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aeon-harshal · 1 year ago

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Winged Bluejay

Not long after a great tragedy, a young horsewoman, Asha Fliecer longs for a change. What springs to mind is a mirror of her closest friend’s dream- To become a Gryphon Rider for Cor'vale- and it does not seem all that impossible with her affinity for animals.

However a different change falls into her lap one autumn morning and it rattles her to her core, making her think twice about leaving her family home.

With an amnesiac half-elf recovering under her care, two wildly dangerous fae creatures lurking on her ranch and the sudden threat of bandits, her resolve is tested as the world outside her quiet village suddenly turns its attention onto the Raven’s Bluff.

First draft of Chapter 1 below (approximately 3,035 words), some spelling errors may have slipped through and it's missing Italics

<>-Chapter 1 An Autumn Lament-<>

"Hey! Get back here you scrawny chipmunk!" Alexos yelled after Asha, struggling to keep up as they climbed a massive oak tree.

"I ain't scrawny and you know it! You're just slow, like the lumbering ox you are!" She yelled down at him, climbing out onto one of the highest branches to sit. Aside from her friend's complaining it was a beautifully serene meadow they were on the edge of. The crisp breeze was singing through the trees, sending her raven hair dancing, and the happy birds and giddy insects added their voices to the song. Asha looked up through the leaves, the blue sky was perfect, there were only a handful of white puffy clouds sleepily drifting overhead.

Alexos grunted and cursed, covered with a dozen new scratches, as he finally caught up, picking a branch a bit lower than hers. "I don't understand how you can climb this tree like you're a damn elf," he said while squirming to get comfortable.

"I don't understand how you can't do the same," Asha laughed, "We've been playing in the woods together for years, yet I'm the one who can climb like a squirrel."

"Hey! I had to wraggle horses, you only ever had to train them and you did it the soft way," He pointed at her, smirking in that annoying way he always did, his dark green eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Just be quiet or he won't come," Asha huffed, smiling while she crossed her arms over her chest. Her balance never failed her, even with the branches trembling in this pleasant autumn wind.

Every spring and autumn for the last five years he came by this spot. Asha found him by accident, but he was just so stunning with his tawny mane, bright golden eyes and ashen skin. He would talk, sing and strut. She loved him so very much and could not wait to see him this year. It would be the last time she ever would… and she wished to share him with Alexos.

"I really wish you would tell me who I'm meeting," Alexos grumbled, running his fingers through his hair. It was almost the same color as his mane.

"Didn't I tell you to shush?" He laughed at her and she shook her head.

A harsh screech made them both jump. Asha smiled and Alexos looked all around, his brows knitted together. He turned towards her mouthing 'what'. She merely put a finger to her lips. He was skittish, so meeting a stranger might scare him off and this would all be for naught.

Not long after that cry, the heavy beating of large wings passed by, a shadow and a large brown body sailing past their tree. There he was! A stunning example of a gryphon flying gracefully over the meadows, smoothly turning on the edge of the trees, circling before he decided to land.

He was magnificent! His large onyx talons dug into the ground and he held his head up high. He shook his head, ears falling back and the massive, light brown plumage around his neck flattened. His body was a spotty mess of creamy and barky browns. Most every gryphon had a different avian look to it. His was like that of a tawny eagle.

He stopped his posing to scan the treetops for her, his head turning as though hunting for prey.

Asha glanced over at Alexos. His jaw hit the ground. She giggled and immediately the beautiful gryphon's head swung around, his eyes locking onto her. She whistled at him and he shook his head from side to side, his mane proofing up and he made the sweetest thrilling sound, hopping towards the oak, leaping like his feline half would.

"Stay here. I'll let you know when to come down and keep quiet," Asha said, pushing her friend with her foot. He grabbed the beach tightly, barely keeping from making a sound as instructed. He had wanted to see a gryphon up close since he was little, and now Asha comes and delivers one? He would be heartbroken to screw up and miss out on the opportunity!

The girl climbed down just as quickly as she had climbed up, hopping down the last couple of feet. She whipped around grinning at the creature who stood transfixed on her. "Hawke," she called, taking a few steps towards the gryphon.

He stood in place, perfectly still. Then made another great leap towards her, wings flaring. As he landed, leaving a fair stretch between them still, he lifted his head up and warbled. She discovered through him that gryphons had a far wider range of sounds they could make compared to the raptors they shared traits with. They were almost like song birds.

Asha beamed, "Good boy," she closed the distance, reaching a hand out for him. Hawke huffed, pushing his beautiful beak against her hand as she neared, the fathers on his head fluffing up for a moment. "How have you been?" She asked, touching both sides of his beak as one would do with the jowls of a dog.

Alexos starred in shock. When did his friend learn how to whisper to gryphons! He joked about her way with horses, but this was truly impressive! And she talked to the beast rather like a pet. Suddenly Asha turned his way, waving a hand, "C'mon, just take it slow and don't look him directly in the eyes."

"Right," Alexos mumbled only to flinch as the gryphon's attention instantly shifted to him. He swallowed and started climbing down. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. That magnificent beast was a top predator… and all his attention was focused on him! How did Asha ever befriend him?

The young man turned around slowly, facing his head slightly away and tried not to look the Gryphon in the eye. He was an amazing creature. With his head held high like that he was taller than Asha and Alexos.

"Be nice, Hawke. Alexos is a friend," Asha spoke softly, gently brushing the back of her hand against the Gryphon's head. Even as her fingers traced the top of his ear, Hawke's attention did not falter, flicking his ear to be rid of the pitiful distraction. Alexos' heart was beating out of his chest, every step a step closer to danger. Asha seemed calm, so maybe everything was fine. The gryphon's focus was merely like that of any bird of prey, intense and unyielding.

"Stop and put your hand out," Asha's heart was dancing to it's own wild song. She did not believe Hawke would attack, but then she had never introduced anyone to him before. She knew she did not truly understand him, however gryphons were famed for their intelligence, were they not? He was friendly enough towards her, he trusted her right? He should be able to see how frightened her friend was, how respectful both him and her were trying to be of the regel creature.

Alexos did as she instructed, his arm trembling. Air hissed through Hawke's nostrils, his feathers fairing. Both humans froze. The gryphon lunged his break against the palm of Alexos' hand, chittering sweetly. Asha and Alexos both let go of a tense breath, both laughing somewhat hysterically at the tame behavior from Hawke.

"See? He's a friend," the girl grinned, taking a step back. Her legs wobbled as her fear began to subside. If she had gotten her friend killed while trying to share this treasure with him- but she had not.

"Are you talking to me or the gryphon?" Alexos chuckled, petting Hawke's beak. The gryphon seemed happy to have the attention from the strange human. If anything he appeared to want more attention from him, like an affectionate house cat or a loving dog.

"Both of you, I suppose," Asha shook her head. "Now who's the soft one? I befriended a wild gryphon and you were shaking in your boots."

"Haha, ya got lucky finding a friendly beast like… Hawke was it? You named him?" Alexos asked with an incredulous tone and she shrugged. Said gryphon thrilled, pulling his head away from the human's hand, then began sidestepping around him. All the way around him and Asha.

The two humans watched him curiously. "He's… kinda like a giant cat isn't he?" Alexos asked, struggling to hold back laughed as Hawke genuinely turned into a playful kitten, bouncing around them, obviously looking to play.

Asha chuckled. "I guess you can call him a big cat. He is part cat isn't he?" She turned and jumped at Hawke. He skirted back, half sitting before rearing up and hopping back on his hind legs, shrieking at a tolerable level.

Alexos flinched, rubbing his ears anyway. "How did you do it, Ash? How did you tame a gryphon?" He looked towards his friend, hopelessly confused. This tiny girl who might have always been an animal whisperer had somehow befriended a deadly, wild beast… the kind of beast everyone knew only took to those with something special in them.

"I'm not really sure," Asha answered, rubbing her neck, focused on Hawke. The gryphon was a little saddened that she did not continue the play, but did not become aggressive in his attempts to earn her attention. He leapt closer than backwards, closer again than turned and ran a few feet before turning back around, wanting to entice her into the games they always played. "I just… have a way with animals?" She smiled sheepishly at her friend.

Alexos tilted his head. He smiled and shook his head, crossing his arms. "Ash, I know you got a way with critters, but this isn't just any critter. It's a gryphon. Please, tell me what you did!"

"I just..! Talked to him!" Asha threw her hands up. Hawke stopped to watch, tilting his head as he listened. "I found him by chance when I was in that tree!" She pointed at the oak they waited in. "He came down, I was frightened and kept quiet as long as I could. 'Till he spotted me and I just… eventually came down while talking and he let me. I dunno what I did aside from keeping a calm head… kinda… and I guess he's just the friendly sort. I've seen other gryphons pass through, pairs of 'em, and they're much too aggressive. I would never dare to let them see me, so I wait for Hawke."

Alexos listened in awe. "I can't believe it, you tamed a gryphon. I wish you knew what you did. It might make it easier for me to get into the imperial academy in Azurlaise."

She chuckled. "Still want to be a gryphon rider?"

"Of course I do!" He spoke vehemently. "C'mon Ash, tell me everything. I want to hear it."

"I really don't know… I'm sorry I can't help you more," Asha smiled sadly. She turned her gaze back towards Hawke. He moved in a playful manner again, seemingly hoping to entice her into playing. Maybe she should have paid closer attention to what she did, she could have helped them both pursue their dreams.

"Ash," Alexos waited for her to look at him. "What's wrong?" He could see it in her eyes and hear that sad note in her voice.

"I'm… I'm leaving after winter," She answered without hesitation, her eyes alighting with somber determination.

His eyes widened. Asha leave Raven's Bluff? That was… "Wait, what? You're leaving?"

"I'm leaving as soon as spring comes. Sure I'm a good horsewoman, but this life was never meant for me and without my father or brothers around, or even you," she gestured to him, "or your family, everyone's going to just keep trying to swindle me. It's tiring having to go through the same arguments and disagreements with people who think they can get my horses for less than they're worth. I'm gettin' to the point I want to hit my buyers for thinking I don't know that they're trying to talk down to me."

He sighed, rubbing his neck, "I suppose that's true, but- Asha where are you gonna go? What are you gonna do?"

"Well… I tamed a wild gryphon," she smiled sheepishly, pointing at Hawke. "I think I like the idea of becoming a rider for Azurlaise."

"I- you got a point, but… what if you don't make it in? You'd be alone in Azurlaise," Alexos was hesitant to even speak against her, he never wanted to put her down, but he had to be realistic. He could not imagine his friend alone in Azurlaise, there were too many things that could happen to her in the capitol.

"Then come with me!" Asha shouted. Hawke stopped what he was doing to watch the two humans. "You've talked about becoming a rider since we were both little. So- come with me, we can do it together! Even if only one of us is accepted, then the other tries again the following year," her enthusiasm brought a smile to his face.

"And if neither of us makes it? What then?"

Her spirit faltered for a moment and his heart sank in response. Asha shook her head. "We'll figure it out if it comes to it, 'Lexos."

He sighed, running a hand through his tawny hair, "You got a lotta faith in our ability to improvise."

"Well, someone has to!" She shouted, throwing her hands up. Hawke shrieked and sprang in between them, hackles raised and beak ajar, hissing at Alexos. He closed in quickly too. The human flinched, stumbling back while instinctually raising his arms to protect his face. "Hawke, no..!" Asha tried speaking calmly, "No, no, it's fine!"

The Gryphon glanced her way then back towards Alexos. He huffed, shutting his sharp beak, but did not leave his spot between the humans and his feathers remained raised in agitation.

Asha sighed followed by Alexos. "You're a damn miracle worker, Ash. Look at this! A wild gryphon trying to protect you," the boy chuckled, rubbing his neck.

"Well if you weren't such a moron," Asha grinned like a feline.

"Hey..!" Alexos smiled reluctantly. She snorted and they both broke out into laughter. The sound confused Hawke for a moment… he recognized it was a good sound, but… well as long as his person seemed safe. The gryphon purred, tucking his wings in and his feathers slowly flattening as he calmly slipped away.

The humans both smiled. "So, Ash. Next spring we march into Azurlaise, demand that they make us Gryphon riders and fly off into the sunset?" Alexos scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Indeed! Something like that," Asha beamed, "I'll need to get my affairs in order... I've been working on it all this year."

"I thought your stock of horses was getting lower than it should be. You haven't been settling for less have you?"

"You know me better than that. Now there's also the house-"

"Woah! Hold on, slow down… you'll want to keep that just in case of… whatever might happen. It might be nice to be able to come home to your home."

"I-! I suppose that sounds nice, but it'll just rot with me being away."

"Let my father rent it out for you… in fact, I bet if you talked with him, he could take care of your horses. Sell 'em, breed 'em. A few free horses from your stock would do my family some good since I won't be around to help and Rory could do with more work. You'll still get plenty of money for them, but you'll have to share the profits."

"That money would be a while away… but it would be nice knowing that there's something waiting here if I need it."

They eventually settled down in the field discussing what to do with Asha's property and how exactly they would share the coins to get them to the capital city. Alexos himself had been saving for years now for his own trip to Azurlaise, so it was not a one sided exchange. All the while Hawke flitted about, entertaining himself for the most part. He would come by and beg for a few scratches and head pats before going off to flop around and preen.

They ceased their conversation to simply watch the graceful gryphon mill about like a giant kitten in the afternoon sun. He was a heartwarming sight… and perhaps if Asha was capable of taming a wild gryphon, the exams to become a rider might be easy for them.

All three of them froze however. The loud, shrill call of another gryphon came from overhead. Asha and Alexos both looked to the sky, instinctively searching for the sourse. Hawke gave his own call in response, wings flaring. He leapt into the air, his wings beating heavily as he took to the air. Asha and Alexos stared in awe. Hawke circled the meadow until another gryphon joined him. They were roughly equal in size, however the newcomer was more reddish than Hawke. They both slowed, beating their massive wings to stay in place somewhat. Hawke looked at the humans and thrilled, tossing his head back. The other looked between him and the humans curiously.

Hawke thrilled again, eyes focused on Asha. The girl smiled and whistled at him. That seemed to please him. He turned and both gryphons took off, off to wherever gryphons went during the winter months.

Alexos chuckled watching them until they were past the treeline, well out of sight. He turned to look at Asha and frowned seeing the sad look upon her face.

"I'm gonna miss him," she sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, resting her head on her arms.

He patted her back. "Yeah… I think I will too… but at least you had time with him. And you can brag to everyone about him."

She scoffed, a slight smile forming on her lips. "Oh no… nobody would believe little Asha could tame a wild gryphon, but you mister Alexos? Everyone would believe you did it."

"Nonsense!" He waved a hand dismissively. "Only with your help, Ash," he beamed at her.

Reluctantly, she let herself smile. "Obviously."

#Aeon Harshal #writing #writers on tumblr #Winged Bluejay #first draft #feedback welcome #novel #original work #original novel #fantasy #fantasy romance #romance #chapter 1 #origin story #original fiction

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ginazmemeoir · 4 years ago

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here you go with one of the cutest interactions i'll ever have in my lifetime

me : *goes down to the convenience store*

*girl with her doggo enters*

doggo : *barks at cashier*

girl : no. bad leo. no barky at cashier uncle.

me : *puts down bag*

me : hey. don't you dare scold that good boy like that

girl : yeah he's a good boy it's just..

me : *goes over to the doggo* yes you're a good boy the goodest good boi in the whole world *gives ear scratches and head scratches*

doggo : *cuddles against me and eats the banana i give him*

girl : *fed up and laughing* he manipulated you to get a free treat

me, who just got chosen by Leo the Golden Retriever :

SUCK IT BITCHES I GOT CHOSEN BY LEO THE GOLDEN RETRIEVER

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snifflequeen · 5 years ago

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“Hih-hi’tschh!” Danielle lets out pointedly.

“Honey...” Jake says, worried about the health of his fiancée. “I think you should stay in bed.”

“Ndo,” she says, stuffily, “I’mb nod sidck. Id’s jusd allergies.”

“Allergies don’t give you a raging fever and chills, my love.” He says, sliding into bed next to her. “Besides, you look like you need to rest. We can go out to dinner another night.”

“But I *sniff* amb excited aboud seeing Amby and Devond.” She whines.

“I know, but they won’t be excited about catching your cold.” He stops, and she lets out a stuffy sneeze. “Or flu, for that matter.”

“Stob being overdramadic.” She says, before letting out a barky cough. She instantly begins rubbing at her sore throat.

“Aw, honey...” Jake starts, gently grabbing her flushed face, and bringing it to his lips. “Yep. Just like I thought. Definitely a fever.”

“B-but I’b so cold.” She shivers, and rubs under her nose with her baby blue sweatshirt.

“Danielle, I think you caught the flu.” Jake says hesitantly, knowing how she’ll react. Instead of answering, a sneeze rips through her throat, and escapes her stuffy, sore nose. A few coughs escape, and she catches them into her hands, which are covered by the baby blue fabric.

“There’s absolutely no way I’m letting you go anywhere but this bed and our couch.” Jake says, and Danielle looks heartbroken.

“Bud our dinner...” she says congestedly.

“Our dinner can wait. The flu will only get worse.” He says, stroking her cheek. She turns away quickly, barely catching the beginning of her coughing fit in her sleeve. He sits there, looking at his pale girlfriend, wondering how she got so sick so quickly. She grabs a tissue, and blows her fully congested nose into it. A chill runs up her spine and she shivers deeper into her comforter.

“Close your eyes, babe. Try to get some rest. I’ll call Amy and Devon, tell them you’re under the weather.” Jake says. Danielle closes her eyes, and clears her throat.

“I don’d know whad happened. I was fide this borning.” Danielle says, rubbing her sleeve under her nose again.

“That’s how the flu works, beautiful. Now get some rest. I’ll go make you some tea and soup.” The door closes softly, and Danielle drifts off to a fitful sleep.

When she wakes up three hours later, she feels miserable. Her body is overrun with aches and chills, she’s shivering yet sweating, her fever has climbed a degree and a half, her throat is sore, her head is pounding, and she can’t breathe through her nose at all. She looks up, and sees Jake sleeping next to her. She feels a tickle in her nose, but she’s still half asleep, and too feverish to try to stop it.

“CHOO! Hih-t’schhuh!” She releases, the sneezes scratching her raw throat like chalk on a chalkboard.

“Bless you.” Jake says tiredly, and rolls over to look at his soon-to-be wife.

“Aw honey.” He says, when he sees her snot covered, pale face with crimson cheeks and purple bags under her eyes. She lets out a wet cough, which rattled the congestion in her chest.

“Whad tibe is id?” She asks stuffily, slowly moving her aching arm to grab a tissue.

“10:45 pm.” Jake says, and Danielle groans. It’s gonna be a long night.

#sickfic #sneezefic #snzblr #my ocs stuff #ocs #flu #common cold #fever #danielle and jake #love #cold #sick #illness

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thiswasinevitableid · 6 years ago

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The Wicked House

Prompt for the 31st was: Wicked. Thanks to @thats-amnesty-babe and Morgan E Ashton for the help brainstorming.

Duck whacks his hands together, clearing the dust from them, before raising a hand in friendly farewell to the movers. He picks his way through the boxes, up the stairs, and to his bedroom. Opening the door sends a bolt of dark, fluffed-up fur into the hallway.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry fuzzball, but I couldn’t have you bein underfoot or runnin out the door.” He scratches the cat behind her ears, and her affronted glare gives way to forgiving purrs.

He unpacks for awhile, finds a good luck note from Juno tucked in the winter coat she gave him (“I mean it, Duck, winter up there’s a hell of a lot colder than here in West Virginia”). Orders pizza, gets the kitchen table set up in time to eat it. Flips through his to-do list for the next few days as he does.

ka-BOOM

Winnie yowls and runs from the room as Duck nearly falls out of his chair.

“What the fuck?” He dashes outside, expecting to find an exploded car or downed powerline.

He finds nothing of the sort. None of his neighbors are even poking their heads out. There’s a smaller boom, from the house next to his (his is on the corner, so only has one neighbor).

“Well, Woodbridge finally managed to offload one of these places, huh?”

He turns to find a rather prim looking woman walking a furious looking Pomeranian.

“Beg pardon?”

“You’re the first person to buy any of the houses near that wicked place in years.”

Duck looks around again. Every house on the block, save for his own darkly painted victiorian and the brightly painted one next to it, has a sun-worn for sale sign in the yard.

“What the fuck?”

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

“Oh, so you’re the guy who bought the house next to Indrid Colds place?” The man at the grocery store asks as he rings him up. Duck was overjoyed to find a real mom and pop place near his house and Leo, the owner, has been chatting with him.

“So it seems.”

“Don’t let folks make you too jittery about it. Indrid’s an odd guy, but he don’t mean no harm.”

“What the hell does he do? All kinds of weird lights and noises and shit coming from that place.”

“Not a clue. Seems like you’re in a better position to find out than most of us.” He tilts his head towards the beer Duck is loading into a bag.

“Dunno, kinda like havin all my limbs. Not sure I’ll keep ‘em all if I go in there.”

Leo shrugs, “suit yourself.”

As Duck walks home with his groceries, he mulls over the suggestion; sure, the loud noises aren’t great, but they no worse and no more frequent than a loud party or a neighbor with barky dogs.

He sets the bags down on his front step, fumbling to find which pocket he put his keys in.

“Don’t move!”

He freezes, finds a tall man with silvery hair moving purposefully up his drive. He’s in a long, silk bathrobe and bunny slippers, bright red glasses perched on his nose. When he places his hands on Ducks shoulders and starts moving him back off the porch, Duck tenses, tries to pull away.

He can’t. The man is surprisingly strong for such a beanpole.

“Hey, pal, look-”

“No, you look.” He points a finger, and Duck squints for a beat before seeing it; a black widow, dangling on a thread as she lowers down from his door frame.

“Shit, almost walked right into her.”

“Yes, you did. I thought you might prefer not to.”

Duck takes another look at the stranger, including the spot where his hand is still resting on Ducks arm. The other man follows the gaze, pulls his hand back apologetically.

“Gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re Indrid Cold.”

“Oh, you’ve heard of me!” Indrid smiles brightly, only to have the expression falter, “oh, ah, you’ve heard of me. I can’t say I blame people for trying to warn you away from me, given my reputation.” The last few words come out so soft and resigned, the kind of vulnerability that’s either a trap or the truth of someone who has gone a little too long without the benefit of the doubt.

“Reputation don’t matter half as much as your actions. Far as I’m concerned, the only thing I know you done for sure is save me from a nasty spider bite.” He smiles kindly, holds out his hand, “I’m-”

“-Duck Newton.” Indrid takes it, shaking it with an oddly wide smile.

“Uh, right. Well, I’m gonna get rid of that widow, but if you wanted to come in for a beer or coffee or somethin I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“That sounds wonderful but, oh, oh dear, um, excuse me something’s just come up. Hope to see you again.” He dashes back down the path, down the sidewalk, and up the steps to his bright yellow door.

“Huh.” Duck watches the door for a moment, then goes to get a broom.

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The diner smells like eggs, bacon, and butter when Duck steps in from the chill of the early September air.

It’s quiet, but he settles on a spot at the counter all the same, in case they need the booths for bigger groups.

“Good morning,” a cheerful, somewhat crunchy-granola looking blonde woman greets him, pad in hand “any coffee or tea this morning?”

“Coffee, please.”

“You got it.” She spins, grabs the pot, and pours him a mug. Several of the flatops are where Duck can see them, being worked expertly by a man who must be well over six feet tall. Whatever he’s moving about on them smells incredible.

“Ready to order.”

“Whatever he’s cookin right there.”

“Hash it is.” She smiles again.

The cook nods, and as he sets to work he asks, “you just passing through?”

“Naw, moved here a few weeks ago, got a job in the national forest.”

“Right on.”

“Oh yeah.” A voice behind him says, and he finds two older men sizing him up, “you’re the fella who got duped into buying next to Cold’s place.”

“He’s a man, Clarence, not fucking black mold.” The cook grumbles.

“How’s living next to the wicked witch treating you?” The second man, in a red ball-cap, asks.

“Warlock.” Says a clipped voice. It takes Duck a moment to see it belongs to the man going over receipts at the register, slick dark hair flecked with grey and face movie-star handsome, “if Indrid did have those abilities you all seem convinced he does, he’d be a warlock, not a witch.”

“How would you know?” Red cap retorts.

“Ey, shut up Jim, you know the boy was in the CIA. Better not disrespect him.”

“FBI, not CIA

“All I’m saying is that wherever Cold goes, disaster follows. Not to mention the man’s a known f-”

“One more syllable and you’ve got a lifetime ban.” Barclay points the spatula towards the men.

In the midst of the standoff, the bell dings.

And Indrid Cold walks into the diner.

He’s bundled up like it’s snowing, walks up to the counter and pauses when he sees Duck.

Duck pats the stool next to him, “Nice to see you again, neighbor.”

“Likewise.” Indrid gives that odd smile again and sits down, “Good morning Barclay, Joseph.” He nods first to the cook, then the man at the register, “Oh, and hello Dani. The usual, please.”

Dani grins, turns to one of the drink machines and comes back moments later with a cup of cocoa.

“I can’t handle how bitter coffee is, even with sugar.” Indrid says, two seconds before Duck is going to ask him why that drink.

“You’re braver than I am, that much sugar this early’d have me on the ceilin.”

Indrid smiles softly, “Lightweight.”

Duck barks out a laugh, making Indrid snicker as well.

“Any plans for this weekend, Duck?”

“Got some new model ships to work on, might go for a hike, nothin too excitin.”

“You don’t get enough hiking at work?” Indrid cocks his head.

“I mean, not really? It’s different when I’m on my own; I don’t got an agenda or shit I’m supposed to be takin care of. I can just go at my own pace.”

Indrid makes a noise of understanding right as Barclay sets two plates down. Indrids’ is piled with pancakes and strawberries.

Barclay points a can of whipped cream down at the plate, “say when.”

The tower of cream is almost a foot high before Indrid goes, “when.”

As they eat, they chat about this and that, though mostly Indrid asks Duck about his move, and how he’s liking the town. Then he muses, “I’d like to go hiking sometime. I really ought to get out a bit more.”

“You can come with me sometime, if you want.”

“Really?”

“Sure, long as you don’t mind me talkin about trees.”

“Not in the slightest.”

Duck raises his glass in cheers, “well, if you decide you want to, you know where to find me.”

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Duck balances the plate of cornbread (his fathers no-fail recipe) in one hand as he lifts the other to knock on the door.

“Come in!” Indrid calls a half-second before his hands meets the wood.

The inside of Indrid’s house is laid out much the same as Ducks own. This is where the similarities end. There are drawings scattered everywhere, pinned to walls and strewn across tables. Art and posters and letters cover the walls, each of which is painted a different color.

As he makes his way into the kitchen he notices chalk and bottles of salt, piles of old books, and many, many, many sweaters.

Indrid is at the sink, filling a kettle with water.

“You’re right on time, I was just making myself some tea. Though I can make something stronger if you prefer.”

“Tea’s fine.” Duck sets the plate down, “figured I oughta make a proper, neighborly introduction.”

He leaves out the part where, in the two days since they spoke at the diner, he’s thought about Indrid quite a bit. And that whenever an explosion or other odd occurrence came from next door, Ducks’ first response is no longer annoyance; it’s worry. What if something bad happened and Indrid had no one checking on him?

“I’ve been thinking” Indrid sets a mug down in front of him, sits across from him at the rickety table, “there’s a little get-together at the Lodge, that hotel on the edge of town, this weekend. If you were interested, we could hike out that way and then stop by after.”

“You know the folks there?”

“I do. Barclay and Joseph live in one of the cottages, Dani lives in the lodge proper, and they were kind enough to invite me to movie night once. I suppose I found my people, so to speak, there even if I still am a bit solitary.”

“Be happy to come, like to get to know more folks in town myself.” Duck glances back from examining some nearby drawings, and immediately knows he gave the right answer. Indrid is looking at him like he hung every star in the sky.

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

Ducks’ gotten used to the occasional smoke detector cry from next door.

But this one isn’t stopping.

He grabs the fire extinguisher from under his sink and bolts out one front door and into another.

Smoke drifts down the stairs and Indrid is nowhere in sight. So up the stairs he goes, turning into the room where the smoke is the worst. Mercifully, there is no actual fire, just clear signs of one being hastily and messily put out. He opens the windows, and after a few minutes of cross-breeze the alarm shuts off.

It’s only then that he hears a tap running and someone muttering.

He crosses the hall, finds Indrid glaring into the mirror over the bathroom sink, trying to sooth a nasty looking burn on his arm.

“Shit, what happened?”

Indrid stares at the water, “just an accident. I was careless. I’ll be alright.”

“Here, lemme look at your arm-yeah, okay, I’m gonna go grab my first aid kit from my place.”

He’s out and back as fast as he can manage, returns to find Indrid sitting on the toilet lid, sulking.

Duck holds out his hand and Indrid flops his wrist into it. As gently as he can, Duck tends to the burn. It’s not bad enough to need a hospital, but it’s still a nasty looking mark.

“What were you tryin to do?” He asks softly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me?”

“I have certain...abilities. Magic. Most of it related to seeing the future. But some of it is more general, or is in other fields of the discipline, and I was trying to use one field to influence a future and it backfired.”

Duck considers him a moment, then gently squeezes his hand, “hey, it’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me. Don’t gotta make a story up on my behalf.”

“I’m not MAKING IT UP!” Indrid shouts, yanking his hand away and standing up.

“Indrid, you don’t expect me to believe-”

“ What? That I’m stuck seeing futures I can’t stop, stuck with powers I still can’t fully control, that I’ve made myself an outcast time and again all because of these blasted things.” He rips off his glasses and chucks them down the hall. Crumples to the floor, head in his hands.

Cautiously, Duck scooches across the hardwood. He wants to reach out, to soothe the tensed lines of Indrids’ body. But he’s not sure that’s what Indrid wants. Not sure if he’s royally fucked everything up.

“Okay, I’m listenin.” His voice, gentle as it is, may as well be coming through a megaphone for how Indrid flinches. Then he looks at his newly bandaged arm.

“Ten years ago, I bought those glasses from a little curio shop. I thought they were stylish. I put them on when I got home and everything changed. Long story short, the glasses are a conduit to a demonish creature. When I put them on, he became my patron. I gained his ability to see the future, as well as some other powers. I panicked, tried to take the glasses back, but the store was simply gone. Turns out if I try to forsake his gift, it will go very badly for me, so I have to wear them all the time, save for sleep and things like that.”

“Jesus.”

“I’ve been trying to use my powers to stop the disasters I see coming but so often it doesn’t work, and then I have to watch it play out in real time after seeing it again and again in my head.” He stands, slowly, and walks to retrieve the glasses, “or when I try to do enchantments, sometimes things go haywire. Did you happen to see the little succulent garden in the living room?”

“You mean the one that’s as big as your coffee table?”

“Yes. That was originally two succulents. I bought them as a housewarming gift for you then decided maybe four was better. So I tried to magic up two more. And got a garden instead.” He’s still as he speaks, glasses held in his palm, “It isn’t all bad. I have been able to stop some things, and I’ve gotten much better at magic. But the failures so often dwarf that.”

“Indrid?” Duck stands in the bathroom doorway, waits for his friend to turn around before continuing, “thank you for tellin me all that. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

Indrid’s smile is weak, but genuine.

“Are there, uh, things that help when this happens? You seem real upset and if I can help you feel better, I’d like to.”

“T.V, the mindless kind.”

Duck holds out his hand, “C’mon, let’s go downstairs.”

Indrid settles on the violet couch, wrapping himself in a thick blanket as Duck flips channels.

“You’re from West Virgina, right?”

“Yep.”

“Then you may be familiar with my patron. I don’t know his true name, but everyone just calls him mothman.”

Duck drops the remote.

“Mothman? As in Silver Bridge, Point Pleasant, TNT plant, and all that shit?”

“Yes.” Indrid says mildly.

“Holy shit.” He fishes the remote from under the couch.

“That’s a remarkably succinct reaction.”

“Hush you, you know I ain’t a man of many words.”

“Duck, two days ago you talked for half an hour about Kudzu.” Indrid shoots him a teasing smile, and Duck elbows him lightly.

“Oooh, a Halloween cooking championship! Let’s watch that.”

Duck sets the remote down, joins Indrid under the blanket when the taller man opens it for him.

“You doin anythin for Halloween?”

“No” Indrid sighs, “I love it, but after the ‘living pumpkin incident,’ parents stopped letting their children trick or treat here.”

“Hmmmmm” Duck rests his hand just beside Indrids’, strokes it absentmindedly with his pinkie “y’know, Indrid, I think I got a way to fix that…..”

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

Duck waves goodbye to the group of trick or treaters as they scurry back down the walkway. He has to hand it to Indrid: the man really has an eye for decoration.

The yard is strung with glowing cobwebs and purple lights, bats made of purple shadow and glitter flitting through the air. The multitude of Jack’O Lanterns flicker in a rainbow of colors, thanks to Indrid doing an enchantment on the flames.

Ducks house is equally festive, Indrid choosing orange lights and one (magically) large pumpkin to contrast with the dark wood of the building. Currently Aubrey (Dani’s wife) and her giant rabbit (Dr Harris Bonkers, PhD) are seated on Duck’s front step on candy duty. Duck had asked for his new friends help after realizing just how nervous Indrid was that something would go haywire, and decided it was best if he was there to keep him company.

It’s been a successful Halloween so far; no explosions, no disasters, no decorations accidentally coming to life. He and Indrid chat between visitors, The Creature from the Black Lagoon plays in the background, and both of them have eaten more candy than two grown men probably should. Not a single kid who’s come to the door seems afraid of Indrid. Some are curious, and some have parents that definitely watch them closely. But most are just happy to get candy.

Best of all, whenever they’re seated on the couch, or waiting to open the door, Indrid holds Ducks hand, or sighs happily when Duck rests his arm around his shoulder.

The groups are becoming less and less frequent, and stars peek out from behind the clouds, when Indrid turns to him.

“Thank you, Duck.”

“Hey, wasn’t gonna miss an excuse to hang out with you and poach your candy.”

Indrid chuckles, “Not just for that. For everything, for being kind, for getting to know me and not writing me off as wicked. I-” He falters, turns away suddenly.

Duck may not have foresight, but he’s perceptive all the same.

“Want me to finish that sentence for you?”

Indrid looks at him wide-eyed as the ranger steps into his space, “Please.”

“I wanna get to know you better.” Duck grins, moves to pull Indrid to him.

Indrid beats him to it, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into a kiss. Ducks back hits the door, Indrids fingers digging into his hair. He holds him tight, and as demanding as his kisses are the taller man’s whole body is shaking like the last leaf on a tree.

When they pull apart, Indrid rests their foreheads together.

“Yes, Duck, I would very much like to get to know you better.”

Duck kisses him again, keeps him close as he whispers, “well, happy fuckin halloween to me.”

Indrid kisses his cheek, “Indeed.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #promptober #au

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minttoy · 5 years ago

Text

Daylight (Ch 3)

CHAPTER THREE

Summary: “She spent so much time counting her days. Finally, she sees her future clear as daylight.” - Linhardt helps Lysithea survive more than the war.

Pairings: Linhardt/Lysithea

Click here to read on FF.net.

Click here to read on AO3.

----------

Weeks later, she’s still flipping through the days. Some passages are easier to read and few of them trigger difficult memories. It’s a blessing she cannot recall most of the things written in these pages.

Lysithea must look particularly haggard this morning, because Professor Hanneman waltzes into the room and starts the day with a peculiar joke.

“Are you and Linhardt married, by any chance?” he asks, a smirk dancing on his lips.

She’s tired and has no energy to vehemently deny it. “No.”

He’s hardly fazed. “Engaged, perhaps? Promised to one another?”

She shakes her head. “Neither.”

“Oh, but there’s something there, correct? The two of you seem to enjoy each other’s company.”

She does not remember Hanneman being this nosy. Perhaps Professor Manuela has been rubbing off him. “There is nothing between us,” she says, the words rolling lazily off her tongue. “We are not married, nor engaged, nor promised. We don’t talk about kids, or money, or growing old together. None of that.”

Poor logic at its finest, but she’s willing to admit it escapes her temporarily.

“Can I safely assume you two are not sleeping together?”

She startles, spilling a portion of her teacup as she brings it to her lips. “Excuse me?”

“Hmm.” He scratches his beard. “I suppose not.”

Lysithea hisses as she registers the burn from the still-hot tea water.

“Is there a point to this?” she inquires, holding back none of her irritation. With a sleeve, she wipes off a stain from the front of her shirt.

He shrugs loosely. “Perhaps.”

His response incites a harsh glare from the girl, but it does not last long. She reaches for her handkerchief across the table to pat down her skirt.

“This is highly inappropriate, especially from a man of your stature. I would appreciate if you were more respectful and unassuming of my relationships,” she says distractedly. “We share common goals and interests. There’s nothing beyond that.”

The suggestion was never meant to sound romantic, but she realizes in hindsight how it can be interpreted as such. Hanneman knows it too and raises her a brow.

“Linhardt is my apprentice and I know him very well,” he starts. “Believe me when I say I have never seen him more committed to anything than he is to you, my dear.”

She peers up at him briefly, and then back down to the soiled handkerchief in her hands. It’s easier to focus on other things when her face is flushed pink.

Hanneman continues, “I know what it takes to renounce one’s nobility – I’ve committed the act myself a long time ago. You give up almost everything. The people you call family, inheritance, prestige and status, the place you consider home, even a bit of yourself...” He shakes his head solemnly. “…it’s unfortunate. Despite all of that, at the end of the day, you are still the selfish one.”

Her gaze is trained to the wooden table, but she’s listening.

“My point is, I am certain Linhardt sacrificed much to be here.”

She blinks twice and looks up. “What are you insinuating?”

Her inquiry is blunt, but it’s not meant to accuse or invoke tension. The entire exchange has her squirming in her seat, even if he’s only protecting him.

“I am simply curious of his motivations,” the older man explains, meeting her gaze. “That boy is difficult to inspire and persuade, and I’ve seen it firsthand. I thought maybe you’ve done something to fuel his sudden ambition.”

She narrows her eyes. “I always assumed he took this up on his own volition, but I’m also willing to admit it’s a little far-fetched. If you’re wondering about monetary incentives, I’m not paying him or doing him any favours.”

“I never even wondered such a thing.”

She considers the idea once more. “…is it something I should be thinking about?”

“Heavens I hope not, or I would be sorely disappointed,” he scoffs.

“So what is it then?”

“You tell me.” Hanneman arches a single brow and presses further, “You said yourself the nature of your relationship is strictly business. Nothing personal beyond your collegiate partnership. Isn’t that right?”

Lysithea processes the complicated thought and attempts understanding for herself, wondering why this conversation keeps circling back on itself. The reason she keeps finding herself here.

Why do I feel like running.

She crumbles underneath his sharper gaze. “…that’s right.”

He leans back in his seat. “What’s your take on it?”

The question lingers.

“I don’t know,” she tells honestly, after a pause.

Silence envelopes them briefly.

“My apologies, child. I don’t mean to push you.” His gloved hand goes to her shoulder, and when she chances a second glance, his gaze is visibly softer. “It just warms this old man’s heart to see two of his students here at the monastery. There hasn’t been this much excitement since…well, a long time.”

She sighs, “Do you have to be so meddlesome?”

He feigns an affronted expression. “Can you blame a researcher for inquiring? I was simply…stating my observations, if you will. Did it come off as imposing? Forgive me.” His lips tug to a small smirk under his moustache. Unapologetic, despite what he says. “I admit. Occasionally I delight in wishful thinking. You see, Linhardt reminds me of my younger self. Fascinated with crestology, how it shapes the world’s foundation and transforms the individuals within it. Regrettably, I missed things because of it. The more I devoted myself to research, the more other dreams slipped further from my reach.”

Lysithea frowns and raises a brow.

“Before I pass from this world, it would give me great gratification to know he pursued such dreams. This applies for you as well, actually. Chase your ambitions, but don’t skip on life. You should get married, take care of each other, and have children. Research is its own reward, but I believe there are greater, more joyful things in life. Take this as advice from your old teacher and mentor.”

“Your advice is oddly specific,” she points out.

He laughs, characteristically barky, but jolly nonetheless. “I expect an invitation to your wedding when it comes.”

She breathes a lengthy exhale and loses her patience. Hasty, she downs the remainder of the hot tea and gathers her papers in her arms.

“That’s enough. I am done indulging in your strange and improbable fantasies–”

“Improbable? I beg to differ.”

“–I have little time as it is! We need to get back to work.”

He smirks at her attempt at scolding. Young, impulsive and puppy-like. A coping mechanism, he realizes. He indulges her anyway, gathering a portion of her file and adjusting his monocle.

“As you wish, my dear.”

----------

Lysithea is in the middle of bookmarking old texts when she hears it. A small gasp, barely even an audible breath, in the midst of the crest analyzer’s machinal sounds. She peers to the side to investigate the small commotion, observing the subtleties in Linhardt’s bare expression.

“What is it?”

He swallows hard and stares with furrowed brows. “This sample, it’s…crestless.”

His lack of energy casts a measure of doubt, but she strides over anyway. Wordlessly, he hands her the glass slide containing a drop of her blood and she runs it through the analyzer herself.

She waits.

Nothing.

No symbols appears before her.

No Charon.

No Gloucester.

No crest.

The blood is pure.

She feels her stomach drop. Her knees grow weak. She pans over to green-haired man, who jots down notes with a nonchalant flair. For someone who just reached his first real breakthrough, he is severely lacking in enthusiasm. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion.

“What does this mean?” she asks.

“It means we’re moving in the right direction,” he says blandly, not looking up.

She blinks at his aloofness, wondering what goes on in that tired and brilliant mind.

Linhardt finishes writing, flips the book shut and yawns into his hand. He finds her muddled expression.

“I’m not satisfied just yet,” he explains quietly. “On the bright side, it seems the formula I used on this particular sample yields promising results. I’m willing to test it on others to ensure it has the same effectiveness.”

He’s withholding himself, it seems. Saving the joy until the work is finished.

“I could draw more blood,” she offers, matching his tone.

He gives her a sheepish frown. She hides bruised arms under her sleeves.

“Please and thank you.”

She turns on her heel, and he catches her wrist when he realizes what she’s doing.

“It can wait until later. You’re tired,” he says. “I have to compound the serum again anyway, which will take time.”

He offers her a smile and she returns it.

----------

The three of them continue to work on this breakthrough. Linhardt, after studying the entirety of her file, is approaching the research with a medical lens. It’s apparent her crests were introduced like toxins to the bloodstream. She either rejected the virus and died, or survived the implants, forcing her crests to co-exist in one body. He intends to remove it the same way, coming up with a formula to dissolve her crests, akin to an antibiotic treating bacteria and disease.

Hanneman almost forgets he’s a proficient healer, well-versed in medicine and its properties.

That’s how they got here. Linhardt sitting on a chair, visibly pale and nauseous, hesitating to offer his arm. He was the one who suggested it – he and Hanneman offering their own blood to the cause, and hoping the recipe can eliminate their crests as well.

“I’m ready. Give me your arm,” she says.

“Please be gentle. The sight of blood makes me uncomfortable.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ve been working with blood for several months now.”

“That’s different. I dislike watching it spill from the body, especially my own. I should add that needles are frightening as well.”

She gives him an annoyed look, hoping it’s enough to get her message across.

“Do you want the sample or not?”

“I do.”

“Then get over it. It would have been done by now if you stopped whining.”

He takes another deep breath, closes his eyes and finally stretches his arm. As she rolls his sleeves up, another thought flashes and he whips back the limb.

“Linhardt!”

“I’m sorry. Please don’t poke hard. I’m lightheaded as it is.”

He’s pouting, the most childish he’s become as of late.

“If you stay still, it won’t hurt as much.”

He gives her a suspicious eye.

She decides to change tack, softens her gaze and bends down so they’re at eye level. “Hey, I’m good at this, remember? It’ll be quick. You can trust me. I’ve done it on myself several times already.”

The reminder is stinging and leaves with him little choice and room to complain. This time, he offers his arm without another word.

The process is seamless and efficient, just as she promised. His veins stand out against his pale skin and he doesn’t tense when she rubs alcohol on it. He looks away and holds his breath when she punctures his skin. For him, it seems like an eternity until the needle is finally removed, and replaced with the pressure of her fingers. He lets out a long sigh of relief, and sinks down in his seat as if he’s been through a terrible ordeal.

He finally has the courage to look up and finds a smirk on her face.

“What?” he asks.

She removes her gloves and pats his head like she’s proud of him. “Such a good boy. I knew you could do it.”

He scoffs, “I am not a child.”

She laughs, and tips her head to a box on the nearby table. “I got you sweet pastries from town as a reward. Do you want it or not?”

He lights up, betraying himself. He doesn’t think he’s enjoyed her company more. “Yes, please.”

----------

The next step is obvious: a trial.

They’ve agreed to everything so far, but now there are three branches of thought.

Linhardt prefers to experiment with other crest-containing blood samples, reasoning they lack a sample size worthy of definite conclusion.

Hanneman insists on keeping the research between the three of them. This experiment will not be approved in the eyes of people in power, except maybe Edelgard herself.

Lysithea is growing increasingly impatient. Many months have passed since she’s made the monastery her second home and she pushes for the trial herself.

After much hesitation and few heated debates, they agree to one trial. The infirmary is turned upside down. It takes an entire day to prepare the room and concoct the mixture. Beds are moved, shelves restocked and the space is nearly emptied. A plan is devised if things go awry and her body rejects the serum. They don’t have the luxury of test subjects, Lysithea being the only one.

For all the irony in the world, the procedure is alike to blood reconstruction surgery itself. Linhardt admits he took inspiration from the mages to devise the method.

“If you have discomfort, I need to know. You have a penchant for acting stronger than you feel,” he says rather bitterly.

She stops poking around her arm for a vein and glances at the green-haired scholar. Unusually tight-lipped, rigid features on his face and posture incredibly stiff. He’s handling his instruments with a chaotic energy, revealing a side of him that hardly surfaces. He’s irritable and exasperated, which is far from his usually lax demeanor. She’s only seen it a handful of times.

“You agreed to this,” she reminds, matching his tone.

He still cannot look her in the eye. “Not willingly.”

“Don’t start with me,” she warns, keeping her voice low. “We fought about this already.”

He shrugs with nonchalance, and from her perspective, it’s kind of infuriating.

“Hmm. I still think we should wait,” he says, just for the sake of reminding her.

She tries to smile, but it comes off sarcastic and phony. She wonders how apparent it is how much she wants to pull her hair out right now.

“Too late,” she says, knowing how petty it sounds. “It’s happening today.”

“You can still back down. I won’t blame you,” he offers again.

She shakes her head and counters with a firm and decisive, “No. I won’t do that.”

He heaves with frustration and finally looks down at her. She meets his intense blue glare with as much defiance she can muster.

“You’re being impossible. I’m starting wonder if you’re doing this to spite me,” he delivers harshly, in a way he’ll probably regret later. Afterwards, he mutters some excuse about retrieving something from the lab and leaves the room in a matter of seconds.

In the deafening silence that follows, she stares down at the floor, heart suddenly weak and eyes glassy. Her breath is shaky as it comes out. Just as she expects, the feeling of scorn quickly fades into nothing, leaving a pained and bleak disposition in its place. She rubs her eyes before she crumples into a sobbing mess. These recent spats all end the same way. Her coming up empty, instead of angry.

“This will mean nothing later,” Hanneman reassures, suddenly beside her. “Both of you are stubborn. You only fight because you care for each other. If it helps, try to remember what got you here in the first place.”

Her breaths even out slowly. “…I don’t want to fight anymore.”

He shrugs. “You have to work it out somehow. Waiting is safe, but there’s no use dallying and delaying progress either.”

“Am I being unreasonable?” she asks in a whisper.

Hanneman sucks in a breath, and contemplates for a moment.

“It’s…difficult to say. I’m sorry, child. I don’t have all the answers.”

They resume in silence. She tries to pretend it never happened and connects herself to the machine. Linhardt returns a few minutes later, all traces of hardness on his face gone.

She tries not to look his way, except when he stands in front of her.

Their expressions mirror each other; remorseful and apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers first.

She shakes her head. “It’s my fault. I’m the one pushing you.”

He dismisses it with a shrug. “We’re in this together.”

It eases few of her worries, enough to breathe easy. He gestures for her to take a seat so he can prime the infusion. She obliges without complaint.

“Tell me if you feel anything.”

“I will.”

After what seems like an eternity, it finally starts running. Linhardt gives her a quick onceover before taking the seat beside the professor, opening his book for notetaking.

Somehow, it feels like her last day on earth. She’s waited and dreamed of this since being told her days were numbered. Lysithea shakes her head, tries to throw off the memories.

Fifteen minutes in, there’s a sting in her arm where the needle is located. She tries not to hiss at the pain, but it becomes difficult to hide.

Hanneman sits up, the first to notice. “What’s wrong?”

She grits her teeth. “My arm is sore, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Linhardt stands, puts away his notebook. “We should stop it.”

“No! I can take it. This is–”

She stops as an abrupt, sharp pain sears the nerves up to her shoulder. It’s burning all of a sudden, and flaring with heat and spasm. Lysithea doesn’t scream, just a gasp and a choked-off cry, but somehow that makes it worse. She winces and folds in on herself.

He stops the machine and disconnects the tubing. That alone eliminates the sharp edge of the burn, but leaves a throbbing cramp in its wake. She collapses backwards in her seat, arm splayed limp beside her.

He’s giving her a look or reprimand, but as far as admonishments go, it’s a gentle one.

“Lysithea. This isn’t about being brave or strong. We only have one shot. If something happens to you, all of this would be for nothing,” he lectures softly, bending down to inspect for bruising or damage.

Hanneman hums in agreement and rises to stretch his arms. “The boy is right. Do not feel inclined to work beyond your limits. Our situation is risky enough as it is.”

She has no reason to get defensive. As far as she’s concerned, this is what she needs to hear. Beside her, she spies the faint glow of light. His magic is familiar to her now. She knows the feel of it: languid, light and listless. It induces a drowsy aftermath and she’s passed out from it before. It’s the work of his crest. Before she succumbs to its effects, she peers down at her partner.

“I really thought it would work,” she whispers, fighting the wave of exhaustion casted by the spell.

His gaze is surprisingly soft. “We’ll have to rework the formula,” he says quietly. Biting his lip, he casts his gaze down to her arm. “There’s a caustic burn on your skin. I’ll heal the nerves as best as I can, but I’m not sure about the scarring…”

She shrugs loosely. “It doesn’t matter.”

He says nothing back, watching as she enters a trance, wilting and slowly yielding to slumber.

“Can you be here when I wake up?” she asks, fighting off another yawn and blinking heavy eyelids.

He tilts his head to one side at the inquiry.

“Okay.”

It’s the last thing she hears before her vision goes blank.

----------

She’s plagued by nightmares, not waking until she’s seeing red and a silent scream is somehow working its way up her throat.

She lunges up from her bed, clutches the material in front of her chest and finds herself breathless. Her back is drenched with sweat and her hands are shaking. She stares blank at the window pane, catching sight of clouds filtering the light of the stars and moon. It casts a dark shadow upon the monastery and the surrounding forests. Slowly, the nightmare leaves her.

After that, she sighs. Lysithea looks down at her arms, one of them sporting an ugly reddened bruise and the other hooked up to a tube. Her gaze lazily flits upwards, finding herself linked to an assortment of fluids. Her head throbs wildly, more so than the fresh burn she acquired from the trial.

She’s alone, but hears the soft whirring of machinery across the hall. Mustering the strength to go, she drags the pole along with her and stops at the front of Hanneman’s office.

“You shouldn’t read in the dark,” she pipes up quietly. “It hurts your eyes.”

Linhardt startles and jerks lightly in the dim candlelight. He inhales deeply, and snaps his book shut.

“You should go back to sleep.”

She shakes her head. “Maybe later.”

He eyes her curiously, a long blue stare. “A nightmare, then.”

She shudders, and then absently presses her fingers against her throat where there’s a pulse. A cold shiver runs up her spine. Linhardt watches idly, staring into her eyes with question.

“It’s odd. I used to have nightmares about ghosts in my room, showing up late for class, or losing my teeth,” Lysithea starts softly, ignoring the constant thrumming in her head. “Nowadays, they’re more about feeling lonely, or losing control, or dying.”

He raises a brow. “Are you scared of dying?”

“I guess so,” she says, mild annoyance seeping through. She purses her lips, then shifts her gaze to the bookshelves. “It’s strange. I was going to die in those dungeons, and the only reason I didn’t was because I was so determined to see what life I could have outside of it, even if it meant surviving my crests. Gosh, I wanted to live so much, and still ended up dying.”

She says it with a hollow lightness, as if the whole thing can be a laughing matter. And then she’s shaking her head and rubbing her face.

“I’ve been counting my days ever since, and I’m sick of it. I’m so hopeless, and bitter, and lonely, and yet…I am still so, so terribly scared.”

Linhardt gazes with a rare tenderness. No words come to mind, so he says nothing.

Inevitably, there’s a long pause.

She drops her arms and unclenches her fists. Her expression is weary. “Do you have nightmares?”

He nods. “Occasionally. Mostly they are bloody visions of war – I wake up thinking I’m still in the throes of battle. To cheer myself up, I imagine myself lying down on a field of grass, in a place where I’m free to sleep, fish, or eat sweets whenever I please.”

She chuckles softly, “That sounds just like you.”

“Does your head hurt? I can help.”

“No, not right now. That magic of yours is like a sedative, and I…” She inhales and picks at her fingers, unsure how to say it. “I’d rather we just…stay, even for a short time.”

The air is so quiet and delicate she wants to bask in it. The lighting is dark, atmosphere thick but not stilted, and the whirring machinery drums like white noise. It’s just the two of them, but the silence is easy and comforting. They’ve let go of their posturing a long time ago. This is the most peace she’s felt in months.

This is what she means to say, even if he doesn’t get it.

He nods, and she’s grateful. Moving her metal pole in front of the sofa, she settles herself comfortably beside him and curls her legs underneath. He brushes off her earlier protest and picks up his book again, reading against the dim candlelight. Eventually she caves and tugs at his sleeve. Wordlessly, he settles the book in the middle so she can read for herself. The rest of the night is filled with silence.

He understands enough.

----------

#fire emblem #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe3h #linhardt von hevring #linhardt #lysithea von ordelia #lysithea #post-war #post-canon #post-game #fire emblem fanfiction

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queen-scribbles · 6 years ago

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Soulbound

For @pillarspromptsweekly fill 96: Soulbound. This one was just screaming to be filled in Emiri’s canon, if not, technically, with Emiri herself. I went really literal with the definition of “soulbound” and took advantage to write more with Saoirse and Elihu. :D

Ruin though it may have been, Caed Nua still held more than enough of interest for Saoirse and Elihu to return several days in a row as soon as they had the chance. They explored, Saoirse had long conversations with the Steward, hearing stories from Caed Nua’s prime, when her soul had inhabited not an elf with cinnamon brown curls but an aumaua moon godlike who loved the place so fiercely she restored it twice. So fiercely the ache of it carried over to Saoirse herself, reawakened as she listened and explored. The library, of course, she’d already seen; books crumbling to dust and the adra mosaic on one wall cracked and missing tiles. But there was much more to be seen, even if some rooms required shifting rubble to access. Elihu was all to happy to help with that, glad to be useful despite lacking her talent for magic.

Most of the rooms held only moldering beds or dry-rotted desks and shelves, but every once in a while they would find something interesting. A wizard’s grimoire, the pages brittle and only half-full. A silver bracelet, tarnished deep grey and etched with heraldry nether recognized. The barracks and armory were the most barren yet; picked clean by looters and bandits centuries ago, soon as the place stood empty.

“Wow, there really is nothing here,” Saoirse muttered, surveying the empty armory. “I kind of thought Steward mighta been speaking figuratively, y’know? Only fancy or valuable stuff taken, but nope, this really is picked clean.”

“That’s what happens to abandoned castles, Saoirse ,” Elihu said with a chuckle. “Gods, with how long our people have spent shooing estramowrn away away from our ruins, I wouldn’t think that would surprise you.”

“I’m not really surprised,” she said defensively, raking hair out of her eyes. “Just... maybe had been hoping to find... I dunno, something.”

He cocked his head, mossy brows arching. “You really care about this past life of yours.”

“Well, yeah, she’s me, El. And the way Steward talked about her, she sounds like she was a pretty great person. I just think having.... something of hers would be neat.” Saoirse sighed. “Clearly no luck on that front here. C’mon, let’s go look at that cottage--Brighthollow, I think Steward called it?--and see what we can find there.”

“Sounds good.” Elihu reached up to wipe off the cobwebs tangled around one of his horns as he followed her toward the door. His attention divided, he tripped over a beam and dislodged something from underneath it with a ting.

Saoirse paused in the hall. “You alright?”

“Yes.” Elihu bent to retrieve the object he’d kicked loose, which proved to be a dagger. “Guess they didn’t get everything...” he mused as he half-unsheathed the blade. He made a face. “Though I can see why this got left behind.”

She craned her neck for a better look and had to agree with him. The leather wrapped around the hilt was cracked and frayed, the blade tarnished and dull. It looked utterly worthless. “Odd she kept it to begin with if it was in such bad shape...”

“At least this can be your something,” Elihu pointed out, sliding the dagger back into its sheath. He carefully picked his was around the beam to join her in the hallway.

Saoirse gave a soft laugh as she nodded, but something deep in her chest twisted as he leaned close to kiss her on the cheek and tuck the dagger in her belt. She’d been about to point out ‘If this dagger was even hers,’ but that twist had been eerily similar to the ones she’d felt on her first visit. It had probably been hers.

“Maybe you’re right,” the young dwarven woman sighed, wiping sweat off her brow with the back of one hand. “Even if Master Engrim didn’t catch on, I would know.” She gave an almost longing look at a beautifully crafted forge hammer that sat nearby. “Here, take this as thanks or payment or whatever.” She held out a well-crafted, if very simple, dagger. “For keeping me from a mistake.” Once the dagger was taken, she turned back to her anvil and got to work once work.

Saoirse blinked as the image faded, and realized guiltily that she’d dug her fingers into Elihu’s arm. And while his barky skin meant the gesture hurt less than it would for most, she knew he was concerned whenever she had one of those memory moments. “I’m fine,” she said automatically, before he even opened his mouth.

“Good to hear, but it’s still unsettling,” Elihu said, covering her hand with his as she loosened her grip. “It’s not like experience with Awakened souls is common, love. Every time you start staring out into space like that it makes me wonder if need to slap you to get you back.”

She laughed, tugging him into motion back down the hallway. “Only if I get stuck for, mmm... five minutes or more.”

“Noted, but hopefully won’t ever be necessary.”

She laughed again at his dry tone before they squeezed through the rubble at the top of the stairs again and carefully made their way down. Saoirse was rubbing some new bruises when the Steward’s voice rippled through the air again.

“Ah, you found it!” She sounded delighted. “That dagger was one of Lady Emiri’s favorite weapons. I thought ruffians had made off with it ages ago.”

“Really? This??” Saoirse brushed her fingers against the sheath. It was hard to believe anyone had actually wielded the tarnished blade within, let alone loved it.

“That’s tarnishin’ awful fast, Mir. You sure Masca didn’t pull a fast one on ya?” floated through her mind, accompanied by a half-there image of the dagger, in better shape but still going dull, a rough scratch that was maybe a rune of some kind marring the blade.

The vision was broken when the Steward laughed. “Don’t let looks fool you, dear. That’s quite a valuable blade you carry, though it has seen its share of use.”

“I’m sure it did, if it was a favorite,” Saoirse muttered. “We were gonna go poke around Brighthollow for a while before it gets dark, anything special we should know about it?”

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to reach the upper floor,” the Steward said, after a moment’s pause. “It’s been a long time, and I am unsure of the stairs’ condition.”

“The warning’s appreciated,” Elihu said with a nod. “Any critters moved in?”

“Some, yes, though I cannot read their intent. I would be cautious,” the Steward warned.

“Again, appreciated.” He half-bowed to the carven throne, and Saoirse felt the air shimmer with pleased amusement from the Steward as he reached for her hand. “Come on, if we need to be careful, this will take extra time.”

“Yep.” Saoirse half-skipped to close the small distance between them and take his hand. They were both quiet until halfway across the distance, when she got tired of the silence and asked, “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

“Still trying to wrap my head around the knowledge you used to be... that the person who was in charge of... of all this” --Elihu waved his free hand at the surrounding ruin--”is-is you now.”

“If you start ‘m’lady’ing me, I am going to slug you in the arm,” she informed him dryly.

“Well, you’ve always been that,” he said with a mischievous smile, raising her hand to kiss the back of it. “But I’ll save titles for when you’re in a position that requires them. Til then, it’ll be your name or various terms of endearment.”

She laughed and squeezed his hand. “I think I can live with that.”

“Good-” Elihu’s smile vanished at a rustle in the bushes, both of them giving the ragged hedges their full attention. All that emerged was a pair of squirrels tussling over an acorn, but the air around Saoirse went hazy even as she relaxed.

Despite the light tarnish she couldn’t get to go away, the blade still broke skin easily enough. The bandit shrieked in pain as the dagger pierced his chest, but even if she hated that it had come to this, she wouldn’t feel too guilty. They had attacked her home, tried to hurt her friends, and there were few sins greater than that. The bandit fell, last of the threat to Caed Nua, to Aloth, to Sagani, Kana... everyone she cared about. She wiped blood off the dagger’s blade with part of her already-ruined sleeve and caught her breath. It might have been a trick of the torchlight, but the blade looked even more tarnished, more dull, than when the fight started. Maybe Edér had been right... but it fit so well in her hand and few things did, so she didn’t want to give it up. As she turned the blade to examine it in the torches’ glow, she noticed that another scratch, this one definitely a rune of some kind, had appeared in the metal.

Saoirse came out of this one to Elihu gently shaking her shoulders. “I’m alright, I’m alright,” she said dizzily, blinking away lingering fog, as she covered his hands with hers.

He let out a breath shaky with relief and kissed her forehead. “Good thing; you were about thirty seconds from getting slapped in the face.”

“There’s no way it’s been five minutes!” she protested, wrinkling her nose at him.

“Felt like it,” Elihu muttered, letting his hands drop from beneath hers. He intertwined his fingers with hers once more and tugged toward the cottage doorway.

The lower floor of what had once been called Brighthollow was indeed overtaken with vines and other foliage, and there were definitely animal eyes staring at them from a few spots, Saoirse could feel them. But underneath it all, there was still something of the well-crafted, homey feel the place had originally captured. She and Elihu carefully explored what they could; stepping over vines and steering clear of the more obvious nests, until they’d run out of things to look at- long before Saoirse’s curiosity was sated.

“I really wanna look upstairs,” she admitted.

Elihu gave her a dubious look and shoved against the banister. A large chunk splintered inward, scattering a swarm of burrower-insects across the steps. “I don’t think that’s wise. This whole place is made of wood, Saoirse. If it’s all in this condition, every step could break through the floor, and I don’t fancy breaking bones.”

“Look, El, from what I’ve, y’know, seen, aumaua used to live in this place. If the floor can hold them, I think even dry-rotted it’ll be alright for a couple elves.”

“Oh, fine. You can go first, though.” He gestured up the stairs with a flourish. “Since you’re lighter.”

“Happily.” Despite her flippancy, Saoirse did test each step before giving it her full weight. A couple gave slightly, but all held. “See? It’s fine.”

Elihu followed her up even more cautiously, but the stairs held for him as well. “You know we don’t have long in here before it gets dark...?”

“I know.” Saoirse tucked her hair back behind her ears. “Let’s see what we can, though.”

It was somewhat slow going, testing each step before they took it, and some floorboards creaked alarmingly. There wasn’t much to be seen, either, as most of the rooms had been overtaken by flora and fauna. She “lost” Elihu a couple times, his skin and hair proving perfect camouflage in these surroundings. One room near the front now resembled an aviary--several different kinds of birds had made nests in the creeping vines and remnants of furniture. Saoirse beat a hasty retreat from that one, chased by a pair of jays who did not want their babies disturbed.

After leaving the room, she wandered down the hall, past a set of broken down bookshelves, and was met with a fallen-in door. Closer inspection revealed it was slightly nicer than the other doors in this place. This of course piqued Saoirse’s curiosity and she tried to squeeze through a gap between the fallen door and its frame.

The room on the other side was larger, she noted. There was one larger bed, rather than being shared quarter like the others. What was left of the furniture was nicer, including the large--if moldering--desk and the fireplace. Something in her soul pulsed with familiar warmth at the sight, and suddenly Saoirse was seeing the room as if through past eyes.

A warm fire crackled on the grate, the coziness and dancing light almost enough to make her forget her frustration. “I don’t understand,” she groused, digging the dagger’s point into her desk and glaring at the rusty, scratched up blade. “I take care of it, I clean it after every fight. Made my hand cramp, how much I polished it last time. And still this.” She released the badly-frayed grip and it clattered over, too dull to stick even in the soft wood. “I’m beginning to wonder if these runes are some sort of curse.”

“That wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility,” a voice said from off to the side. The speaker’s name stuck in her memory for only a moment. “You did talk Masca out of something that, while perhaps unethical, would have greatly increased her smithing abilities. Perhaps a dagger enchanted to... wear itself out faster than normal is her idea of repayment.”

“She didn’t seem the type,” she protested. She set the dagger’s point against her desk again and spun it idly, both flummoxed and irritated when it didn’t make a mark.

“Emiri,” he said with a fond smile, “you never think anyone seems the type.”

She leaned back in her chair, still studying the dagger. “And I’m usually right, Aloth.”

“You are,” he nodded. “But I hate the thought of you being hurt thanks to a rare occasion where you were wrong. Perhaps it’s time to select a new dagger? One that will keep its edge and actually be useful.”

“Maybe,” she sighed, absently petting the dog who had nuzzled into her lap. “But if this one’s under a curse or something, I’d rather break that than pick a new one.” She picked off bits of dried, sloughing leather and wrapped her hand around the hilt. “D’you how hard it is to find things that are a comfortable fit in aumaua-sized hands here? And I’ve been using it for a while. I hate to switch...”

He chuckled and tucked hair behind one ear. “Always sentiment over practicality with you.”

“Of course,” she laughed. “It’ll pay off some day...”

Saoirse’s awareness returned to her just as Elihu wriggled through the same door and frame gap she’d used to gain entrance. She blinked a few times, still staring at the desk, now bleached and rotting. There was something familiar about that elf, and not just because she’d ‘seen’ him in the library when she Awakened. But that was a puzzle for later. For now, Elihu was looking at her with curiosity that verged on concern even as he picked bits of rotted wood out of the moss and flowers growing along his scalp.

“This must’ve been her room,” Saoirse said, ignoring his unspoken question.

“How can you tell?” He scraped a fingernail through the moss spotting the armoire.

“Well, she was the Lady in charge, this room is nicer....” She sighed and raked her curls back from her face. “And I had another... flashback, or whatever you want to call it.”

“Again?” Elihu’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what, the third or fourth one since we got here?!”

“El, I’m walking around her home, which she loved enough to restore from rubble twice, with what was apparently her favorite dagger tucked in my belt, of course Emiri’s going to be drawn to the surface more.” Saoirse crossed to his side and cupped his cheek in one hand. “Just because I’m seein’ her memories doesn’t mean I’m any less me.” The thought hit her like a boulder. “In fact, everything I’ve remembered today has been about the dagger. It got to lookin’ like this despite her takin’ good care of it. She thought it might be cursed or something.”

“And you still want to keep it?” He pulled back to look at her incredulously.

“Yes, b’cause it’s a link to her, and she said if it was cursed, she’d break it. With how determined she was, I’d bet my ceremonial robes she succeeded.”

Elihu snorted. “Don’t let your father hear you say things like that. He already grumbles about you shirking your responsibilities to explore. If he thinks you’re not taking them seriously, he might give them to someone else.”

“He won’t,” Saoirse said, maybe a little too quickly, as her heart skipped a beat. Would he? Worrier he might be where she was concerned, Elihu was also realistic. The things he worried about tended to fall inside the realm of possibility. “He knows I value our history. And b’sides, that’s sort of what we’ve been doing; discovering history. Even if it’s just my personal history. From a few cycles ago.”

“Compelling an argument as that is,” Elihu smiled, “I think we need to call it a day on discovering your history.” He nodded toward a hole in the wall that had probably been a window. The light was noticeably fainter and tinted heavily orange.

“Right.” Even as she agreed she was reluctant to leave. There was so much more to see here, but she had responsibilities at home the next several days, which drove her to wring every last bit out of today’s explorations. She wandered over to the hole and peered out. “Hey, there’s lots of heavy vines over here, we could probably climb down the wall if you don’t wanna risk the stairs again?”

Elihu glanced toward the collapsed door. “And not squeezing back through there would also be nice.” He joined her. “I’ll go first this time. Only fair.”

They both knew his connection to nature also meant he’d have an easier time finding a safe path down, which Saoirse could then follow. She nodded and stepped aside. Elihu was through the hole and down the wall in no time, and the way down didn’t seem too hard to follow. Saoirse followed him quickly, slipping just a little near the bottom.

Goodbye, Steward, she thought as she and Elihu headed for the ruined gate.

Goodbye Saoirse, the Steward’s voice echoed in her mind. I look forward to your next visit.

It might be a while, she warned apologetically.

A soft chuckle. I’m not going anywhere, dear.

Saoirse smiled at that as she and Elihu picked their way back across the river. If this is going to become a regular thing, maybe I should make a bridge... She could think of several ways to do it with varying levels of permanence.

“Long day, huh?” Elihu commented. He settled one arm around Saoirse’s shoulders as they walked through the forest.

“But productive,” she said with a smile.

“Oh, yes, we found some odds and ends worth salvaging, a rusty knife, and picked up several new bruises in the process,” he said teasingly. “Very productive.”

“To me it was,” Saoirse countered, dodging a tree branch. “That rusty dagger is a strong link to Emiri, who you know I’m curious about, so to me it is worthwhile. I don’t care how useless it looks.” She drew the blade to get a better look at it, or started to.

The second her hand curled around the dagger hilt, the metal warmed under her touch and the air around them seemed to ring with the echoes of a high, clear bell that pierced down to Saoirse’s soul. She froze in her tracks. Slowly, almost gingerly, she slid the blade free of its sheath.

And both she and Elihu gaped, for the weapon in her hand bore no resemblance to the worthless piece of metal he’d found in the armory. The blade was bright and polished steel, shining like silver, the dark leather around the grip firm and smooth. All in all, a piece of masterful craftsmanship anyone would be proud to own.

Elihu whistled. “Maybe not a curse, but there was definitely a spell of some kind involved there.”

“Look!” She held up the dagger, dull and tarnished blade now gleaming silver-bright. Her friends all raised eyebrows and whistled, and Kana gave her a wide smile.

“I knew there was some magic to it,” he chuckled. “And it seems fitting for you to have a blade most would cast aside turn out to be of immeasurable worth.”

“Very poetic.” She--former slave, now Lady of Caed Nua and traveling with the family she’d found--laughed and fought down the urge to kiss him on the cheek. As a distraction, she turned her attention back to the dagger, running her thumb over the runes that decorated the blade.

Saoirse smirked and indulged the impulse Emiri had quashed, pushing up on her toes to kiss Elihu on the cheek. “Thank you all the more for finding this. It’s a very fitting memento.”

He smiled crookedly. “You’re welcome.”

She studied the blade a moment more, noting the runes as well, then returned it to the sheath. Their meaning trickled from her memory and Saoirse smiled as she nudged Elihu back into motion. Very fitting memento indeed.

“Weather, die, and be born anew, free of old labors.”

#queens fic #pillars prompts weekly #emiri #saoirse #elihu

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buckychristwrites · 7 years ago

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Proximity | Part 3 | b.b.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: re·cov·er·y [noun] the getting back of something that was lost. With his psychiatric service dog by his side, Bucky has been working hard to move forward from the pain he has endured. But when a ghost of his past, who also turns out to be a threat to his team, makes a reappearance, Bucky has to figure out if it’s something he can handle, or if it’s too much for his still healing soul to bear.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: I guess angsty

A/N: It’s starting to get interesting! Please let me know what you think! :)

Proximity Masterlist | Masterlist | Tags List Form

“He’s been sitting there just like that for hours.”

It was no exaggeration. Not once did Bucky’s eyes leave the screen that you were gracing. You hadn’t moved or talked either, instead your eyes were trained on the floor of your glass prison with your hands folded in your lap. Bucky couldn’t help but notice the calm look on your face, despite everything. It was just like you to put on an unruffled facade in the face of distress, and the familiarity of it made Bucky feel numb. Not even Sergeant Barky, who did everything in her power to bring him out of his trance, from licking his face to rubbing her head against his arm, could break him.

All he could wonder was how. How did they know about you? How did they find you? And then there was why. What reasons could HYDRA have had to take you? And why did they wait so long to reveal you? Nothing made sense. All it was doing was making Bucky’s head pound, and staring at the screen probably wasn’t helping. Even still, he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away.

Through his daze, he didn’t notice the new presence in the room. When a hand gently gripped his shoulder, he jumped violently.

“It’s just me,” Reva’s cool, soothing voice said from behind him before he could turn around. He sighed, internally cursing Steve. The sound of a chair scraping across the floor filled the quiet air and suddenly Reva was sitting next to Bucky, him only seeing her out of his peripheral. “What’s going on, Bucky?” She looked at the screen, her eyes looking you up and down. “Who’s this?”

He hesitated for a while, but when he finally spoke, he didn’t mean for it to come out so strangled when he breathed out your name. It was one he tried not to let pass his lips, and his thoughts, though he failed with the latter more times than he could count. She repeated it back to him slowly, making him visibly flinch.

“And what is she to you?” She asked. He shook his head as he stared at you, mulling over the very loaded question he was just asked. In the background, he heard a scoff. When he turned around, pulling his strained eyes from the screen for the first time, he saw Steve shaking his head in the corner of the room.

“Got something to say?” Bucky asked in a testy voice. “Because you might as well just say it.” Steve shrugged before looking back up at him, clearly not concerned by Bucky’s threatening tone.

“I don’t know, Buck,” He said, his voice suddenly cold. “What is she to you?” Bucky couldn’t hide his anger at Steve’s interruption, but more than anything, he felt the guilt that came with Steve’s not so subtle reminder of what had occurred between the two of you, more specifically, what he had done to you.

“We were together…back before…” His fists opened and closed in the air as he thought of the best way to describe it. “Before the war, before HYDRA. Before everything.” He looked down at the floor, his hands falling into his lap. Barky nudged his foot with her nose, and he dropped one hand to the side to pet her. “She was my neighbor when we were kids, my ma and hers were best friends. It was… inevitable for us to become friends.” He tilted his head as he watched you through the screen. Now you were looking around the empty room, as Tony and Bruce had left. He couldn’t help but notice that the delicate nature of your features didn’t change. Not much had, now that he was thinking about it. You looked exactly the same. Slowly, he turned away from the screen to look at Reva.

“We started dating when we were eighteen, and we were together for a while,” Bucky paused, inhaling in a staggered breath. “And then I-”

The door burst open, Tony, Bruce and Natasha all filing into the conference room. Swallowing his words, Bucky gave Reva a look that told her that they would have to finish another time. The expression she gave him in return read that she wasn’t happy with the interruption at all, but Bucky looked away before he could put too much thought into it. Standing up, he turned so his back was now facing the screen.

“Okay, so she’s not telling us squat about what exactly her abilities are and how she got them,” Tony said, and it was clear by his tone that he didn’t like it one bit. Bucky turned to Steve, eyebrows raised slightly.

“You said she was cooperating,” He said. Steve rose his arms in defense.

“I knew she went into the cell and took the mask off willingly, that was the last I had heard,” He told him. Natasha went to the table with a pile of papers in her hands and scattered them out across the flat surface.

“I have part of her file, but they had it so heavily encrypted that I couldn’t get the rest,” Natasha said, reading through the paperwork she had laid out on the table. “She was in cyrostasis until 2014…” Bucky visibly flinched, but no one appeared to notice. “It doesn’t say why she was taken or anything about her abilities.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she read on. “She was born in… 1918.” Natasha glanced up, her eyes jumping back and forth between Steve and Bucky. Neither of them said a word as Bucky kept his eyes trained on the floor. “And she’s from Brooklyn.” Everyone was silent for a while, and it took Bucky longer than he felt it should’ve for him to realize all eyes were on him.

“What?” He asked, his eyes jumping from person to person.

“Did you… know her?” Tony asked, his eyes narrowed.

Bucky’s mind was flying as he thought of the best way to answer. It wasn’t the others stares bothering him as much as it was Steve’s. Because he knew. He knew everything. But Bucky knew he would never say anything, not if he asked him not to. Not that Steve would ever let him live that down.

Seconds passed without an answer from Bucky, and he got more and more overwhelmed as the time went on. His mind was giving him no clear answer on what to do. Finally, after longer than he should’ve, he spoke again.

“No.”

It wasn’t shaky or quick. Not an ounce of defensiveness or panic. Somehow Bucky managed to say it in such a nonchalant way that it even surprised himself. Natasha and Tony both turned to Steve, but he was only staring at Bucky with an unchanged expression.

“That’s a hell of a coincidence,” Tony said, his voice only slightly suspicious. He turned to look at Steve. “Did you know her, Rogers?” Slowly, Steve approached the screen and gave a very cinematic performance of him staring at you while scratching his chin. Bucky had to give Steve a lot of credit. He knew that he didn’t want to lie, but he was, in the words of Peter Parker, the best ride or die Bucky could ask for.

“She looks kind of familiar, maybe I saw her around,” Steve said, before turning back to the others and shrugging his shoulders. “But it was a long time ago.” He looked at everyone except for Bucky, who knew he was going to get his ass chewed out for this at some point. “Maybe they just hoped we knew her and missed the mark.” Tony sighed in exasperation.

“Someone needs to talk to her,” Tony said sharply.

“We could always use some… alternative methods to get her to talk,” Natasha suggested. “Bruce could always Hulk out and then go in the cell.” Bucky shook his head.

“No. None of that,” He said firmly. They all turned to look at him, and his heart rate picked up. “She obviously wasn’t doing it because she wanted to. Maybe she just needs… time to process or something.” Tony looked skeptical, and Natasha opened her mouth to argue, but Bucky put his hand up. “I’m not saying anything she’s done is okay. I’m just saying… people aren’t always in control of their actions.” Natasha bit her lip, and Tony looked at the floor. While Bucky meant every word he said, he knew deep down he wouldn’t have been this concerned about what happened with the prisoner if it hadn’t been you.

“Maybe you should talk to her, Bucky,” Steve suggested. A rush of anger flooded through Bucky as he tried to keep his face neutral. Without turning his head, he looked at Steve, who looked rather pleased with himself. He began shaking his head so hard that it began to hurt.

“No no,” He said, dragging out the last word. “I’m not good at that sort of thing…” He trailed off when Tony began walking forward, his index finger pointed at Bucky.

“She’ll relate to you,” He said, in an awestruck voice that suggested Tony was wondering why he didn’t think of it before. “HYDRA kidnapped you, experimented on you. Made you their puppet. It’ll make her comfortable with you. And it doesn’t hurt that she comes from your same town and… time period.” He looked Bucky up and down for a second. “We need to know if she knows what HYDRA’s up to. Please?” Bucky shook his head.

“No,” He said, looking away from Tony. “Get one of the girls to do it.”

“Come on, Barnes,” Natasha said, cocking her head in annoyance. “You just need to get information from her. We’re not arranging your marriage to her or something.” Bucky looked at Steve, who merely shrugged, before sighing. He wanted to argue, but what was the point? Refusing made him look suspicious, and he knew deep down that he’d have to face you some time or another.

“Fine,” He said, before walking out of the room. Though he wasn’t looking, he could hear Barky’s nails scraping against the hard floor as she raced to follow him. Once she caught up, he could hear the bounding of heavier footsteps behind him, but this time he picked up the pace.

“What the hell was that?” Steve’s voice echoed down the hallway, but Bucky continued to ignore him. “You had no reason to lie to them.” Bucky covered his mouth with his hand as he continued to speed walk down the hallway, passing through the living room towards the hallway where the bedrooms were. Not once did he turn to Steve, who was still close behind. “Bucky. Talk to me.” He grabbed his shoulder, but Bucky yanked it away as he turned into the bedroom Stark had set up for him in case he needed to stay, making a beeline for the bathroom. “Bucky-”

Throwing the door to the bathroom open, Bucky dropped down in front of the toilet and vomited. A pair of hands held his hair back as he heaved into the bowl. After he emptied the contents of his stomach, he continued to sit over the toilet and breathe for a little bit. It bad been a long time since the last time he gotten sick like this, and it was a strange feeling. Once his breathing went back to normal, he flipped over so he was now sitting on his bottom while facing Steve.

“I can’t do it, Steve,” He told him. “I can’t face her.” Steve sighed before kneeling down and sitting on the floor, his shoulder leaning against the door frame. Bucky watched him through tired eyes.

“You have to, at some point,” Steve said, his head tilted. “HYDRA clearly got her after they took you. They unfroze her probably after you escaped them.” Steve pressed his lips together. “All the signs point to you, pal. And besides…” His eyebrows knitted together. “You know as well as I do that you want to see her.” Bucky buried his face in his hands.

“I just can’t figure out how they knew about her,” He said, his hands running down his cheeks. “We had broken up before I fell off the train, I just can’t-“ He froze, realization hitting him. “I was writing her a letter.” Steve’s eyebrows perked up as Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. “An apology letter. I was carrying it in my pocket. They must’ve found it.” When he looked back at Steve, he found that the blonde was smirking.

“You really thought a letter would fix what you did?” Steve asked jokingly. Bucky let out a slight laugh before shrugging.

“I didn’t think it would hurt,” He admitted sheepishly, mustering a smile that disappeared as quickly as it came. He leaned against the wall, his head falling into it. “I told you I had a feeling.” Steve laughed.

“No amount of gut instinct could’ve prepared you for this,” He said, staring long and hard at the floor for a few moments before shaking his head and mumbling your name. “Can’t remember the last time I heard that name.” Bucky scoffed.

“I wish I could remember the last day I had where I didn’t think about her,” He said quietly. Steve gave Bucky a sad look, and Bucky looked away from him.

“Maybe she doesn’t remember,” Steve suggested. “Maybe HYDRA wiped her memories too.” Bucky pondered for a minute, before letting out a sigh.

“I don’t know what scares me worse,” He said. “The thought of her not remembering, or the thought that maybe she does.”

______________________

“Alright, Sarge,” Bucky said from outside the door of the containment units. Barky was next to him with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. He looked down at her. “How do you think this is gonna go?” She nudged his hand with her snout, leaving the cold residue from her nose on his skin. He chuckled as he pet her head. “Yeah, I hope it goes okay too.”

Through the window on the door, looking straight ahead, he could see you. You had moved so you were now sitting in the center of your cell. With your arms supporting you, you were leaning back with your head looking up at the ceiling. Even from a distance, he could see you rapping your fingers against the floor.

It was surreal to him, seeing you now, in this way. Everything that had the two of you had, all of the love and pain, it all felt like a whole lifetime had passed. And maybe one had. All things considered, neither of you should’ve been alive. And yet here you both were, along with Steve. Three people out of their time. Just the sight of you brought back the times the three of you spent together, when Steve was small and always third wheeling. He could still recall the way you always seemed to smell like peaches, and he found himself wondering if you still did. Not that he’d ever be able to get close enough to you to find out.

His hand reached for the door handle, but then pulled away again. He couldn’t figure out why he was so scared. If you didn’t remember, that should be considered a blessing considering the way things ended. But even if you did, what could you do on the other side of the glass? Bucky knew that your abilities were contained to your cell, so there was no way you could use them against him, whatever they were. But the thought of having to face the mistakes he made all those years ago, some of the gravest mistakes he had ever made, seemed like to much.

Too lost in his thoughts, Bucky didn’t hear the pair of footsteps approaching. When a person appeared out of the corner of his eye, he jumped.

“She’s a cute little thing, isn’t she?” Reva asked, smiling slightly. “I hope her personality was as nice.” Bucky wanted to be angry at the intrusion, but he found himself turning back to you and smiling too.

“She was… everything,” He said quietly. “I couldn’t have asked for anything better. I…” His breath was staggered as he inhaled. “I wish that I did better by her. I wish that her last memory of me wasn’t a bad one. If she even remembers me.” When he turned to look at Reva, he found that she was already looking at him.

“There’s only one way to find out,” She said before gesturing towards the door. Pressing his lips together, he nodded. She turned towards the other end of the hallway. “I have to be at the prison in a half hour, so I have to go. But I want the full story behind the two of you next time, okay?” Bucky chuckled.

“Yes ma’am,” He said. She put her hand on his shoulder and her face softened.

“Good luck, Bucky,” She said tenderly, giving him two pats before walking away. He listened as her footsteps grew quieter as she got further and further away, until he couldn’t hear them anymore. Something hit the back of his leg, and he turned to see Barky almost pushing him with her head towards the door. He laughed slightly.

“Alright, alright,” He said, scratching behind her ear. “I’m going.” She licked his hand once before turning and trotting down the hallway, more than likely looking for her food or for Peter to play with.

Sighing, Bucky turned back towards the door. He inhaled deeply, and before he could put any more thought into it, he opened the door and let himself inside.

Your head snapped forward the second it opened, your gaze falling on Bucky, who found himself cowering the second your eyes locked with his. Steadily, you rose to your feet, not once breaking eye contact. Bucky took a few steps forward, his flesh hand stressfully wringing the fingers on his metal one. As he approached the glass, you stood still with your hands wrapped around your torso. Bucky bit his lip as he thought of what exactly to say, but his mind was running blank. As your expression was blank, he couldn’t read what you were thinking as you stared, which gave him no indication of whether or not you remembered him. He opened his mouth and closed it, cursing himself for being such a coward.

“Hi,” He finally said. Your eyes narrowed slightly, and he felt his heart pound in his chest.

“Hi,” You said hesitantly. Though you sounded unsure, the sound of your voice ignited something in Bucky, it sounding like a favorite song of his that he had just rediscovered after years of not hearing it. Your entire body was still as you hugged your arms tighter around you. He looked you up and down multiple times, still wondering if this was all a dream, and he was going to wake up and somehow be relieved and disappointed all at the same time. He tilted his head as he took you in. Besides a few slight changes, you were exactly the same. The same person he was in love with once upon a time, and despite everything, the person he never lost love for.

“Not to be rude…” You said slowly, making him nod. His heart pounded in anticipation for what you were about to say. You tilted your head to the side, narrowing your eyes further.

“But who the fuck are you, and why the fuck are you looking at me like that?”

_______________________

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thetradeway · 4 years ago

Text

Session 28: 16 Jan 2021 ‘I don’t like it, Berk, not one bit’

We all join Discord in dribs and drabs, and there is some discussion of what went on last week. Wait - our elf!!

We make perception checks, Popcorn at advantage. Tarragon wakes first. We are back in our camp - but surrounded by runes and bright lights. A disembodied voice tells her that we were protected overnight, and that the half-elf gang have left no trace of where they went - and that “the elven nations will rise again”. The magic of the rune circle seems familiar, but Tarragon doesn’t know the spell.

Around the edge of the circle of runes there are scratch marks, as if woodland creatures have tried to get in but were unable to cross the threshold of runes. Gideon recognises it as protective magic. Gunna strolls across the edge of the circle - it shimmers and disappears. Gideon: “You broke it! Look what you’ve gone and done! 12D20 Necrotic damage.”

As Gunna steps across the runes, he goes over to the tree roots. Too late he sees an enormous toad that has been lurking - it jumps out at him. Ambush!! Gideon: “Gunna, have you got any dog treats??’’ If massive toads eat trail mix and beef jerky then sure. “What about a coconut?”

The toad bites Gunna’s top half, which is now inside it.

Initiative! What’s Ahleqs Dex, the DM wants to know? ‘It’s a secret.’

Popcorn is up - he rushes up and bites the thing. Gunna struggles to free himself and rolls a Nat 1. Shit.

(There is some discussion of what happened while we were out - the elves put us back in our camp and tucked us in, and it is decided that they also put clean underwear on us. A little intrusive but Gunna is pleased, because he did shit himself before last night’s battle.)

Ahleqs does some magic at it for 12 points of damage.

The toad swallows Gunna! He takes 10 points of acid damage. Right, that’s it. (Gideon has THE BEST idea. He knows how to get Gunna out of there.) The toad decides it’s off with its new meal. Tarragon, rolling up her sleeves: “Absolutely not.”

Kessler is up. Lightning launcher. Can she use her second attack to grapple? Consensus says no. Fine, she will stab it in the neck. (Ahleqs muses that the locals probably have a special tool for extracting their friends from a giant toad. A toad-corer, or something.)

Gideon’s idea: he grabs sand and incense from his backpack and mushes it together, wrenches the toad’s mouth open and shoves it in to try and get it to puke Gunna up. He has to make a STR check - rolls an 8. He can do it at advantage! Yay! He rolls a 10. He gets some of it in. The toad rolls - below 10 he will puke. above 10 he will not. It quivers, belches, and pukes Gunna. Yay! He is covered in slime and acid; so much for the clean underwear.

Tarragon Thorn Whips her toad back and forth, for 11 damage. It’s looking rough. Popcorn gets the killing blow. (Tarragon can now be a giant toad if she wants.)

Kessler checks for any trace of Melaina, with Guidance, for a total of 22. She finds no tracks, and suspects that magic might be involved in hiding their traces. She does find a stray arrow, and believes it to be Melaina’s. Ahleqs jokingly suggests letting Popcorn sniff it; Tarragon decides this is a great idea. She lets him sniff the arrow but he can’t find any trace of Melaina apart from next to the tree.

Gunna looks at his maps; it turns out that he kept drawing as the mushrooms were kicking in so they’re not super helpful. He then realises that we have missed the floating circus that was coming to town in Waterdeep; it was advertised in the paper. Dammit.

Ahleqs climbs a tree to look for any trace of the half-elf gang; he makes athletics checks to ascend. Gunna suggests using the toad as a trampoline. Then we decide to move it under the tree for when - not if - Ahleqs falls.

He actually doesn’t fall, but manages to see some smoke rising in the distance to the north east, though he can’t quite tell how far. He shouts down; Tarragon hears him, and notes how impressed she is with his bravery. He gets almost all the way back down before rolling an 8; but he doesn’t fall.

We pack up and head north east.

(Melaina’s captors are treating her well; they keep casting Pass Without Trace. She keeps trying to leave tracks for us to follow, but they melt into the surrounding scenery. She hears talk of a princess, and there is more talk of meeting other elves to hand her over, to ‘be with her own kind’. They don’t seem to mean her harm. She can’t tell with a nat 1 if she is the princess of which they are speaking. She is magically restrained, but walking. They have her surrounded. She tries to get them to explain what’s going on, rolls an 11. They say they are taking her to an old elf ruin in the forest that was part of an ancient sun elf empire. There are elves living in the ruins, trying to rebuild it. They pay relics for the gang of half-elves to gather up more elves and bring them there.)

The trees where we are are enormous. We make Perception checks; Gunna can’t see any signs of the smoke Ahleqs saw, but he does find more mushrooms. He picks them and puts them in his backpack for later. Tarragon sees some druidic runes on the rocks. Most are fairly innocuous trail markers pointing to water, but it’s an odd dialect. She thinks it’s Firbolg. They are known to hide their dwellings with illusion spells. They are friendly as long as respect is shown for the forest. The runes are markers for berries and water, that sort of thing. No warnings. This part of the forest is under their protection.

Tarragon leaves another druidic message to tell them that we are here, we’ve lost our friend and if they can offer any help we are travelling north-east. Gideon, having been told that Firbolg are sort of humanoid cow people, practices mooing in order to converse with any Firbolg we run into. ‘Moo! We come in peace! Moo! Moo!’

We search for breakfast; there is plenty around. Tarragon helps Ahleqs with which berries are safe and which are poisonous. Suddenly Popcorn starts to get excited; has someone fallen down a well?

He darts off into the woods - we follow. (Ahleqs rolls a nat20 for a 19 total athletics. Strength is a dump stat, for him.) We keep pace, until we reach a clearing. Popcorn stops in front of a tree. The bark starts to shift into a face. Ahleqs does a little scream.

It speaks in elvish: “in the forest i got it so I sat down to seek it, since I couldn’t find it I took it home with me.”

Ah, a riddle. Our strong suit. (Matthew riffs off of Rude Tales and Riddle Guy 97 for a bit). We throw out a bunch of guesses, none of which the face responds to. Gunna suggests giving the face some Sex Thumb. Gideon thinks it might have some pepper spray in its barky pocket.

Is it, ‘yourself’? The face doesn’t respond. Melaina’s lost forever, and we’re never leaving this tree. (DM offers us another riddle if we don’t want to spend an hour thinking about this one.) We roll WIS checks and get a clue - which is, ‘ouch’. A splinter!

The air shimmers. We find ourselves in a clearing, with a treehouse. Does Ahleqs think this is about where the fire was that he saw a while ago? Intelligence check: 18. Yes, it would have been around here. A warm hearth and maybe a cup of tea might be in the offing. There is a big door in the tree - Gunna knocks. Ahleqs hides behind the nearest person, ‘even if they’re a gnome or goblin’.

Gideon yells: ‘hello!!’ The door opens and a female firbolg appears. She’s very pretty. Gideon decides he’s our ambassador; Gunna tries to cover his mouth.

The firbolg greets us and asks what we’re doing here. We lost our elf, Gunna explains what happened. A bunch of other elves stole her. The firbolg looks perplexed - we were attacked by elves? We explain that they wanted our elf, but she didn’t want to go so they forced us by fighting and took her. Does she know where a gang of half-elves might hang out so we can go and do diplomacy at them to get our friend back?

This seems to surprise the firbolg. This forest is home to half-elf renegades, but they’re usually decent people. Gideon lies and says he saw one scratching his name into a tree, but rolls a nat 1 on deception. The firbolg is not impressed. (It’s a bit like Gimli when he talks to Galadriel and gets all flustered and asks for a lock of her hair.)

The firbolg addresses Tarragon. Do we have anything that belonged to our friend? Yes, we have her arrow. If Tarragon will help her ask the spirits, they might help us find Melaina.

There is a standing stone in the glade; she leads Tarragon to it and asks her to sit. The others follow. (Ahleqs has heard stories about druids dancing naked in the forest so he trails behind, face bright red.)

Has Tarragon dealt with forest spirits before? DM says Not directly. They can be tricksy, so be prepared.

The Firbolg starts humming and rocking back and forth. The wind starts to pick up, and little dust devils spring up. Tarragon makes a concentration check at advantage and gets TWO NAT 20s!!!!! The awesomeness is too much for Discord, which boots all of us off at once.

Little stones and pebbles start to levitate. The wind whips up into a crescendo until it drops suddenly. The arrow is transformed into a green pulsing orb. The firbolg tells us to follow it and it will lead us to Melaina.

Can we do anything to thank her? We have treated her forest with respect, so she says that’s enough. Gunna offers her one of those necromantic red seeds; she accepts and says she will plant it, excited to see what comes up. After some discussion we decide that it wasn’t the one that needs a corpse to grow. It was the one that was used to make the healing bread, and Tarragon sold the recipe so we can’t make any anyway.

Do we need healing potions? Some of us take a few. What can we give her to pay for them, considering that she has no use for money? We all sort through our belongings and come up with some bagpipes, an abacus…

Gideon debates keeping the bagpipes. Can he play them? He can try. They remain, however, the devil’s instrument. He makes a performance check and rolls a 16, but he’s playing a Rod Stewart song so everyone hates it.

Ahleqs offers to do a trick in exchange for potions; if the firbolg is impressed enough she will accept. He lights Simon. He rolls a 10 on his performance, but luckily she thinks it’s cute so she accepts. Gunna swaps his obsidian monkey for a potion. Kessler exchanges some silver earrings; the firbolg twists them around and puts them in her hair.

Gunna asks her name; she says people call her Dana (DAH-na). She wishes us luck, and says she’s certain our friend is fine if she’s with the half-elves.

Tarragon gives Dana her lucky pocket stone.

We leave and as we look back, the firbolg dwelling disappears into the surrounding forest.

(The half-elves lead Melaina through the forest - she sees tall white marble pillars coming up. She thinks this must be the ruins. She makes an escape attempt but it fails. She is told to hear the elves out and they are sure they will let her go if she doesn’t want to stay. They then put her in a cage on top of a tower, thus immediately contradicting themselves. Melaina notices a pale-haired elf gliding up the steps; she eavesdrops on the conversation that happens between this new elf and the half-elf gang that brought her here. The new elf is saying thank you for retrieving her ‘guest.’ She gives them an item that she says is from a long-fallen elven civilisation, presumably in payment. The half-elves leave. ‘Most people give out pamphlets,’ Melaina tells the pale-haired elf as she approaches Melaina’s cage.)

Back with Team Sweet Flips, we make athletic/acrobatic checks to keep up with the orb leading us to Melaina. It leads us to the DLC area, aka. the marble tower. (We didn’t know we had the Game of the Year edition.) Go stealth? There’s a discussion. Gunna decides we’re done and goes up to a door and knocks on it. Kessler hides.

Gideon demonstrates his Deep Speech; it gives Ahleqs a stomach ache. We move through the ruins, which seem uninhabited. We reach a tower with stairs leading up it. Gunna shouts, ‘Oi, flat top!’

Melaina feels judged under the gaze of the pale elf, who says with disgust that Melaina isn’t a sun elf but perhaps she will do. ‘The devils aren’t picky’. Um - the whomst???

Melaina gets the distinct impression that she won’t be allowed to leave after all.

We start climbing the stairs and hear whispered voices in elvish - Tarragon translates while Ahleqs casts Light. (Tarragon gets a dirty 20, with Guidance, on Perception to hear the voices.)

The elves are talking about demons and devils. It seems that Melaina is going to be offered to them - not as a sacrifice but to be impregnated????? We decide to impose some diplomacy, with axes, immediately. Roll initiative.

Gunna goes first, rushes into the room and hates everything he sees except Melaina. He decides to go out of character and use some actual diplomacy, and says ‘have a nice trip’ - while attacking with a longsword and forcing a STR save. The elf fails and is knocked prone. He action surges and attacks twice more, at advantage because of the prone-ness. He forces a WIS save, which the elf fails, and should be Frightened of him - but she isn’t. A tough cookie, this one.

13 MISSES, 24 HITS

Ahleqs is up next. He holds an Eldritch Bl - no, he Dashes instead to get into the room. Popcorn Dashes as well, to flank the fallen elf with Gunna. Kessler wants to remain hidden. She wanted to fire her lightning launcher but the elf is prone so she would have Disadvantage; she is advised OOC to roll high numbers. She does a level 2 Magic Missile instead. The elf reaction-shields. Well, shit.

All the talk of demons has raised Gideon’s religious ire, so he charges to the top of the stairs yelling that we would see the demons dead!!! The elf is still prone. One sec… Does she have weapons? No. She did cast Shield, so probably a magic user. She has a pretty, booby dress on, we are told. He casts Chill Touch.

16 MISSES

Gideon: “Bugger! Let’s kick her face in!”

Tarragon becomes a furious bear.

Melaina doesn’t have any of her stuff, so she Mage Hands her thieves tools to herself.

The elf uses half her movement to stand up. She looks at us with disgust and says, ‘how dare you touch me?’ Gunna spits in her mouth. Horns sprout from her head and leathery wings come out from her back. OH FUCCCCKKKKKK NOT AN ELF NOT AN ELF NOT AN ELF ABORT ABORT ABORT

She flies into the air - ‘on fell wings’ - about 20 feet up. Then she mutters something in abyssal, (‘This might not even be her final form!!’ Gideon, don’t say things like that….) (Ed gets a knot in his hair and tries to comb it out, succeeding only in pulling it.)

Oh shit there’s boss music!! We are so fucked.

The abyssal did something we think, because she seems to be summoning horrible little creatures. (Gunna: ‘Why couldn’t it have been ducks? A level 1 and a level 9 duck are pretty much the same…’) There’s a minute or so while Joe puts everything in the order.

She casts Fireball - turns out the Summons were not Summoned, they just appeared from hiding. She hits Gunna, Gideon and bear-Tarragon, and we all fail our saves. Gideon will walk it off, it’s only 27 points of fire damage.

Something casts Fetid Cloud (shouts of ‘Gideon!’. It wasn’t him, he swears. He offers to respond with his own? We decline.) It’s a dretch, and it proceeds to attack Popcorn. Gunna casts Banishment. And Dispel Magic. And Counterspell. “It’s a special Northman skill.” The DM does not buy it.

The dretch bites at Popcorn but misses. Then it slashes at his belly, and hits. Shit.

Gunna attacks the dretch that attacked Popcorn, and hits, then hits again - and kills it! Yay!

16 HITS THE DRETCH

Gideon is playing with his voice changer again.

Ahleqs, save the day! Or turn into a plant pot. Either’s good. He did see Tarragon turn into a bear, so he knows that’s her. ‘What are these little fellas, what we got here?’ He does an Arcana check for a 12, and knows that they are quasits - sometimes kept as familiars. He does Fireball at the big demon bitch, since she’s 20 feet up and he won’t get us with the blast radius. She fails her save - aw yisssss. She is engulfed in the fireball. We expect to see her charred body once the flame clears, but she emerges barely singed. Resistant to fire, then. Coolcoolcoolcoolcool, nodoubtnodoubtnodoubtnodoubtnodoubt.

(Oh shit, Ahleqs is still blue!)

He balls up his courage, thinks of Mr Pickles and stands his ground. Today is a day for heroics.

The quasit tries to Scare Gunna - he makes a WIS save and passes. The quasit claws at bear-Tarragon’s nose and almost gnomes her. A Babau does a Weakening Gaze on Gunna but he passes his CON save.

Something else casts Darkness on Gunna, so he is blind. Fuck!

Kessler uses her Lightning Launcher but misses both times. She retreats back round a corner out of line of sight. Smart. (She is told that the flying demon can probably still see her, so she back up a bit more.)

Gideon decides to try a Summons of his own. He casts Summon Undead! Wait, he’s too poor and can’t afford the 300gp. Scratch that. No - DM rules that he can use his spellcasting focus. Woohoo! He summons a skeletal undead. Pop! ‘Ha - behold!’ (He drag-and-drops onto the map and it has its own little icon - cool!) He issues a verbal command to the skeleton (named Rusty) - ‘Skewer that demon!’ (He thinks briefly that Rusty has a Putrid Aura, but is mistaken - ‘no, that’s you’, Melaina tells him.) Rusty does a Grave Bolt, but rolls a 6. ‘You fool Rusty! Try it with precision!’

Bear-Tarragon tears the head off a quasit with her teeth and spits it across the room.

Melaina picks the lock on her cage with a 26 and escapes. She goes to collect her weapons and other stuff, then crouches down amongst her gubbins and rocks and stuff and has a bit of a hide.

The remaining quasit frightens Tarragon, who rolls a nat 1 on her save. It attacks her as well, but misses.

Another dretch casts Fetid Cloud on Gunna - its only the third most disgusting thing he’s ever smelled.

Something swipes at Rusty, but misses, and Rusty gives us a sample of his Southern accent, then chatters in a boney, skeleton-y way.

Another dretch slashes at Popcorn, doing 23 damage. Ahleqs makes a WIS save… bear with him… he uses ToC to give himself advantage. He rolls a 14, which is still a fail. He is suddenly infatuated with the demon. Aroused and ashamed, he can’t look away. He cannot attack her or cause her harm now. This is way worse than the time he fell in love with the daughter of the guy next door.

ToC - for the next minute he must shout when he speaks. He’s screaming anyway, so that’s fine. The demon does Tasha’s Mind Whip on… who? Bear Tarragon, fuck. She fails her save.

This attack re-gnomes her, and in addition she can’t take a reaction, and next turn can move, or take an action, or take a bonus action. Nasty.

Gunna attacks something with his longsword, at disadvantage because he’s still in the dark and therefore blind. He feels a splash of blood on his skin. He takes another swing. After that, it occurs to him that he could be hitting one of us. (Joe would ask how-de-do-dis, but Gunna has no idea because he can’t see.) He rolls to see which direction he wanders in. He should be careful or the headline will be: Blind adventurer stumbles off tower. Good luck guys, Gunna will see us on the other side.

Ahleqs wants to know if he can cast a spell on something behind the demon and if she’s in the way then she’s in the way. Probably not. He casts Witch Bolt on something else instead, for a 22, and does 22 lightning damage. How de do dis!

he screams “I’M SORRY!!!” as it explodes into chunks. Some of them hit Popcorn, and some of them hit something unseen. Sneaky. Ahleqs repeats his save vs the Charm spell, with adv. from ToC, but still fails. All his hair falls out. Now he’s a little bald, blue man.

It’s the secret friend’s turn. It does something to Gunna, but he’s gone for a poo (probably) so we wait for him to come back. He sees red eyes moving in the magical darkness, and a wizened skull face. What kind of armour is he wearing? (Never a good question.) Studded leather. The studs on his armour start to heat up. Ah, fuck. He makes a CON save and fails, taking 4 fire damage - for a start. Until the spell ends he can be caused another 4 damage on each of the creature’s turns, and gets disadvantage on all checks and saves. Oh, fuck!

Kessler pops back into the room. She takes aim at the flappy demon in the air with her Lightning Launcher, and misses. Twice. She needs to recalibrate the laser space torpedos. Ahleqs, who is in something far darker and more disgusting than love with the demon, is horrified. All these feelings…

Kessler hides, insisting that her power armour is in Infiltrator mode (cue jokes about Bumblebee hiding behind a rock on the beach) and then to add to this hilarity, she rolls a nat 1.

Grease wizard is up. He makes a CON save for a 21, vs the Fetid Cloud. He shrugs it off. “I’ve smelled worse in the slave pits of - well, we won’t go there. Right, you, foul demon lady!” He finds himself closer to her than he thought, and backs up. “The plan, naturally, is of course, to… er… I had planned to run up and shocking grasp her, but I forgot she was flying. Well… Er… Most of my spells are burning related and therefore pretty useless. How high can I jump? Perhaps I can Thunderwave her. Where there’s a grease wizard, there’s a way.” There’s some fumbling, then he works out he can jump 3 feet. Not quite gonna cut it. Can he get a boost, from Trusty Rusty? Yes! The plan is to parkour off of Rusty, five feet up, then Thunderwave the demon bitch. He has to make STR check for Rusty first. 10 will do it! Under her, mid-air, he Thunderwaves her.

It’s a CON save for demon bitch, who makes the save. “Damn and blast.” Gideon lands in a disappointed heap on the floor. She takes half damage and isn’t pushed; he was hoping to knock her into the ceiling. DM thought that was epic. She takes the damage - she’s not resistant to Thunder. It doesn’t break concentration on the Charm spell though, as that’s a racial ability. Rusty does a Grave Bolt for 11 Necrotic damage, which pisses Gideon off a bit. “Outclassed by my own summon.”

Tarragon Thorn Whips the quasit but misses. Grr.

Gunna asks how tall the tower is? About 100 feet. If he does fall off, that will probably kill him. Also he’s a bit on fire. He’s scrambling to take his armour off; it would be a noble death. Or not.

Melaina hides with a nat 20 for 30 total. She is hidden from big demon bitch, after some scuffling and shouting over Joe. (‘Stop interrupting the DM, you lot!’) She Sharpshoots it for a 19. Now let’s be clear. She rolls a nat 1 for her damage - and still does 26 points of piercing damage. What a badass.

Demon bitch Cure Wounds herself. (We are furious; when the DM does that it’s definitely cheating.) Then she casts Inflict Wounds, swooping down on Tarragon - no she doesn’t, actually. Ha. She doesn’t have enough movement. She moves closer; Tarragon sees she is darkly beautiful, and doesn’t like the feelings it produces. Demon bitch casts Tasha’s Caustic Brew, and Tarragon fails her Dex save. She will take acid damage until she takes an action to remove it from her body.

Gunna is right on the edge, but makes a Perception check and knows that’s where he is and not to move forward. He takes off his armour. (This will take him a minute - ten rounds. Might be better toughing it out…? If he gets hit without armour, that will definitely do more than 1D4 damage a round.) His stumbling has brought him close to Ahleqs, who is also now blinded. (He feels a strong urge to find a way out of the dark so he can get another glimpse at the beautiful demon.)

Ahleqs backs up a bit more. He can only see his love, now. (Wait, where’s Popcorn in the order? He must have fallen out somehow. I roll for him and Joe puts him back in. Popcorn can take an action and ready another, if he likes, on his turn.) Ahleqs casts Eldritch Blast - the first misses but the second hits. He does 7HP to a quasit, which bursts in a cloud of filth. He makes another save vs the Charm and fails again. ToC - he gains resistance to all damage for the next minute. Sweet.

Popcorn readies an action, there being nothing he can see that he could reach.

It’s our invisible friend’s turn. The good news for Gunna is that the darkness falls and he regains his sight, and his armour stops burning him. The bad news is that Kessler has to make a CON save - which she fails. Her armour starts to burn her. Invisible friend reveals himself - it looks like a black bin bag with horns. (Joe shows us a picture; Sophie thinks this guy needs to see an orthodontist as soon as possible and she’s not wrong. A mani-pedi wouldn’t go amiss, either.)

Kessler takes another 5 fire damage at the start of her turn, from the scorchio armour. She goes for the new guy with a dagger and hits for 6 piercing damage - then goes again for another 6. It seems resistant to that kind of damage, however. Cooooooooool. ‘Fuck you, creature, fuck you.’ She bonus-action-disengages, and backs down the stairs.

Grease wizard and Rusty are up. What are they doing? ‘Good question. Well. Shit.’ Uh… Perhaps a Chill Touch? ‘Alight, alight I say!’ 11 to hit? Yeah, nah. Bugger! ‘Rusty - Skewer!’ ‘Okay boss,’ in a hillbilly accent. Rusty misses too. ‘Ah no!’

Tarragon uses her action to remove the acid. Riveting stuff.

Melaina hides and shoots for a fuck ton of damage.

(Joe tells us that he’s read Demon bitch’s spells and has tactically decided not to use one of them, because it could reduce one of us to ash. We all breathe sighs of relief.) Demon bitch does Mind Whip against Melaina, who fails her save and takes 13 PSY damage.

Gunna’s armour is no longer on fire, so he drops his sword and shield on the ground to pull out his longbow. (Oo-er.) He shoots at demon bitch, aiming at her wings, hoping to knock her out of the sky (a fighter ability, I think). He hits - but she reaction-shields. He fires again, hits for a 21! She is forced to make STR save (From Joe’s voice, not something she’s good at). She gets a 19, however. She takes the damage, but is not knocked out of the sky. Booh.

Ahleqs does Witch Bolt on New Guy, 25 hits for 30 Lightning damage. Woah! It doesn’t do as much damage as he hoped, however. ToC - he casts Mirror Image. A whole bunch of extra Ahleqses appear, all bald, blue and shouting.

Popcorn rushes over to New Guy and makes a multi-attack - but both miss. Gunna yells at him not to be a hero, but he’s very stupid and doesn’t understand.

New Guy causes Kessler another 5 fire damage from her superheated armour. (Ahleqs remembers he was supposed to make a save vs the Charm spell. Can he use ToC twice? Yes, and he makes the save and the Charm drops. He is immediately disgusted with himself. His ToC makes every creature within 30 feet of him are now vulnerable to piercing damage for the next minute. Which is most of us, and none of the baddies. Awesome.)

New guy is a Babau. It takes an opportunity attack from Popcorn who hits it, and is only slightly disappointed at the little amount of damage it takes. The Babau attacks Gunna (who has dropped his shield), and does 10 piercing damage.

Kessler makes a CON save to see if she can attack without disadvantage from her fiery armour, and passes. She takes another 5 fire damage but is not hampered. She shoots some lightning at the babau and gets a solid hit with a 26, for 14 damage. He takes half damage, but he takes it. Kessler shouts, “Oi, we haven’t finished over here!” She shoots again with a dirty 20, for another 6 points (halved) and slams a healing potion for her bonus action.

Grease wizard’s mic has been broken for the last half hour; he’s been chatting away to himself without realising why none of his jokes were landing. Lol. He Chill Touches the demon lady but misses. He does a battle cry, which Kessler mistakes for his hernia cry.

Rusty has a go and whiffs. DM: ‘Rusty done fucked up.’

Tarragon Healing Word’s Gunna for 7 HP (without two rage damage on top). She Thorn Whips the demon bitch but misses, and moves forward to menace her from the ground.

Melaina sharpshoots something but misses. Shit. She can’t do anything else because of Tasha’s Mind Whip; Tasha has turned on her.

It’s the Babau’s turn. It casts Confusion on Kessler and Popcorn; they both fail their WIS saves. Popcorn, for his part, is only mildly more confused than he normally is.

Gunna slams a potion, and brandishes his silvered battle axe. He attacks the babau two handed with an 18, forcing a STR save. It passes. Dammit. It still takes 8 slashing damage. Gunna attacks again with a natty 20! That misses. (lol.) He’s got a critical hit deck; he clicks on that to see what happens. No table found with that name. DM, fed up with roll20’s bullshit: ‘Shitty death.’ He’s doing slashing damage, so it is a slash to the ribs for max damage. (which is halved, but still.) Noice! He forces another STR save, which the Babau fails. Woo! It’s knocked prone. He legs it back to his sword and shield.

Ahleqs’s Witch Bolt from last turn can do damage on this turn as well - it’s halved, but it still takes it.

Popcorn rolls a 9 for the Confusion spell, which lets him move and act normally. (For an already confused creature, magical confusion doesn’t do much.) He rushes over to the Babau and multi-attacks it, hitting both times. The damage is halved but Popcorn is still pretty happy with that. The Babau stands up and skewers him for 9HP. Nooo! This is the babau’s last warning - he’s attacking everyone’s favourite party member, here.

Kessler has to attack someone at random; she rolls a d8, to attack Gideon. ‘Betrayal! Racial profiling!’ She rolls a 17 to hit (is she playing Among Us, or something?) This is not going to look good on her performance review. She’s fired. She gets a multi-attack and rolls to hit Rusty. NooO! (Rusty has less cute appeal than Popcorn; waft of the grave is less appealing.)

There’s a lot of shouting as everyone talks at once. Rusty, momentarily dropping the hillbilly accent: ‘I don’t like it, Berk, not one bit’

Gideon attacks Kessler back; this has been brewing for a while, let’s be honest. He justifies it by saying perhaps it’ll knock some sense into her. He does a Thunderwave - Kessler fails her save and flies ten feet backward. Off the tower? Gideon: ‘one can only hope.’ No, only ten feet. ‘But if I did it again…’

Kessler can make her save again as she’s taken damage, but fails again. Rusty Grave Bolts the demon lady, but misses.

Tarragon Healing Word’s Gunna again, and Thorn Whips demon bitch - she hits this time, but only 3 points of damage. Not halved though, so yay.

Melaina moves and tries to hide behind the cage; she’s an elf so she can hide in drizzle if she wants. Popcorn is engaged with the Babau (Melaina thought they were only going out!) so Melaina gets advantage - she sharpshoots, but misses.

Demon bitch casts Inflict Wounds on Ahleqs, but misses. He is very lucky, because she cast that at a higher level.

Gunna improvises a weapon using his sword - hits demon bitch with the handle end. No, he swats her with his shield, like she’s a giant mosquito. The idea is to do some fancy fighter moves and use his bonus action to grapple her. 13 to hit? That misses. He uses Unarmed Strike for a 22, and 6 bludgeoning. He makes a grapple attempt - contested STR checks. He beats her, handily, and grapples her.

Ahleqs still has Witch Bolt up. Lightning damage don’t impress her much, but he goes for it anyway. He uses ToC because he’s terrified of her, and casts it at level 2. 17 just hits, phew. 19 damage. 1D6 flumphs appear; and are frightened of Ahleqs. He rolls - a six. Maximum flumphs. Gideon decides to try all his languages until he finds one they understand.

Joe calls it there. Before we go, Gideon asks how the demon lady is looking - makes an Investigation check for a 14. She looks bruised and bloodied. ‘Is it coming out of her nose mouth and eyes?’ No, she looks a bit heroin chic, but not quite on her last legs.

Melaina (Mialee???) can make a History check at advantage - for a 13. She can’t remember much but she thinks this woman is some kind of half-elf, half-demon hybrid. ‘Disgusting!’ ‘Disgraceful!’ ‘Shocking!’ ‘Let’s put it in the ground!’

Right. Same time next week :)

#dnd #thetradeway #campaign diary

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padawansuggest · 4 years ago

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Fay: *yodas first adopted child, almost 80 looks eternally 22, the Fett clan has promised not to ask about what her supposed immortality stems from* Dad, will you stop wandering off into traffic!

Yoda: *straighr up just walked into traffic, picked up a scared baby squirrel, and walked back out without a scratch* I’m fine I’m fine, the force protects me!

Fay: *pulling the confused squirrel out of Yoda’s hands and using some of that ‘this def isn’t magic’ to see if he’s healthy* IDFK what the force is and you’ve never explained, but one day some asshole on a motorcycle diving through lanes is gonna ram right into you. *puts the squirrel in her cardigan pocket* this lil one is too young to survive on his own. Let’s see if that nice Fett boy Wolffe wants to take him in. He’s so good with those pups, he’s got to have some knowledge of babies, or someone to pawn the thing off on.

Yoda: *already thinking 20 steps ahead* Rex. Rex Fett will be very good with little animals.

Fay: ??? You sure? He’s sorta terrible with most animals we’ve seen.

Yoda: Hmm. Yes. Jumps when the pups bark. Squirrels don’t bark.

Baby squirrel in Fay’s pocket: ??????????????????????????????????????!!???????????

Some of you might be wondering: where did the Lineage clan come from? Another country? China? Fuckin Britain? Nope. They just moved here from further up New Zealand. They moved to get better schools in range now that Anakin is showing the same afinity for technology that Obi-Wan showed as a kid, but Yoda and Fay (the official heads of the family obviously) didn’t want to let it go to waste on subpar schooling like what happened to Obi-Wan ‘talks to plants more than others’ Kenobi. Obi’s still good with tech, but he didn’t have very good school programs for it, so he let the interest fade away. Anakin, on the other hand (lol), wants to design his first bionic arm, and so now they want to help his interest flourish.

None of the Fett clan have ever seen Fay’s ears, and they’re starting to get suspicious, let’s just say that.

Also yes, Rex is a lil bit afraid of barky bois. He got ouchy nip when he was tiny and now, even at 15, he still kinda hides behind Jango if Wolffe’s pups start barking. Jango is utterly enchanted and a forever parent who maybe takes advantage a little and forces cuddles on Rex and loves on him in v embarrassing ways. Rex won’t admit it but he loves those cuddles. After he gets bb squirrel to rehabilitate, now him and the baby will hide from barky Bois /together/. Wolffe is Alpha and Plo’s oldest kid. Jango helped his brother and life partner have as many kids as they could with the same test tube technology he had his kids with when Alpha goes to tell his ace-aro brother that he’s Home Of Sexual and Jango is all ‘lol ew you like the peepee’ and now they have kids too.

Wolffe tries to keep his pups away from his cousin, but even when Rex hears a bark from across the yard at the weekly bbq, he’s all ‘oh scary noise dada saves me’ and dives for Jango. He’s a giant baby of a teenager and one time Jango wasn’t around when he heard loud noise barks in public, and Anakin and Ahsoka protected him instead and Obi-Wan immediately decided that’s a baby and Rex is one of his kids now too. Anakin is only 9 and he’s v protective of Rex. Rex thinks Ani and Soka are v brave. Rex is gonna love his bb anxiety squirrel, who’s going to prove incapable of releasing into the wild, cause he turns out to be Afraid Of Everything which is an unfortunate thing that actually keeps rehabbers from sending babies back into the wild cause if their anxiety is that bad they will make themselves sick and be unable to care for themselves, and Rex happily protects him from dangers.

Cody and Jango think Rex is the cutest bb ever he’s so sweet.

Okay so I’m not that massively into non-alien modern AUs but I just gotta fucking say??? I love the idea of 96yo Yoda who’s been raising generation after generation of his adopted kids and grandkids and great grandkids at this point, who’s obviously a very traditional Chinese man in a mainly mixed country (maybe New Zealand? Lots of Maori Fetts and the like running about) and he make his kids the weirdest smelling teas and obviously when Obi-Wan and Cody start dating Cody is shocked yo realized the main language in the house is neither te reo or english, since Obi-Wan speaks them so fluently, but Mandrain, and how Obi keeps making fruit platters for all the kids when they get home from school (fruit is a love language 🥺) and owns like three rice cookers and is straight up /horrified/ when he realizes Cody doesn’t have one at all, and I just want Cody to be all ‘why this white boy draggin my ass into Chinese culture???’ And then they all meet Grandpa Yoda and they’re all ‘oh. That’s it. That’s why he’s like that.’ The rest of the Fett clan is so damn happy for a hot minute there they thought Cody was dating some sort of weebo or something.

#Yoda #Fay #subtle magic au #anakin skywalker #I woke up with a caffeine withdrawal induced migraine I needed to focus on something lol and this was it #captain rex #jango fett #modern au

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dantediscoversfic · 8 years ago

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Chapter 25: The Weight of Waiting

I don’t like hospitals. Who in their right mind does? I bet the people who work there don’t even really like it. The smells, for one. The tension that hangs heavy in the air like it’s an anti-air freshener on the rearview mirror of a car but instead of a pine tree it’s shaped like an anatomical heart and smells like blood, vomit, bleach and astringent cleaner, day old coffee, piss and shit, body odor, fear and dread. The awful raw animal sounds people make. The machine sounds that are like a fly buzzing incessantly around your ear: clocks ticking, machines beeping, wheels screeching, TVs and radios bleating in the background. The long corridors and labyrinthine hallways that all look the same. How easy it is to get lost and wind up in the wrong wing, peering into strangers’ most private moments while you’re searching for the one you love.

So yeah, hospitals are terrible. But there was no way I was leaving until I knew Ari was going to be okay after his surgery.

I’d never been in an ICU unit before. I’d been to a regular hospital room when I was younger and my abuelo needed a stent put in for his heart. What I remember most about that is how he let me climb in bed with him and press the button to move the top of his bed up and down and that he gave me his little carton of milk and let me eat some of his cold mashed potatoes. I don’t remember being scared because I don’t really think I understood that he was in real danger, that something could have gone wrong with his surgery and he could have died. My parents left that part out and just said we needed to go see him to help him get better.

This time, I wasn’t a delusional kid who thought me being there would actually help Ari get any better. But I still couldn’t leave, not even to sleep. After I got my stitches and cast on (it turns out I’d broken my right arm when Ari pushed me out of the way of the car), my mom thought I should go home and rest and that the Mendozas would call us once they had news about Ari. But I flat out refused. My parents switched off staying with me while we waited with Ari’s parents. We didn’t talk much. My throat felt as scraped up as my face, all rough and gravel-singed. I thought the second I opened my mouth I’d start to cry so I just sealed it shut and waited.

After Ari’s surgery they let us see him briefly in the ICU unit. I didn’t realize that the ICU was just one big area and that all the beds would be separated only by curtains. He seemed so exposed. Ari was semi-lucent for only a little bit. He said my name but I don’t think he understood that I was right there, standing next to him. It’s hard to explain how scary that was to witness. Maybe scarier than right after the accident and he wasn’t moving. It was like he was there but wasn’t there. I could hope against hope that he would be himself again but I had no way of knowing that for sure. And it would be all my fault if he was permanently damaged. I’d never forgive myself if he didn’t make it out not just okay but not make it out as Ari. If he somehow lost a part of himself that made him who he was, made him the person I loved more than just about anyone else on the planet. He moaned, obviously in a lot of pain, and the doctors gave him drugs that made him sleep. And then all we could do was wait for his body to want for him to wake up.

The weight of waiting. It creates its own strange force inside your body. Your head droops and your neck snaps but you can’t really sleep. You can’t turn off your brain but it feels sluggish and dull. Your body aches, but not as much as your heart, which keeps pumping even though it stopped the minute the person you love was dragged away from you.

Time passes strangely in a hospital waiting room. Especially after visiting hours are over and you’re supposed to have gone home. It doesn’t obey the normal laws of reality we’re used to. You know you’re not supposed to be there, there’s no context for why you’re there, why the dawn breaks even though your soul still feels heavy and dark as the night sky.

At some point I needed to get up and stretch my legs so I went looking for the cafeteria vending machines and ended up finding the hospital’s little chapel instead. It was empty and I sat on the wooden benches. My limbs were heavy. I closed my eyes and time and space started behaving strangely again. My head felt like it was a snow globe, with the universe swirling around inside it. I asked the stars for help, to keep Ari safe. I didn’t say any of the Bible words my mom had taught me, but there, alone, was where I really learned what it means to pray.

My right arm was broken, which made me feel even stranger and more helpless. I needed my parents to open a bag of chips or crack open the tab of a soda can for me. To pass the time while we waited I practiced writing with my left hand; I wrote my name and Ari’s name over and over on a page of hospital stationary. It looked like a Kindergartener’s chicken scratch. It sort of matched how I felt, though.

Thirty-six hours after he’d gotten out of surgery, Ari’s dad came and found me and told me Ari was awake finally. My dad had gone home to shower and bring me back some real food, so I was alone. Something broke loose inside me when he told me Ari was going to be okay and I sobbed into his arms. He let me get it out of my system. He patted my back and let me cry, but his own face stayed dry. He was so like Ari. I went to the bathroom to splash water on my face before going in to see him. I wanted to be strong for him, like he’d been strong for me.

I stepped into his room and saw the brown and white parts of his eyes. They were really truly open! He looked absolutely terrible, but he still managed to smile at me. Relief flooded over me like a tremor.

“Hi,” he said.

“We sort of match,” I said. My arm cast, his leg casts. A mangled matching set.

“I got you beat,” he said. He sounded like talking took a lot of effort.

“Finally, you get to win an argument.”

“Yeah, finally,” he said. “You look like shit.”

“So do you,” I said.

I stepped in closer to his bed but was afraid to touch him. Like touching him would make him hurt even more.

“You sound tired,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad you woke up.”

“Yeah, I woke up. But it hurts less when I sleep.”

“You saved my life, Ari.”

“Dante’s hero. Just what I always wanted to be.”

I felt pressure start to build in the back of my throat and behind my eyes but I tried to shove it down. “Don’t do that, Ari. Don’t make fun. You almost got yourself killed.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

I couldn’t help it. Tears started running hot down my face. It wasn’t on purpose. “You pushed me. You pushed me and you saved my life.”

“Looks like I pushed you and beat the crap out of your face.”

I raised a hand reflexively to touch my still sensitive cheek. It still stung like hell. “I’ve got character now.”

“It was that damned bird,” he said. “We can blame it all on the bird. The whole thing.”

“I’m done with birds.”

“No you’re not.”

Once tears get going, they really have a life of their own. Ari was awake, he was making stupid jokes, he was alive, he was Ari, so why couldn’t I stop crying?

“Knock it off,” he said, not meanly. His voice was too tired to have any real oomph behind it. “My mom’s been crying—and even Dad looks like he wants to cry. Rules. I have rules. No crying.”

I thought of Dead Bird Day. If it wasn’t for that day I’m not sure we’d be here right now. That was the day that things started going to hell. And it was all because of stupid birds. I was done with them, even though Ari didn’t believe me.

“Okay,” I said. “No more crying. Boys don’t cry.”

“Boys don’t cry,” he said. “Tears make me really tired.”

It was such an Ari thing to say, I let out a barky laugh that was more like a combination laugh-cry. But since I was done with crying, it was a laugh.

I shut my eyes for a second and the accident replayed in my mind. I heard Ari’s voice like a wind chime saying “Why would I be sad?”. I saw the hail stones, the bird, the headlights, heard Ari screaming my name, smelled blood and asphalt. It all happened slower in my brain than in real life, almost like I was piecing together all the images after the fact, trying to solve the puzzle of how and why this terrible thing had happened. At the time it had happened so fast I barely registered what was happening, why Ari’s body was barreling into mine, but now time had made it obvious. It happened because of me.

“You took a dive like you were in a swimming pool,” I said.

“We don’t have to talk about this.”

“You dove at me, like, I don’t know, like some kind of football player diving at the guy with the ball, and you pushed me out of the way. It all happened so fast and yet, you just, I don’t know, you just knew what to do. Only you could have gotten yourself killed. And all because I’m an idiot, standing in the middle of the road trying to save a stupid bird.”

“You’re breaking the no-crying rule again,” he said. “And birds aren’t stupid.”

“I almost got you killed.”

“You didn’t do anything. You were just being you.”

“No more birds for me.”

“I like birds,” he said.

“I’ve given them up. You saved my life.”

“I told you. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Ari’s parents laughed, so I did, too. I’d almost forgotten they were in the room with us.

Ari smiled, then winced. I hated that. I hated that it hurt for the most beautiful boy on the planet to smile and it was my fault.

I took his hand. I thought he’d wince again but he didn’t.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ari. Forgive me forgive me.”

His eyelids fluttered closed and he began drifting away. His mom told me it was the morphine. He hummed a little but didn’t talk any more. He kept holding onto my hand until he was fast asleep.

I carefully pried our hands apart even though I knew he was out cold. I brushed his hair out of his eyes. I said good-bye to his parents and went back into the waiting room. My dad was there. I told him Ari had woken up, that the doctors told us he was going to be fine. My dad hugged me and drove me home. I fell asleep during the car ride back to our house, even though it was only a short drive. He must have picked me up and brought me up to my room, because the next thing I remember was waking up in my bed and seeing a bird on my windowsill. I shooed it away, shut the blinds, and went back to sleep.

I dreamed that Ari and I were in a swimming pool. We were both sitting on a big inflatable swan. I was sitting behind him with my arms wrapped around his waist, my head resting on the back of his shoulder. I had big white wings and I wrapped them around us. The pool stretched on forever, it turned into the sky. He asked me if we could fly.

“I don’t know how,” I said. “I’ve never tried.”

“What are those wings for?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I just mean, they’ve always just been here. I don’t know what they’re for or if they even work.”

“Well, that’s stupid. Let’s try them.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t be a chicken.”

“I’m not a chicken. I’m a swan.”

We both laughed. I was hugging him so tight I could feel all the vibrations run through his body. It hurt to laugh, though.

“What a waste,” he said.

I hugged his waist even tighter and brushed my cheek against his skin in the dip between his shoulder blades.

“Here, have one.” I yanked the right wing out. It slipped out pretty easily and stung only as bad as pulling out a splinter. I pulled the other one out. He held them out to his sides and tried flapping them up and down.

“Now what?” he said.

“Now what what?”

“Nothing’s happening.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought this through.”

“I guess not.”

“I could try sticking them into your back.”

“Won’t that hurt?”

“Maybe. But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Okay, try it.”

I took one of the wings from him. The end was pointed like an old-fashioned feather pen. I jabbed it into his skin.

“Ouch!”

A trickle of blood rivered down his back.

“This isn’t going to work,” I said.

“Can you give me a tattoo instead?”

“What do you want the tattoo to be?”

“Draw me some wings.”

My right arm was numb. I couldn’t hold the wing anymore with it, let alone draw. “I can’t write with my left hand. It will turn out terrible.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will. Tattoos are permanent.”

“I won’t. Just try.”

I used my left hand and drew blood wings on his back with the feather quill pen/wing.

“It’s all red. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It hurts a lot. But I don’t care.”

“You’re so strong.”

He snorted.

“Let’s go for a swim in the sky.”

He sprouted wings where I’d scratched them into his skin. We switched spots so now he was positioned behind me; he held me tight around my rib cage and we lifted off. My ears popped painfully.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re migrating.”

“But where?”

“Anywhere you like.”

“But I like it here.”

“We can’t stay here, you know that, Dante, right?”

“Why?”

“Because here is nowhere.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t cry, Dante.”

“I’m not crying.”

“I can taste it on your cheek.”

I had forgotten our cheeks were rubbing so close together.

“Don’t let go of me,” I said.

“I won’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For hurting you.”

“The wings didn’t hurt.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The air way up in the sky was frigid. The wind stung my eyes and made my face itch. But my whole body was throbbing and on fire from where he was touching me and from the rhythmic beating of his wings.

“I like this so much.”

“Don’t cry, Dante.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“It feels like we’re swimming in a pool up here. We’re weightless.”

“Will you wait for me?”

“Wait for what?”

“Wait for us.”

I was shouting so he could hear me over the wind.

“What would I be waiting for?”

“Nothing. Put me down please. Let me go.”

“I’m not doing that.”

I hated him so much.

“Let me go!”

“Fine.”

I felt the release of the pressure of his arms around my waist. I fell and fell and woke up right before I crashed into the ground. Everything hurt.

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rajrules1412 · 7 years ago

Text

So readers, this has heavily been influenced by my real life, I'm still struggling with most of the things I've mentioned. I just wanted to share it and anyone else who is going through something similar, someone told me I'll get through this, I don't believe it right now but I'm trying to, you should too, it may help.

It was a sort of surprise. Not because I didn't expect it, but because I had forgotten about the existence if such establishments. The road always provided what you needed; if your water ran out, you'd find a well or a plump cactus you could cut open, if food ran out, you'd find dates or bright fruits with tough skin that grew only in the dessert. But seeing what looked like a classic, western, cowboy inn was something I had not imagined.

I had come to the road for the same reasons many did; to discover myself and take a break from the world. I knew the journey would be intense but figured it would not be as hard as the world I would leave behind. With just a rucksack packed with a sleeping bag, a sharp knife, some clothes and spare change and a solar panel battery powered mp3 player (with my favourite music) I began the journey.

The inn was a shabby wooden building -- clearly made by someone who didn't know the first thing about construction. Questions such as, "where did they find wood in such a place?" No longer bothered me: the traveller wanted something, the road provided. The stairs that entered the porch were different heights. The wood was worn with age, scratched by tiny particles of sand over the years. A tiny, painted wooden sign hung over the misshapen door, "The Around 2 Year Mark Inn."

It smelled musky inside. A couple of tables with three chairs each were scattered around the tiny room. A bar stood at the far end, with a rickety wooden staircase heading to the rooms. An old bar tender was leaning on the platform. Short cropped, grey hair covered his face and his cream shirt was once white. He was old but his eyes were still sharp.

"Howdy stranger, been a while since I had a customer,," he said in a clear voice, with a heavy southern accent.

"Hi," I said, my voice a raspy croak after not talking for so long. Hearing my voice addressing someone felt very foreign after the long solitude. I walked over to the bar and asked for a glass of water.

"Here you go son," he said handing me clean glass of water from below the bar. "The name's Miller."

"Randall," I said, shaking his offered hand.

"So Randall, how's the world? Haven't seen it in 'bout thirty years."

"Thirst years!" I exclaimed. "The world's a whole new place I suppose, or so my dad says. But he also says its the same in some aspects -- people are still douche-bags."

He laughed, a sharp, barky laugh, "We would have gotten along, your dad and I. All travellers have different things to say you know. Some are tired or frustrated while others are in awe of it. What do you think about it?"

"The world's a... Complicated place to say the least." I said after a few minutes of pondering. "I left because I was tired of the world and it's people -- people close to me and far. But I still have hope for it."

"Then why did you leave?"

"Well, I've not lef-" I began saying before he interrupted me.

"Oh what am I doing!" Miller said. "There's two rooms available upstairs, the last one's mine. Pick any of the other two and you can stay as long as you want before you leave."

"Oh thanks, I have missed a bed, now that I come to think about it. But I'm well rested for now I can head up later, thanks."

"You were telling me why you left." Miller promoted.

"Yeah, well I didn't leave, I came just to have some peace and quite. I needed to be alone so I can figure out who I am without anyone else's influence on me. But there are other reasons."

"The road gives answers, sooner or later. People who venture forth from here and return always tell me the dessert answered them. There aren't many though."

"Why are you here?" I asked suddenly. "I mean I haven't seen another establishment for almost fifteen months and then I find this place... What's up with that?"

"I left to find my calling." He said somberly. "I was weary of the world, weary of humanity. Turns out I learnt a lot on the way and realized being solitary was my calling. I would go mad without any company so I decided to make this place and help the occasional traveller that would pass by. As you must have seen the traveller needs and the road provides."

"Don't you get bored? I don't see anything to do." I asked.

"I have a TV and a shelf full of books upstairs. The dessert provides. So what were the other reasons for leaving? You look quite young, what are you, twenty?"

"I started when I was twenty so, I'm twenty two now I guess," I said, realizing I hadn't even known when my birthday had passed.

"Its just that I was depressed," I said. I was not the sharing kind, but maybe the road had changed me. It was good to talk to someone who was willing to listen to me especially after months of solitude; something I didn't have my whole life. "I was straight A student until my finals which I failed spectacularly because of overconfidence. That was when I realized I was bisexual, but being in an Indian community coming out was hard. I got into a university, but was falsely diagnosed of multiple illnesses such as cancer and TB and the medicines I had to take really made me sick. My love life was a mess because I couldn't open up and don't trust the concept of love and my relationships sucked. My family was severely dysfunctional with a cheating, abusive mother and a father who wouldn't stand up for us. My sisters would be there for me but we were growing apart. And my friends had all left for their colleges and moved on. Eventually things I really liked doing became boring or tedious. Games and movies and series became annoying and I didn't enjoy them anymore. No one would listen to me and my really close friends were becoming disconnected. All things that gave me joy were just there, not doing anything for me except irritate me. Playing my guitar and practicing my archery or drawing and writing became a chore. Pain, physical and emotional was a constant companion. I didn't feel like I belonged anymore. One problem would end and another would start. I was strong through and through and didn't show weakness and smiled for the world but there came a point I couldn't. I realized I didn't know who I was and what kind of a person I wanted to be, especially with no one influencing me. I became more confused about my sexual orientation and decided to come out to my friends which for some reason made me feel even worse. I was even going to another country across the world, but kept on getting delayed and there was nothing I could do about it. Once financially stable, my family began experiencing shortages of money and there was nothing I could do about it. I no longer knew what career I wanted to follow either. I began questioning my belief in God. I am not a quitter though and never considered suicide seriously. So I decided to walk this journey find myself and forget my woes."

There were a few moments of silence. Not awkward but more contemplative on both sides.

"All the people who pass by here truly do suffer from depression, one form or another," Miller sighed. "I was a psychologist before I left. Hearing the tragedies of people would overwhelm me, and I realized that was not my calling. Turns out the road told me helping people was my calling, in anyway I could. Even if it meant helping cases of depressed travellers. Cases like yours, cases where people suffering, were brave enough to walk the road and leave the world behind and not look towards suicide. I only see maybe two such people a year on average but I don't get overwhelmed, because I know I've helped them. You have been through a lot and maybe you fear change at some level, all of us do, but you are someone who's willing to adapt to change. Fear it yes but not resist it. It may seem the universe has targeted you, but I believe someone with the willpower you posses is destined for greatness. Maybe this was the Universe's way of testing you, giving you trial after trial, some due to your own faults and some due to others to see whether you are capable of tolerating such hardships to achieve greatness in the future. You are destined for greatness, I can see that. Now this may be seem difficult and future hard to predict, life can be fickle, but after enduring this you will be forged into a person who can handle anything that is thrown your way, no matter the calibre of the ordeal. I don't know if what I've said will help you, but all I can say is hold on and keep going strong, don't give up and I promise you, the hardships will end soon and give way to greatness."

I sat there absorbing his words like a sponge. People had often said this to me before but I never truly believed it. Maybe I still didn't, but he said it in a different perspective, something I could perhaps believe in. A perspective that gave me hope and optimism to continue. Maybe I still didn't believe it, but it gave me something to consider. I guess the inn was there on the road to finally began the steps through which I would find myself. The road really does provide whatever the traveller needs, even when the traveller is searching for themselves.

"Thank you, I really needed that." I finally told him with teary eyes, a surprise since I never cried in such situations. "I think its time I stopped running away and face my demons. This was the first step in finding myself... I will always be grateful for this."

I stood up and headed towards the door.

"You won't stay the night?" He asked.

"Thank you but maybe on way back," I said over my shoulder.

"In that case, have safe journey and happy soul searching." He said waving.

"Thanks," I waved as I closes the door and continued on my journey. Something told me I would be returning soon.

There is a plain dirt road found in the middle of the desert that goes on forever and no one has found the end. People voyage along this road for many reasons; some wish to find themselves on a journey of solitude, some seek out adventure and want to be the first to find its end, and others simply want to leave the world behind forever. After so many people found themselves drawn to the road, establishments, casinos, restaurants, and pubs, began popping up along the road. As the path goes on, less and less of these places exist. You have been traveling on this road for 2 years when you come across one of these establishments. It’s the first you’ve seen in a long time.

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