#WEIGHT STRIDER ? YOURE BANNED

[a-sadclown]

who sent this im serious

[phthalology]

HZD: Winter’s Bargain Chapter 1 

Read here on AO3. Rescued by Aloy and now under the watchful eye of the Carja court's many spies, Sylens reluctantly helps put Meridian back together after the attack on the Spire. Someone seems to want to keep the Carja nervous, and Sylens needs to find out whether they're an enemy or an ally. The one with Marad’s spy shenanigans. Aloy/Sylens, 2300 words. 

He must have been thrown onto the ice.

That would explain the hard surface underneath him, the concussed confusion as his eyesight blurred. Shamans stood over him, songs distorted behind heavy wire-and-cloth headsets. Their voices cracked and reverberated. Sylens had done something terribly wrong. Of that he was certain. The tribe had decreed this cold vengeance for what he had done.

Aloy said, “If I had known you were the person who needed rescuing, I wouldn’t have come.”

Sylens opened his eyes.

Red desert dust caked his hands, the orange blankets in front of him, and Aloy’s jacket. Heat washed off her. It felt like the desert sun, but something metallic too, like the HADES unit. She looked more muscular than he remembered, heavier, as if she had been given gravitas by her conquests.

The red-and-gold battlement walls around him looked Carja. Not ice at all; heat and heavy blankets covered him. There were more people in the room than he had seen in months, more than he cared to see. Three masked guards were arranged behind Aloy like nervous Watchers. They were extraneous, a sign of a nervous sovereign. Aloy could have attacked him while he was asleep if she had wanted. The guards did serve to partially hide a man dressed in the lighter finery of a Carja noble, who waited patiently beside the closed wooden door.

Until now, Sylens had imagined that he could have walked through Meridian at almost any time unobserved; although his markings might be memorable, most people who knew his face were dead. In the course of their business he and Bahavas had met once at a shrine near the edge of the city and once in the holy circle near the apex. On other days, he had gone to the markets on the outskirts with his arms and head covered, to forestall questions from Carja who found Banuk memorable.

He had certainly never been here before.

“Why did you bring me to the palace?”

Aloy ignored the guards as surely as Sylens had done. “You were hurt. Do you remember the Vantage near the prison?”

The prison? Ah, she meant the one in the Sundom. Sylens still had a feeling that exile should be cold. Maybe that was why the avalanche-prone cliffs of the Alpha site had sometimes been a comfort. Now, though, the palette of his life was not blue and white but shades of green.

He had had months wandering in deserts to disprove his fear of the cold, not to mention the time spent here, in the humid forest. The idea had never departed, though. When he had been a child he had seen an exile taken onto the ice, the shamans singing in praise to the justice of the rime. The man had been half-mad with poison, but he had been alive enough to weakly struggle.

That wasn’t what Aloy was talking about, though. “Yes, of course I remember. The Vantages are made to be difficult, and this one was no different.” The cache up in the mountains would have been a good place for a relay signal. Not an essential part of the plan, but something in him had wanted to take a journey that long. He needed to stretch his legs, to ride without needing to go anywhere. Maybe, he needed to look at the mesa and wonder whether Aloy was in Meridian.

“Someone yelled. It turned out to be you. Avad’s people wrapped your arm, but it will take a long time for the bruises to heal.”

“You brought me to Meridian?” He lowered his voice, both for their secrets and because he was angry. Afraid, too; he doubted that Carja justice was any kinder than Ban-Ur’s.  

Aloy nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. She knew it was a weighted decision.

“Foolish. I suppose I should thank you for saving my life, but I didn’t think you had any particular love for this city.” Sylens sighed. She might have saved his life. It had been a careless fall, and now that the tattered dreams were clearing, his left arm ached fiercely.

Instead of asking anything further, Aloy turned away fast, the beads in her hair jangling against the metal sewn into her clothing. “Let me talk to him alone,” she said, talking through the guards to the nobleman still half out of sight behind them.

“A minute, no longer.” The man had a clipped voice full of confidence. It sounded familiar, but Sylens had intentionally stayed out of bloody Carja court politics when he was luring Bahavas and the other members of the gang that would become the Eclipse. The king had only mattered as much as Helis’ revenge demanded he did.

Aloy nodded. Sylens sat up as the guards walked out, leaving him with a better view of the single door in the little tower room and the bench on which they had placed him. Aloy folded her arms, looked like she considered sitting down and then decided against it.

“There were bandits near the Vantage,” Sylens said. “Some of them caught me on the cliff and must have fled when you came. I did not just fall off the ledge.”

Aloy smirked, did not directly reply. “I haven’t told Avad and Marad who you are,” she said.

“And why not?”

“You gave me the tools I needed to defeat HADES. And out last conversation was … unusually civil. Now we’re even.”

Sylens chuckled. She didn’t know that the spear had included the virus a virus that was meant to send a version of HADES, caged again, back to his new hideout. There was something appealingly reasonable about the exchange of debt, though. Hadn’t they all been paying the debts of the Old Ones, all this time? Hadn’t humanity deserved what it got, for Faro’s sin of erasing APOLLO? Sylens wasn’t sure. Aloy, though, was the only other person likely to understand any of that at all.

“In fact, that’s why I was in the forest in the first place, setting up relays. If we could use Eclipse equipment to speak to HADES, we could learn so much more,” he said.

Aloy was taken aback. “You’re just … telling me that? You trust me with that? Did it not occur to you what HADES did last time? Did you want to do that again?”

“I was in the desert. I thought that if the Faro robots rose up out of the ground it would be a terrible loss but at least I wouldn’t be around to see civilizations destroyed again.” He shifted, found that his arm ached only slightly less if he tucked it against his side. “We make scant few pieces of information now. For them to be consumed again …”

“But now you’re telling me you want to do that exact same thing again.”

“No. Not to unleash it. To control it. To talk to it, as you talked to GAIA. With the spear, with the Alpha Override, I think we could do it.”

“I was here.”

“What?”

“I was here, in Meridian, when the world almost ended. You know that. I would have had to watch innocent people die, not just myself. I will not face that again if I can prevent it with my own hands.”

“Exactly! Exactly.” Sylens sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. It didn’t hurt to move that far. How had she carried him here? Drugged with hintergold, on the back of a Strider? “Aloy, if we learn what HADES has to tell us we can find out more about the kind of technology that created GAIA in the first place.”

“I can still work with GAIA, in the Nora lands.” She uncrossed her arms, sat heavily down on the side of the couch where his legs had been.

“Then you understand the knowledge they both could give us.”

“I heard the recordings. Quantum processing, was that the one? That’s what you would have destroyed us all for.”

“That is what I trust you with now. We could remake the Earth, Aloy.”

“I won’t allow it. The Kestrels won’t allow it.”

“I know. So I’ll help you. Whatever you’re working on here … I don’t doubt my knowledge of the city will help you.”

“Locked together by a bargain again. I’m beginning not to regret rescuing you, if this sort of fight results. Too few people …”

“Even though the world is at stake?”

“It won’t be. Because you won’t leave my sight.” She stood up. “This is good timing. Marad has me working on some things in the city. We can both stay out of trouble.”

“Good. You deserve a place as Avad’s investigator. You deserve Marad’s place as advisor, really.” It was a guess, based on the name she had used, but it was also honest. Sylens did not doubt that Aloy was more intelligent than any of the Carja courtiers.

Aloy pushed a sigh out in a loud burst. “I won’t tell them who you are. I’m saving that one for when I might need it.”

“To use against me? A good decision for both of us, I think.”

Aloy rapped on the inside of the door.

The guards hadn’t gone far. Almost immediately, the door opened and the man in the robes, the one Aloy had called Marad, walked in. Sylens carefully stood.

Aloy looked between them. “Sylens, this is Blameless Marad. Sylens helped me … prepare for the attack on the city.”

“Greetings. You come highly recommended, and Aloy … I’m sure you know how much she did for the city.”

Was he probing, wanting to know where Sylens was during the attack? Aloy had seemed to think everything would go smoothly. “Blameless. That’s a … notable name.”

“Is it? Some people certainly say so.”

“…Do they.”

“Right now, my advice is that Aloy consider her work,” Marad said. “After the attack, some people are rebuilding and others are taking advantage of the chaos. The Hunter’s Lodge has been taking in scared farmers. There’s plenty to do, if you want to help us while your friend recovers.”

Aloy did not hesitate. “Yes. I already know a few places where we could help out with supplies. The Nora have already left, but … like you said. Lots of refugees.”

“You know where to find me,” Marad spoke with clipped authority, like a teacher telling a child how far they were allowed to stray. When he went out, leaving the door open behind him, he conspicuously gestured for the guards to move out onto the next lower balcony, far enough that they could see the doorway but not so far that they were obviously watching the tower. Sylens watched him go. He had a feeling that Marad was more than an advisor; someone so effortlessly practiced at giving out no information at all was more likely a spymaster. Sylens could admit when he was outclassed — to himself, at least. Unfamiliar with the city as he was, Marad would be able to track him easily.

Aloy nodded at the door. She always looked ahead, didn’t she? Always forward.

“You’ll be able to stay here in the palace,” Aloy said, and led him out. “But I have work to do. Machines are all out of their usual territories after the attack.”

Years ago, Sylens would have thought that he might never walk the streets of Meridian again. He had little use for the city itself as long as he could lure people like Bahavas out of it. The chaos in the court had worked to his advantage. Now, Sun priests did not walk in bloody-minded procession but hunched their shoulders on their way to shamed and profaned alters. Sylens almost laughed at how unlikely it was that someone would recognize him. As soon as they crossed the bridge from the palace, people crowded them. Farmers from lands shelled and shredded during the attack, hunters who had made their way to the Spire to seek their fortune, and thrill-seekers now seeking no more than hot food and passage north thronged the streets.

People recognized Aloy, though.

Vendors called out to her, not to sell but to thank. She greeted some people with clasped hands and a nod toward the Hunter’s Lodge. “Tell Talanah I say hello.” Soon enough, though, Aloy found her own apartment door and opened it onto a large, cool room. Sylens shut the door behind him. The trap door on the left side of the room had recently been broken, and sharp pieces still stuck out from the edges of the stone passageway. Otherwise, the room was decorated in Carja finery.

“They gave me this place,” Aloy said bluntly, setting her bow and arrows down beside the door. She followed them with the spear Sylens had given her, and met his eyes. “The last owner is gone.”

“How convenient for you.”

“He was a complicated man.” She let the spear go, moved to sit on a cushioned bench beside it. “But now we have a chance to do more. Let me explain what we’re working on here.”

“Wait.You kept my secret, for now. The thing that could put me in greater danger than any other person in this city. You trust yourself with it. Why?” Sylens did not hesitate to be blunt.

She looked down. “Because we’re the only ones who know.” She stood, faced him furious. “If I told Avad that you had helped call HADES down on this city, they could kill you. I don’t know if Avad would, or if Marad would sway him. And then our last piece of information is gone, a lifetime worth of research. You’re wrong about so many things, Sylens, so very many. But you did the work. And I won’t see the only other person who understands that work destroyed.”

So fierce. So … he watched the line of her jaw as she tilted her face up toward him. The thin, white scar was barely visible from one side of her neck to the other, like a terrible smile.

He nodded. “And what is our work?”

“First, we’re going hunting.”

[clonerightsagenda]

So the tuesjade folks announced that today’s theme is hairdye, and although I mostly play spectator for this stuff (esp. since the prompts are more suited for art) I figured that was a sign from the heavens telling me to dust this thing off, even if she only thinks about dying her hair and so I won’t bother dropping it in the tag.

I promise this is the last time you’re going to get whacked by any ‘kat writes fic’ monstrosities for a while (besides, you know, the inescapable AU comic). I’m just cleaning out a bunch of stuff that’s been sitting around for ages.

The concept for this came from wondering if grimdark/grimbark mode left behind physical traces, which I could have taken in an angst direction, but I didn’t. A personal first? Incredible.

Sharing a bathroom with a crowded household is never easy, especially when some people take their time. Dirk is the worst – he once spent over an hour fixing his hair until Roxy pounded on the door and yelled “I gotta PISS, Strider!!” so loudly Jaspers tried to squeeze himself under your bed. Jade’s usually in and out – a quick hairbrushing makes up the bulk of her regimen – so when she shuts herself up in the bathroom for a while, you check on her.

There’s no lock on the door – everyone decided that was for the best – so you knock and then walk in when she doesn’t tell you not to. (You would even if she did, except then you might have hurried.)

“Hi, Rose,” she says, not looking away from the mirror. You’re still getting used to the way she knows who’s entered a room by their scent or the feel of how space bends around them. It’s the kind of power you would use to annoy or unsettle people, but she’s matter-of-fact about it. “I’m trying to check something out, but I can’t see well. Will you look at my hair for me?”

Jade’s hair hasn’t grown back yet from the haircut Jack started and you finished. With the weight of its length gone, it has sprung into a looser version of the curls Jane no longer relaxes. You walk up behind her, wondering if she wants you to say she needs a trim. But when you’re closer, looking down on the top of her head as she leans against the counter, you see it.

“I think the color’s going-” she starts, and you finish.

“Gray.”

Jade blows a breath out from puffed cheeks, clouding the mirror. “Is that bad?”

“It happened to me.”

She straightens up, almost clipping you in the chin. “Really?”

“Not all over, just here and there. It wore off eventually, although I think I have a bit left.” You catch some of your hair and roll the strands between your fingers, looking for a gleam of silver. “It wasn’t as visible as it is for you.”

Jade gingerly touches the top of her head, where some of her roots are growing in pale. “Because of what happened to you with the horrorterrors?”            You nod. “Channeling powers we weren’t prepared to on our own, I think, overstretching ourselves. It stayed even though I wasn’t in the same body anymore. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jane had some too.”

“Poor Jane.” Jade shakes her head. “At least I didn’t have a robot in my brain.”

“I wasn’t like either of you,” you say. “Nothing made me do anything wrong. But the power… they did give me that.” Everything seems so simple with power at your command. The distance between a problem and the solution is a straight line. You catch yourself that way still sometimes, your mind a straightedge, powering off in one direction as soon as you even think you’ve caught sight of your destination. When it had come time to rewrite the universe, you’d been tempted to make it your idea of perfect. The Light part of you wants to see reality labeled and pinned to a card, but it can’t live then. “You can get carried away.”

“Or get even.” Jade shrugs when you look at her. “That’s what it was for me. I’m not pretending it wasn’t.”

“The cliché is power corrupts. Do you think any of us would be able to resist the One Ring?”

Jade purses her lips. “In the story, the hobbits did best. Who’s shortest?”

“You think moral superiority lies within those closer to the ground?”

“Do you have a better theory?”

Someone knocks on the door, and both of you jump. “There’s more than one bathroom in the house, you know,” you call.

“This one’s closest,” John complains from the other side of the door. “Besides, I was checking to make sure everyone was still alive in there.”

Jade rolls her eyes. After six years, the two of them have finally learned to stop being so careful and talk to each other like normal siblings. Now, you think they enjoy their squabbles. “You’re too late. We’re dead.”

“Let me know if you need any help with that,” he says, and you hear him amble off.

“You could dye the gray parts,” you say, returning to the subject at hand – or at head. “Most of mine grew out in a few months. Or you could make it part of your “look”. Call it silver instead of gray – that sounds more Romantic, the kind with a capital R. Black and silver, night and starlight, that sort of thing.”

“Oh Rose,” she teases, “that’s almost poetic.”

“I try.”

“Have you ever thought about dying yours?” she asks. “It’s so light, it should take color well.”

“I thought about it a few times,” you admit, “but if I had my mother would’ve gotten me a junior beautician’s set before it dried. That’s what happened with the lipstick.” You’d worn black to shock her, but she’d taken it as an opportunity to try to bond and unloaded most of a Sephora counter on you, which you’d used to make a self-portrait entitled Masque of the Beauty Industry – Female Socialization into Self-Objectification. The juvenile games you played with your mother are embarrassing now. She’d been trying to make up for her excesses with more, and you responded to imagined slights by lashing out. You’d both acted like children, even if you thought you were so mature. “Do you think I’d look good with purple hair?”

Jade claps her hands together. “Let’s find out!”

 #

A packet of Kool-Aid later, you’re dripping whorls of purple into the bathtub. Jade examines her fingers, where the dye has left her dark skin looking corpse gray. “Gross hands and zebra hair,” she says with a laugh. “I can be the bride of Frankenstein.”

“Frankenstein’s monster,” you correct, because it’s expected.

“All in all, I’d prefer to be the scientist.”

The dye has to sit overnight, so you seclude yourselves in Jade’s room. She guards the door from any unauthorized entry, shooing Kanaya away by telling her you’re preparing a surprise and whacking anyone who tries to phase through the wall with a pillow. Dave restrains himself to sending you 27 texts in a row before you turn your phone off. The two of you eat gummy worms by the fistful and look up silly animal videos. Jade has to drag you away from an argument in the Youtube comments section. She shows you pictures of dresses she likes, and you argue over which model is prettier. You feel like the child you could have been, if you’d ever dared to bring a friend home to spend the day or sleep over, if you’d ever let yourself relax into your youth instead of chasing your mother’s missing adulthood.

It’s nice.

The two of you fall asleep on the floor despite your sugar intake, and you wake up to see that you’ve left a purple stain on the carpet. “It’ll wash out,” Jade assures you. “We need to rinse your hair now.”

It looks terrible - a streaky mess of light and dark purple – but Jade guides you away from brooding in the mirror and shoves you into the shower. Then the color evens out. It’s a little darker than the lavender you would’ve preferred, but Kool-Aid dyes fade fast. You run your hands over it long enough that she asks, “Do you not like it?”

“What do you think everyone else will say?”

“That you look pretty.” That’s Jade, delivering all her assurances with conviction. Even though you know now some of them were feigned, she sounds sincere. “They’ll love it.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do about yours?”

She touches her roots, where the gray is just starting to show. “I think I’ll leave it. I’ve covered up enough. Hopefully Jake won’t think I’m his grandma.”

“You’re a few wrinkles short.”

“Memory is funny sometimes. The littlest things throw me. He coughs just like my grandpa used to. I hear it and always have to turn around.” She tugs out one strand that’s gone completely gray, wraps it a few times around her finger, and ties it off. “A reminder,” she says. “Even if I don’t need them anymore.”

 #

Jade has to coax you downstairs, but eventually you both walk down to the kitchen. Terezi, who against all prior behavior has chosen today to get up before noon, sniffs. “Does anyone smell anything different?” You make a slashing motion across your throat, (she sticks her tongue out), but the damage is done. Karkat nudges Dave, who looks up at you and chokes on his coffee. Kanaya’s eyebrows rise, and words line up on your tongue. It’s childish. A joke. It’ll wash right out.

“I think it suits you,” she says.

“Forget Rose,” Roxy says. “Who’ll turn my hair pink for me?”

“My hands are already ruined,” Jade says, holding them up.

Roxy high-fives her, to her surprise. “Perfect. But I want a turn at the exclusive sleepover times. Except with 100% more science. I’m talking bubbly rainbow shit in beakers, the whole shebang.”

“Am I on the ban list for this round?” you ask. If there’s one thing you can count on Roxy for, it’s lightening the mood. “I may not be part of the scientific community, but I can be present to scoff at mankind’s fumbling attempts to comprehend the mysteries of the universe.”

“That’s why you have to leave those kinds of probing questions into the fabric of reality to womankind. You can stay if…” Roxy pauses for dramatic effect. “You let me do your nails.”

“Roxy, do you know how to do anyone’s nails?” Jane demands from across the table.

“I’m a fast learner. Or… you could hold a workshop.” She waggles her unmanicured fingers at her. “Wanna volunteer?”

“I’d love to see how it’s done,” Calliope chimes in.

Kanaya raises her hand. “I’d like to be included in this, whatever it is.”

“Massive all-girls sleepover, that’s what it is. Or what it’s turning into. You can’t come,” Roxy adds to Dirk, who looks like he’s trying to decide whether to be disappointed or not.

The table dissolves into chatter, and you shake your head. “The last time I even heard the word sleepover, I must have been eleven. It always seemed like kid stuff.”

“I know,” Roxy says, and raises her hand to high-five you too. You meet her hand with a decisive clap. “Isn’t it great?”