#chalk is... now attempting to herd him

[thehackneypony]

very brave mr. leeks during his first little session

[uvobreakmylegs]

Incitement

Anonymous requested a yandere Chrollo piece with a virgin reader. The option for NSFW was open so I went with that one👀

Warnings: mentions of death, violence, noncon, loss of virginity, smut

The metal of the chain-link fence was cold against your back, and the chill seemed to seep into you and run through your entire body as you pressed yourself against it. Maybe it was some sort of attempt to force open an entrance in the solid fencing, or maybe it was just to see if you could unlock superpowers in that moment and phase through it.

Whatever you could get to escape Chrollo, who stared at you from the alley's entrance and blocked the only way out.

'Climb over the fence,' you said to yourself, glancing back to see how high the metal structure stood, if there was any chance you could scale it and make it back down on the other side before he could get to you.

“I wouldn't try that,” he said calmly, “you would only hurt yourself if you did.”

'Like you care about me getting hurt,' you would've spat out if you could still talk, but your throat was still aching from his earlier attack.

He had you cornered again, trapping you in the stairwell of your apartment building. This time his advances felt far more sinister than they had in the past now that you knew his true nature. With his hands on either side of you, he leaned in close, sweet words spilling from his lips as he tried to pull you in once more, to convince you to give in and be his.

The times this had happened in the past had put you on edge, but when you tried telling your friends they didn't believe you, chalking it up to just being a misunderstanding.

Chrollo isn't like that, they had said.

Now those friends were dead, and their murderer was quite literally breathing down your neck.

After the initial shock of him forcing you against the wall, you thought you had the advantage: it was late afternoon, and there would definitely be people in the building that would hear if you yelled for help.

You had taken in a deep breath and opened your mouth-

He punched you in the throat.

It had happened so fast that you didn't even see his arm move, but there was no mistaking the solid fist that had connected with your windpipe.

You sputtered; a choked, gasping noise barley able to escape you as you fell to your knees, clutching at your neck. He had looked calm when your gaze went back up to him, no distress, no remorse. Just that ever-present look of calm understanding. Even when committing the most violent of acts, he never showed any real emotion.

Such things truly meant nothing to him.

Chrollo came closer, his hands casually in his coat pockets as he walked at a slow, steady pace, his eyes never leaving you as you pressed yourself harder on the fence. Beyond the two buildings you found yourself stuck between, there were people. Had you been able to call out for help, maybe they would have come running. Maybe there might even be someone who could beat Chrollo. And maybe that had been the point of letting you run about the city before he herded you in this dead-end alley: to taunt you with the idea that you could be saved from him by taking away your ability to speak.

You glanced back at the fence once more. It wasn't an impossible climb, and you wouldn't be hurt that badly if you did fall once you reached the top. But could you do it before Chrollo reached you?

The defeatist in you said no. Your leg was injured from a cyclist you had run into earlier. The skirt of your dress was barely covering a cut on your thigh and blood was soaking into your tights as it trailed down your leg and into your shoe. He was also faster; he had proven this time and time again. You had only gotten away from him for this long because he let you.

But goddamn it, you had to try.

Spinning around, you jumped and latched onto the fence, the tips of your shoes sticking into the metal spaces as you started climbing as fast as you could, ignoring the pain in your leg.

You didn't make it far before there were hands on your hips, holding you with a bruising grip as they roughly yanked you off of the fence and into a solid chest behind you. There was no time to struggle as you were just as quickly shoved against the metal grating and then sandwiched between it and Chrollo's body. One of your hands tried to push against him, to get him away from you, but he snatched it easily, holding it in place as he reveled at the feeling of you pressed up against him.

“You have no idea of what you do to me, do you?” he asked, leaning in further until you could feel his breath tickling your ear. You shuddered at the feeling, and pressed your face harder against the fence just so you could get just a little bit of space between you.

“Consuming my thoughts. Distracting me. Teasing me,” he breathed, “and yet you rejected me at every turn, rebuffing my advances while you continued to tempt me.”

Words still couldn't come out, so you shook your head as best you could against the metal.

He hummed, bringing his head down to kiss the hand that he held.

“No? That you would fight me this hard and for so long.... Is the idea of being mine that awful?”

You didn't react at first, thinking it would be stupid to do so. But you were caught and completely at his mercy. The only thing you had was your ability to let your hatred of him be known.

So you nodded.

Chrollo smiled at you.

He pulled away and turned you so you faced him before forcing you back into the chain-link fence.

“That's a shame,” he said, “but I would be lying if I said that the idea of making you change your mind didn't excite me.”

Cupping your face with both hands, he leaned down and kissed you. You struggled against it, trying to pry him off of your face as best you could, but Chrollo had always been far stronger than he looked and was just as unmovable as ever.

When your hands went to tug at his hair to pull him off did he finally react. Chrollo pulled away as he grabbed your wrists and forced your arms above your head. After adjusting his grip so he held both of your wrists in one hand, a book suddenly materialized in the other. You had been struggling the entire time, but when you saw the book appear you stopped, as even the circumstances you found yourself in couldn't stop your confusion from seeing a book just pop out of thin air.

Chrollo seemed amused by the way you had been distracted, chuckling as he told you “I'll explain it to you sometime. But right now there's something else I want to do.”

He opened the book and the pages began turning on their own before stopping abruptly.

You felt movement in the fencing that your hands were pressed up against, and you looked up to see pieces of the metal fence breaking away and wrapping themselves around your wrists. Chrollo let go as you struggled, desperately trying to wrench your hands out but the metal only seemed to get tighter the more you fought against it. When the pain became too much and the wire of the fence threatened to cut into your skin you gave up, hanging your head low.

Chrollo had been watching, the book gone and his hands by his sides, waiting for you to give up before he spoke again.

“Try not to struggle too much. The metal will only wrap around tighter,” he said. Using two fingers, he lifted your chin up and forced you to make eye contact.

“But this certainly is a sight,” he murmured, his thumb lightly trailing over your bottom lip.

Incensed by his reaction, and with both your hands still trapped above your head, you raised a leg to kick him.

As usual, he saw it coming and Chrollo's hand grabbed your thigh. Instead of setting your leg back down, he held it there, leaving you in an awkward position as you struggled against him on one leg while trying to keep the movement on your restraints to a minimum. It didn't work, as the cold metal kept biting into your wrists and made you hiss in discomfort.

“I've been patient with you,” Chrollo said, “far more patient than I should have been. But patience runs out, love, and today I've reached my limit.”

The hand on your chin trailed down, over your neck, between your breasts and down your stomach before stopping at the hem of your skirt, his fingers catching the fabric and toying with it as he looked down at you.

“This isn't what I intended for our first time together to be like, but it will have to do.”

…. Our first time?

The meaning of his words became horrifyingly clear as he lifted the skirt of your dress, pulling at the material until it was bunched up around your waist. The only thing protecting your dignity now was your sheer tights and the flimsy fabric of your underwear, and if Chrollo had his way, you wouldn't even have that in a moment.

You were thrashing in his hold as best you could but it did nothing. Chrollo reached out and ripped a hole in your tights, widening it until he had full access to the thin material that covered your cunt. He trailed a finger up your core through the underwear, every so lightly, but that little bit of contact made you jolt and you closed your eyes, embarrassed.

You could sense the way he was smirking down at you as he continued, deft fingers trailing up and down until they found your clit and began to focus on that, rubbing it through your panties. You tried to wiggle away from his touch, but the hand he had on your thigh kept you in place.

The metal wires around your wrists had tightened to an extreme degree by now, the skin having now broken and small lines of blood began to trail down your arms. Now you were trying not to move too much, but the things he was doing to you made that impossible. When you took in a short and pained intake of breath, he had noticed; you heard him make a small dissatisfied hum, and the wires that held you loosened slightly. It still hurt, but at least now you weren't in fear of your hands being slowly sliced off.

But with the pain of the metal restraints no longer distracting you, you were confronted with how your body had been reacting to his ministrations. You were wet. Embarrassingly so, as the slick you were producing stained your underwear as it leaked through.

“That didn't take long, did it? You're more willing for me than you want to admit.”

You didn't dare look at him as he spoke. And when he pushed the fabric of your panties to the side you buried your face in your arm.

He didn't do anything at first other than stare at you, and you swore you could feel the weight of his gaze on the most intimate part of you. You had never felt more vulnerable than you did right now.

When he cupped your sex you whimpered and forced your face harder against your arm. He chuckled again.

Without warning he shoved in his fingers. Despite the way you bit your lip, you let out a strained whine as you felt a small flash of pain.

Chrollo froze.

He stayed like that, two fingers inside of you, watching as a thin line of blood began to trickle down his digits and made a small pool in his hand. The pain itself was short-lived, but you desperately wanted his fingers out, the feeling of something inside of you unfamiliar and uncomfortable. But he had yet to say or do anything. Tentatively, you opened your eyes to look at him.

He looked surprised. Though he wasn't letting the emotion take over him completely, his raised eyebrows, wide eyes and slightly opened mouth showed that he hadn't been expecting this. But you only saw this for a second, as when you looked over to him he snapped out of it and his expression became unreadable.

“..... That explains a few things,” he finally said, sighing as he continued, “Ah, I'm an idiot. I had just assumed someone else would have taken you before we met. It never even occurred to me that you were a virgin.”

His eyes met yours again, and they seemed to soften a little when he saw the way you were trying to hold back the tears that were forming. Almost as if he was regretting his actions. He leaned back in to kiss you, but paused when you sharply turned your head away again.

“.... You deserve better than for your first time to be in the back of a dirty alleyway,” Chrollo sighed again, kissing you on the cheek regardless. You cringed at the feeling, squeezing your eyes shut.

“But I'll make it up to you later.”

His tone sounded more like it normally did, and when you glanced back at him, that regret that you thought you had seen forming was gone. He was back to that cold being you had grown to be so terrified of, and he even went as far as to smile at you when he saw you looking.

“Right now, love, I need you.”

The fingers that had stayed put inside of you began to move slowly, scissoring inside of you and pushing against your tight walls in an effort to loosen them while his thumb continued to rub against your clit, flicking and pressing against that nub and making you lose more and more of the flimsy control you had over yourself. The fluids that were coming out of your cunt mixed in with the blood and further stained Chrollo's hand.

You didn't want anyone to find you now. You'd rather die than have anyone come across the two of you while you were in such a state, tied up with a murderer who was now shoving three of his fingers up into you as he stretched you out.

“You respond well,” he mused, “Claim that you don't want it all you like; your body certainly does.”

You let out a shaky breath when he removed his fingers. But you knew it would only be a small reprieve. The sound of a zipper opening confirmed it, and you shuddered. You sensed the way he brushed his fingers over his dick, coating it with your own fluids as he gave it a few pumps. When his hand went to lift up your other leg you forced yourself to speak.

“Please, don't....” you somehow managed to get out, your words barely above a whisper.

His hand trailed over your cheek again, stroking it lovingly before he finally reached down and pulled up your other leg so he could wrap them both around his hips, the tip of his cock kissing your entrance.

“You may beg if you like,” said Chrollo, “I've never payed attention to such things.”

With one thrust of his hips, he pushed into you.

You hissed at the intrusion, your back arching and unintentionally pushing yourself against him. There was pain, as your walls had never been stretched out before, and he paused for a moment, graciously allowing you to get used to the feeling before he pushed in further.

“Now, is that so bad?” he asked.

You had gone back to pressing your face into your inner arm, your eyes squeezed shut while your mouth was drawn into a tight line, trying to keep any more noises from escaping you.

It didn't seem that he actually wanted any response from you, as he pulled out harshly before thrusting back in. His pace began slowly, almost experimental as he moved within you. It was after he had become more comfortable inside of you that he started a steady pace that had you biting your lip.

His hands were firmly on your hips, moving you as he wanted even when your legs began to slip from where he had placed them around his hips. He didn't seem to care. And though his focus at the moment seemed to be just to get himself off, you noted a change in the state of your body. What had been painful had switched into you feeling uncomfortable, and what had been uncomfortable had then changed into a warm pleasure that started from where you were connected to him and spread throughout your body that only increased every time his tip hit your cervix.

The sound of your body hitting the metal of the fence rang out in the alley; a loud, rhythmic echo accompanied by Chrollo's soft grunts and the small wheezing noises you were capable of making as he continued to pound into you. Being pushed into the metal like that hurt, and occasionally your hair would catch on the spaces where the wires intertwined with one another and those strands would be harshly yanked out of your head. His fingernails pressed marks through your tights and into the skin of your hips where he held you; at least that distracted you from the cuts on your wrists and your thigh. The bleeding had stopped at this point and the pain from those areas had dulled.

With the amount of force he was using, you'd probably be bruised after.

The noises that were being produced through your coupling sounded ten times louder in your ears, and the sticky feeling in between your legs was made worse by how much you were sweating. You felt disgusting, but Chrollo didn't seem to mind, leaning back in to lightly nip at your neck and then kissing that spot after. He didn't acknowledge it when you strained your neck to try and get away from his mouth. Where you would have expected him to either to try harder to shower you with his unwanted affection or even to just laugh at you again, he instead did nothing, His gaze was focused on your sex and how he thrust into you.

You must have done something to trigger his next actions, either with a badly-timed gasp or just the way your walls happened to clench on him, because he stopped abruptly to reposition you. Hooking your knees over his arms, his hands held tightly onto the chain-link behind you and he pushed into you harder as his pace increased dramatically. He was getting close.

As were you.

It was an unfamiliar tension that had been building inside of you, and though your voice was still strained, you found it harder to keep yourself quiet as little moans and whines spilled from your lips.

This was all sorts of wrong. This was one of the worst things a human being could do to another, and you were enjoying it. But it was just a natural reaction that your body had to the situation, right? Or was that just a lie you told yourself because you knew that you had given in far too early?

You weren't thinking about it when your hips began moving; small, jerky movements as you tried to find some form of release, just something to get this over with.

Chrollo noticed, and dropped one of your legs in favor of rubbing against your clit. It felt good and you hated him for it.

“I want to see you come undone,” he whispered, “cum for me, love.”

No no no no no no no-

Your body didn't listen to the protests in your mind and the tension snapped as you came hard, a loud moan crackling through your throat as he began fucking you through it, not letting up until you had finished.

You were right earlier that he had been close, as moments later he stilled and pulled you against him as best he could. You heard him grunt as a warm sensation began to fill you.

You both remained still for a few moments. His grip had relaxed on you, and slowly, he began to set your legs back down. When your feet touched the solid ground you found that your legs felt far too weak to hold your weight and your wrists strained once more against the metal as it was the only thing keeping you upright.

The mixture of Chrollo's and your releases were dripping out of you and down your ruined tights while he began to readjust himself, zipping himself back up and fixing up his clothing. That air of nonchalance was back, like this was completely normal and he hadn't just assaulted you. All the while you hung there in front of him, used and humiliated and drained completely, wanting nothing more than for this horrible nightmare to be over.

“Don't look at me like that.”

Chrollo's hand brushed over your cheek, making you wince and pull away. He chuckled.

“And don't pretend like you didn't enjoy yourself. You were moving against me at the end,” he said.

You shook your head a little bit, a small 'no'. A bad lie, but it was all you had.

He only laughed at you again.

His hands adjusted the panties that he had pushed aside earlier, covering you back up and putting the ripped tights back in place as best he could. He finished it off by patting the skirt back down and hiding what he had done to you, his touch lingering on your thighs for a moment.

“Stand up properly or you'll fall when I undo your bindings.”

He'd let you fall, too.

Moving your feet so they were firmly beneath you, Chrollo's book reappeared in his hand and the metal of the fence slowly unraveled around your wrists. Your arms fell to your sides and hung there limply while you stared at the ground. You didn't fight when he lifted your chin up, considering your weakened form as he looked you over with those cold gray eyes.

“Next time will be better,” he told you, his thumb lightly rubbing over your sore bottom lip.

“Provided you don't act up again,” he added.

You pulled away from him. You suddenly felt too exhausted to do anything else. All you wanted was to fall into a deep sleep that you would never wake up from. Anything was good as long as you didn't need to see Chrollo again.

Chrollo speaking your name brought you back to attention, and you looked back to see him offering his arm to you.

“Let's go.”

There was a certain edge to his voice that warned against disobeying him, and with no more fight left in you, you weakly pushed off of the fence and wrapped your arms around his. You stumbled a bit as you grabbed onto him, relying on him completely for support. When he began to walk out of the alley you found yourself hurrying to keep up with his pace, the cut in your thigh now back at the forefront of your mind and hurting every time you forced your leg to move forward.

You two walked for a long time, down busy streets and crowded walkways before you reached the high-end hotel Chrollo was staying at, going straight to one of the suites at the top. Chrollo had mentioned this at one point. He had tried to lure you in with the promises of luxury and things you could never afford on your own; you had responded that even if it was the best room money could buy or a one from a rancid motel, you would never share a room with him.

So much for that.

You weren't in any state of mind to take in this new environment as the door closed behind you. Not that Chrollo gave you any time to do so, as he was fast to pull you into the bathroom and order you to undress.

He... He wasn't already wanting to go again, was he?

As if sensing what you were thinking, Chrollo smiled, explaining “for a shower, love. We could both use some cleaning up. And afterwards I'll fix up those cuts of yours.”

…. A shower sounded nice, even if you were going to be taking it with Chrollo, based on the way he was also removing his clothes.

With your own clothing having formed a small, messy pile on the nice bathroom floor, Chrollo pulled you into the stall, sliding the glass door shut behind you. The water stung when it hit your wounds and you winced, letting out a small whimper. Chrollo responded by holding you to him, his hand stroking down your back in a soothing motion.

That was what did it. What finally tipped you over the edge wasn't the murder, the violence, the chasing, the kidnapping or even how he had raped you. It was that caring nature he was pretending to have. Even after doing all of those things to you, hurting you more than anyone else had in your life, he had the gall to feign compassion. Like he actually cared about you.

Tears began to fall from your eyes as you cried softly. Chrollo held you closer, whispering in your ear again as he had done so many times before. Sweet words that were meant to lure you in for his delusional quest to make you love him.

“I hate you.”

The words that came from your mouth were virtually croaked out, your throat still aching. You yourself could barely hear your own voice over the running water that trailed down the both of you, and you weren't sure if he had even heard you at first.

Chrollo placed a kiss on your forehead, then leaned back down to your ear.

“For now.”

[kathleenzhao]

@mobscene-starters​ Dated: 3/2/23 at 16:23. Location: Harrods Department Store, Kensington & Chelsea.

"Inside. Now.”

How was it that they were always waiting for the next, but still never ready?

It was the will to be blissfully ignorant, she supposed. A desperation to seek a sense of normality when the dark cloud that loomed overhead suggested life was anything but. It was kinder to pretend than live life in fear. But life wasn’t kind. Not here.

Central London was so distinctly loud. Perhaps that was why the first sounds had passed them by entirely. The people wandering around the department store without a care in the world, the kinds who thought they were untouched by the problems of the world, likely chalked it up to construction, or traffic, or anything else but this. A panicked security guard at the door was their first warning sign that something more serious was to blame. The look on his face hollowed them long before the harrowing screams started to cut through the noise of the city.

That was gunfire. Sporadic at first, perhaps, but heavy enough now that it was unmistakable even to those who surrounded her. But where? Who? Close enough that they were in danger? Getting closer..? What the fuck was happening.

“Everybody get down. Do not leave this building until we say so.”

They’d been herded behind the counters and walls and any other cover to be found and few protested. Maybe they were too in shock to do anything other than what they were told. Seeing it on the news and being in the middle of it were two entirely different animals...nobody was ever prepared. Never. Kathleen had dropped her bag somewhere. Couldn’t even grab for her phone. For a moment, she’d considered quickly darting out from behind their cover in search of it until the sound of shattering glass split the concerned whispers amongst the customers. 

Too close. Close enough for a stray bullet to hit the floor across the room. 

The woman remained rooted to the spot, her heart pounding in her chest.

What the fuck were they supposed to do?

Where were the police? Was anybody armed?

The Vixen felt the person beside her moving, attempting to get to their feet in spite of direct instructions to stay fucking still. It was the first time she’d looked away from the doorway. A big part of her expected some crazy person to barge through any fucking minute instead of the torrent of innocent public just looking for shelter from whatever was happening outside. Kathleen turned to look at her company, stress evident: 

“Are you fucking crazy? You can’t go out there, you heard him. Sit down.”

[margoslxix]

Incoming mini-essay/rant on Little Shop of Horrors because I can't stop thinking about the movie and the musical and the different endings and all of that. I'm on mobile, or I'd put it under a cut.

Anyway, I keep thinking about how the ending of the musical was also originally the ending of the movie, and the fact that test audiences hated it, they were upset and felt cheated by it. And most people either basically chalk it up to "people who watch movies are too unsophisticated to appreciate unhappy endings" which... ugh, no; OR the more widely-accepted theory, "this isn't a play, so there's no curtain call, no assurance the actors are alright, they've simply been taken away and audiences feel that's unfair" which... what? Are we assuming that these people do not understand the concept of acting and can't handle character death?

No, I don't think that's the case at all.

For years, I struggled with the movie's ending. I thought it was silly, too predictable, a neat little Hollywood bow on a Faustian tale. But then, the last time I watched the movie, I completely changed my mind. I actually think I understand exactly what those test audiences saw that they didn't like.

Okay, bear with me.

I think that most of the test audience hadn't seen the musical. That's... probably obvious. What they had seen, though, was the whole beginning and middle of the movie which, being a movie, made some minor changes that changed everything.

Here's what I mean:

In the musical, Audrey II can barely move. The puppet is usually cool, but generally, you get full jaw motion and maybe a couple floppy tentacles. In the movie, however, they're this gorgeous Henson Workshop puppet, with an absolutely ridiculous amount of articulation that just wouldn't be feasible on stage. This leads to three huge changes:

1. There is no need for Seymour to trick Mushnik into climbing inside the plant. In the musical, we see Seymour calculate the most effective way to get rid of Mushnik, calmly telling him that the money is hidden deep inside the plant, easily cleaning up the loose end of Mushnik's suspicions. It's cold, it's premeditated, it's the first actual kill Seymour makes (we'll get to Orin later). In the movie, however, Rick Moranis is panicking as Mushnik accuses him, unable to get a word in edgewise as the accusations come between lines of the Suppertime song. They head up the stairs, and Audrey II easily snaps Mushnik up. Rick Moranis looks on, horrified, not necessarily consciously cornering him against the plant. It takes the agency, the premeditation, the decision to kill out of Seymour's hands.

2. In the musical, Audrey simply comes to the shop because she couldn't sleep. She senses that something's wrong with Seymour, that he's been acting erratically, and she comes to check on him. Audrey II takes advantage of this and tricks her into falling into their mouth, ultimately leading to her death. In the movie, however, this bit of contrivance isn't necessary, and we don't see this thought process for Audrey. Audrey II directly manipulates the situation, calling Audrey on the phone to goad her into coming to the shop where they can easily grab and eat her. If the ending had stayed the same, this would have ended much the same way as in the musical, but with more manipulation by Audrey II and less concern for Seymour on Audrey's part.

3. Even with the originally-filmed Bad End, "Mean Green Mother" was an entirely new song and sequence added to the movie. It's a great showcase for both the beautiful Audrey II puppet and the singing talents of the legendary Levi Stubbs, who honestly would have been wasted without a big solo number. This is a thrilling, fully-choreographed fight scene that wouldn't have worked at all on stage, but it pits Seymour against Audrey II, and we watch Seymour's sad, hopeless attempts to destroy the creature he's created. We see him struggle and fight, not quite at the bottom of a downward spiral, but finally reckoning with the creature who's been manipulating him all this time.

Even aside from Audrey II's increased physical power and aggression, there are changes to the story. Like most movie musicals, several songs have been truncated or cut completely for time, and some of these are absolutely crucial to Seymour's fall as a tragic hero

First, there's "Now (It's Just the Gas)." In the musical, this represents Seymour being unable to kill Orin, but realizing that he doesn't have to, as he is about to asphyxiate. The whole musical number features an increasingly desperate Orin begging for his life, and Seymour responding with a sort of patter song about moral dilemmas. Orin is unaware that Seymour is trying to kill him, and does not stop begging for help.

It's the first time we really get to see Seymour calculate, see his lack of empathy (not that Orin necessarily deserved it, but still). It's the beginning of the end.

In the movie, the song is replaced with a scene in which Seymour confronts Orin more directly. Rick Moranis is clearly terrified the entire time, hand and gun shaking. Orin gets the chance to ask why he's doing this, and Seymour gets the chance to tell Orin exactly what he's done wrong, reminding the audience as well that this man is a villain, and that his death is justice. He asphxiates quickly and quietly, and Seymour barely has any time to think or process what's happening.

The other most important changed song is "The Meek Shall Inherit." It's long in the musical, and Seymour gets a soliloquy about his situation. At first, he resolves to kill Audrey II, only to talk himself out of it. He clearly states that what he's doing is wrong, he knows it's wrong, but he sees himself as so worthless that Audrey will no longer love him if he destroys the one thing bringing him wealth and fame. He then immediately, very clearly, asks "where do I sign," metaphorically sealing his Faustian bargain.

Movie Seymour does no such thing. The song has been shortened to a single chorus, sung at a frenzied pace compared to the musical's version, set to a rapid montauge of a distressed, confused, lost-looking Rick Moranis being herded around to various events and crowded by reporters. He barely looks like he gets any say whatsoever in this, his fame is a tide that he's utterly swept up in.

All of these changes utterly change the themes of the story. Seymour is no longer a desperate man who makes a deal with a being that is wholly dependent on him, consciously and coldly killing to sustain it, in the hopes of winning the heart of the girl of his dreams with money and fame, as he is in the musical. Instead, he's a poor, anxious man, helplessly being passed from an abusive father figure to a manipulative, dangerous, powerful alien who causes mayhem and violence around him.

For this Seymour, a tragic end is a slap in the face. It's a betrayal of the audience, who have been rooting for this poor guy to free himself of these influences in his life from the beginning of the movie. It would have been an empty, soulless ending for the musical, of course, but that's because the entire musical has been establishing the classic downward spiral of a tragic hero, while the movie really wasn't.

The thing is, I don't think any of these individual changes are bad, per se. I think that each one was pretty sensible to manage the runtime and spectacle of a feature film, as well as utilizing the cast to their potential. It just so happens that they all come together to make something that is fundamentally, incompatibly different from the source material.

And that's okay!

[gerec]

AU-gust 2020 Prompts

Masterlist

17. Firefighters AU - Cherik, Xavierine

Great big thanks to @turtletotem for giving me this brilliant idea :D

----

None of the firefighters in Logan’s station will admit it, but they all love doing live talks at the local schools (even Lehnsherr, who seems to make a point of never liking anything at all). It’s a nice way to spend a couple of low stress hours, talking to little kids and teaching them about fire safety, watching their faces light up when they arrive kitted up in their gear and driving the big red fire truck.

Of course the teachers usually appreciate the break from their regular curriculum too and – according to a drunk Moira at their last poker game – a lot of them also quite enjoy the view.

There’s just the three of them today, coming to meet the kindergarten class at Graymalkin – Logan, Erik, and the still wet behind the ears Summers kid, Alex, fresh out of the Academy. It’s his first time doing a community engagement like this, and his discomfort is obvious, which is why Logan asked Erik to come along and help ease him in.

Parking the truck at the front of the school, they head inside and find Moira – aka Principal MacTaggert already waiting, smiling as Erik introduces her to a visibly nervous Alex.

“Welcome to Graymalkin Public School, gentlemen,” she says, leading them down a familiar hallway towards the Kindergarten classroom. “The kids are super excited; they’ve been talking about it non-stop for the past two days.”

Erik snorts. “I would hope so. We’re up against finger painting and snack time.”

“Is there anything we need to know before we head in, Principal MacTaggert? Anyone with special needs?” Alex asks, keen to do this all very seriously and by the book. Logan smiles at a grinning Erik; they’re definitely going to saddle him with the kid (and there’s always one in every group) who asks all the questions.

“No, nothing out of the ordinary. But we do have a new teacher, Mr. Xavier. He’s covering Ms. Braddock’s leave for the next few months.”

“How ‘new’?” Logan still has flashbacks about the time with the brand new substitute teacher, Mr. Cassidy, and the utter chaos his classroom descended into after only ten short minutes.

“You didn’t tell us about a new teacher,” Erik accuses.

Moira waves away their questions, grinning widely as they arrive outside the classroom door. “Some things are better discovered all on your own,” she replies. “Come say bye when you’re done with Charles and the children.”

And Logan’s mind goes delightfully blank when the door opens and Mr. Xavier is standing there, an absolute vision of hotness in khakis and a navy blue cardigan streaked with chalk.

“Hello, I’m Charles,” he says, and yeah he can tell Lehnsherr is just as stricken by how intently he’s staring at Xavier’s very red lips. “Welcome to Kindergarten.”

----

Logan doesn’t remember much of the actual talk they give to the kiddies, as a) he’s done it enough times now that he can pretty much do it in his sleep, b) Lehnsherr’s actually doing most of the talking, attempting to impress the hot teacher apparently by demonstrating his ability to ‘speak stuff at kids’ and c) he can’t stop imagining Xavier soaking wet, his dark hair matted against his brow and his white shirt under the cardigan clinging enticingly against his chest. The latter actually has a very real chance of happening, on account of the fact that they always take the kids out to see the truck at the end of the talk, and finish off the visit with a – very controlled - shower from the firehose.

He can’t wait.

“—do you have to be really strong to be a firefighter?”

“Well, you do have to be pretty strong to wear the suit and carry all the heavy equipment. And you might have to carry someone out of a burning building, so you definitely need to work out.”

As expected one of the kids – pretty girl named Jean, with long red hair and a mischievous smile – is asking Alex a litany of questions, and he’s doing an admirable job of keeping up with polite and age appropriate answers. But then she stops for a moment and just stares -  first at Logan and then at Erik – and says, “Are you going to do another calendar this year? I heard Mommy ask Mrs. Pryde about it and they’re really excited about getting new pictures.”

Logan will swear this happened to his dying day, that Alex actually turns eight shades of red, and forgets to breathe for thirty seconds. Erik, the bastard is trying hard not to laugh, and even Mr. Xavier is chuckling under his breath, and trying to hide his smirk by redirecting the children’s attention to lining up so they can head out to see the fire truck.

But he stops and murmurs something to Erik, and winks at Logan, before he herds the class of four and five year olds expertly out the door.

Curious, Logan asks, “What’d he say?”  

Smirking, Erik answers, “He said he wants a calendar too.”

[daemoninwhiteround2]

Damian is a jealous little shit when it comes to Jason and his milk. He doesnt like to share him in ANY way when he is nursing. That means that besides from hogging the milk from the rest of the pack, he also wants his undivided attention and affection. He has bitten Jason before to draw his attention back to him whenver any other member of the pack "distracts" him while nursing. At this point Jason has given up. Theres no fixing that kid

Could you please do more mama Jason breast feeding Damian? Maybe before and after they left the League?

Dami is a possesive and jealous little shit over Jasons milk. He doesnt give a shit that he is no longer a little pup and the milk changed its composition, no longer meant for his nutrition but to strengthen pack bonds. He gives no fucks. It was his first and he will be damned if he has to share it. Also thats his Umm'i. The omega that raised him. He doesnt give a shit that he is pack Omega (and the ONLY omega on the pack) Jason was his first. Dami literally has growled at Bruce over his milk

Things...

drift.

Everything happens but none of it catches his attention.

Life flows past him and he is like a stone, unmoved, removed, only ever an observer.

And then

Her.

The one static image in a sea of colour and sound.

Bright green eyes and dark hair.

There’s...

something.

He should ... something.

It flows out of reach and he remains.

And then

Him.

Small, soft.

Warm and heavy in his arms.

Smells like everything good and right in the world.

She does something, shifts him close, and

Wet

Pull

Hurts?

No. 

Is ... right.

Only thing that has been right for...

He cuddles him close and allows the world to drift past them both.

--

Jason only comes to movie night because he twisted one ankle, broke the other and was taken to the Manor against his will and now, since they’ve dumped him in the rumpus room on the second floor, he literally can’t leave. 

“You’re a shit,” he tells Dick, who is not even vaguely attempting to hide his delight as he sticks throw pillows in and around Jason.

It isn’t pulling at his nesting instincts. It isn’t.

“I know you are but what am I?” Dick sing-songs back as he slides another pillow beneath Jason’s ankle. He’s managed to wedge them between a five pillow structure taking up the entirety of the footstool Jason has his feet propped up on; his ankles are definitely raised and also he definitely can’t move his legs without toppling everything.

Even if Jason wanted to get up, he doubts he could struggle out of pillow hell before it all comes falling down and he suffocates to death for a second time.

“Christ, how old are you again?”

“Old enough to know better than to go running around on the street after Freeze has iced it over.”

Hmm. Dick’s got him there.

“Besides,” Dick continues, “it’s been forever since we’ve all hung out.”

Jason pointedly looks around the otherwise empty room. “Yeah, just you, me, and all your friends.”

“Ha ha, Jason, you’re hilarious.” Dick actually has the audacity to roll his eyes. “I mean, Bruce sent Damian back a couple of hours ago, since it’s a school night, and Tim didn’t go out at all, he’s got a big presentation at W.E. tomorrow! So we can all hang out together.” He plumps another pillow, stares at it like it holds the secrets to ... well, a happy family. “It’s been a while since so much of the pack’s been together.”

Jason wants to scoff, but Dick’s tone brings him up short. He’s not even sure Dick meant for him to hear it. He sounds ... wistful.

Dick’s really the only one of them who knows what a happy, well-adjusted pack should be. Jason's family was ... the less said the better, Tim’s were distant and then dead, and Damian...

Dick’s the only one of them who knows what pack could be like. Should be like. The rest of them just have ... hopes, dreams, more formed by TV than anything else. Jason gave, gives Dick a lot of shit for being so desperate to play happy families, but he also ... when Dick’s like this, bringing him down, making him face the reality of their heavily-fractured pack seems ... unnecessarily cruel.

“Whatever,” he finally settles on, performatively rolling his eyes as he reaches for the remote. “I get to pick what we watch though.”

Dick grins, bright and blinding, and Jason remembers why people call him the heart of the hero community.

Fuck, he’d be so good at fulfilling an omega’s traditional role for a pack.

 He basically does already because Jason can’t get his fucking shit together and--

Not. Now.

He flips through the channels, ignores Dick darting in and out, bringing more and more blankets and pillows as he does. By the time Jason’s given up and settled on some random movie, Dick’s herded Tim and Damian into the room. 

Dick settles down on a loveseat close to Jason, not close enough that he feels crowded but not far enough that it’s a snub. Jason ... doesn’t know how to deal with that display of thoughtfulness, so he shoves it under the rug in his mind and glances at his other packmates brothers fellow vigilantes. 

Tim, typically, flops face down into a pile of blankets and pillows and doesn’t move. It’s fairly even odds if he’s already asleep or if he’s going over expense reports in his head.

Damian, on the other hand, shifts his weight from foot to foot, glancing at Dick, at Jason, and at the open expanse of floor. Jason can’t stop himself from tensing up--Damian’s far too disciplined to display such an obvious tell, even after a couple of years of Dick chipping away at the mountain of bullshit Damian was taught by the League.

Dick, of course, notices. “Come sit with me, little D!” he calls and pats the cushion next to him.

Damian tuts and ... sits next to Jason?

Jason shoots him a glance, Damian scowls up at him, looks away and crosses his arms.

Jason chalks it up to Damian not wanting to deal with Dick (which, mood) and focuses on the TV.

--

A warm weight nestles against his side, and Jason blinks back to reality.

“What’s up?” he keeps his voice just loud enough to be heard, hopes to not disturb the others--Dick’s head definitely tilts in their direction, for all he doesn’t actually seem to look over.

“Hungry,” Damian grunts.

Jason pointedly tilts his head at pillow hell. “Can’t exactly help you with that, kid.”

Damian tuts. “Yes you can. You did before.”

Jason freezes. He’s never been really certain that Talia had him interacting with Damian before he took a tip in the worst-reviewed jacuzzi in the world--knows for sure they didn’t after, but when he’d been allowed in the excuse of a nest he’d managed to construct, he’d smelt something like...

That would explain ... a lot.

“I don’t know what you-”

Damian cuts him off. “You’re an omega, aren’t you?”

Dick’s definitely looking at him. The skin on the back of Jason’s neck crawls. “Yes, but-”

“You’re still an omega.”

And with that, Damian shoves Jason’s shirt up to his armpits and latches onto his closest nipple.

Jason nearly shrieks, nearly shoves Damian away, but then he sucks, and

and

he

remembers.

Warm and heavy.

Smelt like everything good in the world.

“Damian,” he murmurs. He feels like he’s just got a 2x4 to the face without the helmet in the way. He feels like he’s been punched in the gut by Bane. He feels like

He feels like...

He...

He lowers his hand until he cups the back of Damian’s neck. Damian crawls forward, doesn’t lift his mouth, and awkwardly curls up into Jason’s lap.

Ever since Jason actually realised he had tits, he’s always found them annoyingly large. He typically wears compression tops and sports bras, the only reason why he’s not is that he’d been planning to go to sleep and he hates wearing one to bed. 

“Guess that explains why,” he says inanely.

Damian’s not actually getting any milk--Jay doesn’t have a pup, for all he babysits Lian, and the pack would have to actively be nursing for him to make milk for them. And yet ... just the action is...

“Little wing,” Dick murmurs from too-close.

Jason turns to look at him, and Dick’s outstretched fingertips brush against his cheek. He freezes, arm still holding Damian close, and stares at his pack’s second.

Dick’s eyes are impossibly blue in the flickering light of the tv.

“Jason,” he says.

Jason ... leans forward, leans into it, but Damian sinks his sharp little baby teeth into his mouthful of tit and snarls all��‘fuck off this omega’s mine’.

Jason reflexively slaps the back of his head, a move he’s seen more than one omega pull on their misbehaving alpha pups.

Dick snorts and backs off, raising his hands like that’ll placate Damian, like they can’t all see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth (like they all can’t see tears pooling in his eyelashes). “Alright, alright, Damian, he’s all yours.”

Dick settles back in his loveseat and Damian settles down. Not even five minutes later and please-content-happy-happy-happy alpha scent floats over from Dick’s direction.

“Really?” Jason arches an eyebrow at Dick. He ignores the fact that he can’t seem to stop himself from combing his fingers through Damian’s hair.

“Really.”

Dick has no right to sound as happy as he does.

This has no right to ... Jason never expected this. Never deserved this. And yet...

And yet.

[cryptid-killjoy]

Frankenstein & Zero HC: It’s getting tense over at the Sherwood Frankenstein Place. Vic’s experimentations were always pretty mad. They were never anything but controversial even way back long before his days with the Kevorkian Clan. His father always looked upon him like a disappointment and a lunatic. Daddy issues are something Vic and Zero both have. He’d been expelled from university, lost funding, gained funding, over and over by different investors of his genius, but with Delta there was a mutual personal interest. That helped seal his loyalty to his current investor. 

The science was there. He just knew it. He was obsessed with it. But, with Zero it was more. It became another personal obsession. True obsession. Mad obsession. It was life. It was death. It was life after death. But, it was more. Zero had it all. He was a like a ghost. He could pass between worlds. Die. Come back. He could be a zombie. There was canine element playing into all that was changing everything known. There was no precedent for it. He was alive. But, he wouldn’t god damn age and not just his body. His body was one thing, but his mind? Zero’s mind wouldn’t mature. His soul was stagnant. It was driving Victor mad. He couldn’t unlock it. 

The aging experimentations weren’t about eternal youth for this Dr. Frankenstein. He’d already cheated death. He needed to fix what he broke. He needed to fix what was stolen from Zero. He’d experiment with dogs. Werewolves. Corpses of all kinds. He’d experiment on himself to the dangerous degree finding ways to recreate what Zero had become. All this mad self experimentation started to even scare Zero and he was hard to scare. 

When Zero tells people he’s avoiding home it’s probably because he knows Vic is in a zombie-like state and has been told to stay away for his own safety. They fight. The physical changes canine, fur, ghostly, zombie, deathly, aging forward or back, they don’t always go away so easily. Things go wrong. Zero has to be the one to deal with the emergency moments of caging him up until it wears off or injecting anti-serums. These are also the reasons Zero doesn’t always invite people to come over without notice first. He makes up slanted variations of excuses. 

Victor’s body is becoming more unstable than Zero’s. Zero often begs him to stop, just stop. He’s not worth all this. But, this is Victor Frankenstein and his mind is ruled by obsession and he’s not going to stop. 

To add to his spiraling out, the night of the BBQ when he let Zero have his blast from the past which was suppose to be one night only, he let it go “too far”. He let himself get caught up. Enough memories, enough stuffed down old feelings all bottled up, enough alcohol, and the past became the present for both of them. It’s driven the madness into overdrive. It’s not how their relationship works anymore and now he’s crossed that line of what he tries to be for Zero, the father figure Zero never had. This is a very delicate line to cross with Zero’s history when he’s a grown man whether they’ve had a teenage love affair once upon a time or not and whether he looked like a teenage boy again at the time or not. 

Tense. Tense. Everything is very tense as it is and very delicate. 

Now comes Pierre. Maddy. Sister love. Throw in the Pierre situation on top of what’s happening in Zero’s life that he never speaks openly to his Everything Guy about and it’s a mess in Zero’s head.

That said, Zero’s past is a factor in his reactions to Pierre, but there’s a Victor element that’s always messed with his head that’s coming into play so much more intensely now. 

Put Victor on the front lines of putting Pierre back together after seeing Bastien pound into smithereens, losing sleep now for him, the wedge between Vic and Zero is growing wider by the day. 

The project of Pierre’s body reconstruction isn’t going particularly well either. Vic hearing Delta’s voice telling him he could get it done or fucking fail was not the easiest thing for Vic to have repeating in his head either when they’d sit down for dinner attempting normalcy. Blood on his clothes was never abnormal. Stains. But, now Zero knew who’s they were every single day. Pierre. Pierre. Fucking Pierre. He couldn’t take it. 

He couldn’t even go to Seven. Seven is either in mortuary school or in his room doing crazy looking rituals with chalk circles and candles just as obsessed as Victor with Pierre right now. Victor doesn’t want to fail Delta and Seven refuses  to fail Pierre right now. Either way Zero can’t get Pierre out of his damn head for two seconds to fucking breathe and think. 

He is constantly ghosting out from stress unstable in his tangibility. Sometimes he’d go back to Dog Mountain in his head like finding his happy place and he could just be okay for just a little while. He’d even smile as images of Pierre and Seven were in those memories. Dog Mountain wasn’t a dream anymore. It was a real place he’d actually been to now with his boys. Then it’d all come around again. He’d want to go see Dallas. Sometimes he would, not much, but sometimes. It’d all come around again. Everything was wrapped up in Pierre. He wasn’t coming to grips with anything yet. He just wasn’t. There was too much happening all around him in play for a mind like his to get a handle on it. Everyone he was used to turning to was too busy for him. 

Thus there was dance. It wasn’t like Zero and Delta weren’t already aligned. They were. But, Delta really didn’t do so many visits so close together as there had been recently. Actually, ever since they’d gotten the Hunch, Delta was becoming more social in that regard. Things were advancing even if the people of this city didn’t know it. Delta was of the belief the most broken soldiers were the strongest and most loyal. It gives them a reason to be loyal. If you don’t make it personal loyalty doesn’t exist. She was playing her cards. But, she also cared. Frank would know that. But, he’d also know if the whole world blew up around them she wouldn’t bat an eye at the loss of the whole herd at once and would be happiest if it was just them again in some infernal dark abyss. 

But, as for Zero, he was a god damn mess and Victor Frankenstein was losing his fight in the sleepless nights of putting Pierre back together again. That obsessed fucker wasn’t giving up. He’d keep going. He’d keep going until he had something to present to Delta. But, it was very certain at this point there was no miracle that Doc Vic was going to pull off to bring Pierre back looking like a smooth and flawless Bollywood pretty boy ever again. 

[ohmy7hearts]

promises and dreams are just falsified hope

when the sky kisses the earth: 2

Summary: Familiar setting, different atmosphere. Your mind is filled with the death of your brother. So Eren imposed a dream into your heart.

Pairings: Eren Yeager x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None, for now.

A/N: I actually stuck to the once per week timeline thing. wow, good job me.

prev

Fist met your jaw. You flung backwards. Back skidding across the ground and eyes meeting the sky. 

Well isn't this my lucky day. 

The pain pulsating from your jaw rendered you frozen, sprawled on the ground with no intention to move. 

Not like you can. The next moment found you breathless and literally wheezing.

Eren groaned, trying to grasp onto the nearest surface to sit up. When his hands met something substantial but not entirely hard, he didn't think twice about it and immediately sat himself up to throw some remarks at Reiner. 

"Woah Eren, easy up on the touching. We're in public, you know?" Reiner smirked, his voice carrying over the training grounds and bored, tired gazes darted to Eren. 

Eren gave his trademark huh. His head was still trying to regain some semblance of normality - hand supporting his head in an attempt to ease the tension - but the crowd grew wild. People whistled and clamoured in approval. His head pounded more with the increasing attention and noise surrounding him. 

"Can you please get your hands off me?" You murmured. "It's getting painful."

At your voice, he whipped his head towards you, meeting your half-lidded eyes but showing no sign of emotions, as if you were asking him to pass you something out of reach. His head then whipped to the other side. 

His supporting hand was on your thigh. His eyes widened in disbelief. Too close. His ears burned. It was lodged in between your hips and thighs and he could feel the pelvic bone underneath. But with his considerably large hands, his thumb is dangerously close - 

Hands grabbed onto the front of his shirt. He had whiplash from how fast his point of view changed - now facing a pissed off Jean - and his legs dangled uselessly before he was shaken to reality by said boy. His feet sunk into the ground, facing Jean with an equally annoyed expression. 

"What the hell is your problem?" Eren snarked. 

"Huh?" Jean's face morphed into a sickly fake smile, scorning. "I should be asking you that!" He shook Eren vigorously - his head looking like it was almost dislocated from his neck - and chalking his headache up to 100 times worse. 

Anger fueling his dazed mind, he grabbed onto the hands, twisting it, before pushing Jean backwards. Jean fell on his ass from the sudden force. Similarly, Eren found himself in a similar - yet more compromising - position. 

The air in your body expelled so suddenly when his body slammed into you yet again. Pain bloomed from where most of Eren's weight laid. But it was gone as soon as it came. 

Landing much more softly than he anticipated, his mind reeled back to his earlier predicament. His face erupting in embarrassment. He scrambled to his feet. 

"Oh God, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" Kneeling by your side, Eren wrapped one of his arms around your shoulders to support you into a sitting position. His eyes checking your face for a reply of sort or any fleeting emotion other than pain. 

He could hear the crowd busting in more cheers at his actions. But he tuned them out on instinct. Worry had him zeroing in on you, senses heightened to pick up even the slightest motion.

"Just fine," You winced. "Another day of training."

Before he could ask you further, an imposing voice interrupted them. "Jaeger, care to explain?"

Spine straightening as habit and eyes darting to the glare of his instructor, Eren gulped. Heart pounding in his chest and sweat collected under his bangs. This looks so wrong no matter how he tried to explain it. 

"Just a small accident sir. Eren landed on me when he too was thrown back by his partner." You answered. His eyes returning to yours which are closed with eyebrows furrowing. You shook your head, trying to shake off the pounding headache but it made it worse, then revealed the orbs underneath. Eyes meeting his. His breath hitched. 

Using the hand gently in yours, you pushed yourself up with Eren being your crutch. With that quick movement, a mind-numbing pain erupted from your midsection, buckling your knees and Eren quickly stood to ensure you didn't fall. His hands go to your waist, guiding you to lean your weight on him. 

"Jaeger, bring her to the infirmary. Dismissed." With a flurry, he turned, glaring at all the gawking cadets, prompting them to leap back into training with enthusiasm.

“Come on, it’ll be faster if I carry you instead.” Just like that, you found yourself in a familiar situation - a reflection of your predicament a few weeks ago. 

You sighed in disbelief, a smile tugging at your lips, and just like that day, you relented. Climbing over his back and wrapping your arms around him. “We should stop meeting like this.”

“Technically, we meet each other every day,” he chuckled and you landed a half-hearted hit on his shoulder. “But what’s wrong with us ending up like this?” 

You wound your body closer to him, voice dropping a few octaves while you breathed it into his ear, “I may start to depend on you a little too much.” A shudder ran through his body. Goosebumps appeared on his skin and the hands around your thighs tightened. You giggled, burying your nose into his neck. 

“You can’t just do that,” Eren’s voice was strained as if it was hard enough to think of those words much less to say them into existence. 

You gave a half-hearted hum as one of your hands crawled to the back of his head, playing with the ends of his hair, cheek planting onto his shoulder. It was silent as you both continued on your path to the infirmary. 

Your eyes roamed over his features. Those teal eyes were beautiful and the steely gaze which reflected his determination sharpened it to look like jewels - you’ve never seen them but with how people described them to be something otherworldly eye-catching and something even money can’t buy, you believe Eren’s eyes were a clear depiction of them. His drive intrigued you and lit a fire within you but when you found out the reason why he’s fighting to begin with, the story pulled on your heartstrings. It was like looking into a mirror whereby it would present the best version of yourself.

And you wondered if he feared anything.

“Hmm? My biggest fear?” Eren spoke. “Losing to the titans.”

“So death?” Hand still playing with his luscious locks.

“No.” The resolve in his voice hardened and your gaze flickered from your hands to his face. “Losing more to them. Like maybe having my friends die in their hands or more of them breaking down the walls, driving us to a corner like a herd of cows before slaughter.” Your heart skipped a beat, hands stopped playing with his hair and all your attention on the boy before you. “I don’t want to die before I kill all those titans. I refuse to.”

You frowned, heart dropping to your stomach and eyes burning with incoming tears, “That’s what my brother said as well. And he died. Some things are fated to happen, you know?”

Eren looked at you, as best as could in the position you both were in, trying to decipher and unravel all your thoughts and emotions because all he could see was a girl trying to keep everything in in the wake of a death of a family you longed to see. He never understood it much when people keep their emotions under wraps, he was always one to confront them head-on. So he cried when his heart was heavy, got angry when his blood boiled, laughed when his body felt light with mirth despite what people claimed he should do. But he wanted to understand. Especially if it meant helping you.

Eren set you down on the infirmary bed, eyes searching for the nurse stationed there but once he came out empty-handed, his gaze landed on you - hands trembling in your laps and eyes vacant, clearly swarmed with the thoughts in your head.

You snapped out of the war in your mind when warm hands enclosed both of yours. Eyes meeting teal. “You know, there’s a land made of ice somewhere beyond the walls.”

“Huh?”

“Even water filled with so much salt that the merchants can’t collect it. Imagine that!” Eren’s grin lifted his eyes to a close. “It was actually Armin’s dream but hearing him talk about it makes me want to see it for myself. The flaming water, snowy fields of sand and everything else that waits for us on the other side of the walls. Freedom!” His hold on you tightened, eyes hardening but smile bright as ever. It sent a jolt down your spine and your breath quickened. “You can come too! See the world with us. Be free.”

Your heart quickened, toes curling. “You want me to come with you? To live your dream? To see… this world? Together?”

He nodded, fingers now intertwining, his smile widening. You frowned, thoughts consuming you, blocking the words stuck in your throat.

“I can’t.” You saw him visibly deflate before your eyes were quick enough to fall to your hands. Hands which are much slacker and the wind passing between your fingers and his biting on the skin. “I can’t promise you that.”

“It’s not a promise.” His voice never wavered, hands now grasping your wrist, prompting you to look up at him. “It’s a dream; a goal. Something to work towards and you know, make life worth living.”

“What’s the difference?” You scoffed, tired and worn out and hollowed.

“Because it’s fate. Like you said, some things are fated to happen, right? Dreams are like fate, guiding us somewhere.” 

Your mind told you to run the other way and never interact with him anymore because he’s danger reincarnated. But your heart yearns for his warmth and to believe him so you did.

[rptv-starwars]

'The Empire Strikes Back' at 40: What the 'Star Wars' sequel's iconic special effects owe to Ray Harryhausen

By Ethan Altered-States (Ethan Alter)

Yahoo Entertainment, Yahoo Movies  •  May 27, 2020

https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/the-empire-strikes-back-star-wars-special-effects-ray-harryhausen-212159259.html

[article was edited for brevity, clarity, and to omit dumb commentary by the original author]

Dennis Muren poses with an AT-AT walker behind the scenes of The Empire Strikes Back. (Photo: Lucasfilm)

-

Both Ray Harryhausen [special effects creator prominent in the 1960s for stop-motion animation] and The Empire Strikes Back (ESB) are celebrating milestone anniversaries this year. 2020 marks the 100th birthday of Harryhausen, the special-effects pioneer behind vintage Hollywood spectacles like The 7th Voyage of Sinbad and Jason and the Argonauts, as well as the 40th anniversary of the second movie in the Star Wars original trilogy.

But they have more in common than the calendar year: The AT-ATs and Tauntauns that walk through ESB are inspired by Harryhausen’s menagerie of stop-motion creatures, from cyclopses to krakens. “They had character, they had performance and they had purpose,” says Dennis Muren, who parlayed a childhood spent watching Harryhausen’s films into a groundbreaking career as a Star Wars F/X legend. “They were wondrous to look at, and the designs of the shots were dynamic. Ray’s work grabbed you emotionally, because it began with him. I’m the same way: being emotionally connected to the performance and design of a character who, simply put, looks really neat.”

Currently the Senior Visual Effects Supervisor and Creative Director at Industrial Light & Magic (ILM), Muren first joined George Lucas’s pioneering visual effects studio in 1976, when it was still making and photographing spaceships in a Van Nuys warehouse. After the success of Star Wars (A New Hope), Muren followed ILM to the Bay Area as Lucas planned for a sequel. “It was the hardest film by far,” Muren says of how ESB came together behind the camera. “Everything just got bigger. The spirit of the film was still fun and adventure, but it had more romance, it had more action, the Empire was bigger and the universe was bigger than we thought on the first movie.”

Muren’s role also expanded with ESB as he took point on directing the fleet of miniatures in the film’s iconic opening on the ice planet, Hoth. With the advent of digital technology still many years away, Muren and his team brought the Rebel’s herd of tauntauns and the Empire’s squad of AT-AT walkers to life by hand. And through it all, he followed the example established by Harryhausen.

“I always think of the Cyclops from The 7th Voyage of Sinbad, who comes out of his cave roaring and angry, and his hands are up because he’s ready to grab one of the sailors,” explains Muren, who later won his first Oscar for his work on the film. (He currently has nine statues, the most of any living person.) “That’s what I always strive to put in my work: that there’s a reason for that creature to be there. You’re not just giving the audience an effect: You want them to feel something from it, whether that’s ‘Oh my God, that’s amazing,’ or ‘Oh, that’s really creepy,’ or ‘Wait, that’s impossible!’”

In honor of ESB's 40th anniversary, Muren walked us through the seemingly-impossible task of making the Hoth sequence, and his own close encounter with his F/X hero.

Yahoo "Entertainment": You said that The Empire Strikes Back was the hardest Star Wars film to make. What was the reason for the degree of difficulty?

Dennis Muren: Well, The Phantom Menace may have been equally difficult, because there was a lot of real groundbreaking work on that in terms of getting all the digital stuff to work. But we had two supervisors on that. For Empire, we had just moved up from Los Angeles, and only brought about 12 people up from the 50 in L.A. and had to hire locally just to get the thing done. All of us working on it wanted to top ourselves, and George had already done that with the designs. The number of lands and battles you saw in Empire was at least five times more than you saw in Star Wars. You had an ice planet and a city in the clouds — how are you going to get that to look right?

Doing any kind of compositing over a light-color background is very, very hard. And the whole movie was full of that in addition to your normal space battles. The vision was so big, and we had a couple of years to do it, but it took us so much time to get the fire to do it and the people to do it. We all wanted what George wanted, which was also what the audience wanted: to show you that this universe is so much bigger than what we saw in Star Wars.

Yahoo "Entertainment": What was the most challenging part of the Hoth sequence specifically?

Dennis Muren: The opening tauntaun shot was one of the most difficult things, and the most interesting. The story behind that was that George had brought back this helicopter shot from Norway [where the Hoth exteriors were filmed], and it was about 200 or 300-feet off the ground with the cameras looking straight down. He didn’t know whether if that shot was going to be necessary to the movie, but at the very end, he said, “Yes, it’s necessary to have this shot. Do you think there’s a way you can add a Tauntaun to this?”

There wasn’t! There were no tracking markers on the ground that would have helped us make the stop motion camera map exactly with the moves the helicopter made, and then we could have combined that with an optical printer. But none of that stuff was there. I thought about building a big model, but I didn’t think it would work with the background. George said, “Well, just think about it.” I spent 15 minutes thinking about it, and figured it out in 15 minutes! I learned an amazing lesson from that: There’s usually an answer, there’s always some way that you can fiddle around with what you know to attempt. If I had stopped thinking at 14 minutes and 59 seconds, we wouldn’t have had that shot in the movie.

Yahoo "Entertainment": The tauntauns definitely feel very Harryhausen in their design and behavior. Did their form match what you could accomplish then with stop-motion or did the stop-motion dictate their form?

Dennis Muren: George had the idea for a galloping horse kind of thing, and I think Ralph [McQuarrie] and Joe [Johnston] worked on the design. I was involved in how we were going to create a setting that looked like it was going to be real, and wouldn’t be encumbered by any of the cameras. I don't know how many shots we had of it — maybe 12 or 15 or something like that, and they were some of the last ones we did. There were a couple that George added right at the very end of that. It was like, “We can finally take a breather after two years, but no, there’s one more shot!”

Dennis Muren (behind the camera) filming Suzanne Pasteur (a friend of Lorne Peterson's) on her horse for tauntaun movement reference. (Photo: Lucasfilm)

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Yahoo "Entertainment": I remember connecting to them very strongly as a kid — I always through they’d be fun to ride.

Dennis Muren: That comes from the design and purpose of it. It doesn’t act like an evil creature: It’s a fairly big, bulky thing and it actually looks kind of cute with a horn and steam coming out of its nose. It’s not a creature that could kidnap you or anything — it’s just a beast of burden. That’s true of all the Star Wars movies: The behavior is familiar, so the audience can relate. Even with the designs of the spaceships; I tried to show how they would bank off to fly to another planet or something, like an airplane would do in the air even though there’s not gravity in space and that would never happen. It looks really neat and you can relate to it.

Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) on a tauntaun on the planet Hoth in The Empire Strikes Back. (Photo: Lucasfilm)

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Yahoo "Entertainment": In terms of the AT-AT walkers, that’s a case where you’re bringing character to a non-living thing. There’s behind-the-scenes footage of the ILM team studying elephants for movement reference.

Dennis Muren: When we saw the designs, we thought they were kind of like big animals. We went to an animal park in Dunn, California, and put a bunch of chalk marks on the elephant and had it walk by left to right and right to left with the camera on. That gave us the weight; those things would have weighed thousands of tons, and we had to make it look like they had gravity or else they were just going to look silly — not as powerful and as evil as they're supposed to look. We also shot the elephants in slow motion to make them look even bigger, and observed traits like how far up the knee goes up and how far forward the body travels. Does the foot just lift up? Does it drop back down again? All that stuff was used as a basis so that when we went to animate, we had a body part to do that.

We also had some really good equipment to look at the frames as we were shooting them and make sure the animation was working well. Like now, there's all sorts of stop-motion photographers, and ours wasn’t done like Ray would have done it where you couldn’t tell if you made a mistake and could go back and say, “Did I move this too far?” We were able to compare and say, “Oh yeah, we did move it too far,” and then change it to move to a better place. So it's probably more of a fluid motion than you might have seen before and that was important. Any sort of chatter in the stop-motion looks like the mechanics of the walkers. They're all mechanical anyway, so there's got to be little bumps and grinds in the motors. So that adds to the feeling, you know?

Yahoo "Entertainment": Besides Hoth, what was your favorite sequence to work on?

Dennis Muren: I don’t know — they’re all so different! [Laughs] I really like the asteroid sequence; that might top Hoth a little bit. It was also really difficult, but a lot of fun to do. George wasn’t interested in the beats of the action, but the attitude. It had to have a certain clarity to see what was going on, which was difficult because the asteroids were coming in from any direction. I did a mock-up of that sequence and realized that everything had to be based on the Millennium Falcon blasting through the asteroids. We came up with the idea of having all the asteroids going in one direction, from one side of the screen to the other, and then you could show how the Falcon makes evasive maneuvers.

Yahoo "Entertainment": Did you get a chance to meet Ray Harryhausen before his death in 2013?

Dennis Muren: Oh, yes. I was probably about 14 at the time, and he used to be in the phone book as was almost everybody else in those days in L.A. I called him up, and he was living up in Malibu, so my mom drove me two hours up to his house, and I met him and his wife. They were just the nicest couple in the world. They invited me in for an hour or two, and we kept in touch. As I got older, I went back to his garage and showed him my home movies, and he showed me some of his early home movies. He was a kindred soul. He later moved to England, so I didn’t see him very often after that.

Special effects legend Ray Harryhausen working on a model for a Clash of the Titans character. (Photo: Courtesy Everett Collection)

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Yahoo "Entertainment": Did he ever visit you while you were making Star Wars or Empire?

Dennis Muren: No, but I did see him while I was working on Dragonslayer. We were at the same studio in England, and he was making Clash of the Titans. I think I brought him by to show him the dragon, and the rear-projection work. We were working on the next step beyond stop-motion, which was the combination of animation with a motion-controlled motorized camera. He didn’t entirely relate to that, and I can understand why: It could take five days if you’re lucky to get a full shot. At the end of the day, [his method] didn’t have quite the realism that ours ended up having, but he also had the energy to just get in there and grab the figure with his hand and spend the next eight hour animating it.

After Empire and things like the Tauntaun sequence especially, I realized that we needed to get away from stop motion and try and look for something else. I would say that we didn't get the tauntaun to move quite as much as we wanted to, and there were some shots that we didn’t quite finish. But George was utterly accommodating about everything, and there was a feeling of real accomplishment when it was all over. Empire just opened everything up: You can see there’s a lot more stories you can tell, and they’re still going on.

[rovvboat]

New Found - Cable/Nathan Summers x Reader

Requested by @marvel-forever-17 <3 <3 <3 <3 Sorry it took so long!! Hope you like it :D (P.S. There was supposed to be ~smut~ but I decided against it alksnfklanfklnf :P

Word Count: 1.9k 

Summary: When a sudden spout of all-round lethargy and nausea overcomes Reader, they chalk it up to their bad eating/sleeping habits. But when they dig deeper, Reader finds out they’re pregnant, and tries to figure out a way to break the news Nathan.

Warnings:  nausea mentions; slight angst - but mostly fluff 

It has been 2 years since you and Nathan had gotten together. Starting a family had always been something you wanted to do, especially with the man you loved so – but never at the expense of his own feelings.

He had a complicated history, and you felt like that was your duty to keep him from having to confront issues that were too close to his heart – lest he should wallow. He had enough on his plate as it was, and if he wanted to, he’d have brought it up himself.

Which is why you took birth control pills.

And which is why you’re now paying for the disastrous consequence of forgetting it that one time a month ago.

The whole world stops, as you stand there, the striking feeling of the icy cold toilet floor now forgotten; your eyes were fixed on the two blue lines that stood stark across the white stick that held the answers to why your body had been failing you for the past week. Though you were far from showing, you knew that your body didn’t quite feel the same.

What is Nate going to say?

You slump your body onto the closed toilet seat, head in your hands, as the doubts creep up on you.

What am I going to do?

But before long, you hear Nathan enter your room, followed by a few knocks on the bathroom door.

‘’You okay in there, darlin’?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m fine! Be right out!’’ You feign your normal cheerful nature, before flushing the toilet and throwing the pregnancy kit into the waste basket, making sure to cover it up with some toilet paper.

 In the following days, walking, eating, drinking and even breathing sometimes became an arduous task – and it didn't help that you'd get absolutely winded just getting up and down the steps of the mansion.

 "Wow, go out much, Rumplestiltskin? Guess all that fast food and soda’s really doing a number on you, huh?" Wade calls out from his post at the dining table as you enter the kitchen; whilst a plate of pancakes dripping with syrup sits in front of him.

Seated next to Wade was Domino, who just looks at you with a curious expression marked on her face – her chin resting gently on her hand.

You shoot Wade an annoyed look, before rolling your eyes. You grab your mug and stride toward the coffee pot. You felt a dull throbbing at the side of your head all night, coming and going as it pleased – leaving you sat up in bed trying to massage the knots in your neck – until a very sleepy Nate awoke to find you frowning at nothing, and offered to massage your neck.

 "Looks like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed. I’m not sharing if you’re going to give me that attitude, kiddo." He remarks, pointing at you with his fork, before turning his attention back to the pancakes.

 "Well, he is kind of right you know. No offence but you look pretty awful, Y/N... Do you need anything?" Domino asks, worried.

 "I know... but don’t worry, I think it's just all the terrible food I've been having. Nate – and dare I say Wade – are both right. I have to start– "

 Your eyes widen when you feel your stomach protest every food decision you’ve made since birth, as the nausea forces you to take notice of it. The dull discomfort triples into full blown sickness and before you know it, you're in the nearest toilet, hunched over and vomiting whatever you ate the previous night.

 You let you face loom over the toilet bowl, one hand gripping over the side, when you feel a strong hand rubbing down your back.

"That's it, let it out..." Nate's low, just-woken-up voice rumbles next to your ear.

 You let the last of it out before getting up to wash your mouth in the sink.

 "How'd you know I was here?"

 "Guess we're just meant to be, sweetheart." Nate yawns, rubbing his face before washing up as well.

 You wait for him by the door, and walk back into the kitchen with him for some much needed breakfast.

Though you still didn't feel up for solid foods, you relented when Nate offered – or rather, insisted – that he make some oatmeal for you.

 Once breakfast was over, you did some stretches out in the courtyard where everyone else were training or just starting out the day with a jog. You wanted to go out and train with Colossus like you normally do, but you felt much too weak.

 Nate watches as your eyes get droopy and hooded, in the tell-tale way they do when you just don't have the energy, and walks briskly over to you.

 "You feeling alright, doll? Maybe training today isn't the best idea."

 Your face tells him all he needs to know, and he has you herded back into the mansion in a second.

He settles you onto the bed, making sure your back rests gently against the head board, before helping put your legs up onto the bed. He walks over to the other side of the bed and joins next to you.

 "Come lie down on my lap. It'll do you some good."

 You oblige, and lie down on your back, lowering your head onto his lap. His fingers graze your forehead, pushing away the strands of hair sticking onto your face. You guide his free hand to your stomach, and place it there for comfort.

 "Does it hurt, darlin’? Maybe we should bring you to the doctor."

 "No, it's fine… I’m just... a little uneasy. I'll be fine in a few hours." You reassure him, placing a hand over his. You let your eyes close, as you slowly relax and, without realizing, you’ve fallen back to sleep.

  In the next few weeks, Nate watches you deny any allegations of not being well; getting increasingly worried by the day. Your stubborn nature dictated that you never be left behind on a mission, and you'd shoo away any assistance Nate would offer.

You didn’t want him to know, but you knew you had to tell him if you were going to make a decision.

 He barges in one day – whilst you were busy doing maintenance work on your guns and blades after a particularly daunting recon mission – at which you almost fainted due to heat exhaustion.

You were rubbing the cloth up and down the barrel of the gun, when his metal hand brings the gun down to the table – the look on his face stern and unyielding.

 "Our room. Now."

 You knew what was coming – he had been constantly reminding you to take care of yourself – even going as far as to prepare some healthy (albeit horrendously) bland foods for you.

 Though he's used to giving into your whims, you knew better than to not take him seriously when he has his face set in that unmistakable frown – with the heavy creases formed on his forehead, usually only ever reserved for Wade.

 You tail quietly behind him and – when you catch up next to him – innocently slip your hand into his, in a more or less last-ditch attempt to ease the tension.

His hand accepts yours with ease, as you place your chin on the side of his arm – looking up at him with curious eyes, trying to draw his attention.

 He doesn't acknowledge your prodding expressions and has his sights dead straight on the door at the end of the hallway – and so you decide to just brace yourself for an earful.

 He sits on the edge of the bed and motions for you to do the same.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he takes a deep breath and sighs – his demeanor changing from hard and stern to one of more... patience.

 "Y/N, I know you've been unwell these past few weeks– "

 "No, I'm just–" You interject.

 "Let me finish, sweetheart," his voice turns soft, as he brings up a hand to the side of your face.

"I just want you to take care of yourself, okay? Or at least let me take care of you. You can't hide from me – especially when you're not feeling well."

 You plaster your legs together, your hands on your knees – subconsciously making yourself smaller. You avoid any and all eye contact with him – focusing down on the lines of the wooden flooring instead.

 "Is there something wrong?"

You knew that worry in his voice all too well, But...

You weren't prepared for what he might say if you were to tell him.

 The anxiety in your chest, pounding away at your ribs, moves up to your neck. He watches you tense up, and reaches out to your hand.

He brings it up to his lips, tenderly kissing the back of your hand – eyes closed, as if what he was feeling was too much.

Your eyes widen at him; You've never seen this side of Nate before.

 "I hope you know that I'm here for you no matter what. I need you to know that I'm not going anywhere." He looks at you, and any fool could see that he loved you to bits.

 You could feel the anxiety vanishing – an airy feeling now slowly taking its place.

Airy, yet completely grounded. Safe.

 You shift towards him, wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your head onto his chest as you – finally – let out all the worries you had been carrying with you.

Nate leaves loving strokes down your back, his chest reverberates as he lullabies, "It's alright, you're good, I'm here, sweetheart," into your ears.

 You lay there against his chest; all the strain of your secret having been washed away.

You look up to Nate, whose eyes find yours.

 "I have something to tell you." You mumble, your voice low.

"I'm all ears for you, darlin'" Nate reassuringly squeezes your hand.

 "I... I'm..." You close your eyes, and take a deep breath, "I'm pregnant."

 You watch to see Nate's reaction, but his face doesn't change – save for a knowing smile.

"Is that true now?"

 You tilt your head at his surprisingly composed enquiry. His eyes twinkling in a knowing way, almost as if....

"You knew?"

 "I had a feeling. I suspected something when you'd tell me you felt nauseous in the mornings. We both chalked it up to your terrible diet, but I also noticed that every time I kissed you, you tasted a little like... metal."

 "You're kidding… The baby’s techno-organic too?" The concern slips out your mouth and covers your entire face. Nate descends into laughter, and you swat at his shoulder – ‘’I’m serious, Nate!’’

 He looks back at you, "That's just what happens when you’re pregnant, doll. It’s normal. But… I also saw the pregnancy test next to the toilet."

You bring a palm up to your face. You totally forgot to hide the evidence.

 You feel Nate's warm hand on your forehead, brushing away your hair as he places a kiss your forehead – breathing you in as he does.

"You have no idea how much joy it brings me, to know that we're having a kid."

 His words surprise you. You've always pegged him as someone who wasn't interested in having another family – and you voice it out to him delicately.

 "Are you kidding? I would’ve done anything to be with you. I want this, to have a family with you. I probably have since the day I met you. But I didn't think I was ready."

His soulful eyes linger over yours, his hand cupping your cheek as he brings his forehead to yours.

 "But I take one look at you, and it all feels right."

 "It does when I look at you too." You hum. Nate’s lips meet yours, eyes closed, taking in a sharp breath.

And as he breaks the kiss, he doesn't move away. He watches you for a moment – and the deepest,

warmest,

fullest feeling fills you up.

"Then I think we'll be alright, darlin'."

 The rest of the night is spent with you laying your head on Nate's chest – your fingers running over the palm of his hands, down the length of his fingers – as you talked about baby names, whilst your eyes slowly fluttered shut against the soft tenors of his voice;

where "I love you, Y/N" is the last thing you hear before drifting off.

[ask-de-writer]

This WIP is not MLP related at all.  THE FALL OF OAKENFIELD UNIVERSITY is a Prequel to Slave in Pard.

This story is rated YA

THE FALL OF OAKENFIELD UNIVERSITY

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

6101 words so far, work is incomplete

© 2018 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 06/03/17

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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Sande was humming happily to herself as she worked to clean Professor Standar's office. She was mulling over his recent lecture on the pervasive nature of the magical field that only unicorns, with their horns, could control.  As she worked, she looked at the big office slateboard.  

She was emptying his trash into a rolling bin.  She added the dust that she had collected from his shelves, books and corners by the use of magic from her horn.  To help her concentrate on the carpet, where her magic was making the dust rise and scooting it into the bin, she actually looked at what Professor Standar had chalked on his board.

A bit excited by what she saw, she took a chalk and went to the empty board.  She wrote neatly, “Professor, I am 3rd year student Sande. I saw your problem because I am working part time as a janitor, and was assigned to clean your office.  

“I believe that the problem that you are working on will reduce more easily as a five function matrix, like so.”

Under that, she chalked his beginning mathemagic and then the steps to convert the unwieldy original expression into a matrix.  Then she proceeded to transform the matrix by clear steps to a solution.

She replaced the chalk in its tray and was turning to go when she found her way blocked by the Professor himself.

Mildly he observed, “I see that you have seen fit to use my chalk board.  What did you think so important that you did not clean it off when you were done?”

He ambled over and began to examine Sande's derivation and solution carefully.  Turning to her he spoke with mock severity, “This solves a problem that I have been working on for three weeks!  That causes me a great difficulty.  I now have to completely rewrite the opening of my latest paper to be presented to the Society.  I have to include you as the one who provided the complete Mathemagical proof of the whole idea!”

He broke into a grin and gave Sande a hug.  Leading Sande by the hand, Professor Standar practically skipped as he lead her away from her work cleaning his office.

As she was pulled along to the next building, her dark brown mane flipping about in the breeze, she panted, “Where are we going?”

Gleefully, Professor Standar replied, “To see Professor Greenleaf!  He and I have been working on this paper for weeks but could not figure out how to derive the matrix from the essential expression!”

As they were entering the cool halls of the Mathemagical Annex, Sande puffed, “I do not think that this is a good idea.  Professor Greenleaf does not like me.”

Professor Standar paused just short of knocking on an office door.  He turned to Sande and asked, “Why would he not like you?”

She bit her lip nervously before replying, “I was sitting in on his Theoretical Mathemagic 620 symposium.  He put up the assumption that only the horn of a unicorn could tap, shape and utilize the overall Magical Field.  I questioned whether other things might be able to tap or alter the Field, since it is easily detected to be stronger near groves of trees, for instance.

“He grew very angry and angrier still, when he found that I was not even enrolled in that upper division class.  After that, he has tried to get me removed from the University several times.  

“He found that I have no Herd Backing nor support.  I pointed out that the Greenswale Herd, that I came from, was merged with the Know Nothing Herd by force.  He got all my scholarships pulled.  I earned enough off of one job last summer to pay for my entire third year, books and lab fees included.

“He got my other work study jobs pulled, except for this janitorial one.  That freed me enough time to entertain at foal parties and play table-top strategic games.  Both pay quite well.  The parties I do for fees and I place bets on the games.”

In a dry voice, Professor Standar asked, “Is that all?  It seems more than a little extreme.”

Quietly Sande replied, “No.  At the Mathemagic 302 mid term, he gave me a separate test from the rest.  Nine problems on deriving and processing matrices and one on reducing raw data from a Metastable Structure experiment.  He gave only three sheets to show my work.

“Without actually grading it, he simply wrote an F on it when I handed it in.  I filed a departmental appeal.  Three witnesses, two of them faculty, saw him do it.

“All that I asked for in the appeal was sufficient sheets to actually show my work in detail while the appeal committee watched and to be fairly graded on what I did.”

Professor Standar, nodded slowly, “I did not know that was you.  I and the whole rest of the faculty heard about it.  You needed fifteen sheets to show your work.  At grading, YOU had to lead the Mathemagic faculty through your methods and reasoning.  They gave you an A+.

“Since Mathemagic 302 only deals with Linear Expressions, both inequalities and equalities, the Appeal Committee removed you from the class with a stipulated A+ grade and pulled you from classwork entirely.  

Professor Greenleaf was furious because the rest of the department gave you a challenge degree in Mathemagic.

“What are you working on now?”

Sande straightened up proudly, “I have been expanding Horimizu's zero sum placeholder expression idea.  It is really quite interesting.”

Just at that moment, the door opened and the red roan unicorn looking out, snapped, “I heard that!  Why are you even here?  You have been forbidden to do janitorial work in the Mathemagic building!”

Professor Standar cut in, “I brought her here because she wrote something on my slate work board that . . .”

Triumphantly, Greenleaf interrupted, “She did?  Excellent!  I will have her cast from the University for this affront to Faculty!”

Professor Standar said mildly, “I said nothing about an affront to Faculty.  In fact, I will give you the same twenty minutes that she had in my office to duplicate what she wrote.  If you cannot, I will have you withdrawn from our Active Metastable Structures paper.  What she wrote took our lab derived expression, which is on your work board too, and derived a matrix, processed it to a specific solution and from it derived a general solution.

“That is what I brought her here to show you.  

“I see that you still are attempting to remove her from the University because she embarrassed you.  Your efforts are a Direct Violation of the University's Primary Code.”

In outrage, Professor Greenleaf demanded, “How can you even say that!  I have devoted my life to the development of Mathemagic!”

Sande stood back to let the Professors squabble it out.

Standar snapped back, “And at the first serious question of the basic assumption that our horns are unique in their ability to tap and manipulate the Magic Field, instead of investigating, as LOVE OF TRUTH would require, YOU tried to silence the questioner!  Some LOVE OF TRUTH!

“That test that you gave to her, as a MIDTERM in Mathemagic 302?  It was rated BY YOUR DEPARTMENT as a graduate level written and oral exam!  She got an A+ and was removed from Mathemagical classes with both a Bachelors and a Master's Degree!

“Last year you conspired to remove her grants and scholarships to force her to leave!  Instead, she did ONE job, over the harvest break and Paid THE FULL BALANCE of her third year in advance.”

Grimly, he demanded, “Twenty minutes, Greenleaf!  The matrix, processing, specific solution, and general expression.  That is all the time that Sande had and she did it!

“Match her work or lose the paper.”

Sande spoke up, concern in her voice, “No, Professor Standar.  That would be a mistake.  Simply because I did this part, does not mean that Professor Greenleaf would not have valuable input.

“In the Library I have read everything that he has published.  Aside from the single error about the unicorn's horn being the sole means of harnessing and utilizing the Magical Field, his work is excellent.”

Sour at having his part in an important academic paper saved by a mare that he detested, Professor Greenleaf invited, “Why don't you come in and show me what she has stumbled onto?

“As for her mad assertion about the magical field being manipulated by anything but the horn of a unicorn, I have never seen any proof of it!”

Sande remarked casually, “After we have dealt with this expression, I will give you a free demonstration of a non horn initiated magical field accumulation.”

Gesturing at an empty slate board, she said, “With your permission?”

Growling under his breath, Professor Greenleaf snarled, “Go ahead!  Show me what we have been missing!”

Nodding, Sande rewrote the basic expression with one more factor and began to reduce it into the matrix.

Greenleaf slapped the chalk from Sande's hand, pronouncing triumphantly, “This is garbage!  The expression that you added works out to ZERO!  It makes no difference!”

Sande gave him a withering glare and snapped, “Didn't the reprimand for PREGRADING my midterm in Mathemagic 302 teach you ANYTHING?

“In the SPECIAL CASE of THIS METASTABLE STATE, it is ZERO ONLY AFTER metastability is achieved.  That is when all the measurements were made.  That's why it was missed.”  She turned back to the board and chose another piece of chalk to finish creating the matrix.

As she was processing the matrix, Professor Greenleaf's keenly watching eyes flew open!  He grabbed a piece of chalk of his own!

Checking against Sande's matrix and her restatement of the original expression, he began to sketch a graph of his own.  It started at zero and rose in an asymptotic curve to positive three, dropped to negative three and rose following a similar curve up to zero, where it repeated itself.

He then wrote out the solution to Sande's matrix and produced the generalized expression.  He put his chalk down before Sande did and pronounced, “I not only beat her time, Standar, I have discovered a repeating function in the magical field that will be worth an entire paper by itself!”

Without pausing her work, Sande pointed to Greenleaf's chalk board and stated, “In ANY mathemagic class, that would be marked as a failure.  

“You failed to show any of your work.  Not the derivation of the graph points, not the matrix processing, nor the three steps from the specific solution to the generalized one.

“Besides, since I did get a departmentally given advanced degree out of your improperly administered and graded Mathemagic 302 midterm, I have the right to submit papers for peer review.  MY paper covering that function and the other five revealed in examining data from other Metastability experiments is already in peer review.  

“If you published that, when a faculty witness saw you lifting it out of my demonstration work, I would be forced to charge you with plagiarism.”

She put down her chalk and turned to Professor Standar and pointed out, “I did say that it would be a mistake to remove him from your paper.  As you can see from what he has done here, as soon as he had a prompt in the correct direction, he is both brilliant and insightful in Mathemagical analysis.

“It is a pity that he has had to be given a formal Board of Deans Order of Non Interference about having any further contact with me academically or financially.  That is why he is being kept from my papers until they are released.”

Reaching across Greenleaf's desk, Sande picked up a sheet of paper and a quill.  Her eyes widened just a little.  She glanced away from the desk top and began to draw a small design near one corner of the paper.

“This part is a trigger for the demonstration that I promised you, Professor Greenleaf.  The rest of the design will be the Accumulator for the Magical Field, with no horn needed to create it or use it.  She finished her drawing, bending the corners of the paper up over the design, Sande tore a small rip through the trigger part.

She sailed the folded paper toward the center of the room.  With a green flash of released magical field, a loud and surprising POP! the paper suddenly burst apart into a fountain of small confetti!  Only tiny fragments of shredded paper drifted to the floor.

While the others were both staring at the surprising result of Sande's demonstration, she snatched two bundles of papers from Geenleaf's desk and put them into her large waist pouch.

She calmly steered Standar out of Greenleaf's office while he was espostulating, “You promised to give me that demonstration!  I must have a sheet with the design on it!  You promised!”

Over her shoulder, Sande retorted, “I promised a demonstration of Magical Field Accumulation without the use of a horn!  Not to show you how it was done!  You got to see it happen!  Now you know that it can happen!  Your axiom about the unicorn's horn is PROVED wrong!”

Outside, Sande dragged Professor Standar to the office of the Dean of Schools of the University.  Inside, she greeted the mare at the desk with, “Hi, Vanara!  Do you have a file copy of the Greenleaf Academic Restriction notice with his signature?  I need it and I need to see the Dean as soon as possible!”  She slapped a short pile of paper on the counter.

Vanara turned to a file cabinet and extracted the document before saying, “What is happening, Sande?  Oh!  I see that you have the printing office galley proofs for your latest paper!  Have you finished the markup yet?”

Grimly, Sande replied, “I did not get them from the printing office.  They were intercepted and being improperly marked up by Professor Greenleaf. Along with the markup, he was writing a rebuttal, part of which claims my expansion of Horimizu's zero sum placeholder expression.  I have it, too.”

Vanara reached across the counter and took the galley proofs to examine.  She held out a hand for the rebuttal paper and examined it.

She signaled one of the waiting student office runners.  

Grim of voice, Vanara instructed, “Get the Printing Office sign out log for . . .” she examined the galley proof and finished, “Junnea fourth, this year.  Bring it directly to the office of Dean of Schools Honner.”

The runner simply repeated, “Galley sign out log for Junnea fourth, Dean Honner's office, yes Mam!”  He left at once.

Vanara left her desk and went to a door down the hallway that her counter blocked access to.  There was a swift but quiet conversation.  Vanara gestured for both of them to come to the office.

As they were seating themselves, Sande noticed the headline of a newspaper hanging over the desk of Dean Honner.  It proclaimed, “Know Nothing Herd Burns Leafhome University!”

She commented to Professor Standar, “See that?  It means that we are the last college or university left between the Southern Sea and the Skywall Mountains.”

Standar replied, “I know.  The Know Nothings tried to use their 'common sense' thinking to guide farming in the nation of South Plains.  It has resulted in a massive crop failure and much spoilage of what was harvested.  Grains of all sorts were especially hard hit.”

Sande whistled softly.  “They were only just recovering from that drought. This crop failure will cause a flood of refugees from that whole area. Where will they go?”

Dean Honner shrugged, “Disaffected unicorn refugees have been making their way through the only known pass in the Skywall for over twenty years, now.  There is supposed to be a rich plain on the other side, called the Green Sea.  I expect that many of them will go there.”

Sande pointed out, “Perhaps not all that many.  If reports are to be believed, that Green Sea colony has been at war for nearly five years with a confederation of tigers and leopards called Pard.  Even if I was hungry, I am not sure that I would want to go to some place where I might get eaten!”

Dean Honner nodded. “I do understand what you are saying, Sande.  Unfortunately, that is not all the story.  The Green Sea colony is also sending several tonnes a month of top quality fodders back through the pass.”

Sande quietly touched her lips before saying, “Suddenly I can see the motivation for starving herds to take that risk.”

Vanara re entered the room and placed a folder on Dean Honner's desk.  As she was leaving, Professor Greenleaf barged into the room, pushing her out of his way!

Ignoring all else, Greenleaf planted both hands on Dean Honner's desk and demanded, “You must dismiss that MARE, Sande, at once!  She entered my office, where she has no right at all, and she STOLE important papers from my desk!”

Professor Standar interrupted Greenleaf's tirade dryly with, “Actually, Professor, that is WHY we are having this meeting with Dean Honner.  It appears that . . .”

Greenleaf rounded on Standar, in the process seeing Sande for the first time.  “What is that MARE doing here?  She stole papers from my desk!  She was not even supposed to be in the Mathemagic Building at all!”

Professor Standar pointed out calmly, “She is filing a formal complaint against you, Professor Greenleaf.  The charges are violation of the University's restriction on contact with Sande or pre-publication access to her papers or other intellectual works or property.

“Speaking of theft, you took the galley proofs of her paper expanding Horimizu's zero sum placeholder expression.  You were re writing it to make it appear to be intellectual garbage while claiming her insights and discovery as your own in a 'rebuttal' paper.”

“I would never stoop so low!  She is a mere mare and a only a third year student, besides!  As such, she has no right to lofty thought!  As a student, she cannot properly publish papers in any case!”

Dean Honner interrupted dryly, “Greenleaf!  The reason that THIS third year student CAN publish papers is those Bachelors and Masters degrees that she won from fair judging of her midterm exam given by YOU, last term.

“The brilliant work on those fifteen pages of Mathemagic that she needed to answer your nine questions, two of which were classical unsolved conjectures, BECAME her first paper, and YOU KNOW IT!  Since then, she has already published two more papers and had the final peer reviews done and galley proofs prepared for her FOURTH paper, the one that you directly stole from the Printing Office.”

Dean Honner flipped open the file that Vanara had given him.  Greenleaf blanched as he recognized the contents of the file.  It was the Printing Office's Sign Out Log for Junea Fourth and under it were several standard Witness to Conflict forms.

Spreading out the incriminating evidence, Dean Honner continued, “Your inability to recognize her obvious intellectual capacity AND your continued efforts to have her removed from the University alone would have caused what I am now forced to do.  Add to those infractions, your direct violation of the Board of Deans order of Non Interference by this outrageous attempt to plagiarize her work and discredit her, force me to enforce the Non Interference Order's penalty clause.

“Professor Greenleaf, your tenure at Oakenfield University is terminated!  One more infraction and you will be removed from the faculty.  Am I clear?”

Dean Honner gave Professor Greenleaf a red sheet of warning.  He added, “After this egregious violation of the University's trust, you may not even publish comments or letters regarding ANY of Sande's work.

“Please leave my office.  If I have to call you back, it will be to sever you from the University.”

The furious Greenleaf slammed the door on his way out.

Dean Honner shook his head at Greenleaf's behavior.  Then his distinguished white furred muzzle broke into a smile and he asked, “Sande, are you going to be at the Horn and Hog for War Game Night tonight?”

She nodded, her horn bobbing happily as she replied, “I am looking forward to it, Sir.  You give me a real challenge.”

Standar looked up at the framed medals and Wide Plains general rank badges on Honner's wall and said skeptically, “How often can you win against a general of Honner's experience?”

It was Honner who suggested, “Why not come and see for yourself?  If I am lucky, I win two out of five games with her.  Sande really keeps me sharp.”

That afternoon, Professor Standar accompanied Sande down the well shaded cobbled road to the village of Oaken Woods.  The many farms surrounding Oaken Woods showed clearly the beneficial effect of being close to the famous University.  The fields and orchards were not only well tended, they were filled with the unique and highly productive strains of fruits and grain provided by the Agricultural School.  To his pleasant surprise, he saw the farmers using metastable structures in the harvesting of hay and grain.

As the muscular field mares swung their scythes to fell the crops, the metastable structures attached to the scythes gathered it into shocks and bound it with strings of twisted grass stalks.  On the farms, even the stallions were working to get the crops into the barns.  They were pulling big farm wagons that were being loaded by stallions using different metastable magic structures attached to the wagons.  Shocks to be loaded were simply placed into the structure, which lifted it and placed it in the wagon.

Pleased at seeing his theoretical work being put to practical uses, Professor Standar mused, “I did not know that the school had released any of my work for general uses.”

Sande nodded as she strode ahead.  Looking back, she replied, “This is an experiment by the Agriculture School and authorized by Dean Honner.  If it is as successful as it appears to be, it will be put into general use next year.  It should earn both the University and you some handsome royalties.”

“I see.  How stable are the structures that they are using?”

Sande grinned as she stated, “They only last about three to four hours.  Re setting them takes around twenty minutes, which gives the workers a welcome break.  At the moment, it looks like your work has improved harvest efficiency by about 20 to 30 percent.”

By then, they had passed into the village proper.  Sande guided them around several turns to a substantial half timbered building with large multi pane windows in front.  The sign out front swinging in the breeze proclaimed it to be THE HORN AND HOG.

Inside, the main room was only lightly crowded but it was filled with the beery scent of fermented locoweed.  The lanterns and iron candle candle sconces cast a reasonable amount of light.  It was late enough that the windows contributed almost none.  There were soot trails up the walls above the wrought iron candle sconces. The floor was flaked bark, comfortable underhoof.

They crossed the room, dodging around tables where many disreputable looking unicorns were busy losing what money they had in assorted card and dice games. A few were winning.  Not many.  Mares in skimpy attire were lacing their way through the press of customers, carrying large trays filled with drinks or dishes of food.

Sande led them to a door and held it open for professor Standar.  The back room was far quieter.  Many unicorns, both mare and stallion, were standing around five tables.  A sixth table was in use.  A large bookshelf next to it had holes where volumes now on the table were being consulted and pages of notes being taken.

Dean Honner looked up with a big smile.  “Sande!  We were waiting for you!  The vote went to the Tomb River Campaign.  We were just setting up the Crane Creek battle to kick things off!  Which side will you take?”

Without hesitation, Sande replied, “South Plains!  We beat them so bad in that one that fighting it from their side will be fun!  What do I have to work with, General?”

Dean Honner commented to Professor Standar, “The kids know that I was a General in this very war, so the whole club calls me General.”

He handed Sande a sheaf of papers.  “Here are your troops and disposition at the start of hostilities.  You will find that we actually copied captured scouting reports for you too.”

Sande nodded, while leafing through the data.  Breaking into a grin, she put four gold coins in a tray beside one of the game tables.  She announced, “Crane Creek table ante is four gold!  Pick your staff General and ante up!”

Coins hit the tray. The General and three others took the Wide Plains Republic side of the table.  Sande took a wand like pointer and reached into the table top which was a complete reproduction of the Crane Creek battlefield and surrounding area projected by controlled magic.  She began to use it to array her forces, which were seriously outnumbered.  As he walked about the table, Professor Standar realized just how subtle its design was.  From each side, all that could be seen of the opposition was what the field command saw from their place in the old battle or wherever they placed command and scouting for this re fighting of it.

He overheard the General muttering to his three subordinates, “Just as I suspected, she is pulling a fast one on us.  I can only see about half of what I saw in real life when I fought this battle!  We need scouts out yesterday!  Move it!”

One of his assistants muttered back, “I am working on it already.  When she said that it would be fun to fight from the South Plains side, I knew that she already had the fix in!”

One muttered, “Found them, I think.  That woods that is supposed to be too boggy to get a force through?  Three scouts looking it over have vanished.”

The General nodded sagely, “Have to wonder how she got them there, if she did.  Probe it in force with a platoon.  See what sort of responses we get.  Hold the main force in position.”

As he watched the action unfolding, Standar realized that this game was like none that he had seen before.  It was not turn based.  Both sides were moving simultaneously.

The next report was, “Sir!  The platoon was driven off by aimed archery and crossbow fire.  The enemy is staying hidden in the forest for now.”

The General gave a satisfied snort.  “Crafty of her.  Leave a force sufficient to deal with the reserves that she put out for us to see and hit the forest hard.  We want to draw her out to better fighting ground if we can.”

As the Wide Plains Republic forces started to strike the boggy forest, Sande's “reserves” began to charge the superior force in front of them. Every copse or thicket that they passed yielded up more disciplined war mares, augmenting the charging army!

They did not simply outnumber the now defending force, they suddenly began a leap frog advance.  The pausing forces taking the time to fire an archery barrage into the defenders before rejoining the advance.

By the time that it came to spear and sword, the defenders were severely reduced and quickly cut to pieces!  Sande's attack then pivoted and charged the main Wide Plains force from the rear!

The General was swearing in admiration as the trap closed on his troops.  They were being forced into the boggy forest and it WAS too swampy for them to hold cohesion as a force.

The Wide Plains Republic had to raise the white flag.

A cheerfully smiling Sande scooped up the table ante and collected a number of side bets as well.

The next battle and the one after that all fell to Sande's skill at warfare.

The golden coins of the Wide Plains Republic antes fell into Sande's purse!  She took not only the table antes, she collected side bets in profusion.

The club members were conferring with the General and had three military histories out on a working table.  Sande looked over their shoulders and exclaimed, “The Hardrock Chasm Stand!  That is one of the best classical battles.  The Wide Plains Republic army was outnumbered over one hundred to one!  In spite of that they held off South Plains for six days, until reinforcements could arrive and drive South Plains back!”

The General looked up from his books and asked skeptically, “I presume that you have had some thoughts on the battle?  Nobody has ever held any simulation where South Plains could get through the Wide Plains Republic position!”

Sande batted her eyelashes at him and retorted, “Finally, a chance for you recover your gold!  I mean, I do have South Plains for the battle.  This battle will wrap up the Tomb River campaign.”

One of the General's staff commented, “Sande has already stood military history up on its horn.  All that I can say is that I think that she must have something nasty up her sleeve!”

Mildly, the General replied, “She always does.  Even when she loses, it is usually a disaster for the winning side.”

He set up his troops in the classical and time tested way, camped just in front of the Hardrock Chasm, with the small river to his left.  Tall cliffs spread out for twenty miles on each side of the chasm, creating a solid barrier to the South Plains army.  

From his camp, the General's forces could strike the South Plains forces in the rear if they tried to bypass the barrier.  If South Plains tried a direct attack, all that the Highland Republic had to do was retreat into the chasm itself and South Plain's greater numbers were nullified.

Sande advanced her forces in the classical way, directly out of the histories.  She encamped by a small woods.  While some troops were cutting firewood, she sent emissaries to request the surrender of the Highland Republic.  That was refused, of course.

That afternoon of battle table time, Sande sent a substantial force against the General's troops.  She had a strong center that forced battle.  From each side, parallel to the cliff faces pincher forces advanced, trying to cut the General's army off from retreating into the Hardrock Chasm.

Just as in history, the ploy failed and the Republic army withdrew into the steep sided and very narrow cleft.

Sande's troops withdrew to their camp, leaving only a few platoons to keep the General bottled up.  They had a leisurely meal and replaced the guarding platoons so that they could eat.  She was keeping her wood cutters busy apparently making firewood to last out the siege.

On the second battle table day of the battle, Sande advanced the results of her woodcutter's labor.  Three catapults.  They fired sacks of smaller stones that burst on hitting!  The rupturing bags scattered a deadly spray of stones from fist sized up to melon sized chunks through the General's middle ranks!  Worse, they then fired at the opening of the chasm, bottling the General's troops, preventing them from escaping the deadly hail of stones, by fleeing deeper in the declivity.  She mopped up the remains of his leading forces and advanced into the defile, foot leading, catapults following.  As swiftly as her advance made contact with the General's now retreating troops, more catapult shots leapfrogged over them to cut a small number off from aid while they they were reduced.  The catapults did not even have to aim much. Hitting a wall of stone simply burst the bag of rocks earlier and blasted them down from above!

Helplessly watching his army dwindle before his eyes, the General quietly reached over to the table ante tray and gallantly handed it over to Sande.  He offered, “Brilliantly done, Sande!”

Sande, eyes sparkling with glee, went through the crowd collecting her side bets!

An unfamiliar figure entered the room and scanned the crowd before homing in on Sande.  He made the mistake of grabbing her shoulder as he declared, “I demand Herd Rights!  You have to mate with me and give me half of that gold you collected tonight!”

Sande rolled in under his grip, striking up along his extended arm, directly into his armpit.  Her strike carried enough force that it lifted him off his hooves and laid him full length on the floor!

Sande hit him with both knees in his gut, driving the wind from him.  Her right hand slapped the bottom of her shoulder bag and came away with a big combat knife!  She held it before his unbelieving eyes so that he could not mistake what it was before she plunged it into his throat!

Conversationally she stated, “If you lie very still, you will live.  If I slash even a little to right or left, you will die.

“You cannot claim herd rights on me.  I am a herdless mare.  My herd was Greenswale. Greenswale was forcably absorbed by the Know Nothing herd who then declared Greenswale to be extinct.  There is no Greenswale herd, so you have no Herd Rights on me.

“If your Stallion Need is great enough that it will not be denied, speak to either Wilton or Lanni behind the bar.  One of their serving mares will sell you an hour or a night, depending on how much you pay.

“You have nothing more to say to me at all.  Speak another word to me and you die. Now, either go away or go to the bar.”

Sande withdrew the knife and backed away from the fallen stallion, maintaining a combat guard with her knife.  He got to his hooves, pressing one hand to the cut in his throat, and bolted for the safety of the night.

Sande turned to the shocked club and shrugged.  “I know that most mares will yield Herd Rights to just about any stallion in Need.  Herd Law is clear, though.  Only Herd Stallions can demand Herd Rights of a mare.  Other Stallions can ask for Herd Rights but no mare not of their herd is obligated to give them.

“My herd was Greeswale.  They were forcibly absorbed by the Know Nothing herd and declared extinct as a herd.  He was a scout from the Know Nothing herd.  I don't like them because of what they did to my herd.  I don't have to mate with them and I WON'T.”

Sande's horn lit up as she used its magic to straighten up the room where the stallion had fallen.  She extended a hand to the General and suggested, “General, we need to end this meeting.  He was scouting for the Know Nothing Herd.  We have to get back to the University and begin preparing our defenses.  

“Oakenfield is the last university or college left.  If we fall, all of Wide Plains Republic will follow South Plains into an intellectual and physical disaster.  We have the last major library.  All of our classical literature and research work is in it.  We are the last place where magic is being studied scientifically.  Our Agricultural School is vital too.

“We have to save as much of it as possible.”

The General gave a sad look around the War Game Club and nodded.  “You are right, Sande.  I had hoped to never have to fight a real battle again.  It is not to be.  Anyone here who is willing to fight to save the University, follow us.  We are going back to the school.”

Sande was pleasantly surprised to find that nearly all of the rough stallions and mares from the Horn and Hog were following.  She could hear much of their muttering, “School might be out of my league but those new higher yield crops sure ain't.  Showed us how to use our magic in a whole new way this year at harvest.  Got the whole crop in days earlier than the old ways.  That school been a godsend to us.”

They were several hundred followers strong by the time that they reached the University.

[quickeningheart]

Eleven

     Naturally, the mice did not take kindly to their Charley-girl’s life being threatened, and they showed their displeasure by promptly storming Limburger’s tower and blowing it up.

    When the city shook from the impact of a hundred-thousand tons of steel and brick meeting the ground head-on, Alley shrieked and dove for cover under the desk. Charley, in the midst of replacing her damaged brake line, just rolled her eyes and kept right on working. "It's not an earthquake," she said blandly. "It's just the guys showing Limburger their appreciation."

    "By taking out half the city?" Alley crawled out from under the desk, frowning at the smears of grease now staining her skirt.

    "Don’t worry. Over the years, they’ve turned toppling that tower into something of a fine art. The destructive radius barely passes a hundred feet in any direction anymore.”

    Alley blinked at her. “I don’t know if that should impress me or make me run screaming for the hills.”

    Charley laughed. “Better go throw some dogs on the stove. And pull a few packs of root beer out of the fridge, will ya? They'll be completely hyped when they get back."

    “And feeding them carbs and sugar is your solution to calming them down, huh?”

    Charley just smirked and flipped a wrench in her hand, laying back on the platform dolly and scooting under the truck. Alley sighed and shook her head. “Call me a nut, but wouldn’t destroying Limburger’s property sort of … I dunno … royally piss him off?”

    "Definitely,” came the muffled reply. “But it'll also keep him busy and out of our hair for at least a week.” She reappeared and sat up, holding the ruined brake line tubing. “It’ll buy us some time to scout around and find out what he's up to.”

    “It only takes a week to rebuild an entire skyscraper?”

    Charley pressed her palms flat against each other and bowed her head. “As blowing up the tower has become an art form, so has Limburger turned rebuilding it into one.”

    Alley tipped back her head. “It’s the ciiiirrrcle of liiiiife!” she sang dramatically, throwing out her arm and gliding to the stairs, earning a bark of laughter from her cousin.

    “Go boil some hotdogs, you nut!”

     ~*~*~*~*~

   True to word, the boys were practically vibrating with adrenaline when they roared into the garage fifteen minutes later. Vinnie screeched to a stop with his signature howl of victory, hurling his helmet across the room. It sailed dangerously close to Charley’s computer, slammed into a nearby stack of tire rims and sent them crashing to the floor in a cacophony of scattering steel.

    “Vinnie! Dial it down a notch, you macho lunkhead!” Charley snapped, throwing the wrench she was holding at him. “You almost took out my computer! And pick those rims up!”

    “Eh, sorry, Sweetheart. Got a little carried away.” He offered a grin and a sheepish chuckle, hastily moving to clean up his mess.

    A few seconds later, Alley skittered down the stairway, holding a pair of tongs and looking around with wide eyes. “What the hell is all the racket? Are we under attack?”

    “The boys are home.” If Charley’s voice got any drier, she’d start spitting sand.

    “I see that.” A pause. “Was someone howling just now?”

    Modo snickered. “Nah. That was just Vinnie.”

    “His way of showin’ the world what a bad mammajamma he is,” Stoker added with a wicked smirk.

    “Oh.” Alley pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Because, for a second there, I thought maybe the garage was being overrun by feral dogs or something.”

    Charley put a fist to her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to stifle her amusement. The other three mice didn’t even attempt to try, and Vinnie glared at them, readying himself for an old-fashioned throw-down.

    “Don’t you dare,” Charley warned before the white mouse had a chance to pounce. “My garage is not a wrestling ring. Take it outside!”

    “Ah, forget it.” Vinnie deflated, pouting. “I’m starvin’! Where’re the dogs ‘n beer?”

    “They’re cooking upstairs.” Alley turned, then hesitated, shooting him a questioning glance over her shoulder. “Do you really howl like that every time you take out Limburger’s tower?”

    “And for any other reason he can think up,” Charley snorted.

    “It’s my battle cry!” Vinnie sniffed, brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from his arm. “Every superhero needs a battle cry.”

    “And ‘cowabunga’ was already taken,” Throttle quipped.

    Alley nodded, her expression serious. “It’s just … you know … the guys who yelp the loudest, Vinster,” she reminded him with a sigh, continuing on her way.

    Vinnie’s jaw dropped. He sputtered uselessly for a comeback, gaping at her retreating back. Modo and Stoker guffawed, Charley buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

    And Throttle just stood there looking confused, wondering what the hell was suddenly so funny.

     ~*~*~*~*~

    The rest of the week passed in relative peace.

    Well, as peaceful as it ever got around the Last Chance, anyway. Alley soon learned that the mice never seemed to be happy unless they were making as much racket as possible. “Quiet as a mouse” did not apply to the Martian variety. While Charley seemed perfectly content to let them cohabit her garage, blaring the rock stations at levels that could only be described as “deafening”, Alley took it upon herself to invest in a bottle of aspirin and some good ear plugs. She wondered at first how they didn’t go deaf, what with ears as large and sensitive as theirs, before chalking it up to their overall weirdness.

    Since the guys were always at the garage more than they weren’t (well, the trio was; Stoker came and went as he pleased, and Charley didn’t appear to give a hoot about that, either), it gave Alley a good chance to observe them. While Vinnie was always flapping his mouth and up to no good, the other two mice were far more reserved in their behavior. Especially Throttle. While they all joked around and roughhoused a lot, he tended to be a little more careful and reigned in the other two when they got too carried away. He must have been their leader of sorts, since they always deferred to him and fell in line when he told them to. Unless Stoker was around. All three of them deferred to Stoker, and it was clear the older mouse was well-respected as a mentor and a war hero.

    One thing Alley could say about the guys; they all had a very well-developed sense of self-preservation. At least when it came to females, and Charley especially. They seemed able to tune in to the times when the mechanic was extra stressed trying to finish a particular job, and her patience was close to the snapping point. That was generally the time they herded each other out the door to “patrol the city” for awhile. Which Alley suspected was code for getting out of the way before her cousin could strangle them with their own tails. Either way, she certainly did appreciate the rare times of peace and quiet their absence bought.

    Unfortunately, this particular Friday morning was not one of those times.

    Almost an entire week, and she was still trying to get the mess of Charley’s paperwork sorted out. A job she’d thought would only take a day or two was taking a heck of a lot longer than that. And the blaring hard rock that was slowly driving a small railroad spike through her skull certainly didn't make it easier to concentrate.

    The cordless phone on the desk rang, and she answered it while making a beeline for the large boombox sitting on its makeshift shelf beside the garage door. Ignoring everyone's protests, she turned the volume down to a more reasonable level before returning to the desk to arrange customer's appointment. From the corner of her eye, she noted Throttle sneakily reaching for the volume control. "Excuse me for one moment, Sir," she said politely into the receiver. Covering the mouthpiece with her palm, she mustered her fiercest glare and snarled, “Throttle. If you touch that dial, so help me, I’ll rip your fingers off one by one and stuff ‘em up your ass.”

    The others chortled loudly as Throttle raised his hands in surrender, slowly backing away from the radio with a raised eyebrow. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, giving Vinnie a swat with his tail when the white mouse cheered, and staggered a little as Modo gave him a “friendly” clout across the back.

    “Having some problems there, Alley Cat?” Charley teased, eyes sparkling with humor.

    Alley took a deep breath and pasted a saccharine smile on her lips. “Thank you for holding, Mr. Anderson,” she told the waiting customer sweetly. “To confirm, your car will be brought in for inspection at nine AM this coming Wednesday. Are you planning to drop it off, or do you wish to wait?” She paused. “No, sir, the Last Chance doesn’t provide shuttling service, but a taxi can be called for you. There is also a bus route three blocks away. Yes. That will be fine. Thank you for choosing the Last Chance Garage. We’ll see you on Wednesday.” She hung up the phone and sighed, shooting her cousin an exasperated glance. “Did you get all that?”

    “Yep. State inspection. Wednesday. Nine o'clock,” Charley grunted, struggling to loosen a nut from part of an engine. “There’re some Post-its in the drawer. Jot it down for me, will ya?”

    “Oh, hell no.” Alley glared at her. “The jotting of appointments on sticky notes stops now, you hear me? It’s unprofessional and half the notes end up falling into the garbage anyway! You are, without a doubt, the most unorganized computer genius I've ever known. How have you managed to not tank your own business in all these years?”

    "What can I say? It’s a gift." Charley pulled a face at her.

    "Well, here’s a much better gift." Alley waved a brown leather book in the air. "See this? Say hello to your new best friend. All of your appointments are sorted and logged into this ledger. Your assignment is to actually use it."

    Charley’s brow furrowed. "I do have an appointment ledger, you know."

    "If you’re talking about that greasy, torn up notebook I found buried in the bottom of your desk drawer, I threw it out. You haven’t written any actual appointments in it for the past six months, anyway.”

    Charley shot her a dry look. “I don’t recall making you the supervisor. When did you get so bossy?”

    “I’d say during the week I just spent attempting to salvage your pitiful excuse of a business practice,” Alley deadpanned.

    “Oooooh. Burned!” Vinnie sang softly under his breath.

    Charley shot him an irritated glance. “Don’t you have something to go blow up?” she grumbled.

    “You shouldn’t criticize her, anyway,” Alley added. “You’re all part of the problem.” She raised a hand to halt the immediate protests. “Charley, when is the last time you tried to organize your finances? I mean, have you even looked at the balances in the past year? Hell, the past three years?”

    “Of course I have! That’s the one thing I did keep up with. I’m not a complete moron, you know.”

    Alley pursed her lips and folded her hands atop the desk. “Then you’re fully aware that the Last Chance is just barely keeping afloat. You’ve managed to keep your finances in the green, but you hardly pull in enough extra for basic living expenses. The only thing saving you is that you own this building outright. But you still have property taxes, the highest electric bill I’ve ever seen, you’re making payments on some of this equipment yet … and every month that line between success and bankruptcy is narrowing further and further. I see you’ve had to dip into your savings on several occasions just to make ends meet.”

    “Is this true, Charley-ma'am?” Modo wanted to know. All three mice were listening, concern etched on their faces. “You in trouble?”

    “No!” Charley protested, while at the same time Alley stated, “Yes.”

    Charley rubbed her temple, looking irritated, and just a little defeated. “I guess … things are a little tight, financial-wise,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t really concern you, though, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

    “Except it does concern them.”

    “Alley!” Charley glared at her. “Stop it.”

    “No. Let her talk.” Throttle’s voice left no room for argument. “Are you sayin’ it’s our fault?”

    “Partly.” Alley shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck. “And Limburger is at fault, too,” she added. “He's the reason this part of the city is all but abandoned. I don’t imagine that’s helped business, any. But he’s not responsible for a lot of the damage and repair that’s been done on the garage in the past few years, is he?” She tapped the computer monitor. “The garage doors had to be replaced how many times? I mean, not just worn-out parts, the whole, entire doors. Who kept putting giant holes in them?”

    “Um…” The trio glanced at each other, uneasy.

    “That’s why I had the automatic sensors installed,” Charley cut in.

    “And there’s also the matter of all the … upgrades done to your bikes. Specialized parts to be ordered in and … I don’t even know what else.” Alley fixed the mice with a questioning glance. “Has it even once occurred to you to ask where those upgraded parts come from? Or did you just assume she farts 'em out her ass on command?”

    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alley!” Charley threw her hands in the air. Her face was suspiciously red. “It’s not their problem, so don’t involve them! I volunteered to take care of their bikes. It was entirely my decision.”

    “And it’s costing your garage way more money than you can actually afford right now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often they just help themselves to stock off the shelves when they’re maintaining those bikes, either. More money out of your very shallow pocket.”

    “Can I see the figures?” Throttle asked, stepping forward. Charley started to protest, but he ignored her as Alley scooted away from the desk to let him look at the spreadsheet. He studied it for a few minutes, face expressionless.

    Charley glowered at her cousin. “You’re fired,” she muttered.

    Alley waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. Fire me. But it would've caught up to you eventually. I don’t get what you were trying to accomplish by keeping it from them, anyway. Why shouldn’t they know?”

    Charley sighed heavily, perching on the end of the desk. “Because … they’ve done so much for this city. And for me. I told you, without them, things would be going a lot worse with the Plutarkians. Chicago owes them a huge debt, and doesn’t even know it. I’m just … doing what little I can to repay them for their efforts. There was no need to let them in on how much it was costing me.”

    "Did you think we'd be happy if we ended up tanking your business, or mad if ya told us we were eatin' yer profits?" Modo scolded. "You oughta know better 'n that."

    "Yeah, Sweetheart, we woulda paid ya or somethin'," Vinnie put in, sounding hurt.

    "And how would you manage that, huh? Go out and get yourselves a nine-to-five?" Charley snorted. "You guys ain't exactly rollin' in cash."

    Nobody could argue with that. Alley shook her head. “You could pay her in physical labor, you know. Help her out with the garage, take some of the workload off. If she had more than just herself to finish jobs, she could take on more customers, and bring in more money.”

    “Yeah, but … we’re no wrench jockeys,” Vinnie grumbled. “An’ Charley-girl won’t let us near the equipment, anyway.”

    “That’s because you always blow up anything you touch,” Charley snapped.

    “So, teach them,” Alley said with exaggerated patience. “Start them off with simple stuff. Like motorcycles. They’re always tinkering around with theirs. An Earth bike isn’t that different, is it? Start with that and go from there.”

    Charley sighed. "I'll think about it, okay? But even if they did help, it's not gonna bring more customers or money in any faster, you know."

    "That's because you don't advertise."

    "Last I checked, advertising costs money, which we've already established I don't have."

    "Well, how have you been getting business?" Alley asked.

    "Mostly through word-of-mouth. And most of my customers have been with me since I opened the place. The ones Limburger hasn't managed to drive out of the neighborhood, anyway."

    “Which is great, but new business would be even better. We’ll have to think up some advertising schemes. Maybe print out some cheap fliers and post them around the city? Coffee shops, grocery stores; places like that usually have notice boards where you can tack stuff up, and it doesn’t cost anything. Maybe a small ad in the Sunday paper, or, I dunno, those paper place-mats they use to advertise in diners and stuff. There are ways to get more business.”

    “Great,” Charley sighed, defeated. “Just what I need. More work.”

    “You do need more work. And you need more help. And you’ve got three perfectly able-bodied me—um—mice who can give you some, if you’re willing to let them.” Alley considered. “Four, if you count Stoker. Where is that guy, anyway? I haven’t seen him since Wednesday.”

    “Probably in one of his secret labs,” Throttle replied, straightening up, finished with his perusal of Charley’s files. “He prefers to work alone.”

    “He has secret labs? What is he, a mad scientist?”

    He chuckled. “Something like that. Don’t ask us what he’s cookin’ up, though. He’s pretty hush-hush about the whole thing.”

    “Sounds like him, all right.” Charley smiled fondly. “Always the lone wolf, that one.”

    Throttle fixed her with a look. “You sure aren’t one to criticize, Miss My-garage-is-going-under-but-damned-if-I-ask-for-any-help.”

    “Okay, okay. No need to rub it in,” Charley grumbled. “I just didn’t want to make you guys worry about me, that’s all. You tend to get all protective and you hover. It’s annoying.”

    “Biker Mice do not ‘hover’,” Vinnie sniffed, crossing his arms.

    “Oh, you so hover. Like a little mother hen.” Charley shot him a teasing glance.

    Vinnie looked to Alley for help, but she just shrugged. “Hey, leave me out of it. She’s right. Don’t think we haven’t noticed how one of you guys followed us every time we had to leave the garage this week. We even made fake trips just to see who’d be next in line to tail us. You were totally hovering.”

    “Oh, yeah, that reminds me. You owe me five bucks.” Charley nudged her shoulder. “I said Throttle would be the one to follow you to the bank yesterday, and he did.”

    “Damn. Thanks a lot, Throttle.” Alley pulled a wadded bill out of her wallet and tossed it to her grinning cousin while the mice gaped at them.

    The bell went off just then, effectively bringing the conversation to a halt. The mice quickly scattered, heading back to their bikes to don protective helmets as the huge door slowly rolled up, revealing a very beat-up Chevy Caprice idling on the other side. The classic car was painted two-tone blue, at least where the large spots of rust didn’t cover the body. After a moment, the engine turned off, the doors opened, and Christopher Archer unfolded himself from the driver’s seat as his sister hopped out of the passenger’s side. “Uh, is there an Alley Davidson around?” he asked uncertainly, looking highly doubtful.

    “Guys!” Alley hopped up from the chair and trotted to them, grinning widely. “What’re you doing here? Come for some service?”

    Chris relaxed, tossing her a lopsided grin. “Actually, we came to kidnap you for the day. Got plans?”

    “Uh…” Alley looked at her cousin, who smirked and shooed her off. “Guess not. Great! I need to go phone shopping, and I thought you guys can help me out, yeah?” She turned to Chex, who had spotted the trio of gleaming bikes a few feet away and had honed in on them and their furry owners with predatory interest. Alley watched her watching them. “Hey, you okay?”

    “Yeah, sure,” Chex mumbled, taking a few steps closer. The mice looked at each other, fidgeting nervously under the unexpected scrutiny.

    “Don’t mind her. She’s got a major thing for bikers,” Chris snorted, rolling his eyes.

    Chex ignored him, reaching out to trace a finger along the mouse-shaped headlamp gracing the front of Modo’s bike. The big mouse drew himself up, prepared to defend his precious ride … but she didn’t give him the chance.

    “Holy shit!” she suddenly shouted, startling everyone into jumping and Vinnie into dropping the wrench he’d been holding. “Holy shit, holy shit!” She gave a few excited little hops, turned to slug her brother in the arm. “I told you!” she exclaimed over his pained yelp. “I told you they were real!”

    “What’s real? What the hell’s wrong with you, you psycho?” Chris snapped, rubbing his abused bicep.

    “It’s them!” Chex gestured wildly. “You know, them! I told you! They’re real! I didn’t make it up, those alien mice dudes really exist and they’re standing right over there!”

    There was a moment of stunned silence. And then Vinnie, in two words, said exactly what everyone in the room was thinking.

    “Aww, cheese.”

Next

[vagrantblvrd]

A Thousand Miles Up (1/1)

Summary: As far as these things go, Trevor’s pretty good at not getting caught. Has made something of a career out of it even, you might say, so this - 

Not really his best day.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anonymous who asked for Alfreyco with this prompt: 65: “Did you do something different with your hair?” 

Takes place in the same verse as Cat Scratch Fever, Belling the Cat, and No Road Too Long.

AO3

As far as these things go, Trevor’s pretty good at not getting caught. Has made something of a career out of it even, you might say, so this -

Not really his best day.

Not even in the running for the top forty.

It isn’t as though he’s forgotten how dangerous his line of work is (no way to do that, really, with so many helpful reminders), or underestimating his targets (he learned not to do that a while back).

It’s just...bad luck.

Trevor bites back a laugh (now is not the time) as he studies the little room they’ve got him all locked up in.

Four walls (always a must). Floor that dips down with a little grate in the center (best not think about why), and a small window set high up on one of those four walls.

Slit of a thing, four, five inches high at most and try as he might, Trevor’s never going to fit through it.

No, no.

Just this tiny room and the chair Trevor’s sitting in. Hands behind his back and this bunch is smarter than most because those aren’t handcuffs he could pick with his eyes closed, no.

Heavy-duty zip-ties that he can’t break without the proper tools (the reason he prefers footwear with laces when he’s working) or the proper leverage. (Zip-ties on his wrists and another connecting them to the back of the metal chair he’s sitting in, simple but effective.)

All his little gadgets and doodads taken off him when they caught him, that sharp little ache in his shoulder, back, where the darts hit him and this pounding in his head from the tranquilizer. The bruises he can all but feel forming because he was nearly out the window when his body decided it had had enough and shut down on him.

He still has his mask, though, so very thoughtful of them considering the way his reputation’s caught up to him here in Los Santos.

Press all abuzz at his return, questioning the whys and hows of it.

Those with a flair for the dramatic wondering if something’s forced him out of retirement – a bad case of revenge or something else. A few brave souls wondering if he isn’t just a copycat looking for attention. (Moment of glory before some lucky bastard gets a shot at him and what a tragic story it makes, perfect for movie with a plot ripped straight from the headlines.)

And then there’s the criminal element, old clients and targets both, taking an interest in his reappearance in the best/worst ways and the trouble that’s followed him here. (Well, the smattering of trouble that followed him here, along with all new kinds he runs into these days.)

Trevor sighs as the door opens, and the leader of this particular little group saunters in. Bit of a swagger to his walk, this unbearably smug look on his face as he stops in front of Trevor.

Trevor gets a glimpse of his little cronies through the open door before it closes. Intimidating figures in their uniforms and the kind of training they’d exhibited earlier when they managed to catch him. Not people to be toyed with and expect to get away with things for long.

“Well, well, well,” the man says, all annoying smugness and this certain element of sheer delight. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Trevor makes a face, almost wishing he didn’t have his mask on because that’s just an awful thing to say, now isn’t it.

“Oh, hey, let me help you with that,” Trevor hears, and then there are hands slipping behind his head to pull his mask off, cool air on his skin and face bared for just anyone to see. (Scandalous.)

Trevor blinks up at the man studying his mask. Thoughtful look on his face as he turns it this way and that, fingers running over the deep scratch a little too close one of the eye-lenses for Trevor’s peace of mind. (Token from an admirer on a previous job, sweet little nothings and that knife he seemed so fond of.)

“I keep meaning to get it replaced,” Trevor says, nodding at the mask. “But I’ve just been so busy this last little while. You know how it is.”

Places to break into, things to steal, the usual.

The man snorts, and gives up studying whatever secrets he seems to think he can pull from Trevor’s mask and moves on to Trevor himself.

“Ooh,” Trevor says, returning the favor as he tips his head to the side. “Did you do something different with your hair?”

It’s been a while since they’ve run into each other after all, Trevor out of Los Santos for work. (Busy, busy, busy.)

There’s a beat, the man looking at him all incredulous and the like, and then a self-conscious laugh.

“Uh, yeah,” he says as he lifts a hand to his hair, just shy of touching it. “Thought I’d try something new, you know? What do you think?”

Trevor hums, thinking, thinking, thinking about it, just to be a bit of an asshole about things.

“Well,” he says, drawing the word out a few extra syllables before he smiles. “I think it looks great. Very sharp. Professional.”

He gets a laugh for that, almost embarrassed, and a shy little smile inching it’s way back to unbearably smug again.

“Yours, uh -”

“Perils of the job,” Trevor says, because he’s well aware his own hair is a disheveled mess. Flat and lifeless thanks to his suit and running around the way he was earlier. “Sacrifices must be made and so on and so forth.”

There’s a whole speech involved. One Trevor’s saving for a dire moment for the most dramatic impact, but that’s neither here nor there.

Not with the way he’s being watched, eyes flicking over him, taking in all the little hurts that comes with his line of work.

Small bruises, a cut here and there. Scrapes and other odds and ends from flinging himself at the side of a building and shimmying way along ledges. Crawling through vents and ducts and  that thrill of satisfaction as he evaded guards and magicked his way to the heart of the building and got his little hands on the files he was hired to steal.

The...less successful escape he’d attempted and the surprise at realizing he’d been outmaneuvered almost from the outset.

Not something that happened all that often, but given who he was playing against here, he’s not entirely surprised.

No.

“So,” Trevor says, pulling at his binds, soft sound of plastic against the metal of the chair catching his captor's attention. “What now?”

And oh, the look he gets for that. Very NSFW indeed, but the minions are on the other side of the door and they’re still both on the clock, so to speak.

“My dear sir,” Trevor says, putting a little Southern belle into it as he offers up his most scandalized look. “How dare you, I am a lady.”

That earns him another look, this one flatly unimpressed. (Definitely questioning his honor and integrity.)

Also, a knife.

Big shiny thing he gets a good view of before his captor moves behind him, slight tugging motion as he cuts through the zip-ties.

Trevor rubs his wrists when he brings his arms in front of him, eyeing his captor as the man moves to stand before him again.

There’s a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Bad night?”

Trevor could let it go at that, chalk it up to him being off his game. Still some rust to shake off, but the fact of the matter is that’s not the truth at all, now is it.

“Hmm, no,” Trevor says, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Your minions are getting better, Fredo.”

Have been for some time, really.

Geoff and Alfredo taking advantage to Trevor’s unique skill-set to test their own security. Learning to anticipate the unexpected and all that lovely business, getting only enough warning to know which target Trevor’s set his eyes on so they’d know to switch out their more lethal weapons for tranquilizer darts and tasers and the like. (Non-lethal but still damn inconvenient.)

Trevor headed for a lovely little prize of his choosing while Alfredo and his minions were meant to stop him from succeeding. All fun and games, really. Trevor running rings around them for months, Alfredo the only one good enough to get close enough to him in all that time.

Cat-and-mouse chases through various facilities, rooftop meetings, and Trevor laughing at the frustrated look on Alfredo’s face as he got away time and time again.

...until tonight, that is.

“Yeah?” Alfredo says, losing the sharp edge that had led his minions through tonight’s exercises. Going soft and familiar as anything as he looks down at Trevor. “You think so?”

Trevor smiles up at him.

“Would I lie to you about something like that, Alfredo?”

A great many other things, yes indeed, for better or worse, but this?

“Well,” Alfredo says, mimicking Trevor’s little drawl from earlier. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

Well, yes, okay.

Point to Alfredo, but they’re working right now, aren’t they?

“No,” Trevor says, all honesty now. “They are getting better. Smitty almost caught me when I snuck in, in fact. Kudos to her.”

Alfredo cocks his head, and Trevor sighs, oh so very put out as he goes into detail regarding Alfredo’s minions and the ways in which they’re improving.

This bunch of misfits and outcasts Geoff’s gathered to him and decided the best person to ride herd on them now that he has is Alfredo. Letting him run them through drills and exercises to mold them into this impressive force unfailingly loyal to Geoff and the crew.

It’s been so very entertaining watching play out as Trevor sows chaos and confusion among them with these little exercises.

After a few minutes Trevor realizes Alfredo’s watching him, this little curl to his mouth that’s all about fondness and affection and what a giant sap he is, which is fitting seeing as Trevor’s in the same boat when it comes to Alfredo.

“What.”

“Nothing,” Alfredo says, completely suspiciously as he gestures at Trevor’s face. “You just have something here.”

Trevor’s eyes narrow, because that’s one of the oldest tricks in the book isn’t it, but he still raises a hand to wipe whatever it is (isn’t) off, only for Alfredo to make this little face.

“No, no,” Alfredo says, and there's a little smirk tucked into his voice, the line of his mouth. “Here, let me.”

Trevor eyes him for a long moment before he tips his face up.

Absolutely not surprised at all when Alfredo kisses him, this cheeky little thing like he thinks he’s gotten away with stealing a kiss from him all clever-like.

“There,” Alfredo says, pulling back, smug little grin on his face and a sparkle in his eye. “Got it.”

“My hero,” Trevor says dryly.

Alfredo laughs, holding a hand out to help Trevor to his feet.

They still need to debrief Alfredo’s minions. Go over everything that happened tonight. Talk about ways to deal with   situations like this in the future, Trevor offering up tips and advice on what to expect from people like him. (Tricky and clever and not the sort to abide by the usual rules. Innovators, really, in the business of liberating trinkets and other valuables from the undeserving.)

Not what he’d been expecting when he followed Alfredo out here, but it’s certainly never dull.

[elodieunderglass]

For the dashboard osmosis thing...avatar the last airbender?

(This is an ask meme where I try to describe a franchise I’ve never seen based on “dashboard osmosis,” i.e. what I’ve learned of it from fandom.)

Avatar: the last Airbender is an American cartoon series with Japanese-anime-influenced design. It is set in a medieval fantasy world. I have not seen any of the cartoon, but I have seen the ten-minute long “Best of” Rifftrax spoof of the M. Night Shyamalan movie on YouTube. Rifftrax is where the guys who did Mystery Science Theater 3000 create an audio track making fun of a movie, and you play it while watching the movie. I used to really like MST3K as a little kid, but Rifftrax doesn’t age well.

Actually, based on this I think I can talk about Avatar REALLY well. I bet this is going to be such a good Avatar post. Everyone will be really impressed by my knowledge of Avatar. They’ll probably think I’m very good at meta.

There are four nations, that live in harmony until the Fire Nation attacks. See? That right there is Avatar.

The nations are water, which is populated by Inuit(?) inspired character designs; Earth, which is based on China; Air, which is possibly Tibet; and Fire, which I think draws on the aesthetic of India. People born into those nations can have the power to manipulate that element, which is called “bending.” Once in a while someone is reincarnated, like the Dalai Lama, who can bend all four, and they are called the Avatar.

Impressive, huh? Watch this! I can even do the plot and the characters. Hold my beer.

So a smart girl from the Water Nation (Lucy) and her doofy brother (Sokka) are going for your usual amble across a glacier, when they come upon a corpse frozen into the ice. This may sound like any normal Canadian walk to school but in THIS case, when they remove the corpse, it turns out to be AN ALIVE BOY who was somehow frozen alive!!!

He is a small bald boy with a blue arrow on his head. His name is Aang and he is the Avatar. The blue arrow is never explained. In fact, M Night Shyamalan interpreted it as not a bright chalk-blue arrow, but a weird collection of black squiggles in a vague arrow shape. M Night Shyamalan is a coward.

Anyway, the blue arrow may be a brilliant makeup choice to Accentuate Your Best Feature. Aang has enormous eyeballs, so maybe he wants everyone to look at them and thus distract attention from his ears. Or perhaps he feels that he has an oddly shaped chin.

Anyway, he wakes up and starts running about, going “I must go home!” And Lucy and her brother take him to possibly Tibet, or some Himalayan-based aesthetic, please forgive me, I haven’t seen the show. Unfortunately, everyone in possibly-Tibet is dead. It’s entirely possible that they have been dead for ten THOUSAND years. I actually don’t know. They’re all very much dead at this point though.

Oh my god! I bet the Fire Nation did it!

Those bastards!!

And then they have to go… do something else. The General idea is that Aang needs to be trained in bending all of the elements, so they have to go to all of the places. So Lucy organises some kind of Road trip to visit every nation, and I believe Sokka briefly dates the Moon. They meet a visually-impaired small girl in the Earth nation called Toph, and they acquire a flying caterpillar-dog called… Apnea? Like a Great Pyrenees that can float. Which is quite useful because then they can probably fly from place to place instead of walking.

Also, Aang jumps off cliffs with a kite to hold him up. All the time. You can’t stop him. I think Lucy would try, because she’s sensible. “Aang,” she would say, “let me at least tie a piece of string to you. Let me at least reel you in, if you must be a kite - reel you in like some kind of skyfish.” But no, Aang will NOT be tamed, he must ride the thermals - where are the adults in this? Like, I appreciate that he is an airbender and he has Powers to hold him up, but like, he’s also about 9 years old. He doesn’t have all his teeth yet. Lucy must be the most stressed character in the whole fictional universe. I mean if the fate of the current world depended on a 9 year old with a predilection for throwing himself off cliffs with a kite, I would tie a piece of string to him. “No offence, kid, you’re a great kite, but I was kind of hoping to have a future?”

There is also a Cabbages Man and his cabbages, which are frequently overturned.

They are pursued this whole time by a sort of Goth child with a scarred face from the Fire Nation. I feel like I would know his name if I saw it again, but I am reaching for it, and all I am finding is Kylo. I am opening every drawer in the backwater cupboards of my memory and I just find Kylo. Now, the problem here is that I feel (based on some kind of osmosis) that I actually quite like Fire Nation Kylo. I have no idea what he does or sounds like but I feel like I support him. While the brief experience of the Star war Kylo that I got, didn’t so much make my skin crawl as it made my skin bolt, like my skin attempted to launch itself off the sinning meat of my body and fling itself into another room, but it’s anchored all over, so he just made my skin ripple. Like a horse twitching flies. I made a lot of weird faces watching that movie. So I’m going to call this Kylo “Scruffy Dave.” I can’t go any farther with this if his name is Kylo, even if it is, which I’m sure it isn’t.

I don’t know why Scruffy Dave is pursuing a bunch of other children all over Asia. I believe it is to do with “honour,” but he’s like 12. I remember being 12 and horribly conscious of my dignity, sensitive to all kinds of perceived slights, but I don’t think I would pursue the offenders as far as Fantasy Outer Mongolia. Maybe, like, Fantasy Next Town over. So I suspect there’s more plot to it than that. Scruffy Dave-O has an uncle called Uncle Iroh who likes tea. Uncle Iroh is cute, but useless. As the only adult in the show, you’d think he would say things like “Little Scruff, let’s find some fucking chill here. Let’s go on a quest to restore your missing chill.” But no, the cavalcade of fuckups tumbles all over creation, instead, overturning cabbages.

I’m handwaving here. I assume more adventures are involved. Give me back my beer for a sec. I’m going to need both hands free for the handwaving finale.

So Scruffy Davoh and his inadequate babysitter catch up with Lucy’s herd of children and I believe they have some kind of battle, at the end of which, Scruffy Davenport converts to Aang’s side and has a redemption arc! I believe it is a good one.

But there’s a lot of plot after this? So I assume that the new bad guy is the Fire Nation. I think they all team up to attack the Fire Nation.

Oh wait! Aang must be the last airbender because the show is called “Avatar: the last airbender.” Maybe that’s what changed when the Fire Nation attacked. They got rid of all the airbenders. I think airbender would be a good name for a salamander. Like a hellbender crossed with a nice feathery axolotl. But how did the Fire Nation get away with that? Was it 1000 years ago? Why was it ok for them to destabilise an element-based continent like that. How did Aang get in a glacier. I don’t care to find out.

They are all underage children. I think it’s important to stress that they are all underage children, and I am vexed and pained by their unsupervised shenanigans. Why didn’t somebody sort this out earlier.

So that is the plot. Then eventually they all die of old age, and it’s time for Legend of Korra, which is the same show but everyone is an adult and gay, and it’s somehow the 1920s. Korra has basically reinvented bi culture and saved us all, as well as providing us with feudal lord/handmaiden jokes. I haven’t seen that show either, but that’s the gist of it.

Also, I think Lucy’s name might be Katara. But it only just came to me now.

Did I mention, I think Sokka dates the moon? I’m really not clear on this. And I think Toph owns a haunted squirrel. That might be important too.

Here, finish this beer for me, I can’t, I’m still breastfeeding.

I also believe, but cannot cite evidence, that there is no war in Ba Sing Se.

[hazbinextgeneration]

Hunting

(Request for @neons-trash-blog. Alastor and Mimzy belongs to Vivziepop.)

This takes place when Maizy was younger- Soft footsteps gently stepped over leaves as the two figures slowly crept up to their target. The taller one stopped behind a tall shrub and the smaller one stopped right beside him. Red eyes smiled down at her. "Now Maizy, do you remember what I said?" "The silent cat gats the mouse." "Such good memory.~" Tilting his head down, he caught one of the shrub's branches on his antlers and tilted it back for her to see. A little ways from their hiding spot was a meadow full of deer. "You see, Sweetheart...This clearing is just chalk full of clover, grass, and everything else deer just love. Which makes it the perfect hot spot for our favorite food." The small fawn wagged her tail. "Deer jerky!" "Well, not quite, Gumdrop. First, we have to catch the deer. Then, we take it home." "And then deer jerky?" He chuckled. "Yes, Sweetie. Then deer jerky. Today it's your turn to get our meal." "M'kay." ''Now, do you remember what Daddy does when he hunts?" She nodded figerously. "Good. Now let's see......Hmm. Which one to choose?" He gazed over the deer in the clearing. "Ah! That one in the very front is old and frail. The perfect one for your first hunt." He looked down at her. "Now, what do you do?" "Pretend to be a part of the herd, sneak up on the food, and then strike the neck." ''That's my girl!" He nudged her away. "Now off you go. And don't feel bad if you don't catch any on your first try." She slunk off and he stood there watching as she entered the meadow. He smiled proudly as his little spawn successfully entered the herd without suspicion. "Just like her daddy." The buck he pointed out to her was oblivious to the smaller fawn stalking up behind him. Her mouth opened to expose her sharp fangs. Crouching low to the ground, she readied herself to lunge at it's neck- BANG!! The buck fell limp to the ground before her. Another shot sounded out that made the rest of the herd take off in all directions. "Daddy!" She attempted to run at the shrub where her father was, but another shot sounded out as a huge buck attempted to run around her. Be fore she even knew it, the giant deer fell on top of her. Pinning her to the ground. She screamed and attempted to pull herself free, but the weight of the buck was too much. She continued to struggle until something clicked above her. She looked up.....and froze. A human!......No. Worse.....A human with a gun! And it was aiming right at her. "Eh....Not very big, but your hide is worth a couple bucks." he lifted the gun to his face, closing one eye.-"Gah!" Something red tackled him to the ground. Shaking his head from the headbutt, her father grabbed her scruff and pulled her out. Adjusting her in his mouth for a  better grip, before running off. A few gunshots followed. .................................................................................................................................................................................................. "You took her where?! Without telling me?! And to do what?!" The taller demon stared down at his fuming mate. Maizy standing nearby. "I only wanted to surprise, Darling." "You two could've gotten killed!" "But, we didn't." "....*hmph*...Well, enjoy sleeping on the couch during your heat cycle." She turned and stormed off. "But, Doll-" "Daddy.......What's a heat cycle?" 

[queen-scribbles]

Go with Your Gut

For @pillarspromptsweekly #24: Enmity. I’ve sort of already done this for Tavi, in Easy, but I wanted to do it again and write some more of her backstory.

The tavern grew quiet by degrees, and it took Tavi a minute to catch on when it hit the point of being too quiet. This was not the declining patronage oof a slow night, either, but the hasty departure of people who sensed something bad was going to happen.

Given the familiar tickle of foreboding in the back of her mind--one that had saved her life no fewer than fifteen times previously--Tavi was pretty sure she knew what that something bad was. And it wasn’t going to care about collateral damage. They never had before

She sighed and finished her brandy in two large swallows. I was enjoying that, too, she thought sourly. Chalk up one more against ‘em. She slapped down the coin to cover her drink and then some--just in case--and left the tavern.

She’d barely made it ten feet before she saw the first of them. A dwarven man in dark brown leathers, doing a very good job blending in, had started following her as soon as her feet met the cobblestones. Tavi scowled and beelined for a side street, not caring if he knew she was on to him. The next time she looked back, he was gone.

Shit. Knowing where he was would make this easier. She could manage, had before, but you couldn’t fight what you couldn’t see. Forced to change her plans, Tavi ducked down a couple more random side streets in quick succession. One good thing about Old Vailia being past its prime; every town had shrunk some, leaving abandoned streets where she wouldn’t have to worry about bystanders when she beat the shit out of this lot like all the others.

You sure that’s how it’s gonna go, Tav? a little voice in her head asked.

Why would this time be any different? she retorted.

No sooner had the thought formed then a fireball splashed against the paving stones a few feet ahead of her. Tavi yelped as she dodged away from it. Fuck. There’s a fucking wizard. Well, that’s just great.

Told you so.

Shut up. She put on an extra burst of speed and felt splintered stone pepper the backs of her legs as a second spell narrowly missed her. Now with a good idea of the spells’ trajectory, Tavi scooped up a rock and risked slowing her pace so she could turn to throw it toward the roof where she thought the wizard was standing.

A gratifying yelped curse floated down and Tavi grinned as she rounded another corner, heading toward the docks. Getting away from populated areas gave her one less thing to worry about, and she’d take any advantage she could get.

Three zigzagged side streets into her new path, Tavi stumbled and almost fell when something slammed into her back. It was quickly followed by two more impacts and the smell of burning fabric and skin. There was no way the wizard had recovered fast enough from her lobbed rock to catch her. Motherfuck, there’s another one. If she didn’t feel herded before, she definitely did now. But she didn’t know this part of Old Vailia well enough to slip the noose, so she’d just have to play along and fight her way out through two wizards and that dwarf. Wherever the fuck he’d gotten off to.

Tavi rounded a corner and cursed as she was forced to a halt. Dead end. There wasn’t enough debris lying around for her to climb, even if she didn’t expect her pursuers to be waiting on the rooftops.

Even as she assessed her situation, the dwarven man emerged from the shadows, now with clearly visible dagger stowed in his belt. “Good evening.”

“What the fuck do you want, bazzo?” Tavi growled. 

“I think you know,” the dwarf smirked. “But I’m open to discussion.”

“Sure, just long enough for your associates to get in position, right?” she shot back, sabres sliding free of their sheaths. “Forgive me if I’m not accommodating of that.”

“Have it your way, then,” he shrugged, twirling his daggers as he drew them.

Tavi didn’t wait for him to be ready before she charged, sabres positioned for slashing blows. Just before she reached him, he stepped to the side and seemed to vanish into the same shadows he’d emerged from a few minutes prior. 

A sneaky type and two wizards, the little voice piped up. Maybe you should just run for it.

Run where? she grumbled back. A tall, willowy man with dark brown hair tied back in a  ponytail and a fresh, beautiful black eye had taken a position in the mouth of the alley. There was no way out. And she still didn’t know where the other wizard was--

--Pain lanced through her side as the dwarf’s dagger cut deep along the bottom of her ribcage. Tavi yelped and instinctively cranked her elbow back into his skull. It wasn’t a perfect hit, but it was solid enough to make her hand go numb for a second and send the dwarf sprawling. She took advantage of the few seconds he was out of commission to go after the wizard, but the man dodged, and a solid slash aimed at his chest barely nicked his arm. Growling in frustration, Tavi whirled back to the dwarf. He had regained his feet and she turned just in time to parry his blows with a loud ringing clash of blades. With her attention split between the two threats, Tavi only avoided the lance of necrotic energy by pure chance.

Quickly on the heels of that, a portion of the ground seemed to slicken just before she stepped on it, and Tavi went down with Fuck, fuck, fuck circling in her mind. She was slightly dazed as she rolled to avoid the dwarf’s follow-up strikes, but she still noticed the female orlan standing with her fellow wizard to block the alley’s mouth.

Shit, shit, shitshitshit. Tavi kicked the dwarf in the jaw as she rolled again and scrambled to her feet. The little voice had been fucking right and she hated it. She’d faced these odds and won before, but this trio seemed to work together almost supernaturally well. As she stood with her back against the wall--both literally and figuratively--faced off with three assassins out for her blood, Tavi was forced to admit she had two options: run or die. Much as she hated running, dying was worse, and every other plan that crossed her mind ended badly. She couldn’t do this, not alone.

She spun one sabre around her hand and glared at her attackers. Doesn’t mean I won’t try. Screaming in wordless fury, she charged.

The wizards were both too far into chanting invocations to do anything, but the dwarf deftly sidestepped and one of his daggers sliced into her arm, catching forearm and bicep both thanks to her stance.

Tavi, run.

The thought was punctuated by the sting of the other dagger catching her just below the knee.

Run before you can’t anymore.

This time she listened. Even limping heavily, Tavi managed to gain enough momentum she could barrel past the wizards as they unleashed their spells, elbowing the orlan in the head as she passed. Completely by accident, she tripped the human, who went sprawling into the dwarf. Coincidence that it may have been, that probably saved her life; giving her a few precious seconds’ worth of distance while they untangled themselves.

Hissing softly at each painful step, Tavi hobbled into the maze of alleyways. Hopefully between the fading light and various liquid stains on the streets, they wouldn’t be able to pick up her trail too easily. She cut through buildings, doubled back, and every other trick she could think of to lose them. Including a brief but risky stop to cut off her undamaged sleeve for use as a makeshift bandage on the opposite arm, since those wounds were bleeding the heaviest.

Finally, once night way fully fallen and there was an abundance of shadows to hide in, she started making her way back to the more populated areas. Hopefully she could find somewhere to patch herself up. She’d had trouble trusting healers since attempt on her life number four. She’ never come out of one of these fights so badly, though. Never lost. It was further souring an already-bad mood.

Told you not to be so cocksure, her thoughts taunted.

They’ve never sent a wizard before, let alone two, Tavi groused back, briefly worrying about her sanity as she tried the door of the healer’s shop. Locked, of course. It was late. She thought about breaking in but decided against it. That kinda tipped the scales in their favor. If I had a wizard it’d be different.

Her injured leg almost gave out as she turned away from the healer’s. Tavi bit her lip and braced one hand against the wall. She would get this fucked up in some backwater where it made sense for the healer to close at night. And with her hunters still out there, she didn’t want to make a scene. Especially in one of the places they’d be likely to check.

The Adventurers’ Hall. It was the first helpful contribution the little voice had made since the start of this debacle. Muttering to herself, Tavi kicked dirt over the blood drips that marked where she’d stood and hobble down the street. As the staging ground for all--or at least most--of the mercenary companies and adventurers in the area, the Hall would have plenty of rooms for members who had paid their dues. Surely at least a few were empty and she could borrow one for an hour or so with no one the wiser. Assuming she still had enough supplies left. Her pack was getting light, and not just because she was low on food. Please, it’s an adventurers’ hall, I’m sure they have bandages and shit if you come up short.

With that settled, Tavi made her way--slowly due to both caution and pain--to the Adventurers’ Hall, where she slipped in a side door. It was late enough the hallways were mostly deserted, though she could hear the low chatter of conversation from the common rooms, and a couple of the suites still had light showing under the doors. The three closest to her were dark, so Tavi picked one and eased the door open. The biggest aumaua she’d seen in her life was snoring contentedly in the bed, so she eased the door closed without waking him and tried another. This one was empty, so she hobbled in and closed the door. Enough light made it in from the hallway for her to see where the washroom was and Tavi felt her heart sing a little as she headed in that direction. The adrenaline had worn off by now and everything hurt.

There was a low stool under the table holding the washbasin, and she pulled it out to sit on as she absently kicked the door toward closed. Her leg finally gave out then, so it wound up being more collapsing on the stool than sitting. Tavi hissed out a quiet curse as she untied the makeshift bandage and pulled off her shirt. It stuck a little to the cut along her ribs, and she bit her lip as she worked it free. She used the tattered remnants to clean off the  wounds as best she could before pulling out the supplies to stitch herself up.

“Now for the fun part,” she muttered, clumsily threading the needle in the little bit of light making it in from outside. Half moonlight, half torchlight, it had just enough of a flicker to make things difficult. Her shaking hands didn’t make things easier, either. When she finally got it threaded, she held the needle somewhat awkwardly in her left hand. This was going to be the exact opposite of fun, but she had to sew up her arm first. Her right hand was her dominant one, so she needed that as functional as possible for stitching up the other injuries.

It was a slow process, one interrupted by the wounds beginning to bleed again, but Tavi did finally get the two gashes stitched up. It was even a half decent job, she allowed as she unclenched her jaw and started wrapping bandages around her arm. She gave herself a minute or two for the pain to fade some, then rethreaded the needle and swapped hands to start working on her leg. That cut was smaller, and shallow, much easier to stitch up than her arm. 

She’d barely started bandaging it when the door to the main room opened.

Shit. Tavi froze, hearing the caught breath and cautious steps of someone who had definitely seen the blood trail leading to the washroom. Shitshitfuckingshit.

She’d only half-closed the door to the washroom, so it made a markedly less impressive bang when it slammed open, revealing a blonde dwarf holding a candle in one hand and a loaded crossbow in the other. Her grip on both tightened as she met Tavi’s eyes and demanded, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Composing an ode to the financial savvy of the ducs bel,” Tavi shot back irritably. “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?!”

The dwarf snickered and lower her crossbow. “Oh, I like you. Lemme rephrase: why the fuck are you stitchin’ yourself up in my room?”

“Thought it was empty,” Tavi replied warily.

“That’s fair.” The dwarf set down crossbow and candle both and crossed her arms as she looked Tavi over, taking in the bandaged wounds, bloody smears, and gash across her ribs. She didn’t seem especially perturbed at finding a bleeding elf clad in breastband and trousers sitting in her washroom, just curious. “What happened?”

Tavi shrugged, which her side quickly reminded her was stupid. “There’s people who wanna kill me for reasons I ain’t figured out. They came pretty close this time.”

“I can see that. What, you don’t trust healers?”

“No,” she said simply, the memory of attempt four flashing through her mind. “I don’t.”

“So you go it on your own, patching yourself up as needed?” the dwarf flashed her an impressed smile. “Good for you. Sounds lonely.”

“It can be,” Tavi admitted, wishing this conversation would end so she could sew up her fucking side. “But I do travel with people sometimes. When I feel like I can trust ‘em.”

“Would you trust me?” the dwarf asked, nodding at Tavi’s side. “Least enough to let me help with that?”

Yes, said Tavi’s gut. She’d never had reason to doubt it, but this close after a scrap with Those People, she was still wary. “Would help if I knew your name.”

The dwarf nodded and smiled. “Maren. And you?”

“Tavi.”

“Nice to meet you, Tavi.” Maren raked her hair back into a ponytail. “D’you want me to help stitch you up?”

Tavi only hesitated for a few seconds. The cut across her ribs would be tricky to take care of y herself, which meant a higher chance for complications. “Sure. Will you be offended if I keep one hand on a weapon?”

“Nah, that’s just common fucking sense,” Maren chuckled, rolling up her sleeves. She washed her hands quickly and accepted the needle and thread when Tavi offered them. “So, these people you’ve occasionally trusted, any of them adventurers?”

Tavi shook her head, fingers curling around her sabre’s hilt. “Couple caravans, few families, a traveling tinkerer once, but never adventurers. Why?” She sucked in a sharp breath as Maren started stitching her side back together.

“B’cause you seem like the type who’d fit in well with an adventuring company,” Maren said with a meaningful look at the older scars peppered over Tavi’s body. “Fuckin’ tough and capable of takin’ care of herself.” She glanced up. “And I happen to head up an adventuring company lookin’ for exactly that. Got a couple opening I need to fill for us to be full strength.”

“Why’re there openings?” Tavi asked, wincing slightly as the stitching progressed. “Did they die? Leave?”

“One of each, but the dead one it’s her own stupid fuckin’ fault,” Maren shrugged. “Wanna join up?”

"What do I get if I do?” Tavi asked cautiously. Her gut was prompting her towards accepting, but she wanted details first.

“Adventure, obviously, an even share of any coin we make, and a whole company willin’ to watch your back as long as you watch theirs, too,” Maren reeled off, nearing the end of the gash.

“Fuckin’ tempting,” Tavi acknowledged. “And what do you get out of it?”

“Godsdamned tough bitch workin’ for me,” Maren grinned up at her. “And the faster I replace my lost people the better we look to prospective employers.”

Tavi grinned back and listened to her gut. “Sounds good, I’m in.”

“Well, then, Tavi,” Maren paused to tie off and cut the last stitch before extending her hand to shake. “Welcome to Silversteel.”