" Brows knit as she laughed and waved a hand for him to start the gate. "I'd suggest quickly unless you brought rope, Dove."

"I Never!" he tried to lie. But she knew him all too well, "For maybe a second. Being together for so long, I guess I've forgotten -just- how good you are at manipulating people. I'm sorry." he apologized. With that. He grabbed the Vicar by the collar and waved a hand in a large, circular motion to open a portal to the top floor of the tower. "Still think it would have been fun to just full on attack this place..." he murmured as he moved to walk through.

Honeyed hues drifted over him once over. Sauntering on towards the portal as it came open, she glanced over her shoulder with a mischievous grin, "Might have been fun to fuck'im too, but I didn't." With a mental after thought as she stepped through, "Don't need the whole place on our heads."

"Not funny..."

[idealflames]

♕ - ; a permanent kind of starter call i guess

image courtesy of @Granblue_Stars on twitter

Well hello sexy singles of Isola Radiale. I’ve been wanting to make a permanent starter/relationship call thing for Percival for some time since I’ve wanted to up his interactions considerably with some high quality character development, but working full time and struggle busing tier A UnF  kinda hurt my ability to make one of these until now! Since I’m feeling pretty good I thought I’d type this out for those who want a bit more spice in their interactions, and where else to get it than Fire’s original King of attackers? Fuck off Shiva

Anyways by liking this ad you basically give me full permission to either enter your DM’s or message you privately about the possibilities and chances of our characters interacting seeing where we go from there! I’m pretty much open to any and all kinds of interactions and I’ll basically be giving you a quick run down on what to expect out of every kind of relationship. 

♕ - ; Friends/Vassals 

This is a pretty straight forward but easy one, but important all the least. People who are otherwise Percival’s “friends” have a pretty decent chance at being asked to be his vassals. Basically, loyal soldiers who would fight with him for the good of his future nation. These are pretty interchangeable as people who otherwise aren’t or wouldn’t be can still befriend him, or those who would serve him could still be his friend. He’d treat it with some degree of professionalization but he’s still someone you could get along with. If your character is an adept fighter or hold themselves with dignity and honor, don’t be surprised if he comes up and asks you to potentially be a vassal.  Percival himself can be kind of straight forward and rudely blunt but he’s never truly “mean” about something unless you’re being a fool about it. In which case prepare to get stung just a bit. 

♕ - ; Enemies

Not hard! Are you just a mean/despicable person in general? Percival may dislike you, but you kind of have to be an actual monster for him to take serious action against you. People who are simply snide or rude Percival can laugh off and immediately just rebuttal back and forth, but once you take a life.. yeah he’s coming for that ass and not in the way you want it. Alternatively anyone who’s made enemies of most of the cast of the Grandcypher or against Djeeta/Gran will of course naturally see to a much more heartier burning. Please look forward to it. 

♕ - ; Family Figures

A bit of an unorthodox one for Percival but I for one enjoy family dynamics. Percival has kind of an estranged relationship with his brothers. He still cares about the oldest being Aglovale despite some rather uh, unfortunate events to come and Lamorak hasn’t made an appearance since the first run of Between Frost and Flame. Percival is a very authoritative and respectable/honorable figure, so if you have a character you feel like could use someone like that to influence them, he wont really ignore a child in need. Parental stuff is off the table if only because he’s a grown man, and sadly suffers from trauma due to the untimely passing of his mother so breaking through that would honestly take a LOT of effort, and even then he wont really consider anyone a true surrogate.. but that familiar feeling may rise.  

♕ - ; Other Royalty

This one’s a bit more unique but Percival has dreams of becoming a ruler of a land himself. Essentially he wants to create and rule a country where the weak may remain weak without ever having to worry about war. A farmer should not have to learn how to wield a sword for the better of his country and while it sounds overly idealistic, Percival truly believes he can make such a world come to fruition. For those who are royalty themselves, Percival would like to enjoy some life lessons on how one can successfully run a country. Or, if your character is fresh or young royalty, he can give them some expertise or advice if need be! Whatever floats your fancy, really. 

♕ - ; Other members of the Grandcypher

Kind of restricted to other Granblue castmates but my current stance on this is ‘if the fate episodes say they’re on board, Percival more than likely knows them by at least name.’ If you want something pre-established with Percival I really wouldn’t mind, honestly. The only thing is he probably wont know the full extent of your character’s backstory unless they’ve been in an event or fate episode together, but otherwise I’m pretty OK with him being like “oh yeah I know you from the ship.” Bonus points for other firelords. 

If I see more to add to this I’ll give it a quick reblog or edit but this is what I have in mind just in case! If you have ideas I’d love to hear them of course!