#gonna be so so so honest. i think hector turned out the best here…

[querlq]

some sketches to help beat my art block hhhhrhh

[blackjackkent]

Amusingly, I just stopped at the trader, so I have almost no useful equipment to pass to Wulbren; however, what I do have is Hector's quarterstaff that I unequipped because I'm trying out @zenjestrr's suggestion of running Hector as an Open Hand monk instead. And apparently a quarterstaff is a decent enough rock-breaking tool for him.

"Good work. We're gonna wait until it's quiet, then bust out the back wall. We'll grab the tieflings along the way - we'll need 'em if it comes to a fight. You, however, are the clincher. Once we move, keep the patrols busy. If the bastards spot us, all of bloody Moonrise will come down on us."

Don't worry, Wulbren. Hector is extremely good at both dialogue checks and stealth, so he is absolutely the right person to have in your corner for this.

I caved and did a little research on this - not so much for an ideal outcome as just to be sure that we're not triggering some point-of-no-return here, which it looks like we aren't. Since Hector, despite my sarcasm, is not really particularly good at anything sneaky, I'm thinking our best bet here might be to just clear out all of the prison guards before giving Wulbren the go-ahead, since apparently doing so doesn't turn the rest of the tower hostile. (It does also appear that we can't go to long rest before doing this, or the prisoners will simply make a break for it without our help, which seems like it will probably go badly.)

There's also a very tempting looking abyss right next to all the prison cells, and Gale has Thunderwave burning a hole in his pocket.

YEET.

The other guard was easily dealt with via a couple of blows from Karlach, which just leaves whatever's happening in the big central chamber, which appears to be the Warden's office, judging by the fact that there is a Warden in it.

Quick chat before the murder, I suppose.

"You spark of the familiar. Do I know you, True Soul? Hm. Perhaps not - your face is rather bland."

Wow, rude. >:|

"Regardless, know this - I am the warden. The prisoners are my charges, and I answer to Disciple Balthazar himself. Stay on my good side."

"Your face is pretty bland too," says Hector, because we're planning to fight this woman anyway, so if he's going to indulge himself in sarcasm, this is the time for it.

She is, of course, unamused. "My face might be bland, but yours - it is now carved into my memory forever."

Not really that impressive a rejoinder, to be honest.

We do have the option to ask her about Duke Ravengard, who is the last prisoner currently unaccounted for; seems like that might be a good idea while we have the opportunity. The Warden didn't know who he is, though - "he sounds important, and I'm afraid the mere dregs are the only ones left in my care."

"I'll do my utmost to impress you," Hector says humbly, with the intention of luring the woman into a false sense of security before they strike.

She snorts. "A pity you're already failing, then."

OK, you know what, I'm tired of you. Karlach, sic 'em.

----

As they all stand around over the Warden's dead body, Karlach nudges it with her boot toe. "That's for calling my boyfriend's face bland," she says, glaring down at the corpse imperiously.

Hector looks amused. "I don't know," he says, mock-innocently. "Are you sure she doesn't have a point?"

She grins. "Hector Carlisle fishing for compliments? What is the world coming to?"

"I just like to hear you say it," he says sheepishly.

"Yeah, all right, well. You're gorgeous and I adore you. Let's finish clearing this godsdamned place out so I can tell you properly somewhere more private."

[sceptilemasterr]

Defenders of the Flame (TE Rewrite) Act 3, Scene 2 - Back in Session

Title: Defenders of the Flame (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Shreya x F!MC, Beckett x F!Atlas

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite (The Elementalists, Book 1)

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: Classes resume for Fiora's second semester at Penderghast.

Previous Scene: Identity Crisis

Masterlist: Link

INT. PENDERGHAST CAMPUS - VARIOUS LOCATIONS

MONTAGE

In Tubigan Hall’s Auditorium 3, the students file in for their first class of the new semester; Fiora and Shreya are holding hands. A middle-aged man with long dark hair stands at the front of the room. This is DR. VARTOKIS, another Penderghast professor.

SHREYA (to Fiora): You know? I almost missed attending classes.

Fiora giggles.

FIORA: Emphasis on the “almost,” right?

ZEPH: I just realized... Fiora, you are gonna breeze through this class!

The group takes their seats, with Shreya and Fiora sitting together. Shreya smiles and wraps an arm around Fiora as they sit.

FIORA (quizzically): Why’s that?

ZEPH: ...Do you even know what class this is?

FIORA (embarrassed): Uh... no. I’ve been kinda distracted lately.

Zeph smiles and winks suggestively at Shreya, who laughs.

ZEPH: Oh, I bet! Anyway, this is--

Dr. Vartokis chooses that moment to address the class, his voice amplified. He speaks with a very cheerful, casual tone.

DR. VARTOKIS: Hello there, everyone! Welcome to your first class of this semester: Attuneless History, Society, and Culture! ...Or you can just call it “AHSC” for short if you want. I won’t judge ya!

A few students laugh as Fiora mouths a silent “oh” of understanding at Zeph. Zeph nods, and starts to say something, but Beckett shushes them.

DR. VARTOKIS: Okay, okay, I know many of you are probably wondering what the point of this class is. After all, if you’re gonna spend your career here in the Stoicheal Realm, why bother with my class? The truth is, whether your future leads you to a life among Tuneless or not, our two societies are inextricably linked.

BECKETT (muttering): Fascinating point. I had not considered this...

Beckett hurriedly writes something down in his notebook.

DR. VARTOKIS: Not to mention, there’s a lot we can learn from the Tuneless! We must never forget that we came from their realm, not the other way around. After all, it wasn’t so many centuries ago that our societies lived and worked side-by-side! In fact...

Dr. Vartokis continues talking as Shreya gives Fiora a knowing smile and leans her head on her shoulder. Zeph, meanwhile, is (for once) paying attention to the professor, nearly as attentively as Beckett.

DR. VARTOKIS: --as such. I’ll ask a few simple questions to get us started. First: who can tell me the name of Penderghast’s Archikeal reflection?

Several students--including Fiora and Shreya--raise their hands. Dr. Vartokis points to a student near the front of the hall, a Metal-Att named HECTOR RILENN.

HECTOR: It’s “Hart”-something, isn’t it? “Hartschild?” ...Maybe?

Dr. Vartokis shakes his head.

DR. VARTOKIS: Close, but not quite. You there!

He points to Shreya, who answers eagerly:

SHREYA: Hartfeld University!

DR. VARTOKIS: Correct! Now, who can tell me...

As he moves on to the next question, Shreya smiles at Fiora.

SHREYA (whispering): I’d never have known that one without you!

Shreya gives Fiora’s hand a quick squeeze. Fiora blushes and turns her attention back to the professor...

* * *

Fiora and her classmates file into one of the greenhouses for Natural Studies. Several of the other students are speaking to each other with confusion evident in their voices. Dracarys and Rys flutter above their owners’ heads with excitement, while Beckett’s (still) unnamed Grogue lets out a lazy croak from its position in his lap. Zeph laughs.

ZEPH: Looks like you’ve got some extra time, Beckett! Gonna name him yet?

BECKETT (irritated): Why on Earth do you think my answer would be any different than before?

Zeph leans in closer and smiles conspiratorially.

ZEPH (slyly): You know... Atlas told me what she’d name her Companion, if she ever got one. I asked her if she ever considered just not naming it at all, and she laughed in my face--

BECKETT (shocked): What?! You never mentioned this to me before!

ZEPH (shrugs): You never asked. So, what’s the verdict?

Beckett sighs, clearly considering Zeph’s words.

BECKETT (to himself): ...Hmm. It will have to be a name that is tasteful and refined...

Zeph gives Shreya and Fiora a side glance and a thumbs-up. Shreya giggles as Dr. Kontos enters the greenhouse.

DR. KONTOS: Greetings, and welcome back to Natural Studies! I am pleased to report that all of you passed the class, and did wonderfully on your finals!

A few cheers go up from the room, but most of the students just continue staring quizzically at Dr. Kontos.

DR. KONTOS: Yes, yes, let us address the dryxmar in the room first. According to standard Penderghast curriculum, my course ordinarily would be replaced with “Sourcism and Philosophy” for this semester. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, Dr. Swan is otherwise occupied and unable to teach her usual class. Thus, Dean Goeffe has granted me permission to continue Natural Studies into your next semester!

As the students start muttering amongst themselves, Fiora leans in toward Shreya.

FIORA (whispering): Dr. Swan’s still gone? That... doesn’t seem good.

SHREYA (whispering): Perhaps Atlas is starting to rub off on you. We know why Dr. Swan is absent! She’s off on a mission for the Defenders, remember?

FIORA (whispering): Maybe, but still... it’s been weeks...

SHREYA (whispering): You just need to relax a little and focus on other things for a change. Like the Amorelia Day Gala! It may be a bit far off yet, but there’s no time like the present!

FIORA (whispering): “No time” for what?

SHREYA (whispering): Why, for asking whomever you intend to ask to the dance, of course! Surely you plan to ask, right?

FIORA (whispering): I dunno. I’ve got so much else going on right--

DR. KONTOS: Ahem. Miss Luxen, Miss Mistry, care to rejoin the class?

Fiora and Shreya blush heavily when they notice Dr. Kontos and the other students all staring at them. Fiora bows her head in apology and focuses on Dr. Kontos as Shreya looks at Fiora, frustration clearly evident on her face...

* * *

Inside the Defenders of the Flame meeting chamber, Lucia and Arvan lead Fiora, Shreya, and the third-year inductees in practicing their Stoicheal Gathers. Although Shreya manages to perform a Gather after only two tries, Fiora still struggles with her own. Lucia approaches her while the others are practicing.

LUCIA: Hey. Looks like you’re having some trouble.

Fiora stops and looks at Lucia, then nods.

FIORA: It’s the whole “foundation point” thing. I suck at it.

LUCIA: Having trouble figuring it out, then?

FIORA: Yeah.

LUCIA: There’s not a lot I can help you with on that front. The foundation is something that comes from within. Who is Fiora? What makes you... well, you?

FIORA: I don’t know. I’m not as talented or confident as Shreya...

Lucia follows her gaze to where Shreya is performing yet another perfect Stoicheal Gather, to the delight and cheers of the third-year inductees. Fiora sighs.

FIORA (to herself): I doubt I’ll ever be.

* * *

Fiora and Shreya walk hand-in-hand down a street in Pennelia, the bright sunlight reflecting off of the snow all around them. Shreya is regaling Fiora with a story.

SHREYA (speaking rapidly): --but it wasn’t as though I meant to Evaporate the entire hot tub! I was just getting so angry, and the water was plenty hot to begin with. It’s an honest mistake to make, you know. At any rate, I still ended up winning “Best Dressed” for the evening, so it wasn’t for nothing.

FIORA: Wow. That’s-- (laughs) Attuned parties really are something.

SHREYA: Oh, they really are! That’s one reason why I’m so looking forward to the Gala. Let me tell you, I’ve already got the perfect dress picked out! Now all that’s left is... well... you know, if someone were to ask me...

FIORA (curiously): Ask you what?

Shreya sighs in frustration and shakes her head.

SHREYA (annoyed): Seriously? It’s--ugh, never mind.

She immediately brightens and points to a shop in the distance.

SHREYA: Oh! Montraire Bakery! We simply must stop in for a bite!

She drags Fiora toward the bakery, but as she does so, Shreya’s face displays a brief flash of disappointment...

* * *

In her usual lecture hall, Dr. Religast is in the midst of a lecture on Stoicheal Awakenings. Beckett, as usual, is taking detailed notes on the professor’s every word, while Zeph is busying himself by attempting a Roped Current with his hands beneath his desk. All that he manages is a weak trickle of water, which Shreya neatly Evaporates before anyone can notice.

DR. RELIGAST: --of triggering an Awakening. The first, and by far the most common: children growing up in Attuned households will often Awaken on their own, simply by exposure to adult Attuned...

Fiora leans over Shreya’s shoulder to see that Shreya is flipping through a small pamphlet decorated with moving pictures of models showing off various dresses.

FIORA (whispering): What’s that?

SHREYA (whispering): Just the latest Mistry Inc. catalogue. It’s mostly dresses during this season, of course. For the many upcoming dances and, ahem... galas!

FIORA (whispering): Oh. Wow! Are you gonna buy anything?

SHREYA (whispering): No, no... I told you, I’ve already bought my dress. It’s just fun looking through these sorts of things!

FIORA (whispering): Right. Sounds like it!

SHREYA (whispering): Now all I need is a date.

FIORA (whispering): Yeah...

Fiora shrugs, turning back to focus on what Dr. Religast is saying.

DR. RELIGAST: --is exposed to a highly concentrated source of stoicheal energy to become Awakened on their own, without any Attuned being present. Although such occurrences are rare, they almost always cause significant upheavals in Tuneless culture when...

Dr. Religast’s voice fades into the background as Shreya lets out a growl of frustration.

* * *

Fiora sits on the couch in their room’s common area as Shreya fiddles with something near the entrance. Apparently satisfied, she steps back to admire her handiwork and does a brief twirl.

SHREYA: And... that should do it! One entryway, freely open for the next six hours!

Fiora laughs.

FIORA: Nice job, Shreya! I didn’t even know we could do that.

SHREYA (winks): Just a little something my sister taught me.

The door to Fiora’s room swings open, and Atlas enters.

FIORA: Speaking of sisters... hey, Atlas.

ATLAS: You’re sure opening the door’s a good idea? What if Raife decides to send something after us while we’re wide open?

SHREYA: He already managed that even with the door closed. I doubt it would make much difference.

Atlas huffs and crosses her arms, glaring at the newly-unlocked doorway.

ATLAS: Okay, but if the next thing to come through that door looks at all suspicious, I’m hitting it with--

She is interrupted by Griffin stepping through the doorway. Griffin quickly raises his arms in surrender as he enters.

GRIFFIN: Whoa, Atlas, it’s me! Please don’t hit me with anything.

Atlas relaxes a fraction.

SHREYA: Griffin! So glad you could make it! (to Fiora) Looks like the entry really is open, you see?

GRIFFIN: Wait, you didn’t check to make sure?

SHREYA (laughs): Relax! Clearly it all worked out, non?

Zeph steps through a moment later, with Beckett close behind.

ZEPH: Alright! The Pend Pals are all here. Let’s get this study session started!

They all gather around the center table, pulling out their various study materials and setting them out. Beckett raises an eyebrow at Zeph.

BECKETT: Not that I am complaining, mind you, but... it’s unusual to see you so enthused about studying.

ZEPH: What? I’m allowed to be excited about it if I want!

FIORA: So, uh... what should we start on first?

BECKETT: Shall we begin with Dr. Vartokis’s “Equivalencies” assignment? It seems by far the most difficult--

SHREYA: Oh, we finished that one ages ago. Fiora’s been making those types of comparisons to absolutely everything in the Stoicheal Realm for months now, so it was easy.

FIORA: I’ll help you guys if you want!

Zeph eagerly pushes his worksheet in Fiora’s direction, while Beckett looks from Zeph to Fiora to Shreya and back in shocked confusion.

BECKETT (muttering): ...Have I fallen into some strange alternate universe?

ATLAS: Wow. Looks like Fiora and Shreya are doing better than you in a class for once. Gotta say, your reactions are hilarious to watch.

BECKETT: Oh? Why don’t you attempt the assignment, then?

ATLAS: Why should I? I don’t even go to class. Besides, watching you struggle with schoolwork for a change is way more entertaining.

BECKETT (sighs): You are impossibly vexing...

* * *

Icicles hang from the trees overhead as Zeph stands in a forested part of the quad, clad only in shorts and a t-shirt. He holds a hand out in front of his face, palm outward and glowing with water stoichi, as he struggles to concentrate on something.

ZEPH: Urgh... come on!

A few small spurts of water emerge from his palm and fall to the ground. He grunts in frustration and takes a step backward before preparing to try again.

ATLAS (O.S.): Zeph? That you?

Zeph lets his arm fall to his side and turns to see Atlas, similarly underdressed for the weather in a short-sleeved shirt and thin pants, approaching through the snow. She frowns at him.

ATLAS: I know training when I see it. What are you working on?

ZEPH: Oh! Atlas! ...Actually, you might be able to help. I’m trying to do your Roped Current, but...

He attempts the technique once again, demonstrating a similar result to the first time. Atlas frowns.

ATLAS: You’re really worried about the Wave’s Crest, huh?

ZEPH: Yeah. With Fiora, Shreya, and Beckett all being inducted already, I’m worried I won’t get in at all. My family would kill me if I didn’t get in!

ATLAS (completely serious): Wait, really?! Sources, Zeph, you should get out of--

Zeph breaks down into laughter.

ZEPH: Atlas, I didn’t mean literally! You take things so seriously it’s hilarious. But still, they’d be pretty upset. I’d be the first Hernandez child in eight generations not to be inducted.

Atlas thinks for a moment, then nods.

ATLAS: Alright. I’ll help you out.

ZEPH: Wait, you will? Really?

ATLAS: Sure. For one thing, you’re never gonna accomplish much tryin’ to run before you can walk. Roped Current is damn near impossible to pull off without training up to Energy-Att level first. Or... (shrugs) ...being a natural-born Energy-Att like me, I guess.

ZEPH (dejectedly): Oh.

ATLAS: Don’t worry about it. If this Wave’s Crest thing is so important to you... why don’t we work to get in together? There’s plenty of other techniques I can teach you in the meantime. Stuff that only requires Water Attunement to pull off.

ZEPH: Wow, that’d be perfect! You’re awesome, Atlas, thanks!

In his excitement, he turns and moves to give Atlas a hug, but she goes for a handshake at the same time. They end up awkwardly pressing their palms together and shaking them up and down.

ZEPH (laughs): Alright, not sure what that was... but when do you wanna start training?

ATLAS: Now is fine.

ZEPH: Oh. Uh... wow. You really don’t mess around!

ATLAS: Are we gonna train or what?

As Atlas steps forward and gets into a combat stance, readying herself, Zeph catches her eye and smirks.

ZEPH: ...Alright, I think I get what Beckett sees in you now. You and him would be--blrgrlblubrlgrlgb!

Midway through his sentence, Atlas snaps her fingers, which are glowing with water stoichi. His voice abruptly shifts until it sounds like he’s trying to talk underwater.

ATLAS: Lesson 1. “Water Muffle.” Useful in many situations, and its effect... you can see for yourself.

ZEPH: Gluburgl blurrgrg ubulrgl...

Atlas waves her hand lazily, and the technique ends.

ATLAS: Any more talk about Beckett, and I use it again. Is that clear?

ZEPH: Uh... yeah.

ATLAS: Good. Now then. The first step to Water Muffle is...

_______________________

Notes: Dr. Vartokis was mentioned earlier, but here's his first actual appearance! Yes, he's yet another OC professor. The class he teaches seems to be one Zeph's particularly excited about! (His class is essentially the Penderghast equivalent of Muggle Studies, for the Harry Potter fans in my audience.)

Timeline: We're well into Endless Winter (ES book 2) by now!

_______________________

Next: "That Distance Between Us"

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0 @shaylan211 @griselda1121 @acanthisorbis @marmolady @choicesbabie

DotF/Elementalists Tag List:

[fletchphoenix]

What I’ve Been Looking For

Hey Gamers! Here’s Chapter 8 of the Varigo Coffee Shop AU and I’m gonna be honest - I think this is my favourite chapter yet! It’s certainly the longest so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did!! Thank you for your support and ON WITH THE CHAPTER!

Word Count - 4853

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

A week had passed and it was finally Christmas - aka Hugo’s least favourite day of the year. Passing through his lips was a groan as he turned to his side on his bed, which was only a few bad days away from giving up on him completely. He felt around on the bedside table for his glasses, placing them on his face and laying back again, his head resting against the moss green pillows. Picking his phone up, he smiled at his phone screen - a photo of Varian at the library which was almost completely covered by the wall of text messages from said boyfriend. He let out a small sigh - his boyfriend absolutely adored Christmas, but...he didn’t get the appeal.

  At the orphanage, Christmas wasn’t really celebrated at all, it being far too expensive to buy presents for all the kids there. The only real indication he’d had that it was the streets being decorated by a ridiculous amount of lights, a giant pine tree placed in the centre of town with a mass of baubles scattered amongst the branches. Ever after he’d left, living on the streets for a while and after Donella took him in, she’d never been caring enough to celebrate the holiday. In her eyes, it was a ‘useless, excessively capitalised holiday used to manipulate the poor into spending a mass of money at one time’ and ‘a waste of money’. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree, the holiday was vastly overrated and had turned into a way to swindle money from the poor, manipulating the true meaning, but it wouldn’t hurt to get him a gift one year. It could’ve been a small one or something work-related, he wouldn’t have minded, but he never got one. 

  But that was the kind of woman Donella was, always cold and unfeeling towards everyone, including her son. Kind of. Did she even see him as her son? I mean-he’d always seen her as a mother to him, since she was the one to take him in, give him a home and a purpose...but that was because, in her eyes, he was a valuable asset. She’d only taken care of him, because she could get money from his skills. He knew that - she’d always been transparent about that fact with him - but there were plenty of instances where she’d contradicted herself. Where she’d actually cared. For example, when she’d brought him his jacket.

  She’d initially shoved it into his chest, wrapped in a plastic bag with her usual scowl and folded arms greeting him as his eyes met hers in confusion. Her grey hair was perfectly kept, behind her back in a braid which left the scar on her chin on full display as it jolted up towards her lip. She’d never told him how she’d got it, but he had his theories. One of his most outlandish scenarios was trying to trap her old research partner in a magical library, her partner using magic and a knife to scar the skin (11-year-old him had a wild imagination, okay?). Her sickly green eyes held annoyance in every last nook and cranny as she examined the boy in front of her’s confused expression at the package that was thrust towards his chest. “Well, aren’t you going to see what’s inside? I don’t have all day to be standing around waiting for you, Hugo.”

  “Yes ma’am.” He replied hastily, hands fumbling as he unwrapped the bag and took out the cargo. It was a green jacket, a grey hood at the top of it. He raised it to his eyes and tilted his head quietly. It was a little bit, but he’d grow into it. The second thing he’d noticed was that it was really, really soft, like..absolutely amazingly soft. Like fur! He pulled the jacket’s sleeves over his arms, noting how they covered his hands completely, before he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. It was comfy - a childish grin covering his face as he looked up at his mentor, grateful for his gift.

  “Your clothes looked ratty,” she said, looking away and trying to suppress her soft smile with a hardened expression. “I got you new ones. Maybe now you’ll look even slightly presentable.” she slowly walked away, Hugo knowing her true intentions behind the present. He let out a small yet happy sigh, his hand trailing through his hair as he walked down the hall towards his workshop again. He’d have to thank her later, he noted as he pushed open the door. He guessed that all the thanks he could give would be finishing off this commission they’d been working on for the past week...that would satisfy her more than a gift or hug or anything. He hung the jacket up on a peg, sitting down on the leather stool by his desk before leaning over and getting to work. 

  Hugo sat up in bed, finally deciding to get up on this cursed day and standing. He stretched his legs and arms, walking to his desk to give Olivia her daily helping of sunflower seeds, which the mouse graciously accepted with a happy squeak. He yawned and grabbed some clothes from the closet, heading down the hall towards the bathroom for a shower, passing framed photos of him, his boyfriend and their friends along the way. They all got along just fine - them being Hugo, Varian, Nuru and Yong, however him and Nuru did have the occasional sarcastic quip aimed at each other, much to Varian’s annoyance. Despite the playful banter though, they got along well considering the short amount of time they’d known each other, with Varian always taking pictures so Hugo would have to ‘frame his memories’ and place them on the wall. It was sweet, especially how he’d exclusively picked frames that were painted green - a nice little detail that didn’t go unnoticed by Hugo. Still, it felt strange. He thought Varian’s dad had grounded him, so why was he allowed out so frequently to meet up? The thought weighed heavy in his mind, although it disappeared as he arrived at his final destination.

  Varian sat up in his bed as soon as he’d woken up, a large smile on his face as he realised the day. “It's Christmas...It’s Christmas!” He yelled as he jumped up, startling the obese cat who was sleeping quite satisfied on his legs, curled up in a ball. The cat mewled and batted at Varian’s arms in response, the teen too excited to care as he threw open his door and sprinted down the stairs. He must’ve moved at the speed of sound, because he swore it only took him a few seconds to arrive in the kitchen, where his father stood preparing some hot chocolate and pancakes. He felt out of place in his teal pyjamas, but nonetheless he still took a seat at the table. “Good morning, Dad. Hey, that smells great!”

  “Good morning to you too, son. And thank you.” he replied, placing the pancakes on a plate, picking it up in one hand and the hot chocolate in the other before setting it in front of his son. Varian wasted no time, swallowing it all down so fast, Quirin could’ve sworn he’d just inhaled the things. Chuckling at the thought, he moved and sat down beside his son. “So, we’re stopping off at Rapunzel’s for Christmas dinner aren’t we?” A nod of confirmation came from his son, who was sipping his hot chocolate. “Okay, will we be picking up your boyfriend on the way?”

  Varian spat his hot chocolate out in shock at his father’s latter question. What? How did he know about Hugo? He’d never told him about the other boy before...maybe Rapunzel had told his father? No, she wouldn’t do that to him. Eugene? He scrapped that thought as soon as it came. Those two would never do that to him...would they? “No Varian. You need to trust them.” his inner voice reminded him. He composed himself as his eyes met his dad’s, who was quite obviously holding back his laughter. “I...how do you..know about him?”

  “Remember the night I grounded you? Last thursday? Yeah, that's how I know.” He explained nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair and sipping his hot chocolate quietly. “I went upstairs with the intent to apologise and saw you two fast asleep and cuddling. You both looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to intrude on your moment, so I left you be and wanted to wait until you were ready to tell me.” He suddenly leaned forward, taking his son’s hands in his own with a serious expression on his face. “Son, you know I love you no matter who you’re attracted to, whether it be boys or girls. You’re still my son and I love you unconditionally. So will your Aunt Adira and Uncle Hector. And we’ll support you no matter what. Although...it would have been nice to have a formal introduction with the boy, he seems very nice.”

  A smile crept onto Varian’s face as he rose to his feet, moving around the titular table to embrace his father. “Thank you so much, dad. And yes, we will have to pick him up. I want him to celebrate Christmas - it’ll be his first time celebrating too, which makes it even more special!” he paused. “I’ll let you know where his apartment is. I have a present that I...desperately wanna give him.”

  “Speaking of presents..” Quirin began, rising from his chair to look down at his son. “I haven’t given you yours yet. So, follow me.” He declared, leading the way towards the basement door. They hadn’t been down there since his mother left - it used to be her old workspace for anything science related. Varian used to love going down there and watching as Ulla would experiment, combining different elements in processes he didn’t even understand. Their son would watch in wonder as, with one ribbon of metal being added, an acid would change colour, and he’d cheer so loud with the biggest smile on his face whenever Ulla let him act as her ‘lab assistant’ and let him perform his own experiments (supervised, of course). 

  He did miss the woman and her presence in the house. She brought so much joy to everything she passed, making even the worst of days become one of the best. It was because of her that they even celebrated Christmas, her introducing the holiday to him and the various traditions that came along with it. She really was a loving and caring woman in every way there possibly was - Varian taking after her in that department. She’d sing to their son to help him sleep as a newborn and sit by his crib all night in case he woke up in the night and needed her for anything. But they never saw the stress wearing her down, causing her to become more and more confrontational as the days went on. Hell, the divorce came out of nowhere, Ulla one day stating that she wanted one and was leaving. Nonetheless, Quirin had supported her and let her go, because she was the woman he loved. If that’s what she wanted then fine, he’d let her leave. He bit the inside on his cheek. No time to think of that - it was Christmas and by god, he was gonna enjoy himself.

  The door to the basement opened and Quirin gestured for his son to go down the steps before him. Varian obliged, walking down the steps that threatened to break. They’d have to get them replaced one day, he thought as he reached the floor below and flicked on the lights. He was met with the sight of a truly magnificent sight. Tables were pushed up against the walls, a wheeled office chair placed under one. Beakers and a Bunsen burner sat on the side, beside a large stack of drawers that, upon closer inspection, were labelled and filled with all the equipment he needed, such as burets, test tubes, pipettes and micropipettes...it was simply breathtaking. He travelled further around the home lab, a coat peg in the corner with a single, white lab coat hanging from it. He immediately knew it was his mother’s from the small blue patch on the elbow of the left sleeve - a hole caused by 7-year-old him accidentally changing the Bunsen burner from the safety flame to the blue flame, his mom lunging over it to stop him from burning himself. After that, he was terrified of the burner for years after that. 

  “Dad, this is...this is amazing!” he gasped, running over and giving him a tight hug. “Wow! I love it so much!” he cried as he moved away and excitedly explored the room even more. Pulling on the lab coat, he flattened the creases of the lab coat. A perfect fit, he thought, before he turned to his dad with a smile. “How is it? Do I look alright?”

  “You look great son, but go upstairs and get dressed. We need to pick up your boyfriend and drive over to Rapunzel and Eugene’s house, okay?” He commented, watching his son’s excitement as he placed the lab coat back on the bed and sprinted upstairs. Quirin’s gaze drifted to the lab coat. He looked just like his mother in that lab coat, it was almost uncanny. He always thought about her this time of year and how much different life was without Ulla’s constant presence in the house. Nevermind,he muttered as he walked to the stairs, flicking off the lights and travelling up the stairs. It was in the past. Now, time to prepare himself to meet his son’s boyfriend.

  Hugo sat on the couch, his arms folded and pouting. There was nothing on but stupid goddamn Christmas movies! He hated them! All they did was brag that they had everything he didn’t have, like a family or gifts..it sucked. He especially hated them as a kid, wishing every year that he’d get adopted and have that one day. He’d always imagined his mom being a tall, gentle woman, who’d pick him up and put him on the counter if he’d fallen over while playing, placing a gentle kiss to his wounds before covering them with a bandaid, giving him a hug and sending him off to play. He’d also imagined his dad - a stern, blonde haired man with a soft side, who would always make time for him and show him what he did for work. They’d have good paying jobs too - his dad being a mechanic for some high-class company and his mom being a nurse. He’d had it all planned out. Especially Christmas, where he’d run down the stairs to be greeted with the sight of endless towers of presents, hugging and kissing his parents on the cheek after each one. Instead, he’d been ‘blessed’ with Donella, who couldn’t care less about him or Christmas. No parents, no luxury life, no Christmas. She snuffed out his dream on the final one really quick, being the one to tell him Santa wasn’t real (even though he already knew that, but the confirmation hurt).

  He was so lost in thought that he almost missed the sound of frantic knocking at the door to his apartment. “Who the hell is that?” he muttered under his breath as he sauntered down the hall. He ran his hands over his clothes, trying to flatten any creases that might be seen before opening the door. Varian stood, his hand raised as though he was about to knock the door again, with a goliath of a man behind him, causing Hugo to swallow thickly. Oh fuck was that man large. He could probably snap Hugo in half over his knee if he felt like it. ‘Please don’t call him dad, please don’t call him dad…’ Hugo found himself praying.

  “Hugh!” his boyfriend cried as he lunged forward and wrapped his arms round the blonde’s neck, who was still in shock at the sight of the man accompanying the titular teen. “Dad, this is my boyfriend, Hugo! Hugo, this is my dad!” he explained. Brilliant. Now he knew if he ever broke up with Varian (“Pfft, as if that’s gonna happen.” his inner voice reminded him, yet again butting in rudely.), he’d be assured a quick death at the hands of this titan of a man crushing his skull.

  “It's a uh-a pleasure to finally meet you, sir.” he finally stuttered out, trying to uphold his usual relaxed attitude, however judging by the crack in his voice, he’d failed miserably. He held out his hand, the older man exchanging his greeting and virtually concealing Hugo’s hand in his own, it being barely visible as it was shaken before being mercifully let go. “Why are you two here, by the way. In like-the politest way possible.”

  “You’re spending Christmas with us! Speaking of which, we’re meant to be at my sister’s like-right now! So! Let’s go!” he grabbed his boyfriend’s arm, only giving him enough time to grasp his coat, which had Varian’s present concealed in it, and scarf before pulling him out of the apartment and down the stairwell to the street below. Hugo listened to Varian’s rambling about their christmas traditions which didn’t seem to stop even as they got to the car and were heading towards Rapunzel and Fitzherbert’s house. Speaking of which, he’d never seen it, the only conversation he’d had with them being the...rather awkward one the day he’d asked Varian out. What a wild day that had been...it felt like forever ago, if he was being honest. It didn’t seem real that they were together at all. He gave the raven haired boy’s hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand with a smile tugging at his lips again. He really was helpless for this boy.

  The car came to a halt outside a small cottage, very different to the one he had imagined the couple would live in. It was a surprise, albeit a pleasant one - what, a cottage out here in the middle of the countryside seemed like the best place to settle down. He just couldn’t believe someone like Fitzherbert would’ve settled for that. It admittedly looked kind of cute though, lights hung from the roof carefully and around the gate. Varian, however, gave him no time to admire the beauty of the cottage, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the white-painted fence and rushing up the steps before opening the front door. “We’re here, guys!” he declared and almost immediately they were swarmed by a mass of people.

  The only four people he’d noticed were Rapunzel, Eugene, Cassandra and Irene, pulling them into hugs and exchanging Christmas greetings with each other. The other three he’d recognised as Kiera, Catalina and Lance from all of the stories Varian would tell him randomly during their dates, such as how Lance had adopted them after they were orphaned (“Lucky kids.” Hugo had muttered to himself bitterly before turning away and staring out the window again). Hugo winced and grimaced at the exchanges, awkwardly returning them before heading towards where he thought the living room was. 

  Luckily, he was right, and he moved quickly to sit on the couch, immediately cringing at the sight of an excessively decorated and obviously fake Christmas tree sitting against the wall with a mass of presents underneath it. More reminders of the things he’d lacked all his life, he thought bitterly, before a warmth beside him broke him out of his thoughts. Varian cuddled into his boyfriend’s side, kissing his cheek gently with a soft, loving smile on his face. “Hey there, sweetheart..you enjoying yourself?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.

  “Yeah, definitely. Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it.” he lied over his teeth, praying his boyfriend didn’t notice his discomfort. It must’ve been his lucky day as, other than a concerned noise, Varian seemed to take this answer as gospel and just cuddled into his side further. Hugo thrived in their moment of peace amongst the madness of Christmas, almost like the week before where they sat in the park at almost midnight just cuddling on the park bench. This only lasted a moment, however, as Rapunzel called them all in for dinner as she placed various dishes onto the table. 

  Everyone crowded around it, Varian holding Hugo’s hand under the table as they sat side by side (the fact that Varian was left handed helped tremendously, considering Hugo was right handed and both could hold each other’s less dominant hand) with a shy smile on his face as he, once again, answered the numerous questions on how they met. All the while, Hugo sat uncomfortably. It was all too much for him - the family, the food, the absolute love...he couldn’t take him. “Give me a minute.” he muttered as he let go of Varian’s hand, standing up and excusing himself. Hurriedly, he left the room and sat outside on the steps up to the house. 

  He didn’t get it. How did he deserve any of this? He was a bad person and didn’t see how someone like Varian could look at him and think that he warranted any of this. He was a thief and a liar and messed up everything good in his life. Varian would realise that one day and leave him, just like everyone else in his life did. He didn’t want to admit it but..he knew he wasn’t good enough for someone like Varian. Someone so sweet despite everything he did in his past - someone so forgiving...he didn’t deserve that. The door opened behind him, quickly shutting before footsteps stopped beside him and none other than Fitzherbert sat down beside him. “What. You come to laugh at me or something?”

  “Nope. I don’t know why you’d think that.” Fitzherbert commented, looking at the troubled teen and sighing, seeing himself in the boy. He took a deep breath and looked directly ahead as he continued to talk. “I know how you’re feeling. I was an orphan too. You feel as though you don’t belong - like you don’t deserve any of this and you never will. But you do, Hugo. I know I don’t really know you that well, but I’ve been in your boat before and I know Varian well enough to know he adores you. Varian thinks the world of you and looks as though you put the stars in the sky. I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings - you deserve to feel however you want and that's okay, but you need to know that we all care about you so much and...for the record, Rapunzel was really excited to meet you again. Just letting you know, she literally texted Varian asking everything about you like your favourite flavours, colors..hell, even smells!” He let out a laugh, and so did Hugo, albeit a little weak. “You don’t have to come back in..but you can if you want.”

  Hugo bit the inside of his cheek before leaning and resting his head on Eugene’s arm, letting the older man put his arm around him before bringing him into a long embrace. One that he didn’t know he needed, especially from someone like Eugene. He let out a breathy chuckle before standing up with Eugene, making their way inside and sitting beside his boyfriend again. Varian gave him a concerned look, Hugo nodding in reassurance and raising his boyfriend’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of his hand before they smiled and continued to eat.

  As soon as dinner was over, Hugo found himself sitting down beside Varian on the couch yet again as the others exchanged presents. Eugene had got Rapunzel a purple frying pan (he didn’t question why, the woman seemed eccentric enough to adore the gift, gifting her boyfriend with a mass of kisses), Rapunzel bought Eugene a small ring to match her engagement ring, Irene gave Cassandra a leather jacket and Cassandra gave Irene a pink helmet to wear on the motorbike, Lance got the girls MANY presents that Hugo didn’t have the energy to remember. And that left him and Varian to exchange gifts.

  Carefully they both took out their boxes for each other, trading them and opening them at the same time. Both gasped when they saw they’d both bought each other a pair of goggles! Hugo gazed at the goggles Varian had bought for him. They were circular - big enough to fit over his glasses - with orange lenses and spikes around the rim, being painted grey all over. A leather strap connected them at the back, him placing them round his neck. Varian, on the other hand, stared at his in disbelief. A small, extra magnifier was attached to the left eye of the goggles, the rims painted bronze and gold with clear, colourless lenses. They were perfect, he silently decided, leaning in closer to Hugo to place a gentle kiss to his jaw.

  “These are perfect, Hugo..I..thank you so much!” he said with love and affection dripping through his words as he put the goggles on top of his head, his hands drifting to the vial around his neck and fiddling with it. It illuminated, shining a soft light across his chest and hands as he gazed down at it in wonder. He looked up at the blonde again, who looked at him with the utmost affection and a dorkish smile on his face. “Anyway, we should be heading back. It’s kinda late and I need my beauty sleep!” he joked, standing and pulling Hugo and Quirin along with him. They bid their farewells, Rapunzel extremely reluctant to let Hugo leave as she hadn’t learnt absolutely everything about him, but she let them leave after a while. They all got into the car and drove back towards Hugo’s apartment complex.

  After Hugo left the car, Varian walked beside him hand in hand up to his apartment. “Hey, look at this.” Varian said as they got to the door, bringing a piece of branch out of his pocket and raising it above his head. He raised an eyebrow in confusion, looking down at his boyfriend who quickly elaborated. “It’s mistletoe so you have to kiss me!” he declared, raising himself onto his tiptoes and puckering his lips. His eyes shut and Hugo’s face took on a grin, leaning down to kiss the boy in a long, sweet kiss, pouring every bit of affection they had for each other into it. 

  The kiss eventually broke and Varian headed down the hall and away from Hugo for the night, the blonde sighing. He pushed open the door, however it stopped part way due to a weight in front of the door. “Huh? Weird.” he muttered, sliding in through the thin gap between the door as his eyes met a package at the door. It was green and moderately large and, after Hugo had kicked the door shut, he crouched down and reached out to read the tag on the box. 

  ‘Merry Christmas - Donella’

  Huh. That was weird. Donella ACTUALLY getting him a Christmas gift? That was unheard of in his world up until now, but he still picked it up and carried it into the living room before placing it on the glass coffee table. He slowly untied the bow and raised the lid, noticing what was inside the box. It was a new laptop - one he had been working to try and get for months now. He didn’t think she’d actually listened to him when he talked to her about it. “Well, that’s a welcome surprise.” he whispered under his breath, lifting it out to see something else tucked at the bottom of the box. Setting the laptop aside, he raised it to see another jacket - this one he immediately recognised. She’d worn it all the time when he was younger and he’d always loved it, but now..she was actually giving it to him. 

  This one was a dark green with a few gold and grey accents across it, the crest of her company embroidered onto the arm only as big as his thumb. He smiled happily, his fingers tracing over the material as he carried both the laptop and the jacket upstairs to his room. He’d always loved the jacket, and usually Donella was overly possessive about her property, so the fact that she was willingly giving it up for him...it was a large statement for a woman like her. 

  He pushed open the door and placed the two items onto his desk, changing into his pyjamas and laying down on his bed. He took off his glasses and set them aside onto his bedside table, moving to hug his pillow close to his chest and imagining it was his boyfriend. He’d have to thank them both for their gifts when he had the time.

  “Y’know...maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all.” he whispered to himself before letting himself fall asleep, a smile still plastered on his face.

[mercurryblack]

Chapter 9: Amaryllis

Meanwhile, down in Mistral City proper...

❃❃❃

Amaryllis wasn’t the formal type.

Practicality had been the byword that Aunt Isabelline had drilled into her head— and more often than not, that word either meant plate armor or a drab tac-suit of Atlesian make. She’d started wearing a ‘combat’ skirt in her third year, but only at the insistence of that Amaranth girl in the year below her, along with the assertion that it wouldn’t impair her mobility. Even still, her range of clothing options as a Huntress-in-training had always been limited, and it left her with comparatively less concern for her personal fashion.

All that being said, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit regal in her current garb.

The colors fit perfectly with the charity’s motif - black and red. It was a simple outfit; a strapless midnight gown with a banded pattern. She had chosen to pair it with her good pair of knee-high boots, and had even gone the extra mile to put on a bit of makeup. Honestly, she didn’t mind styling herself; it was just the feeling of being stared at that she was a tad unnerved about.

Her boyfriend, of course, was the sole exception to this.

“You look amazing tonight, Ammy.” Gently laying a hand on her shoulder, Hector leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek. She blushed at the sudden public display of affection.

“Thank you, Hector. You’re quite handsome yourself.” she complimented him.

The young man stood in front of Amaryllis, showing off the black dress suit and scarlet tie he had tailor-made especially for the event. “Say, we’re even matching.”

“Why, don’t you two look cozy?”

An older man in a suit with salt-and-pepper hair abruptly appeared from the crowd in front of them. Amaryllis immediately recognized him as Hector’s father, Miller. He was tailed by a shorter boy— who Amaryllis assumed to be Hector’s younger brother— and the boy’s companion, a girl roughly the same age with flowing white hair.

The boy scrunched up his face and raised an eyebrow as he turned to Hector. “Who’s this pretty woman with you, bruv?”

Miller smiled. “Yes, Hector, aren’t you going to politely introduce me to this stunning young lady you have on your arm?” asked the elder Wulfric, though his focus was on Amaryllis as he spoke to his son.

At those words, time seemed to freeze for Amaryllis.

‘Oh no. Oh no. This is it— this is really it, there’s no way I can back out of this now. What if he doesn’t like me? What if he doesn’t approve of me being a Huntress? What if he thinks I’m showing off too much skin?’ she thought, inwardly starting to panic.

Hector coughed, facing a newfound sense of second-hand nervousness from seeing Ammy’s eyebrows scrunch together in fear. “Uhm, yes. Yes, of course. Father, Kodlak, Mori, this is Amaryllis Armilde. She’s my girlfriend. Amaryllis, this is my father Miller, my little brother Kodlak, and his girlfriend, Mori.”

“H-hello!” Amaryllis said weakly, giving the three of them a small wave as she did her best to put on a pleasant expression, rather than a pained grimace brought on by anxiety. She clutched Hector’s shoulder a bit tighter.

Miller nodded, beaming. “Is that so? Well, Miss Armilde, it’s my true pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh. I knew that Hector was keeping something secret from me…”

Mori didn’t speak a word— but not by choice; the girl had been mute since birth. Instead, she responded with a polite smile and a small curtsy.

Kodlak, meanwhile, froze in place, his eyes widening to the size of saucers as his jaw dropped slack in shock. He had never thought of Hector as someone to have a girlfriend— if he was being honest with himself, the mental image of Hector dying as a bachelor was easier to perceive, compared to the very real one of Hector and the redhead standing beside him. After several seconds, he spoke, “You—I— how— Hec, you have a girlfriend?!”

“Yes. The last time I checked, she was my girlfriend.” Hector managed an aside glance at Amaryllis, whose nerves seemed eased by Kodlak’s comically stupefied response.

Kodlak turned to Amaryllis with a look of suspicion on his face. “Please, Miss, tell me he’s not just paying you to act like his girlfriend? Because I’m warning you now, it’s probably not worth—AWK!” The younger Wulfric yelped as his spiel was cut off by an elbow to the ribs courtesy of an annoyed Mori.

“Give it a rest, Kodlak,” scolded Miller. “Honestly, saying such things right off the bat… you could at least give your big brother a fighting chance.”

Mori rolled her eyes, signing with her hands to Amaryllis. I‘m very sorry about my dum-dum here. I’m sure you and Hector have a wonderful relationship.

Amaryllis responded to the girl with a beatific smile. “It’s all right. I like to think we’ve been going along splendidly these last few months.”

“Well then, now that we’ve all met one another, why don’t we take a seat for a second so I can get to know you better?” Miller suggested, pulling himself up a chair from a small table next to them.

In true gentlemanly fashion, Hector swiftly pulled up a chair for Amaryllis. She whispered a small “thank you” to him under her breath.

Seeing this, Miller couldn’t help but smile to himself. His son hadn’t grown up in the best environment for etiquette, but he and his late wife had still made sure that their sons — the younger two, at the very least — had been raised properly.

Well, it was probably more his wife to thank for doing so, but he liked to think he had a role in it too.

“Please, do tell us a little bit about yourself, Miss Armilde.” he asked.

Amaryllis nodded, pursing her lips as she took a deep breath “Well, I’m a student at Haven, just like Hector, but in the year above. We started dating last semester,” she glanced at Hector and smiled. “I’m in a group called LLAC— uh, spelled ell-ell-ay-cee. My twin sister Lillian’s the team leader. We’re in the group together with our friends Harriet and Cait.”

“Your twin sister is the leader?” Miller responded, momentarily turning to Hector. “Not to be rude, but I’m a little surprised you didn’t go for her first.”

Amaryllis laughed at Miller’s remark. “Oh, no, that wouldn’t have worked out. She doesn’t, erm, swing that way.” 

“No worries about that! I understand.” Miller chuckled. “And LLAC… I’ve heard tell of your team. Aren’t you helping with the murder case of those two Huntsmen? I read about it in the morning edition the other day… terrible thing.” he continued, his tone turning solemn.

Amaryllis raised her eyebrows, surprised that Miller was already aware of the event. “Oh, yeah… wow, I guess news travels fast.” she replied. “We’re taking a night off the assistance work today, but I’m not sure that I can really tell you anything besides that.”

Not like there’s much to tell anyway, she thought to herself. Nothing had come up in the day since they had hit a dead end— no leads, no clues, no witnesses.

“That’s alright! Why don’t we make your day off more meaningful and enjoy the night? No more Huntsman talk, just enjoy the event. We have good food, good music, and I’m sure Hector here won’t be afraid to show you a good time.” Miller stood up from his seat and continued, “I’ll have to leave you for now, to attend to some of the other guests, but I must say that it was wonderful meeting you, Miss Armilde.”

“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, sir— and you can call me Amaryllis.” she smiled.

“Amaryllis, I hope Hector brings you over again for a much more private family dinner. You are more than welcome in our household.” Miller replied. “After all, knowing my son, I see you might just be a future Wulfric.” he continued, winking jauntily at Hector.

Although Hector felt embarrassed by his dad’s remarks, asking for Amaryllis’ hand in marriage had crossed his mind more than once since they had started dating. He knew it was early into the relationship, but being with her made him feel exactly like how Miller always described falling in love felt like. 

Miller patted Kodlak’s shoulder and smiled. “Right then, Kod, I suppose I’d best make small talk with all the politician types. I’ve been hovering over your four for long enough anyway. Enjoy the party!” He gave them a small wave, then turned and walked away into the crowd.

Kodlak, who sat in front of the couple, didn’t respond. Although it felt like his eyes were deceiving him, there was actually a girl sitting beside his brother. A girl that just happened to be his brother’s girlfriend. It was all such a blur to him that he didn’t even notice that he’d had his mouth hanging agape for the past five minutes.

A poke on the shoulder snapped him out of his stupor. Close your mouth already, dum-dum. You’re gonna end up swallowing a fly if you keep it up. Mori signed, tapping the young Wulfric’s chin to close.

“I’m sorry. It’s just, I- How did you do it?” he asked, turning to Hector.

“Do what?” Hector asked.

“You know,” Kodlak said as he rolled his eyes in Amaryllis’ direction, “get her?”

Hector glowered in exasperation at his brother’s question, the joke having already worn itself out. “Damnit, Kodlak, it’s not funny anymo—”

“No, no, I’m serious, I’m serious. I’m not taking the piss, Hec— what led you to her?” Kodlak pressed.

Hector’s brow unknitted as he considered the question. After a moment he replied, “Let’s put it this way. I found that… if you explore more around Mistral and take your mind off of things for a while, you’ll start to see everything in a different way.” he explained. “You never know, maybe someone out there’s just walking around.”

Pausing, he thought a bit further before grinning at Kodlak. “Or maybe, she’s already with you and you just don’t know it yet.” 

“…What do you mean?”  Kodlak asked, tilting his head in confusion.

Hector’s grin widened a bit. “Maybe Mori’s your destiny, Kod.”

“Meep!” Kodlak squeaked as his cheeks turned a violent shade of red. It was no secret that he’d had feelings for the Primrose girl for quite a while, but he was still at an age where the thought of long-term romance flustered him. Reaching over, he smacked Hector’s arm. “Don’t say that out loud! She’s right here!”

Hector, on the other hand, was having a good time of countering his little brother. After a few years of living with him, the little game of one-upsmanship had become his specialty.

Amaryllis chuckled at the repartee of the two brothers. In a way, she saw herself and Lillian in them - having their trivial arguments, but at the end of the day, still having each other’s backs. Glancing at Mori, she asked, “Are they always like this?”

‘More often than not.’ Mori signed with one hand, grinning amusedly.

“Thought so.”

“Now, Mori, why don’t you go enjoy the ball a bit with your boyfriend here?” Hector said. After all, he had intended to have some alone time to talk with Amaryllis at the ball, but he had yet to manage to shake his little brother loose.

“Hey! I still want to know how you guys came to be!” complained Kodlak.

“Come on, the night’s still young. Go on and party.” shooed Hector.

‘You heard your brother.’ Mori signed, tugging on Kodlak’s sleeve as she got up to stand. ‘Come on and dance already, dum-dum.’

“Okay, fine. It was nice meeting you, Miss Amaryllis! Maybe next time you can come over like Dad said, so I can show you all of Hector’s embarrassing baby photos!” Kodlak waved goodbye as Mori pulled him away into the crowd.

“Sounds great,” Amaryllis laughed. She felt happy that Hector’s family liked her, strangely feeling at home with them. Smiling to herself, she held Hector’s hand tighter.

Once they were alone, Hector let out a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. “…I’m sorry about that, Am. My family can be such a bunch of bloody jokers sometimes, but they’re great, I swear.”

Amaryllis turned to him, still smiling. “Whatever do you mean? I had a great time talking to them.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah! I’m having a great night so far. Thank you, Hector.”

Hector looked surprised for a moment, before he breathed a sigh of relief and returned her smile. “Well, you’re welcome. I’m glad to hear that you’re enjoying it.”

Pushing back his chair to stand, he continued, “Now, I think I’ve put this off for long enough— might I have this dance, Miss Armilde?” He lowered himself in a slight bow, raising a hand in offering.

Amaryllis stood up from her seat and extended her arm, allowing Hector to take her hand. “You certainly may, Mister Wulfric.”

[motheatenscarf]

So, I recently recommended Castlevania to people based on the first 2 seasons, and having now seen the 3rd season I’m still keeping that recommendation but with some pretty strong warnings going in.

The TL;DR version is, I still recommend this series with the caveat that your mileage may vary depending on your tolerance for sexual themes and more specifically your sensitivity toward sexual assault. 

So uh, spoiler in the spoiler disclaimer, but content warning for discussion of the above themes. I apologize to mobile readers; this got long. I only feel the need to say all this because I have in the past recommended this show to people before these elements came into play in the first 2 seasons. So, I kind of owe it to those people who may have taken my recommendation to follow through now.

I’m sure it won’t come as a shock to anyone (or at least I hope it won’t) that Castlevania, the show which introduces its wandering drunk protagonist by having him overhear two inbred shit eating peasants in a bar talking about literal goat fucking, has a pretty cynical view on humanity and is a pretty hard R.

Most of that R rating and cynicism has been in regard to gore and Christianity and I’ve been extremely on board and pettily here for it. For all that it’s a gory mess with plenty of colorful language, however, it’s been extremely restrained when it comes to sexuality. 

For my ace ass, that was kind of an appeal. I’m not opposed to sexuality in my media, but people do tend to make it... egregious and often unbalanced. It often feels that any media that gets that R rating just goes “Fuck it, may as well!” regarding shoehorning its nudity and sexuality. And frankly, censorship laws in the United States are FUCKING ANTIQUATED AS ALL HELL, so a rape scene where the camera ogles the woman’s breasts as she’s assaulted? Yeah, sure, that’s an R. Consensual sex scene that shows no genitalia but the woman in clear arousal? That’s an NC-17 for you. And that’s just women; don’t get me started on queer censorship, we’d be here all day. So, given the country I live in, the fact that I like horror and fantasy, and the fact that I’m an asexual woman, you can maybe see where my stance on sexual themes in any adult oriented media is just, an exasperated sigh as I boredly sit through another rape scene.

So, our first scene in Castlevania S3 is of Alucard, having been alone for the last month now, slowly losing his mind to crippling loneliness and overwhelming guilt after having murdered his father where Trevor and Sypha took him at his word when he said he would be the lone guardian standing vigil over Dracula’s castle and the Belmont library. Turns out he was wrong about being fine, which we knew from last season as it ended with him alone in his room sobbing his heart out, but he’s already losing his grip here as he makes little puppets of Sypha and Trevor to carry conversation with. An eccentricity he fully acknowledges is insane.

Our next scene confirms through dialogue that Trevor and Sypha are now in a sexual relationship, even though they’re only ever shown cuddling up in bed talking about The Plot and various happenings a few episodes later. Nothing explicit is ever depicted between them.

Alucard, on the other hand, picks up a couple of strays who were the thralls of one of the vampires killed last season, specifically the evidently Japanese one named “Cho” and our two new characters............ I had to google their names, Sumi and Taka, are also Japanese. They ask him to train them to kill vampires to protect their clan. Alucard, clearly remembering what he said about “Think of all the things Dracula could have done if he’d put all this knowledge toward helping people instead of giving into his rage and destroying them,” decides to agree and help them. He is clearly trying to be the person his mother would have wanted. Aww. 

Except not aww, Taka and Sumi are two clearly traumatized and deeply flawed people from the masses which this series is, again, extremely cynical toward. They are unsubtley fixated on learning more and more powerful ways to kill vampires and Alucard is pretty chill about it because he can’t see through the 4th wall and hear the ominous music or the glances they exchange when he’s not looking. This is purely for the audience. They at one point have a discussion away from him where they try to psychoanalyze him and decide that his isolation is a self imposed punishment for killing Dracula and that this is as close as he can get to killing himself without actually doing it. THIS IS FOR THE AUDIENCE. Then they mentioned they should give him a reward for what he’s done for them.

What happens next is difficult to break down from their standpoint, as they’re not particularly well developed characters, not being Important Characters but just a duo from the masses which the show dismisses, but if you’ve caught a single frame of Alucard this season, is easy enough to explain from his perspective. They come to him at night when he can’t sleep, tell him he deserves a reward, and proceed to make sexual advances toward him, which he seems somewhat embarrassed and confused by at first before quickly becoming a participant in. Again, it is well established by this point that he desperately misses Trevor and Sypha, whom he was already jealous of the connection between last season, and is profoundly lonely. The sex, which he consents to, is clearly a proxy as it’s all he can get for now. The sex is also, unfortunately, initiated under false pretenses, and ends abruptly when the whole thing turns into a Christ allegory and they pin Alucard in the crucifix position after having betrayed him with a kiss (and then some) and demand he show them the secrets they’re certain he’s hiding from them. Alucard tries to reason with them, still insisting he knows they’re scared but that he’s been nothing but honest with them, but they’re too traumatized and broken to believe him, and so he kills them in self defense, all still right there on the bed where they were having sex. He then, reminiscent of Dracula from the series opening, stakes their bodies before the entrance to the castle as a warning to those who would come to harm him, telling the audience that he is Lisa’s son in many ways, but he is also Dracula’s, and is realizing with time and experience now that his father’s sentiment toward humanity may not have been so misplaced.

So you know. Lot to unpack there...

BUT THAT AIN’T IT, FOLKS!

There’s another, far less interesting (unbiased review here, folks) character named Hector. He’s a forgemaster which means he makes monsters which are loyal only to him. He’s no Isaac (whom I’d mentioned his backstory/characterization just kinda left a general bad taste in my mouth before but OH BABY, AM I CHANGING TUNE ON THAT ONE. Could write a whole review on Isaac but I’m gonna stay focused here) but he’s apparently here to stay, so fine. 

There was an evil femme fatale vampire last season who kinda bored me who tricked Hector into betraying Dracula and then took him captive when she got what she wanted out of him. She did not trick him with sex at least but was still “evil manipulative femme fatale” which... *yawn* In S3 she drags him back to her home country and then proceeds to talk to her own sort of war council on how to get him to make a monster army for them to use that won’t just kill them all.

The lesbian vampire war council are fuckin interesting and I love 2 of them. The other one is an actually evil seductress femme fatale who DOES manipulate him with sex. Yay. How original. Well at least there are finally enough interesting, compelling women in the story that this isn’t our token evil female vampire so it’s easy for me to shrug off and forgive. All you need to know about Hector is he played with dead animals as a kid, it freaked his parents out when he kept reviving dead things, he killed them, now he’s a dead critter loving sensitive weirdo who was willing to participate in a “humane cull” that would leave the human race in essentially livestock pens for vampires. 

So the entire time the red headed femme fatale is trying to get him to see that she’s not so bad, vampires can be civil, we don’t want what Dracula wanted, my sister didn’t trick you she appealed to your reason, blahblahblah, she’s calling him a “good boy” and leading him on, i fucking quote, “walkies” with a leash. There’s also a comment that she tended to an injured spider once. So,, y’know, she’s him, which means she’s best suited to manipulating him. And Hector even admits to being aware of what she’s doing and calls her out on it, but he’s trapped and doesn’t have much of a choice other than to go along with what she does and weirdly seems almost content at times. His weird naturalist... weirdness probably gives him some inferiority complex when it comes to vampires, I don’t know, his backstory and motive are not connected in the least and I’m frankly not interested enough in this character to give him much contemplation since it’s pretty clear there wasn’t much going into his creation. Anyway. Long story short, she eventually, with only technically lying to him about the purpose of a particular ring she wears, lures him into having sex with her and in the heat of passion has him swear loyalty to her before slipping a cursed ring on him which binds him exactly as he’d just sworn, essentially making him a slave. The sex, again, also stops here, but she makes some extremely unsettling comments later on about how he was surprisingly good at sex and she might “train him.” Which.... where to begin other than yikes, and why, and, where in the hell was a guy who played with dead animals supposed to learn to eat a bitch out like that anyway??

This is where we also, tying the themes together, learn that one of the allies Trevor and Sypha have been teaming up with was a child killer the whole time. They only learn this after he dies helping them fight the evil that had come to his town (and after the most iconic line of the season; “What the fuck is toilet paper?”) which they accomplish, but not before failing to save anyone in the village, which was consumed in an evil ritual. They’re alone again, with a distraught Sypha realizing what Trevor had tried to forget by getting caught up in her optimism, that, say it with me now;

So there is your mostly unbiased spoilery context for the scenes in question. You can make up your own mind from there if that’s something you can handle, I’m gonna go on to add a few of my own thoughts which do not represent how I believe anyone else should interpret the show, this is purely my own train of thought here.

Sex consented to under false pretenses is still rape. I don’t know that I would personally classify these as “rape scenes,” but that’s just me. The reaction of the characters afterward makes me think Hector’s comes closer than Alucard’s, but the fact that both have appropriate reactions to being sexually betrayed makes me think that’s mostly what people are talking about when they say either one was raped. Hector later falls to his knees in a panic and hopelessness as he realizes “You made me a slave, my life is over,” and Alucard just lays there on the floor where he murdered his father as he weeps silently in contemplation of his own despair. That’s... some heavy shit, and I can, again, easily see where someone with a history of abuse or assault can be completely traumatized all over again watching this. As for the leeriness/attempting to be titilating/making rape “sexy” that a lot of adult fantasy/horror does... eh? I’m asexual, none of it’s sexy to me, and I was paying attention to the visual and audio cues the entire time that were making the audience aware with their ominous music, flashing between sex and battles against evil, and watching the instigators (Taka and Sumi, and Lenore the femme fatale vampire) as the camera focused on their scheming faces. The camera in Alucard’s scene especially just seemed to want to show us how sad and lonely he is, but that was pretty well established by that point and I know a sex scene devolving into a murder scene is jarring for people.

The themes of the season were manipulation, trust, and betrayal. Hector’s story reaches a pivotal turning point the moment the ring is slipped on him. Could it have been implemented differently than through the femme fatale seduction route? Absolutely, the show hadn’t really adopted sexual themes until this season and probably could have done so without it. She’d already lied to Hector an said that the rings were symbols she and her sisters wore to unite them, she could have been lying and welcomed him to join them and gotten him to swear loyalty to them in a ceremony after spending more time getting him to trust her. It was dumb and unnecessary and probably added in there just so maybe Alucard wasn’t the sole bearer of such an experience, or maybe because they shifted his plotline to fit in with the established themes, or maybe they could only sneak a bisexual threesome past the censors if they threw in more straight sex. What can I say? The cynicism of this show is relatable.

Alucard’s was less “Yikes” for me because he was never in a position where he didn’t have emotional or physical power over Taka and Sumi, he was a mentor to them who made no sexual advances whatsoever and seemed to only want to participate in their advances because it temporarily made him feel loved and worthy only to have the rug pulled out from under him and remind him that much more painfully of how alone he is, and how right his father may have been, and how wrong he was for killing him. Could this have been done without a sex scene? Yep, it always can. I know what the writers were trying to convey and I personally don’t have an issue with it and see its effectiveness, but I fully acknowledge another hour of spitballing in the writer’s room would have avoided that. I don’t necessarily think it’s a good or bad thing that they included this, it just... is, for me. I personally think if they’re going to confirm the sexual relationship between Trevor and Sypha, though, and then show us that Alucard is clearly missing them, there’s kinda one natural conclusion to make on how Alucard’s relationship with these two was going to go. I actually think it should have been better established and more time should have been spent on his relationship with them and depicted it as romantic/sexual from an earlier stage rather than just seemingly coming out of nowhere to people who hadn’t realized, “Oh, they’re his proxies,” earlier. I personally found it more tragic than traumatizing, but I don’t have a history of sexual abuse, so that is my own biased interpretation. If someone has that experience, I would not blame them in the least for finding this unpalatable.

Other arguments I’ve seen are, why is the only bi character shown to go through this kind of trauma? I mean, Alucard is our only confirmed bi character left for now, but Isaac is heavily implied to be queer, and again. Cynical universe. And he isn’t the only character period to go through it. They’re not singling him out because he’s bi, he’s just going through a character arc and is bi. I acknowledge again it could have been handled better but I don’t necessarily think this is biphobia so much as it is... unfortunate tone deafness. Tokenism is the problem, not Alucard’s bisexuality, so here’s hoping that we get another bi or queer character soon because as of right now, it’s just rife with unfortunate implications. I had this exact issue with Isaac’s backstory/characterization last season as our lone man of color with a major role and they immediately fixed his arc this season along with introducing several new characters of color and it was honestly the highlight of the season, so... the writers have proven to me that they can learn from their mistakes and spin my suspicion into HYPE, so I’m willing to give them through season 4 to see what they do with it.

I have also seen the argument for, why are the only Japanese characters tricky and sexually manipulative? Well, because they’re human and the show is extremely cynical in its depiction of humanity, we’ve just mostly seen that with white Europeans so far. As I mentioned before, tokenism is the problem. Is it annoying to see a sexually manipulative femme fatale vampire? Yes. Can I live with it and shrug it off a helluva lot easier when we get butch warrior vampire and tactical genius vampire talking back and forth about how they plan to conquer and drink an entire nation while espousing their affection for one another? Also yes!  While we do finally get a lot more characters of color this season who are fleshed out and beautifully complex and sympathetic, I think Taka and Sumi could have been better explored, since their mistrust of Alucard makes sense but their decision to have sex with him in order to get his guard down is... really not apparent other than through speculation with 0 textual evidence to support it. I don’t think they’re sexually manipulative because they’re Japanese, I think they’re sexually manipulative because the plot calls for it and they happen to be the only Asian characters we have for now and the writers made another pretty tone deaf decision. Behind the scenes, I do wonder if they were chosen from specifically Cho’s court just so the animators had an excuse to draw her some more/get that Japanese audience invested. Orientalism is a helluva thing here in the west though, and the sexualization of east Asians is especially fucked up and I’m not gonna say this did not have catastrophically tone deaf implications. I hope we get more Asian characters with a nuanced depiction, and even though they are the only Asian characters, they are not the only sexual abusers and they are far from the only sympathetically broken but dangerous characters we see.  

This is also, I’m fairly certain, a dual-studio production, and I do know Castlevania is a Japanese video game series based on European vampire stories, and in the endless love letter between Japanese and American media, some things gets botched in the exchange. That doesn’t excuse it, and that doesn’t mean it isn’t harmful, but I also don’t think it means “Cancelvania.” But I’m Mexican-American, and Not Asian-American, or more specifically Japanese-American, so, this is purely my perspective. 

I won’t defend the choices, I certainly won’t argue with people who draw a line in the sand and say “This is unacceptable, I won’t watch this,” that’s a valid perspective to have. To me, the writers through Isaac have proven they know when and how to correct course when they need to, so I’m cautiously optimistic that this was all build up for a dynamite season 4 if/when we get it. The show is cynical, I’m cynical, but I can recognize careful writing when I see it, and to me the highlights of this unrepentantly stupid fucking show that I kinda love are gonna be worth sticking through the stuff that makes me wrinkle my nose with concern because I want to see where it goes. A time may come when that stops being the case, but for me it hasn’t reached that point yet. I completely understand if it has for anyone else though.

[cruddyborderlandstheories]

im supposed to be working on uh literally anything else but instead i gotta get this outta my brain

tl;dr: slag is causing the Psychos to spread across the galaxy bc the Calypsos are using it to both brainwash their cultists and give them ‘special powers’. i mean, its not just slag, it’s eridian ruins/tech, too, but the Twins are utilizing slag the most. which explains the slagfalls and also the processed eridium everywhere still. im hoping sirens will help us cure this- starting with Krieg because slag/Psychos have some sort of connection to the other dimension, just like Sirens, but more messy. also this insanity from the slag/Psycho-ness is literally Mayhem and us fans are taking part in it- we’re the cult irl. plus, this game is gonna be about love and the relationships we have with the people we care about and that’s all the roses mean because i’m feeling s o f t tonight. tomorning. whatever maaaaan

“… among their fractured ramblings, it is tempting to try and find a deeper meaning…”

“[their madness] defies attempts at explanation or containment. from an isolated region of a single planet, to a nearby moon, to systems throughout every human colony, madness is catching…”

you can’t tell me this isn’t just BEGGING for us to figure it out

so, for my own sake:

i have a theory.

i kinda sorta hinted at this with my destroyer theory but i REALLY wanna go all out in this because i think this is actually something to think about… mostly because ive seen A Scene… and i wants to talk about it, vh. i wants it

now im gonna `lol` ignore everything about my lost legion eternal theory and start entirely from scratch. it’s also 1am here for my apologies if this comes across as incoherent because wow i should be asleep but fuck it i got research to do

so it all starts with psychos. i mean i guess it does. it’s gotta right? i brought in pictures it must

anyway

the guide admits that the first psychos came from Dahl’s prison colonies

the ones abandoned on pandora, now ive kinda talked about this b4 but imma talk about it again bc uhhh fuck it? why not.

so we know a lot of the bandits left on Pandora mutated because of the eridian ruins/the key. this is referenced mostly in sledge’s mine

its like world-wise called headstone mine but i never remember that. SLEDGE’S MINE

notice that line “most went crazy and many were physically mutated as well”

so i think it’s safe to say whatever they found in there started causing psychos to appear on pandora

im saying that i think eridians are the cause of Psychos across the galaxy

i have a lot more proof for this so please sit back and enjoy the ride because i think its really really cool

so lets look at hector’s logs from the newest dlc

“one of my boys found a shiny alien trinket”

“a few boys went rabid already, had to put them down”

now idk if there’s a connection here, but it’s interesting that both times, people who found these eridian artifacts started going crazy soon after

shit i mean even tannis begins to go off the wall after her and her dig team start investigating the eridian sites. although if that is because of the horrific incidents that befell her and her team or the ruins idk for certain. i’d bet its the shitty incidents tho

there’s more to this, hang on…

alright, so, lab rats? they’re pretty cool right?

we all like lab rats! personally, chase is my favorite, but adam is hilarious. that final season, huh? pretty wicked… wasn’t really a fan of the island setting but you know what, to each their own. it’s cool they actually progressed the show instead of staying stagnant. that got my respect even if it moved in a direction that wasn’t my cup of tea.

anyway Q U O T E S:

“Hyperion opened my eyes. i didn’t want it!”

“needles in my eyes!”

“don’t you look at me!”

“i can see! i don’t want to see!”

so there’s obviously something ~fucky~ going on with the lab rats and whatever it is they can see from the hyperion experimentation. we know hyperion had a hard-on for slag experimentation and you know i wouldn’t even be shocked if they were injecting these rats’ eyes with slag.

the best part is their reactions when they’re phaselocked. Unlike most enemies, the lab rats will only react to maya’s action skill, and none of the other VHs.

vs something like a marauder:

who has all these voice lines for Zer0, Axton, Sal (merc), AND Maya

the lab rats will only ever respond to being phaselocked.

and what do they say?

“i see the universe!”

“i see infinity!”

“it’s beautiful!”

 (now weirdly enough i was told on the tv tropes for bl2 that the lab rats will say “I see it more!” when phaselocked by maya, but i couldn’t find a source for that. couldn’t even find it in the files i extracted from the game. i checked an online video just to double check because you know, my extraction could’ve been off, but it wasn’t there, either. even phaselocked one a bunch as maya and i couldn’t get it to proc. so, idk where that info came from, if someone could give a source/proof that would be awesomesauce.)

sooo what do other enemies say when phaselocked? usually… they just see blue. so nothing quite as interesting as infinity.

so wtf is up here? 

im thinking the experiments hyperion performed on the lab rats are letting them see the dimension maya locks them in. i mean, tbh, i think they can see into that dimension whenever they open their eyes, but maybe maya’s phaselock makes sense of it for them. because they seem to be in indescribable agony outside of it

but the lab rats aren’t the only enemies that only react to being phaselocked

turns out the psychos only react to phaselocking, too

they also have some fun lines:

“I can see forever!”

“I’m home!”

“I’m inside… I’M INSIDE ME!”

with some other nonsense thrown in for fun

so idk, just taking a look at this, it’s clear the psychos and lab rats are seeing something that the other bandits just aren’t seeing. most reactions are demands to be released or that they’re flying, or just straight up confusion as to what’s happening.

is that the side effect of their exposure to slag/eridian tech? yeah, imma bet on it. their mind machines probably broke because they saw something they weren’t supposed to (possibly into the other dimension. the one maya phaselocks them in) without proper ‘protection’ and thus went batshit. like maybe sirens are protected from the craziness of the other dimension because they’re ‘chosen’ or whatever. iunno.

i do think it’s most interesting that the psychos seem familiar with whatever they’re seeing, calling it ‘home’ and well… themselves. 

so why in the fuck am i talking about all this? because i think it ties straight into bl3.

let’s bring back lab rats and their experiments

you know how hyperion was supposedly injecting their eyes with slag? and it caused them to shoot those weird blue lasers out?

what happens to the destroyer’s eye in tps?

yeah we inject this bad boy with slag

“i only juice the eye with a little bit of slag at a time”

which ends up causing a singularity around the eye the second time you do it

“if this slag stuff is powering the laser, we need to force as much of it as we can back into the eye. the increased power will trip a failsafe and let us shut everything down”

oh, increased power? you mean like how Sirens get increased power from absorbing eridium? that kind of increased power?

we know in bl1 the Destroyer seemed to have something like slag in it- those glowing pockets on the tentacles that explode into purple goo

even its attacks are like purple liquid. which, you know… would be quite similar to slag (tho tbf, these attacks actually hurt instead of applying the debuff)

and boy does the destroyer not like it

“warning. space-time instability detected.” after injecting the eye with too much slag. but… why? it got too powerful? are its powers directly connected to the other dimension and by increasing it’s strength a bunch we created some sorta link between our dimension and the other one? 

i mean given the other dimension allows for teleportation and shit, im not surprised there’s a space-time instability!

i mean we’ve all seen it do the eye laser thing, and the tentacles, and the purple goop. but causing space-time instabilities… that’s new isn’t it? kinda like how Sirens get new powers after they absorb a bunch of eridium???

so i wanna take a guess as to what the destroyer is

we know its ‘immortal in its own realm’ but when it’s taken an actual body that we can kill it, so odds are, it never actually died in bl1 OR tps. i imagine the Destroyer we see in bl1 is just a small fragment of it, and that it’s consciousness can be spread out across hosts. *EDIT: actually the lovely @automata-systemata-hydromata reminded me that you can find the destroyers brain in Helios. The other stuff I left in should be fine tho I thiiiink (thank you!).

and that, y’know, is cool and all, but what IS it??

Jack uses slag to give it a power boost, but it doesn’t seem to be happy about it when it happens. in fact, it even seems scared.

to be honest, all we know is that the eridians locked it away for some reason

idk im just spitballing here, but what if the Eridians were the creators of the destroyer? not intentionally, or maybe it was the result of one hell of a slag experiment/exposure to the other dimension/eridian tech, but we’ve seen what slag/exposure to eridian stuff does to humans… makes them go crazy, makes them start mutating. i mean, look at badass psychos. look at goliaths.

i mean shit even think about bloodwing. she goes wild, attacking the VHs and not listening to mordecai’s instructions despite their bond

she grows to a huge size and gains a whole shitload of new powers she didn’t have before. including fucking fire breath (which we’ve seen in burning psychos)

you know these dudes

i go into all this eridium/slag mutation stuff in SO much more detail in this post here, so if you’re interested in mutations, read this!

so what if the destroyer is just one HELL of a mutated eridian/alien and it plus all the eridium was locked away forever in the other dimension to keep this from ever happening again? because god, i wouldn’t want that to ever happen again, either, and i guess locking away the eridium (you know the stuff used in all these hyperion experiments) would be their best bet at ensuring it. also maybe just… locking away anything with eridium for that long probably isn’t the best idea… maybe that’s why it’s all tentacles and death. maybe they just locked someone away in a Vault as a prison and then leaving them with all that eridium caused them to mutate wildly out of control. kinda like the FEV. 

i mean we know ‘slagged psychos’ look like this 

i wouldn’t be surprised if we gave them enough slag/time they’d end up mutating even worse. and the destroyer was left in the vault for hundreds of years.

so wtf is the connection here with Sirens? there’s gotta be one, right??? is slag experimentation the first rung on the ladder of volatile science to achieving siren-hood? like you’d have slag/eridium experiments/mutations -> the lost legion eternal -> actual Sirens. maybe if sirens take in too much eridium they become something like the destroyer. now that’s fucked up to think about.

maybe it’s better the twins took lilith’s powers away from her…

oh, speaking of mutations and burning psychos and hyperion experiments, you know what we haven’t talked about yet?

Krieg. 

let’s talk a whole lot about Krieg, because he is super important

krieg is important for a lot of reasons.

u know what his teaser trailer was named?

yeah i don’t think that’s coincidence one bit

ahhh Mayhem.

“deep beneath pandora, an experiment has escaped”

we know krieg is a hyperion test subject, dr samuels confirms this (and apparently contracts insanity as well at the end of the Crawmerax DLC)

also we know some other tests going on at the WEP from the quest Doctor’s Orders:

“this vault key didn’t make eridium come outta the ground for nothing, right?”

and there’s this one very very very interesting line by Tannis at the end of the quest:

“the spread of slag poisoning” yeah call it that DUMB name tannis, im gonna call it what all the kool kids are calling it: ~Mayhem~

so… Krieg.

what’s so special about him?

well… he gives us insight into what the hell is actually going on inside the heads of some psychos.

so idk about you guys but i always took this as a poke at Maya and Krieg, but i realize now that this is talking literally just about Krieg. it’s about his body holding both sides of himself.

krieg does appear to be like lucid behind the psycho controlling his body, which, idk about you guys, but for me that plants some pretty horrible mental images of all the psychos in-game who probably have similarly exasperated people behind them who are getting murdered because they can’t control themselves anymore.

and idk i wrote this whole post about how maybe the slag experimentation is turning people into hosts for the destroyer’s consciousness and that could explain all the wacked up psychos and shit. but tbh im not gonna talk about that today

just about slag experimentation/eridium exposure. we know what it ACTUALLY does and that’s mutate the hell out of things and cause insanity.

Krieg is like… the poster child for slag experimentation/eridium exposure

soooo why does slag experimentation make people go insane? could be any number of reasons, but tbh i would bet it has to do with that other dimension somehow. because eridium isn’t a normal ‘our dimension’ element. it came out of a vault. from a different dimension. and who knows the long-term effects of that shit.

i personally had a theory that the 4th dimension had something to do with time and that only Sirens are able to harness this power, but then i have no idea how to explain angel and amara’s powers through that lense, so eh. fuck it. just seeing an upper dimension would make you go crazy anyway, so let’s not bring any time shit into this because that’s just asking for trouble. 

either way

i think that sirens are able to make sense of that other dimension. they have some sort of command of it/some sort of tie to it that allows them to not go crazy the instant they interact with it, unlike psychos. unlike lab rats. unlike Krieg. it’s like… eridium is our window into this other dimension or some shit and Sirens are (literally) able to process it, while it just fucks over anyone else who tries to interact. ~kachow i just introduced parallels~

and tbh i think we’re going to use Sirens to help cure this plague of insanity going around the universe. probably starting with Krieg. i mean, the only time he’s able to get even an iota of control is when he sees Maya. “Turn around pretty lady!!” like… that’s HUGE for him. and Maya’s a Siren. im not saying the power of love isn’t strong… but maybe the power of Sirens is stronger. i’d love if tannis helped us out with that. maya, too, if she really did learn more about sirens on athenas. 

this all ties into borderlands 3 for 2 reasons:

1. Mayhem being both the tagline for this game and Krieg the Psycho’s DLC pack is not a coincidence

2. The calypso twins are going to be using slag to both brainwash people into becoming cultists and give them special powers

`breaks fingers` this is the real meat of this theory, all that other stuff was just getting you READY for this

let’s put the Mayhem stuff off to the side for a second and just focus on the Calypso twins.

We know they’re promising their cultists special powers and free brainwashes (lol)

we’ve seen that one concept art from the museum of mayhem with the giant slag pool

we know enemies are STILL dropping refined Eridium even though it seems like all manufacturers have stopped creating slag weaponry

and we’ve seen the slag falls in a bl3 promo material already

oh yes

okay so i said right at the very beginning of this document that i’ve seen A Scene that i wanna talk about and oh baby this is it

This Scene right here

look in the very back there

look familiar???

~it shooouuuuullld~

yeah this is it!!!

so what i think is going down: anyone who’s not already insane is sorta ‘baptized’ as their entrance into this cult in the big ol slagfall. maybe the twins have a way to induce slagged cultists so they can have elemental affinities. not sure about that.

regardless

the twins are using slag to drive people insane (turning them into psychos) as a form of brainwashing to force people to join their cult.

so that’s the special powers and the free brainwashing and the slagfalls down.

let’s talk about why exactly we’re seeing enemies drop bars of refined eridium even though hyperion stopped making them. because the twins are making it!! it makes sense why there’s no slag guns still, even if it still exists in-universe: of course no manufacturer is going to contact an insane bandit cult just to get their hands on slag for their guns. 

there was a 7 year dry spell of eridium production so there was no slag to go around, so companies started phasing it out of their guns and replacing it with nuclear. 

but the twins have recently started production again. they’re obviously not using it in their guns, or selling it to other manufacturers. so wtf are they using it for? it’s gotta be important, it’s holy holy holy.

special powers and brainwashing!

and the refined eridium is back in circulation, so enemies are still dropping it. see? solution acquired.

as for psycho-ness spreading across the universe? it makes sense. not only are the twins using their slag to brainwash people and turn them into psycho cultists, but people are also being mutated by the eridian ruins/vault keys/vaults on the other planets and being driven insane. This craziness is quite literally Mayhem.

Mayhem is coming, indeed! 

now let us talk about what the fucccck gearbox is doing with all that Mayhem stuff in the trailers and shit.

sooo WE are the cult surrounding this game. as the fan base. 

do u think it was coincidence that they made ‘ECHOnet’ Streamers the leaders of their big bad cult and then also immediately introduced, in real life, the Twitch ECHOcast extension and invited a bunch of streamers to play their demo? they knew exactly what they were doing. Giving away a free cultist psycho mask to everyone who preorders a console copy of the game? that’s intentional. everyone who preorders the game gets a ‘gold weapon skin pack’? yeah! you know what gold weapons represent in-universe? higher standing in the cult!! gearbox is making commentary on how we are all just like the cultists!

AND THEY ARE TOTALLY RIGHT

all the trailers having something to do with Mayhem? ‘Mask of Mayhem’ ‘Mural of Mayhem’ ‘We are Mayhem’ ‘Mayhem is coming’. We’re all insane cultists because we’re all absolutely fucking rabid for this game and they KNOW IT.

…

oh also we’re all in love with each other lmao. 

in all seriousness, i think the game is going to focus a lot on the relationships we have with the people we care about- our found family, our romantic interests, our friendships- and that’s being expressed through the roses. 

i think that’s why all the characters are shown in the roses on the cover art. why the roses are so prominent in the So Happy Together trailer. why Zane is sitting at a bar with a rose between himself and his clone (as a joke, but still, it’s the intent). 

red roses are, like, the most obvious way to show your affection to someone. and we know the bl3 Vault Hunters are going to find family in each other in this game. that we’re going to watch the calypso twins’ relationship become warped as the game goes on. hell, we’re probably even going to have a whole plot about tina and mordy (and talon) and brick being a small family together, and maya and ava being one as well. plus ellie and vaughn have gotten together since commander lilith. shit, guys, even claptrap is building himself a girlfriend.

this game’s about love, guys.

anyway i have been working on this since 1:30am. it’s currently 6:06am. i am very tired and very wired and those never mesh well. im gonna go eat some motherfuckin pizza.

edit: i missed the obvious connection the first time around: of course we’re going to cure Krieg, he loves Maya. and this game is all about love.

that and/or one or both of them die and gearbox hurts us right in the softest parts of our hearts.

edit 2: also yeah at some point in the near future im writing that Hyperion-Twins theory because as much as i love Atlas, i have ~seen some things~

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 402

It shouldn’t be surprising when I say this post is going to be less jokey than last week. If that’s not your jam, I recommend you stop reading now and maybe just sing “Everyone is Garbage” to the tune of Everything is Awesome while you instead go watch the entirety of Underground, or the Rosa Parks episode of Doctor Who.

I have to say, the producers on this show have said a lot of dumb shit in the past. From “Frank’s a good guy!” when he’s portrayed as being objectively awful on screen to “We don’t shy away from the horrors of the past because we’re so daring like that!” as a justification of their need to rape or assault everyone with a pulse. But one of the dumbest things in recent memory was at NYCC when Ron tried to claim that Outlander isn’t a political show.

Bullshit. Everything is political.

Using America the Beautiful to underscore how America didn’t, and still doesn’t, live up to the ideals we sing about in our romanticized versions of our history was political. Albeit in an overly heavy-handed way. Choosing to do an episode about slavery that focuses solely on white people and not the enslaved, who are just there as props for the white people’s moral dilemmas, is political. Choosing to show a lynching on screen in a time when Black people are still being killed in horrifying numbers at the hands of white people who are supposed to serve and protect, in a time when Black people have the police called on them while simply having a cookout in a public park, in a time when a white man can shoot an unarmed Black boy and walk away with no consequences, is political.

How we portray Black bodies on screen matters. And in this instance, a *very* white show chose to frame enslaved people as the props against which they highlight the guilt of the white protagonists.

I really do wish they included someone checking to see if Claire, who had a man killed right in front of her, was ok. But instead she just does the emotional labor of assuaging Jamie’s guilt over Bonnet’s attack. Because doing emotional labor is just what women do. *flips off the patriarchy and also the producers*

Young Ian’s awe at River Run, how it’s befitting a king, just highlights how he has no context for what the symbol of a big white plantation house means for so many people. That image is so laden with white supremacy it should immediately trigger a bad taste in any decent person’s mouth. Go ahead and @ me.

Jocasta Cameron is straight garbage, but Maria Doyle Kennedy is fucking amazing. A++ casting, show.

Not sure if the parallel of Jocasta telling Claire to call her Auntie and Claire telling Phaedre and Mary to call her Claire was intentional or not. Will have more to say about that in a second...

Honest question, if the dog who plays Rollo is so poorly trained that they have to cut him out of most scenes, why didn’t they get a different dog? Slash, I thought they’d been training this one since it was a puppy?

“Some River Run hospitality.” *feels nauseous*

I SO hope they don’t do the Jocasta and Ulysses having an affair storyline from the books. Please, show, don’t do it.

Show!Jocasta is so much more overtly garbage than book!Jocasta. This is a woman who had to flee her country after the Rising because of how horrible the English were to the Scots. Yet she doesn’t bat an eye at the concept of keeping human beings as property. Even with Jamie, she isn’t thinking of him as his own person, but rather someone she can make do her bidding and use for her own purposes. She should fucking know better, but the promise of benefiting from white supremacy is apparently more beneficial than actually having morals. Fuck you, Jocasta.

Claire’s palpable discomfort with being led around by an enslaved man juxtaposed with Jamie thinking nothing of it as he reminisces about his mother is just the start of me side-eyeing Jamie a lot this episode.

Don’t worry, I’m an equal opportunity side-eye’er. Claire’s gonna get her share of it too. Starting with her asking Phaedre and Mary to call her Claire.

Claire. You know all about chattel slavery. You know it’s wrong. You know how enslaved people are treated. Why the fuck would you ask Phaedre and Mary to put themselves in a position to potentially face serious consequences for not being “properly deferential” to a white person just to make yourself feel better about being complicit in their enslavement. She’s prioritizing making herself feel better at the expense of the potential well-being of Phaedre and Mary. JFC, Claire, do not endanger the marginalized people you claim to care about in the name of wokeness.

The skunk bit with Young Ian and John Quincy Myers is a tad off-putting tbh. I love that Ian wants to learn about Native Americans and looks to find similarities with them rather than think of them as “savages,” but like they’re having this convo while completely ignoring the fact that an enslaved boy is filling the tub and like immediately just start talking about banging Native American women. It just feels like they were stretching for some levity when the characters in this episode don’t deserve any.

Jamie: “Uncle Hector and you have achieved a great amount here, Auntie.” Me:

Jocasta: “I purchase them in lots, in order to keep those with children together.” Me:

“Over the years, I found my slaves to be more productive when treated with benevolence. You see, I don’t actually see them as people. I only treat them nicely so my property can reach its maximum potential output. I am a garbage human and the myth of the benevolent slave owner is just bullshit that white people tell themselves to absolve themselves of the fact that they benefit from white supremacy.”

That Jocasta can refer to the people she enslaves as both too expensive to be livestock and friends in almost the same breath is peak caucasity. Seriously, show!Jocasta is an irredeemably shit person.

Also Jamie being like oh well done, Auntie, you are so nice to these people makes me want to punch him in his dumbass face. Show!Jamie has been on my last nerve for a while tbh.

Like bro, you literally lived in a cave for fucking years because the English were out to fuck Scots up. You were in prison for fucking years. You served on an English estate, where you were raped, for fucking years. And now you see people who were ripped from their homes and families and brought across the sea against their will (hey remember your nephew, Ian?) and you’re like oh Auntie, you’re such a nice white lady. Go fuck yourself, Jamie.

Jocasta playing the woman card with Jamie to justify her needing him to get involved with the enslaved labor on her plantation is something Colum would be proud of.

And Jocasta being like hey, “Claire, you’ve been homeless for a hot minute, shower me in praise for how nice my slave-run house is as I ‘graciously’ let you stay here” is such a power move in the worst possible way. Colum and Dougal raise a glass from whatever afterworld they ended up in.

Claire, girl, why couch your opposition to slavery in the Quaker influence. Own your opinions on this. Take a fucking stand. There are things in life worth standing up for. This is fucking one of them.

Oh Jenny. I love that she wrote to Jocasta about Claire. But also last season still turned me the hell off from show!Jenny so really I don’t like that lady.

Fuck each and every one of these yuppie white men.

Aw, woke-ish!Ian. Yes, it was their land, but let’s please not think of the Native American women as sexual conquests like you were earlier. KThxBai.

Ok for real, after living at Leoch and scheming through Paris and then being fucked over by Bonnet, Jamie sure doesn't learn much about people being sneaky. How does he not see where Jocasta was going when she so readily positioned him in a position of authority on the plantation.

Jamie, bro, buying into the benevolent slave owner narrative is not a good look. And by not a good look, I mean you are a garbage person. I get that that’s the point, but still.

Ok so the book frames Campbell as a friend to the Frasers, and the show is trying to frame him as someone genuinely trying to look out for the Frasers’ best interest. But he has also resigned himself to the reality of his current situation with no desire to try to make things better since it would mean making a personal sacrifice. To which I say, fuck you very much, you coward.

Hi, I’m Der, and I’m of the opinion that if you are in a place of privilege and see bigotry and oppression taking place, it’s your duty to stand the fuck up and try to make a change. 

“If we take the Tryon option, we don’t need to feel bad about slavery and can just bask in our white privilege on stolen Native American land and not have to deal with the consequences of accepting free land from the English, y’know, the people we hate, for almost a decade.” Cool, Jamie. Cool cool cool. Remember last episode when you were almost woke? 

Claire acting naive about what’s going to happen to Rufus should seem out of character. She went back into the past knowing full well how things were there. She knew that if she went back, she’d be in a time where this was the reality. Yes, she thought she’d be in Scotland, but that’s just another sign of her fucking privilege. She was like oh, I’ll just be in Edinburgh and not have to consider slavery. Joe Abernathy did not deserve the shaft he got in season three and he does not deserve fucking peak-white-privilege-the-past-is-fine-because-it-doesn’t-really-affect-me Claire as his friend.

Scrub Nurse!Ian is literally the only positive part of this episode.

This entire scene of a room of white guys being like “we need to uphold the law!” makes me want to kick the shit out of each and every fucker who has ever owned a confederate battle flag t-shirt or a bumper sticker. 

Also fuck each and every person who voted for the authoritarian narcissist who currently occupies the white house in 2016 or any of his fucking lackeys in the midterms. All these fuckers are straight garbage. And all the fuckers defending the authoritarian tendencies of the current administration can go fuck themselves. Go ahead and @ me.

“Don’t worry, my husband is heir to this estate.” Oh don’t fucking delude yourself, Claire. Rufus is going to die. And you are complicit in his death. Fucking own it.

*insert obligatory Joe Abernathy deserved better rant here*

I don’t like giving partial credit, but at least the show let fucking Rufus tell his own story. Just for a little bit though.

Ok I’m calling fucking bullshit that Ulysses, a man who (I don’t care what his relationship with Jocasta has been) has been enslaved for years, fucking calls Claire out and tells her she should have let Rufus die. Way to fucking try to absolve Claire by having a Black, enslaved man try to make her upcoming actions ok.

Don’t act naive, Claire. You know how this was going to end. Rufus was always going to die. You are complicit. There is no escaping that. Fucking own your part. Fucking own your privilege. And also fuck the show for centering this so much on the fucking white people.

Rufus didn't get to be an active participant in his own death. Claire should *not* have been absolved of her decision to kill him by having him ask her to do it. But by not even telling him what she's doing, she's just another white person making decisions for him without his consent. She also should have known to kill him without Jamie telling her to. *gestures at the Graham Menzies part of the books* She knows what's about to happen. She should accept that by choosing to be in the southern colonies, she's going to be complicit in slavery. She made her bed when she decided to go back into the past and now she should have to lay in it. 

Sure she may not have known that she’d end up in the colonies, but she still knew she’d be going back to a time when she’d end up being part of something that is morally abhorrent. But apparently getting that ginger dick was worth it.

It’s cute they do a parallel of her helping Rufus to die with her helping Geordie to die. But I can’t help but think this is as much for her as for him.

Every white person in this episode is trash. As they fucking should be.

Fuck everyone who defends the continued existence of confederate memorial statues tbh.

I know that’s out of left field, but yeah, fuck those people.

The fact that this shit is bringing up very real feelings about today’s political climate makes me fucking angry at the fuckers around today and also the fucking production crew for trying to cater to the meemaws by saying the show isn’t political.

Fuck Jamie for being like yeah, I can just pray this shit away. No. God is a cop out. You did this. YOU. You need to own this. Don’t you dare hide behind your faith. You will not be absolved.

Fuck this show for showing a fucking lynching and them immediately cutting to Claire’s face to make the lynching about her white guilt. Fuck them. 

If Jamie and Claire really don't want to be complicit in the atrocities of colonial America, they should move to a city where they could join in the work of starting to dismantle the things they claim to be morally opposed to. Instead they embrace their privilege of getting to ignore slavery by leaving River Run next week and go out to colonize Native American lands.

And just think. After all of this. After witnessing a lynching. In a couple episodes, Jamie’s gonna voluntarily send a guy into slavery! 

Fuck.

Please all go read Ta-Nehisi Coates’ Between the World and Me. KThxBai.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Down to Dust, Pt. 13

Title: Down to Dust Summary: After it all came crashing down, Ernesto’s to-do list is short: stay hidden, and wait for the Final Death. Héctor’s is even shorter: enjoy being with his family again. But life - or rather, the living - will get in the way even of the simplest plans. Characters: Hector Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, the Rivera family in general, Miguel Rivera, Socorro Rivera. [Part 1 can be found here. All parts up so far here.] 

A/N: Adding the read more makes weird characters appear because Tumblr is weird like that, but it reads fine once you click on said read more. Tumblr WTF. Also, did you know that one of the Coco deleted scenes has given us a glimpse at what happens if someone from the Land of the Dead fails to cross the bridge back by dawn? No? Well now you do and it’s gonna be relevant.

***

When the petals disappeared and Socorro with them, Héctor let out one of the biggest sighs of relief he could remember heaving. He wasn’t the only one: they all did. Miguel looked like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and Imelda’s hand found his own.

He knew that they would have to talk soon - that she deserved and certainly expected an apology and an explanation over his silence regarding Ernesto’s whereabouts - but for now, there was only relief. He squeezed her hand back, and smiled.

“She takes after you a lot, you know,” he said, and her mouth quirked upwards for a moment - then her gaze moved to Ernesto, and the smile disappeared.

He hadn’t moved at all: he was still kneeling down, the now unlit petal gone from his fingers and his gaze fixed on the pavement. Finally, slowly, he lowered the hand that had been holding up the petal and placed it over his damaged ribs, his shoulders tensing. With his only bargaining chip gone, he looked like he was bracing himself for a blow - but none came, neither physical nor verbal. When Coco broke the silence, her voice was quiet.

“Thank you for sending her home.”

Ernesto scoffed. “I didn’t do it for any of you,” he said, his voice hollow.

Imelda scowled, and her hand was halfway to her boot when Ezequiel moved first, causing her to still; he let go of Rosita’s gown to walk up to Ernesto, the alebrijes close behind. He crouched and wrote something on the whiteboard that was clearly meant for Ernesto’s eyes only, because none of them got to read it. Ernesto let out a snort. “Oh, is that what you asked of her? I’m moved,” he muttered, only to pause when Ezequiel wrote something else.

This time, he stayed silent for a few moments before he shook his head slowly. “I’m not your family, niño. Only a relative. Though I do see the resemblance now. Must be the dashing good looks, or the nose,” he said, the ghost of a smile on his face. He seemed to hesitate before he reached to brush back the boy’s tousled hair. “There, much better. You’re going tibia all right,” he added. Ezequiel let out a snort that might have been a snicker, and threw his arms around his neck. Ernesto stilled, taken aback and hand still in mid-air, before he sighed and lowered his arm to hold him back for a few moments.

When he spoke again, he did so with his eyes shut.  “... Héctor.”

He didn’t need to add anything else. “We’ll look after him. We promised.”

Ernesto let out a long breath, opened his eyes and let go of Ezequiel. Rosita moved in to gently pull the boy away; he looked saddened, but not surprised - the look of someone who has been left behind before, and who knows it’s for the best. Ernesto slowly pulled himself on his feet, glancing down at his alebrijes.

“You stay with him,” he added, causing the tiny dogs to lower their ears, huge eyes almost unbearably sad. Ernesto turned away from them to look at Anita, his own eyes empty. He was the very portrait of defeat. “I believe there is a reward you’re after.”

For a moment she looked almost confused, like she’d forgotten why she was there, but she recovered quickly and nodded. “Sí. Come with us without giving trouble, and-- Fabricio, stop crying, seriously - we might even forget the stunt you and the kid pulled at the warehouse.”

“How generous of you,” Ernesto said drily, and put up no resistance at all when they moved in to tie his hands behind his back. Ezequiel scowled and moved to step forward, but Rosita’s hand on his shoulder and a silent shake of Ernesto’s head were enough to stop him. The boy turned to Héctor, and he found himself calling out without thinking.

“I’ll keep my promise. I’ll drop the charges,” he said, not quite knowing if he was talking to Ernesto or to Ezequiel. He half-expected Imelda to say something, to protest against the idea, but she said nothing. Ernesto scoffed without turning.

“I told you, I don’t care what you do,” he muttered, and that was it. Héctor could only stare at his retreating back for several moments, at a loss for words, before Victoria spoke suddenly.

“It’s almost dawn. We need to send Miguel home, too.”

“Oh, of course!” Coco exclaimed, suddenly alarmed, and they all turned to look at Miguel. His skull was beginning to show beneath his face, like it had eight years earlier. That had been close, much too close, and Héctor didn’t want to waste another minute. Luckily, Coco was already pulling a petal out of her pocket. “Miguel, I give you my blessing-- oh. What is it, dear?” she asked when Ezequiel suddenly pulled at her gown. He looked up at Miguel, and reached into his pocket to pull out a… a… what was that?

“Ah, Socorro’s player. You had it when that van hit you, didn’t you?” Miguel asked, crouching in front of the boy. Ezequiel nodded, and held it up, only for Miguel to take his hand and close his fingers around it. “No. It’s all right, chamaco. I’m sure Socorro would want you to keep it. Think of her when you listen to her favorite songs,” he added, and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t give our familia too much of a headache, all right? That does include running off with wanted people and ticking off criminals,” he added, winking.

Ezequiel nodded, holding the player to his chest, and gave a somewhat sheepish grin. Miguel smiled back, and ruffled his hair, laughing at the subsequent huff of protest. “Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he snickered, and stood again, turning to Héctor. “Good luck with this one, guys. And... sorry for all the mess. I’ll have a new song for you next year to make up for it.”

“Oh, don’t mention it!”

“It was nice catching up, chamaco.”

“And meeting Socorro properly!”

“Oh, can I take a look at that player, Cheque? How does it work?”

“We won’t break it, honest…”

“... Just take it apart to see how it works…”

“Sun’s almost out,” Imelda spoke up, a note of urgency in her voice. “Coco, the blessing.”

“Of course.” Coco held up the petal, and smiled up at her great-grandson. “Miguel, you have my blessing to go home, and give Elena… no, give everyone your biggest hug from me,” she said. The petal glowed, and Miguel smiled.

“Of course, Mamá Coco. Love you,” he said, his voice breaking up just a bit, and reached for the petal - and then he was gone in the blink of an eye. Héctor let out another sigh of relief, reaching to put a hand around Imelda’s shoulders, and she didn’t move away from his touch.

They would still need to talk but, for now, he felt it was enough.

***

“Miguel!”

“Ooof! Easy there! I’ve got a stomach again and might just throw up if you jump on it!”

“I couldn’t see you coming back! I was getting worried!”

“Oye, I’m the big brother here. I’m the one who has to worry. Don’t leave me out of a job.”

Socorro laughed, and Miguel found that the sound was worth enduring all of the worries in the world, all of the terror a human being could bear. He picked her up despite her protests that she was too big to be picked up now, and twirled with her a couple of times among the graves, causing her to laugh again. They walked away from Mamá Coco’s grave, past de la Cruz’s defaced mausoleum, and paused by Cheque’s tomb. The cracked whiteboard was back on top of it, and a few words had been added to it, in Socorro’s round handwriting.

I knew you would never.

They were quiet for a few moments, then Socorro broke the silence. “I need to tell Abuelita he’s all right. And his fosterers, too. I promised him I would,” she said. “Oh! And I’ll get our school to make him a plaque so that no one forgets him! And I want to learn how to make shoes so that Abuelita and I can make him new ones for next year! And… and something he can play! Just not a guitar, because people would expect him to sing along and he can’t. Maybe one of those funny flutes, what’s its name...”

“An ocarina?” Miguel guessed.

“Yes! I’ll get him one of those! And… can you write a song for him, too?”

Miguel laughed. “Your wish is my command. I’ll write a song for him and play it next year, so that he can hear it,” he promised. They kept walking to the exit of the cemetery, coming up with ideas and plans for the following Día de los Muertos, as a street dog who was not a street dog at all ran up to them and began walking by their side, heading back home.

Above them, dawn was breaking.

***

“Is he sleeping?”

“Yes, fast asleep.”

“Well, he had an eventful night. Aw, he’s sucking his thumb! Isn’t he adorable?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about letting the dogs on the bed with him, though. It’s not hygenic.”

“Oh, please. When you and Elena were children, you kept sneaking that pet goat of yours in your room all the time.”

“Diego was a very clean goat, papá. We don’t know where those have been.”

“Well, they are alebrijes. Not just dogs.”

“Pepita is an alebrije, too, but she doesn’t try to climb in bed with people.”

“You know that she would if she could fit through the door in the first place.”

“Fair enough.”

“We’re all out of spare rooms now, though.”

“We have to add new ones. Can’t leave Elena and Franco without one when they come!”

“Oh, I don’t think there is any rush. They looked well and healthy yesterday evening. They might just live longer than I did. Now come away from the door, let the boy rest. I think we all could use a good pot of coffee…”

Imelda watched her daughter lead the rest of the family towards the kitchen, smiling faintly. She would join them in a minute, but for now she wouldn’t mind some peace and quiet, given how frantic the night had been. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Peace and quiet. Peace and--

“... Imelda?” Héctor’s voice caused her to open her eyes, recoiling a little. He had walked in so silently that she hadn’t even heard his footsteps - and to think that usually she could even tell what kind of shoes someone was wearing by just listening to them walking. She turned to see her husband standing in the doorway, his hat in his hands.

“Dropped all charges?” she asked, unable to keep some distaste out of her voice. She didn’t like the idea, not at all… but Héctor had promised as much, and de la Cruz had, at least, given Socorro the blessing she needed. It was something she could not ignore.

Héctor nodded. “Yes. They’ll release him next week. I… can we talk a minute?”

Imelda knew right away what it was that he wanted to talk about, of course. She was tired, but may as well do it. She had spent enough years refusing to listen to him and, justified as her anger may have been, she did regret it knowing what she knew now. So she drew in a deep breath, crossed her arms, and looked straight back at him.

“You had known where he was hiding for years,” she stated, and Héctor nodded.

“Yes. The first time I spotted him, I… I honestly just forgot all about it. It was the day Coco joined us,” he added, and his expression melted in an almost dreamy smile. It made it nearly impossible for her to keep frowning, because she remembered so well how overjoyed he had been to see their daughter again. It had taken a very, very long time before he let go of her to let anybody else hold her, and even longer for him to resume speaking coherently.

By then they had been working for a few months to rekindle their relationship. It had been so long, so much had happened, and they couldn’t really pick right up from where they had left off. Music united them as it did before, but more was needed to fix something that had been shattered such a long time ago… and Coco’s arrival had been a turning point, balm to old wounds. That had been the day Imelda had known, beyond doubt, that they were going to make it work. And they had; they’d come too far to let de la Cruz come between them again. So, at the very least, she could give him the benefit of the doubt.

As long as he had a good explanation, of course.

“But the second time I saw him, I… I did decide to leave him be. I know you’re angry,” Héctor was saying, unaware of her thoughts. “And I am sorry--”

“And why do you think I’m angry?” she cut him off. Héctor fidgeted a little with his hat.

“Because… I put our family in danger. I let Ernesto be a danger.”

A sigh. “That is what terrified me,” Imelda admitted. “The thought that monster could succeed where he’d failed eight years ago… I hadn’t been so scared in a long time.”

Héctor smiled a little. “And it didn’t show at all.”

“Everyone was counting on me to know what to do,” Imelda said. That had been true that night as it had been eight years earlier: she couldn’t afford to show how terrified she was.

“I… I am sorry. It was my fault. And it all ended up on your shoulders again,” Héctor muttered, but Imelda shook her head.

“It wasn’t your fault. Looking back now, perhaps it was for the best that he was never arrested,” she added, and smiled a bit at Héctor’s stunned expression. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know what I’m getting at - Ezequiel could never give any blessing. Maricarmen would have still faded away too early, and de la Cruz would have been our only chance regardless. If he’d been arrested, tried and imprisoned years ago…”

“... He would have never given his blessing tonight,” Héctor finished, and nodded. “Right. Couldn’t really promise to drop all charges after the trial had ended, right?” he added with a small grin. Imelda nodded, but there was a moment of silence that said, loud and clear, that they both knew that promise hadn’t been the reason why Ernesto de la Cruz gave Socorro his blessing. Maybe there was a shred of decency there, after all, but it hardly mattered. It wasn’t de la Cruz Imelda wanted to talk about, now or ever again.

“It worked out in the end,” she  said, then, “You know it wasn’t you leaving him be that really made me angry, don’t you?”

Héctor nodded, the small smile fading. He reached to hold an arm close to his side, as he often did when he felt guilty. “Yes,” he admitted. “It’s because I never told you I’d found him. You, or… anyone else in the family.”

“Sì. De la Cruz didn’t only murder you - in doing so, he hurt our entire family. And you are part of it now. When you found him, you should have never kept it for yourself. We could have left him alone if you really wished to, but we should have decided together.”

“I know.”

Imelda sighed. “Why did you leave him be?”

Héctor hesitated, and looked away before speaking again. “I guess I pitied him,” he admitted. “I know I shouldn’t, after all he did - to me, to you, to Miguel, to Coco. I was knocked down so many times and one would think I’d have been satisfied to see him in my place, but… it was just sad. To look at him and think, this was my best friend. Like Cheque and Socorro, you have seen them - we were that close, before I even knew you. We grew up together, he even saved my life once or twice, so what happened? And I know that he happened, that the blame is his and not mine,” he added quickly, much to Imelda’s relief.

It had taken a lot of time for Héctor to stop blaming himself for everything. If only he’d never left, if only he’d thought of leaving the songbook to Ernesto, if only he hadn’t dismissed how desperate he’d been, if only he hadn’t taken the drink - if only, if only, if only. So much blame that should land squarely on Ernesto, and no one else. At least he knew that now, but Imelda could tell it was easier to blame himself than to admit that he had been horribly wronged by someone he’d loved like a brother.

Seeing Socorro trying so desperately to help her best friend, shouldering so much responsibility as she hoped against hope that he would never, no matter how bad things looked… well, it had helped her to really see why for the first time.

“... But it was still hard to think about, and I didn’t want to. If I just walked away, I could almost pretend that it hadn’t really been him. That I’d imagined it and it had really only been bad luck. I didn’t want to think about him again,” Héctor was going on. “There would have been a trial, witness statements, a lot of media attention just when it had died down. I didn’t want it to consume any more of my time again. Not after I had you - all of you - back with me,” he added, and looked up at her. “You were all I wanted to focus on.”

His words might have been enough on their own, but it was the look he gave her that sealed it: it was the open and utterly vulnerable look of someone who had been nothing but completely sincere. With a sound that was half a sigh, half a laugh, Imelda crossed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck. He returned the embrace at once, a hand reaching to stroke her hair. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“I know. You’ll drive me crazy one of these days.”

“Maybe, but not too much. Only un poco loca,” he said, and that made her laugh a bit. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I will never keep a thing from you again.”

“You had better,” she retorted, and they shared a quick kiss before she pulled back and tilted her head towards the kitchen. “They’re making coffee. I don’t know about you, but I need it.”

Héctor nodded. “Sure. I wonder if they’re using the coffee machine Óscar and Felipe built.”

Imelda blinked, an alarm bell beginning to ring in her mind. “They built a coffee machine?”

“Yes, they said it would brew faster than any other, blah blah, something about pressure and steam, blah. They wanted to try it out soon. Huh… didn’t they mention it to you?”

The alarm bell turned into a blaring siren. Óscar and Felipe were gifted, but their prototypes did have a tendency to malfunction, and rather badly at times. That had been how they had died, and Imelda remembered all too well the sense of helpless exasperation when they’d turned up in the Land of the Dead together, mere months after her death, looking all the world like chastised schoolchildren. Without her supervision, things got out of hand quickly.

“They knew better,” Imelda all but snarled, and turned to march into the kitchen, to put a stop to whatever disaster was about to happen.

Too late. There was a sudden, furious hissing sound that turned into a whistle and then a bang that stopped Imelda on her tracks, followed by several shrieks, and bout of barking. Then, Felipe called out.

“We’re okay!”

“That was calculated!”

“Sort of.”

“That wall needed a new hand of paint, anyway.”

“We’ll do it!”

“As soon as we get that lid out if it…”

There was laughter coming from the kitchen and, Imelda realized, from behind her as well. She turned to see that Héctor was almost bent on two, snickering madly despite his clear effort not to. He gave her an apologetic grin.

“Hehe! I mean, sorry! It’s just--” he tried, but Imelda didn’t get to hear whatever he meant to say next. She had no idea if it was the exhaustion or the still lingering sense of relief - maybe both - but the next moment there was more laugher and it was coming from her own mouth.

The rest of the family stepped out of the kitchen - and a boy with tousled hair and eyes full of sleep stepped out of his new bedroom with four yapping alebrijes in tow - to find her and Héctor holding onto each other, cackling and cackling, seemingly unable to stop.

***

Honestly, Ezequiel didn’t see it as lying or anything.

No one had asked whether or not he planned to stay in touch with Neto - de la Cruz - and he’d never promised not to, either. So, all was good. It was only a matter of keeping that for himself. It was no one’s business but his own and besides, if anyone had asked him to explain why he’d want to keep in touch he wouldn’t be able to explain it at all. He just did.

He wasn’t going to meet him, because he had almost hit him with a hammer - fine, he’d hit him with a brick first, but he maintained that was justifiable all things considered - and he wasn’t an idiot, thank you so very much. But he had given Socorro his blessing, and he’d left the alebrijes with him, too.

That latter bothered him a lot, now that he’d had a few days to think about it . Diablo had bonded with him, but the other three were restless and Ezequiel was sure being away from Ernesto was the reason why. It wasn’t fair: they were Ernesto’s alebrijes, not his own, and they were all that he had left. They were not supposed to be apart.

So when he’d heard Héctor mentioning he would be released that day, Ezequiel had known that the right thing to do would be sending them back, and maybe write a few lines while he was at it. Just to let him know that he was all right. After all, alebrijes were supposed to be messengers as well as spirit guides. May as well put that to use.

Slowly, keeping a finger on his lips in case the alebrijes had the bad idea to start yapping and get everyone’s attention, Ezequiel opened the front door. A tilt of his head was all it took: three alebrijes ran out in the dimming light of dusk, already looking for a familiar scent.

Diablo paused, and looked up at him, tilting his head on one side; then, when Ezequiel gestured for him to go, he took off after the others - carrying with him a rolled-up piece of paper, tied to his neck with a shoestring.

***

Aside from one memorable night in Oaxaca - there had been a bit of a brawl in a cantina, and he and Héctor just hadn’t been quick enough to get away before he police got there - Ernesto had never been in a prison cell before.

Back on Oaxaca, it hadn’t been too bad; Héctor had been there to laugh it off with him, and mock him on how lucky he’d been that the police had burst in before a very angry guy with a broken bottle could do something drastic to his ‘pretty, pretty face’. They’d been brought into the cell snickering like idiots, and they had walked out still snickering the next morning. One more funny story to tell once they returned home, rich and famous.

But neither had ever returned home alive, only one of them had gone on to become rich and famous, and now - as he left the cell he had spent the previous week in before word came that all paperwork had been processed and he was to be released - Ernesto was alone and silent.

He’d been lucky, he supposed: the agents had put him in a van after he’d been handed over to them, and taken him straight to the police station. He’d had to face no crowd nor jeers, not coming in nor getting out. It seemed his capture and release had been kept under wraps, and it was a relief. It would become known eventually, but by the he’d be hiding away. Of course, not everyone was happy about it.

“If it were up to me, you’d have stayed to rot in there until your Final Death,” one of the guards had muttered, watching him leave. But it was never up to him, and Héctor had kept his word to drop all charges. There would be no trial, no nothing. His possession had already been taken to repay the Riveras for the theft of Héctor’s songs and the resulting loss of revenue - of course, he was already aware of that - but no further action would be taken against him.

That hardly made a difference, of course, no matter what that insufferable sap may think. As he moved quickly towards Shantytown - because where else could he go? - with the hood up to hide his face, he knew he would still have to hide for the rest of his afterlife… but now he had a way to cut it drastically short, if anything.

Now that he was no longer wanted he could cross over the bridge in a year’s time without risking arrest, and staying on the other side past dawn was all that it would take - whether or not he was remembered. Maybe it wouldn’t even hurt. And even if there was something else past the Final Death, it couldn’t be worse than the hell he’d made for himself there. It would be a relief; it certainly was a relief right now, to think that the end was within sight.

He needed to keep going for just another year, only one more year. And if he tried his best to stay drunk as much as possible throughout it, maybe it would pass quickly eno--

“Yip! Yip!”

A familiar chorus of yaps caused Ernesto to recoil, snapping him from his morbid thoughts. He turned the way he’d come and sure enough there they were - his alebrijes, clambering down the wooden steps leading to Shantytown. He blinked, taken aback.

“I had told you to stay with him, not to run off,” he said, and he tried to sound angry about it, he really did. Granted, the fact he was kneeling a moment later and letting them jump up to lick his face didn’t help his Angry Act very much. Neither did the laugh that left him a moment later, when he reached to pick them all up and hold them to his chest. A paw or two jabbed against his damaged ribs, and he found he didn’t even mind the sting.

He opened his mouth to say something - likely a string of mushy nonsense and praise, to hell with the Angry Act - but paused when his gaze fell on Diablo. Tied to his neck, there was a rolled-up piece of paper. He knew, right away, who it was from.

You didn’t run off at all, did you? Of course not. Spirit guides, but also messengers. I see what you did there, niño.

Ernesto pulled the piece of paper free and unrolled it, holding it up so that the dogs couldn’t try to nip it, and found himself looking at what was without a doubt the handwriting of a child. It wasn’t a long message, but Ernesto went over it several times in the dimming light, and paused on the last few words most of all.

Write back. Send Diablo. The others will stay with you.

Slowly, Ernesto de la Cruz stood, still staring at the letter. His gaze fell on the signature - Ezequiel - and he brushed a thumb over it. It was a quick scribble, a contrast to the neat handwriting in the rest of the letter, but there was a loop on the E that reminded Ernesto of what his autographs used to look like, back when he signed thousands at a time until his wrist hurt.

No one had asked his autograph in years, but now someone was asking for a letter,  and he supposed that was as close as it would ever get. There had been a time when he’d received thousands of letters, too many to even begin replying to any, but that was gone, too. Now there was only one letter… and plenty of time to reply, if so he chose.

Write back.

Well, may as well. He had no other commitments until the following year, after all.

He just needed to find pen and paper.

***

After getting a blessing for Socorro out of him, Héctor had thought he would never again find himself needing something from Ernesto. Apparently, he had been wrong. Ezequiel was well, settling in just great, but now it turned out that to make things entirely official, and legal, they needed his signature.

“He is the boy’s next of kin,” the clerk had explained, almost apologetically. “It’s the rule - for you to have legal custody of the minor he needs to forfeit it first, or this goes to court.”

“This is ridiculous. He’s a murderer, and tried to kill a living child,” Imelda had pointed out, her voice sharp, and the clerk had instinctively pulled the computer closer to himself to keep it safe. “And last time we saw him, he reeked of alcohol from a mile away. Are you telling me anybody would be insane enough to consider him fit to look after a child?”

“Well… no, if he were convicted, but the thing is that all charges were dropped,” the clerk had said, and Héctor had barely held back a sudden urge to groan and slam his skull down on the desk. Why was it that every time he tried to do the right thing it just turned around to bit him in the tailbone?

“All right,” he’d muttered, reaching up to rub his forehead instead. “Right, right, right. Is there a form or something he needs to sign to forfeit all rights to custody?”

“Oh, yes. Here it is.”

“And if I get him to sign it, that’s it, right?”

“Pretty much. A signature here, one here, another one here, and it’s done,” the clerk had explained, pointing at several blank lines across a few papers written densely in strict bureaucrat-ese. “If he doesn’t, it will need to go to court. We’d have already taken care of it ourselves, we have no idea where he is. No fixed address or anything.”

Héctor had taken the form, stared at it for a moment, and then exchanged a glance with Imelda. He knew that they were both thinking the same thing: there was one place, and one place only, that came to their mind when asking themselves where he may have gone back to hide from sight.

“We might know where to find him,” Imelda had finally said slowly, then, “I suspect that if I have to see him again, he may find himself unable to sign anything. I’d rather not break another shoe on him, either. You go and get him to sign that, I don’t care how. But Pepita will come with you.”

It had been a fair compromise, and Héctor had gone to Shantytown with Pepita - although he instructed her to stay at the outskirts, within earshot should he call out but far enough not to be too threatening. He wasn’t there to scare the crap out of Ernesto, after all, tempting as it may be. He needed a signature - three, really - and that was all he would focus on.

Much like last time he’d been there, seven years earlier, finding him was easy: he was the only person there. Héctor spotted him from a distance, leaning on a fence someone had built over a section of the pier, staring down at the water with a bottle in his hand. He was wearing a dark coat, a hat and what looked a lot like an old scarf, likely to avoid being recognized... but the three Chihuahua alebrijes playing and tumbling together only a few feet from him were a dead giveaway.

So they had returned to him, as Cheque had guessed when they’d wondered why only one of them had stayed in the house with them. As he stepped closer, they spotted him and froze. They didn’t snarl, but they were clearly on alert, and one of them gave a sudden, warning bark that caused Ernesto to turn. He blinked at him, alarm turning into confusion and then into a wary look.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice cautious. His eyes scanned their surroundings, and Héctor was suddenly very glad he had opted to leave Pepita out of sight.

“I need an autograph,” he replied, trying to make light of the situation. That gained him an unimpressed look, but at least it did seem to reassure Ernesto that he wasn’t there to make a xylophone out of his bones. Speaking of which… “How are you ribs?”

“Could be worse,” Ernesto said, his tone still slightly guarded, but he did take a swig from the bottle before turning back to the canal, and Héctor decided to take it as permission to get closer. He went to lean on the fence as well, a few feet away from him. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Héctor glanced back at the alebrijes, looking for a neutral subject.

“How can you tell them apart? They’re identical,” he muttered, gaining himself a look that was nothing short of offended.

“No, they’re not!”

“Sure, if you say so.”

“They are completely different! If you look at Clara’s markings compared to--”

“All right, all right! Sorry!” Héctor replied, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. Ernesto turned away with a scoff, and there were a few moments of silence before Héctor dared speak again. “Ezequiel is doing very well,” he finally said. “We started to show him the ropes in the workshop, and he seems to like it. He has a thing for chemistry, which might be worrying news, but it can’t get worse than my brothers in law’s experimenting. Did you know he’s got some really good sleights of hand to show? He wanted to be a magician when he grew up. Well, he can still a be a magician, even if he won’t grow up. Óscar and Felipe almost went crazy trying to figure out the one with the string and the coin.”

Ernesto shrugged, taking another swig from the bottle - it was strong stuff, by the smell of it - before he spoke. “When?”

“Last week. In the end they figured--”

“Allow me to make myself clearer. When did I ask?”

That caused Héctor to frown with a pang of annoyance. “Oh, so sorry for thinking you might like to know. Being family and all.”

“I am no one’s family,” Ernesto said flatly.

The world will be our family. The distant memory of what his childhood friend used to say - often after a rough day in his household, with a stubborn look that challenged anyone else to say otherwise - made it back to Héctor’s mind for a moment, and the annoyance turned into a sort of sadness he couldn’t quite place.

The World Es Mi Familia. It used to be one of your favorites. I had written it for you.

Forcing himself to ignore the pang of nostalgia, Héctor shrugged. “Well, legally speaking, you are. Did you think taking a kid in would be anything short of a bureaucratic nightmare? Think again,” he added, and that got a sound out of Ernesto that resembled a chuckle.

“Heh. True enough,” he muttered, and held out the bottle. “Want a dri-- ow!” he let out a yelp when Héctor acted out without thinking, slapping the bottle out of his hand like he’d been handed a grenade. The bottle fell on the ground and then rolled into the water; Ernesto watched it sink before giving him an unimpressed look. “... Really now?”

Héctor blinked at him, suddenly feeling rather stupid. He lowered his hand slowly, and reached to rub his arm. “Uh. Sorry. It’s that last time you offered me a drink. Well. You know.”

Ernesto blinked back, then his gaze flickered to the spot where the bottle had sunk and, unless Héctor’s eyes were playing tricks on him, he actually had the good grace to look somewhat awkward. He turned away, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Right. That,” he muttered.

“Yeah. That,” Héctor repeated. There were a few moments of silence, both of them staring at the water, before Héctor heard himself speaking. “... Were you ever sorry at all?” he asked, and he only realized how much he needed to know it as the words left his mouth. He glanced at Ernesto, half-expecting a scoff, but there was no such thing. Ernesto was resting his elbows on the fence, staring down at the water, and his shoulder rose and fell in a silent sigh.

“I sure am sorry now, since it got me in this dump, but I’m guessing that's not what you mean,” he muttered, then, “Before, I was... sorry it had to come to it. I never wanted to do it.”

Oh no, not that again. “It didn’t have to come to--”

“I am aware,” Ernesto cut him off, his voice still flat. Under Héctor’s silent gaze, he reached to rub his forehead as though to try getting rid of a headache. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

“You don’t know.”

“It’s the only honest answer I can give you at this point. Take it or leave it.”

And Héctor did take it, because it was better than a ‘no’ and certainly more sincere than a ‘yes’ would have been. He nodded. “I understand,” he said.

“Lucky you,” was the dry reply. “Is that all you were here to ask?”

I wish, Héctor thought. “No,” he replied, and took the papers out of his pocket. He unfolded them, and handed them to Ernesto. “I mentioned the bureaucracy issue, right? And needing an autograph? Well, you need to sort of… sign off your rights to Cheque’s custody.”

That caused Ernesto to turn back to him, blinking. “Are they serious?”

“Well, we did drop the charges. If you don’t sign, it will have to go to court and--”

“I was filmed throwing a living child to his death.”

“Believe me, I know. I was there. Still, bureaucracy,” Héctor repeated with a shrug, holding out the papers. Ernesto took them, and began reading. It didn’t take long for him to pause.

“... Rosita? Who's that?”

“My son in law's sister. We’ll all look after him, but we needed to pick one of us as the legal guardian. No one was going to fight Rosita over it and, well, Cheque likes her a lot. She dotes on that kid,” he added, but Ernesto was no longer listening.

“Legal guardianship,” he read on. “Not adoption. Not good enough for your precious family?”

Héctor blinked. “Wha-- no! None of us thinks that. We meant to adopt him, but it’s… complicated, especially with still living relatives that will die at some point. Plus, he was adamant on keeping his surname. So that his mother can find him once she dies, if she looks for him,” he added, and he was unable to keep some sadness out of his voice. The hopeful look on Ezequiel’s face when he’d brought that up had been almost painful to see; his Coco’s understanding one had been worse.

Ernesto gave him an odd glance. “What do you mean, if she looks for him? Why wouldn't--”

“Cheque hasn’t seen her since he was three. No idea if she even knows of his death.”

“Ah,” Ernesto muttered, and looked down at the papers again, reading on. His fingers traced the blank lines, and Héctor had just a moment to fear he wouldn't sign them after all before he sighed and held out his hand. “Got a pen? I don’t have one on me. Haven’t signed autographs in a while.”

“Huh? Oh. Sí, just a moment… where did I put it, where… wait, wait, wait… ah-ha! Found it!”

Ernesto rolled his eyes, but took the pen without commenting and quickly signed all the blank lines before handing the papers back to Héctor. “Here. Three autographs at the price of one,” he scoffed.

“Thanks. Uh… can I have the pen back?”

“What pen?” Ernesto said flatly, pocketing it.

“The one you just put in your pocket.”

“I did no such thing.”

Héctor opened his mouth to protest, then he thought better of it and just shrugged. “Well, whatever. I have better ones at home,” he informed him, folding the papers. He paused, not quite knowing what to do or say, and Ernesto entirely ignored his presence: he just rested his folded arms on the wooden fence and resumed looking down at the canal, saying nothing.

Well, he supposed that meant the conversation was over. He opened his mouth to say he should be on his way, but he never got to speak. A sudden chorus of barks and yaps caused him to wince and turn just on time to see a tiny Chihuahua alebrije running up to join the three that had been playing nearby, rolling and tumbling with them for a few moments before running up to Ernesto. There was something familiar about it, about that red collar it wore.

“Hey, isn't that the one Cheque keeps?” he asked, blinking, when the tiny alebrije ran to Ernesto and stood on its hind legs to greet him. “Why-- wait. What’s that around his neck?”

“Nothing,” Ernesto said quickly, snatching the rolled-up piece of paper from Diablo’s collar.

“Ernesto…”

“Nothing of your concer--"

“If Cheque is involved, it is my concern. It’s sort of a thing when it comes to family. Not that I’d expect you to understand,” Héctor cut him off, vehemently enough to make him fall silent for a few moments. His grip on the rolled-up sheet of paper tightened.

“He writes, sometimes. It was his idea,” he finally admitted. Thinking back of how often Diablo went missing from the household to roam, Héctor could easily guess it happened more often than just ‘sometimes’. And none of them had realized what was going on; the boy could be so sneaky it was almost hilarious.

“Heh. He’s a smart kid. And I assume you write back?”

Ernesto looked away, still holding the letter tight in his fist. It was as though he thought Héctor might try to take it from him any moment.  “... From time to time.”

Always, then. “We never suspected a thing.”

“You were not supposed to,” Ernesto said sourly.

Héctor remembered sitting down after a tiring performance to write to Coco before he fell asleep, usually with Ernesto already snoring away at the far end of the room. He’d poured his heart in those letters, not knowing just how much or for how long his daughter would treasure them, but hoping they would make her feel his love despite the distance between them. He highly doubted Ernesto’s own letters were quite like the ones he had written for Coco, of course, but if Cheque kept writing back they had to be important to him… and, if the look on Ernesto’s face was anything to go by, for Ernesto as well; maybe he needed that exchange more than his great-great-grandson did. Unlike him, he was alone.

It was a link, and one Héctor couldn’t in all conscience bring himself to break: he knew too much of broken bonds and the pains it took to mend them. Plus, he suspected that trying to do that would only make Cheque more likely to run off on them, and they’d rather avoid that.

“Us knowing will change nothing. We won’t keep Ezequiel from writing to you,” Héctor finally said. He would find a way to tell Imelda without triggering immediate retaliation against Ernesto - he would never hide a thing from her again, no matter how harmless - and they would sit with the boy, explain him he didn’t need to hide anything from them, either. He could rely on them, without fear of reprisal. The sooner he’d fully understand it, the better.

And after all, there was nothing inherently wrong about them staying in touch. If Ernesto had wanted to use the boy against them again… well, he could have simply refused to signs those papers, and hadn’t. Unaware of his thoughts, Ernesto was giving him a doubtful look.

“Am I supposed to believe you?”

“My word is all I can give. Take it or leave it,” Héctor replied, and put the papers in his pocket. His fingers touched something else he had stuck in there, and that he’d entirely forgotten about: an envelope stuffed full of money, coming mostly from some ninety years of missed royalties on his songs. It was a lot of money, much more than their family knew what to do with, especially with their shoe making business doing so well.

Héctor had given most of it for the people if Shantytown, along with de la Cruz’s mansion, but it still kept coming. He’d brought a good chunk of cash with him, just in case… well, in case Ernesto needed some convincing to sign those papers. It’d have felt an awful lot like he’d bought the child, even with the best intentions, so he was relieved it had not come to it.

Still, there was that money. And he didn’t want it. “Here. Take this.”

Ernesto blinked, staring down at the envelope Héctor had pushed in his hand. He opened it, and the confused look turned into one that was nothing short of stunned. “What is this?”

“Money, last time I looked. Unless Cheque did one of his tricks and turned it into feathers or something. It’s revenue from my-- from your movies. I don’t need it or want it.”

The stunned look turned into a frown. “It was to bribe me if I’d refused to sign, wasn’t it?”

Héctor saw now point in denying that. “An incentive,” he said, and Ernesto had the galls to look offended next, which got on his nerves a lot more than he’d expected.

“So you thought I would sell you the kid--”

“Why not? You took my life for much less.”

That made Ernesto pause, but just for a moment. “I need nothing from you,” he said, and Héctor’s left eye twitched a little. Of all things he could have said, that had to be it? Really?

“I wish you'd come to that conclusion a bit earlier. Say, about a century ago,” he retorted, and it did get him to shut up, recoiling slightly. Good, Héctor thought, and turned to walk away. “If you don't want that money, throw it into the canal. I don’t need it. Good luck.”

Had he turned back he would have seen Ernesto lifting a hand and taking a step before he paused, scowled, and lowered his arm. But he didn’t turn, and only heard him calling out.

“You owe me bottle,” he snapped, and Héctor scoffed without breaking his stride.

“With or without poison?” he asked aloud, refusing to turn. There was no reply, and he didn’t pause, didn’t even wonder if Ernesto had heard him at all. He was done there.

They were done.

***

[Narrator voice] They were not done.

***

[Back to Part 12]

[On to Part 14]

[theoddcatlady]

Mother of Monsters

Meg could do mostly anything she wanted. Except for two things.

She couldn’t keep a boyfriend. And she couldn’t keep a baby.

We’ve been friends literally since we were crawling, one of those ‘moms were friends so we were friends’ too. But unlike most times when these friendships tend to grow apart, Meg and I were inseparable. As children we were around the same clothing size so our closets were spread between our houses. My mom couldn’t even remember what was mine and what was Meg’s but it didn’t matter. We shared everything from clothes to toys. She was the only one I trusted with Leon the Lion and Meg would go to sleep if she knew that her Hector the Hippo was in my bed safe and sound.

As teens, things did change, but nothing that changed our friendship. I stayed at a solid five feet tall, gained a lot of weight, and was officially diagnosed with dyslexia. School was hard. I turned into a wallflower.

On the other hand, Meg blossomed to be tall, almost modelesque in stature. She aced all her classes, loved the drama club. And everyone loved her.

However, this didn’t change the fact we were best friends. Meg never got a big head, never got upset with me as she tutored me through English and Algebra. Turned down a guy asking her out because he called me a ‘fat pig’. We were still thick as thieves.

Which is why she told me first that she was pregnant.

It was in the school bathroom, right after third period, right before lunch. Our sophomore year. I was trying to clean my glasses while Meg was leaned over the sink, taking several deep breaths as she was trying not to puke. “Still have that flu bug?” I joked.

“No. It’s, um…. it’s morning sickness. I’m pregnant.”

I dropped my glasses and I’m lucky that they didn’t crack. I spun around, eyes wide. “What?” I asked, wondering if she’d gotten a lousy sense of humor over the past twenty four hours.

Meg nodded. “Y-yeah.” She stood up straight. “I’m having a baby, Lynne.”

Those words were the most terrifying I’d ever heard. She opened up after that.

The baby belonged to David, another member of the drama club. I knew they’d gone on a few dates, but I didn’t know things had gone that far. They’d only done it once, after that they agreed it just wasn’t going to work out. Sex was no hurrah, according to her.

But Meg had gone to the doctor’s yesterday and they confirmed what the five pregnancy tests said.

“Are your parents upset?” I remember blurting out.

Meg shrugged. “I mean, a little? Because we didn’t use protection and I didn’t tell them I was interested in becoming sexually active… I don’t know what to tell David. I think though… no, I know I’m going to keep it. Like. No abortion. I’m gonna find a mom and a dad for this baby, and they’ll be happy. I don’t give a shit what people think anyway. My parents are totally in support too… are you, Lynne?”

I hugged Meg tightly. That was my answer. I’d always support my best friend.

We didn’t have time to find a new mommy and daddy though. Just the next week, Meg miscarried.

Meg was shattered. I was too. We cried together for months.

But Meg was strong. Meg grew stronger. And by her senior year she had a new boyfriend, and a new baby inside of her when she graduated. But things went to shit once again. She miscarried, and he took off. Dickhead.

This became a cycle that was painful to witness. Meg would find a guy, get pregnant despite whatever measures were taken, and they’d break it off as she miscarried. I suppose that’s why she got used to it, I don’t know how many times she got pregnant and lost the child. I was always there though, even as we grew into adulthood. I became a cashier at the fish market, saving up for college. Meg got a job at the insurance company one of her exes worked at, a job nice enough to buy her childhood house as her parents had moved to Florida. No use for a three bedroom house when it’s just you and your partner after all.

Then when she was twenty five she told me she was engaged.

I liked her new dude, I suppose, Craig- he had a good job at the bank. Really solid. Of course I had to ask though.

“Meg, are you pregnant this time?”

Meg winked.

“Not yet. Come over next week- I want you to try on your dress. You’re going to be beautiful.”

I squealed and jumped up and down. I was going to be Meg’s maid of honor. I’d always dreamed of that day. To be standing next to her while she was at the altar. I practically danced around the market while I waited for her to call me and tell me when I could come over.

I went over on Friday after I showered, I didn’t want to smell like fish while trying on my new dress. For hours I stressed over what color would it be? It wouldn’t be pink, Meg wasn’t that crazy about pink. Maybe a deep red, or a rich plum. If it was a spring wedding, I wouldn’t put it past her to pick pastel green.

Meg answered the door in a fluffy green bathrobe. Her hair was all done up and she was grinning. “Get in here!” She said before pulling me inside.

I hadn’t been in this house for a long time, if I’m honest. Normally when Meg and I hung out it was at my apartment or someplace in public. It hadn’t changed much, minus modernizing of the furniture. I walked to the corner where Meg and I used to measure ourselves as kids. Meg’s dad would make a mark over our heads on each birthday and we’d see how much we’d grown over the past year.

I ran my finger over the mark that was still the same height as I was now. Good times. So long ago. Then I looked at the opposing corner to see dozens of more marks. I frowned. We hadn’t ever measured ourselves over there, had Meg’s brother been measured there instead?

When I knelt beside the marks, I started making out the names.

‘Lillie’.

‘Denny’.

‘Ebony’.

‘Emery’.

‘Theo’.

‘Judy’.

“Hey, did someone live here after your parents?” I asked before I turned around.

Meg was holding up the dress bag. “Go, try it on, I think I got your measurements right. You lost like five pounds right?” She asked.

“Eh, seven, but I put three back on,” I took the bag and peered in. I frowned. “… Meg? This is your dress.”

“Nope! Mine’s in the other room.” She grinned and bounced from her heels to her toes, something she always did while excited.

“Then the shop must’ve screwed up, this can’t be my dress,” I said, trying to push it back into her hands.

She pushed it back and shook her head.

“No. I know it’s yours. I already checked.”

In a trance, I walked into the bathroom and put on the dress.

The white, lace dress.

It was perfect. One I’d want to wear at my wedding, a fact Meg knew. We’d been shopping for wedding dresses since we were twelve.

Feeling the victim of a cruel joke, I walked out, ready to tear Meg a new one.

The living room was empty, but I could hear music playing from the basement. ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. Again, the exact wedding march I’d confided in Meg that I would want. I balled up my fists and prepared to march right out the door. This wasn’t funny. Meg could go to hell if she thought it was.

“Hello!”

I looked down the hall, the door to the basement.

A little boy, probably nine or ten, was peering from the door. His amber eyes were almost glowing in the dark.

“Come on! Momma’s ready! Momma’s ready!”

The door slammed shut.

Momma? Now someone had put too much effort into this prank. I was ready to punch Meg when I saw her next. I went to the door, opened it back up, and walked down the stairs. I pulled up the skirt to make sure I wouldn’t trip.

The lights wouldn’t turn on, a fact that didn’t surprise me. The switch at the top of the stairs was always finicky. I didn’t have my phone for light either since this dress didn’t have pockets. So I just had to step very, very carefully.

I set my hand on one of the Halloween decorations to steady myself when lights on the floor snapped on, fairy lights for Christmas.

I was standing at the beginning of the aisle, and at the end was Meg, in her own perfect wedding gown. She looked so stunning, the sight took my breath away.

“Can you take your hand off of me, please?”

I gasped as my hand tore away, ready to apologize.

The gargoyle had spoken. At least I think it looked like a gargoyle. Twisted features, sharp chin, demonic eyes. I went pale. I nearly screamed.

But I heard Meg giggle quietly.

“Emery, don’t scare her.”

Emery shuffled his clawed feet and mumbled an apology. This jerked me into walking to the front in quite a hurry. As my eyes adjusted to the low light, I could make out more. Children with horns, children with fangs, all sorts of monstrous children.

I was shaking by the time I reached the end, now feeling safer by Meg. “Who… who are all…” I stammered. I couldn’t make it out.

“They’re my children, Lynne.”

I looked around the room in shock. I spotted the amber eyed boy, he waved a scaled hand and blinked with clear eyelids. “But you’ve never had kids, Meg! You’ve always miscarried!” I blurted out.

Meg shook her head no. “Not exactly. I’m not quite sure why it’s worked out this way. But by the first or second month, they’re usually ready to be born. It’s not really a miscarriage, it’s labor. At first my parents let me believe my first child was miscarried, I’d passed out. But then I heard him crying.” She looked at the amber eyed child with such a smile, and I realized they did have the same eyes. “My parents called him Dennis, I just call him my lil Denny. They were debating on what to do with him, my lil scaly boy. But I made sure I kept him. People wouldn’t look past the scales when it came to adoption.”

Denny’s slitted tongue zipped out as he waved. I awkwardly waved back. I looked around the room. “So, all of these are yours?” I asked. I knew she’d been pregnant quite a bit but I didn’t know the extent.

“Yup!” Meg looked proud. “They’re pretty independent by a few months in. Their fathers don’t understand though. I don’t love them either… not how I love you.”

That was a punch to the gut. My head slowly shook no. “Meg, you don’t love me. You… you would’ve said something!” My voice cracked.

Meg rested her hand on my own. “I wanted to be sure. But it’s always been you Lynne. Always. Every time I gave birth, I always thought how you’d be a good mother to them all. You’d read them bedtime stories, play pretend, feed them… it’d be my dream!” I saw tears forming in her eyes and she clutched my hand so hard it nearly hurt.

This was insane. I’d never even bothered to tell Meg I was a lesbian, I figured it just never needed to be officially said. I looked around. “What about Craig?” I asked. They’d been pretty serious.

Meg’s grip on my hand loosened before she rested it on her belly. “… He did his part. I’m pregnant again, Lynne. He’s already out of the picture. The children need to be fed, after all. What should we name this one? I think it’ll be a girl.”

The name slipped out before I could stop it.

“Lenore. We… we should name her Lenore.”

[obdurare-archive-blog]

I just gotta ask and forgive me if it is a dumb question. Why was Hector worried about Jack in the locker and onwards?

Gosh, nonnie, are you sure you want to open this can of worms? Because I could scream about Jack and Hector's relationship literally all day, it's just one of those things I love about both of them.Also this is not at all a stupid question, I am 100% for answering these about my interpretaton.I feel like there are a lot of different reasons? I could answer this better if Silas was here to walk me back through it, it's something we've discussed extensively, but I'm going to do my best and lead off with the obvious: You guys do realize they're friends, right. Because they are friends. The best of friends, even if they'll literally never admit it. See, the great thing about Jack and Hector is that once they've gotten their revenge or a book is closed in their life or whatever? They move on. They don't really dwell on it after that. For example, take the Locker itself."Oh, Hector! It's been to long! Hasn't it?""Aye, Isla de Muerta, remember?" (and this bastard fucking winks) "You shot me."

Like the most obvious thing about this entire exchange? This is the only one like it. For the rest of the series. Hector never brings it up again, Jack never brings it up again, and they move forward.But there are a ton of little clues here and there and left and right that Hector is Shook by how Jack is in the Locker. 1. Hector knows what a distracted, not okay Jack looks like. He's known for many years what that looks like. Because in the Legend of the Brethren Court series of books, this is pretty much Jack the entire time. Jack distracted, Jack kind of out of it. Jack not on his A game. He fell asleep once for three days, no one could get him to wake up, and they ended up in Australia where they were not supposed to be. Like, Hector knows what that all looks like. So when that's the first thing in he sees of Jack, and uncertain, "No, I didn't." that's more a question than an statement to being told he shot Hector, Hector knows.Next time anyone does a rewatch, pay attention after they find Jack in the Locker. Hector follows Jack like it's his goddamn job. Down the line of people on the beach after Jack rows back from the Pearl, he's literally never far away at all from him while Jack toys with the Mao Kun Map, keeping him in eyesight. When they get back from the Locker, he actually makes his move and we have that talk next to the body of the kraken. And then when Sao Feng shows up and they find out they've been mutinied, there's a few things here I want to draw special notice to.1. Hector is someone that people rarely touch in canon. Have you noticed that? All touching is done by him, on his terms. But once back on the Pearl, Jack practically plasters himself to Hector's back, doing that thing where he chews his nails (and that is such an obvious Jack tell to be honest), while Hector stands like a wall between Sao Feng and Jack. Yeah, he lets Sao Feng punch Jack but. That's fair and highly earned (see: Legends books again). He keeps them separated until Jack chooses to move away.2. He tries to follow, when Sao Feng pulls Jack away to see the Endeavour showing up. And when he does try to follow, he gets stopped at gunpoint. Like?? He's not gonna follow for no reason, guys. I'm 100% in the camp that he thought Jack was in no shape to try to play mindgames with Beckett. That fear is unfounded, Jack does brilliantly, but I think the worry was very real there.3. Literally stares at the Endeavour the entire time he and the others are being chained up together (and man does he stand there like a pillar that cannot be bowed, I love it) until catching that conversation with Sao Feng and Mercer. And then he turns on his charm to work a con and also does beautifully.4. When Jack shoots himself from the Endeavor to the Pearl and you've got one Hector Barbossa literally shoving people out of the way to see where he landed. And then the look on his face when they find Jack. Like, "You know what, buddy. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, making me freak for fucking nothing, oughta beat your face in I s2g-"But Amanda, you're saying. He just wanted his Piece of Eight, right? YES! That is a part of it. And the Court is a part of it. But it's all of these HUGE MAJOR THINGS you see, coupled with the glances they give one another, their jokes, the fact that they literally stick together like glue except for a few specific instances. These are not the actions of a man just after a piece of trash. These are not the actions of people who fucking hate each other. This is the kind of shit friends do, y'all. Y'all know that. You stick by your pal when they're not doing so hot. And that's exactly what Hector fucking does.

[abakersquest]

CHAPTER NINETEEN – ON FALLEN EMPIRES AND ASH-LADEN SHORES

The water around the speeding Fortune exploded violently as volley after volley of cannon shot zeroed in on the escaping vessel. Behind them, the mystical tower of the Storm Bell finally sank beneath the unruly waves, ringing what its listeners could only assume was the death knell to the intricate workings of the sea. As Blackeye took the ship’s wheel, Polly desperately tried to concentrate through the din and make the ship invisible again to no avail. Undeterred, she rushed to the aft of the ship where Wally and Wistea conjured what they could to deflect any of the many incoming cannonballs. Behind them, Hector focused and channeled every last ounce of magic he could into his sword. He’d been able to hobble the ship before, so he’d try to do it again.

It was then that everything shook with the sudden resonance of a mighty chime, and the chaotic waves behind them calmed. The Storm Bell rang again and the sky was instantly filled with dark and heavy clouds. A third ring birthed a maelstrom that almost lifted the Fortune out of the water, disrupting the flight of the pursuing sky fortress and many of its shots. A fourth ring brought lightning and thunder the likes no living being had ever seen. With the fifth ring, the waters below the spontaneous tempest began to spin and reform the once collapsing whirlpool. It was nowhere near the size of its predecessor, but large enough to expose part of the sunken tower.

Powerful bolts of lightning quickly snaked through the ink black clouds and cascaded over the warship. The bolts homed in on several spots and seemingly did no damage until something in the body of the vessel exploded violently. The warship’s propellers locked instantly and it fell toward the ocean. Half the distance from splashdown, its mighty supports rang to life once more and its armored belly skipped along the water.

All eyes turned to Hector who shrugged, “that wasn’t me.”

“Was the Storm Bell!” Blackeye shouted over his shoulder. “Looks to me it’s tryin’ to do the work of the Fount, but that ain’t gonna keep for long!”

---

A harried Insicai soldier rushed onto the command deck of the warship; Aegis. He was soon followed by a plume of billowing black smoke. “General!” he almost coughed. “The Lightning Collector has been overloaded! We are doing our best, best, best to halt the spread of the fire now, but it may grow out of hand if-”

The Indomitable Smith rose from his seat and walked toward the smoke. “Maintain this position until repairs are completed. After which we shall make way to Insicai, the next Mobius Glass should be completed by the time we arrive.” His helm turned to the right, indicating he was looking over his shoulder. “Re’duvae, see to our return course with the navigation team.”

The armored Insicai that had greeted him at the dispatch port stood and saluted before heading down a nearby stairwell that lead from the Command deck to Navigation.

---

The door to the Fortune’s interior opened and Rozzi hobbled as far as the door frame, looking everyone over. She could easily see the undeniable frustration and disappointment on all their faces.

“Anyone wanna fill in the particulars for me?”

“We saw their ship over the Storm Bell’s tower so we assumed that was their target,” Wally replied. “And while we were busy with puzzles and fighting an all together pointless battle, they were lifting the Fount of the Sea right out of the water.”

“Puzzles?” she asked.

“The tower challenges anyone who comes in, even the front door has a task before you can even enter,” answered Hector.

Rozzi stood and thought on that for a few seconds. “Hold on, everything was still intact by the time you got to the top of that thing? Nothin’ bashed in, or blown apart? The guy you fought actually made it past the stuff you did?”

The landing party all exchanged a look before Blackeye spoke.

“Its different challenges for everyone… But overall they reveal somethin’ about yerself. My first time, I learned to move more calmly.”

“I should be more careful not to burn myself out.” Wally added.

“An overabundance of pride could kill me.” Wistea volunteered.

“Focusing too much on the big picture means I miss important details that could save my life.” Hector concluded.

“But,” Wally began to reason. “That we didn’t pass through a bunch of smoldering ruins means that giant must’ve faced the same philosophical test. He had to tell the truth to enter, face a challenge of personal worth, and show the willingness not to fight.”

“Wally!” Hector quickly replied. “You asked him a question right? If he was being made to fight or fought of his own volition?”

“He said ‘both,’” Wally recalled the scene. “It was strange… My insight didn’t work on him like it did with the Rogue and the Princess. Granted he’s clearly less emotional than them, but it was more than that.” He scratched at the back of his ear to help his thinking. “I don’t quite know how to put it; it was more like he seemed…”

“Hollow?” Wistea volunteered.

Wally nodded. “But maybe I was wrong?”

“Well!” Rozzi shouted with a clap of her hands. “Not a total loss! The Storm Bell’s safe at least, and we learned more about what we’re facin’. I saw that little magic gizmo they pulled out for the Fount. Since they got here ahead of us and everything was still intact, I get the feelin’ they only had one of those on them. So, could be they could only pick one of the two magical artifacts to wreck up, or maybe they take a while t’ get ready, or there’s only the one.”

A slim smile grew on Hector’s face. “Gaining knowledge might be a tiny victory, but it still counts toward the whole.”

The whistle of the Kettle Engine finally faded and the ship began to slow. Blackeye worked the lever back to its neutral position and twisted the handle. The sensation of something large opening traveled across the deck beneath their feet. “It’s gonna take a day before the engine’s workin’ again. I sure don’t want to head to Sauro without it. Works out, we’re two days away at best. Nurse your bruises and steel yourselves, it’s gonna be a wild ride once we’re close.”

There was a loud thud off to the side that was quickly revealed to be the exhausted body of Polly Cofresi. At some point during the conversation she’d leaned against the railing, fallen asleep, and then finally slipped the rest of the way down. With a chuckle, the captain locked the wheel, gently scooped her up, and took her down to the bunk room with a few whispered words of praise.

Rozzi leaned on the door after it was closed and pouted slightly. “So you mean to tell me, I missed a magical game of Honest Consequences.”

Wistea’s expression grew pensive as, they all could tell now; she began to check her sizable catalog of memories and facts to figure out what Rozzi was asking about.

“It’s a children’s game in Animana,” Wally told her. “You sit ‘round in a circle, then go and challenge the person across from you to answer a question truthfully, or pull some outrageous stunt.”

“Except this particular outrageous stunt was having to almost fight my fellow knight.” Hector patted Wally on the shoulder.

“Wait? You saw me?! What’s that mean? I had to almost fight Sir Hammond!”

“Ah,” Wistea began. “No doubt it was a test of our personal feelings of inadequacy. We all faced someone that in some way made us feel weaker by comparison, no doubt to encourage us to fight it and fail. I can understand Hector’s imposition, after all, one of the last things you did was hurl one of Kota’s Generals across the Storm Bell’s belfry. That sort of thing can be very imposing.”

“AHHH! I CAN’T BELIEVE I MISSED THAT!” shouted Rozzi in frustration.

“Don’t you worry; I’m sure the next time we’re all in mortal danger, Wally will no doubt do something just as impressive and startling,” Hector chuckled.

Wally sighed, grateful for the levity that Rozzi seemed to have revitalized in everyone, but still frustrated that he could do nothing to prevent the day’s loss. It all left him in a somewhat frustrated mood he couldn’t immediately shake. “I’ll stay up here on first watch, you all relax…”

As he tried to walk toward the foredeck a sudden gust of air threw him off balance and back toward the group where he was met by Rozzi’s stern expression.

“I’ll have none of that, thank you very much! ‘First watch’ my tail, you just wanna stand up here and mope at the sky like that’d make you feel any better. Now,” she reached over and grabbed the fur on his cheek. “You’re gonna come down to the galley and make us all somethin’ to eat and I guarantee you’ll be smilin’ by the end of it… Also someone has to make sure I don’t fall down the stairs. I barely made it up here y’know?”

“What?” Hector said with playful incredulity. “Don’t you trust me?”

“About as far as I could THROW you,” she retorted.

He sighed and looked to Wally with an earnest smile, “not gonna live that one down, am I?”

“Probably not,” Wally answered plainly as he took Rozzi’s arm over his shoulder to help her down the stairs.

---

There was a disquieting stillness to the air as they sailed toward Sauro, Blackeye said that with the Storm Bell dividing its power, both the sea and the sky would suffer from an unseemly calm until the Fount was either restored, or the Bell lost its strength. The sails drove them forward as best they could with the steady but weakened winds. In another day’s worth of sailing the air grew much warmer and on the horizon, the crew of the God’s Fortune could see a faint glow. It was neither sunrise nor sunset, but the eternal fires of the twin molten peaks that flanked the island nation of Sauro. Soon its mountainous shore came into view, a natural and enormous barrier of peaks all along the island’s shoreline that made it practically unassailable from any angle, save the ports built into the mountain caverns.

According to the captain, the ports had all been sealed by cannon fire induced landslides after the end of the war, in order to prevent citizens of Sauro from ever leaving their island again. Every so often a ship would be conscripted to check on the ports to make sure the fallen stones hadn’t been disturbed, and in the 20 years since the end of the war, not a single Sauroian had come back to, or left from, Sauro.

Many of the refugees of Sauro had been taken in by Animana after the war’s end, while some others sailed and worked amidst the Icthy Isles. Planae, Orni’Hu, and Insicai however had denied them entry. In his quest for kitchen work back home, Wally had a job in the part of The Outers where the Sauroians had been allowed to settle. They were quiet and cautious whenever he was around, no doubt afraid any indiscretion would rob them of another home. They wore cloaks to hide their appearance, and kept to themselves whenever possible, all to avoid causing any uproar by simply existing. All said, there was absolutely no telling what life was like beyond the mountains of Sauro after the war, they’d be going in almost entirely blind.

The Fortune’s crew looked out over the waters ahead as the imposing mountain range loomed ever closer. “I suppose the loss of the Fount made the waters here more traversable,” said Hector curiously. “Seer Cinera made it sound like we’d be dealing with the most violent waves imaginable.”

“It ain’t the waves ones concerned with, lad.” The captain turned the wheel quickly, the God’s Fortune narrowly avoiding a spontaneous geyser of steaming water.

Everyone stared at the heated plume as Hector calmly stated, “oh.”

“Them hot spouts ain’t the bother either…” Blackeye warned. “You’ll know it when we see it.”

The God’s Fortune weaved around several more dangerous blast of superheated water as it came ever closer to Sauro. Everyone kept their attentions as extended as possible, readying as best they could for whatever imposing threat the mysterious island had to offer. Finally, they were close enough to see the tall red tower with a single light shining at the top, just as Cinera described. The many eyes on deck tried to get a better view when the clouds above them began to swirl unnaturally. At first they seemed to simply orbit one another until there was a loud snap of air and the clouds were replaced by a titanic orange eye with a thin and jagged black pupil. It stared down and drifted along with the ship it so easily dwarfed, and shone down with an otherworldly light.

“I hope Cinera was right about that Tetsu fella,” the captain said quietly. “Don’t think I’ll be able to trick Kota the same way twice…” Blackeye flipped the Kettle Engine’s switch and the Fortune shot forward, leaving the massive mystic eye trailing. The shine of the eye increased and Hector could see the water under its gaze begin to boil and the air above waver with a thick haze of heat. As the chase continued the air beneath the eye seemed to ignite, creating a pillar of shimmering death that only speed its pursuit with every passing second.

“How’d you trick it last time?!” called out Wally.

“Water canopy! Made us look like empty sea!”

“Grandpa! It’s gettin’ closer! Shouldn’t I make the ship invisible?!”

“Keep that for later! We’re gonna need it if we wanna get out in one piece!”

The giant eye vanished instantly, leaving only a trail of steaming seawater. As everyone quickly looked to see if they could spot it elsewhere, the snap of air signaling its appearance rocked their ears, as it spontaneously manifested directly ahead of them. They could feel the air temperature skyrocket as the captain desperately tried to change course. Suddenly a large black slate rose in their path and the ship raced into it at top speed. Between the ticks of a second the crew of the Fortune found themselves saved from certain death and thrown into uncertain surroundings. Their eyes slowly adjusted and their ears sought out what they could as Blackeye shut off the Kettle Engine.

In the low light of a few scattered torches and distant gleaming crystals, they could see the vague impression of a ship builder’s dock built into a mountainous cavern, long disused and left to rot beside a now stagnant pool of water. Of course, all that was less impressive than the fact they were hovering a dozen feet above it all.

Below they could hear a feminine voice grunt with effort as the ship slowly drifted down to rest in the water by the dock, affording said voice’s owner a slow reveal to the ship’s crew. Illuminated by a bright oil lamp by her feet, a short female frog stood adorned in a flowing dress and head scarf that bore the red, black, and yellow of a sunset, as well as a number of silver coins that shimmered in the flickering light. Her golden flecked eyes finally opened and looked up, taking the sight of them in with elliptical pupils. Her smile was one of content relief that certainly helped to lighten the mood of what had just occurred.

Polly gasped as she could see an ornate glowing halo behind her, similar to Cinera’s. However, the outer ring of it was darker than the inner structure. This did nothing to diminish the beauty of its ethereal presence as far as she was concerned.

“Please,” the Sauroian stranger spoke. “Follow me to Master Tetsudin; I can only shield us from Kota’s sight for so long.”

Every pair of eyes that didn’t belong to a wallaby settled on the only one in the cavern.

“Does everyone need to check with me every time we meet someone new?”

“They say power and responsibility are steamy bedfellows,” paraphrased Hector

“I don’t think anyone in the whole of history has ever said anything even remotely like that… And the answer is yes, we can trust her,” replied the slightly annoyed wallaby.

The heroes hopped down to the creaking docks that hadn’t felt much in the way of weight in two decades. The young Sauroian girl, who was just barely an inch or two taller than Wally, politely curtsied for the group. “My name is Hyla, Hyla Areo. I am Master Tetsudin’s current apprentice. Please, before we go, I must take the Flarebearer’s hands.”

Wally raised a curious eyebrow at her as she outstretched her broadly rounded fingers. Sensing nothing dangerous about the gesture, Wally placed his hands in hers.

There was a sudden rush of emotions, memories, thoughts, and experiences that twisted like a tornado around the wallaby’s consciousness. Some recent, some from long ago, and some that were clearly not his own. He grit his teeth and braced himself to weather the typhoon of it all, only to see it fade as rapidly as it arose. Hyla slowly shook a somewhat awestruck expression from her face.

“F-… Forgive me; I just had to make sure. You… Really are everything Master Tetsudin said you’d be.”

Wally blinked a few times, finding it a little difficult to see at first. “He knew about me?”

She nodded. “There is little my master does not know.”

Rozzi cleared her throat, “S’pose etiquette’s on that list somewhere, eh?”

She tapped Hyla on the wrist gently, revealing she’d yet to release Wally’s hands. “Oh! Yes, right, of course.” She released his hands before bowing her head apologetically. “Please, this way. I’m afraid we’ll have to take the long way since moving your ship took a lot out of me.”

“S’long as you can put her back where she belongs, we’re fine, lass.” Blackeye patted the ship’s hull before following.

The dock’s facilities were naught but the ramshackle remnants of a ship building yard. Tools and scrap materials strewn all about, no doubt due to a hasty retreat by the workers. Everything creaked, groaned, and shook at the passing of these new travelers. Even shadows moved like old, broken wrecks as the oil lamp’s light slid along every surface. They soon came to a boulder set before a sheer stone wall. Hyla whistled and the stone moved aside like a polite gentleman on a narrow street. Beyond it was a stone staircase, carved directly into the mountain’s interior; Polly had a giggle as her broad shouldered grandfather had to walk up it sideways.

“Life’s been hard here, hasn’t it, Hyla…” Wally began to speak amidst the sound of stair climbing.

She looked back at him over her shoulder, saying nothing.

“Seems like when you were ‘looking’ at me… I saw a little bit of you. I know it’s probably not much but, from one almost starved child refuge to another, I’m sorry.”

She smiled and nodded silent thanks.

Rozzi walked up and nudged him gently, speaking softly, “’bout that. Just how much did she see y’think?”

“Felt like all of it,” he said quietly. “Even parts of my childhood.” Wally frowned. “But growing up in Sauro after the war? Leagues worse than The Outers ever were…”

The group came to another sheer wall that a whistle from Hyla opened. The room beyond was lit by a series of floating orbs, with no clear support or mechanism. Every inch of their surroundings was a surprising contrast to the tower’s exterior, a deep almost black blue. The only features within were the four pillars that reached high toward the domed ceiling and the massive chains attached to each one. At the end of the chains sat a titanic figure that dwarfed anyone they’d met thus far. Clothed in tarnished silver robes, there could be no doubt this was Master Tetsudin, an absolutely gargantuan turtle.

“Welcome,” he said in a voice best described as that of a beloved family elder just waking up from a nap. “Lovely to finally see you all in person. Ah, so to speak.”

It was baffling that such a kindly voice could come from such an enormous body with a face like ancient brown leather. But beyond that, Wally saw something that truly shocked him. Where there should be a set of eyes or even the vaguest impression of them on a wrinkled face, there was nothing, an empty darkness.

“No, young Flarebearer, your eyes do not deceive you. As part of my penance, I surrendered my gift of sight before I built myself this prison. The beauty of nature is something I shall rightfully never see again… Despite my other ways of seeing.”

Wally tucked his initial shock away as well he could and approached Master Tetsudin. “I… Well, sir, we were told that if anyone anywhere could tell us more about the Stellar Flare and how to restore its power, it’d be you.”

Tetsudin reached out his enormous hand, and the chains attached rung like church bells thrown down a flight of stairs. “Present the blade, please.”

Wally readily unsheathed it and held the broadside up, quickly wondering if trying to hold it up higher would make any possible difference at this point.

The old Sauroian tapped a single clawed finger against the blade, causing it to chime like a tuning fork.

“Mm, as is to be expected. The sword expended all its power to banish Kota the last time it was used against her.”

Everyone but Hyla replied in varying shocked tones, “Banished?!”

Wally was the first to continue, “You mean that… Sir Hammond the Only didn’t actually slay Kota?!”

The ancient Sauroian gave a small yet genial laugh. “Would you be fighting her now if he did?”

“I… I guess we all assumed she was back from the dead…”

“Death is a rather permanent event, young Flarebearer.” Tetsudin leaned back and looked up toward the ceiling. “There may linger some lesser presence in your stead, or you may simply live on in memory or legend. But there exist no magic in this world to truly resurrect the dead. I do not know why Sir Hammond chose to banish her; the Flare at full strength could easily have ended her life in his skilled hands. Now she has returned from her banishment, and the Flare came with her, having expended its power to keep her sealed these twenty years.”

Hector spoke more to calm his mind than anything else, “I’m certain, whatever the reason, my father did what was best for all of us…”

Blackeye patted him on the shoulder comfortingly.

Tetsudin leaned down, finally directing the whole of his attention to the slightly shocked wallaby. “Wally, heed my words. You must take the Stellar Flare to the tallest peak of Krust Mountain; there and only there can it be restored.”

“Krust Mountain?” Blackeye chuckled. “Fella, I been sailin’ the seas since I was a wee lad, so while experience says I can believe it exists, it’s most likely in the Southeastern seas, which is a big patch of nothin’ for ages. So, even if the place’s real, findin’ a bloody island that MOVES on such a big empty stretch’a ocean is damn near impossible.”

Tetsudin smiled at him. “So you’re up to the challenge then?”

“Course I am y’ daft shellback! Just ‘cause it’s impossible don’t mean I can’t do it!” The captain slapped Hector on the back, causing him to stagger slightly in surprise. “‘Specially with a crew this hardy!”

Tetsudin laughed, or at least that’s what the deep rumbling noise in his throat made everyone think. “I have a great deal of faith in you all. I can only apologize that I could but answer only one of your questions. Unfortunately,” the great turtle pulled back from the heroes. “We are out of time.”

A green armored soldier had leapt in through the single window in the tower, landing between them and Tetsudin. While the sagely turtle outsized it by a measure of ten, its full height loomed over the band of heroes. It was the opposite of the Indomitable Smith, a living metal testament to imposing physiques.

“Hyla!” Tetsudin shouted. “You must aid the Flarebearer on his quest! Go with him and his allies!���

“But Master!” She cried out.

The large emerald armored figure turned toward her. “Have you no respect for your elder’s wishes, little mage?” The voiced of the intruder carried the air of aristocracy and dignity in every last properly pronounced syllable. “How shameful! I shall see to it you are properly punished.”

With speed that blatantly opposed his enormity, the green armored assailant rocketed toward Hyla, a shimmering blade of unknown make in hand.

Wally quickly sprang from his position to intercede, bringing the Flare up to block the overhead strike. The blow rang through the Flare’s blade and shook Wally’s bones as the ground beneath his feet shattered.

“Interfering in my duties to defend a lady, truly a commendable act by the Flarebearer!” Wally suddenly found himself struggling, his opponent pressing down against his sword with a force he’d never felt before. “But I am the Peerless Knight. Not even you could rival me!”

With a sudden upward thrust the Knight’s crossguard caught the edge of the Flare, breaking Wally’s guard. Unexpectedly, Wally rolled backward with the force of the blow and narrowly dodged the following strike. However, the force of its impact shattered the floor, giving Wally no way to reclaim his footing. Instead he landed flat on his back with a hearty thud.

The Knight unleashed loud triumphant laughter as he closed the distance between them almost instantly. In that far too quick of a moment, Wally knew this was the fastest and strongest opponent he’d ever faced. Before he could even lift the Flare, the enemy’s blade was mere inches from stabbing a superfluous hole into his chest. Then, as he closed his eyes to brace himself for the death blow, he felt himself fall a short distance and greet the floor with his back once again. When his eyes finally opened, another portal was sliding shut above his head, having dropped him behind his friends.

“Young Sauroian,” the Knight spoke with a subtle tinge of frustration. “You would betray your own people? Did you forget the devastation wrought on this land by his predecessor? Do you feel no honor, no patriotism?”

Hyla glared furiously at the Knight. “You can’t begin to imagine what I feel!”

“Such presumption from someone so young, do not fear,” he said as he bowed gracefully to her. “I shall be happy to mentor you properly at the end of my sword!”

The sound of enormous chains being rattled filled the air as Tetsudin slapped his hand down against the floor, and the heroes all vanished from sight in a cascade of blue flashes.

The Peerless Knight looked over his shoulder to the ancient mystic and spoke in a civil tone. “A pity… You recall your vow to never use your magic, do you not?”

Tetsudin made a small noise in his throat to scoff at him. “Visit whatever punishment you like upon me, I can assure you there is no suffering in this world I could not endure for the sake of others, especially my pupils.”

---

The deck of the God’s Fortune suddenly found itself populated by several tumbling bodies. Hyla was the first to her feet, helping Wally to his. “We must go quickly! If the Knight is here, Bulfo won’t be far behind.”

With a grunt, Blackeye righted himself. “Little Miss, Fast is what the Fortune does best!”

“How far can one of those gates you made go?” Hector asked as he helped Wistea up.

Hyla thought on it for only a second or two. “I’ve never moved anything this size before today so I have no idea. But I shall do my best!”

“Right then!” Captain Blackeye gripped the ships wheel. “We got one good go left in the Kettle Engine, and we might be ambushed by a toad in a dress! Miss Areo, are you ready?”

Hyla took a few deep breaths to center herself, and a prismatic shimmer rushed over her hands. “Whenever you are.”

“Once we’re through, Polly makes us invisible, and we make for Galaga, got some old Orni’Hulan friends who can get us some leads on Krust Mountain. If anyone in the world even has the vaguest idea of findin’ a mountain that dances about the Southeast, it’ll be one of those crazy feathered nomads, livin’ on old stories and pub snacks.”

Everyone braced as Blackeye nodded to Hyla and the pitch black portal slid open before the ship. The captain kicked the Kettle Engine into action and the fount of steam jolted them through. The second open sky and the sight of Sauro at their backs met her eyes; Polly reached up to form a shroud of invisibility around the ship once again, only to have the nascent energy shatter to ethereal dust. With the ugly sound of air being torn apart, Vizier Bulfo appeared on the deck of the God’s Fortune.

“Mmman excellent effort on transporting an entire ship, Miss Areo. As should be expected of a student of Master Tetsudin.” Croaked the aging sorcerer.

Wally, Hector, and Blackeye charged at him with all the speed they could muster, only to find they’d been transported behind him in the blink of an eye. Without a moment hesitation, Wally spun and launched a sizable volley of fire at Bulfo. He barely acknowledged it, the fireball rebounding off an instantly summoned barrier of light sending it back toward its caster.

Had he paid more attention however, he would’ve seen Wally closing the distance the entire time the shot was flying, with quickness instilled into him by weeks and weeks of training with Animana’s greatest soldier, Wally slapped the mystic conflagration with the broadside of the Flare, sending it right back at Bulfo with twice the speed. Wally could see the barrier clip the very end of the fireball off as it slipped past Bulfo’s defenses and hit him full on the chest, sending him tumbling and burning along the deck with a howl of pain.

Wally kept his momentum, ready to bring the Flare down on him as Rozzi ran up alongside to also strike the still sizzling sorcerer, their blades only sliced through open air and the remnants of mystic fire as he vanished and reappeared above the ship.

“GGRRHA! NO MORE GAMES! I’LL CRUSH YOU ALL NOW!” Bulfo pointed his ugly staff at them and the Fortune was lifted harshly from the sea and high into the air.

Terrifyingly loud groans and creaks rang in every ear as the Fortune was subjected to intense stresses, Bulfo’s magic slowly crushing it.

“NO!” Polly shouted as she thrust her hands out and formed a protective bubble of light around the ship.

It rocked slightly inside the bubble, but the pained sounds of the ship’s timber ceased. Polly shook and grunted with effort as Bulfo sneered and floated closer, the air beneath him a strangely distorted mess keeping him aloft. He brought his staff back and struck the barrier with it, the impact cascading over the entire surface. Polly shrieked in pain and recoiled at the blow, but the barrier did not fall.

The wicked mage cackled hoarsely as he hit the barrier again and again, each strike transmitting great pain to Polly.

“Wally!” Hyla shouted as she ran up to him. “Throw the biggest punch you can, I’ll handle the rest!”

Wally, entirely done with thinking twice, pulled back his hand and delivered the best straight right he could toward Hyla. The Sauroian sorceress placed a very small portal between herself and Wally, sending his hand on a mystically aided journey. Beside the villainous fiend a much larger portal came into being. Through it, the magically magnified fist of the Flarebearer emerged, ten times the size of its owner. It slammed into the unsuspecting toad’s broadside, and sent him flying against his will toward the horizon.

“G… Grandpa…” Polly shook with pain and exhaustion, eyes filled with tears. “Is… Is it safe? D-… Did I…”

The world fell away in that moment, as Blackeye could do nothing else but fall to his knees and embrace the child he’d raised. The fact the ship would plummet toward the ocean without her magic was a banished thought as he held her and said, “You saved us all, my dear… I’m so very proud.”

Polly managed a smile before consciousness slipped away from her.

The barrier vaporized.

The ship fell.

Every hand scrambled for something to hold onto.

Hyla shouted something unheard, and they all fell through another portal.

<[Chapter 18]–[Index]–[Chapter 20]>

[tkmedia]

Adam Lopez Motivated To Secure Showcase Win Over Isaac Dogboe

It wasn’t a typical day in the Blue Moon Boxing Gym a couple months back when Marco Antonio Barrera and Erik Morales showed up and chatted with a young man doing his part to keep the featherweights relevant in 2021, Adam Lopez. “They're living legends, and it was pretty cool to have them right there in the gym and being able to ask them questions,” said Lopez. “It was a blessing. That was cool for them to come in and talk to us and share stories.” If you’re wondering, Lopez didn’t have to play referee between the two Mexican icons.   “What was crazy was they said they're good friends now,” he said of the rivals who engaged in one of the greatest trilogies in boxing history. “Each other's kids call them uncle and stuff, and from what they're saying, they're good friends.” I remind him that wasn’t always the case in retirement, with Barrera more amenable to mending fences with his former nemesis than Morales was. “I got that same vibe, like Morales was a little on edge,” Lopez laughs. “You can tell he just ain't giving it up.” The 25-year-old Lopez has a similar vibe, at least in the ring, where he returns this Saturday to face Ghanaian tough out Isaac Dogboe. Simply put, if an opponent dares to step through the ropes with him, it’s a fight, and if you dare hit him, well, it’s on. That’s not only earned him the NABF 126-pound title and a world ranking, but it’s led Top Rank’s ace publicist Evan Korn to dub him “The Glendale Gatti.” Yeah, that’s gotten back to Lopez. “I've been in some tough fights, and I haven't really turned down any type of fight,” he said. “I feel like I'm still building my name and showing people what I'm really about, but I do put on exciting fights and I go to war. It's something that's in me that I can't really help, to be honest. I'm still trying to balance it out - going to war and fighting smart. I'm trying to get a good balance to it, but it's hard to do.” Harder than it is for most, perhaps because of his DNA. “It's something my dad always put in my head and I've always been willing to die on my shield,” said Lopez, whose father Hector was a 1984 Olympian and a two-division world title challenger in the pros. Hector Lopez isn’t here to see his son carry on the family name in the ring, as he passed away in 2011, but he would certainly be proud to see what’s gone on over the last couple years, as “Blunose” has gone from local California favorite to contender. Now the kid wants to add world champion to his resume, but what will likely take him to the superstar level will be finding a rival like Barrera and Morales found in each other. “I never really thought about it like that, but I feel like there's gonna come a time when there's gonna be some type of rival,” said Lopez. “It might be Dogboe, who knows? It's the even matches and back-and-forth fights that are entertaining that the fans want to see and that they want to pay for, and I feel like that's what builds a great rivalry. There's a lot that goes into it, but they (Barrera and Morales) just hated each other back then, so it was pretty easy for them to build that rivalry. Today, there's not too many rivals like that. I feel in today's boxing world, it's so much of a business that fighters are like, 'Well, why would I fight him again? How much am I gonna get paid?' That's what it's like nowadays; everyone's just here for the money, they're here for the checks. It's a dangerous sport and I feel like fighters should get taken care of, but you have to have a balance between both.” No wonder “The Baby-Faced Assassin” and “El Terrible” got along so well with Lopez, who has an old-school approach to his day job. So YouTubers need not apply.  “The boxing world is in a weird place right now, especially with the YouTubers and Logan and Jake Paul and all that,” he said. “It's a weird place and there's very few fighters that are really trying to keep the sport alive and you've got to honor those guys.” Lopez deserves that tip of the cap, for sure. As for that great rival, maybe he’s already found him in unbeaten WBC 130-pound champion Oscar Valdez. The two met once before, in November 2019, with Lopez taking the fight on one day’s notice, and the Glendale product almost pulled it off, dropping Valdez in the second round before getting controversially stopped in the seventh. It’s a fight that begs for a rematch.  “That would be great,” said Lopez. “I feel if we met again, that's a big money fight, a big rival fight; there's a lot of history between Valdez and I from when I was a kid and he was going to the Olympics. I could definitely see that happening, but I've asked for the fight and they said no right off the bat. Maybe they're waiting for the right time once I become a champ. He's a champ right now, so once that time happens, I feel like now there's a lot of money to be made, so there's no reason why we shouldn't make this fight happen again.” No reason whatsoever, but if Valdez is waiting for a reason to give Lopez another crack at him, Lopez is on the hunt to give him one by picking up a 126-pound title and using that as a bargaining chip for a Champion vs Champion rematch. And with the NABF belt already in his possession, a win over Dogboe could move him closer to WBC champion Gary Russell Jr., but Russell, who has fought only once a year every year since 2015, isn’t exactly the most promising option. “Russell just doesn't fight much, and I don't know how he can still keep the belt without fighting like that,” said Lopez. “It blows my mind. But I've been hearing he wants to move up and take bigger fights and he's kind of getting older now and he probably just wants to get some good paychecks before he retires, so he's probably gonna move up - that's what I'm thinking. But I still feel like that fight's not in arm's reach, me being with Top Rank, him being with Al Haymon. I know it's tough to make those type of fights. The fight that I feel is right there is for the WBO title – Emanuel Navarrete - and I've been hearing that he might be moving up to 130 to take bigger fights as well, so if that happens, there's not too many names at 126 and it opens up the division for me and I feel like I can get a title in the next couple fights after this one.” He first has to get past “this one” against Dogboe, who bounced back from the only two losses of his career against Navarrete to halt Chris Avalos in eight rounds last summer. Win or lose, Lopez will likely be forced into deep waters with his opponent, but he’s unconcerned with whatever Dogboe has done or will do. This is Lopez’ show, and he’s running it. “I'm fighting my fight, I'm gonna do my best and he's gotta worry about what I'm bringing to the table,” he said. “That was my mindset against Valdez. I didn't really care who he was and what he brought to the table. I just said, 'Well, I got two hands, you've got two hands, let's see who can use them better.' And that's always been my mindset. I don't really care what you've done or who you've fought or who you beat or any accolades you bring; you've got a new fighter in front of you and I'm gonna test you and I'm gonna see what you really got.” Read the full article

[pengychan]

[Coco] Heaven and Earth - The Moment

Title: The Moment Summary: A childhood dream can fade, or turn into something more. And sometimes you can tell the exact moment of the change. [They were kids, once] Characters: Hector Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz

Other fics from the series can be found here.

***

A/N: Guess what movie I fell in love with this time and also guess who still is a complete sucker for backstory fics.

***

“This is not gonna work.”

“It’s going to work perfectly. I climb on your shoulders, we put this on, and they’ll let us through. Easy!”

“They’ll never ever fall for it. You don’t look like an adult.”

“I can fix that. I got some coal.”

“… And?”

“I’ll draw myself a mustache! And… and a beard! They’ll fall for it, no worries. Just let me do the talking.”

There was no way Ernesto could pass off as an adult with just some coal smeared a face that was very obviously that of a twelve-year-old, but Héctor chose not to remark on that. “Speaking of talking, you don’t sound like an adult, either.”

“Hey! My voice is deeper than yours!”

“That’s not saying much, you know.”

Ernesto frowned, but he didn’t say anything, and that meant he was conceding the point. As he glared down at the coat he’d taken from his papá’s closet - he’d risked one hell of a beating there and would risk another if caught when returning it, but he claimed it was worth the risk to finally get into a cantina - Héctor took advantage of the silence to press another point home.

“Also, I don’t think I can walk around with you on my shoulders,” he added. He was tall for his eight years, but he was also gangly and not very strong. Ernesto was older, bigger, and of course heavier. “I’d just collapse after three steps, amigo.”

“What if I carry you instead?” Ernesto said, but sounded unconvinced himself. If he had few chances of looking and sounding like an adult, Héctor had even fewer.

“You know that’s not gonna work, right?”

Ernesto’s frown deepened, and he chewed his lower lip, trying to smooth down his hair with one hand. Though nowhere as shaggy as Héctor’s own, there was this tuft of hair on the side of his head that was always sticking out, no matter what. “If I do the talking and you just, uh, move your mouth…?”

Héctor stared in silence, but the look on his face had to be enough to convey just how desperate and desperately stupid that idea was, because Ernesto finally let out a groan, throwing up his hands as though in surrender. He let himself drop back on the ground, which was all dirt and twigs and dying grass, and glared up at the tree branches above. Héctor could almost hear the gears in his head turning, but in the end he said nothing.

All out of ideas, then.

With a sigh, Héctor let himself drop down next to him and looked up as well. The sun shone through the branches, and they were far enough from the town centre to hear nothing but the cries of cicadas and the wind in the trees. It was peaceful, but of course he knew Ernesto wasn’t enjoying it at all. He had really wanted to get inside the cantina for that evening’s music night. Héctor would have liked that too, sure, but he could wait; Ernesto, on the other hand, could never wait. When he wanted something he wanted it now and desperately, like he was on fire and whatever he wanted to reach was the only thing that could extinguish the flames. Héctor didn’t envy him, because that kind of longing seemed almost painful.

And nine times out of ten, that had something to do with music.

The toll of a bell caused Héctor to recoil and sit up, twigs in his hair. “Midday! I need to go help papá - I forgot all about it!” he exclaimed, and jumped on his feet. In doing so he nearly stepped on the abandoned coat on the ground. He paused and glanced down at Ernesto, who was still scowling up at the sky, hands folded under his head.

“You should get this back in place before your father comes back home,” he suggested, picking it up. Ernesto’s eyes barely flickered towards it, and he made a face.

“It can rot here for all I care.”

“Your father’s gonna kill you if he doesn’t find it at home.”

“Pffft,” Ernesto scoffed, his face a mask of indifference, but he did sit up and reach for the coat. Héctor hesitated, not really wanting to run off and leave best friend looking so down in the dumps. After all, his papá wouldn’t mind if he were a bit late.

“Your father is at the cantina pretty often. Maybe he’s gonna take you there when you’re older,” he added. It seemed like a reasonable thing to say, but Ernesto clearly disagreed.

“When I’m older!” he repeated, gasping like Héctor had just cursed his mother’s name in front of him. “Ay, how can you say this to me! You may as well tell me to die here and now!”

Oh boy. Here we go.

“I cannot wait until I’m older!” Ernesto proclaimed, jumping on his feet and letting the coat drop on the ground again to raise a hand to his chest, clutching at his shirt above the heart. “My soul will wither and die unless I feed it!”

“Uh, right. I have, like, a chorizo and–”

“With music, Héctor! I’m talking about music!”

“How about you come at my place this evening, then? We can practice together. Not like getting in the cantina to see the show, but– oh, knock it off!” Héctor protested, but he couldn’t hold back a laugh when Ernesto dramatically dropped on his knees, arms lifted above his head, the over-the-top pained expression already starting to give in to a grin.

“Ay, but that’s not enough! I must seize my moment! No one ever accomplished anything by waiting! Can’t you hear my soul crying for music?”

“I hear the cicadas. You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Me?” Ernesto repeated, managing to sound shocked despite the grin that was still pulling up the corners of his mouth. He threw back his head - dramatically - and rested the back of his hand on his forehead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Dramatic, me! Ay, mi corazón!”

“Pffft- haha! Stop it”

“Ay Héctor, mi hermanito, your mockery is killin– whoa!”

It wasn’t often that Héctor managed to tackle Ernesto, but this time he had the surprise factor on his side, and his scarce weight was enough to throw him back, casing both to roll down the side of the small hill. By the time they stopped rolling Ernesto was laughing, too, and that was definitely a victory - even though he managed to trap Héctor in a chokehold under his arm and ruffle his hair, which was something he usually hated.

“Hahahah! You’re loco, you know that?” Ernesto guwaffed, and finally let him go.

“Un poco,” Héctor replied with a grin, trying to get twigs and pine needles out of his hair, and stood. “I really have to go now. Don’t worry too much about the music show, all right? There will be others when we’re old enough to get into that cantina. Or to pass off as someone old enough,” he added.  

Ernesto didn’t seem to be especially happy about it when Héctor had to run off towards his father’s shop, but he didn’t get all dramatic again, and he supposed that was as good as it could get.

***

“Last delivery of the day, thank God. My poor back. Héctor, can you knock the door?”

Héctor looked up from the piece of paper where he’d been scribbling with a pencil - not the easiest thing to do on a moving horse cart, but he could manage - to reply that sure, he’d do it right away. Still words died in his throat when he realized exactly where they were: it was the cantina he and Ernesto wanted to sneak in to listen to the musicians that evening.

“… The cantina?” he found himself saying, and his father shrugged.

“Yes. They ordered quite a lot of food and drinks - for some kind of event tonight, I believe,” he said, and climbed off the cart to grab one of the crates. “Go knock.”

Héctor had to knock a couple of times before there were steps from the other side and the door opened. The owner of the cantina looked somewhat tipsy already, but that only made him friendly enough to laugh at Héctor and ruffle his hair. “Hello, niño. Helping out your papá, aren’t you? ‘Evening, Ricardo. Come in, come in!”

The cantina was empty, with the exception of a guy - the owner’s son - who was cleaning a few tables. At the far end, Héctor could see the space reserved to musicians; within hours, the place would be filled with music that neither him nor Ernesto could listen to. The thought stung a bit; he’d have liked to see it, too, if not as ardently as Ernesto.

“It’s going to be a big evening, but honest to God I can’t wait for it to be over - so much extra work! A drink, Ricardo?”

“That would be much appreciated, thank you. Héctor, do you mind unloading the crates?” Héctor’s father added, looking back at him. He usually did the heavy lifting himself - his son just wasn’t old or big enough to be of much help there - and his back must be bothering him a lot for him to ask that of him now. Héctor immediately nodded.

“Sure, papá.”

“What a good boy! Too young to drink, but we’ll toast to you!” the cantina’s owner laughed, and nodded towards a door on the left. “That’s the storage room, muchacho. Get the crates in before your papá is done drinking, and I might have a snack ready for you.”

The storage room in question turned out to be small, so much so that Héctor needed to stake most crates on top of each other. By the time he was done he was drenched in sweat, his arms ached, and he almost walked out without noticing the window. Almost.

The cantina was below the ground, and the small dirty window was rather high up the wall, but still at ground level outside. It was too small for an adult to get through, but maybe… just maybe…

“Héctor? Everything all right in there?”

He recoiled, and knew he had to act fast - seize his moment, as Ernesto would say. “Just stacking a couple of crates - done in a minute!” he yelled back, and the next moment he was climbing up the crates to peer outside, fervently hoping that no one would walk in right then, requiring explanations he couldn’t give.

As he’d expected, the window was at ground level; he could see the wheels of his father’s cart from there. It was also big enough for him to fit through it. Ernesto would have to squirm a bit, maybe, but still… yes, Héctor was rather sure he could fit through it.

Seize it.

Quickly, his heart beating somewhere in his throat, Héctor reached for the latch and lifted it, hoping that no one would notice, that they would just assume the window was still closed. He jumped off the crates and went to the door just on time: the next moment his father was at in the doorframe, looking slightly concerned.

“Maybe those were too heavy for you, mijo,” he said, an apologetic note in his voice, and Héctor grinned up at him, flexing his bare arms to show off non-existent muscle.

“Not at all! I’m stronger than I look!” he declared, puffing out his chest, and dad laughed.

“Haha! That good to know. Come, Álvaro wasn’t kidding when he said he’d make you a snack…”

***

“Aren’t you eating, Tito?”

“I’m not hungry, mamá. Can you stop calling me that?”

“As you wish, Ernestito.”

“… Come to think of it, Tito is fine.”

His mother laughed, and ruffled his hair. “I thought so. Is something wrong?”

Telling her exactly what was bothering him was out of question; Ernesto would sooner bite off his tongue than telling his mother that he wanted to sneak into a cantina to watch musicians play that evening. Music was not the problem, but cantinas were; she had made him promise her time and time again that, even once he was all grown up, he would never go into one. Whether that was despite or because of the amount of time his father spent in them, Ernesto wasn’t sure. And to think he wasn’t even interested in drinking. He just wanted to listen to the music.

“Tito?”

Ernesto recoiled, realizing she was still expecting an answer. She looked worried and well, that was fair enough: he usually wolfed down his food instead of moving it around the plate without taking a single bite.

“Oh, that… must be something I ate,” he lied. “I had a chorizo or two at the Rivera’s.”

She raised an eyebrows, putting her hands on her hips. “In other words, you stuffed your face this afternoon and can’t eat anything more?”

He gave her what he hoped was a charming grin. “Afraid so.”

“You know I hate throwing food away, Tito.”

“Heh. Sorry?”

Her attempt at a frown faded right away. She could never, ever stay mad at him for long. Or at all, really: all he had to do was to smile, head tilted on one side, and her anger would melt away. He’s too much of a charmer, she’d laughed once, talking to a neighbor. Mi papá was just like that, too.

“It’s all delicious, but I feel a little nauseous…” Ernesto added, and she sighed, her hand resting on his forehead for a moment.

“Then go to sleep. But give that food to the chickens first. At least someone should enjoy it.”

He did, tip-toeing across the living room, where his father was snoring away on the couch. He’d been already asleep when he’d returned home, which was good all things considered, since it had allowed him to return his coat without being spotted. He threw the food at the chickens, then tip-toed back in and upstairs in his room. He closed the door behind him with a sigh, leaning against it.

There was an old battered guitar leaning against the opposite wall, but practicing was out of question, with his father sleeping downstairs. Maybe he should have taken Héctor’s invitation to go practice at his place. He could do that now: he’d sneaked out plenty of times, climbing down the window with the guitar on his back, to–

Thud.

“Huh?”

Ernesto turned to the window just on time to hear another thudding noise, like something being thrown against the wall outside his bedroom. That wasn’t unusual, either, and there was only one person who’d try to get his attention like that after dark. He walked up to the window and opened it to look outside in the dark.

“Héctor? Is that– ow!” Ernesto yelped when something - a rock - struck him right in the face, causing him to stumble back. He landed on his back and reached for his nose with both hands, tears blurring his sight. “Yowch! What the– seriously?”

“Oh! Sorry! I’m sorry!” Héctor’s whisper - well, some kind of yelled whisper anyway - came from outside. “I didn’t mean to hit you! Are you all right? Neto?”

With a groan, Ernesto stood and walked to the window, still pressing a hand on his nose. “Next time try to miss the window,” he hissed. He could just make out Héctor’s figure, standing in the dark below his window.

“Sorry. Is your face all right?”

“I think so.”

“Oh, good. That’s a relief. I mean, it’s about eighty percent of your assets.”

“Pfft, thanks. First you stone me and now this - that’s what amigos are for. What are you doing here?” Ernesto whispered back, leaning out. “You didn’t come here just to stone me, did you?”

“No! I’m taking you to the cantina!”

Ernesto blinked. “What?”

“Did I hit your ear? I said I’m taking you to listen to the musicians at the cantina! Come on down!”

“Did you hit your head?”

“I found a way in! Come on, I’ll explain on the way and– wait, climb slowly! What if you fall down and– hey! Careful ther–!”

Thump.

“Ooof!”

The fall wasn’t as nasty as it could have been - he’d only slipped off halfway through the descent and there were bushes to cushion the fall - but it did leave Ernesto breathless for a moment or two. It was nothing, though. And even if he’d hurt something, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to stay there for anything short of a broken neck.

“Ernesto? Are you all right? Please please don’t be dead!” Héctor’s voice reached him, now right above him. In other circumstances Ernesto would have probably played dead, just to make him freak out a bit, but this time he was too eager to move, and he immediately sat up. He grabbed Héctor’s sleeve and grinned.

“Let’s get going.”

***

The window was still open when they got there, to Héctor’s utter relief. It they’d come all the way to the cantina to find the latch had been closed again, he didn’t think he could deal with how disappointed and cranky Ernesto would have been.

The music could be heard faintly from the street outside and, as soon as Héctor pulled the window open - after a quick look around to make sure no one was in sight - it sounded so much clearer. Beside him, Ernesto was grinning so widely that his cheeks just had to hurt.

“Hah! I take back everything I said about you being a drag!”

“… You said what now?”

“Uh, nothing. Come on, let’s climb in before someone sees us!”

Héctor  slipped in quickly and easily, landing on a crate before stepping off it into the floor. The room was mostly dark, but he could see light coming from the other side of the door, along with the music. He turned to see that Ernesto had managed to wriggle his way in, too, and was closing the window before climbing down the crates and approaching the door. It was cracked open, and they could hear it all so clearly: the laughing, the singing, the music. Ernesto immediately went to peer inside through the crack, and so did Héctor.

The Mariachi band was playing like their lives depended on it, their fingers moving so quickly on the instruments they were hardly more than a blur. They were singing, too, but their voices were lost beneath those of everybody else in the cantina, singing along with them. 

They sounded terrible, most of them singing off-key and so drunk they slurred the words or just plainly got them wrong, and normally that would have annoyed Héctor a lot - words were just as important as the music, because you couldn’t have a good song without them - but not that time. Somehow, he found the sight - the power a song can hold - almost as fascinating as the music itself.

“They’re loving it, look,” Ernesto whispered, as though he had just read his mind. Héctor glanced sideways at him. He was staring at the scene, too, and and now there was something more than awe in his look; something that was a lot like hunger. It reminded him of a coyote he had seen once, staring at some chickens from the other side of a fence. It was an odd comparison to spring to his mind, and he did his best to chase it away.

“They love them. They could be singing anything, and everyone in here would sing right along,” Ernesto was adding, unaware of his thoughts, and turned back to him. “That’s what we’re gonna do, mi hermano!”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and Héctor found himself grinning back, the earlier unease already forgotten. “We’re gonna play in all the cantinas of Mexico!” he exclaimed, causing Ernesto to snicker.

“Cantinas? Nah, think bigger! We can be famous in all of Mexico!” he declared. He put an arm around Héctor’s shoulders and turned back to the crack. “We’ve just got to seize out moment when it comes. We’re going to have crowds singing along with us!”

Héctor couldn’t really picture himself wowing crowds; it sounded more like something Ernesto could do, cocky and confident and ever the charmer. But he liked writing songs, he was decent with the guitar, and he could get better at both. Maybe he and Ernesto could really make a living out of that someday, leave Santa Cecilia and share music with the world. It was something they had talked about before, but until then it had been just daydreaming, vague ideas for a distant ‘someday’. Now, however, it felt different.

For a long time to come, in life and death, Héctor Rivera would never forget that one moment when, for the very first time, it had felt real - like the childhood dream was, after all, within their reach.

[obdurare-archive-blog]

you knew this was going to happen. ship meme. lizzie and hector. ♡¯\_(ツ)_/¯

General:

Rate the Ship -  Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs | They will end me.How long will they last? -  They’re compatible enough to be long term as long as a certain someone doesn’t fuck it up Hector.How quickly did/will they fall in love? -  Since this is the opposite from Hector’s end:  He just turned around and got smacked in the face with it one day.  Oh, there was a lead up but he soldiered on, sure it wasn’t what he thought it was until no, it really is the thing he thought it wasn’t.How was their first kiss? -  Impulsive, because he knew it was a thing that shouldn’t happen.  So awkward because of that.  But here they are.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Hector.  After several not so subtle hints.  Probably just dropped it into casual conversation, too, like, “Hey, we’re out of coffee, and by the way, I was thinking, and if you’re serious about the whole getting married thing, let’s go ahead and do it.”  Not the most flowery romantic thing, really, but genuine.Who is the best man/men? - Jack, who is probably the most smug bastard on the fact of the planet.  With lots of, “Well, it was nice knowing you, mate”s and “Good luck on that boring domesticity”s.  Jack, it should be noted, has a black eye at the wedding.Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Anamaria.Who did the most planning? -  Elizabeth.  Hector’s not gonna touch any of it, lbr here.  He knows better.  Because he knows she’s playing that this or that game on purpose and he’s not going to take the bait.  The entire thing is really for her, so if she wants eggshell over white or lace over embroidery, he’s not going to pick either one, because whatever he picks will be wrong.Who stressed the most? -  Honestly, on the one hand, Elizabeth.  On the other, Hector, because he definitely has a moment of no really, what the fuck are you doing considering their lifestyles, his age, etc.  He gets over it, though.How fancy was the ceremony? - Small.  Very small.  Think the most private wedding you’ve been to and make it smaller.  Only the most trusted people in their little circle and there aren’t very many of those at all.Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? -  Just about everyone they know?  Because lbr they know some very Not Good People.  Again, super small wedding (and also less people to see Hector make an ass of himself, lbr here).  Hector is, at heart, a paranoid bastard and while, hey, he knows he lucked out in every department because pretty he’s never been, he’s also not exactly eager to make her a target, or himself a target against her.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Usually Hector but lbr.  Even if it’s Lizzie he’ll still try to be more dominate.  He gonna do as he do.Who is the one to instigate things? -  Even split now, Hector at the first.  Like, look, friendo, have you seen Elizabeth?  There’s nothing wrong with his eyesight or anything else, thanks.How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right nowHow kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s headHow long do they normally last? -  Like we’re not talking marathons here, friend, because that’s completely unrealistic but he’s got a little staying power, jfc, give a man some credit.Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Like, look, okay, he tries.  But he’s an assassin, Jim, not a miracle worker.  I’d say it pretty much probably evens out.How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.Children:

How many children will they have naturally? -  On purpose?  None.  I feel like…A modern Hector at that point?  Probably snipped.How many children will they adopt? - 0.Who gets stuck with the most diapers? -  Hector.  Because any kids they have will 100% be an accident (because really, he doesn’t at all want any and so they’d also be Against All Odds).  But he would, hypothetically, and after an awkward stage, take to being a parent well (without his canon background in the way). Who is the stricter parent? -  Elizabeth.Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - E L I Z A B E T HWho remembers to pack the lunch(es)? -  Definitely Elizabeth.Who is the more loved parent? -  I will debate this and say it’s an even split if anything. Especially when said hypothetical kid was little.Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings?  Elizabeth.  Hector’s not allowed there anymore.  Marcy didn’t appreciate his blunt commentary.Who cried the most at graduation? - Elizabeth.  Hector doesn’t do that crying thing.Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? -  Hector.  Because as scary as he is, Elizabeth’s scarier.Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Neither one of them, to be honest.  They’re just not really very good at it.  But if an Attempt Is Made, nine times out of ten it’s Elizabeth that makes it.Who is the most picky in their food choice? -  Hector only because he mostly refuses to change his dietary habits at all.  He’s such a baby about it he had to be plied with gummy multivitamins.Who does the grocery shopping? -  “””Grocery shopping.”””  Hector will only do it if forced or dragged along.How often do they bake desserts? -  Hector?  Not at all.  His idea of baking desserts is…Okay, so.  He’s so terrible at it?  Those pizzas you bake that come with the cookies, too?  He’ll just shove those back in the freezer, because he cannot bake at all.Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? -  Elizabeth can keep shoving rabbit food at him all she wants, he’s gonna do as he do.  He’ll do it in front of her to prove a point, because he’s not a cow and he doesn’t want to eat grass.Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? -  Hector.  Like, look, okay, he can be a real asshole, and he has trouble trusting and all of that happy shit.  But at the end of the day he’s a giant sap who just can’t help himself.Who is more likely to suggest going out? -  It’s true.  Hector is very lazy and will suggest this thing over attempting to cook.  Especially between the pair of them they can make things that are edible but not…Very…Good.Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? -  Elizabeth.  Hector is currently 547 days kitchen accident free.Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Probably Elizabeth (because lbr canon Hector’s not what you’d call neat or organized either).  Hector’s the type to drop wet towels in the bathroom floor when he’s done with them (he’s, sadly, also the type to just walk through naked after the fact and not really care - he’s at home, don’t look if you have a problem with it).Who is really against chores? -  Hector.Who cleans up after the pets? -  Hector, because that’s the one thing he won’t bitch too hard about.Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? -  Hector.  Can’t find the dust pan?  Fuck it, no one will know.Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? -  Neither?  Like, if anyone does actually come over it’s probably like Jack, and pfft.  Yeah, it’s just Jack.Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? -  Elizabeth.  And it’s probably Hector’s dollar, too.  That change in the cushions she finds, too?  Yeah, probably all his.Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? -   Elizabeth.  He has no idea what she’s really doing in there but when she finally emerges it’s like a flower shop threw up and there’s glitter everywhere.Who takes the dog out for a walk? -  Cats.  (Hector would totally want a dog, though.)How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? -  Hardly???  Ever???  Decorations are invitations to be bothered, in Hector’s opinion.  What are their goals for the relationship? -  His?  To not murder Elizabeth.  To not get caught murdering someone for Elizabeth.  And to not get murdered.  In that order.Who is most likely to sleep till noon? -  Both?  Probably?  Hector was once upon a time an early riser but then he met his lazy sod of a girl and now he sleeps in entirely too late thanks to her and simply the way The Job works.Who plays the most pranks? -  Hector.  More verbal ones than anything, but it’s how he’s going to get murdered by Elizabeth.

[abakersquest]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – AT THE HEART OF THE STORM

Through the rapidly rebuilding marketplace that was the center of Galaga, Wally and Hector rushed back to the God’s Fortune, having gone to Alion’s to pick up their fresh off the anvil armor. The thick burlap sacks they carried clanked up a terrible racket as the turned up a side street and rushed toward the northern pier where the Fortune had docked and finished resupplying for the journey ahead. With little fanfare and great speed, the ship set off toward the open ocean.

As the sails hooked onto a strong and constant wind on the slightly choppy sea, Wistea finished tying off some rigging and approached the captain. “So, you know where the Storm Bell and the Fount of the Sea are, yes?”

“’Course I do! Whaddya take me for?” Blackeye retorted.

“Then why did you make a map to it?”

“Map ain’t for me, s’for who I end up givin’ all my worldly possessions to. Most likely Polly, lessen she meets a swarthy young fella who c’n outsail both her n’ me to earn her hand!” The captain heartily chuckled. “The Storm Bell and the Fount are fine on their own for the most part, but it’s safer to check’em every decade or so… And the person who made the bell agreed. Before me, the only way to find the Storm Bell was the lighthouse that stood on the Cape of Galaga Island. Every ten years the sun would shine in the right spot and show the way to the bell. Once I got there and saw how important it was? I tore down the lighthouse to make sure the only ones who knew to find it were me, and whoever I gave that map to. Now that thievin’ no good toad’s got his hands on it… I shudder to think what he’ll do when he gets there.”

Wistea hummed thoughtfully. “And here I was lead to believe the Storm Bell was just to warn the Icthy Isles of oncoming storms.”

“Used to think that meself,” Blackeye nodded. “But really, the bell rings when it makes a storm. See, storms’re what keep the surface of the world fresh and new, they’re part of the circle that we can’t do without… So someone, at some point, made sure there’d always be storms on the horizon to keep things rollin’.”

Wistea looked out over the broad horizon of blue ahead of them and spoke to no one in particular, “Light warms the Water. The Water grants strength to the Storm. The Storm brings Fire to the Forest, and stirs the Air that fans the flame and shakes the trees. The burnt Forest returns life to Earth. The Earth buries its fallen seeds in life giving Darkness until they sprout, and rise to request the blessing of the Light. The appeased Light shines on the new Forest, and in turn warms the Water.” She turned to face Blackeye again. “It is the oldest reference of the Wheel of Creation ever written, dictated by Elder Ygg himself.”

Blackeye made a small, yet content, hum somewhere in the back of his throat. “That ol’ ash tree still kickin’ about then? Good to hear.”

Meanwhile on the gun deck, Hector and Wally worked the special metal latches of their armor into place as each part easily linked to the next with no trouble.

“And you say your father thought of this design because of jam jars?” Hector said as he looked over the latching mechanics of his new rerebrace.

“My father always hated the leather straps wearing down in his armor, so one day, my brother Dale comes up to him and shows him the brass latch on a jam jar, and says, ‘wouldn’t it be easier if the linkage was just metal?’ So he worked for a week straight on a latching mechanism that would secure easily, but not pop off in the middle of a fight.”

“You’ll absolutely have to introduce me to him when we get back home.” Hector tested his range of movement and found this armor much more flexible than any he’d worn before. “Judging by the look on Alion’s face when you rattled off the design specifics, your father’s a genius.”

Wally smiled warmly. “Just don’t call him that to his face, he hates praise for his work. Bit of a Walter family quirk. We prefer a job well done to praise.”

“Well, that explains that little twinge you try to hide every time anyone compliments you.”

Wally stood still for a moment after securing his breastplate, mentally reviewing such interactions as quickly as he could before shaking his head dismissively. “I don’t have a twinge.”

“Whatever you say, Sir Wally,” Hector chuckled.

On the deck above them, Rozzi sat on the edge of her bunk and carefully sharpened her sickle with a whetstone.  She noticed it’d taken on a slightly otherworldly shine lately, no doubt a result of it being used as a mystical conduit now. She’d ask Wistea about it later, as right now this task was both essential and sufficiently distracting from the subtle yet undeniable throb of pain from the soles of her feet. It was also so distracting she hadn’t even noticed Polly was sitting on the bunk across from her, staring directly at her.

Polly tilted her head to the side as she observed Rozzi, there were more silvery ethereal snowflakes around her than before, just like everyone else onboard. She’d seen others with barely any or none at all, but never so many surrounding any one person at any given moment. In all her years of perceiving these mysterious particles, she knew they stayed close to brave and honest people. They were always strong and ambitious, capable and cunning. Which is why, before now, she never thought to experiment, to do anything that might upset or confuse these strangers passing by her as she went on her way. But here, now, with someone she knew she could call a friend, she finally felt brave enough to reach out and touch one of the mysterious things. As her finger tapped against it, a chill ran sharply up Rozzi’s spine, her eyes snapping up to see Polly scrambling back onto the bunk behind her and slapping her back against the wall.

“P-Polly?  What? How long have…” Rozzi’s voice trailed off as she saw Polly was clearly shocked by something, her eyes wide as dinner plates, staring at a patch of floor. “Polly? Talk to me, what’s happenin’?”

“Is… Is there a hole in the floor?”

Rozzi looked carefully before she slowly shook her head.

“Oh wow,” Polly clambered off the bunk to the floor, tapping it several times. “That’s so strange!”

If confusion were lamp oil, Rozzi would’ve caught fire by now.

“He’s clear as day.” Polly carefully knocked what looked to Rozzi to be a bit of normal wooden flooring. “How’s that work, ain’t ever been able t’ look through stuff before without makin’ it invisible first…”

“Polly what on Mondia are you talking about?”

“I can see Wally! That armor looks really interestin’! Ah! Oh… It’s gone…”

“Are you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on or not?!” Rozzi loudly complained.

The young Icthyite looked up at her friend and very slowly realized how rude and odd she must have been just then. She laughed and smiled nervously before finally answering. “S-Sorry… Do y’ remember when I met all of ya? I said y’ all had somethin’?”

Rozzi crossed her arms impatiently and nodded.

“Well some people have’em, I still don’t know what they are but you and the others have tons of ‘em just floatin’ ‘round ya like snowflakes. Least they look like snowflakes t’ me.”

“And?”

“And… I ain’t ever tried t’ touch one before, seemed rude, Y’know? But we’re friends so I thought y’ wouldn’t mind. So, I went n’ touched the biggest one and then I just kinda knew Wally was down in the gun deck, like, I could see him through the floor n’ all!”

Rozzi’s expression would’ve graced a textbook example on incredulity.

“No really! Watch, I’ll do it again!”

As Polly reached for a space in the air just beside Rozzi’s head and tap something entirely unseen, she felt another sharp chill rush up her spine that made her shudder.

She pointed at the floor and called out, “Yeah! See! There he is again! And… I… Ooh I think he felt that too… He looks worried. Oh! He’s comin’ up the stairs!”

Rozzi watched as Polly’s eyes seemed to trace movements through solid wood, while an open minded notion sprang to life in her mind. “Polly, what color is Wally’s armor?”

“It’s a real deep kinda metal blue… Why?”

Rozzi found herself flinching as a series of polite knocks filled the room followed by Wally’s voice.

“Um… Is everything all right in there?”

Rozzi tried her very best to keep hold of everything that told her that was most likely a coincidence, but it was certainly slippery. “Wally? Oh, um, everythin’s fine just… Could you come in for a moment?”

As he stepped in, the wallaby’s eyes immediately checked the position of the privacy curtain they’d set up to separate the male and female section of the bunk room before settling on the sight of Polly sitting on the floor with a very proud smile and Rozzi on the edge of her bunk, with an out of place expression of surprise.

She was staring, she knew she was staring but she couldn’t help herself. When she’d first met Wally she had no real idea what to expect. Cinera had called her using her Farsight Stone and said she needed help sneaking a pair of knights into Arborledan, and to expect one of them to be surprising. Sure enough; the sight of this fellow barely a few inches taller than herself, with an almost overwhelmed and entirely nervous look to his face, had been very surprising. The first thing he did when they met was wipe down a table, his manner, the way he carried himself, it all spoke of someone who better suited a role behind a counter or decorating a shop window for a holiday. That image had persisted until today, until this very moment. Despite all the fighting and danger, despite his bravery and strength; he’d still been this kindly shopkeep in her eyes. For the first time, in dark blue armor that made everything about him seem all the more broad, the wallaby that stood before her was truly everything she’d ever pictured when she heard the word ‘knight,’

Then he noticed she was staring and nervously rubbed the back of his head, and suddenly there was the baker once more. She sighed happily that, despite it all, he was still himself.

“Um… Rozzi?”

“Just wanted to see the armor,” she replied. It certainly wasn’t an outright lie so she wasn’t worried about him noticing it was only half the truth. “Not up to movin’ ‘round on my own just yet y’know.”

“Is that all… Because I could’ve sworn… No, it’s nothing. Anyway, I’m going to have to get used to moving around in all this. Hector recommended I keep it on while making a meal for us all. Not at all looking forward to how much it might heat up next to that stove.”

“Oh!” Polly sprang up and almost skipped the distance between herself and him. “Wally, Wally, Wally! Stand still for a second!”

He watched her curiously as she seemed to jab a finger into the air beside him and shook slightly as a sudden chill raced up his back.

When he was about to ask what she just did he was caught entirely off guard by the impossibly giddy look on her face.

“Oooh, I think I got it figured now!”

Wally, entirely confused, looked to Rozzi for answers and received only a shrug. “Well… I hope someone’ll tell me what all this is about at some point.”

“Sure!” She pointed at the empty air by Rozzi, “that one’s you, and this one…” She pointed at the air by his head once more with no chills. “Is her! And they’re the same size n’ everythin’! So if this one…” Another jab shook Wally’s spine again. “Ooh…” She looked toward the wall. “Oh wow, I think that’s Wally’s mum! Well she looks like Wally and she’s makin’ a dress…”

“Polly!” Wally and Rozzi shouted in unison.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t explain. See, I see these silvery snowflake things ‘round people all the time, yeah? ‘Til just now I never knew what they were. Now I do! It’s other people! It’s love! It’s that thing y’ get when y’ care about someone even when there far aways. But only some people have as many as you two. Wistea has the least of ‘em and Grandpa’s got the most I ever seen! But people like that stupid robe wearin’ toad ain’t got a one.”

The two Animani shared a pensive look before Rozzi quickly unhooked her Farsight Stone from its chain and set it to spin on the bunk room floor, summoning up once more the image of Cinera the Seer.

“Well that is interesting! For the first time, I have no idea why you’re calling…” The old squirrel’s eyes settled on the cheery fish girl. “Ooh, but I think I’m starting to see why. Hello there young lady, what’s your name?”

Polly’s jaw had almost unhinged itself at the sight of Cinera; she barely uttered a few syllables before Cinera continued.

“Guessing you noticed the big halo, right? You live long enough yours’ll be this size too.”

“I HAVE ONE OF THOSE?!”

Wally and Rozzi looked them both over, unable to see what they meant. But Polly’s eyes beheld a massive swirling emblem of light within a circle, idly rotating behind the small frame of the Seer. The silvery snowflakes orbiting it in a serene pattern she’d never seen before.

“Yes my dear, and it’s coming along quite nicely. Might I ask, can you see them? Those silvery slivers of light around people?”

Polly nodded slowly.

“Mmm, but do you know what they are?

“Are they love? Because that’s what I was thinkin’...”

“Little more complicated than that my dear… But judging by your answer, you’ve already touched them. Did they feel like threads to you as well?”

Polly nodded once more.

“As we move through life, the thread of our existence ties itself onto others and they you. Since these are ethereal things that exist beyond the sight of mortal eyes, we who’re gifted with the attribute of Light can only see the smallest portion of them. That’s the snowflakes if you’re confused.”

“Wow…” Polly turned to Wally and Rozzi, watching the dance of silver sparkles only she could see around them.

“Now don’t go pullin’ at them, you’ll go blind.”

Polly quickly turned to the older mage and saluted. “Y-Yes ma’am!”

“Cinera,” Wally began. “Is Kota still blocking your foresight?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I’ll be of little use to you all as a guide from this moment forward. You’ll have to decide what steps to take from here.”

“So, you wouldn’t know why Kota’s Generals seem to be after powerful sources of magic?”

Cinera shook her head. “I’m afraid not, aside from an obvious notion that her banishment from the world twenty years ago must’ve weakened her severely. She may simply be trying to drain out the magic to regain her power. But that’s little more than a fancy guess.”

“Thank you anyway, Madam Seer,” Rozzi chimed in.

The old seer smiled at her, then looked Wally over. “Finally looking the part, eh?”

He couldn’t help but stand a little straighter. “Well, my mother always said you have to dress for the job you want.”

“Smart woman, I’ll be sure to visit her soon and let her know her boy’s doin’ well. But…”

Wally grew slightly concerned, “but what?”

“I should probably leave out the part where you’re courting a self professed bandit. She’s got enough on her mind as it is.”

Wally sighed in frustration as Rozzi giggled.

“Good to know I can still get under your skin despite the fancy armor, best of luck out there.”

“Thank you, Seer,” Wally grumbled as he snatched up the Farsight and handed it to Rozzi.

---

Captain Blackeye ground his teeth at the sight of the enormous vessel parked over the Storm Bell’s tower. It was every bit as imposing as his new crew described, a fortress suspended in the air by massive propellers. It’d taken a full two days to reach the tower, so there was no telling how much progress Kota’s forces would’ve made in the interim. Polly looked down from her place on the foremast crow’s nest and waited for her Grandfather’s signal. With a nod from him, the ship vanished from sight and silently closed the remaining distance.

On the foredeck, Hector, Wistea, and Wally watched through the haze created by Polly’s magic as the ship approached the tower of the Storm Bell. Its height suited its purpose perfectly as it reached almost as high as the Lunar Swell had into the sky. It was also apparently made of smooth stones the same color as the sunset currently behind it. The captain claimed the tower always matched the shade of sky, making it almost impossible to see if you weren’t looking for it. More imposing than the spire was the fact it and its foundation hovered above the center of an immense whirlpool, at the bottom of which rested the Fount of the Sea.

The captain cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “There’s an updraft we’re approachin’ Y’ jump there and you’ll make it all the way to the base of the tower no problem.”

While Hector and Wally nodded, Wistea replied “J-jump?! Over that?!”

Polly made her way down to the deck, one hand held up with a tiny bubble of light in her palm, the source of their current invisibility, Blackeye stepped over to the others as he let her take the wheel, limbering up a little as he approached. “Don’t know what you’re worried about Miss Faboi; you ain’t the one covered in heavy metal bits.”

In the light of the setting sun, the colors of the knight’s armors were only slightly muted. Hector’s a cool shade of silver with black trim a stark contrast to Wally’s blue and darker blue finish. They both looked to Wistea with brave smiles. “We know you’re not the most athletic of us,” Hector began. “So Wally will be the one to carry you over, wallabies are awful good at jumping, you know.”

The two then affixed their helmets on some similar silent cue that was meant to no doubt look dramatic and impressive. But Blackeye was looking at the tower in the distance, readying to jump, while Wistea couldn’t take her eyes off the abyssal darkness of the whirlpool.

“… Maybe next time…” Hector mumbled, feeling a little disheartened at the loss of the moment.

Wally reached up and patted him conciliatorily on the back.

“Alright,” Blackeye clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Get your backs to the far railin’ and get ready to run as hard as y’ can, only way you’ll make the jump.”

Wally walked over with everyone and perched his foot against one of the railing’s balusters, holding his arms out and smiling confidently at Wistea.

With some hesitation she bundled herself around him, mostly to assure he wouldn’t lose his grip on her, partly from absolute terror. In a concerned voice she asked, “th-that was true, right? That wallabies are good jumpers?”

He nodded and with a total feeling of pride answered, “Absolutely.”

“Now!” The captain shouted as he barreled forward.

Wally pushed off the baluster and, in an instant, was moving at top speed. He bounded once off the deck, landed on the far railing, and pushed off it without losing a drop of speed. Behind him, Hector and Blackeye leapt just as he was feeling the powerful upsurge of cold, salty air from the watery din below. He shifted his weight, pointed his feet forward, ignored the panicked noises Wistea made as she buried her face into his armored shoulder and braced for landing on the platform ahead. With all that momentum, his speed hardly diminished on contact, so he planted his tail and skidded along the surface until a small pillar in his path afforded him the chance to brake.

When Wistea finally managed to open her eyes, she saw Wally’s serious expression, his foot halfway buried into the pillar, and the trench his tail had dug out behind them. “M-maybe,” her voice was shaky. “You are a little too good at jumping…”

Watching from the deck, Polly let out a relived sigh as the landing party crossed the gap and gathered on the tower’s base, then set about addressing the noise from the wheel’s pedestal. When she opened the cap covering the voice pipe, Rozzi’s voice came in clearly.

“-ey made it right? I could barely see it through this porthole!”

“They’re fine! Meanwhile we’ll just keep circlin’ ‘long this current on the edge ‘til they’re ready to come back.”

Rozzi sighed, in both frustration and pain. She had barely limped over to the voice pipe in the bunk room, and standing by it was a painful chore. She knew she wouldn’t be much help on the mission, but not being on the front lines with everyone else was even more distressing. It’d be another two days before Wistea’s ointment would leave her entirely healed and ready to fight again. So for now, all she could do is wish her friends luck.

Their residual invisibility slowly expended as Wally and the others made their way to a secluded spot near the tower’s entrance, spotting a solitary Black Rock Knight guarding the large stone doors.

“It cannot be alone,” Wistea whispered. “They would not position just one guard, would they?”

“Nay lass,” Blackeye cautioned. “Those knights of theirs are as tough as yer average sortie… Seen just one plow through a whole town in under an hour once, they ain’t trifles.”

“What I don’t understand,” said Hector. “Why would they start at the bottom of the tower, they’re capable of dropping soldiers from the air, why not just take the Bell from the top?”

The captain shook his head. “Whoever made that bell thought of that, had an Orni’Hulan on my crew the last time I was here, flew up to try n’ get a better look, the bell rang and a bolt a lightning knocked him clean outta the sky.”

Wally looked up at the belfry from their hiding place and thought back to their first meeting with the Thorned Princess. When she was taking the energy of the Silent Marsh there was a protective barrier around her that Wistea had to crack open. “I don’t think they’ve even reached the Bell yet.”

“Likely ’cause it’s guarded by a series of traps, challenges, and these big fellas with hammers and mean dispositions. I made it to the top of the tower once y’ see, cost me a broken arm and a lot of time. In fact, I done almost starved before I made it to the top.”

They all looked back to the captain.

“Oh right, the ‘almost starvin’’ part. Don’t worry, this’ll be different. I’m not just makin’ it up as I go along this time!”

“Right then…” Hector began. “Wally, you move in to distract the knight, while Blackeye and I charge it from the side and try to force it off the tower’s base. If we can avoid a prolonged fight we’ll buy ourselves more catch up time. Wistea, you stay here and look out for anything else, join up once we take care of it.”

With plan in place, Wally drew the Flare and rushed in, the offending Knight spotting him instantly. The bulky thing clomped in place as it entered a combat stance and drew its own sword, a broad black blade with a strangely forked end. Without word or sound other than its own heavy footfalls, it rushed forward with unexpected speed to meet Wally. Wielding its weapon with one hand, it opened with a powerful overhead strike that shook his bones as he blocked it.

It was strong, stronger than the Rogue. With some doing, Wally moved one hand from the Flare’s grip and pressed it up against the blade’s broadside. He shoved with all his might, forcing the Black Rock Knight backward. When it reclaimed its footing its helmet tilted slightly, as if curiously scanning Wally, before it gripped its sword with both hands.

“Oh, taking me seriously now, eh?” Wally joked as he went on the offensive, more to secure his own will than anything else. Sparks flew with every clash of their blades, neither giving an inch of ground. The dark soldier reared its blade back and thrusted forward, attempting to spear Wally with the forked end. The wallaby leapt up, landing on the sword’s broadside, swiping his own sword across the Knight’s helm, taking a sizable chunk out of it and throwing the brute off balance.

Hector and Blackeye saw the opening and dashed from cover, setting upon the massive warrior and shoving it with all the muscle they could muster before it could rally. Inches from the platform edge it planted its feet and shook them off with a single swipe of its arm. As it lifted its sword above its head, aiming for Hector, a single stalk of bamboo sprang from the ground to strike it, tipping it backward just as its arms reached their highest. With the change in its center of gravity exploited, it could only tumble backward into the whirling abyss below.

“TAKE THAT YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR A BOULDER!” Shouted Wistea as she threw her hands up in triumph, she then rushed down to meet the others.

“‘Sorry excuse for a boulder?’ You’ve been spending far too much time with Rozzi.” Hector chuckled.

“Well since she can’t be here in person, I should make sure she’s here in spirit. That’s something she would’ve said, ain’t that right?”

Hector winced slightly at the accent Wistea had just tried to put on and patted her gently on the shoulder. “You’re trying, that’s the important part.”

Before joining the others on their way to the tower doors, Wally caught sight of the chunk he’d cut off the Black Rock Knight. Unable to repress his curiosity, he picked it up and looked it over. He couldn’t shake the sense he’d seen something like it before so he set upon investigating it.

The churning salt air around the floating structure made smelling it nearly impossible, so he moved on to the next test. He popped his gauntlet off and ran his bare fingers over the sheered surface and realization abounded. “Coal? How can this be coal?” He pressed his thumb down on it and the small piece crumbled in his hand as any bit of coal would. Whatever magic had made it as resilient as armor was gone when the source fell to the sea. He quickly decided to log the discovery for later and focus on the task at hand.

The doors to the tower’s interior were tall and imposing, and just as the captain described, and made of the same stone that changed to match the color of the sky behind it, which became more notable as the sun dipped further down the horizon.

“Huh… Still here. Figured those scallops woulda just blown the doors off or somethin’” Captain Blackeye looked over his shoulder to everyone. “The doors only open if you tell the absolute truth. As in somethin’ you ain’t ever wanted anyone else t’ hear. Not like the time you took a bit o’ candy when you weren’t s’posed to.”

They all exchanged looks before Blackeye continued.

“Worse, the doors somehow know not to open ‘til we all say one. Learned a lot from me crew back then that I ain’t been able to forget…”

Wally rubbed his chin thoughtfully, what could he possibly say that could count?

Blackeye cleared his throat. “When Polly was born, the first time I saw her I cried like a child for almost a whole day.”

The doors creaked and clunked as old stone tumblers moved and jostled within. Wally struggled to think of something.

Hector followed suit. “In a practice duel with an old rival, I intentionally cut off two of his fingers out of petty spite.”

The doors continued to sound. Wally continued to draw a terrible blank.

Wistea swallowed audibly before speaking. “I… I am desperately trying to be as brave as I believe my brother would be in my place!”

The click of an enormous latch resonated.

Wally, like a pot of tea set to boil practically shouted the first thing that came to mind. “I’M IN LOVE WITH ROZZI!”

The doors did nothing.

Hector looked back at his friend. “I… Suppose it only counts if it’s something we didn’t already know, despite you never admitting it out loud.”

The wallaby’s head dropped as he sighed. A moment later he crooked his head up slightly, a single eye on the door as he curiously pronounced, “I’ve always hated my mother’s cooking?”

Another latch clicked loudly and the mighty stone doors swung open.

With a mockingly shocked tone, Hector set upon his diminutive friend. “Wally! What a thing to say! Your own mother’s home cooked meals?”

“She puts far too much salt in everything!” Wally called out defensively. “It’s ridiculous! And half the reason I moved out…”

Wistea couldn’t help but giggle, then look very ashamed of herself for it.

“Only gets more challenging from here crew,” Blackeye announced. “Best brace yourselves.”

Their levity quickly subsided and the four charged inside, the doors slamming shut behind them.

<[Chapter 16]–[Index]–[Chapter 18]>