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fountainpenguin · 11 months

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"Better check with all your sources before twisting the facts!" 🎵

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New 130 Reasons Why I'm Fairy Trash update today!

Fairly OddParents || One-Shot - “Told You So”

Read on FFN || Read on AO3 || Read on dA

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The "notorious complainer and empty nester Mama Cosma" & "Affection-deprived head of complaints department Sanderson" dynamic is one of my favorites, so here's a story about them!

Mama Cosma gets anxious when Cosmo doesn't come home with milk, so she takes it up with the only guy who'll listen to her... at 2 AM on a work night.

(First 1000 words under the cut)

121. Told You So (Almost 10,000 years pre-series)

Year of Breath; Summer of the Early Groundhog

Probably, the worst reaction Sanderson could have had to waking up with Florensa Cosma in his bed was, "We need to use stronger protection."

Yes, the "we" in that sentence encompassed all of Pixies Inc., and the protection he was referring to happened to be the apartment building's (clearly faulty) security system, but his chosen phrase made his roommate jolt and snap straight up in bed, lavender eyes glowing wide-eyed in the dark. Not just that, but it also did little to improve the woman's mood. Her brow furrowed. She sunk her fingernails through his thermal shirt, almost ripping it in the process. Which would have been a shame. It was his favorite shade of gray. Florensa's eyes blazed the brightest tint of blue he'd seen in months, years, centuries. His oil lamp flickered on the bedside table. It cast dancing red and black snakes across her twisted face. Even in the dark, he could see the mint-colored curls that stacked higher and higher on her head like a layered cake.

"Get up."

Her words splattered his nose with hot saliva. Ugh. Sanderson dropped his head back to his pillow. He didn't groan, didn't express any noise of discontent in the presence of an outsider, but he certainly would have liked to. The pillow wasn't that nice, either. Recent lumps and wrinkles had marred its usual pleasant flatness. "Didn't I hang up on you, like, five times tonight?"

He had… Hadn't he? In fact, he was fairly certain that after Florensa's last call, he'd dumped all the water on the floor, flipped his scrying bowl upside-down, and nestled beneath his thin blankets once again.

Florensa Cosma gave him another shake, this one so hard that he nearly bit his tongue. "You're in customer service, young man. The complaints department. I need you. Get up, you lump of lump. You have work to do."

Urrrgghh… Sanderson peeled the pillow from beneath his head. Sweat had stained the white fabric gray; he could tell that much even in the dark. Letting his head bounce back against his mattress with a squeak of springs, Sanderson stretched his arms as high as they could reach and allowed the pillow to drop on his face. "Pixies Inc. is closed right now, so you'll have to wait a few more hours. I'm off the clock, Dm. Cosma. I don't work at the dustforsaken time of… early in the morning."

"Does it look to you like this can wait until morning? This isn't my idea of a good time either- I wouldn't be traipsing 'round about your silly little squarefest if I didn't have to. Do you have any idea how long it takes to disable all your alarms? Even with magic?" Florensa ripped the limp pillow aside, flinging it against his closet door. It smacked with a shifting of wooden door panels. Sanderson screwed up his eyelids in the face of her glowing irises again, until she grabbed his shirt and twisted fabric and skin with both hands. He jolted up. Their heads collided. Bonk! "Oof!"

The pain only lasted for a spark, then subsided. Elastic fae skin never stayed injured very long. Taking advantage of the way she recoiled, Sanderson snuck a glance towards Hawkins' bed. His roommate had quietly lain down again, pulled the covers over his head. He faced the window and didn't say a word.

"Oh you slippery snatter, how I envy you," Sanderson muttered.

"Watch your language, young man! You have a paying client here."

Sanderson stared at her, making a heroic - if bleary - attempt to focus on Florensa's facial features. Meh. He lifted his foot (still restrained beneath perfectly straight and even sheets) and nudged her further down the bed. "Let's you and me talk business, Florensa. Between the hours of 8:00 and 8:00 in the purple time zone, you are no client of mine."

"Mister Ennet Chipixie Sanderson," Florensa snapped, kneading the blankets around his knees with her fists. Her wings flickered up behind her. "Do I need to haul you down to your office with my own bare hands?"

Hmm. Sanderson eyed the muscles rippling beneath the short sleeves of her green dress. "No. Okay… Answer me this: Pixie World is closed to outsiders in the evenings. That's in local time. How did you get past the anti-poof sensors?"

"I. Walked." Florensa scootched forward until she knelt over him again like a snake about to strike. This time her hands went around his throat. She wouldn't… She wouldn't. But although he wanted to believe she wouldn't, her thumbs hovered dangerously above his windpipe. That actually made the pixie slip out of his practiced poker face.

"You walked. To Pixie World."

"I hopped a tram, I skimmed a bit, but yes. I did walk."

Sanderson re-evaluated his tormentor, from the mess of tangled mint-green ringlets hanging in front of her searing blue eyes to the scratches and cartoon-like bandages pasted along her arms and cheeks. He bit his lip.

"Good gracious, Sandy," she huffed, exhaling a cloud of glittering gold magic. "I will not ask you again (and for Nuada's sake, try wearing something decent at night that doesn't have the image of a suit and tie printed on it, for once- you look like a human corpse). My son has been missing for two days. I really did think for a while that he left only to pick up milk, but it's been so very long… I'm beginning to worry. He's never been away from his mother this long since the war. He still lived at home during school."

"Your first son or your favorite son?"

"Favorite son." She sat back on her heels, opening and closing her hands in her lap. Her nails scratched against the sleek fabric of her dress. "Sanderson, you must understand how a mother cares for her children… He may be out there somewhere, perhaps beaten and mugged and alone. Those nasty bullies he keeps running into will have taken all his loose change- he does carry so much loose change, you know, and it always jingles when he walks. Now, I didn't stomp up here to nag you about you sleeping habits. Come and help me turn on your wand-tracking doohickey in the basement, or I'll take my clean energy filtering business elsewhere. Permanently."

"Dm. Cosma," he whined.

Off went his covers. Florensa slammed a hand to either side of his head, staring down at the squirming pixie as he attempted to dissolve into his bedsheets. "Don't you come complaining to me! This is your job. You're Head of the Complaints Department. You exist to listen to my concerns and help me work them out. Now… Are you with me?"

"… Okay." Honestly, did he have much of a choice? He could ping her away somewhere with his wand, but that wouldn't change the fact that she wanted his help. Sure, she might not come back for some time, but she absolutely, most definitely, undeniably would be filing a complaint directly against him. The glass ceiling he toiled beneath didn't need any more reasons to keep him down.

#Fairly OddParents #FOP #Sanderson is neat #We're Pixies!#Minty mama #Dragonfly parents #130 Prompts #ridwriting #FAIRIES!#Candlestick boy #Ash girl #apparently art #fic announcement

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ice-cap-k · 7 months

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Heads Will Roll

Stick around for future installments of this one in the form of *chapters*!

Cross-posted on AO3 here: Heads Will Roll

You can read CH 2 here

You can read CH 3 here

You can read CH 4 here

____________________________________________

King Ren knew that the people’s court was necessary. It was a time-honored tradition, a communion between him and those he served. Ultimately, it was necessary to keep lines of communication open between the governed and the government. He needed to maintain an up-to-date understanding of the world. The people came to him with their problems, and he reacted accordingly. If a natural disaster hit, he needed to spur emergency efforts into action where they would be needed the most. If misfortune fell on even a few of his people, he had to know about it.

One needed to know there was a problem in the first place if they were to assess and get to its root. And if it was something that had a long term impact, then political changes were necessary. Laws were constantly in need of writing and revision, given nuance and clarity as different interpretations were made. It was simple to make a law banning theft, but what fully constituted theft? Just because someone may have taken something without paying for it doesn’t necessarily qualify the action as theft. Lines had to be drawn between theft and gift, abandoned property, and ‘finder’s keepers’ sentimentality. And not just theft. Every moral held in high regard couldn’t be looked at in black and white. There were always grey areas. Hearing public sentiment helped clarify the foggy grey.

Deep down, Ren loved his people. He wanted the world for them. He had no personal issue with opening the royal vaults to help families who had the misfortune of losing a year’s crop in a flood, or to the local blacksmith whose shop had gone up in a blaze of smoke. He could send men and money for aid in those circumstances, but sending soldiers and opening coffers only helped so much. Far more issues persisted that wouldn’t truly be solved by such action. Sometimes it even exacerbated existing issues.

However, the importance of the people’s court did not necessarily mean that he always found it exciting. Frankly, it was usually boring and maddeningly tedious. Twice a week he almost always saw the same faces walking confidently into his throne room, and it was almost always to complain about some small issue. A tiff between neighbors who never got along about how one neighbor’s dog had dug a hole under the other’s chicken fence. A nest of groundhogs accidentally dug up in the eastern fields. Concerns over the last shipment of grain coming in a day early, of all things.

Occasionally the monotony of it all was broken up by more pressing concerns. A church collapse near the center of town. A new pest making itself known as crops started to wither in the fields. A bout of coughs sweeping through the city that required swift treatment before the weather turned. But these were few and far between. And deep down he was glad they were rare concerns, but he was having a hard time suppressing a yawn as the old carpenter told him for the second time this week about how he suspected someone had swiped another of his hammers.

“My men have already been informed of the issue since your last visit,” Ren said, straightening in his throne when the man finished his tirade. His back click clacked as bones popped back into place. He had been slumping back into the seat and hadn’t even realized it. Hopefully, the carpenter hadn’t noticed. “There’s already a patrol that passes by your shop each day. Until we find the culprit, though, I suggest keeping a close eye on your tools. Have you tried locking them away when they are not in use?”

The man snorted. “I suppose that’s an option. Not sure what it’ll do against the fae.”

A little smile pulled at the corners of Ren’s lips. “So now you suspect a fairy caused all this?”

The man had no reservations rolling his eyes at the King. It would have made Ren laugh, but responsibility dictated otherwise. “At this point, sure. Why not? The supernatural leaves nothing but devastation in its path. With all the rumors and mishaps spreading like wildfire, it has to be something. If not the fae, then a beast. The ungodly kind.” He paused. The carpenter took a moment, thinking to himself as his head bobbed, reassured by silent thoughts only he could hear. Ren left him a moment to collect his thoughts, and eventually, the carpenter added, “You’ve probably heard all about the dairy farm on the north stretch, haven’t you.”

The king’s fingers wrapped around the edge of his throne’s armrest, squeezing the hand-carved oak gently. He had. “And the outlook station on the edge of the woods,” Ren added, agreeing without necessarily saying so. Now those had been more interesting incidents. It would take a stretch of the imagination to connect a few missing tools to slaughtered cattle and a collapsed tower. But fae were known to pull mischief of all sorts. A stretch was not necessarily an impossibility.

The old man’s eyes glittered. “Looks like I’m not the only one who mentioned it today.” He was not. And Ren would be just as dismissive of this man’s attempt to spread gossip and sow concern as he was of the last citizen who came in claiming the fae had knocked a flower pot off their balcony.

“You are not, but you have nothing to worry about,” Ren said coolly. “I already have my most trusted men looking into the incidents. They will get to the bottom of it, and if it is fae, you have my word we will not hesitate to act.”

The old man gave a half bow in the direction of Ren’s throne. “Hope so,” he huffed. He started backing away, looking somewhat annoyed as he inched toward the door. “Damn monsters. Far as I’m concerned, all they’re good for is target practice.”

Ren’s grip loosened against the armrest. He waited until the door thudded shut behind the carpenter before allowing himself to slump back into his seat. And this time, he did so consciously.

Armor clanked beside him as one of his royal guards leaned a little closer. “Well, that went from boring to concerning real fast.”

The king allowed himself to laugh. It echoed off the stone walls, a pleasant mix-match of mirth as the guard joined in. “You thought so too, my dude?” Ren managed to say as he reigned himself into something more like a chuckle. “That’s, what, the third time today someone went from such a simple little problem to doom and gloom?”

“At least,” she said with a grin. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was more, though. If I didn't know better, I would think they’re doing it just to keep us from falling asleep. Making sure we’re paying attention.”

“Nah.” Ren let out a deep sigh as he ran a hand through his hair, letting the fingers card through his bangs and brush back over his scalp all the way to the nape of his neck. “They’re just spooked. A few good years of calm won’t chase away generations of paranoia, superstition, and bad experiences.”

“You don’t seem spooked,” she pointed out. He shot her a look out the corner of his eye. She met his gaze head-on, her own eyes set in an odd mix of curiosity and seriousness. “If anyone has any right to be concerned, it would probably be you. All this talk of monsters has got to be rough. How are you holding up?”

“Fine, actually.” And he was fine, as long as you didn’t count the scars below his left set of ribs that were starting to itch the longer she looked at him like that.

Really though, Ren was fine. The rumors could just be rumors. Or they might not be. A fairy might have set up residence nearby and was amusing itself with the local human population. Or the recent spike in bad luck could have been caused by any number of unrelated reasons. Whether it was true or not, Ren was still worried about the kingdom’s well-being and was ready to tackle the cause head-on.

She still looked skeptical but didn’t argue. Only shrugged her shoulders. “Well, let me know when it starts feeling anything less than ‘fine.’ You’ve been at this for over an hour. It wouldn’t hurt to close the doors to the public a little early.”

“Nonsense.” He waved off her good-natured concern, reaching over to the little side table that sat hidden in the shadow of his throne. A still-chilled glass of water sat at its center. He found the base of the glass with the tips of his fingers and slid it closer to the edge where it would be easier to grasp. “I can keep going.”

“Even if they’re only here to talk about monster attacks?” she asked pointedly.

Despite himself, Ren winced. The waterline in the glass wobbled as he raised the edge to his lips. The king’s throat was parched from speaking repeatedly and projecting his voice to be heard clearly across the room. The chill of the beverage was just enough to shake off some of the lingering heaviness of drowsy boredom. It soothed his throat and gave him time to think up a response.

After draining half the glass, he reached to put it back in its place on the table. “We could always start screening people at the door,” he offered, feeling a little sheepish. She blinked, breaking down into giggles that fought to be heard over the clatter of her armor. Ren raised his arms, palms facing outward in a show of defense as if that would keep his embarrassment at bay. “At least until this whole fae rumer gets solved. I’d hate to turn people away who need to voice their issues. If it’s anything like the undead issue years ago, it shouldn’t take too long to blow over.”

Her smile tightened to an uncomfortable grimace. “That’s different. There were mobs of those, and there’s no possible way those could come back anytime soon. We spent days blessing everything within a thousand blocks of the edge of town. Not to mention all the infrastructure we had to lay out to keep the roads safely lit at night.”

This time it was Ren’s turn to shrug. “And once it was over it took a little over a month for everyone to let their guard down. Not that long when you consider how we had skeletons and zombies snapping at our ankles for more than a year.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Trust me,” Ren says, waving her off. “All we need is a little bit of time and we’ll figure it all out. I have my best men on the case. Before you know it, everything will go back to normal.”

______________

There was nothing normal about this situation.

Martyn scratched at the back of his neck as he struggled to make sense of what he was looking at. “And you’re sure those aren’t from animal teeth,” he asked.

Beside him, Skizzleman Scoffed. “Well, they sure aren’t human.”

The veterinarian stood up straight, shaking his head. His bloody gloves each came off with a snap, flipping them inside out to keep the red smears tucked out of sight. It did nothing to hide the blood that had seeped into the knees of his pants from where he had knelt down in the puddle that refused to fully seep into the soil. “Those bite marks are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The imprint is much rounder than a wolf’s and neater than a lynx’s.” There’s a sly curve to his brow as he shoots Skizz a knowing look. “You say they aren’t human, but it almost looks like they’d better match a human’s jaw.“

Martyn didn’t know much about animal bites. He had treated animal bites before. Well… that is to say he had treated one bite mark before. It had been a messy affair, and he had been a little too panicked to do much more than keep pressure on the wound until an actual medical professional could push him out of the way and take over. But that's beside the point. The point was that what happened back then was nothing like what he was looking at right now.

And what was he looking at? Cows. Three mutilated cows lying in puddles of their own blood. Large chunks of their flesh were missing. Their sides were ripped into. Bright red streaks broke up the brown and white fur. And there were teeth marks. So, so many puncture wounds. Yeah, sure, something might have eaten part of each cow, but there were way too many teeth marks around the neck where almost none of the meat had been stripped away.

“But that’s just silly,” Skizzleman continued, sounding just as lost as Martyn felt. He bent over the side of the carcass, tracing lines of cuts over the body with his fingers. The large man kept his hand from it so that his fingers hovered a few inches away as he moved. “What about all those claw marks?”

“Take a closer look at those gouges,’ the vet said firmly. “What’s the first thing you notice about them?”

Skizz’s mouth snapped shut. He looked over the messy scratches and hanging viscera. His head tilted as he thought over the question. “They’re deep,” he said with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

The vet nodded but didn’t look satisfied. “And,” he asked, motioning once more to the body.

It dawns on Martynn that some of the wounds are too neat to be from a wild beast. “They're clean,” he finds himself saying as soon as the thought pops into his head

While he might not be of any use when it comes to bite marks, Martyn knows a thing or two about sword wounds. He's fought in enough battles to know the kind of marks a knife edge left. A weapon cut cleanly where claws would rip and gouge, and a sword left one slash for every swing. Not three or four like a set of claws would leave.

. Sure, there are a few uneven scratches snaking through the fur in sets of four messy lines, but scattered among the claw marks are long, thin cuts made from a blade. Singular slashes scoured the side of the body, leaving muscle and bone exposed for the flies to feast on.

Whatever had killed this cow had been using a weapon. Martyn knew that much.

“Indeed,” the veterinarian says with a smirk. “It is in my professional opinion that these cows died of blood loss as a result of multiple lacerations, especially those around the base of the neck. The bite marks came later.”

Martyn nodded to himself and smiled. He was unabashedly proud that he had been right.

Beside him, Skizz was blinking in realization. “Oh, ok. So someone must have cut it with a knife or a sword. Hm. Human-like bites, claw marks, and some sort of bladed weapon… You don’t suppose a zombie managed to find its way in here somehow?”

“The rancher did say that the cows were found in the morning…” Martyn started to pace back and forth, ignoring the unpleasant squish of mud saturated with blood beneath his boots. He spared one disgusted look at the ground below where his boots were sunk halfway to the laces in the muck and wilted clover. Gross. “He also said that the herd was put to pasture before sunset yesterday evening. They would have been killed at some point before sunrise when the bodies were found. That leaves plenty of nighttime hours for the undead to roam.” He stops, feeling his boot heels sink into the muck. “But that doesn’t make sense either. We haven’t seen the undead around these parts in ages. Everything should be lit up or blessed. How would one get in here?”

Skizz crosses his arms. “I know what you mean.” Martyn can see him shifting from foot to foot. He looks restless as well. “But a zombie is going to go after whatever it can. They usually reanimate carrying swords and axes too.”

It was a good explanation. It was a reasonable explanation. It made a lot of sense. This was why he asked Skizz to come with him. Skizz was good with people, and quick to talk through his thoughts. He had a nice long conversation with the ranchers in charge of these cattle. Made them feel at ease as they talked about their disturbing findings. Etho and BigB were much more suited to tackle the abandoned tower that had collapsed on the other side of town. They were both more men of action, and observant in their own right.

But even though Skizz’s suggested explanation made a LOT of sense, Martyn couldn’t help the seed of doubt that was stubbornly taking root at the back of his mind. “I’ll talk to M’lord,” he said, hoping Skizz couldn’t hear any doubt in his voice. “It would do this place good to look back over the defensive measures we have in place. It is possible one of the shielded lamps burnt out or broke. What about you, Doc? Have any second opinions,” he asked, turning to the vet.

“I think a zombie is a good first guess,” he agreed with a scowl. “And if not a zombie, then we’ve got a monster of some sort on our hands. A hominid by the looks of it.”

“Noted.”

“Then my work here is done.” He reaches out and Martyn meets him halfway. He takes the vet’s hand in his own and shakes. “Now about my pay…”

Martyn smirks. Fair enough. “Yes. Of course. We appreciate you coming out here on such short notice. I’ll speak to my liege directly. You’ll receive fair compensation from the crown. Tell them Martyn sent you. They’ll set things straight.” He lets go of the other man’s hand and winks. The veterinarian doesn’t look impressed. “Let’s go Skizz,” he says, stepping away from the cow. “We’ve still gotta meet up with Etho and BigB.”

“Right!” Skizzleman makes a wide berth around the carcass, much more careful not to step through the blood-soaked patches of sod. “It was nice meeting you,” he says with a wave to the veterinarian. He sounds much more chipper now. Perfectly pleasant and genial to his fellow man. “Hope you have a great day. Buh-bye.”

“Bye Doc,” Martyn calls a second later when Skizz joins him at his side.

“Be careful you two!” he calls after them.

Martyn considers looking back and cracking a joke but decides against it. He has to keep up his public image as the King’s right hand after all. But once they’ve left the ranch’s property lines and it’s just him and Skizz walking down the dirt road, Martyn lets himself relax a little. “I don’t know about you,” he starts, unable to keep the smile from stretching across his face. “But I think that vet might have been a little unrelia-bull…”

The joke seems to catch Skizz off-guard. The tall man at his side looked down at him with wide, confused eyes for a moment. Wait for it… “Oh,” his friend says with a snort, which quickly turns into a bout of giggles. “Good one. I thought you were being serious there for a second.”

“Are you kidding,” Martyn says, waggling his eyebrows. He makes no attempt to hide his grin. In fact, it just keeps getting bigger. “Of course I’m being serious. There’s a lot at steak here.”

“STOP!” Skizz shouts. “You’re awful. That one wasn’t even that good.” Despite what he says, though, the pun still manages to get another round of laughter out of Skizz.

“You’re right.” Martyn stuffs his hands into his pockets. He shifts a few steps to the side as they walk, putting a little more space between himself and his comrade. “My puns are terrible. I really need to beef up my game.”

He’s ready for Skizz when his friend makes a swipe at him. There’s already some distance between the two of them. All he has to do is sidestep to avoid the hand that goes to playfully smack him in the shoulder. Skizzleman’s fingers just barely brush the fabric of his jacket before Martyn is bouncing away. All the while, Skizz’s bubbling laughter is like music to his ears.

Skizzleman doesn’t try to catch up to him. He lets the laughter die down gradually. Martyn gives him this chance to compose himself. Eventually, when they lapse back into silence, Skizz shakes his head. “This is what we’re doing, huh? Are you going to be like this the whole walk?”

“As long as I can milk it,” Martyn agrees without regrets.

And for a while, the walk continued just like that. Martyn cracked jokes, and Skizz broke down and shot back a few of his own. It was a nice relief from the tension of the day. Martyn saw it as a good thing that they could have a laugh about it. It’s good to keep morale up among friends, and he was coming up with some great material on the spot. He couldn’t wait to run his puns by Ren and see which ones would make the king smile. That was probably the part of his job that Martyn was most proud of, watching out for Ren. Sometimes that meant having his back in the line of battle, and sometimes that meant being there as a friend. Lately, it seems like the king could use plenty of the latter.

As the King’s Hand, Martyn knows Ren better than anyone. Ren is a strong guy who has saved the people of Dogwarts time and time again, who has shed his own blood for their sake in battle with the desert dwellers years ago and continues to walk among his own streets despite his guards’ concerns over his safety. He also knows that Ren can be an absolute drama queen outside of the public’s eye, panicking over every small misstep and conundrum. Especially when it came to monsters.

Martyn couldn’t blame the King for that one. Rather, he blamed himself. Everyone had called it a freak accident. Horrible luck. Luck had nothing to do with it. Martyn should have been there when Ren was attacked. He should have been at his side instead of stumbling upon his King, his friend lying unconscious and bloody in the forest, just off the path. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been such a useless lump unable to do more than keep pressure on the wound.

Ever since then, the King had developed a bit of a… Well, obsession wasn’t the right word. Ren wasn’t obsessed. Perhaps hyper-awareness? That seemed a bit more of an appropriate description to Martyn. Whenever the supernatural came into conversation, Ren noticeably paid closer attention. He hid it well, especially in front of the people. Always the pillar of strength and compassion, but his closest friends could tell the difference. Martyn knew his little tells. The tightening of shoulders, the twitch of his fingers, the way he shifted on his toes. There was fear there if you looked hard enough.

So when rumors started flying about fae in the kingdom, he wasn’t surprised when Ren started coming to him to vent about the situation. The poor guy couldn’t help but take every allegation seriously. That’s why he’s here now, on the road this brisk spring morning, trying to track down the cause for this latest set of freak accidents with Skizz. And Etho. And BigB. The whole crew, really. They were all his most trusted friends, after all. Ren wouldn’t have put the four of them in charge of this if he wasn’t taking the allegations seriously.

After some time had passed, Martyn noticed two familiar silhouettes coming up the road leading to the forest-lined border. He stopped as soon as he realized they were coming this way. It took Skizz a few more steps to realize before he slowed to a halt as well. “Let’s wait for them here,” Martyn says, elbowing his comrade in the side before pulling himself up to a seat on the top rung of the fence lining the path.

“Sure thing, dude. Hup-hup.” He pulls himself up onto the fence beside Martyn. “It looks like they’ve got someone else with them.”

“Yeah. Wonder who that is,” he mused idly, kicking his legs back and forth lazily through the open space beneath him.

“No clue. I don’t recognize him. They were supposed to be looking into that tower that fell to pieces last night. Must have something to do with that.”

“Probably.” Martyn let his gaze drop down to his legs swinging below. The brown leather boots were still smeared in red. He wasn’t exactly presentable right now. Etho and BigB wouldn’t mind, but he wasn’t so sure about how squeamish the third person with them might be. So he slumped off the fence just enough to reach a snow pile that hadn’t fully melted yet.

Bright red streaks and brown clumps came away from his boots with every step, leaving rather ugly stains amidst the lingering white. He also noticed something green fall away from the back of his heel. The unusual pop of color caught his attention immediately.

There in the snow, he saw a four-leaf clover. It was a little wilted, a little bloodstained, but all four heart-shaped leaves were intact and distinct against the red smears.

Martyn wasn’t generally one to believe in luck, but he did find it novel that he had stumbled upon such a rare find. It wasn’t often you found a four-leaf clover. And people were so wound up with superstitious worry, that he could probably sell it for a decent price. So he picked it up by the stem and gently dropped it into his jacket pocket for now.

“So, how was life on the farm?” Etho’s voice startled him from behind. He whirled around to see his friend coming to a stop next to Skizzleman. There was a friendly lilt in his voice, a bored slump in his shoulders, and an amused glint in his one good eye. All standard Etho body language that told Martyn nothing about how their own investigation went.

"Not so lively," Martyn said with a shrug. "I'd make a cow joke, but you've probably herd them all."

"Oh my gosh." BigB snorted beside Etho before faltering into giggles. "That’s so bad."

BigB was a bit easier to read than Etho. He was the perfect picture of contentedness, even before the pun. Martyn took that as a good sign.

Etho hadn’t laughed and Martyn couldn’t make out a smile behind the mask covering the lower half of his friend’s face, but he had caught the amused crinkle at the corner of his intact eye. Martyn considered that a win in his book.

“He’s been like that the whole trip over,” Skizz said with a roll of his eyes. “But what about you guys? Lay it on us. What did you find?”

“That guy,” BigB says, motioning to the third person behind them.

The stranger behind their two friends stepped a little closer, and Martyn nearly took a step back. The man was built, and clearly wasn’t afraid to show it. Despite the cool spring air, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. It left his toned arms and pecs exposed to the cold, but it didn’t seem to bother him. His pale skin almost looked like it could blend in with the backdrop of snow if it weren’t for all the scars. They snaked across what was visible of his body. Discolored flesh winding up his chest and arms where they crossed his face and tapered off.

This man’s scars overshadowed even Etho’s, though he at least still seemed to have use of both eyes.“Why hello there,” the stranger said in a smooth, deep voice that sounded out of place.

“Martyn, Skizz, this is Scar,” BigB introduces them. “Scar, this is Martyn, the King’s Hand, and Skizzleman, another of the King’s Counsel.

“The nickname’s a little on the nose there, don’t you think,” Martyn said in exasperation.

“Martyn, don’t be rude,” Skizz scolded. “Sorry.” He turns apologetically to Scar, who still has a friendly smile plastered across his face. The stranger doesn’t look fazed in the slightest.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Scar says in that silky smooth voice of his. “No big deal. It is a tad ironic, after all. And it’s hard not to stare at guns like mine.”

Martyn watches the newcomer shift from one foot to the other, and he swears he sees Scar flex. He’s not sure what to make of this odd fellow. “So…” He starts, not wanting to linger too long on whatever that was. “What brings you here, Scar?”

“We caught him picking around the wreckage of that tower,” Etho says plainly, leaning up against the fence.

BigB nods in agreement. “He was there last night. He saw the whole thing come down and the beast that did it.”

Martyn raised an eyebrow. “Beast?”

Scar pressed his hand against his heart. “Oh, it was awful! An absolute monster if I ever did see one. It was like something out of a nightmare with those teeth. And claws! Don’t forget the claws! It toppled that building like it was nothing. I’m lucky to have escaped with my very life.” His words came quick and easy, his voice tightened by panic that almost sounded genuine if he hadn’t been so clearly trying to exaggerate. Skizz and BigB looked enraptured as he spoke, though. “It came out of the trees in the night, and with one mighty swipe, it knocked a cornerstone loose. The whole thing came crashing down. I swear, some of those rocks fell right on top of it and it just shook them off as if it was nothing. I was lucky I wasn’t crushed. If I had the chance, I would have taught that thing a lesson.”

“Whoah!” Skizz’s eyes were wide and shining as he took in every word. “That’s crazy. We were actually thinking there might be a monster around too.” He turned to BigB and Etho so he could explain. “The veterinarian classified some bite marks on the cows as near-human, and there were signs that a weapon was used to kill them. The one you saw last night, Scar, it wouldn’t have happened to look or smell like a zombie, would it?”

“Er, it could have been,” Scar says, his voice faltering. He looks a little embarrassed, scratching absently behind one of his ears. “It was pretty dark, and I didn’t get very close.”

Seemed to Martyn like it would be a tall order for a zombie to knock over an entire tower on its own. “I don’t know Skizz. I’ve never seen undead do things like that… Did you guys find anything else that we can tell M’lord about?”

Scar’s eyes flicked to Martyn immediately but didn’t say anything as BigB spoke up. “Well, we did see large scratches in some of the stones. And Scar was already in the process of trying to rebuild when we got there. Nothing had been left standing. I thought maybe we could bring Scar back to the castle as a witness and then we could all come up with a plan.”

More scratches. This was looking more and more like there was a monster in the vicinity. Maybe two, even. Martyn turned to the man who had remained silent throughout the conversation. “What do you think, Etho?”

Etho blinked in surprise at being pulled into the discussion, but the surprise quickly melted away. “We didn’t find anything solid on our own. I was hoping if we pooled our findings, we might have a clearer picture of what happened.”

“And Scar?”

Etho shrugged. His gaze drifted ever so slightly away from Martyn. He was looking off in the distance, just behind Martyn and Skizz where the rest of the kingdom of Dogwarts sprawled out behind them and where the castle stood proudly above it all. The castle where Ren awaited their return. “It’s up to you,” he finally said, his own eye meeting Martyn’s.

“I guess that means they found me,” Scar added with a lopsided smile. “I’m the evidence.” He rolled his shoulders, placing his hands on his hips.

At that moment, Martyn found his thoughts going fuzzy. He blinked at the sudden headache, but that didn't help. So he halfheartedly shook his head as if that could clear some of the fog. That didn’t make things better either. Odd.

“We should bring him back with us.” Skizz’s words sound distant to Martyn’s ears. But when he looked, Skizz was still standing at his side.

“Yeah,” he finds himself agreeing with a nod. It’s hard to think right now, but that’s probably the best plan they have right now. In fact, it sounds like a great idea. They SHOULD take Scar back to the castle. In fact, they’re lucky that BigB and Etho found a witness. Scar could tell Ren all about the monster.

Wait, should they… Ren… Ren doesn’t like monsters… They should handle this on their own…

No. No. The king should hear about this. The king should meet Scar.

“If we leave now, we might even get back before the People’s Court has ended. You alright coming with us to give a testimony, Scar?”

“Absolutely,” the newcomer says in that honey-sweet voice of his. And through the muddled thoughts in his head, Martyn is vaguely aware of the other man’s half-smile lined with oddly sharp teeth.

__________________________________

“My King, I have word that your Hand and Counsel have returned.”

“They’re back?” Ren whirled around, nearly dropping the sweep of red fabric and furs that made up his royal cape. What great timing! The People’s Court had just ended. He didn’t have to assume the image of the mighty king right now, all decked out in the imposing clothes and finery that was meant to make quite an impression. That was to say, he could let his hair down and take off that sweaty old robe while he hung out with his friends. They should have plenty to talk about after the missions he sent them on.

“They have. They’re approaching the throne room as we speak.”

“Fantastic. Let them in. I’ll meet them there.”

“Yes, my King.”

Ren waited for them to back out of the room before returning his attention to the hook on the wall.

He was currently in his throneroom’s side chamber. It wasn’t much more than a large dressing room and served a similar purpose. Ren’s advisors were always chiding him about needing to put on a strong front to keep the respect of his people and strike awe into the hearts of potential rivals. And he could understand that. A part of Ren relished in playing the part of the intimidating king. He supposed that he actually was one. Technically. It was a part he took seriously but like an actor to a role. This was the room where he put himself into the mindset of the man he needed to be, and at the end of the day it was where the role fell away and he returned to being who he really was: just another man with a lot on his plate.

He missed the first attempt to hang the robe and nearly dropped it when the heavy fabric came tumbling back down. What a pain. He got it on the second attempt, though. Then took off his crown and ran his fingers through his hair. It took a few passes to combat the static before he could put the crown back in its rightful place.

The touch of the precious metals against his skin made his side itch uncomfortably. He winced, one hand going absently to the scars there. He really should have had a new crown made, but that would stir up too many questions. Especially when he considered that this one had been worn by countless generations of monarchs.

He was debating leaving the crown off completely, or at least finding a pair of gloves in case he had to adjust it again when he heard the doors to the throne room creak open. The others were already there. Oh well. His hair would be a good enough buffer between the crown and his skin, and he wasn’t going to make his comrades wait. At least he wasn’t wearing any jewelry anymore.

“How did it go,” he called out as he pulled the door open.

He stepped out behind the throne itself, giving him a view of the entire room as he emerged. It was mostly empty, save for the usual set of guards posted at the corners and five people standing at its very center. “Huh.” He pauses, staring at the group as his brain catches up to what he’s seeing. One, two, three, four… yup. There’s a fifth person he doesn’t recognize.

Ren can feel the tips of his ears heating up in embarrassment as he realizes he might have changed a little prematurely. So he takes a deep breath and straightens, mustering up all of his dignity and grace.

“M’lord.” Martyn steps forward, climbing the stairs leading up the throne’s dais.

“Me Hand,” Ren says cheerily. He waited until Martyn approached, then clasped his friend’s shoulder warmly. He saw Martyn’s arm move, raising as if to embrace his King back, but caught himself halfway through the motion and swung his fist to his heart in a salute. Ren appreciated the adherence to formality in the presence of a stranger, not that he would have been upset if Martyn had gone ahead and pulled him into a hug. “And my most trusted Counsel. Tell me, what news do you bring? And who is this?”

“This,” Martyn said, turning to motion back to the pale, shirtless man below. “This is Scar.”

The name seemed accurate enough. “Scar…?” He muttered the name in near misbelief, only to mentally scold himself. Now was not the time to be rude.

There was something off-putting about the stranger. He was odd, and not just because he wasn’t wearing a shirt, although that didn’t exactly help his case. No. There was something about the way this Scar held himself. Something about the look in his eyes. The way he was staring at Ren so intently. It sent a shiver down Ren’s back. If looks could kill, then Scar’s would have at the very least pinned Ren down where he stood.

BigB took a step forward, pulling the king’s attention away from the disconcerting gaze. He looked up from the bottom of the dias with a fist to his heart. “We found him at the base of that collapsed outlook station,” he said, shooting a sidelong glance at Etho. “He saw what happened last night.” Then BigB held his hand out, splaying his fingers first out towards Skizz and Etho, then Martyn at the top of the steps. “If I may, all four of us suspect the events are a result of a monster attack.”

BigB’s words made a hollow chasm open up in Ren’s belly where his stomach should be. He had to consciously fight back against the involuntary instinct to stiffen the muscles in his shoulders and fold into himself. Instead, his head shot to Martyn.

Martyn didn’t miss a beat. He responded immediately to the question Ren hadn’t even voiced. “Me and Skizz checked in on the cattle slaughtered at the ranch. We don’t have anything concrete, but we suspect a zombie might have somehow found its way in.” There was comfort and understanding in his tone.

And it worked. Martyn knew him too well. Knew just the right way to phrase things. The chasm inside started to recede at the mention of a zombie. A specific monster. One that was generally considered a low threat. “Ah, well, we’ve handled plenty of zombies before,” Ren said smoothly “We can handle one more. We’ll just have to be careful and make sure it’s only one and not a whole mob. And once that’s taken care of, I’ll have the clerics and the engineers go over the safety system for any gaps.”

Martyn nodded. “It sounds like there wasn’t much physical evidence at the tower outside of a few scratches, but as BigB said, we did bring a witness. Scar,” Martyn called to the stranger. His voice reverberated slightly off the smooth walls and floors in the large room. Scar didn’t give any indication he had heard Martyn. He was still too busy staring at Ren.

“Go ahead and tell the King what you saw, Scar. Try not to leave out anything. No detail is too small.”

“That’s easy,” Scar says, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly. “It was him.��

Ren furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry… I don’t understand. Who is ‘him?’”

For a moment, Ren thinks he might be imagining the wild grin flashing across the other man’s face, but it’s gone so fast he can’t be sure. Instead, Scar’s expression is grim. “You,” he says, pointing up at Ren. The others blink in confusion, looking back and forth in disbelief between their friend the King, and the newcomer Scar. But Scar jabs his finger at Ren again, taking a step up the dais. “You were the one I saw last night at the tower. You were the one who knocked it down.”

“Wh-what?” Ren took a step back. All sense of what a ‘strong imposing king’ should do was promptly forgotten. He blinked at the man, his accuser, too stunned to even think. He could only watch as Scar took another step up.

“You were the monster with the claws.”

Martyn was the first to recover from the shock of the sheer absurdness. Because that’s what this was. Absurdity. “You better watch your tongue, Scar. Don’t you know who you’re speaking to? That’s the King. Not some beast.”

“Is this some kind of joke,” Skizz huffed, sounding as confused as Ren felt. “Cause if it is, it’s not funny. I’m not laughing.”

BigB shook his head. “Maybe you’re confused, Scar. Are you saying you saw something that looked like the king?”

“No. What I saw was him,” Scar insists. Another step up.

“It most certainly was not,” Ren growls. “I first learned of what befell the tower this morning. If I had been there, I would have already known.”

“Then you’re lying,” Scar says, and he sounds perfectly calm. His voice is smooth and even, and has all the confidence in the world when he adds, “Just like you’re lying about being a monster too.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Scar takes the last step up the dias and he is standing face to face with Ren. There’s such a knowing look in those narrowed brown eyes. Ren finds himself reaching out to grasp the nearest thing he can find. His hand finds the armrest of his throne, and he is surprised to realize he’s shaking as his fingers wrap around the carved wood.

Ren’s friends were having none of it. His guards left their posts at the corners, moving in towards the throne. Etho was already leaping up the steps with his palm resting on the knife handle sticking out of his belt. Skizz and BigB were scrambling after him, but Martyn got there first. He grabbed Scar by the shoulder and roughly yanked him back. The Hand slipped between the stranger and the King with a snarl. “Alright. I’ve had enough of this charade. If you don’t stop this right now, I’ll throw you into the dungeons myself.”

Scar raised his hand placatingly, but he did roll his shoulders to pull out of Martyn’s grip. “Just hear me out. I can prove it.”

“Prove it? There’s nothing to prove,” Ren snaps, finally finding his voice. “It sounds like all you have is unfounded, baseless accusations and no sense of self-preservation. Guards, get this man out of here before me Hand can make good on his promise.”

His voice rings out, but the guards don’t move. They’ve stopped halfway to the dias with an odd look in their eyes. “Guards…?” He says again, more confused than angry that they stopped. Then he looked to his friends, and his confusion deepened.

All of them stood around Scar. Their bodies were stiff and eyes unfocused, as if looking for something in the distance. Etho’s hand slips off the handle of his knife. When Ren shifts to one side, he can see Martyn is no longer trying to keep Scar away. His Hand has the same vacant look in his eyes as the others. “Martyn…? Guys?”

What’s going on? He’s never seen any of them act like this before. They looked so… distant? Empty? He didn’t know enough about what was going on to even describe it.

He waves a hand in front of Martyn’s bright blue eyes. They blink at the sudden motion, but they aren’t following the movement. They aren’t looking at him, or anything Ren can make out at all.

Martyn speaks up, but when he does, he addresses Scar. “How are you going to prove it?”

Scar laughs, and it makes Ren’s blood run cold. “That’s silver mixed in with the gold of his crown, isn’t it?” He takes a step towards Ren. Nobody else moves as he closes the distance between the two of them. Ren’s guardsmen, his friends, even Martyn, they all watch apathetically as Scar reaches for the crown.

This is too close for Ren’s comfort, and he doesn’t feel like playing along with whatever little game this was supposed to be. He may not know what is going on, but he wasn’t just about to let it happen. The moment Scar came within reach, Ren let go of the throne and slammed his knuckles into Scar’s cheek with a wicked right hook. The other man let out a surprised oomph at the moment of impact but remained standing. So Ren took another swing.

Unfortunately, Scar now knew Ren was ready to fight back. With lightning-fast reflexes, he caught the king’s fist in his hand and held tight. His grip was like a vise. The more Ren pulled away, the tighter Scar latched on. So Ren risked another punch with his free hand. This time, his fist bounced harmlessly off Scar’s forearm, brought up in the nick of time to block the hit. How could the others just sit and watch this?!?

With his free hand, Scar snatched the crown off Ren’s head and twisted, pressing the metal against his neck. Ren almost snorted as the cold bite of silver and gold dug into his flesh. Whatever this man was trying to accomplish wouldn’t amount to anything. As if that would do anything other than make his side itch.

But when the silver hit his skin, something strange happened. It… it stung. Just a little, but still... How could that be? That… that was impossible. And Scar! Scar wasn’t just pale anymore. He almost looked blue. And were those wings hanging from his back?

“A monster with wards,” Scar whispered into Ren’s ear with a chuckle. “Why, I’m impressed. But illusions won’t work on my kind.”

Ren hissed as the stinging in his neck grew to a burn. “Fae…” he managed to sputter as everything finally clicked into place. All the rumors of a fairy in the vicinity were true, and he had let it waltz right into his castle and cast a spell on his dear friends.

He tried to say something else, to tell his friends to run, or call for some guards with iron weapons at hand, but when he tried to say something the words came out as incoherent growls. Scar took the hand still gripping Ren’s fist and shoved him away. The world went crooked as Ren stumbled backward, tripping over himself and rolling painfully down the steps.

At that point, the others’ eyes were blinking back into focus. “M’lord,” Martyn cried as he realized Ren had fallen. He rushed to go after him when Scar, wingless and pale-skinned once more, threw an arm out in front of the Hand to stop him.

“Trust me, you don’t want to get close. Look.”

Ren groaned at the incoming wave of pain from countless new bruises. With one arm he propped himself back up and opened his eyes. Everyone was looking at him with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Everyone except Scar, who looked smug. Ren opened his mouth to tell them it was Scar they needed to stay away from, but when he tried to speak all that came out was a gravelly growl. Skizz, Etho, BigB, and Martyn flinched at the noise. They looked back and forth between themselves and him, sheer horror evident in their faces. He tried to say something again, but once more there were only growls. By now, the guards had raised their weapons and they were all pointed at him. What on earth…? He held up his hand, hoping maybe he could gesture to explain himself, but when he did he noticed that it was covered with fur. Hooked black claws protruded from the tips of his fingers.

That can’t be possible. Ren can feel the panic rising up as he desperately inspects himself. Fur. There’s fur on his face, his hands, his shoulders. The claws catch at it and snag his skin as he feels alongside his head where two ears stick out much farther than they should be. It’s real. But it’s not real. It can’t be real. What glamor had this fairy used that could be so life-like? “But it’s not a full moon,” he says and is surprised to hear actual words instead of growls.

“See. Poor thing knows he’s been found out. It even admits it,” Scar says.

“You really are a monster…” Martyn mumbles, but his words are as loud as a gunshot to Ren. The looks on his friends' faces made his heart want to break as he realized that it was him they were horrified by. He recognizes the fear in Skizz and BigB’s eyes. The hint of rage in what little of Etho’s face he can make out past the mask. The utter betrayal in Martyn’s expression. He can’t help but let out a little whimper.

“He’s a beast! Seize him before he attacks,” one of his guards shouts. He recognizes her as the one who laughed with him during breaks in the People’s Court today. His chest already feels tight, but he doesn’t think it could hurt any worse as they charge at him. The whimper dies in his throat, only to be replaced with a long, mournful howl.

Ren is too heartbroken to fight back. Not when Martyn and the others are looking down at him with such disgust. The guards rush at him with weapons at the ready. They lash out at his head with their shields while the others simply watch. One guard manages to catch the top of his skull with the butt of her sword. The instance of pain is short-lived as the hit mercifully knocks him unconscious.

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