#OC Farren Breakwood

[druidx]

Snippet 1 from Elowyn Investigations

CW: Stabbing, blood, near-death of a main character This raw, unedited, plot-holey snippet from Elowyn Investigations is to provide context for a later chapter of Her Countenance was Light. Tagging HCWL list: @aquadestinyswriting, @hannahcbrown, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

We arrived at Rowbottom's house, the front door still ajar from where he'd fled, I suppose. "Where is she?" I asked, drawing my nightstick. "Under the stairs," he whispered, hiding behind me. "All right, stay here," I said. He nodded mutely and I entered the house. The stairs ran from the middle of the reception hall, and I padded around the side. The door was closed though, and I frowned, before realising this building had more than one story. I silently cursed myself; I should have asked which set of stairs he'd meant. But no matter, I'd just have to go check the next level. I cautiously went up the stairs, treading carefully to avoid making them creak, and listening hard. Halfway up, I heard a slight scuffing sound, and paused, hardly breathing. I stood for a long while, but when no further sounds came, I carried on, reaching the top of the stairs and coming onto the landing. It was dark up here, and I was having trouble seeing. Clouds obscured the moon, and no lamps had been lit. I looked around. The landing bent left, curling around on itself, and a small hatchway led from it. My heart scudded in my throat. I reached for the handle, but before I could touch it, I felt the delicate touch of sharpened steel against my throat. I froze. The sense of a body behind me. Breath against my ear. "I give you this one warning: stop looking, Watchman." I swallowed, carefully. "What if I don't?" I asked, shifting the nightstick to lay along my arm into a defensive position. "Then you get to meet your maker," the voice hissed. I felt the blade at my throat withdraw and took my chance. I spun to the right, blocking the figure behind me. They gave a wordless cry and parried my blow. I tried to step away as they thrust at me with a second blade, but my back hit the wall. The dagger skittered off my badge, where it lay on my heart, and sank instead into my arm, slipping neatly between the leather shoulder plates. I cried out, instinctively gripping the wound. My assailant let go, clearly considering the blade not worth the effort of retrieval. I dropped to the floor, as my assailant turned tail and ran.

Blood bubbled from the wound, and I stared at it. I'd not been stabbed before, nor seen such a wound since the Demon Wars, eight years earlier. Keep the blade in, I heard Alexis telling me. If you ever get stabbed, and have the option, the blade stays in so you don't bleed out. I was suddenly aware of a high-pitched keening sound and then realised with a start that was me. I had to get help. I needed help. I wanted my legs to move, but they wouldn't. There was a crashing from below. I jerked out of my pain and panic induced catatonia. The gnome! He was still downstairs, what if… I struggled to my feet, and lurched forward, only just keeping my balance. "Elo!" I heard someone calling, desperate as I felt. "Elo!" I fell against the bannister. "Here!" I called back, feeling light-headed. I closed my eyes for a moment, then there was the crash of someone kneeling down near to me. I jerked awake, blinking in the light of a lantern. "Oh piss and blood, Elo!" Farren cursed, taking a look at me. I blinked sleepily at him. "Oh, no, no no!" he grabbed my face in his whole hand and shook it. "Don't you dare! Stay with me!" He slapped me, and I came alert. "Stay with me!" he shouted, then he was tying something around my arm, above the wound, twisting it so tight it hurt more than the blade. "You stupid girl!" he was saying. "You should have waited. Sindla save you; you never go anywhere alone!" "The gnome…" I warbled. "What gnome?" he asked. "What are you even doing here?" "Rowbottom…" "Was nowhere outside," Farren said. "Piss and blood, I need to get you to the Hedge. You need a proper healer for this. Come on." He scooped me up like a child, then we were outside, running through the damp night air.

Light blazed into my eyes as we burst into the Watch-house. "I need the Hedge!" he yelled above me, and in the light, I saw his brown eyes shimmering with water. "Oh Telak," I heard someone curse. "She's not here, she went home hours ago!" "Take her to Snips!" someone else said, and we were moving again, the air getting colder as we descended into the Tombs. "What the devil are you- ah!" I heard the goblin say. "What happened?" "She's been stabbed. Help her," Farren said. I felt the solidity of stone suddenly beneath my back, and knew he'd dumped me on the autopsy table. "I don't deal with live ones!" Snips protested. "Take her to Matilde! Take her to the Hedge." "The Hedge isn't here!" Farren snapped. "By whatever gods you believe in, I swear to them I will do you great harm if you do not help her, you snivelling cur!" "Yes, yes, alright," Snips said. "There's no need for name calling." I heard him shuffle over, and a moment later his long pointy green nose filled my vision. "Hello Elowyn dear," he said conversationally, working to remove my armour, his quick fingers unbuckling the straps for the shoulder plates, and down the side of my torso. "I do quite beg your pardon at this intrusion but I need to get to the wound site, and well, your armour is in the way. Farren, a hand." I felt Farren's clumsier human fingers pulling at the strap across my chest that secured my badge of Office, and the shoulder straps on the opposite side. "I'm sorry Elo," I heard him murmur as I passed in and out of consciousness. "This is… I'm sorry." He levered me up, and I whimpered as between them they pulled off the leather torso armour. I felt thin goblin fingers on my arm, and whimpered as Snips poked and prodded. The goblin's nose came back into view. "I'm afraid this is really going to hurt quite a lot. One of your arteries has been struck, and you are going to bleed out, unless I cauterize the wound. This is, unfortunately for you, the quickest way to deal with it. Farren, I need your belt," he said and looked across me. In a moment, a nasty strip of leather was being put to my mouth. "Bite down dear." I did as I was told, and Snips vanished from my vision. My eyes started to close again. I was so tired. Farren slapped me again. "Hey! No! No sleeping on the job. C'mon girly, let me see those green eyes." "Farren, hold her down," Snips said, somewhere to my left. I couldn't see what he was holding, but I felt Farrens hands pressing down on my slim shoulders. Snips gripped the handle of the dagger. "I'm really very sorry about this my dear," he said and wrenched the blade out. That hurt, but then I felt his hand on my wrist and a searing agony as something was pressed against the raw flesh of the wound. I screamed through the leather belt and tried to buck myself away, but Farren and Snips held me tight. For an eternity that must only have been a few moments, it was just me and the burning pain, flaring in my head like a white light. Then the pain dimmed, the flare went out, and I flopped back, trying to remember how to breathe. "Don't let her go just yet," Snips said, and vanished from sight again. "I still have to clean what's left," he said, coming back. Farren pressed hard down on my shoulders again. And there was another sear of pain, as Snips wiped something cold and damp over my arms. I cried out again, whimpering more this time, and flopped back. "There, bug, it's over," Farren said, releasing my shoulders and stroking my hair. I saw him look at Snips. "That's it right?" he asked. "She'll be okay now?" The goblin nodded, grim. "She'll live," he said, rubbing his hands on something. "Put her to bed now, she'll need rest." Farren nodded, and I felt myself rise again. "Wait," I murmured, tapping Farren on the chest. "Wait." He looked down at me. "Evidence," I said. Farren looked at Snips. "Bag the blade, would you?" my partner said, instantly understanding me. "I'll send someone down for it."

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 6

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting @hannahcbrown @jacqueswriteblrlibrary @babyblueetbaemonster

There is a giant tree ahead of her, an elm maybe – she isn't too good with arboreal identification – but it stands proud and alone in a grove of soft moss and tiny flowers. She can smell the tree, the earth, and the soft perfume of the flowers. She places bare feet on the forest carpet and takes a step– –only to be halted when there is a flare of pain in her head so bad it makes her vision go funny, and there is an alleyway around her. It smells like garbage and piss and the copper tang of blood. It smells like cold, still water, and thick mud. It smells like her city– –but she is also still in the grove and walking towards the tree. She can feel the softness of the moss on her bare feet, even as she can feel the bite of brick under her hand from where she sways. Something is in her way to the tree. It is dark and green, and she grits her teeth against the pounding in her head, because she wants to go to the tree so badly. It's calling out, like it needs her, or she needs it, and she takes hesitant steps forward. One foot drags along tarmac, the sole of her shoe grating, the other treads softly on moss and flowers feeling the prick of rock and twig. One hand touches mist-damped air, and the other the plastic of a bin. She smiles because she thinks she can make it. She will make it. She is so close, how could she not? A needle of pain lances through her chest, forcing her rigid and air-less, as the dark thing ahead whirls around and (no. no, no, no!) it flashes glowing red eyes and (nonono!) has some dark fluid on its hands and it opens its mouth, and she knows exactly what it will say to her and "NO!"

There is a puddle of water on the paper towel. Her hand is frigid and pale, hovering above it, despite the orange blush of the ice box light over her skin. Her shoulder hurts, her head hurts, her chest hurts. She feels dry and crackly, like newspapers left too long in the sun. Elo draws a careful breath. Her chest aches, but that is all. Muscles protest, but there is no actual physical damage to her. She withdraws her hand, and the muscle is stiff. She feels like she has been standing for hours, but a quick glance at the clock on the wall says that – whatever that was – has lasted all of one minute. She wonders if this is what Candice saw when she dropped the artefact. She wonders if this was the last thing that Evelyn saw before she died. Elo pauses, wonders why she doesn't feel as bad as Candice looked at the smallest glance of the thing. It's only then she realises her hand is clenched over, and there is something in her palm.

She twists her wrist, and with some trepidation, slowly unfurls her stiff fingers. There, in her palm, rests the artefact. It is not ice. It's not even wholly stone anymore, but a mix of stone and wood and coloured wire. She stares at it, and wonders how in all nine hells she is going to explain this one.

She wonders if, somehow, she can keep this hidden. If she could not tell Farren, not tell Snips, not tell Fugit. Could say that she couldn't find the thing when Snips grabbed her and she dropped it. But it's not in her nature to lie outright. She has bent the truth a little in her time, but aside from that she has a tendency to tell all. Even when she should at least sugar-coat a bad situation, she cannot, and is blunt and to the point in most things she says. She would struggle to keep anything from Farren anyway. They know each other like the back of their own hands – just as she knows when something's not right with him, he will know something is not right with her. No, she cannot hide this. Elo glances again at the clock on the wall, and somehow she has spent another five minutes just staring at the thing in her hand, in front of the ice box. She does the maths; she's been faffing around down here for a full half hour, and Snips will have finished with Matilde and Candice, and godsdamnit she doesn't have the time for this! The artefact gets stuffed in her suit jacket pocket, and the ice box door is slammed shut and she walks out muttering curses.

"Farren," Elo calls his name as she slips into her desk seat. Her partner looks up, a frown on his face. "There you are," he says. "I was just about to come looking for you. Wondered if you'd got into trouble on the way in again, since you weren't there when I came by to pick you up this morning." There is a hard edge to his words, and she grimaces. "I didn't know you were going to do that," she says quietly. "I left at first light – I wanted to speak to Snips before he left." The glare on her partner's face lightens as he mulls this over. Then he tilts his head with a half shrug and an eye roll – Fine, say his actions, it makes sense to him. "But, ah," she tries to continue. Farren cocks an eyebrow at her, as she struggles with her words. "Something happened. Snips and I–" Both eyebrows shoot up. "–not like that!" She shoots him an incredulous glare. He has the decency to look apologetic. "Snips and you… what then?" he asks. "We had a minor altercation," comes the clipped tones of their mortician over her shoulder. Farren leans back, balancing his chair on two legs, looking between the two of them. A subtle shift of his expression turns the raised eyebrows from something snarky, to surprise, then growing with dismay. He cares about them both, and he's not sure who he's supposed to feel sorry for now. "Come," says Snips. "There is an empty interview room we can use." He walks away and Elo watches. Snips glances back, a frown on his face – because, after all, she was the one who was supposed to be dealing with that. The artefact in her pocket pokes her as she stands to follow, trailing a confused Farren behind her.

Once they are inside the room, Farren shuts the door and leans against the frame, as he is wont to do. She stands to one side, as Snips takes a seat. Elo feels restless, like she wants to pace, but she has better command over herself than that – or at least, she thought she did, as the artefact is a weight in her pocket. She crossed her arms to get away from the sensation, and fixes her sight on the copy machine, just outside the window. "Right then," Farren says. "What's going on?" Between the two of them, Elo and Snips explain what has happened, and Farren mercifully manages to keep his expression neutral. "Just so I've understood correctly," he says, looking between the two of them, "in rescuing the object from the floor, it caused you, Elowyn, to speak a language you do not know. And Snips, you felt this was an appropriate reason to then attack her." His expression is steely, but Snips is not cowed. "I'm afraid I did so without full thought," Snips says, and Elo suspects this is the only hint of an apology she is going to get. "But to one such as myself, the language she spoke–" "Hebrew?" "Indeed. This language is sacred. It should not be used for casual conversation, nor, with some exceptions, should it really be spoken outside a temple. It most certainly should not be used for the blasphemy that she spoke." "I said buggeration," Elo tells him.

The mortician levels his gaze at her, giving a derisive sniff. "While that is the English simplification, what you actually said, in this language, had a far deeper and offensive connotation. It is one that is heavily frowned upon by one such as myself, and I was..." Here he pauses, shrugs, and somehow looks the more tired for it. "Well, I was many things at that moment. Shocked and appalled that something so vile would come from your mouth, of all people. Hurt that you would say it in front of me, and angry for you to use a language I consider sacred to speak in the first place. Then, I perceived that you mocked me, by continuing to transgress against me and my beliefs. I wondered what manner of demon had overtaken you this morning, that you would do such a thing." "A demon?" Farren says, his question incredulous but cautious. He doesn't want to cause further offence. Snips closes his eyes for a moment and takes a breath. "An... ill thought, a rankling in the soul, ah... Getting out on the wrong side of the bed, perhaps." He finally quirks a smile, a little twitch at the corner of his mouth, and Elo finds herself relaxing at that sight. "Okay," Farren says, thoughtfully. "But you know now that Elo never intended to cause discomfort, harm or hurt. And she did you a solid, by not letting the object touch you when it fell from her grip again." Snips nods, looking a little abashed at that, but Elo finds the tension is back in her shoulders. She did not 'do him a solid'; it's her literal, actual job, to protect people from harm. But Farren hasn't stopped talking, so she turns her attention back. "But what I'm curious at, is how just touching the thing made her speak a language she doesn't know." Farren gives her a look, and while it's not pitying exactly, there is a healthy enough dose of concern there that she does not like it. Despite it, she knows she has to tell them about what happened – about the totem in her pocket. "Did Candice hear her speak?" her partner asks, and she sees Snips look at her in confusion. She shrugs in response. "I don't know. We… weren't exactly paying attention to her reactions." "Did she say anything when you took her to Matilde?" Farren says, looking at Snips, and the mortician is frowning in thought. She has to tell them now!

"No, she was just in a state of shock. Perhaps when Matilde has seen to her, we could ask?" Farren nods, looks like he's going to speak again. "There's something else," Elo blurts. Both turn towards her. "I–" It will just be easier to show them. She walks over to the coffee table that sits between the two sofas, and without saying a word, drops the totem onto the table. The reaction from them both as she pulls back her hand is… not what she was expecting. Snips has frozen, his eyes are wide and she doesn't know what to make of it. Farren is breathing deep and slow and deliberate, as he takes measured steps forward. "Elo, where did you get that?" he asks. She frowns. There is something not quite right about this. "I took it from the fridge," she says, "I tried to put it back, but it. Uh." He's looking at her as if she's sprouted wings. "It… didn't… want me to?" she finishes lamely. "There is no possible way that Candice would have that in her refrigerator," Snips says with a surety that confuses her. "What... What do you two see?" she asks then Simps says, "You have the amulet case which has hung over the crib of my family for many generations. It is a very special item, which I had locked away in a bank until I had my own family." He swallows. "You should not have this item." Elo blinks at the pain and betrayal in his voice, but she keeps her own breathing steady. "And Farren, what do you see?" she asks, looking over. Her partner stands, tense and hands outstretched, as though he wants to take a weapon away from a scared child, but the expression on his face is one of confusion. "There is a vial that contains two fluids in front of you." He speaks slowly and carefully. "They are separated by the thinnest of membranes." He stops, trying to get his breathing under control. "If you mishandle it in any way, it will explode." She spasms. She tries her hardest not to, because that is exactly the reaction he is trying to avoid from the way his hands are reaching out. But it is an instinctive reaction at being told she is close to exploding, despite what her eyes tell her is not what it is telling them. "Shall I tell you what I see?" she asks after she had brought her jumping heart under control. "It is a totem or token of some kind. It is in three parts. The outer is a triangle of wood, and it is carved with symbols that I think are letters. In the center is a stone of blue, and it is carved on one side with a winged creature, and the other is a tree. The stone is held to the frame of the triangle with three wires – gold, silver and a green so dark it could be black." She rests her fingers gently on the surface. In her periphery, Farren jerks – because despite everything, he thinks she is touching a volatile explosive. "What do you hear when I do this?" she asks. "English," says Farren, as Snips says "Hebrew". She nods, then slides the artefact from the table, slips it back in her pocket, and rocks back on her heels. She glances at Farren, who is more relaxed now he cannot see what he thinks he is seeing. He stares at her for a long moment, then presses his hand to his face. "Oh, Bug," he says. "I know you're the queen of the strange, but I really think you've outdone yourself this time." Elo huffs out a laugh. You don't even know the half of it, she thinks.

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 3

CW: death mention, grief Chapters: 01. 02. AO3

Dripping, she walks into the station's bright lights. Due to the rain, the night is warm for spring, and she does not shiver as much as she might. Clive, the desk sergeant gives her a concerned look as she passes, but she nods and mumbles a good evening. She passes through to the bullpen, ignoring the looks from her fellow officers and those about to be booked alike, to stand by her desk. The lanky man slouched at the opposite desk doesn't even look up.

"Cap wants to see us," he says, thumbing through the report he's reading. "Cap can wait. You still keep a spare set of clothes in your desk?" "Yeah, but they ain't gonna fit you, Bug. Try Cobbleskater? You're about the same size as him." He stops reading then, the report tilting away but still not looking up, as he re-processes the conversation. She watches his face go carefully blank, his shoulders tensing, as he looks up. Even after the time they spent working together, after all the preparation he gives himself, and the knowledge of all the stupid situations she manages to find herself in, he cannot contain himself. "Holy Cuthbert, Elo!" He leaps to his feet, rushing around the desks, yelling for Cobbleskater. "What the hell happened?" "Highly probable that someone tried to kill me," she tells him, pulling off her drenched coat and draping it over the chair. "You're sure?" "Oh my," says a little man, appearing at their side. He pushes his glasses up his nose, and his fingers twitch. She nods at him. "Irvine. You got a spare set of clothes I can borrow? I never replaced mine after the last incident." "Yes. Yes, of course. Won't be a tick," he stammers and shoots off. "What I'm sure of, Farren, is that someone tried to kill someone." Elo turns back to her partner. "Took the cut-through over the canal. Shortcut Bridge is missing, so I took the rope swing back-up. Rope was weighted and glued. Partly cut as well, I suspect. Glue dissolved before I sunk enough to surface. Whoever it was meant for, it was meant to look like an accident." She pauses. In the harsh light of the fluorescents, what she thinks she saw feels unreal. The mind can play tricks, hyped up on adrenalin. But Farren knows about the dream. She told him about it, as she blubbered over the corpses of the men sent to stop her from testifying on the Brotherhood case. She sniffs, still disappointed in the reaction she'd had. Not her finest moment. "Probably meant for someone else" he offers, drawing her back to the present. "Maybe." She forgets about the eyes and the skittering thing. "Don't think there's many as go that way anymore though. Mostly kids." She blanches, the same time as he does, as they have the same thought. He puts a hand on her arm. "They'd be lighter though. Less likely to make the rope snap." He doesn't look like he's buying his own words, but he soldiers on. "You might be a short-arse, but you're still a grown woman. More muscle – denser packed." She snorts. "You calling me fat, Breakwood?" He grins as Cobbleskater reappears at his elbow. "Here you go, Sarge," Cobbleskater says, handing over a stack of fabric. She nods in thanks as an office door slams open. "Breakwood, O'Toreguarde!" Everyone in the room winces at the volume and projection of that voice, and she feels all eyes turn to her. She is still dripping. "Ten minutes, Cap," she calls back, over her shoulder. There is a collective sucking in of breath. "Make it five," he says, and the door slams closed again. She intends to only be three.

The general chatter of the room returns as she disrobes, right there in the middle of the bullpen. It is a common enough sight that her colleagues pay no heed to the precinct's most unlucky-lucky officer, as she buttons up Cobbleskater's shirt, and pulls on trousers that don't quite fit her figure. The shoes are a conundrum – his will not fit, and hers are filled with water – so she chooses nothing in favour of speed. She has run through the streets of this city in nothing more than a well-tied bed sheet before now; the short walk to her Captain's office is nothing. She spares a quick glance at the pile of wet clothing, but Cobbleskater notices. "Go. I'll deal with it," he says, giving her a push. "Thank you, Constable." One day she will remind him he is not her personal valet, maid or typist. But, she also suspects, that will be the day he will be zipping up her body bag.

Farren falls in alongside her as they walk to the Captain's office, and she feels gratitude. He doesn't touch her, or otherwise try to comfort her, but she can feel his heat and his presence, and both warm her. Quite how someone that skinny can contain so much heat is beyond her, but right now she needs it and she doesn't care. Then he is pushing open the door marked 'Capt. A. Fugit', and they are both standing at ease in front of the desk as the balding elder in front of them stares at her. "What–?" "Potential assassination attempt, sir." She can feel Cobbleskater's shirt starting to stick to her still-damp skin as her Captain harrumphs. Two cut-crystal tumbles land on the desk, chinking together. The smell of heather and peat fills the air as he pours a measure of whiskey into each glass. "Your knowledge of the city's waterways is far too intimate," Fugit says. "Yes, sir." "Go see the medic on duty when we're done here. I won't have you coming down with something right when we need you." "Yes sir. Wouldn't dream of it, sir." "Breakwood, make sure she gets sent home in a car." "Yes, sir," her partner says beside her. Elo would protest she doesn't need special treatment, but her dunking shows that's a lie. Some of the other officers think she's cursed. Others have told her she has a guardian angel. More than once she's found a good luck charm or protection amulet on her desk. She usually thanks the giver, drops it in a drawer and forgets about it. None of them have ever helped, and one was used to strangle her once. So, there's that.

"The case, sir?" she asks. "I assume there was a good reason for waking me in the middle of the night to get my ass dumped in the closest body of water?" Captain Fugit quirks a smile at her. "Yes, Sergeant." He pushes the tumbler of liquor across his desk, followed by a manilla file-folder. "All the details are in there. The body is with Snickersnip in the morgue right now." Elo frowns as she takes the folder. "What happened to the crime scene?" she asks, opening the folder. "SOP says– Oh." Fugit murmurs in agreement as she scans the page, flicking through the scant photos. "Oh indeed," Fugit says. "Standard operating procedures do not account for the scene to be situated on a slowly sinking barge. The attending officers gathered as much evidence, physical and photographic, as they could while they believed it safe to do so. But by the time they arrived, the ropes holding the barge were already strained to tautness, and it could have gone at any moment." Elo nods, looking at the photo snapped from above, taken from Spit Bridge if she's not mistaken. She's seen it happen before. The barge would have a breached hull, allowing the slow ingress of water, dragging it down into the canal. The hawser tethering the barge to shore would have become increasingly taut as the boat sank and, if not cut first, at some point they would have catastrophically snapped. "It's clever," she mutters to herself. "Anyone with even a passing knowledge of the canals – and that's half the city – would stay clear. The ropes alone make it too dangerous to stay close by. Brek, remind me to buy the attending officers a beer." She glances up to see the hint of a satisfied smirk on Fugit's face before he tucks it away; she suspects he may again be considering her promotion to Lieutenant.

There is a lot more information to be gleaned from these images and the report before her, but she can read them at her leisure later. She'll also want to talk to the attending officers. But right now, she has another question, one that's easier to ask than try ferreting from the report right now. "Who's the vic?" she asks. Fugit's shoulders tense, and Farren looks down at her with a curious glance. "You don't recognise her?" he asks. "The face isn't clear. Should I?" "Do you not watch the news?" She snorts. "I find I am in it often enough that it becomes repetitious to watch." Fugit clears his throat. "Her name is Evelyn Strucker," he says. For a moment, Elo fancies his voice has taken on the quality of a smith's hammer, the way it hits her so. "No," she says, the air leaving her all at once – a terrified little bleat. "It's a coincidence. Someone with a similar name?" It's a stupid thing to say. She knows very well she's doing one of the very things she hates to see in others, but she can't seem to stop the words from falling. The look Fugit gives her is answer enough. "Snips confirmed – she is General Strucker's daughter," he says. She reaches then for the whiskey on his desk. Takes a shaking mouthful of the golden nectar. Allows its fire as it flows down her throat to distract and comfort her. "Does the General know?" she asks. Fugit shakes his head, as Farren shifts his weight closer to her. "No," her captain says. "He's away, on a mission. According to his secretary, he can't be reached."

Elo holds herself rigid and stiff, grip tight on the tumbler, because if she doesn't, she will fall and cry. She hasn't seen Evelyn since they were younger, coming into adulthood. They've both been busy, lives drifting apart, updates shared through parents. Elo thinks back to when they were children, coming into their teen years. The daughters of dignitaries left to their own devices in City Hall, while their guardians – her Aunts and Evie's dad – were stuck in the stuffy council chambers. She thinks about the hours they spent exploring the shining white edifice; how Evie had the canteen chef wrapped around her little finger, how Elo found a way into the best hidey-holes. The last time she'd seen Evelyn was at some social function. Elo herself bore them grudgingly, but it was where Evie shone. Elo can recall it clearly: the glitz of the ballroom all around, the patter of music and dancing, and Evie, resplendent in a daring pale-blue dress, the diamonds at her throat and ears so perfect and inviting–

Elo realises with a start Fugit and Farren are both looking at her with concern. "What?" she asks overloud, blinking back to them. "I asked if you were okay?" Fugit says kindly. "I'm fine," she lies, and takes another drink, knowing neither of them believe her. "Should I reassign the case?" her Captain asks. "No!" She sets the glass down. "Although, I must declare: I knew the victim. We were childhood friends." And it's not a lie, but it does bend the truth a little. Fugit is frowning at her. "Do you believe this will compromise your ability to do your job in a safe and neutral manner?" "No, sir." "Breakwood?" the Captain asks, glancing to her left. "I'll keep a weather eye, sir. I always do," Farren says. Fugit's dark eyes flick left and right as he scrutinises them. With a satisfied nod, he says, "I'm sure I don't need to tell you both, this case will get a lot of scrutiny. You must proceed a hundred per cent by the book. The General is due back at the end of the week, according to his secretary. I want to have answers for him, if not the culprit. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, sir." "Crystal, sir." Fugit tilts his head to the door. "Dismissed."

Then they are back at their desk, and she shivers. Despite all the people in the bullpen, it is still cold. "Coffee?" Farren asks, and she gives a tight little nod.

She covers her face with a hand, pinching at the temples and tries to breathe. Evalyn Strucker is lying downstairs on a marble slab. Evalyn Strucker, the Princess of Toreguarde – for all that they are just a city-state with no actual royalty to their name – has been murdered. Her body has been desecrated, her starlight has been snuffed out. There will be no more parties for her to woo the crowds. Her father will know a pain no parent ever should. There are no more sands in the clock; they have been stolen, and that is an injustice that must be righted. There is a woman lying on a slab downstairs and her life has been taken, and it will not be allowed to stand. People are killed in the city every day, and though this victim is one of many, Elo will allow this to go unpunished as little as any other crime that is brought for her investigation. The Sargent lets the flood of anger fill her veins, even as tears drop slowly down her face. It will keep her grounded while she seeks justice for this victim. A light has been snuffed out this night; Elo will know why and by whom.

"Coffee." The sound of her partner's voice and the heavy thud of a full mug on her desk bring her back. Elo quickly scrubs her face, but Farren just nods. He's seen this ritual before. He has his own ritual, one that involves a dozen of those vile roll-ups he smokes and a much-abused punching-bag in the gym, but she suspects he has already prepared himself. Dissociation makes you keener, he'd told her. As cold as it is, the thing on the slab isn't a person anymore – they are a victim, and all victims deserve justice. Be angry, be sad, be cold. Do whatever gets you through, but make sure the fire of unrequited justice moves your every action so that the victim gets closure. Only when you have all the answers you need, when someone is behind bars, can you give the victim their name back, and you can allow yourself to think of them like a person again. Be cold, she reminds herself. Be keen. The victim demands justice. She takes the coffee, burns her mouth trying to drink too fast, sits down and looks at him. "What do we know?"

Farren gives her a rundown of the report. The victim was found on a barge moored at Tattham dock, just down the river from Spit Bridge, and the attending officers were called because of the sinking. The victim was only found because one of the officers went aboard to see if the barge could be saved or made fast in some way. She was on the main deck, partly covered with a tarp. There was little blood – she wasn't killed there, but she hadn't been moved far. Her wounds were simple and would have been swift, but the murder weapons eluded them. The first injury was blunt-force trauma to the side of the head, the second is a small puncture mark, over her heart. "Snips will have more about her wounds," Farren says. "I know he's hoping there will be particulates from whatever she was struck with that Candy will be able to trace." "Why did they call us now?" she asks him. "If there's no crime scene, if the body has already been worked over by Snips and Candy, and the attendings have made their reports, what was so time-sensitive that they called us out of bed? Did Fugit just want to be able to say he had his best officers working the case before any journos showed up?" But Farren is giving her a long, steady look. The dark fuzz on his chin catches the light in a way that tells her his jaw is tense – he's thinking how to tell her something she probably doesn't want to hear. "It's probably best if I show you," he says finally and rises from the chair. Elo frowns; she really isn't going to like this then.

[druidx]

WIP Intro - Her Countenance was Light

~SYNOPSIS~

The 1970s, twenty years after the rebuilding of Toreguard, semi-retired Sergeant Elowyn O'Toreguarde is called in for a new case - the murder of her childhood best friend, Evelyn Strucker. When the King of estranged Iceland turns up for an unexpected visit, the Triumvirate Council force O'Toreguarde to play tour guide, passing the murder case to her subordinates. But it doesn't completely leave her hands. A strange set of circumstances reveals an ethereal side to the City, filled with secrets. Secrets which may hold the key to Evelyn's murder.

~DETAILS~

Genre: Crime/ Urban Fantasy Type: Novel POV: Third person limited, predominantly Present tense Themes: Grief/ mourning, Change is neutral, Accepting who you are, Mercy is the preferred choice Aesthetic: Dieselpunk, Detective Noir, Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales Status: Technical editing. Posting weekly on Archive of Our Own and Tumblr. Tags: #WIP 'Her Countenance was Light' (All posts inc. meta info); #HCWL Chapters Only (Follow this tag for only the chapters in posting order)

~MAIN CHARACTERS~

Elowyn O'Toreguarde - F, Sergeant-Detective, Freeman of the City

Johan Strucker - M, Evelyn's Father, General, 1/3rd of the Triumvirate Council

Storri Nargondsson - M, King of Iceland

Lerrald Brauma - M, Master of the Exchequer, 1/3rd of the Triumvirate Council

~MINOR CHARACTERS~

Farren Breakwood - M, Constable-Detective, Elo's Police partner

Thazaar Clayrmantle - M, Acting Magister, 1/3rd of the Triumvirate Council

Snotgrut - M, Unusual fellow. Curiosity. Shouldn't exist. ???

Meredith Gruksdottir - F, Bodyguard of K. Storri, Old friend of Elo's

Yoruk Copperheart - M, Bodyguard of K. Storri, Husband of Merri

Irvine Cobbleskater - M, Constable, subordinate of Elo

~OTHER STUFF~

Written for NaNoWriMo 2017. Technically a Modern, Mundane-ish AU of a TTRPG set in the Fighting Fantasy World of Titan. Formerly known as "FF/T Modern-Ish AU".

The plot is... not something I would normally write, and for a long while I hated it. Then I thought it was a too cringy, and tried to 'fix' it, only to give up. Now, on a recent re-read, I think this is the shape this story has always had to have. So I've decided to suck it up and get it ready for posting, so at least it's out there and not loitering on my hard drive.

Title is from a traditional song, Besse Bunting, arranged by Mediæval Bæbes.

~EXCERPT~

She cuts through a narrow alley of dark soot-stained brick, trots down a short set of steps and onto the flagged towpath next to the canal. There is an improvised bridge up ahead that will allow her to pass over the canal closer to where the station lies. She has run this route a hundred times, she knows every nook and cranny along this path, so when she reaches where the bridge should be, and finds it missing, she is perturbed, but not worried. Maybe someone finally reported the ramshackle thing, made of old boards and stolen scaffolding.

It was quick work though, she thinks as she back-tracks to where a tree clings to the bank. The bridge was still there when she came home in the early evening. She shakes the thought aside as she unhooks a rope swing from the tree. It's been a while since she had to use it, but she's in a hurry and has no time for the uncertainty that tries to drape over her like a cloak. With a running start, she jumps. It is only as she enters the apex of the swing that she realises something is wrong. The weight of the rope is too heavy, it shifts alarmingly as she reaches the apex of the swing. Then it has snapped, and she is falling, and she cannot remove her hands from the tacky surface of the rope, and the water is closing in over her head, and she thinks she sees the blaze of red eyes on the bank as she sinks through the darkness.

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 11

CW: Grief/ mourning, Parent mourning dead Child, Alcohol mention, Blood This one is a bit of a doozy - please ensure tea and tissues are on hand. AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannahcbrown, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

Elo returns the King to City Hall to find a runner waiting for her in the foyer. She's needed in Stucker's private office.

So she goes, and she stands there as his secretary gives him the bad news. And he looks up at Elo and asks if this is real. So she sends the secretary away, and takes a seat next to him, and tells him: yes. She's sorry – gods, he has no idea how sorry – but yes. And she tells him, as he sits ramrod straight and military still, how she's seen the body and that she's so sorry, it is their sweet Evie lying on a slab in the mortuary of the 88th. She tells him they're doing everything they can – that she is doing everything she can – to find his baby's murderer and bring down swift, punitive judgement on the bastard's head. He asks, in tight, clipped tones, about the officers assigned to the case; she confirms that she personally knows every officer and admin and that she will testify to the tenacity, professionalism, and solve rate for each of them. And she realises, at some point, that none of what she's saying is helping, even as she can't stop the words from pouring forth in a torrent, and she can only switch tack, and tell him that she knows it hurts, that it feels like a piece of himself has died with his little girl and that the stars have faded and nothing is ever going to be right again, and the tears are dripping down her own face as she tells him, once again, that she is so, so very sorry for this loss. And that is the catalyst. He crumples. That's the only way she can describe it. Like a marionette with its strings cut, like his spine has just snapped in half, he caves in on himself, places his head on her knees, and screams.

It is the most soul-wrenching thing she has ever heard from another being, digging deep into her heart and the very fibre of her being. His fingers are claws into her legs, gripping with everything he has as if she's the only thing keeping him tethered at that moment, and who is Elo to judge – maybe she is. So she wraps herself around him, best as she can, saying nothing – because what more can she say in the face of that? – and clings just as tightly.

She has no idea when his screams stop, only that they do. And she has no idea when his tears stop, only that they do. She has no idea how long she has held him for, only that they are both drained of emotion, and he is curled into her – silent, and numb, and blank. Some disaster training kicks in then. Hydration, it says. So she goes to the facilities table and pours a glass of water and makes him drink it. Sugar for shock, it says. So she goes back to the facilities table and makes a cup of milky, sweet tea, laced with a healthy dose of Cointreau and makes him drink that. Rest, says the training. So she tells him they are going to stand up and go to his on-call room, and she helps him stand and guides his feet, and then once they are there, she helps him strip down his vest and boxers, and tucks him into bed with a lullaby her mother used to sing when she was sad. He's out by the third verse. She leaves water and painkillers and a cookie on the nightstand, and leaves the room in darkness with the door ajar.

Then she is standing in front of Evans' desk, telling the secretary to put a hold on all his engagements for the foreseeable or pass them to his second-in-command because as of now, Commander-in-Chief General Johan Strucker is on emergency compassionate leave. Elo doesn't even know if she's allowed to do that but Evans doesn't bat an eye and tells her, without a second of hesitation, that it will all be arranged as Elo has requested.

And then she stands there, lost. Because for all the death she's seen, for all the death she's caused, and for all the cases that cross her desk – this is the first that has been truly personal, and she has no idea what is supposed to come next.

"Elowyn," Evans says, and it seems like maybe the secretary has been trying to get her attention for a while. Elo blinks. "Yes?" "Why don't you sit down?" Evans says and guides Elo to a waiting couch. A drink is pressed into Elo's hands, and she drinks reflexively, tasting rum's rich molasses in the bitter coffee. "Go home," Evans says, forehead concertinaed in worry. "I'll tell the Council's guest you're unavailable this evening, due to personal reasons." Elo shakes her head. "I should stay here." Evans purses her lips and expels a sigh. "There's a camp bed with a spare blanket and pillow in the General's personal office. At least take a nap?" Elo blinks some more, takes stock of how much she is blinking, and accepts Evans' wisdom.

Entering the office feels like returning to a crime scene. Elo pushes that thought away, pulls out the bed and tries to rest.

–––

After a half hour of her eyes drilling into the panelled ceiling, counting the number of petals on the flower bosses, Elo gives up on the idea of sleep and instead calls back to the office.

"Precinct 88, Special Cases, Detective Constable Breakwood speaking." "Farren, it's Elo. How's it going?" "Hey, Bug." She can hear him shifting, imagines him rocking his chair back and swinging his feet onto the desk. "It's going good. We found the first crime scene. You were right – it's an alley not far from the barge's mooring space that leads past some warehouses to a parking lot. It was filled," he says with a not-small amount of suspicion, "with plastic bins." He knows her well enough not to ask, but she knows he must be wondering how she knew the bins would be plastic when most of the city still uses metal. Still, she feels relief that they're getting somewhere, and it seeps into her voice as she says, "That's good to hear." "We're pretty sure we've found one of the murder weapons too. A big red wrench. Type of thing any grease monkey would use. Was tucked under some garbage and covered in blood. It's with Candy and Snips now. They're doing their thing, blood typing and whatnot, confirming it is the murder weapon." Another step closer. "That's good work, Brek." "Final bit of good news for you, we found her car in the lot. It's being brought back to the precinct now. Since she didn't have a purse on her, and we didn't find anything in the alley, we're hoping there's something in the car we can use. Datebook, diary. Anything that points to why she was down there in the first place." Elo tips her head back to rest on the chair and closes her eyes. "I take it back. This is excellent work. Thank you."

There's a wary pause on the line then; Farren figuring out her tone, figuring what to say because of it. "He's been told then?" Elo sighs. "Yeah." "How's he doing?" "Average, I guess. He's asleep right now. I had him put on emergency leave." "You can do that?" Elo lets out a wet bark of laughter. "No one told me I couldn't, so I guess so?" "Huh." There's that momentary watchful silence again, then, "And how are you?" Elo's mouth works. "Numb. Wired. I don't know." "You should take some time." "Can't. I got this other assignment." "At least come over tonight. I'll cook dinner, tell you the latest dating drama. You can insult my taste in women, I'll insult your taste in beer, we'll watch a shitty movie. How about it?" "Oh, it sounds great, brother. But I can't." Elo passes a hand over her face. "I'm supposed to escort this visiting dignitary to dinner." Farren scoffs. "That's why they pulled you off the case? Baby-sitting duty?" "He's quite an important dignitary," Elo allows. She's still under the assumption that no one but those read-in are supposed to know about King Storri's unplanned visit. Maybe they'll make some announcement in the coming days, but until then, the cat must stay in the bag. "Still. It's a load of bullshit if you ask me. You'd be better off with your boots on the ground, doing real work with me." She's about to commiserate, but something in his bitter tone stops her short. "Everything going okay with Cobbleskater?" Elo would rather cause an international incident by telling a king to find his own meals than for a rift between her two constables to jeopardise this case. "Yeah. Yeah," comes Farren's weary sigh. "It's just, y'know. He ain't you, Bug. We got our way of working. And he's… different." "Is this going to be a problem?" "Nah. I'm just whining, mostly." Elo smiles, because she would also prefer to have her boots on the ground instead of flouncing around playing at Lady. "Hopefully, this assignment passes quick, and then I'll be back where I belong." She tries to say it lightly, but it comes out with an edge of self-pity. "Look, just keep going. You're doing good work, and I am very glad for the updates. I know I'm not technically on the case, so have no right–" "The hell you don't. This girl meant a lot to you. We'd do the same for any family member." Elo glances up at a rap on the door. Secretary Evans is standing there, hands spelling out the sign for 'king'. Elo nods. "Thank you, Farren. Look, I gotta go. I'll check in with you tomorrow, okay?" "Sure, Bug. At the station?" "If I can. Stay out of trouble." "I will if you will."

Elo hangs up and pushes away everything but the task at hand. "Yes?" "The Council's guest is done with his meetings for the day," Evans says. "Right." Elo pushes away from the desk, following Evans out of the office. She stops with her hand on the outer door. "And where-?" "He's waiting for you in the council chambers, with Acting Magister Clayrmantle and the Master of the Exchequer." "Thank you," Elo says slowly. "How-?" Evans aggressively tamps a stack of papers. "It's my job, Lady Toreguarde. I must anticipate General Strucker's needs before he does; have the answers he seeks before he has to ask them. I think you'll find I am very good at it." "Of course. I never meant to imply-" "I know you didn't." The secretary sighs, her shoulders drooping. "I apologise. With all that's happened… my nerves are a bit frayed." "It's perfectly understandable, ma'am, no need to apologise." Elo reaches across and rests a hand on Evans' arm. "I think we're all a bit frazzled. Just remember, you can't pour from an empty cup." Evans gives a faint smile. "Of course, your Ladyship." Elo smiles back. "I'd better go. His Nibs will be waiting."

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 4

CW: None Chapters: 01. 02. 03. AO3

She follows him down to the Tombs – the morbidly affectionate nickname for the basement. The morgue is down here, Snip's office, secondary evidence storage, and Candy's lab. It's the latter he leads her to, though the woman herself isn't in. "She's asleep in the on-call room," Farren says, noting the way Elo looks around for the Forensic Tech. "This way." He leads her through the labyrinthine stacks of shelves, cases and equipment. How Candy can ever find anything, Elo doesn't know. She's always struck by just how archaic the lab feels – filled with the wood and glass cases, brass instrumentation and jars of… things, all labelled with Candy's neat hand. Farren is leading her towards the back of the lab, where the ice boxes are.

He opens a fridge, drawing out a tray, and Elo shivers as the cool air washes out against her skin. Flicking on a desk light, he places the tray on the worktop next to them, making sure it's not directly under the lamp. "So," he says, "you know how you manage to do 'weird' better than anyone else?" She nods. "Well. Yeah." He steps aside. Elo spares him a frown before stepping up and looking at the thing on the tray.

It is a talisman or similar, carved out of a pale blue stone, bearing iconography like she has never seen. "Don't touch it," Farren warns as she reaches out her hand. Elo nods absently as her fingers linger above it, tracing the patterns through the air. It is triangular, approximately two and a half inches from top to bottom and three from point to point. Spokes connect the edges, decorated with twisting lines that swim in her vision and make her think of letters, with a disc in the centre. The disc has a hole in the very centre, and around it is a series of stylistic lines. It takes the form of a bubbly shape, lines emerging from the bottom – she frowns – perhaps a crudely drawn tree… "Elo!" Farren's hand lands on her shoulder, and she starts, a fist landing in his gut, causing him to double over, and a hand curling around his throat before she realises what she's doing. "Gods above!" she curses, stepping away. "Cuthbert preserve me," he wheezes. "Farren–" "I'm fine," he waves her away, straightening, but he gives her a strange look. "You were muttering to yourself, and it didn't sound like English. Also," he picks the tray up, "you're melting it." And with a nudge to move her aside, he slips it back into the ice box. "Melting? It's made from stone, how could it melt?" Again, he gives her that queer look. "It's made of ice, Bug," Farren says. "Cuthbert knows how, but it was found in the victim's hand. It started to melt as soon as it was removed. The attending officers managed to chill it enough to last the trip back and Candy immediately put it in the ice box. But it's only slowed the melting – it was a lot crisper when I first saw it." "It was plenty crisp," Elo says with a frown. "I could have sworn it was carved from stone. Is that why you didn't want me touching it?" "That," Farren nods, "and it left a kind of burn on the victim's skin. We don't know what it's made from – I didn't want you touching something potentially dangerous."

Elo nods absently. Her mind still scritches at the thought it did not look melted to her. She pulls open the fridge door and pulls out the tray again, blinking in amazement at the totem now. Farren is right – the edges are no longer sharp, but rounded. The raised lettering is barely visible as such, and the decoration in the centre is non-existent. She swallows and puts it back in the ice box. "I need paper," she says, and Farren knows better than to question her when she gets funny like this. He slides his notebook and pen over, and Elo tries to draw out what she saw. Her mind slips from the lettering, but she can reproduce the frowning, winged figure to her satisfaction. Farren blinks when she shows it to him. "How did you-?" he asks, stunned. "I don't know," she says. The words make her recall her dream and the green, skittering thing on the banks of the towpath. "Farren, I–" "I think now you know what we're up against," he says, cutting her off, "and you've seen whatever that is, that it might be time to have a medic look you over." She hates the look he's giving her right now. The one where he's worried for her sanity. It comes more and more these days. She wonders how long it will be before he's permanently re-assigned to Cobbleskater, and she's placed on administrative leave. "You're tired," he says generously, guiding her out of the lab and up to the second floor. "You were woken up in the small hours, and then took a swim in the canal, and now you've had a shock – two in fact. I'd be enough for anyone."

She wonders if he's right, as he talks to the medic and explains about her unexpected dip. She wonders if maybe that's just it – she's tired. She always feels as if she is walking in a dream, and she isn't quite sure when it started. But she is good at her job, she is. And she knows that despite everything she's like as a person, despite the strangeness and the bluntness and the fact she doesn't really gel with anyone other than Farren, Fugit will not have her off the force unless she wants to, because for all that she attracts the weird cases and the ridiculous situations, she is damn good at her job and she knows he values that.

She goes through the motions with the attending medic – has her chest tapped and her motor functions tested, answers his questions about swallowing canal water, and eventually, he sighs and declares that Elo's healthy enough. Cold and exhausted, but healthy. He gives Elo a tub of menthol rub for her chest, tells her to have a hot drink and get plenty of rest. Then Farren is driving her back to her room. He asks if she wants him to come up with her because he knows – and it's stupid and wholly platonic – she sleeps better when he's there. But she declines, says she'll see him in the morning. Then she is sliding the bolts on her door, and getting back into her night dress, and checking the rounds in her gun and finally sliding it under her pillow to rest.

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 7

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06 Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting @hannahcbrown @jacqueswriteblrlibrary @babyblueetbaemonster

"Well, this is all quite the curiosity," says Snips, bringing them back from their thoughts. Elo glances over to see him running a hand over his own face. "I am afraid, however, I must leave you to it, for I am exhausted." "And we still have a victim to find justice for," Elo says, agreeing with him. "This – whatever this is – will have to wait."

Snips rises, dusting down his dapper brown suit, and Farren opens the door for him, following him out and hollering for Cobbleskater to arrange a car to take Snips home. Elo idly thinks she needs to remind Farren as well that Irvine is not their gofer – but later. Right now she's tired. She still aches from the phantom strikes to her head and chest. She is confused about the artefact causing her to speak in tongues and the vision it caused in front of the ice box. Just the thought of it makes her wince – and freeze, her whirling thoughts halting in a jagged crash. She – but not she – was struck in an alley not far from a canal, and she was struck in the head and stabbed through the torso. The artefact showed her Eve– the victim's last moments. She can find the first crime scene. Elo is sure that she will know it when she is there. But she has to play this carefully. All her worst fears will be realised if she blurts out why she thinks she knows this; even Farren – ever loyal and supportive Farren – will not be able to ignore this breach in her supposed sanity.

Elowyn leaves the room, pondering as she walks over to where Farren sits at his desk. "You okay?" he asks. "Mm. Just thinking," she replies. "Snips gone then?" "Yeah." Farren's expression is turned inward. His hands search out the tobacco pouch that lives inside his jacket pocket, and he automatically starts making a roll-up. She sits, pulling out the report she has still utterly failed to read, to look through the photos again. "So, the victim was found on the barge, but she was moved there from elsewhere, right?" she says, calling him from wherever his thoughts are taking him. His fingers tense around the match he's fumbling from its box, starting out of his thoughts. Then his shoulders drop, and he strikes. The match flares and soon the air is filled with the familiar scent of tobacco. "That's what the attendings thought," he tells her. "But she couldn't have been moved far, given the pool of blood on the tarp." "Right. We need to look for the site of the murder then." Elo points to the overhead photo of the scene. "These alleys, for example. They'd be ideal for an ambush. Hide behind an industrial rubbish bin – the vic wouldn't see it coming." "Maybe under the bridge?" "Maybe. But I've got a strong feeling about the alleys." Farren quirks an eyebrow. "You're the boss, boss." Elo grins. "Guess what fun activity we're doing next?" Farren rolls his eyes, standing to pull his jacket from the back of his chair, but Elo knows it's in jest – he's looking forward to getting something done as much as she is.

"Ah, O'Toreguarde, there you are." Elowyn turns. Captain Fugit is behind her, coming back from the break room, a steaming mug in one hand and a pastry in another. "What can I help you with, sir?" Fugit's face twists, like someone put lemon in his coffee. "You're being pulled from the Strucker case." "What? But, sir–" "My office. Now," Fugit says and walks on without waiting for her to say anything. She glances at Farren. "Just you, O'Toreguarde," Fugit calls over his shoulder. Farren offers a shrug. "Guess I'll take Cobbleskater." "See if you can grab Ayton and Terrell too. And don't forget about the bins." "This ain't my first rodeo, Bug," Farren says with a quirked eyebrow. "O'Toreguarde!" the Captain yells, glowering from the threshold of his office. "Plastic bins, Constable Breakwood," she says, as she turns away.

"Sir," Elowyn says, as she closes the door to the Captain's office behind her. "Why am I being pulled from the Strucker case? I already said I can handle the conflict of interest–" Fuigit holds up a hand, as he sets down his mug. "There has been another development, Sargent." Elo bites her tongue as Captain Fugit sits. "It seems," he continues, fishing through the papers on his desk, "that the General is back early from wherever he was off to. He's currently debriefing, and they have yet to give him the news." Fugit sighs as he finds what he is looking for – an ornate envelope embossed with the City's seal. Elo gets a cold feeling in her gut. It's only made worse by her Captain pulling out a tumbler from his desk and pouring a measure. Fugit continues, "Secretary Evans feels that, in the absence of any other close family, it would be good to have someone on hand who can assure him we are doing everything possible to find whoever is responsible for his daughter's murder." Elo can't help herself. "You want me to lie to him?" she asks bitterly. Fuigit tilts his head fractionally. "No," he says, mild confusion in his tone. "Why would you say that?" "Well, because we're not doing everything are we?" Elo says, struggling to keep the rising anger out of her voice. "I've been pulled off the case to waste time flitting about because of politics." "Sergeant O'Toreguarde, I suggest you mind your tongue," Fugit snaps. "The department will not grind to a halt with you gone." Fugit grits his jaw. "Besides, this isn't just about politics. As I said, besides you, he has no other close relations. He's going to need someone to be with him when Evans gives him the news. Someone who's on his side." Elo bites her lip. Yes, she supposes, if he's anything like herself – like anyone in their kind of work – he's not going to allow himself to come undone in the presence of a stranger. Fugit swirls the liquor in his glass, and with a heavy sigh says, "This isn't even the development which is pulling you from the case." Elo drags her thoughts back. "Sir?" "A Triumvirate courier dropped a message off with instructions for you to be at City Hall no later than 1030 hours. Acting Magister Clayrmantle and Master of the Exchequer Brauma are the ones who've pulled you from your regular duties." For a long moment, Elo can only stare, breath catching in her throat. "Sir? Why?" It comes out pitchy. "Are they not satisfied with my performance? How long is this for? Have they–" Fugit holds up a placating hand. "Easy, Elowyn. They require your assistance with, in their words, a sensitive matter, and wish to– Oh now, what was it?" From the gilt envelope, he plucks a letter on crisp white paper. "They want to, quote-unquote, redistribute the resource presented in Sargent O'Toreguarde's capabilities." Elo blinks. "The hell does that mean?" "That they need your help. You've been reassigned to the office of the Magister." "For what? For how long?" "Need to know, I'm afraid. And it seems I do not need to know – the message doesn't say." Fugit takes a sip of his liquor. "I expect you'll find out at 10:30." "But sir. I've got work to do here. Isn't there any way–" "Sargent." Fugit sets his glass heavily upon the desk, the other hand rising to massage his temples. "For once would you just accept there are things at play here you have no understanding of? They wouldn't have asked for you without a damned good reason, and the Stucker case is in good hands with Officers Breakwood and Cobbleskater. They'll have whatever resources they need. And gods' know Breakwood will do enough complaining for the pair of you, so if you could save my ears, I'd appreciate it." He glances at his watch. "You've got forty-five minutes to get yourself to City Hall and report to Magister Clayrmantle. I suggest you get a move on, Sargent." Elo longs to kick up a stink – to keep things under her careful control. But she knows it's pointless and time-wasting. In the end, she'll do as instructed. "Yes, sir," she says instead and exits the Captain's office.

Farren has already left by the time Elowyn exits Fugit's office. She scribbles a note, dropping it on his desk along with the artefact from her pocket, and makes her way down to the precinct's garage. Here is where they let her store her baby, an Atilia Dragon TT motorbike. She doesn't need it much since her return to the city, living only a stone's-throw from the precinct, but the city center is over an hour away by foot. Elo runs a loving hand over the golden faring and down the glittering tank. "Hey, Auri," she croons. "Oh, it's been a while, I know." From the top box, she pulls a leather jacket and leg guards. Partly attired, she fettles and kicks-starts the engine. Her dragon roars, the full-throated blast sweeping through the underground car park, before settling down to a purr as the revs drop. Elo pulls on her helmet, and then they are away, speeding through the city streets.

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Taglist

I've had a few people seem interested in this story (WIP Intro here), and I was wondering if I should make a taglist for it?

If you're interested in being @'d when a new chapter is released, please let me know.

Otherwise, new chapters are dropping at 1930 GMT (1130 PST/ 1430 EST) on Fridays.

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Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 22

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 21. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

Elo allows herself to be taken to hospital. She doesn't like it though. She knows no one is overly fond of hospitals, but for her, they remind her too much of the morgue, and of course that's where dead people stay while they wait for the living to help them get closure enough to pass on. She hopes never to die like that – an anonymous body in a low-trafficked area, gone in the dark of the night. She'd like her death to be something obvious and blatant. Not that she's suicidal, but if she had died this night, it would have been one she was satisfied with. Cloven in two by a giant sword is difficult to miss, even if its wielder is less than prosecutable. Fortunately her time there is short. Someone has called Farren, who shows up with her Police Academy sweats. He helps with a stand-up wash and deals with the ruined dress while she's being stitched up. The doctors want to keep her overnight for observations, but her health package will not cover the cost, so Farren drives her home and helps her to her room.

Elo has lost all sense of time, but by the lack of movement in Craig Spine's room as they make their way slowly up the stairs, it is not yet considered morning. Farren gently deposits her on her bed, then dithers. "Brek, go home," she says. "I'll be fine." He harrumphs, then kicks his shoes off and shucks his jacket. "'S too far and I'm knackered. Budge over." "Really, this isn't–" She's cut off by her partner sliding into bed, putting himself between her and the door. "Breakwood." "Get some shut-eye, Bug." Elo sighs and squiggles over so he has more room. "You're annoying," she mumbles. "So are you," he mumbles back. The lack of revolver under her pillow is discomforting, but the solid slab of muscle lying next to her more than makes up for it.

–––

By the time she stirs, it's midafternoon and Farren is unsurprisingly gone. At first, she only lies there. Bright sunlight slices through the blinds, and on the window, she hears the intermittent patter of angels' tears. The bed is soft and warm, the covers like a cocoon she doesn't want to escape from. She has a faint memory of Farren leaving, telling her to stay home, he'll deal with her absence. She has a mind to roll over and continue sleeping. Then her belly grumbles, loudly and with great insistence. So she hauls herself up and forces her way through a stand-up wash at the basin in her room and digs out a clean suit. The new dressing she applies isn't nearly as neat as it could be, but it's good enough and anyway it'll be hidden under her jacket. Her belly growls again. The landlady prepares a breakfast buffet as standard and dinner only by request. Elo's on her own for food, she thinks, as she drags herself out of her room and down the stairs.

Mrs Higgins greets her on the first-floor landing, inviting Elo into her own apartment. The landlady plies her with a cold lunch and insists on reapplying the shoddy dressing. Throughout her fussing, Mrs Higgins has this peculiar smile hovering on her lips, which Elo doesn't understand at all. Then Mrs Higgins says, "There's some folks hanging around downstairs. I think they've been waiting for you." Elo tenses. "Did they show you any badges?" "Yes. The wee girl is a copper. The burly lad's said he was a… CPPO?" Elo relaxes. "Close personal protection officer. It means he's a bodyguard. They say what they want?" Mrs Higgins shakes her head. "They complimented my scones though." Elo grins. "That's because you use butter, not margarine like most places." "Should I tell them you're still asleep?" And bless her, Mrs Higgins is giving her the option of leaving via the dumbwaiter or fire escape. But the CPPO is most likely one of King Storri's ubiquitous black suits, and the copper is probably someone from First Precinct who wants her statement from last night. So this time, there's no harm in greeting them. "No, thank you. I'll go down and say hi." "Alright then, pet."

Sprawled on the waiting sofa is a slim, short, blond woman. Stood so still by the door that she almost dismissed him as a piece of furniture, is a copper-haired ubiquitous black suit. "Ayton!" Elo cries, grinning at the woman on the sofa. "El!" The woman springs up, clasping Elo's shoulders and looking her over. "The hell did you do this time, girl?" "Ruined a very expensive dress by getting stabbed at a high-class shindig." "Godsdamn, you never do things by halves, do you?" "What are you doing here?" "Cap sent me–" "Gods," Elo whines. "How much trouble am I in?" "Nah, girl, it's fine. I'm here to keep an eye on you." Elo screws up her face. Ayton puts a hand on Elo's shoulder. "Relax, wouldya? He's just worried. Breakwood said it was bad. Terrell's got the day off, so it was either come babysit you or be stuck on desk duty. Handsome over there's got the same orders." She looks over. "Hey, Handsome. Tell her what you told me." The ubiquitous black suit moves away from the door and joins them at a respectful distance, and now Elo can see him, she thinks maybe he was one of the suits on the terrace last night. "My Lady, I'm glad to see you're faring well. Jakob Hembo, at your service." He bows. "His Majesty wishes to convey his regrets for what occurred last night, and has sent me to ensure your safety for today." Elo looks between the two and takes a step back, her hands raised in a halting gesture. "I don't need a minder." "His Majesty respectfully disagrees," Hembo says. "So does the Captain," Ayton says. "Listen, El, you don't get to scare the living shit outta the higher-ups and not expect some comeuppance." "Fine then. I guess you get to follow me back to the station, and–" "Nope. You're on sick leave, girl. All you're gonna do is sit your ass down and watch daytime TV." "Like hell I am. Ayton… Ingrid, I'm fine. It's just a little scratch. I've got work to do." "Not today you don't. Cap said you gotta relax and heal." "Kóngurinn minn ordered me to sit upon you if you tried to do anything I deemed stupid. Going back to work with a fresh injury qualifies." Elo is starting to wish she'd gone out the fire escape. "Can I take a walk, at least?" Ayton and Hembo give each other a considering look. "Ja," Hembo says. "You can do that."

Determined to do something useful in the few hours until evening, Elo takes them to the Shield. Ayton is good-naturedly annoyed at the loophole. Hembo looks tired but rolls his shoulders and gets on with his job. Elo is permitted to read to the kids, help with some accounting, and talk to people. Ayton sticks to her guns about the ban on police work – when she catches Elo trying to compose her formal report of the night before, her writing implements are confiscated and she's kicked out of the tiny office. Any time someone asks her to do something remotely physical, Hembo politely informs them Elo was injured protecting the Icelandic King and they must find someone else. It's cute the first few times; by the tenth, Elo wants the ground to swallow her because it's embarrassing the looks of awe she gets. By six o'clock, she's starting to flag so her minders decree she must go home. Elo makes a token protest, then does as she's told. Back at the tenement, she tells them she'll be fine and to go home. Ayton gives Elo a wink and says she'll see her in the office tomorrow. Hembo is a little harder to convince – but promising to give His Nibs a glowing report mollifies him enough to leave. Dinner and a dressing change are provided by Mrs Higgins, and then Elo is back in her room, awkwardly slipping into her nightshirt and lying down.

The lack of gun under her pillow is even more disquieting without Farren there. Doubly so when, just as she's drifting off to sleep, someone knocks at her door. No, not her door. Her closet. She pulls a knife from the bedside table.

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Snippet 2 from Elowyn Investigations

CW: Implied kidnapping, mind/body control, blood This raw, unedited, plot-holey snippet from Elowyn Investigations is to provide context for a later chapter of Her Countenance was Light. Tagging HCWL list: @aquadestinyswriting, @hannahcbrown, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

"Since it's our night off," Farren said. "Do you want to go out for dinner? Somewhere slightly more genteel than the Pit. My treat?" "I don't know…" I said. "I feel maybe we should be sleeping more." "Ah it'll be fun – quiet night at the Scholar," he said, and looked around. "Oh, looks like it might just be thee and me," he added. None of our usual crowd in sight. "Sorry, but I don't think so," I said, wary of being alone with him and booze. "Alright," he said with a shrug. "Your loss. I'll see you tomorrow then." He threw on his cloak and wandered towards the door, pulling out his baccy pouch as he did. I watched him go, and sighed to myself. I knew it was safer not to. I knew that, right now, I needed safe to counterbalance the events of the past two days, but still, it was difficult to watch him go. Not least because of Withnail's Rule of Two. "He'll be fine," I told myself as I wandered on down to the canteen for my own tea. "He's a big boy, and only going to get dinner. He'll be fine."

–– The next morning I woke as usual. I fetched water, put the coffee on, and wrote some reports until the kettle began to sing. I automatically looked towards the upper bunk, expecting to hear Farren stirr, but he wasn't in it, and it appeared to not to've been slept in. I frowned, poured only the one mug and went back to my reports in silence while I drank the bitter brew. When I had done, I gathered myself, and walked through the squad room on my way to the Garden of Galana. I glanced over at our desk, thinking I might see Farren, somehow, awake before me, but aside from the paper garlands, and stacks of paperwork it was empty. Henson was at her desk though, as was Allmers at his own desk, behind hers. I wandered over. "Morning. Either of you seen Breakwood since last night?" I asked. Henson shook her head. "Sorry, no. Last I saw him was when he left for the pub," she said. "I think I saw him in the Scholar last night," Allmers said. He nodded to the door. "Broughton was with me last night, she might remember. Hey! Vic!" Broughton looked blearily at us, and ambled over. "Could you maybe not be so loud," she said. "I've got a minging hangover." "Yeah, well maybe you should learn to not drink so much," Allmers said, with the sympathy of a brick. "Listen, half-pint's lost her partner. D'you remember seeing him at the Scholar last night?" "Remember?" she scoffed. "Why do you think I've got such a headache. Bastard got me completely wankered last night, challenging me to a drinking contest. Then some gnome bird started chatting him up, and off he went with her." She sounded a little bitter I thought, like maybe she'd been expecting something more for her drinking. I ignored the tiny sliver of jealousy that prodded my heart. I sighed. "Okay, so he's gone off for a one-nighter with some lady. That explains why it looks like he never came back last night." I nodded, trying to be unconcerned. "He'll rock up like a stray cat around noon, I've no doubt. Okay, thanks." Broughton nodded the careful nod of someone who thinks their head might fall off if they move it too much and wandered in the direction of the coffee machine. "I've got to get to the Gardens," I said to Henson, Allmers having turned back to his work. "If he does show up, that's where I'll be." She nodded with a little frown. "Look, I know you're both adults, and it's your day off, but, um, with all that's happened…" "I won't go off with any strange men, or chase leads where there are none. Cross my heart," I said, and drew an x over my chest. She rolled her eyes at me. "Fine then, Little Miss Sarcastic, off you go. Have fun," she said. I grinned and headed out the door. The day had come out fine again, with a fresh breeze coming in from the plains, bringing the smell of grass. I smiled, looking forward to the Feast, and trotted off along the street.

–– [time skip of ~5 hours over preparations for the feast of Galana, description of the feast table and some general world-building & character fluff] ––

I was coming back with them to the main table when I saw him. Farren was wandering up the lawn from the main entrance, towards the feasting tables with an odd aimlessness. "That's strange," I said. "Here, Wick, take my plate back would you?" I added, as I handed it to him. "Okay… Elo? What's up? Oh," he said, catching sight of Farren. "I'll let Mam know." He took the plate, and went back to the table, but Ashbury loitered. "Does this mean you have to go back to work?" He asked, sounding disappointed. I touched his arm. We were around the same age, and in another life we could have been twins. I knew he was sad; we didn't get to spend as much time together as he would like. "I don't know, Ash," I said. "He doesn't seem in a hurry… I won't go without letting you know, I promise," I told him with a squeeze to the arm and went to speak with Farren.

By now my partner had reached the tables and was walking down the far side. He didn't seem to be looking for me, but just wandering up the way, through the revellers, towards the top tables. I couldn't think what he might be doing here besides looking for me, but that didn't seem to be his plan either. An inkling tickled in the back of my mind, my gut telling me something was not right about this situation. I looked around. It would take too long to go around the tables, either way – the quickest was through the middle. I spotted a gap, the occupants of the seats away at the buffet table. I ran over, crawling underneath, and out the other side. He was still wandering, not gotten very far as I pelted across the gap. A few people pointed, shouting at me, but most gave me no mind. I ran along the wrong side of the tables, trying to keep Farren in sight and maybe get ahead of him, until I found a gap in the table. "Here, what are you doing, love?" asked a human lady, as crawled under and I popped up on the other side. "Trying to find my friend," I said. "Sorry!" I stood up, scanning the crowd. There! A gap was forming around him, and as I moved forward to intercept I could see why. Blood covered his chest and face, dripping from his nose maybe, or his mouth – the amount of blood made it difficult to tell. "Farren!" I ran towards him. "Farren what happened to you!" As I drew closer I could see that there were bloody welts on his wrists and scraps of rope still dangling from them. "Oh all-gods!" I swore. "We need to get you to a healer…" I said, reaching out, but he brushed me aside, like he didn't even see me, his lips silently moving. "Farren stop!" I yelled, grabbing his arm. He slowed, glancing down at me, before turning his attention back to the top tables. "Can't," he said, distracted. "She wants me to keep going. I have to complete the mission. I have to do what she wants." "Farren, no. No you don't." I said. I looked around. "Someone, please, help me! This man needs a cleric!" A few people looked in our direction. A burly human and an elf stood up. "Here, lad," the human said. "The girl's right. You look like maybe you should take a seat and let us go fetch you a cleric." "Can't " he said again, this time actually looking at me. "She has a sniper. Gonna take you out, little bug." "What?" I stopped cold, and he walked past me. The man and male elf looked askance at me. I held up a hand, warning them off. I wasn't worried about myself, only – if there was a sniper out there, there were a lot more innocent people, with a chance at being hit, between that bow and me. "Okay, okay. So what's the mission Farren, what does she want you to do?" We'd come a fair way, even wandering as we were, and were maybe two bread-rolls-throw from the top tables. "She wants me to say a word," he said. "Okay…" I frowned, confused, looking back at the elf and man. They shrugged. "What word is that?" I asked. Farren stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry," he said, tears standing in his eyes. He looked at the top table, his arm out-stretched. "Nemoćan!"

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You may remember my "Augh! My timeline!" post. To un-Augh! it, I've added an extra half a day at chapter 27, so the stuff I'm writing for it is all brand new. And I know you'll see this when we get that far, but this was too funny not to share immediately:

"Yes?" she asks. "When you said you were bringing company, I thought you meant one of your brothers, not the fucking King of Iceland!" "You wanted to have dinner, I'm supposed to be showing him the city. What else was I gonna do with him?" Farren scrunches his eyes closed and gives an exasperated huff. "It would have been nice to know. I could've made something fancy." "He doesn't care." "Bug–" "Listen," Elo takes his hands and speaks low and rapid. "As long as you don't give him food poisoning, it doesn't matter. He's not here for fancy. He can have fancy any time he wants. He's after different. Unique. You know, the first night he was here, he asked me to take him to the Scholar. Not exactly haute couture." Farren frowns. "That's clothes." Elo waves a hand. "Whatever, you know what I mean. We went to this proper restaurant for lunch and he barely touched his food. At the Scholar he inhaled two plates of those shitty barbeque wings. I promise – whatever you're making, he will devour it like a starved man. And, y'know, he wants to meet you." "What, why? What did I do?" Elo gives a nonplussed shake of her head. "You're important to me. I was important to my Aunt Alexis, and Alexis was important to him. He's just following the chain, I guess." "Pardon me, Detective Beakwood," Storri calls, "but your onions are starting to burn." "Fuck," Farren hisses.

[druidx]

So I'm watching Lethal Weapon 1, and although the situation with Elo and Farren is very different from Riggs and Murtaugh, I've just realised I've never written a scene where Farren has dinner with Elo's family like Murtaugh invites Riggs to, especially when I established early on that Farren's favourite food is Oakrose O'Toreguarde's spiced apple cake, implying such a meal happens often.

That might need to be fixed at some point...

[druidx]

Because I'm messing around with the Modern-ish Fighting Fantasy World of Titan AU (title still pending after 7 yrs), I thought I'd do Toreguard's finest in their modern clothes.

And because it's modern, I thought I'd better scale Elo up to nearly-normal woman height of 5ft (Farren, for ref, is 6ft-something (I can never decide on a number; he's just Tall)). And, my gods, she looks so different with height!

Here's them at their normal heights:

I hardly recognised my girl 😅️

[druidx]

WIP Intro - Elowyn Investigations

~SYNOPSIS~

Elowyn O'Toreguarde and Farren Breakwood are handed what seems like a cut-n-dry theft. But when the pair start running into dead bodies left and right, they quickly realise that all is not what it seems. Can the pair retrieve the stolen item before calamity strikes?

~DETAILS~

Genre: Fantasy Type: Novel POV: First Person Themes: A sword is forged in fire; The team has got your back; Found family; Assigned cop Paladin at Birth; Justice comes to those who fight for it Aesthetic: Dirty streets, cigarette smoke in chilly air, a gleaming knife in the dark; pure golden light, cutting through gloom. Status: Editing

~MAIN CHARACTERS~

Elowyn O'Toreguarde (F, Woodling) Fresh-faced Watchman

Farren Breakwood (M, Human) Grizzled veteran

~MINOR CHARACTERS~

Eric Withnail (M, Human) Captain of the Eighth Watchhouse Pace Terrell (M, Gnome) Watch Constable Ingrid Ayton (F, Gnome) Watch Constable Balfour Komens (M, Half-Orc) Watch Constable Selene Fridwake (F, Human) Grand Magus of Toreguarde

~EXCERPT~

It was clear someone had tossed the room, looking for something, but what made me curious was that only the wardrobe in the corner and the little chests that lined the workbench had been disturbed. It made me think that the thief had a target in mind and knew roughly where to look for it. I glanced over the mess of jewellery and gems laid on the workbench, and noticed the half-started brooch, tucked away in a corner by itself. It hadn't been touched by the thief. I frowned, looking at the crest. It seemed oddly familiar, but I couldn't immediately put my finger on why, or where I might have seen it before. I took out my notebook and made a rough sketch of the outline of an owl.

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Fanbase Quiz Tag

Tagged by @dustylovelyrun, TY this one was fun :D

Tagging back: @strosmkai-rum @spacetimewraithwrites @wildswrites @tetrodotoxincs @odysseywritings @ayzrules @morganwriteblr @my-writblr @bexminx @writingingraves @dreamwishing @aalinaaaaaa @wardenoftheabyss @pleaseloathemyveryexistence @jaguarthecat @catharticallysarcastic

Rules: Use this this uquiz and take it for your OCs to find out what kind of fanbase your character would have.

Decided to do this for Farren Breakwood. For reference, he's a Watchman aka fantasy cop.

Very Controversial Some people are literally in love with your character. Others want to witness their execution, and probably these fans fight each other a lot about it. And they @ you for like 90% of their fights so your notifications are blowing up and it's all about this one character and you're just so tired

I think he's my smol uwu bean... But he's more a mash of the Cowboy Cop and the Merc with a Heart of Gold tropes. So, yeah, this tracks. A lot of people would hate him just because he's a cop, I expect. But those who do like him, will go out of their way to excuse things he did in the past, and they would also see him as their uwu smol bean.

For giggles, I also decided to do this for Elowyn O'Toreguarde, my other (fantasy) cop turned paladin.

People will not shut up about how they deserve better This character went though a lot and fans are BITTER. They write a crazy amount of fix it fics and just generally talk about how the character deserves way better.

Bwhahaha! Yep, this 100% tracks 😆 Elo's number one fix-it fic would be shipping her with Merri.

[druidx]

POV: you dun fucked up