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love-and-anarchy-au · 4 years

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Love & Anarchy: Chapter 1

helloo!! here’s it!! hope you enjoy this first chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

REMEMBER THIS AU HAPPENS IN THE SAME UNIVERSE THAT THIS ONE

Find out what this AU is about here

Masterlist

WARNING: this chapter includes violence, alcoholism and abusive words.

Tag list: @healing-winston-pratt @dawniebb @obsidianfr3sk @nodrianbcyes @everyone-has-a-nightmare

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Words:

12,174

Part 1: A boy named Alec Artino

4 years old Alec

“Alec!”

Little Alec Artino was playing peacefully with his wooden cubes, stacking and collapsing them; it was a cycle that even back then, he considered precious. Seeing how the cubes fell, the sound of the wood hitting the ground, the chaos and then the silence...beautiful. Alec was wearing his usual, dark, denim clothes, a little worn out but clean overall (they had been washed the day before). His chubby little hands took the cubes carelessly and threw them anywhere, without caution or awareness of the consequences of his actions. Even back then, Alec Artino was a danger.

“Alec! What is going on that you don’t answer? What game are you playing?”

Alec looked up, it was just his sister, Julieta Artino. Julieta had long, wavy, dark hair , like Alec's, only a lot greasier because of her age. She was dressed as she always used to: a long skirt that fell like a waterfall, a short-sleeved shirt that was hidden inside her skirt leaving a crease, a neat waxed wooden rosary hanging from her long neck, and gleaming leatherette loafers (which had been washed the day before). She always wore a fine gold headband, as delicate as herself, and a warm and loving smile to match, which highlighted her usually rosy cheeks. That smile was indestructible, and it was permanent, like Julieta's kindness.

Julieta smiled.

“It's sweet that you think that my smile matches my outfit but I can't help but disagree about the blush. I don’t, Alec!”

Alec smirked. His cheeks were lined with a pair of adorable dimples.

“I never said you blush.”

Julieta gave him a mysterious look, her signature gesture.

“You don't have to say it for me to know, Alec.”

And it was true. Julieta knew everything, Alec didn't know how. Alec suspected she was playing with God's wisdom, like he played with wooden cubes. He had never said it out loud, but every time he thought about it, and Julieta was near, her smile turned into the darkest light ever seen, and she gained and lost a hundred years of life in her shoulders. So he wasn't thinking about that; if it made Julieta feel bad, confused, then it had to disappear from the face of the earth.

No one would touch Julieta, the living angel, his older sister.

“What are you calling me for? I'm playing.”

Julieta placed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Papà is calling us for lunch. By the way, you can't spend your whole life playing,” Julieta frowned slightly and corrected herself “or maybe you can,” Julieta suggested and took Alec's hand, which was sticky and warm.

Alec got on his feet, staggering on his little leather shoes, and followed Julieta into the kitchen, through the narrow hall that connected the different sectors of the little house. The hallway was painted with a yellowed paint, and black and white family pictures hanging on the walls. From where they were, they could smell red wine, mushroom, melted cheese and the tobacco, as if interrupting a harmonious orchestra. A soft and inviting steam called Alec and Julieta to try its predecessor, and a smoke alerted them, told them what they already knew would be in that kitchen.

The kitchen of the Artinos house was small but very comforting and warm, like a woolen blanket passed down from generation to generation. There were four windows framed in white wood, one on each wall; light streamed in, along with a blizzard that hugged Alec's tanned skin. There was a faded wooden table, with a tablecloth of red flowers embroidered on it. There were two people at the table, two human beings: a small boy, with hair with the color of dust and blue eyes like the Mediterranean Sea; and a broad man, with a stubble and hair combed carefully back. The man was reading the newspaper, and smoking a long, thick cigarette. His brow was furrowed (it always was) and his knuckles clenched the paper, threatening to break it. Everything about him was a warning in red ambulance lights and a threat spit in the eyes late at night.

Near the burners, there was a woman. She was skinny in composure, all skin and bone, all soul and body, with a plump face and flushed cheeks like her daughter's. Her dark, wavy hair was tied up in a neatly combed bun, and her plump hands, framed with bitten nails, were wiped against her apron, glittering with no logical provenance. Her full lips formed a smile when she saw Alec.

“Alec! It was about time, bambino. We are about to eat. Julieta, set the table, will you?” said Stella Artino, Alec’s, Julieta’s and David’s, the boy sitting at the table, mother. She patted Alec on the back and guided him to the table, helping him onto the high chair. He sat to the left of his older brother, David Artino, and in front of Julieta. She seemed to have gained years of life since they entered that kitchen, with her prevailing smile, weak and attenuated like a flame that loses its air.

Dante Artino put his newspaper on the corner of the table and raised his cigarette to his thin lips, which were capable of pronouncing the worst words. He inhaled the tobacco on his cigar and then blew it out in an intoxicating puff of smoke. Alec choked back a cough, he would only make his father burn him with his cigarette like the last time he had complained that the smoke was poisoning his still clean, young, lungs. Julieta shrugged, and bit her lips, closing her eyes.

“Woman, bring me a beer,” Dante ordered, his voice scratchy like sandpaper, and taking another long drag on his cigarette, every second smaller.

Stella nodded, submissive and obedient, as she and all women had been taught to be. Along with the bottle of beer, she brought out a crock pot, brimming with steaming and delicious risotto. Stella served the food unevenly. Half for Dante, the rest for the children, a little for Julieta, and what was left over (if there was something left over) for herself. Alec hated watching his mother starve to death under his father's will and his impossible physical standards.

Dante Artino opened his beer and took a long sip, an eternal sip. Everyone (except David, who lived in his inner world) cringed at the daily and hated act. A beer with insults at lunch, a liquor spit in the eyes at dessert, a scotch with belt bumps in the afternoon, and a couple of harsh-screaming wine glasses at night. That used to be the plan of worldly days, and if they were lucky, Dante would get lost in town and come back the next day. That (sadly) didn’t happen very often.

Dante burped and Alec feared the worst.

He feared well.

“And you useless asshole, what have you been doing all day, you fucking bastard?” Dante spat, full of unwarranted hatred and contempt for his youngest son.

Alec froze, trembling, even though that act of contempt was only fire and burning coal against his skin and soul. His lips, his eyelids, his hands, his soul, all in the trembling, shaken by an external and internal earthquake.

“I...I…” Alec hesitated, not knowing how to excuse himself for being alive.

Dante slammed his fist against the table and it trembled, just like Alec. Dante Artino's eyes were lined by red lines, which represented the contempt that gnawed at him. Nothing was ever enough about his son. His lips trembled, glistening with the remnants of lager. More than breathing, he snorted.

“Who gave you permission to answer me, eh? Ungrateful idiot,” he growled. He grabbed his silver fork and scowled a huge portion of risotto into his mouth. He chewed, with his mouth open, the mushrooms and the remnants of quite solid melted cheese at those moments. Alec's eyes were bright, gallons of tears threatened to overflow his eyes and fall on his food. Alec swallowed hard and popped an insignificant portion of risotto into his mouth. All his actions were hesitant, as if he were in a bomb field.

Julieta flinched from an invisible blow, just before it happened. In the second, Dante muttered:

“Julieta, you filthy pig, you're eating too much. You'll end up like your mother, all hideous and useless.”

Juliet did not reply. Alec knew that she knew how to choose her battles, and his father was not a worthy one. She just nodded stiffly and continued eating, cautiously. An angel, an angel, an angel.

Dante grunted, incipient hurricane. He ran his gaze through everyone present, until he reached his son David, the middle brother. A goofy grin, typical of a good-natured drunk and not the aggressive drunk that he was, flashed across his face, and Alec clenched his fork until he felt like he might break it.

“Why don't you learn from David, stupid bitches?” Dante exclaimed, pointing at Juliet and Alec with the empty beer bottle. He burped more and continued, “He has his eight years of life well earned and has helped this family more than you two, ungrateful rats.”

David looked up from his food and smiled sheepishly. Words weren't his thing, but metals were, and the people of the city paid well for them. He was respectful, quiet, and that was what people liked. Furthermore, his eyes were like two crystalline seas; it was impossible not to get lost and unconsciously swim in them.

David had the upper hand, always.

No Artino knew exactly where David got his metals from or what kind of metals they were. They were golden and precious, but they were not gold or copper or bronze. Dante just muttered that it was not important, that since he did not spend a penny to get them and did not cause problems, only the envious would ask where David got his precious metals, which kept him and the Artinos, alive and well fed, living under a roof of red tiles.

Alec had suspicions, but when he exposed them, he only earned a beating of those that you cannot erase even with acetone.

“I wish you were a prodigy, so that I could finish you off and not go to jail for it,” Dante stated/promised/wished, at Alec's hint that David must be a prodigy.

Even through the tears, Alec could see David blush, a few feet from his bruised and painful body.

Dante jumped on his feet and the table shook again.

“I'm going to sleep, don't bother me, you bastards,” Dante muttered violently, and staggered down the hall to his room, like a bleeding animal. He slammed the door. Stella slid in silently, careful that her loafers didn't make a noise when they hit the parqué, and with a copper key in hand, she closed the door carefully, all to guarantee a couple of hours of peace, even if only a couple of hours and nothing more. Returning to the kitchen, she sighed, relieved, freed of a weight, and smiled, genuinely and wearily.

“You are free,” she said. David stood up, wiped his lips with a cloth napkin, and went back to his business. Julieta smiled compassionately and hugged her mother, her arms wrapped around her hips and her face buried in her chest. Her mother stroked her hair, as if she were weaving stories with Julieta's hair. Alec stared at the scene, tiny and insignificant as he was.

Julieta and Stella got ready to wash the dishes, near the sink and cupboards, with the dirty dishes in their hands. Alec stood up, walked on his little legs, and with little leather shoes clanging against the park, tugged at his mother's apron. She lowered her head and smiled when she saw her son.

“Can I help you?” Alec asked helpfully.

Stella laughed, pleased.

“Of course, il mio amore,” Stella agreed and handed him a ragged cloth to dry the dishes, since the boy could not reach the sink.

Julieta, Stella and Alec washed the dishes, while a jazz vinyl was playing. Stella and Julieta rubbed the dishes with their soapy hands and Alec received the wet dishes, dried them with the cloth they had given him. They were a well-oiled and effective machine. Glitters floated in the air; as if they were chased away by Dante when he was present (maybe they were, anything was possible). Julieta sang, with her angelic voice, and Alec did the backing vocals with his childish and tender voice. The sky was blue and huge, the sun illuminated the entire Italian homeland. Time flown when Dante Artino was not present.

Little Alec Artino, knew that.

#love & anarchy #love & anarchy au #my au #ace anarchy's backstory #ace anarchy #alec artino #julieta artino #david artino #dante artino #stella artino #read #reblog #renegades au #before renegades #au

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vandnana · 4 years

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Loving You Is Easy

Part One

When I decided to leave home at eighteen, I knew that things would never be the same. But then again, that’s exactly what I craved. Living with them made me realize that I was never home. Talking to them made me realize that my words were locked. Listening to them made me realize that I didn’t know who I was. So many moments between my creators could have easily led to this epiphany, but one conversation sent me out the door with no other thought except escape.

“If you just applied for a school closer to here, then things would be easier for you.”

My mother stared at me, her eyebrows furrowed in slight annoyance.

I glared back at her with the same visible annoyance.

“Easier for me, or easier for you? Why can’t you just let me be on my own?”

I could see her eyes enflame, but she closed them to calm herself.

“Because you can never be on your own. You need me. You always have. Who pays for your school now? Who pays your insurance? Who clothes you and feeds you and lets you live in this house? Show some respect. I’m your mother.”

I remember looking at her, stunned.

Isn’t that what a mother is supposed to do? Aren’t mothers supposed to give their unconditional love to you? Aren’t they supposed to clothe you and feed you and shelter you? I understood the privilege of having my school and insurance paid for, but those basic, bare minimum things...do I really owe her so much for fulfilling her responsibility as a mother? Do I really have to be chained to her side because of her choice to keep me alive?

I remember walking away from her without a word, and after that, I left the house with a single bag and money I had saved in my piggy bank. I left no note and no notice. I knew that if I didn’t leave right then and there, my tether would grow tighter and tighter until my own inevitable suffocation.

Despite that house being filled with people, people that were meant to encourage me and love me and cherish me, I was always lonely. But stepping out of that door forever, made that loneliness leave me.

I booked a plane to the concrete jungle, where no one would bat an eye at me, no one would wonder what my story was, no one would care what I was doing, where I was going. Only I would care. I truly thought that I wanted to be this selfish with my choices because I was never able to before. I had to think about what everyone else wanted before myself. I had to choose with the ideas of my mother and father in mind. But loneliness found me soon again as I wandered the streets for days.

No home. No family. No one but myself to keep me company. I took refuge in a decent motel, but as I stayed longer, the more expensive it got. Yet, still, I couldn’t ignore the possibilities for me. They were so endless and I was lost. So engrossed in this feeling of misguided direction that I started to believe poisoned thoughts I created in my own head. I believed that was how I would be lost forever- my punishment for leaving the one thing that was familiar to me. My mind was poisoned with the thought that this misguided freedom was the worse alternative to the material things that my parents had given me. I tried my best to shake that thought away for a while, but it never fully left me.

Only when I was cloaked with sudden kindness in the middle of an Asian bakery, so unassuming and so fractal, did that feeling fade away.

I remember the morning was cold. I checked out of the motel I was staying in and walked out into the early bustle of the city. I aimlessly walked around, not knowing what to do with myself. I knew I needed a job, but I needed a place to stay too. I let myself pretend that I had some grand destination and increased my pace to match those beside me, people that actually had places to go.

Somehow I ended up in Korea Town, and I observed the shops and restaurants around me. I wanted to eat inside of this one noodle restaurant, but I didn’t want to sit alone. Looking out into the street, a bakery caught my eye.

The bell dinged as I stepped through the door, and instantly the head of an older Asian woman came out to greet me. Just like all older Asian ladies, she sensed that I was practically starving and offered me more than I had paid for. She looked at me with such genuine concern, a look I still wasn’t used to. I ate quietly on a stool by her display window, but watching me eat was not enough to satisfy her worries. She pulled up a chair next to me and asked me who I was, where I came from, my whole life. I hesitated to tell her the whole truth, but being truthful to a stranger was more comforting than talking to anyone I’d ever known.

Immediately, she offered her place to me and told me that I could work in her shop. I couldn’t process her kindness at all and I sat there looking at her with wide eyes. She took that as a yes.

Her apartment was conveniently right above the shop. She led me to the back of the shop where the stairs leading up to her place were. They were wooden creaky stairs with rails that I didn’t trust. She still held them though. The ceiling was not that high, but both me and her didn’t have the height to prompt crouching. We reached the last step, and I looked around her apartment that was surprisingly spacious.

Greeting us at the top of the stairs was a shrine for the Virgin Mary, ornate with rosaries, prayer books, and a sizable statue of the Lady right in the center. She began her tour, walking me through the kitchen which acted as an extended hallway to her small dining area. Unlike the kitchen I had left behind, this one had no island in the middle and no dishwasher. The refrigerator and oven were on the left with two countertops separating them. On the other side, were four more counters and the sink. Above them were cabinets that I assumed held dishes, glasses, and containers of butter that were meant to be tupperware.

Onward, she led me to her table with four chairs, where she told me we would eat breakfast together everyday. I smiled at the thought. We weaved our way through another open area that had a desk and multiple racks only filled with hangers, past her bedroom (which she pointed to), and back to the main hallway near the stairs and shrine. Leading me toward the right part of her apartment, she showed me her living room, which had windows that were just above the front of the shop and then she pointed to a door adjacent to the windows.

“That will be your room,” then she gave directions to the bathroom on the other side of the wall.

The whole time, I was silent, still speechless over her kindness. She remained with me in the living room, waiting for me to say something, probably knowing that I was overwhelmed. I felt comforted by her presence though, not daunted.

“Th-Thank you,” I started, “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

She smiled at me warmly and patted my back, and as she looked at me I realized something.

I didn’t even know her name.

She started to walk away, her hand motioning for me to enter the room, but I stopped to ask her name.

“You can call me Mrs. Park. I’ll be down in the shop if you need me.” She beamed, walking away toward the stairs.

My heart was grateful, and I wanted her to know that I wasn’t taking advantage of her.

I dropped my bag off in the room quickly, barely taking in what it looked like, and went downstairs. Finding an apron hanging on a rack near the kitchen, I put it on.

“Mrs. Park, I want to help you!”

She peeked out from the kitchen with that same warm smile from before.

“I knew that you were a good girl from the minute I saw you! So, how are you with cash registers? I’ll need you at the front because of your good looks.”

I laughed at her lightheartedness, and made my way to the front. Luckily, I already knew what all of the pastries were in the shop, and I knew how to speak Korean if I needed to, so I wasn’t worried.

It was around five in the afternoon. The rush of customers passed quickly, and people were looking for a meal, rather than a light snack. Still, I was at the front tending to customers that came in here and there. Some just wanted to ogle at the pastries with no intention of buying anything, an act I usually found annoying. Yet, my heart was warm, the warmest it had been in a long time. And I didn’t think i could feel a warmer feeling in my life. Of course, I was wrong.

I was peering into the display, taking note of the pastries that would need to be replaced soon, when the door swung open and I heard a deep, velvety voice resonate throughout the entire place.

“Halmeoni, did you miss me?”

Looking up from the display, I saw a tall guy that looked about my age wearing a black hat that covered his facial features slightly. The only feature I could fully see were his ears, which promptly stuck out of his hat. I could tell that he was smiling though. He had his long arms deep in his dark blue bomber jacket and he wore loose pants and black converse. He met my eyes for a second and I smiled at him, before Mrs. Park practically threw herself into his arms. He hugged her tightly, and I went into the back to let them have their moment. It seemed they hadn’t seen one another in a long time.

Minutes passed while they caught up with each other. I let myself wander through the kitchen, observing everything. Earlier in the day, she gave me a tour, showing me all the necessary components and gadgets and thingies I needed to know about, but I never took it all in.

Mrs. Park was a neat lady. I could tell that everything, from a dish towel hung on a rack to a knife placed on the counter, was meticulously placed. Most of her appliances all matched in shiny silver, but her utensils, cookware, and even her towels, all had cute characters on them. A rolling pin dusted in flour had laughing frogs plastered on the handles, and the cutting board underneath, was lined with dancing sheep around its perimeter. I made my way to the other side of the area, a sweet smell drawing me toward the pastry warmer. Maybe it was because I was getting hungrier by the minute, but up until that moment, I didn’t notice how amazing the bakery smelled. The sweetness in the air engulfed my senses, and it was all I could focus on, until Mrs. Park called out to me.

“I was wondering where you went! Come and meet my grandson!” She exclaimed, grabbing my hand gently and leading me back to the front of the store.

Sitting at the same stool I was just hours before, he turned his head to look at me and grinned sweetly. His hat was off, and I could finally see what he looked like.

His face didn’t match the deep, silkiness of his voice, but I was charmed by it. Everything about his face was kind, but looking in his eyes there was something else inside of him, something that I couldn’t put into words back then.

He got up from the stool to shake my hand, and when our hands touched, an overwhelming warmth from his hand embraced the coldness of my own. He made no comment about the contrast, and introduced himself.

“I’m Chanyeol, her most handsome grandson.” He greeted, the tone of his voice shocking me again.

Mrs. Park chided him by slapping his arm, and he winced playfully. She rolled her eyes and I laughed.

“I’m June.” I greeted, looking down at our interlocked hands that kept in contact for longer than usual.

For some reason it didn’t really feel awkward that our hands remained together, and it felt endless. We smiled as we looked down at them, as if they were meant to be this way--together.

Mrs. Park snapped us both out of our trance by talking about me living with her and we quickly separated, that overwhelming warmth still lingering in my palm.

I expected Chanyeol to withdraw his warmth completely and protest his grandma’s kindness toward me. He was here for a reason, and I had just noticed the suitcase at his side. In my mind, I readied myself to leave.

“It’s fine if I stay too right? I’ll take the couch.” He said, that new, yet familiar homeliness still clung to his voice.

I was shocked, a shock that only I was aware of in the now empty shop. I questioned where I was in space and time.

Did people this kind really exist? Am I really in the midst of them?

I put my hands up in protest, “No, you take the bedroom. I’m lucky to even be staying here at all.”

Chanyeol began his interjection, but was interrupted by his grandma, who slyly revealed her own ulterior motives.

“Why don’t you two just share the bedroom. It’s big enough for the two of you.” She said with a suggestive tone coated in feigned innocence. I could tell that she enjoyed watching us both interact, and because she is both a grandmother and Asian, she noticed how long our hands were glued together.

Chanyeol and I laughed at her forwardness, and memories of the place I left suddenly rushed in my brain. I remembered the rules that I had almost forgotten, those rules that I always liked to ignore when they weren’t around. And as I remembered how much I ignored that fine line my parents set between boys and girls, I hardly noticed Chanyeol touching the back of his neck shyly as he looked at me.

I didn’t mind sharing a room with him, and I couldn’t refuse the suggestion of the woman that was kind enough to let me stay in her home. Once I agreed, I looked at Chanyeol, who was visibly relieved, and it was only then that I noticed his nervousness, which I mistook as embarrassment, not endearment toward me. I laughed at the thought of him being insecure about something like his loud snoring.

Once we all realized we were intensely hungry, Mrs. Park decided to close the shop early. I offered to clean up the shop while she cooked dinner, but she protested, insisting that Chanyeol do it. He decided to compromise, saying that we would clean the shop together. Her smile showed her satisfaction and she directed me to a clean-up list posted on the kitchen wall. Chanyeol and I looked it over as she made her way up the stairs.

We decided to divide the work in half, and I asked him what he wanted to do. He put his finger up to the list, mulling over his six options, when I noticed a cut on the top of his hand.

“Actually Chanyeol, I’ll wash the dishes, wipe the counters, and throw away the trash.” I decided, walking away toward the sink, leaving him stunned in front of the list.

He eyed me quizzically at my sudden decisiveness. “What if I wanted to do the dishes?”

Piling up what needed to be washed already, then setting them down in the sink, I walked over to a cabinet and grabbed the first-aid kit. Ripping open an alcohol pad and a band-aid, I held up his hand, the warmth wrapping around my own, cleaned his cut, then smoothed the band-aid over it.

“You have a cut on your hand.” I said simply, letting his hand go before I returned to my dishes.

More focused on cleaning the shop well, I hardly talked to Chanyeol after that. I was too grateful to his grandma to make small talk that I thought would distract me from doing my best work. There was a moment in my head where I felt inclined to talk to him, thinking that Mrs. Park would be pleased to hear that we were getting along, but this was the way I had always thought. Everything I had ever done was influenced by the opinions, the praises, the considerations of other people. Even though I had cut the tether, I still felt suffocated. My true thoughts were clouded by the restricted way of life that distorted my mind, and while there were rules I ignored when they weren’t around, that was just a rebellion only I ever knew about. I didn’t know how to reconcile who I was with them, and who I was alone. I still wanted to know him, and I wanted him to know me, even though I wasn’t sure who that was.

I didn’t notice Chanyeol’s many glances at me and the many attempts he made to get closer to talk. Every step he took, I walked away, ready to clean the next thing, completely oblivious by his efforts. Yet, he wasn’t turned off by my focus or my silence, rather curious and amused.

He spent a good while looking at the band-aid I had put on him, deciding right there, that he liked me.

It didn’t take us long to finish, and the last thing to do was throw away the trash. There were three bags in total, and Chanyeol was happy when I finally uttered words to ask for his help. Going back inside, I rolled Chanyeol’s suitcase toward him, motioning him to go upstairs as I closed all of the lights. Unlike his grandma and I, he needed to crouch as he ascended the stairs, and even at the top, his stature towered over everything.

The smell of Mrs. Park’s cooking permeated through the entire apartment, sending me into a daze over the day. I walked to the bedroom and Chanyeol following me silently, so silently that I hit him with the door as I tried to close it. I opened the door to find him holding his forehead with his eyes closed. Immediately I touched his cheeks worried, like I’d known him long enough to have permission to do so.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. God, your steps are so quiet. Are you okay?” I asked, concern falling over my furrowed eyebrows. He took his hands off his forehead to put them over mine.

“Yeah, I’m good. You’d think that a tall guy like me would have louder steps right?” He laughed, and I was reassured.

I let myself sigh in relief and I took my hands off his cheeks. If I was more observant, I would have noticed his ears turning red. But, I was too engulfed by my own embarrassment to notice the effect I had on him.

He wheeled his suitcase in, then sprawled out onto the bed with a huge sigh. I walked to my bag I had thrown on the floor, rummaging through it for a hair tie and tying my hair up into a ponytail. I looked around the room closely for the first time, taking in everything. The walls were painted white and the floor had tan carpeting. The bed, adorned with a cute bedding that matched Mrs. Park’s kitchenware, was in the middle of the room, big enough for both Chanyeol and I.

I let my mind wander at the thought of what it would be like to sleep next to him, to have him hold me tightly around my waist or to lay against his chest. These thoughts didn’t arise because I wanted to do these things with him specifically. It was just easier to imagine him in this daydream. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be sleeping next to him because we weren’t anything to each other. We were barely friends. But, it was a nice thought that overwhelmed my feelings about what I had been through. I was always lonely where I used to live and having someone hold me was only ever a fantasy, not a possibility. He could feel me staring and quickly sat up to meet my gaze, which I averted toward the lamp next to the bed. He tilted his head curiously at me, and I expected him to make a comment about my staring, but he didn’t.

I continued to observe the room, turning my head toward the dresser across the bed, a small TV atop it with a few picture frames carefully placed on each side of it. I turned in place as I looked at the walls, which had posters of people that I assumed were Korean celebrities and singers.

Chanyeol noticed me observing the room and got up from his position on the bed. He started naming all of the people in the posters, who were all musicians he looked up to, the biggest poster being of Lee Moon Sae, his childhood hero. His eyes grew bigger in excitement as he explained all of his favorite musicians to me, his many talents and hobbies, his passion for music, and it was then that I realized Chanyeol wasn’t a shy person at all. I learned more about him in five minutes than friends I had known for years. Those friends I believed were friends at least.

“This used to be my room when I was in high school. My grandma’s lived in New York since I was seven and I left Korea to live with her. She never took my posters down, but I guess she couldn’t wait to change the bedding.” He explained, smiling at the sheets with happy animals holding hands.

“Hmm, I really would have thought these sheets would be your first choice.” I teased, walking over to sit on the bed. Amused by my teasing, he laughed, then sat dangerously close to me, his hands leaned back and his knees touching mine.

He looked at me, and unlike before, I met his gaze, our eyes fixated on each other. I felt like looking away, like I wasn’t allowed to stare at him, but somehow I let myself be engulfed by the atmosphere we had suddenly created. The bubbly warmth he created with his stories remained, but another magic entered the air and circled around us. I found myself smiling dumbly at him, not knowing what else to do. He smiled back even bigger, and that sweet, sweet magic in the air became harder to ignore, but more difficult for me to dissect.

There was something about him that charmed me, and I could feel his warmth beginning to infect where my doubts and apprehensions tried to devour me. Those usual thoughts somehow lost me as his eyes marveled at me with a glowing expression. Unsaid words danced around the room as we stared into each other’s eyes, and I was confused.

Confused about why he was looking at me this way, and why I didn’t want to look away from him. Confused, because I wasn’t on the outside looking in, I was fully there with him. Confused that it was easy to just be with him and say nothing at all. A comfortable silence surrounded us, almost consuming us fully until the sudden bang of the door swinging open sent Chanyeol flying to the ground in shock.

Mrs. Park entered the room shouting that dinner was ready, her eyes finding Chanyeol on the floor.

“What are you doing on the floor? Get up! It’s time to eat!” She urged, oblivious that she was the reason for his dramatic reaction.

I couldn’t control the sudden rupture of laughter that formed quickly in my throat. I held my chest in an attempt to control the sudden fit, but I failed. I fell to the floor next to Chanyeol and we laughed obnoxiously together. Mrs. Park’s voice rang through her apartment again, her second shouts threatening to take our food hostage.

We got up, and Chanyeol gently pushed me out of the door, the ever-growing smell of Mrs. Park’s cooking triggering my stomach’s rumbles.

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bylagunabay · 4 years

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Miraculous Medal Novena & Memorare

HEALING TESTIMONIALS

These short testimonials are well worth reading and studying.

MIRACULOUS MEDAL NOVENA

While the first Miraculous Medals were being produced in 1832, Paris was hit by a cholera epidemic, claiming more than 20,000 lives. In June, the Daughters of Charity distributed the first 2,000 medals, especially to infected people who filled the hospitals. Healings multiplied. The rest who wore the medal remained protected from the disease and from fear and distress.

1 Cure of M. Fermin, A Priest—1834

"To the glory of Mary conceived without sin, I, Jean Baptiste Fermin, unworthy servant of the Blessed Virgin, and subject of M. Olier, have, together with my Superior and confrères, thought it my duty to transmit to our very honored Father, an account of the special favor accorded me.

Many persons knew what I suffered for six whole years, how I was worn out with a nervous, worrying cough, whose attacks were so frequent and so prolonged that one can scarcely imagine how I ever survived them. My physician himself told me that, for the first three years, my life was in imminent danger, and if in the last three I was less exposed to death at every step, as it were, the giving way of my stomach, the weakness of my chest, were such that all my days were filled with bitterness, and new crosses were laid upon me.

O, Mary, how deplorable was my condition when you cast upon me a look of mercy! The 15th of November, 1834, I was sent a medal, struck in honor of the Immaculate Conception, and already celebrated as the instrument of many miracles. In receiving it, I was penetrated, for the first time, with a strong feeling of confidence, that this was the Heaven-sent means by which I would reach the end of my afflictions; I had not foreseen this hope, still less had I excited it, for I believe I can say, conscientiously, that I felt naturally disinclined to ask a favor of which I deemed myself unworthy. However, the feeling became so strong that I thought it my duty to consider it prayerfully next morning; and not to oppose so good an impulse, I determined to make a novena, and I commenced it on the 16th.

From that moment my confidence was boundless, and like a child who reasons no longer, but sees only what he feels sure of obtaining, it sustained me amidst the new trials to which I was subjected; for on the 19th, and several days after, my sufferings were redoubled, affecting at once both stomach and chest. On the 22d I felt considerably better, on the 23d I believed myself strong enough to abandon a diet on which I had subsisted a long time, and on the 24th I wished to eat just what was served the Community; that very morning I commenced, like the hearty seminarians, to take a little dry bread and wine, and it agreed [126]with me. Thus my desires were accomplished.

I had implored the Blessed Virgin to give me health to live according to the rule, and she had done so; but a good Mother like Mary would not leave her work imperfect, and she chose the very day of her Conception to bestow upon me her crowning favors. I was still troubled with a slight indisposition of the stomach accompanying digestion after dinner, but it was not positive suffering, and even this remnant of my old infirmity disappeared entirely.

On the eve of that Feast my devotion to Mary, which had lost a little of its first fervor, was, when I least expected it, excited anew, and I felt urged to implore the consummation of a good work so happily begun. I did so that evening, and next morning at prayers, at Mass, at my thanksgiving, and it was in finishing this last exercise before a statue of the Blessed Virgin, after a most fervent prayer, that I realized the recompense of my confidence—I felt assured that my petitions had been granted.

Since then I have experienced no indisposition worthy of attention. I was able to fast the Ember week before Christmas and the eve of that great solemnity; I sang the ten o'clock High Mass the fourth Sunday in Advent; I followed all the offices of the choir on those days the Church consecrates to the celebration of our Divine Master's birth, and, instead of regretting these efforts, I find in each one of them a new motive for blessing the Lord and testifying my gratitude to our good Mother.”

2 Ajax Francois / Bergie Chanlatte

Among those who were praying Novenas at the shrine were Ajax Francois and Bergie Chanlatte. Both are from Haiti and attend Creole Masses in their parishes, seated together at the shrine on Tuesday, still praying the Novenas.

“This is really part of my culture coming from Haiti,” Francois said. “I have been Catholic all of my life. I went to all Catholic schools. I have been praying the Novenas as long as I can remember. I always wear my large cross during Novena prayers because it helps me to feel the power of these prayers.”

Chanlatte said that she has been bringing all her special intentions to her Novena prayers. She said that she had a laundry list of prayers that have been answered by praying either Novenas for nine consecutive days or for nine consecutive weeks. She said that she has particularly had prayers of a very personal nature answered.

“I don’t share my Novena list, but I have been blessed. When you sit in a place like this and pray you know that God is hearing you. That’s why I love my Catholic faith. I live as a Catholic and I will die as a Catholic. I will always pray Novenas,” Chanlatte said.

3 Geraldine Dennis

Geraldine Dennis, a member of St. Raymond of Penafort in Mount Airy, said that she has also been blessed by praying Novenas. She said that she usually prays her Novenas to a certain saint, like St. Rita. She prays them along with her other daily prayers. This includes three to five rosaries, a prayer to St. Michael, prayers to Sorrowful Mary and chaplets.

“Usually Novenas are prayed to saint, at the shine to Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal,” Dennis said. “Many non-Catholics think that we, as Catholics, pray to saints. We do not pray to the saints or to Mary, but we always pray to God. We understand that once someone is a saint when they die they go into heaven.

“So, they are alive. We are not worshiping the dead. What we are actually doing is taking our prayers to them knowing that they are in heaven near God and Jesus. We are actually asking them to pray for us. It is just like when you know someone who is holy and close to God, you ask them to pray for you,” Dennis said.

Dennis said that the Novena prayers have much intimacy in them. She usually will write down a list of all the prayers others have asked her to pray. For instance, they may ask her to pray for them to recuperate, receive assistance in the financial area or for a family member who have lost their way.

It is from this exhaustive list that Dennis will pray her Novenas, usually for nine consecutive days. “When you consolidate all the prayers and all the people you are praying for, your prayers become more powerful. All that I know is that it brings more intimacy with God praying this way. I have done Novenas to the Holy Spirit, the Immaculate Heart, St. Therese and others. It really deepens your spiritual relationship with God,” Dennis said.

MEMORARE

Fr. Claude Bernard is credited with spreading the devotion to the Memorare after the prayer cured him of a serious illness. St. Mother Teresa used it extensively with wonderful results, even changing the weather.

1 Maura Roan McKeegan

Not long ago, I went through a very difficult and intense period of suffering in my personal life. There were times when I did not know how I would make it through the next ten minutes with the level of suffering I was enduring, let alone the next hour, day, or week.

Throughout this time, I prayed traditional novenas, Rosaries (especially the Seven Sorrows Rosary), and many other prayers. But during those instances of immediate and almost unbearable need, the Holy Spirit reminded me to have recourse to the Emergency Novena. Nine Memorares (with a tenth for thanksgiving).

With the first few Memorares, I began to breathe more easily. By the end of the last ones, I felt increasing peace. What was even more amazing, though, is that every single time I prayed the Emergency Novena, my prayers were immediately answered. Every emergency was resolved. Every prayer that came forth from the depth of my heart was heard. Every cry of spiritual agony was answered.

2 Lori Hadacek Chaplin

When Mother Teresa had an emergency, she and her sisters would pray the Memorare nine times for what was required, adding a 10th prayer as a thank you for the Blessed Virgin’s intercession.

Msgr. Maasburg in his book, Mother Teresa of Calcutta: A Personal Portrait said this about the saint’s practice: “She took the collaboration of Heaven so much for granted that she always added a tenth Memorare immediately, in thanksgiving for the favor received.”

The saint didn’t dub the devotion the “Flying Novena.” That title came later when people realized that this prayer works fast when said with confidence and faith.

Two of the most memorable answers to this novena happened when I prayed for my eldest daughter, Ella. She was suffering terribly from a toothache. Feeling helpless about what I could do for her, I said the Flying Novena. After I finished the prayer, I called her, and she told me that the pain, mercifully, had eased up noticeably.

The second time was when Ella was photographing a wedding. I got a frantic message from her, saying that the lens cleaner had seeped inside her portrait lens and the liquid had completely fogged the lens making it unusable. I told her that the lens would clear when the cleaner evaporated. She said she didn’t have time to wait — a quick search had told her that it could take days to clear — and asked that I pray.

As soon as I finished the 10 prayers, the lens was back to normal. Ella told me, “Mom, it happened too fast to be a coincidence.”

#catholic #healing #miracles #Miraculous Medal #memorare #mary #virgin mary #novena

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a-supernatural-writer · 4 years

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Prologue: Elemental Wiccan Pt.2

Summary: It’s the morning after Isabeau’s vampire nest hunt. With a knock on their front door, Isabeau is visited by an old friend and asked to help them. Will she leave home? Or will she stay?

Pairing: Eventual Sam x OC x Dean (polyamory relationship)

Warnings: language

Words: 2,481

*This work is also posted on other fanfiction sites*

Next Part | Main Masterlist | “Party of Three” Masterlist

Isabeau stepped down the stairs in a fresh new set of clothing. She was wearing her ‘Led Zeppelin’ t-shirt, fully showing off her right arm tattoo sleeve, black faded ripped jeans, a new pair of black boots, a multitude of rings adorned her fingers since she only really wears them when not hunting, and had her great grandmother's rosary beads wrapped multiple times around her right wrist.

Isabeau wasn’t exactly religious, she never went to sunday school like the majority of the kids she grew up with did, and never really was one with going to church. She never was against going but it was just her experiences that made her outlook on them slightly negative. Nothing like people telling her that her pansexuality was a sin and that she should ask for god’s forgiveness. Yeah, not the best idea to get people to go to church.

Nevertheless, Isabeau wore the rosary since they were one of the very few things that she had left of her great grandmother.

She walked into the kitchen and dried her damp white hair with a towel. She stopped short once she saw her parents talking at the diner table, both with cups of coffee in their hands and another cup filled with tea and slice of cheesecake next to her mother. Isabeau pulled the towel away from her head and rolled it up in her arms, letting her hair dry naturally.

“I didn’t expect cheesecake. I thought I was in trouble?” Isabeau asked. Placing the towel on the chair next to her and taking a seat in front of her tea and food. She immediately dug into the cheesecake and took sips of tea in between.

Bartholmieu chuckled at his daughter. “No, you’re not in trouble. But as your mother said before. Let us know when you go on hunts, where the hunt is and when you are done.” Isabeau leaned back in her chair, ready to argue, but her father put his hand up. “I’m not done. Let us know these things… when you can. You don’t have to call on every hunt, but occasionally check in on us just to let us know that you’re…”

“Alive?” Isabeau finished for him. Her parents were silent. Neither of them wanted to think that way.

Isabeau nodded. “I understand. Completely. I do.” Silence hung between the three of them.

Bartholmieu suddenly chuckled. “You know, I’m proud of you, Isabeau. This is your third vampire nest this month. How’d you do it?” Isabeau laughed at her father while Yvette smacked him in the chest.

“What?” He looked at his wife. “I want to know how she did it! If she used her powers or not! Aren’t you curious?” Yvetter rolled her eyes and looked back to Isabeau, waiting for an answer. She was quite curious herself.

“No, no powers used. Just my wit and a machete. No fire power, or moving objects. Pure brute force.” Isabeau explained. Isabeau always embraced her powers on a hunt. Having the power of being a fire elemental from her mother and the ability to cast spells, and all things wiccan from her father did help on hunts. Though more recently Isabeau has been relying on her own strength and methods. Acting more like a human hunter than a supernatural hybrid.

Her parents nodded at her, Yvette getting up from the table to clean the bloodied clothes that Isabeau came back in. Bartholmieu scooted closer to his daughter asking more about how she found the nest in the first place.

Hours passed as the three talked, cleaned and watched the sun rise over the horizon, waiting for the three boys to wake up and come down or breakfast.

Isabeau smiled as the boys footsteps echoed throughout the house like thunder. The three immediately attached themselves to their older sister, questions flowing out of them. Isabeau couldn’t help but smile and laugh at her brothers, telling them an over the top story on how she was able to take down the nest of vampires.

Yvette and Bartholmieu smiled at their children while cooking breakfast for all of them. Isabeau was gesturing her hands about with a smile on her face, almost as if her hunt was a tall tale to amuse her brothers. And it amused them, they laughed at her ridiculous acting, occasionally falling to the ground to represent the vampires she killed.

Isabeau knew that telling her brothers about her hunt was gruesome but this was her family. A family grown up to see gruesome as something normal. She knew that any normal children would have been scarred for life from hearing her stories and seeing the remains of corpses. And her brothers weren’t normal.

Strange enough, even though their parents were both supernatural beings, Isabeau was the only hybrid. Alphonse and Dion were both wiccans from their father, while Eugene was the other fire elemental in the family.

Yvette came over placing plates filled with waffles, fruits, bacon, the works for a giant breakfast. Isabeau moved to help her parents set everything at the table, grabbing juice from the fridge and the coffee pot.

She laughed as Dion placed a raspberries on his fingers, wiggling them at her. The sudden ring of the doorbell pulled her away from her youngest brother. “I’ll get it.” Isabeau told her parents, setting down the juice and coffee and jogged to the door with a smile.

When she opened the door, her smile slightly faded when she saw who knocked on the door. A man, a few years older than her with dark blonde short hair, green eyes with light freckles dusting his face. Isabeau was shocked. The man smiled at her. “Hey sweetheart, missed me?”

Isabeau broke out into a laugh and lunged towards him, embracing him in a tight hug. “Dean! You bet your ass I missed you!” Dean chuckled, tightening his arms around her torso, enjoying the hug.

“Easy there sweetheart, don’t go hurting yourself.” Isabeau rolled her eyes at Dean. She pulled away from him, taking her hand in his and pulling him inside the house. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?” Isabeau closed the door behind her and looked into his eyes.

Dean swallowed, smiling weakly at her. “It’s dad, he’s been on a hunting trip and he hasn’t come back.” Isabeau bit her lip. “Your kidding.” Dean scoffed. “I wish I was.”

“Dean?” Yvette walked over to both of them with a smile on her face. Dean smiled back, equally as happy to see her. “Mrs. Fitzgerald! Wonderful to see you!” Dean grunted in surprise as Yvette pulled him into a strong hug. “Dean please, how many times have I told you to call me Yvette?”

Dean smiled at her when she pulled away. “Too many times.” Yvette shook her head at him.

“Dean! My boy. Good to see you.” Bartholmieu and Dean chuckled and gave each other what Isabeau could only describe as a man hug. A good hardy slap on the back and never hugging for too long.

“Good to see you too, Bartholmieu.” Dean smiled. Bartholmieu put an arm around Dean’s shoulder and guided him into the kitchen. “Come on, we’re having breakfast. Join us!”

Dean was about to oppose, but then he saw the monstrous amount of food on the table, especially the waffles. He turned to Isabeau and pointed at her. “Your waffles?” Isabeau crossed her arms and gave him a look. “Who’s else's?”

Dean smiled, rubbing his hands together. “Don’t mind if I do. Hey kiddo’s what’s up?” Dean exclaimed taking the seat besides Alphonse. “Dean!” The brothers were beyond happy to see what they referred to their older brother, Dean.

Isabeau smiled as both of her parents and herself took a seat at the table, Isabeau sitting next to Dean, her father next to her and then her mother in between him and Eugene.

And just like that, the talk of hunting became obsolete. The family shared what Dean missed out on in the past two years, how Isabeau graduated college with her art history degree, the boys own activities; Alphonse being the top of his class for science, Eugene taking interest on working with his grandfather to rebuild old machinery, and Dion taking in an interest in cooking and baking with his father.

Dean himself shared what little part of his life that didn’t involve hunting, which wasn’t much. They all already knew about Sam getting away from the hunter life, going off to college himself and having a happy relationship with his girlfriend Jess, so Dean didn’t say anything about him.

As the meal went on Isabeau couldn’t help but occasionally steal glances at Dean while he listened to her brothers talk about what they and their friends did in their free time. He was just as handsome as she remembered him two years ago. If not maybe even more. She also couldn’t prevent her heartstrings from tugging seeing him so happy. She could tell he hadn’t had a home cooked meal in awhile and loved that he had a strong love for food like she did.

Dean himself couldn’t keep his eyes off of Isabeau. She grew into a stunning woman in the past two years that he didn’t see her. Her white hair got significantly longer, which Dean always thought her white hair was beautiful. He noticed that she fully completed her right arm sleeve tattoo and still wore the rosary beads that mean so much to her. Her love of rock music didn’t go away either, proved by the t-shirt she wore.

For the first time in a long time, Dean felt happy. Isabeau and her family were home to him, they took him and Sam in when their father wasn’t there at times. Isabeau’s parents treated the two brothers like sons of their own. Of course, the Winchester’s knew about Isabeau’s family as well. They were a family of elementals and wiccans but also hunters. A part of the supernatural that fought for the safety of humanity because all they wanted was peace.

As breakfast finished, both Dean and Isabeau made their way to the front porch and sat at the small table, Dean with a cup of coffee and Isabeau with her go to tea. “So, art history?” Dean smiled , taking a sip of his coffee.

Isabeau nodded, smiling as well. “Yep. Surprising, huh?”

“Very. You took a break from hunting I guess to get it?”

Isabeau pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Nope. hunting never stopped Dean, only slowed down. I got my degree but haven’t done anything with it for the year after I graduated. Hunting became my life again, well sort of.” Isabeau jutted her head to her family inside.

“I hunt when I need to, it helps that my family have hunted and well you know what we are. That’s my life Dean. It will also be filled with the supernatural and death. But it also doesn’t prevent me from living happily with my family. Honestly, the degree is plan B, once this is all over.” Isabeau explained to Dean, taking a sip from her tea.

Dean nodded, taking all of it in. He wrapped his knuckles on the table. “Too bad that didn’t happen for us.” Isabeau sighed, he was referring to himself, Sam, their father John and their deceased mother, Mary. Isabeau knew that if whatever killed their mother never happened, the four of them would be living a happy life.

Dean rubbed his face and leaned back in his chair. “But I’m happy for you. I am.” The sound of her brothers screaming happily throughout the house made him stop and chuckle. “Those little tikes grew up fast.”

Isabeau smiled fondly at Dean. “Yeah, they did. It’s scary. Seeing them grow up this fast.” Isabeau shook her head. “Anyway.” She set her cup down and folded her hands in her lap. “John’s missing you said? Why'd you come see me?”

Dean smiled, placing a hand on Isabeau’s knee. “I was hoping you could help me find him. Grab Sammy. Get the old team back together?” Isabeau bit her lip, looking away from Dean and looking out into the field.

Go back to hunting with the boys. Isabeau thought about it for a moment. Like she said, she wasn’t doing anything with that degree and hunting was already a full time job for her. What could be the harm?

Isabeau clicked her tongue and turned back to Dean. “Fuck it. Why not? Get the old gang back together. Plus, I get to spend some time with my boys.” Dean smiled and patted the leg that his hand was on. “Back your bag sweetheart.”

“Call me when you get there.”

“Mom.”

“And tell Sam we all said hi.”

“Mom.”

“And don’t forget your spell book no matter what!”

“Mom!”

“What?” Yvette exclaimed as Isabeau stared wide-eyed at her mother. Isabeau took her mother's hands off her shoulders and squeezed them tight. “I’ll be fine. Just one quick trip with my boys to help find John and then I’m back home. Promise.”

Yvette sighed, pulling her daughter into a tight hug. “You die, I’ll resurrect you kill you myself.” Isabeau rolled her eyes at her mother’s words. “Yeah okay mom.” Isabeau and her mother pulled away, only to be pulled into another hug by her father.

“Be careful.” Bartholmieu whispered to Isabeau. Isabeau softly smiled. “Always.” She whispered back.

They nodded to each other and pulled away. She chuckled as her brothers ran over to her and tackled her in a group hug. “Be good you gremlins.” Isabeau ruffled their heads and handed them a piece of paper with multiple numbers written on it. “If you three need anything call me, okay?” They nodded, Eugene and Dion running back to their parents while Alphonse stayed.

Alphonse took the piece of paper, folding it up and putting it in his pocket. “Beau.”

Isabeau stared at Alphonse waiting for him to continue. Alphonse took out a single black jeweled teardrop earring and placed it in her hand. “For protection.” Isabeau smiled at Alphonse, and immediately placed the earring in her right ear.

“I’ll wear it forever. Be good.” Alphonse nodded, hugging his sister one last time before running to his brothers.

Isabeau gave them all a wave, opening the passenger door of Dean’s Impala. “Take care of my baby!” Isabeau shouted at her father who shouted back that he will.

She slid into the passenger seat of the impala and closed the door. “Ready whenever you are, Dearie.” Isabeau called Dean by his old nickname. Dean chuckled, turning the impala on, AC-DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’ playing from it’s speakers.

“With you, Beau, I’m always ready.” Dean smiled, placing a hand on Isabeau’s thigh. The two of the setting out on grabbing Sam and setting out to search for John.

Next Part | Main Masterlist | “Party of Three” Masterlist

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spnfamily #spnfandom #fan fiction #oc #sam x oc x dean #dean x oc x sam #sam x oc #dean x oc #sam winchester #dean winchester #original character #original characters #season one #prologue #eventual romance #polyamory

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heartofadragon · 4 years

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Introduction to Jade Frollo and Jynn Sparrow

Trigger warnings: Abuse, mentions of physical and emotional abuse. Please do not read if sensitive to subjects such as this.

My friend and I started writing a Descendants RP...

My current characters are:

Jynn Sparrow

Jack Sparrow

Claude Frollo

Jade Frollo

This is my Introduction to my OCs Jynn and Jade. Enjoy!

"Je vous salue, Marie pleine de grâce ;

le Seigneur est avec vous.

Vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes et Jésus,

le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni.

Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu,

priez pour nous pauvres pécheurs,

maintenant et à l’heure de notre mort…"

Crack.

“Non...Je vous...salue, Marie pleine de grâce ;

le Seigneur est avec vous.

Vous êtes bénie...entre toutes les femmes et Jésus,

le fruit de vos entrailles, est béni.

Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu,

priez pour nous pauvres pécheurs,

maintenant et à l’heure de notre mort!”

The soft droning of a young mademoiselle obediently reciting the sacred, holy words taught to her long before that day could be heard if one were to listen hard enough whilst creeping along the upstairs living area that lay above Frollo’s Creperie. Whilst her words were soft and quiet, the unmistakable sound of an unknown object cracking against the subject of this torture in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit soon followed after every recital of the French prayer.

With every crack against her frame, the young mademoiselle was urged to put more and more feelings and sincerity into the words. It was already beginning to be a struggle to form the sacred words with her lips that had to be pressed ever so tightly together to stop her from letting out cries of anguish in pure agony. Her eyes were squeezed shut tight to stop the beast of a man subjecting her to such torture from seeing her cry; she did not want to give him anymore perverse, sick, sadistic pleasure that he was already getting from this.

The innocent mademoiselle was kneeling in front of a makeshift wooden altar on which lay many religious items: a cross fashioned from iron, goblets made from tin, rosary beads made from wood and glass and the most terrifying of all was the heavy, leather-bound Holy Bible that the young woman had been on the receiving end of a blow from many times in the past. Her hands lay atop the altar as she knelt on the uncomfortable, splintered wooden floor below her tiny frame; her body was shaking...though it would not be known as of yet whether it was from fear, genuine coldness or due to the fact she had been forced to hold that position for a number of hours.

The hands atop the altar were pressed together tightly and her fingers laced together in prayer, though that was not enough for the tyrant conducting this operation. He had taken his heavy, metal-crafted rosary beads from around his neck and wound them around her wrists until they could no more to keep the hands of the young sinner together in prayer. The beads were tight and dug uncomfortably into the soft and pale flesh of the young woman’s tiny, sparrow-bone wrists.

The young lady at the altar was frightfully petite. Her loose, white dress hung shapeless around her non-existent chest and body, her wild locks that hung around her face and down her back were raven-coloured and very dishevelled. The locks atop her head reached her lower back and hid the pale face that was streaked with stray tears. “Please Papa...I cannot do this anymore...I am tired...I beg of you, let me rest…”

The heavy footsteps of a man in leather boots freaked behind the girl, yet no words were spoken, The silence frightened her the most for she did not know what La Bête was going to do to her next. Of course this man was not a raving monster with thick fur and sharp fangs...he was an ordinary man of the church wearing flowing robes of fine, coloured material and a white piece of cloth draped around his neck to show his position as a man of God. The face of the supposed man of faith was thin and firm; he looked remarkably like a bulldog chewing a wasp most of the time and especially when dealing with his young daughter that knelt in front of him, begging for her release.

“How many times have you prayed to Our Lady? And don’t you dare lie to me…” the man stalked in front of his victim and placed his hand out, holding her chin in his right hand before kneeling down to her, looking straight into the tiger’s eye-like hues that stared into his own. The eyes of his daughter held a mix of amber, brown and yellow; the man of God could have sworn that on occasion he had seen the flames of hellfire in her eyes and as a result, she must be persuaded to see the light of the Lord. “I can always see when you are lying, petit oiseau…God can see when you are lying also...choose your words carefully.”

The sniffling young lady took a deep breath and swallowed the choked up tears that were desperately attempting to escape her. “Seven, Monsieur Frollo…” she whispered, awaiting the approval of her father.

Claude Frollo. The righteous man of Paris. Subjected to life on the Isle of the Lost with a daughter that had the devil waiting for her to go to sleep so that he could enchant her soul with images of free will, the taste of butter and finery. Of course, Claude Frollo was no stranger to the workings of the devil...for he had seen them all whilst residing in Paris. The one he remembered the most was the time a beautiful siren in the form of an “innocent” Gypsy girl serenaded and enchanted him into committing acts that he would never usually get involved with...he wished to separate himself from the licentious, lustful crowd of France, yet in turn he found himself engaging with them.

Oh how he longed to possess the heart, body and mind of that Gypsy...yet it was not to be. Therefore, he had to give her a cruel ultimatum and when that did not work, he simply took what was his. The result? A broken heart, shattered reputation and a spawn of Satan himself living under the roof of the only piece of French culture he had managed to force upon the piss-poor island.

Seven, Monsieur Frollo…

“And just how many ‘Hail Mary’ prayers are in our rosary, little bird?” Frollo asked his pathetic, snivelling daughter as he let go of her face and stood up to his full height, looming in front of her. “ten ‘Hail Mary’, one ‘Lord’s Prayer’ and a ‘Glory Be’...” his daughter responded, swallowing the last of the choked up tears inside of her and staring up at her father. “Then that is what you shall recite…”

“But-“

Frollo ignored the protest of his daughter and returned to his place behind her as she began to recite the words forced upon her once again. The last three prayers to Mother Mary, then a prayer to the Father and a last but not least, a Glory Be. She bowed her head in silence as she exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Please may I go now?” she asked. Frollo, in turn, untangled the rosary beads from his daughter’s wrists and motioned for her to stand. She did so rather shakily as the leather boots she wore creaked across the floor as she headed for the door, unable to contain her anticipation of being out of the presence of her father.

“Are you forgetting something, girl?” Frollo crosses his arms atop his chest and awaited for his daughter to turn. She did so rather slowly before seeing her father dangling the leather belt with the heavy buckle made of iron that had been cinched around the long, white dress that she was wearing. Walking slowly towards her father, the young, plain girl held her hands out to take the belt from her father.

Quick as a flash, the towering man crossed the belt over and whacked across her soft, white hands with the leather belt before pressing it into her hands. His daughter closed her eyes, allowing a tear to escape her left eye. “Thank you…” she whispered. “Get out of my sight…” Frollo was quick to respond and the young woman wasted no time in practically flying out of the room and across the hallway to her own simple room that held nothing but a bed, a single wardrobe and a similar altar to that in the makeshift church she had previously been to. There was no window, nor no mirror. The only colour in her room was the decorated, purple, silken scarf that held beautiful designs of celestial images on it that she kept hidden under her bed. The only thing she had of her mother.

Still sniffling, the young lady sat on her bed in silence. She heard her father in the makeshift church, humming to himself. It was not long before he creaked downstairs to the creperie, an attempt to earn them a living. Claude Frollo’s daughter lived a rather lonely life...though it would not be lonely for long. Outside of the small room, on the streets of the isle, she heard clamouring, restlessness...something happened, though this was not out of the ordinary, there were always fights breaking out at some point or another on the isle.

“Jade! I require your help down here!” Clause bellowed up the stairs and immediately the one now known as Jade slipped a pale blue apron over the white dress and quickly pushed her tousled locks into a bun before running downstairs.

Maybe one day...I will be free of all of this...of him…

*****

“So...whatcha got for me today huh?” a cocky, female voice rang out from behind a ruby-red, velvet curtain etched with golden lace. “Jewels...lots of precious jewels…” grunted a man with an eye-patch over his right eye, a tattoo of an anchor on his left, muscular bicep. He leant his arm on the wooden, splintered counter of a run-down looking shack. The shack was attached to the wreck of a ship with a sign on it reading “Sparrow’s Curiosities” and underneath that, it read “Got no cash? We’ll buy your precious items for coins.” Of course, words were misspelt and the punctuation and grammar was horribly inaccurate...it was obviously written by someone who was not the most literate one on the isle…

Heavy boots and jangling bags of coins could be heard moving about as a young woman with wild, curled, brunette hair mixed with violet, sea-green and dark blue streaks and a pirate hat on her head stepped out from behind the curtain. She had a slight, healthy tan to her face, yet her eyes were piercing emerald. “You ain’t gonna try and screw my dad over again this time are you?” she asked, leaning her arms wrapped in leather bandages on the splintered counter. The girl was wearing a black shirt that was cut off at the sleeves and had a buckled belt made of brass and leather around her waist, showing off the curves that she was gifted with. At her side lay a long cutlass that was carefully bound in place by a belt hanger.

The pirate in front of the counter pushed a woven bag of gemstones down in front of him and the girl and awaited her judgement of what he had brought in. Opening the bag, she looked inside of it and watched the sparkling gemstones glimmer in the dimmed light of the shack. Bringing out one of the stones, She examined it carefully. “Are you trying to fuck with me?” she asked, green eyes fixed on the gemstone then at the man.

Bringing her hand up above the table, she slammed it down, the gemstone making contact with the wooden table...as it did, it shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces. “Fake...it’s just glass, you sea slug!”

The girl drew her cutlass with a satisfying scrape as the metal sword was drawn from it holster. “Get out of here before I shish kebab ya…” her voice was low, a growl, as she stared at the man in front of her who swallowed hard. “Goddamnit...I need money, I ain’t got nothing valuable…” the man began to plead with the younger woman, something that was never expected to happen at all. “We ain’t a charity...so get out of here, Bucko…”

The man went to take his bag of gemstones but the girl quickly pulled the bag off of the table. “You know the rules...you try to screw us over and we keep the item free of charge...call it compensation for wasting our time…” she winked, clicked her tongue and headed back behind the ornately dressed curtain where a man was sitting at a table counting golden coins. His hair was braided and on his head, he wore a scarlet bandana. He had a neatly trimmed moustache and beard and wore typical, brown pirate attire with black leather boots. His grubby fingers held in brown leather, fingerless gloves counted golden coin after golden coin.

“Dad?” the girl asked as she entered, clutching the bag of jewels. Her own leather boots squeaked as she headed towards the man known as her father. The notorious pirate laughed heartily as he heard his daughter’s voice; she was his ultimate pride, joy and one love other than materialistic objects. He had taught her to cheat, lie, steal and swindle and everyday he saw her put his teachings into action.

Standing up, the pirate turned, his face visibly pleased to see his daughter as she clutched a bag of gems. “So...what do you have for me?” The pirate’s smile grew as his daughter set the bag on the table where the gold coins lay.

“Ha ha!” The pirate laughed again as he opened the bag and checked the gems for authenticity. “How much did this cost us, hmm?” he asked, suddenly feeling sick at the thought of how much his daughter might have given the punter for these beauties. “Nothing at all…” His daughter smirked as she responded to her father.

The father looked visibly concerned. “You didn’t offer him anything else did you...do I need to track this man down…?” The growing protection from the father heightened as he thought of someone violating his daughter in exchange for a few...very...stunning gems…

His daughter scoffed in response and looked visibly disgusted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nah, I used this…” she fumbled in her pocket and flicked a shining blue gem to her father. The father examined the gemstone and then turned to his daughter…

“Fake gemstone trick? You little beauty…” he rushed to his daughter and grabbed her by the face, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Well, well, well. Looks like I have taught you extremely well! Tonight, the rum is on me!”

#descendants #descendants evie #jay descendants #descendants roleplay #descendants oc #ben descendants

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jemej3m · 5 years

Text

To the Good Place We Go (p.2)

part two! (sorry about errors totally didn’t read over this)

credit goes to @gluupor for the idea! link to their the good place au here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782301

warning: aftg typical violence

part one here: http://jemejem.tumblr.com/post/182518320202/to-the-good-place-we-go

“I don’t belong here.” His voice shook. He imagined his father was looking up from the Bad Place, grinning like the mad-man he was. Neil was delivering himself into hell, because it was the right thing to do. His morals had been warped and distorted on Earth. If he was going to spend eternity suffering, he might as well make himself feel better by doing it honourably.

Also, he wanted to prove Andrew wrong. But that was besides the point.

Three-hundred and twenty-one residents, an omnipotent ethereal being and a walking Wikipedia stared at him in shock.

“Well.” Wymack clapped his hands together. “Dismissed, everyone!” He crooked a finger at Neil, and he felt his heart clambering to get out of his chest as he shuffled forward. He tried not to flinch as Wymack’s fingers brushed over his shoulder, and in less than a blink, they were standing in his office. Wymack rounded the desk and grabbed a stress ball off the desk and propping his feet up on the oaken edge, throwing it up and catching it repeatedly.

“Well?” Wymack offered him the chair. Neil sat. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t try to get in or hack the system somehow.” Neil murmured. “I’m not a mole. It’s a complete mistake.”

“Ha. A human, hacking into the universe? Very interesting. Very impossible. You humans are so strange.” He caught the ball, took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. “Neil Josten, you’ve been chosen as a candidate for MPP. The Middle Place Project. Nicky!”

“Yes?” Nicky had blooped into existence next to him.

“Strike Neil Josten off the Test One list.” Wymack’s smile was small but warm.

“That was a test?” Neil said testily. Wymack held out his hands.

“Honesty is an integral part of being a good person. You, out of everyone, are the most practised liar. Eight years on the run, twenty-two identities—I’m surprised you aren’t having an identity crisis.”

“Same.” Neil muttered. In all honesty, he was glad to have died as Neil Josten. Neil Abram Josten. Out of everyone he’d been, Neil was his favourite.

“If you can come forward, in front of the entire neighbourhood nonetheless, then I’m sure the rest will follow.” He cleared his throat. “The Middle Place Project is proving that humans are capable of change, whether it be improving, or failing. There’s a few in the midst of the neighbourhood that we’re watching to see whether or not you can improve from your characteristic behaviours on earth.”

“Will we get into the Good Place if you do?”

“Maybe in five-thousand years.” Wymack promised. “If I can manage to convince my superiors of your genuine progress.”

“Right.” Neil drawled. “Five-thousand years. No biggie.”

He glared at Neil with intense scrutiny, but somehow, Neil was unafraid of this ethereal being. He was giving Neil a chance, wasn’t he?

“Well?” Wymack grouched. “What are you still doing here?”

“What am I supposed to—“

“Figure it out, Josten. Just don’t tell anyone it’s a test. Got it?”

He pursed his lips. “Cool. Yeah. Got it.”

Wymack watched him, unimpressed, as he shuffled towards the door. Neil shot Wymack a quick grimace as he slipped out.

He blew his bangs out of his face with relief. Andrew stood in the waiting room, arms crossed and eyes barely slits. “So?”

“I’m alive.” He twinkled his fingers. “See?”

“Actually,” Nicky piped up.

“Shut up, Nicky.” They both ground out.

“Test forty-seven!” Wymack clapped his hands. “We’re finally getting into the good stuff. Ethical responsibility!”

Neil threw a troubled glance at Andrew, who, of course, stared impassively back. Ethics?

“What’s sitting in a classroom gonna do about our ethics.” Seth grunted.

Neil had decided he disliked Seth intensely. It was something about the constant fits of anger, irrational judgements and toxic intolerance to everything that wasn’t Allison’s tits or Adderall.

“Well, actually,” Kevin chided. Wymack snapped his fingers, effectively muting Kevin. The young man tried to scream in horror, but slumped in his chair with defeat.

“We’re going to be learning about some of your moral philosophisers and interpret what they had to say about what’s right and wrong. How about some basic questions, hm? Just to gage where each of you at.”

This wasn’t going to go well.

It was fine, wasn’t it? They had, what, five-thousand years?

“These first few should be simple.” Wymack picked a clipboard off his desk. “Let’s see. Neil?”

He looked up at the towering, omnipotent being. “What?”

“Is murder good or bad?”

Neil shrugged. “Depends.”

Wymack looked a little dismayed. “Andrew?”

Andrew jerked his thumb at Neil. “What he said. For example, Seth is a perfect example of why murder isn’t always bad.”

Neil grinned at him, and liked the way a spark of amusement glinted in his eye. Seth was probably clambering out of his chair to haul himself at Andrew in a fit of rage, but Neil wasn’t watching. He simply appreciated the sunlit hair that shone like spun gold, and the perfect understanding shared between them.

Their benevolent guardian simply dragged a hand over his face as his classroom dissolved into chaos.

“Good morning, son.”

Neil opened his eyes slowly. He was sleeping in a double bed, his double bed, in his cottage. In the afterlife. He was in the Middle Place. His name was Neil Josten. He had died at the age of 19. He played striker. His soulmate was Andrew Minyard.

Sitting upright, he saw Andrew standing at the opposite end of his bed. There was a young man standing behind him with a vicious glean to his eye; He had his chin hooked over Andrew’s shoulder.

Andrew was gagged, hands cuffed behind him. His feet were bare: His skin shone with sweat as his muscles convulsed. There were bruises blossoming under his skin: He’d put up a serious fight. How was he bruising? Could you be hurt in the afterlife?

“I said, good morning.”

Slowly, Neil craned his neck around. All six-feet of his father were craned over the edge of his bed, one fist denting the mattress and the other wrapped around Neil’s neck. He was looking at a mirror image, the eyes and the hair and the sadistic smile. Thick fingers tightened around Neil’s windpipe.

“Young Drake Spear was promoted to help me. It’s time to collect our rewards for such excellent work down in the Bad Place.” His grin was that of a wolfs.

“Fitting.” Neil wheezed out. Honestly, he was terrified. The thought of eternity trapped with the unending methods of his father was enough to wish that there was a way for Neil to die and end up in a further layer of the afterlife.

His father only laughed. The last thing he remembered noticing was Andrew closing his eyes. For a moment, it looked as though an angel was praying.

Dan crouched down, back to the wall. In her hand was a magnetic clamp, ready for Bad Nicky. It’d render him useless, and they couldn’t let Nathan Wesninski, Drake Spear or Riko Moriyama have access to him. They were powerful enough as it was.

Kevin was bone-white beside her. It had to have been years since he saw Riko Moriyama. Neil and Andrew weren’t the only ones facing their old demons today.

The man who’d stabbed Dan in the back had been boiling in a pit of acid. The demon in charge of the tank flashed a grin at her. “Want to join him?”

Aaron’s mother had leapt out at him from a shuffling line of prisoners, grabbing for fists of his hair and screaming. She hadn’t been able to tell which twin it was, mixing up the names as she spasmed with hysteria. Aaron had clutched his arms to his stomach and hurried away.

With Dan and Aaron’s close calls, Renee knew it was every possibility that her old gang leader had heard the commotion the group had caused and would want to connect with the girl who ended his life in a knife fight. Renee was clutching her rosary, praying as every demon brushed by her.

God, was Dan exhausted. Matt, Aaron and Seth had all been lured with narcotics. Then Matt got into a fight with a security guard, and Seth backed him up. Then someone insulted Allison as she was trying to flirt her way through a checkpoint, and she’d clawed their eyes out with her nails, but gotten bust up at a result.

So yeah. Not a great time for any of them.

“This is it, kid.” Wymack warned. “We’ve got a window of thirty seconds to get them out of there.”

Dan nodded.

A young man left the room, meaning Bad Nicky was watching over Andrew and Neil. Dan rolled out from her hiding position and bolted at the black-clad man standing in front of her. She whacked the cuffs on, stunning the look of contempt right out of those big brown eyes. He stumbled, turning around to look at her.

“Oh my god,” Allison cackled. “Bad Nicky is a straight, fuck-boy version of Nicky?”

It was true. He was wearing a flat-cap, backwards, and a big grey hoodie underneath a leather jacket. His jeans were torn and he wore stupid, stereotypical boots. He had a tattoo of a girl with her tongue between her fingers on his neck, and a gold-capped tooth.

“Hell.” He slurred. “You got me. Ha-aahh.”

Nicky was staring at himself with horror. “Disgusting.”

“Andrew,” Kevin faltered. “Where’s Neil?”

Andrew was sitting up, both hands chained to the bedposts behind him. He was blindfolded, his clothes in tatters and bloodied. Aaron rushed forward, dragging Nicky with him. The chains were cut and Dan watched Aaron murmur something to Andrew as he tore his blindfold off.

“We have to go.” Andrew said, fierce. Dan had never seen him so angered. “I know where Neil is.”

Matt grabbed bad Nicky and hauled him over his shoulder. The group filed out, lead by Andrew, Aaron surprisingly right on his heels. Despite the obvious abuse, he was legging it down the hallway. With the chaos of the Bad Place, the rag-tag team and their badges had looked like nothing more that a bunch of demons. With a Bad Nicky incapacitated and over Matt’s shoulder, they were running out of time. Andrew somehow had perfectly memorised the route to Neil’s cell.

They were almost there, when Andrew staggered to a holt. The young man they’d seen leaving the room earlier was standing in front of them. Aaron acted too quickly, brandishing a knife and jumping the guy. The knife buried itself into the man’s chest. Dan gasped.

“I won’t let him touch you again.” Aaron promised his twin. “Go.”

Andrew said nothing, instead shoving his way through a metal door on the left just metres past.

The demons present whirled upon their entrance. Dan felt her blood boil as she saw Neil in a chair, head hung. He couldn’t even lift his head to see who’d appeared.

“Wesninski, these humans are mine.” Wymack growled. “Give them back. They’re official property of the Middle Place.”

“Oh, oops.” The man—who did look scarily similar to Neil—grinned at the younger boy. Riko Moriyama. “It’s almost as though demons have to follow rules. Incredible.”

Riko had no eyes for anyone but Kevin. Kevin, who stood with his chin up and broad shoulders as he stared the other boy down.

“I’ll oversee your retirement myself, you rotten sack of sadistic fuckery.” Wymack snarled, stepping forward with Nicky at one side and Andrew at the other. “Back down. Now.”

“Kevin, Kevin, Kevin.” Riko clucked his tongue. “It’s so nice to see you. Such a shame that we’re opposed like this, brother.”

“I’m nothing like you.” Kevin rasped. “I’m going to go to the Good Place.”

“Why bother?” Riko leered. “When you can have so much more power, down here? They recruit the worst, you know. I was just human too. Now look at me.” He lifted his hand, and Neil spasmed, head flung back and mouth open in an aborted scream.

That was the precise moment that everything went to shit — as if everything hadn’t already gone to shit. Wymack launched at Wesninski: Andrew was hurling towards Riko, and the rest were attempting to shut the door on the copious amounts of demonic spawn trying to get a better look.

Dan was desperately trying to get someone’s attention but the only one who listened to her was Renee. That was ultimately futile, because Allison was thrown aside and Renee, obviously lost her shit. Even the faithful had their breaking points.

Kevin was desperately clawing for Neil to break him free: Andrew was brawling with Riko with a desperation that had Riko shaken, Wesninski was waving a knife in Wymack’s general direction, Matt was thrown over a demon’s shoulder and causing a ruckus, Seth was yelling and Allison was wiping furious tears off her face, snatching a knife off Renee.

Wesninski threw the knife. Riko threw himself at Neil. The door was thrown open.

“ENOUGH.” Nicky screamed, standing in the middle of the room.

Everyone froze.

“I’ve been through a lot, today!” Nicky’s voice was so shrill that Dan would have winced if she weren’t completely stiff. “I’ve hauled almost a dozen of you shits through portals, this way and that way. I’ve been running faster than I’ve ever had to run in my life, because I don’t run, I teleport! My husband’s disappeared because he wasn’t compatible with the Bad Place, I’m not meant to be this emotionally distraught because I’m just a machine, and now this?” He gasped. “I. Am. Flabbergasted. It’s my favourite human word, and that’s what I am right now. Not only have you—“ He pointed to Wesninski. “Defied basic laws by having a child with a human, you’ve been recruiting humans! Gracious, do you know the worst part of this entire shit-fuckery?” His voice raised into a scream once more. “I have to live out the rest of my eternal existence knowing that Bad Nicky is a straight fuck-boy!”

“That’s the worst part?” Neil said, weakly, his voice raw with screaming. “Well, gee, Nicky. I missed you too.”

“So,” Nicky continued. “I’m going to unfreeze my friends. Friends. F-R-I-E-N-D-S. And we’re going to leave. And am going to report your demonic asses to the new Lord Ichirou of the underworld, and I hope you live in agony for eternity. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” He snapped his fingers and Dan almost collapsed, if it weren’t for Matt holding her up. “We’re leaving.”

Andrew hauled Neil to his feet, clutching the taller boy to his side in a fit of possessiveness.

Dan stood by the door as she counted her crew out of Neil’s cell, watching Nicky carve an angry path through the mob of frozen demons. She glanced over her shoulder to see Kevin glaring at Riko.

“Kevin,” Dan started.

The man slapped Riko so hard that Riko’s head shifted, even with Nicky’s freeze power. Or whatever the fuck that was.

“You deserve so much worse than hell.” He said, calmly, before marching out the door. Dan followed him, squeezed his shoulder. His look was not as confident as he’d been momentarily ago, but he offered her a shaky smile.

“Let’s go home.” Wymack said, tiredly slinging an arm around Nicky’s shoulders.

They all smiled faintly, and with a nod, they were on their way home.

“How’d you do in the Trolley exam?”

Andrew glared at the sun. It was still peering over the horizon, the endless rolling hills, trying in vain to grasp a few more minutes of illumination. It turned the sky into a brilliant palette of purples and blues.

He wanted to shove Neil off the roof of this stupid house, but he probably wouldn’t even break a bone. He had been sleeping in Neil’s grossly cramped cottage for a few months, where there was only one room and Andrew had been donated the couch. They’d razed Andrew’s old house to the ground a few weeks back. That had been great fun.

The reason he wanted to shove Neil off was murky, but he knew part of it was because Neil provided him a tether: To stay in the Middle Place, to try and achieve Good Place status with everyone else, to stop himself from marching down and delivering himself into greedy hands. It didn’t matter if Drake and Wesninski and Riko were gone. Hell would still suck.

He hated it.

But he also couldn’t cut the rope.

“I ran you over. It was very satisfying.”

They corner of Neil’s mouth quirked. Andrew hated that too. He hated Neil’s stupid red curls and brilliantly blue eyes. They were sparkling in the sunset, each freckle and scar glossed with a decadent shade of gold. “What was it between?”

“You and nothing. I think I’m a bit behind in class.”

Again, the quirk of the mouth.

Truthfully, the choice had been between Neil and Aaron. Because they were all already dead and this was just a theory, Andrew knew it didn’t matter. But still, he’d found himself torn. Usually apathetic and uninterested, he was placed in the simulation and felt a strange thrumming in his. ear. His heartbeat. Quickening.

Aaron was his brother. He had promised Aaron protection. Aaron had gotten them both killed. Aaron ignored his conditions and went out with Katelyn, and lied about it. Aaron was his brother. Andrew died protecting Aaron from their mother. Aaron had stabbed Drake for him. Aaron was his brother.

But Neil was his other. Neil listened. Neil smiled. Neil was honest with Andrew. Neil was relaxed with Andrew. Neil looked at Andrew in a way that made Andrew felt as though he was coming undone, unravelling at the seams. Neil could see Andrew. Neil understood Andrew.

He’d only had a split second left to decide.

He’d chosen Neil over Aaron.

“Yes or no?”

Neil narrowed his eyes. “To what?”

“A kiss.”

The word sounded so delicate out of Andrew’s mouth. He felt delicate, exposed and raw to Neil’s understanding gaze. All this studying of ethics and morality and those stupid philosophers was getting to Andrew’s head. The question yes or no was balanced on a scale, the decision between forever and never ultimately resting on Neil’s final answer. Andrew fucking hoped it was a yes.

Death made one’s apathetic resolve melt like ice sometimes.

Gosh, he was a miserable forking sap. It was disgusting.

Neil smiled, so hesitant that it was almost unnoticeable. But Andrew saw it. Maybe Andrew understood Neil, too. “Yes.”

Fork the Good Place. Andrew was already there.

once again, credit goes to @gluupor /// link to their the good place au here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782301

hope u enjoyed!

#the good place #neil josten #andrew minyard #the good place au #andreil #the foxes #all for the game #aftg #david wymack #dan wilds #the foxhole court #part two #jem writes

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behindtheireyes · 5 years

Text

OC’s for my upcoming multi muse.

If you might be interested in interacting with any of them please let me know.

Under read more for length:

Ren Winchester

Due to a medical condition known as heterochromia iridum, where the irises have different colors. One eye (left) is brown, and the other (right) is green.

Special talents besides hunting: (All verses) Serenity is musically gifted. She sings very well and can play guitar, piano, drums, bass, and violin as well as compose music. She also has an eidetic memory which has come in handy on a case or two in the past. Other information: She was off helping an old high school friend with a slight ghost problem when Adam is found out about and had already left the hunters life behind when he came back as Michael’s vessel. To this day she doesn’t know she has a younger brother trapped in Lucifer’s Cage. She didn’t know who her father was until her mother died two weeks after 17th birthday when she found her mother’s journal and her birth certificate naming John Winchester as her father. Having suffered all manner of abuse by her junkie mother Ren wasn’t looking for a parent when she sought out John, all she wanted was was for him to sign her emancipation paperwork so she wouldn’t be stuck going into the foster system. She is independent, stubborn and the last thing she wanted or felt she needed was a family.

Mackenzie Williams:

Bio:

Mackenzie Williams was the youngest of four girls; her father was a horse rancher and her mother a writer. While her father loved all his girls the same he had always wanted a boy to take out hunting, fishing and teach how to shoot. By the time Mackenzie came along he had decided screw it and treated her like the son he always wanted as soon as she was old enough to hold a fishing pole he started teaching her how to survive in the woods.

By the time she was 12 she had won multiple awards for shooting and surpassed her father as a hunter and tracker.

At 15 her father put a gun to his head in the form of a bottle of whiskey and sleeping pills after her mother and sisters were killed in a car wreck.

She spent the next three years in and out of different foster homes. She was a punk kid with a chip on her shoulder and was pissed off at the world.

That all changed the day she sat down at an outdoor café to write and an Irish brogue asked if he could join her, she looked up into the most amazing pair of blue eyes she had ever seen and said yes.

She and Sean were married 6 weeks later

They had been married almost 15 years before Kenzie was able to get pregnant

Sean was infected early on when he was bitten by what he thought was a strung out junkie during one of his graveyard EMT shifts. Kenzie, sent him to bed with a kiss and during their sons naptime went to her her darkroom to develop the photos for the book she was putting together. When she heard Liam screaming and a growling noise through the baby monitor she grabbed the gun from her desk and ran to his room.

A perk of being married to a hot headed Irishman that refused to curse, for the most part, around a woman for fifteen years was that she picked up how to swear in Irish. A skill she used when she walked into her infant sons room.

“Cad é sa diabhal atá ar siúl?”

At the sound of her voice Sean, or that thing that had been Sean, looked up at her with chucks of their child’s flesh hanging from his mouth. It hadn’t even taken two steps towards her before instinct took over and a shot echoed through the room.

She crumpled to the floor as her heart shattered and quiet sobs filled the room, in the space of a few minutes her world had come crashing down around her. She couldn’t remember how long she had been sitting there when she heard soft growling mews coming from Liam’s crib. Without a second thought she stood up and went over to the crib, there was no emotion in her as a second shout filled the room.

Within the space of an hour she had gathered up what weapons and supplies she could; she also had gathered together a few photo’s, Liam’s favorite stuffed bunny, Sean’s family bible and rosary, as well as his wedding ring and cross that he always wore. Before she left she placed a lit candle on the counter by the stove and blew out the pilot light, she wanted to be far away before the house went up destroying everything that was in it.

Wearing her husband’s cross around her neck along with his wedding ring and his rosary around her wrist she drove to the one other person she still had out there, she didn’t know if Phillip would believe her about what just happened but she had to try.

Harley Lucille:

Bio:

Harley doesn’t remember much about her life BN (Before Negan) as she calls it, fuck she doesn’t even remember her name from before she met him. There’s shadows of ballet class, a dark haired woman who smelled like cookies and a tall man who called her Princess but that’s all. Her strongest memory before meeting her new father was of being shoved in a closet by the tall man being ordered to not leave unless he or the woman came for her. Then there were screams, gunshots and a deafening silence that lasted until hunger finally drove her out of the closet.

After running to the kitchen to grab a pop tart she found both her parents dead on the floor. At nine years old her mind started shutting down and just curled up with the woman as she ate.

The little girl didn’t know how much time passed but it was long enough for the other bodies to smell and decompose. When it got to the point that she couldn’t stand the smell anymore and was covered in just as much gore as her parents she left the house with just the clothes on her back with a box of stale cereal in her hands.

It was probably the fact that she was covered in the gore that allowed her to survive until Negan found her wandering around completely lost. It wasn’t long after he left the hospital so the pain of losing Lucille was still fresh in his mind, this terrified child that couldn’t even speak gave him something else to focus on for a while. It wasn’t his plan to keep her but the first time she actually spoke was to call him Daddy. It was at that moment he named her Harley Lucille, partly for the child he and his wife had so desperately wanted.

And as another way for the baddest bitch he ever knew to live on.

#Out feeding birds (ooc)#new blog news

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sleepinelysium · 6 years

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Church

Here we are! Another one shot! I really like this one, and I hope y’all like it too! Comment if you want me to tag you when I post another fic and always feel free to drop me a prompt!

@princess-of-france, @skeleton-richard

He was exhausted, though that was nothing new. He’d been in meetings all day, talking about what to do with the people of Harfleur, with his soldiers, where to attack next, and what to do with all of the soldiers that were falling ill will dysentery. He shuddered. What an awful way to die. He’d finally slipped out when one of his nobles was starting to look a little worse for wear. Though, that was a really bad sign.

He sighed. He had a cloak on with the hood up and he was wandering through the town. Aimless. Lord, he’d never felt more aimless, more distracted, then he had recently. Everything was a blur until he walked past a pair of red double doors and stopped in his tracks, then turned to look at them.

The church was small. He’d taken service in Saint Paul’s, Westminster, and Christ’s Church in Oxford, among others. All fine, big, ornate churches, much finer than this one. There was one conciliation at least, he smirked as he stepped inside. They all more or less smell the same. The smell of incense filled his nose as he walked through, looking at the stained glass. Colored light shafts danced through the air, casting their colors on the floor and across his face as he passed them.

It had been too long since he’d been inside a church. God, for at least a moment, he felt he could breath again. He went back and walked down the aisle, making a sign of the cross before slipping into a pew towards the front. He pulled out his jet rosary, feeling the short strand of cool beads between his fingers. He couldn’t quite focus on the Latin, though the words flowed off his tongue unbidden. He just focused on the feel of the beads and the smell of the incense and the sight of the corpus hanging from the cross.

His mind was blissfully blank, though there was still something…he didn’t even know what was going on. But, he just tried to savor the moment.

It wasn’t working as well as he’d hoped. The more he trued to focus on nothing, the more he became aware of how everything just…hurt. He wished he could pray, that he knew what he wanted or needed, but all he knew was that something had to change. There were no words bouncing in his head, no images burned into the back of his eyes tormenting him, but he ached to his very soul, and it wouldn’t go away.

He felt a huge knot tie itself in his throat, and all he could think about was when the physicians would help him into the aisle of the nave after he was wounded at Shrewsbury. They had tried to get him into a pew a few times, but he had been too weak, so they let him sit or lie on the floor so he could look up at the crucifix and he would run the beads of his rosary through his fingers so much the smooth wood would grow warm. Lord, he thought he’d wear the reliefs down, he counted many prayers that year. He got rid of that rosary once he was healed. The bloodstained beads were too heavy a reminder of how close he’d come to death.

Shit. That wasn’t helping him keep composed. Thinking of how young he’d been and how thoroughly terrified he’d been, sitting in the middle of that Latin cross church, trying to get as close to the heart of Christ as he dared, begging for his life and his soul…

Maybe not so much had changed in twelve years.

He didn’t hear the priest walk up and didn’t know he was there until the man sat down. The two sat in silence until Henry had finished running the beads through his fingers for the n-th time. Then, Henry turned to the priest and kissed his hand.

The priest greeted him in French, and Henry shook his head. “I don’t speak much French, Father.”

The priest blinked a few times, then repeated himself in Latin. Henry couldn’t keep the smirk from his face as he answered back in the same tongue.

“What seems to be the problem, my son?” the priest asked.

Henry shrugged. “Father, I wish I knew.”

The priest nodded. “It is good, then, the Lord knows all.”

Henry sunk back against the pew. “I just wish he’d let me in on it, a bit.”

The priest smiled. “We all do, my son. It would make all of our lives a bit easier.”

Henry nodded in return. “I feel so out of sorts. I’m just— I want to feel… not like this.”

“You’re in the right place to start. But, tell me what the problem really is.”

“If I knew, I’d share. But, I don’t even know what’s wrong.”

“You are…English, yes?” the priest asked delicately.

Henry nodded. “Yes.”

“And you participated in the…recent conflict, yes?”

The pale faces of his men in the dying light flashed in his mind. “Yes. I did.”

“That may perhaps have something to do with your feeling out of sorts. It was…not a pleasant experience for anyone involved.”

“It’s part of my job, Father. What am I supposed to do?”

The priest shook his head. “I don’t really know, my son. Bloodshed and death…they were not meant to be natural to us. This is…not natural. The world is out of sorts and groaning under the weight of our wrongs. But, the fact you groan under the weight of this shows there is good in you, my son.”

“But what do I do? I can’t just stop.”

“Why not?”

Henry didn’t really want to reveal himself. He shifted uncomfortably as he answered, “I am an English Captain of a company.”

The priest gave him a look, but nodded all the same. “Ah, I see. You lead men, no?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You do your best to lead them well? To protect them and care for them?”

“To the best of my ability, yes.”

The priest shrugged. “Sounds like you’re doing the best you can, to me.”

“Then why do I feel like shit?” he asked before he could really think about he was saying. Once the words were out of his mouth, he turned to the priest, eyes wide. “Forgive me, Father.”

The priest held back a smirk. “You’ve been saying enough Hail Marys here, I think I’ll let this one slide.” He scooted a little closer to Henry, resting his forearms on the pew in front of him, clasping his hands. “You must do as every other hurting person. Take a deep breathe, and try to make it through the day.”

“That seems impossible, right now.”

“It seems you don’t have much of a choice, Your Majesty.”

Henry’s head snapped to the priest. He was greeted with a knowing smile on the older man’s face. “Your scar is not a common one, My Liege.”

Henry nodded absently. Suddenly, he felt so tired. All of the pain and turmoil had boiled itself into vapors. He gave a deep sigh. “It’s just hard.”

“Being mortal was never easy.”

Henry stood from the pew. His feet felt like they were cast in lead. He needed to return to his tent. Maybe lie down for a bit. Maybe that would help. “Thank you for your time, Father.”

“The Lord’s doors are always open, my Royal Son,” the priest answered, making a sign of the cross.

Henry gave a slight bow, made a sign of the cross before the crucifix, and walked down the nave and towards camp. Lord, he hoped no one would try to catch him. He really needed a rest.

Catherine’s blonde hair was tied up, and she wore a white cap and veil with her white dress that her mother had insisted on. She hated wearing white for funerals. When your eyes are already uncomfortable from crying, white does no favors to them. She shifted where she knelt on the pew, her knees creaking from kneeling so long. It felt like the hard facets of her beads would make callouses on her fingers, she’d prayed so much.

Good, she thought. Maybe Mary will listen, then.

A sob tried to claw it’s way out of her throat, but she swallowed it, turning it into a broken whimper. Louis had died horribly; his corpse had been thin, too thin, and so pale. Nothing at all like how he’d been in life. He’d been full of fire and light. She shuddered.

She heard someone walking down the nave behind her and they shuffled into her pew and knelt next to her, pulling out their own rosary as well.

She turned to see her brother, John, the new Dauphin. He looked as pale as her dress, no, as pale as a corpse, and she had a fresh memory of what that looked like. His hands shook slightly as his fingers fumbled with his beads.

She shouldn’t do this, she thought to herself, but she wrapped her hands around his and a sob strangled itself in his throat. “I didn’t want this. I never wanted this,” he whispered.

She pulled him into a tight hug. “I know, John. I know.”

They sat in silence and she stared at the cross on his rosary. Why did Christ need another of her brothers? This was the third son her Mother had lost, and it showed. Mother was strong, much stronger than Father, but everyone has their breaking point. She looked up at John and prayed harder than she ever had that he wouldn’t be next. “God keep you, John,” she whispered.

He gave her a hug. “God keep you and bless you, Catherine.” When he let her go, he sat back, looking at her a moment, then he slowly stood. “Dear sister, don’t forget to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” she answered sharply.

“You should come to dinner anyways.”

She shook her head. “The smell of all that food would make me sick.”

“Catherine, I don’t want to be there by myself.”

She arched one eyebrow. “We’re never alone.”

“I’ll have no one on my side.”

She was still confused.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You love me because we’re family, not because of anything I can do for you, and I need that. Please?”

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll come.”

He looked relieved. “Thank you, Catherine.”

She turned back towards the altar. “Send someone for me when it’s time.”

He nodded and bent to kiss the top of her head. “You are too good, Catherine. Say a prayer for me, too.”

She looked up, her eyes watery. “You think I would forget you?”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he answered. “Thank you.”

She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Bless you, John. I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll see you later, Catherine.”

He walked down the nave and out of the church without looking back. He’d already intruded enough in her moment.

When the doors shut loudly behind her, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Her hands shook and she couldn’t make it stop. When she heard the doors opened later, she flinched. She prayed it wasn’t Father. He was…not well. That’s how Mother always put it. She wouldn’t admit to herself that he was mad, only that he was ill. And she hoped it wasn’t her Mother, either. It was most painful to watch her crumble. Mother was not made of the same flesh and blood as everyone else. She was carved of stone with ice running through her veins. To see anything else of her…well, she’d just rather not.

She needn’t have been concerned, the footsteps were different. “My Lady,” the voice said, softly.

Catherine looked up into the kind face of the bishop who had read Louis’s funeral mass. “Your brother, the Dauphin, sends for you.”

“He calls from the grave?” she said before she could think. “Votre Excelence, forgive me, I shouldn’t have said that. I will come, as promised.”

He slipped into the pew and sat next to her. “Were you close with your brother?”

She shook her head. “Not particularly, but he was still my brother.”

“He still is your brother,” the priest amended. “He was still born of your parents, and death does not separate us from the Church.”

She shook her head again. “That may be true, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

He nodded. “I know. I lost my brother at about your age. And some days, it still hurts. But I promise, the ache dulls and it hurts less frequently. You just have to have patience, my daughter.”

More tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t want to be patient.”

He offered his hand to her and she took it. He gave it a squeeze. “No one does. But, we don’t get much say in the matter, so better to practice patience then to remain impatient and increase our own suffering by over-anticipating its end.”

She nodded. “I’ll try, Votre Excelence.”

He gave her a small smile. “Your best is the best I could ask for.”

She slipped her beads in her pocket and stood. “I will come with you, Excelence.”

He stood as well, but shook his head. “I’m not going with you, I was simply asked to deliver the message.”

“Of course.”

He made a sign of the cross, whispering a short blessing over her, then moved to let her out of the pew. Once in the nave, she curtsied as she crossed herself, then gave a curtsey to the bishop, and started out.

Alice sat just on the other side of the door against a wall, asleep. Catherine smiled and shook her gently. “Alice? Alice, wake up.”

The woman jumped as she startled awake and looked up at the princess. “Princess, are you well?”

Catherine nodded. “I’m heading to dinner and I didn’t want to leave you here.”

Alice nodded as she stood from what had obviously been an incredibly uncomfortable position.

As they walked together towards the hall, Catherine thought maybe she understood better than she had thought what it was like to be alone in a crowd versus having someone there on your side. After seeing Alice asleep against that wall, she knew Alice was on her side.

The ink stains were fresh on his hands as he stood at the altar, his heart beating out of his chest. She had assented, she had smiled, but would she really come? Or would she turn and run?

Humphrey put a hand on his arm. “She’ll be here, Hal.”

He nodded, just staring past the bishop at the altar wall. The music started, and he really thought he might drop right there. He so wanted to turn around and watch her, but he kept control of himself and turned to Humphrey instead. Humphrey gave him a reassuring smile and a nod. He counted the clicks of her steps until the clicks stopped and he could feel her next to him.

The bishop spoke, but Henry couldn’t hear it through the blood rushing in his ears. Finally, they could turn and look at each other and his heart stuttered in his chest. She looked radiant in a sapphire blue dress with gold trim, her blonde hair tied up under a gold cap. Her eyes shone like jewels under her short veil and he could see she was trying to keep a smile from her face.

He didn’t even try. Later, when the bed was cold and her heart shattered, she would think how his smile was radiant as the sun, and just as warm.

“Do you, Henry, King of England, take Catherine of Valois to be your wife?” the bishop asked.

Henry nodded as he tried to find his voice. “Wholeheartedly, I do.”

“Do you, Catherine of Valois, take Henry Plantagenet to to be your husband?”

Catherine’s smile grew wide. “Oui, votre Excelence, I do.”

The bishop smiled in return as he turned to Henry. “You may give the ring.”

Henry took the three lions from his finger and held it at the tip of the ring finger of her right hand as he took a step closer. “Say that I am yours,” he whispered.

“You are mine,” she whispered back.

He slipped the ring on as he said, “Then England is thine, Ireland is thine, Wales is thine, France is thine, and least among them, Harry Plantagenet is thine, my Queen.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the bishop said.

Henry carefully lifted her veil, but her lips were on his before he could think of bending down to hers. “You are the least of nothing, votre Honneur,” she spoke against his lips.

He didn’t think his smile could get any wider without breaking his face, but he managed. “We are one in the eyes of God, Cate. Such formalities of court do not confine us in private. I am your Harry.”

She brushed her thumb lightly across his cheek and his scar. “You are my Harry.”

His heart flew higher than the ceiling of Troyes Cathedral as they walked out the doors together, into the waiting carriage that carried them off. He didn’t really care where he went, because his whole world sat beside him, beaming. She kissed his hand where the lions had sat on his finger, then his scarred cheek, and not for the first or last time, he wondered what the hell he’d ever done to deserve to have someone so beautiful and gentle in his life.

#this is 7 pages in word #i really like this one #and i'm usually more nervous about my fics #Lord I love Hal #Prince Hal #henry v and katherine #henry v and catherine #Henry V #Catherine of Valois #Katherine of Valois #I can't decide how to spell her name #I keep changing it #Shakespeare #my writing #fanfic #histories #shakespeare fandom

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graceofaphoenix · 7 years

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The Hatching of a Plan

Rhon: ::Snarling at my image in the mirror as I adjusted the fancy suit I wore, feeling it tight around my large body. I hate this part of my life and I felt like nights like this were a waste of time, a waste of a night that could be spent hunting the scum. Tonight was yet another Glymera party and while I would normally just sneak out and not show up, my mahmen had been keeping a rather close eye on me ever since the other night so it was best if I at least made my existence known at this party. Looking away from the mirror long enough to send a text to my partner, letting him know I wouldn’t be there tonight even though the Scribe knew I wanted to be. My partner was a good man, a civilian who wanted to fight the Lessers and although he was an amazing fighter, it didn’t hurt to have some back up once in awhile. Once the message was sent, I looked back up at my reflection staring at the stupid suit I had managed to squeeze into and once again sneered at how I looked. I wanted nothing to do with the Glymera and these suits I was forced to wear during these parties made me feel like a prisoner in my own body, I much rather be wearing my leathers. “Rhon, hurry up! The Doggen will be here any minute with the car.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at my mothers impatience and want to take a car two blocks from the house. It was needless to have a Doggen take us such short distance when we could dematerialize or even just walk it. Taking one last look in the mirror and sneering once again, I leave the room and head to the front door where my family was waiting, tonight was going to be a long night. (@Larimar_BDBRW)

Larimar: Black was definitely my color but, red was a close second, and at events like tonight, red was my favorite option. I pulled out a sleek, scarlet, strapless gown from my closet and hung it up on the corner of my floor-length mirror. This one would be perfect. I would wear my hair up, with a few soft, curly tendrils of hair falling loosely against my shoulders, diamond dangles from my ears and my diamond rosary necklace that matches, laying perfectly atop my decolletage. For makeup, Dolce & Gabbana’s “Candy Apple” lipstick would be the perfect shade for this gown. Add in a little smokey eye and some blush, and the look would be complete.

I loved these Glymera events. It was like going to a grand ball; everyone was dressed to the nines, there was expensive champagne flowing until the early hours of the next day, and there was dancing. Of course, I hadn’t done much dancing in the past few years, seeing as my male was never even a thought on the guest list. He wasn’t Glymera, not even close. He was a civilian, and a fighter. Neither station fit for a Glymera female. Hence, all the secrets. I really did hate lying to my parents all the time but, there was no way they would ever consider him as a “viable candidate” (their words, not mine) for their one and only daughter. It hadn’t been until recently that they began to push me towards finding a mate. My mahmen had started “The Hunt” as I called it. She had actually brought males into our home for dinners, to try and match me up. The more I pushed against her attempts, the harder she seemed to fight back. I definitely got my stubbornness from my mahmen. No question there!

It took me about an hour and a half of fussing but, I was finally happy with my look for the night. Grabbing a clutch and tossing a few necessities into it, I made my way to the foyer. “Are you sure there’s nothing you missed up there, sis? Maybe, one hair you forgot to pluck in your left eyebrow, or something?” my brother’s comment dripped of sarcasm.

“At least I actually bathed myself, fully. How is it you can cover your whole body in a three minute shower?” I retorted. It was all in good fun. We liked to taunt each other but, when push came to shove, my twin and I were thick as thieves.

“Enough.” My mahmen said as she tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I swear, you act like you’re both still twelve sometimes.” Waving a hand towards the door. “Now, get in the car. Your sire will meet us there.”

The three of us piled into the back of our stretch limo and headed downtown to the gala. (@SonInCamo_BDBRW)

Rhon: ::The ride to the party was a quiet one, my youngest brother still a bit afraid of me after the knife throwing incident and my other brother wasn’t much of a talker to begin with. Once we pulled up in front of the house, my mahmen seemed to look at all of us and her gaze fell upon me. “For once Rhon, please don’t cause a scene and actually make us proud to call you our son.” I knew my mother at times hated claiming me and it wouldn’t of surprised me if both my parents had discussed disowning me a time or two and although I loved fighting, it didn’t mean I loved the disapproval of my parents.:: Yes, Mahmen. ::It was a simple reply and I knew I would do my best to do what was asked of me, no matter how much I despised these social gatherings. My mother seemed to stare at me for a moment or two longer as if she was trying to decide to believe me or not before she finally offered me a rare smile and spoke again. “Maybe with any luck you will find a nice female at this party and maybe give up that thought of being a fighter.” I had to bite my tongue in order to not get snippy with my mother but in my head all I could think was that not even the Scribe Virgin could provide my mother with that miracle. Quietly I exited the car and made my way into the gala, scanning the room for a certain person whom tended to make these damn parties a bit bearable at the very least. (@Larimar_BDBRW)

Larimar: Excitement buzzed through me like a live wire as we pulled up to the venue and the driver got out, walked around the car and opened up the car door for us. I may not agree with the politics of my station but, that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the perks that came from growing up with old money, and these galas were one of my favorites.

The driver offered his hand to me, in assistance. I reached out and took it and he helped me out of the car. I immediately moved out of the way to let my mahmen and brother out, all the while taking in the enormity of the place. There was carpeting laid out on the walkway and stairs, leading up to the massive entryway, lined with ancient, greek-looking pillars. The lighting was soft, yet still enough to light the entire passage.

Once everyone was out of the car, I just about bolted up the stairs, silk shawl blowing in the wind behind me.

“Larimar!” I heard my mahmen speak under her breath. Custom was, the families would enter together, /calmly/ and orderly. Proper. It was embarrassing enough to her that my sire was meeting us there. There was no way in hell the three of us were walking in separately.

I inhaled a deep breath. “Okay. Okay.” I replied, as I turned around on the top step and waited for my mahmen and brother to catch up. Once they had, I linked arms with my brother, Killian, and shot off a bright smile to my mahmen. “Ready?”

She just shook her head and walked one step ahead of us.

Killian elbowed me in my ribs, “Could you just settle down for five minutes to get us through the doors?”

With a sly grin on my face, I shifted my body to hold my head up just a little higher, rounded my shoulders back, and demurely adjusted my stance. The deviation in my body was slight but, the impact of the adjustments were great. I now looked like the perfect, proper princess my mahmen was expecting me to be as I entered the great hall behind her. (@SonInCamo_BDBRW)

Rhon: ::One by one the other aristocrat families began to arrive and slowly people would drift off to their own cliques within the bigger clique. I never really fit in anywhere among any of the cliques, of course everyone was polite and kind with me as I approached them with our family status being what it was, but that didn’t mean they actually /wanted/ to socialize with me. I stick by my family, keeping a half smile upon my lips as I was introduced to several families that I wouldn’t even bother to remember as it was rare I even came to these events.

After introductions, I was allowed to drift off on my own, my mahmen not far from me though as she kept her eye on me, making sure I didn’t sneak off in some shape or form and just disappear. Every once in awhile I would sneak up on a small group of people and throw myself into the conversation, only half paying attention just to make it seem like I was interacting and make my family happy, that alone was a chore in itself. My eyes kept drifting to the door, knowing that soon enough the one person I was hoping to be here would be here soon, and sure enough just as I peeked over, in walked @Larimar_BDBRW with her family.

I turned to the current group I was talking with and politely excused myself before making my way over towards @Larimar_BDBRW keeping to the edge of the room so she wouldn’t see me, or at least that is what I was hoping for. Managing to make my way behind Larimar, I waited as her family went through the same greetings every other family would go through before stepping up almost right behind her as stealthy as I possible could and whispered right next to her ear.:: Well fancy meeting you here, @Larimar_BDBRW.

Larimar: The entire idea of what I liked to call “the receiving line” at these things drove me crazy! I just wanted in! I didn’t want to have to go around and say hello to every single person my family knew, and some we didn’t, just to be able to find our table, settle in with some champagne and head off to do some people watching. Rhon would most undoubtedly be here, too. We always found some fun to be had. Rhon had become a pretty good friend. He had been my parent’s choice for my transition, and as much as I hated the idea of going through that with someone other than my male, I simply had no other choice. Rhon had turned out to be the perfect male for the job, though. Thankfully, there had been no interest on his end and it ended up being a purely businesslike exchange. Over the years, he had been my go-to for feedings, as well. Being as high up in the Glymera as I was, feedings were done with an audience. So, once again, I was going to have to go with someone other than my male. I’m not quite sure what Rhon got out of the deal. But, he always seemed happy to oblige. My parents were probably paying him, or something. Either that or, he was just doing it out of the goodness of his heart, for a friend. We never really talked about it much. It wasn’t a favorite topic of mine.

Anyway, my family was finally coming to the end of our “receiving line” and just about on our way to drop our purses, coats and other essential at our table when out of nowhere, there was a soft breath tickling my ear. My hand went up without thought and I slapped Rhon right in the face. As I turned around, both gloved hands went to my mouth, covering the beginnings of a laugh. “Rhon! I’m so sorry! But, you should know better than to sneak up on me like that.”

My mahmen whipped around sharply and gave both Rhon and I a glare that said, “If you two embarrass me tonight, there’s going to be trouble.” Then without a second thought, she plastered a beauty queen smile on her face, turned back around, and faced the crowd, gallantly walking to our table.

My gaze shot to Rhon as I gave him a look saying, “Uh, oh! We’re definitely in trouble now.” and a small giggle escaped from my lips. (@SonInCamo_BDBRW)

Rhon: ::The second @Larimar_BDBRW turned around I could see the slap coming and I actually had to fight back my reflex to stop it, not everyone here knew about my side job as a fighter and I didn’t want my mahmen having to explain it. I had to admit, Larimar had some really good strength to her but the look of utter surprise upon her face was worth the sting to my cheeks as I chuckled and rubbed at my cheek. For a moment I felt like a child again, getting yelled at for my shenanigans when Larimar’s mother turned on us and the look from Larimar afterwards made me stifle a snort as my eyes rolled just a bit.

My eyes glanced over @Larimar_BDBRW and a soft smile came to my lips as I took in the beauty of the dress and make up she was wearing before finally speaking again.:: You know for someone who’s as radiant as you, you pack one hell of a punch. ::I laughed as I shook my head and nodded towards an empty table, granted it wasn’t with our families but I was okay with that. “Shall we go catch up and see what other kind of trouble the night could bring us?” (@Larimar_BDBRW)

Larimar: At Rhon’s compliment, I politely stepped back with one foot and curtsied, bowing my head like a proper young female of the Glymera race. However, I couldn’t hold in the chuckle long. As I stood back up, I leaned into him and whispered, “I’ll take you on, any day of the week.” Knowing, that with his little side hobby, there was no way I could take him. Pulling back, “I should probably go at least drop my purse at my family’s table. Give me a couple minutes and meet me at the champagne fountain?”

I didn’t give Rhon much of a chance to do more than nod before I headed off to my family’s table. I had certain responsibilities to my family and Rhon understood that. My sire was at the table waiting for us. I went around the table, dropped my clutch and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Good evening, sire.”

“Larimar. Killian. I hope you’re behaving for your mahmen.” It was more of a statement than a question and Killian and I just nodded as my father leaned in, took my mahmen around the waist and pulled her towards him. “Leelan.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss. “I’m sorry I couldn’t arrive with you tonight. I had matters of intense import at the office.”

“Not at all, my love. It was nice to get a chance to have Larimar and Killian all to myself.” She shot us both a knowing glance. “Okay, you two. Go. But, /behave/. Understood? Remember who you are.”

“Yes, mahmen.” Killian and I replied in unison, and I was off for the champagne fountain, to see what kind of trouble Rhon and I could find.

Grabbing a champagne flute off the table, I slid up next to Rhon and leaned back against the table. “So, are we hiding from your mahmen tonight, or should I take a minute to make an appearance and say, ‘Hello.’”? (@SonInCamo_BDBRW)

Rhon:

::I knew I was imagining things but it seemed everyone my mahmen or father was talking to, ended up staring at me as I waited for @Larimar_BDBRW by the champagne fountain and it made me want to tell them all to take a picture. I welcomed the sight of Larimar walking towards the champagne fountain a few minutes later, knowing that at least things will get interesting soon enough. My eyes roll as my mahmen is mentioned and I take the champagne flute from @Larimar_BDBRW and take a sip of it before I shake my head just slightly.:: There’s not going to be much avoiding my mahmen tonight, she won’t be far away. There was an incident yesterday and now she’s making sure I’m not too far out of sight.

::Nudging @Larimar_BDBRW with my shoulder as I look around the gala and shake my head a bit.:: You know, I never did get how you could possibly enjoy all of this. ::The words came out in a hiss almost as my hand waves to encompass the entire gala before me, my head shaking.:: The more I try to make my mahmen happy and participate the more ashamed I become of being apart of this bloodline. ::I didn’t know why I felt like I could tell Larimar pretty much everything, including my thoughts about the Glymera, but it almost came as second nature now a days. My head turns slightly so I can look over @Larimar_BDBRW for a moment.:: There’s too many rules for my liking.

Larimar: Once Rhon relieved me of the drink in my hand, I reached back and grabbed one for myself. Arching a slender brow in his direction, “An incident, huh?” I could only imagine what he had done to get himself into trouble with his mahmen this time. Truth was, trouble seemed to follow Rhon around wherever he went. It was the details of the stories I enjoyed, though.

Following the gesture of his hand with my gaze as he waved around the room, I couldn’t keep the smile from radiating off my features. “Are you kidding, Rhon? Look at all the pretty dresses, and shoes! Can’t forget the shoes!” I winked in his direction. “And the champagne, the dancing, the brilliant lighting that’s incredibly soft, yet bright enough to light up the entire room. It’s like watching the ball Cinderella went to where she lost her shoe, only in real life.” I let out a small sigh. “You know I don’t agree with the politics of our station but,” and now it was my turn to wave my hand around the room, “Just look at this ballroom, in all its glory. It’s majestic.” I took a small, dainty sip of my champagne before turning to Rhon and adjusting his coat. “You know, maybe if you just looked a little harder, you might find a female to go home to, instead of your parents.” I teased. (@SonInCamo_BDBRW)

Rhon:

::If my head snapped in Larimar’s direction any quicker, I would of gotten whiplash and if looks could kill, she would of been dead a million times over. The thought of even bothering to look for anyone to go home to was at the bottom of my to-do list, especially since the only type of person that would be acceptable is someone of the same status as myself and those of that status didn’t chase after fighters. Yes I was an aristocrat by blood but I was a fighter by calling and I couldn’t help but feel at times that fighting was in my blood more than the Glymera was.:: You know good and well I could care less about dating, I’m a fighter not a lover.

Larimar and I could sit here arguing back and forth about what was majestic and what wasn’t, but I really didn’t see the point in it to be honest. Instead I scan the room looking for my youngest brother before pointing him out to Larimar, a little smirk crossing my lips as I notice the scrape on the tip of his nose.:: Notice my brother’s new beauty mark on his nose. That may of been caused by one of my daggers after he threatened to wake up my mahmen one night when I came home late. That is where true beauty is at Larimar. Defending our race from the scum that would see us dead. The Brothers, the trainees, the King, all of the civilians who defends us, that’s what’s beautiful. (@Larimar_BDBRW)

Larimar: I didn’t even bother to turn and acknowledge Rhon’s look. I could only imagine the daggers I was getting. Yet, I did a pretty good job at holding back the chuckle. I knew he wasn’t looking to make one of these Glymera Stepford Wives his mate but, I never thought I would find a mate in a civilian, either. I had always hoped to find someone in the Glymera that felt the same way I did about the politics. But, life didn’t work out that way. The male of my dreams ended up being someone so far from that, it was scary sometimes. Finally, turning to face Rhon, I spoke somewhat quietly, “You know. You never know what you might find if you just step back and take a look. One of these females might surprise you.” I had a faraway look on my face, as I once again adjusted his coat, in some ways wishing it was the coat of my male, and he was here with me, sharing in this piece of my world that I loved. I had never told Rhon about him. Truth was, I was afraid to tell anyone about him. You never knew who was listening. Plus, once you tell one person, it’s like breaking a crack in a dam. You can’t put that genie back in the bottle.

As Rhon changed the subject, one corner of my lips quirked up and I quickly shot back at him, “And exactly how many lessers were perched on your brother’s nose at the time?”

As a photographer, I had a different outlook on what exactly beauty was from the rest of the world. Rhon and I had been through this discussion before. I had once tried to explain to him the beauty of a banana rhine that we found next to a dumpster. He didn’t get it. A small glimmer of a smile flashed across my lips as the memory danced through my thoughts. I did get what he was saying, though. I understood the beauty of the fight against evil. The story, and the art to go along with it, was as old as time.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… “ I rolled my eyes and quickly changed the subject, as I looked back out across the dancefloor, “So, are you going to allow me to get one dance in tonight, before you poof out into the wind?” (@SonInCamo_BDBRW)

Rhon:

::I noticed the distant look in Larimar’s eyes as she adjusted my coat yet again and I even recognized the look. It was the kind of look I got often when stuck at Glymera events and I found my mind wandering to someplace else but for Larimar, she loved these events so I couldn’t help but wonder where her mind was. Even after Larimar took the time to adjust my coat, I adjusted it back the way it was so it was a bit sloppy, it’s how I was comfortable.::

I’m not going anywhere as long as my mahmen is here, I’ll never be able to sneak out without her noticing so you have me all night to dance with.

::Reaching out I grab ahold of Larimar’s hand and pull her out onto the dance floor as a slow song comes on, a little smirk crossing my lips as my hands grip her hips lightly and I began to dance to the music.:: However that means I have all night to drag out of you where your mind just was a moment ago as you were adjusting my coat. (@Larimar_BDBRW)

Larimar: I huffed out a small sigh and shook my head as Rhon readjusted his coat. “Really?” I knew he hated these events but, he actually looked good when he got all dressed up and it annoyed me to no end when he wouldn’t let me make those small adjustments that made all the difference in his outfit.

It didn’t take much to light up my features with a smile, though, and dancing was one of those ways. So, when Rhon reached out and pulled me out to the dancefloor, the frustrated frown on my face disappeared in seconds. Placing one hand in his and the other on his shoulder, we drifted much more gracefully than he would ever admit around the floor. The only thing that could make this better would be if it were my male out on this floor with me.

I always thought I could hide my thoughts and feelings pretty well. I had managed to hide my male from my whole family and all my friends for three years. Even the closest of my friends didn’t know about him. That was due to the whole genie in a bottle thing. It had always been safer that way. But, as our relationship grew stronger and stronger, those feelings got harder and harder to disguise, and apparently, Rhon had been paying attention. I debated whether or not it was time to confide in someone, just one person. It would be so nice to be able to talk to someone, and who better than Rhon to know. He was the one that was feeding me, from time to time. Out of all my friends, I don’t think I had a more intimate relationship with anyone else, aside from my male. Plus, he trusted me with his secret. I should be able to allow myself to trust him with mine. Then again, would he even understand? When he said earlier that he could care less about dating, he truly meant it. Never had I heard him express an interest in any female. Plus, it’s not like I could talk to him here, in the middle of this gala. There were too many people to overhear.

I looked up at Rhon, flashed him a gentle smile and quietly shook my head. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was just off in my own world, as usual. You know me.” (@SonInCamo_BDBRW)

Rhon: ::I knew how much Larimar loved to dance and the smile that came over her face, made me smile. I was glad that I could make Larimar smile simply because how much our lives were intertwined with each other. I was there to help her through her transition and even now I was there when she needed to feed. Larimar was not only my best friend, but probably my only friend so any chance I got to make her smile, I enjoyed it. As we danced around the ballroom, I watched not only her but everyone around and I notice my mahmen looking on with a satisfied smile upon her lips, score one for me.

My eyes narrowed as Larimar told me that she was just in her own world and I shook my head just slightly before twirling her and then pulling her back in and dipping her as I leaned over her, a smirk playing across my lips.:: I do know you Larimar, that’s how I know you’re full of shit right now. ::Chuckling a bit as I stand Larimar up and continue to dance with her, my eyes looking on her for a moment before I continue to talk.:: You know you can tell me anything. (@Larimar_BDBRW)

Larimar: I loved the Rhon knew how to dance, and was willing to come out on the dancefloor with me during these events. The way he twirled me around and dipped me was straight out of a fairy tale, minus the charming prince… not that he wasn’t an amazing male. He just wasn’t my prince.

I grinned as Rhon told me how full of shit I was, and as he pulled me back up and commented on how I could tell him anything, I let out another soft sigh. He was so right, on both counts. I was totally full of shit, which wasn’t uncommon for me, as of late. I had been lying to everyone, constantly. And yes, I could tell him anything. I knew I could. So, what had been holding me back? Oh yeah, that damn genie. It all seemed so stupid now. If I could trust anyone, it was Rhon.

Before I could even stop myself, I grabbed a hold of the back of his neck, pulled him down so his ear was less than an inch from my lips, and I whispered, “I met a male.” I let go for a split second before grabbing his neck again and tugging him back, “I mean, I’ve fallen in love with a male… a civilian.” This time I let him go and allowed him to withdraw, all the while searching his eyes for surprise, confusion, astonishment, disapproval, but hopefully, acceptance, anything to tell me what he was thinking. (@SonInCamo_BDBRW)

Rhon:

::For a split second as Larimar pulled me down, I thought she was going to kiss me, but instead I felt her warm breath on my ear which sent a shiver up and down my spine, my eyes growing wide as I heard her words. She had met a male, a civilian one at that. As I pulled back from Larimar, my feet stopped moving and luckily so had the music so it didn’t seem all that awkward. Quickly I forced my face into a passive look, keeping my shock to myself as I grabbed Larimar’s hand and pulled her not only off the dance floor but out of the gala all together. This was definitely not a conversation to have in front of the entire Glymera.

Once outside, I turn on Larimar and look at her, my eyes shining with confusion but also joy for my friend, my voice soft and quiet in case anyone was in earshot of us and I just shook my head.:: Your mahmen is going to kill you if your sire doesn’t disown you first. ::I kept my voice calm and non-judgemental, after all I never did agree with the rules and politics that came along with our status, that much was obvious with my want to fight.:: How did you manage to meet a civilian? Does he treat you right? :: I had a million questions for Larimar, but none of them were anything for blame or anything along those lines, I just wanted to make sure Larimar was being treated like she should be, she was my only friend after all.:: (@Larimar_BDBRW)

Larimar: The moment Rhon’s feet stopped on the floor, my eyes shifted around the room. Thankfully, the song had ended and no one was really paying any attention. But, terrifying thoughts ran through my mind. Had I spoken too loud? Had anyone else heard me? Could they tell by the look on my face how I felt, that I was in love? My gaze shot back to Rhon as he suddenly tore me away from the dancefloor.

Once outside, I saw a hundred emotions flicker across Rhon’s face. I was having a hard time deciphering what he was thinking. For a moment, I thought I saw happiness but, when he spoke, I wasn’t sure. The tone of his voice was gentle, yet still had a slight firmness to it. I wasn’t quite sure if he was reprimanding me, or just afraid for me. The thought of being disowned by my family brought tears to my eyes.

“Rhon, I know! I know exactly what they would say and do. I’ve been going over that in my mind for a long time…” I tried to catch my breath. “Do you remember that summer when I went to see my cousin upstate? I met him there. He was visiting friends too, and it turned out, he was from Caldwell. That got us talking, and it was instantaneous between us. And yes, he treats me like the world, and the moon, revolve around me.” There was a brightness to my voice as I spoke about him, yet there were still tears in my eyes. The amount of emotions I was feeling right now was astounding. Fear, love, confusion, joy, exhaustion, and relief all had a place, at the moment. (@SonInCamo_BDBRW)

Rhon: ::I watched the way Larimar’s body spoke along with listening to her words, I had gotten rather good at deciphering body language as it was a damn good use for fighting. I didn’t need to hear her words to see how much in love she was and instantly my lips curled up into a grin from ear to ear. My hands reached up and gently wiped the tears from Larimar’s eyes as I cupped her cheek in my hand and gently caressed it to try and calm her.:: Shhh! It’s okay Larimar, you have nothing to fear. You’ve kept my secret and I will keep yours and do everything I can to make sure nothing happens. You deserve love no matter who it’s with.

::My arms wrap around Larimar and I bring her in for a big hug, my hands rubbing calmly over her back. I knew what it was like to have to hold a secret so deep that if it was ever uncovered it would destroy not only my life, but the life of my family as well. It was something I never would of wished for upon my worst enemy let alone Larimar.

As I sat there holding Larimar and doing everything I could to comfort her, an idea came to me, one that made my heart began to pound. An idea that could help both of us.:: Wait, what if we were to date? (@Larimar_BDBRW)

Larimar: The second Rhon’s lips spread into a grin and he reached his hand out to wipe away my tears, I knew I had done the right thing. He would keep my secret. Although, that was never in question. What had been, was whether or not he would understand, and he did. It didn’t matter to him who this male was, what he did, or where he came from. All that mattered to Rhon was I be treated the way he expected me to be.

I thought I would be okay, for about a split second. But, then Rhon embraced me with his huge arms and gave me the biggest bear hug. I couldn’t stop it from happening. It was as if all my emotions compiled together and burst that fucking dam. The floodgates opened and the tears just flowed freely. Damn it! I didn’t want this to happen. How was I going to go back inside and face everyone with red eyes and mascara down to my chin?

That’s when he said it, the dating thing, and I couldn’t help by pull away and laugh. It was a reflex. I wasn’t even quite sure what I was laughing at. “Rhon, I just told you I was in love with someone?” (@SonInCamo_BDBRW)

Rhon: ::For a moment I was offended by Larimar laughing at the idea and then it clicked that I didn’t fully explain myself, my own laughter joining in on Larimar’s.:: I don’t mean actually date, just pretend. ::My mind was running a million miles a minute as the idea ran through my mind. Larimar and I both had a secret that we needed to be kept from our families and we could use each other as an excuse as to our whereabouts if we were ever questioned.:: We tell our families we’ve decided to mate and then when we want to do what we want, we just tell our families we’re going out with each other. My family would assume that maybe I’ve given up on my want to fight, and your family would get to think that you have chosen a male of worth. ::My eyes nearly rolled out of my head as I had to say the words ‘male of worth’ but I got it out.

Sure Larimar and I would have to pretend to be a couple in front of the entire Glymera but it would also get us both what we wanted. I would get to fight without having to worry about my parents and Larimar would get to spend more time with her male. (@Larimar_BDBRW)

Larimar: As I wiped away at the tears that were still streaming intermittently down my cheeks, I listened to Rhon go on about his idea. It was simple and brilliant but, could it actually work? Would people buy into it? We would have to do it carefully. I still wouldn’t be able to go out into public with my male, and Rhon would have to be take even more care not to get caught out, while fighting the lessers. One mistake and the whole thing could blow up in our faces. But… it could actually work. My mahmen had been telling me for years that Rhon was perfect for me. She always had had a soft spot for him. Could I do that too her, though. Give her that hope? It would be so easy. She would never second guess where I was, if she thought I was with Rhon. But, the lies… Then again, what other choice did I have? This was my way out. I was in love with a male that my family would never allow me to be with. If we did this, if we put on this ruse, I could have it all, my love and my family. I wouldn’t have to choose. Who better to trust with sharing in these lies than Rhon?

“That could possibly work. We’d still have to be super careful. But, we already spend a lot of time together. My mahmen is going to be thrilled! She’s always wanted the two of us to get together. I’m surprised she hasn’t pushed that idea on your mahmen, yet.” (@SonInCamo_BDBRW)

Rhon: ::Sitting there and watching Larimar’s expression for a moment or two, being able to see the wheels turn in her head as she thought about the idea. I could tell the exact moment that everything clicked in her head as it did for me and I couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit as I pulled Larimar into a hug, and just held her for a moment before pulling back, a grin covering my lips.:: To be honest with you, my mahmen brought you up on the way over here, I’m not too sure your mahmen didn’t put her up to it. ::The laugh that escaped my lips was a booming laugh that came from deep within my chest. Slowly I was starting to feel like shackles were be removed from and I was going to be free. I would have my chance to fight, I would have my chance to defend my race, and no more would I have to worry about my mahmen or sire being disgraced. I was going to have my cake and eat it too.

Stepping back from Larimar, I smiled and took her hand in mine, my thumb caressing the back of her hand as I laced our fingers with mine.:: Shall we go tell our family the good news?

#TheHatchingOfAPlan #BDBRW

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bluebookbadger-blog · 7 years

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The Price of a Life - Chapter 2

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

By the time we had all gotten into the car, and Armstrong gave Lucha back to me, it was almost dark out again. I was so freaking tired, I practically hadn't slept for two days. I had fallen asleep during the car ride, eventually ignoring the Elrics' questions about Liore's miracles until they got the memo that I wasn't in the mood for any more interrogations. Hughes woke me up when we arrived at his apartment building.

Lucha was sleeping around my neck, and not wanting to wake him, I put him into the bin of my things. I seriously just wanted a soft surface to fall asleep on; carpets, rugs, a sheet, anything would suffice as a bed at that moment. My neck and head were more achy than they had been before my power nap, and my ankle was starting to swell.

As for the light problem, it was considerably easier to see now that night had fallen, but the street lamps and lights from homes still made looking at where I was headed difficult. Thankfully, Al's armor was really loud and easy to follow.

At the door to the building, we met Gracia and Elicia, who had apparently just gotten home from the store. Elicia was so cute. I'm not normally a kid person, like, I'd rather sit through 50 Shades of Gray with my parents than watch a Barney marathon with my little sister for three days straight, but her attitude was absolutely contagious. She may have gotten her sandy hair and green eyes from her mom, but her personality was all Maes. The child looked at the Elrics, and I felt a sleep smile tug at my lips at the next words.

"Big brother," She said, pointing at Al, "Little brother," pointing at Ed. This threw him into a tizzy, angrily pointing out that he was the older of the two, prompting Elicia to respond that older meant bigger. Hughes introduced me to Gracia, who was practically my Aunt Megan of this world. She was reserved but kind, asking me some trivial questions about myself as we headed up the stairs to the Hughes' apartment.

The inside was really neat and tidy, kind of like an apartment you'd see in a magazine. Gracia headed to the kitchen to make dinner, a quiche if I remembered correctly, and Hughes led the Elrics and I to our bedrooms. Well, the only spare bedroom. With two beds.

"Um, I guess I forgot that this room only had two beds..." I shrugged at his words, and started walking back down the hallway. "Hey, Mac-"

"They're only staying the night, and I could sleep on a mat of nails right now, so it's really fine that they have the beds tonight." I said with a yawn, calmly trudging back to the den we had passed by earlier and flopping down on the cushioned seat. Of course, this was a bad idea as it a) made my foot hurt ten times worse and b) woke up Lucha, who made the most horrific sound a ferret would make. Elicia came running, and Hughes wasn't too far behind. I hissed in pain but the soft couch was worth it.

"You don't have to sleep out here! The Elrics-"

"Like I said, are only staying the night. Besides...I just need…. a few minutes…." I mumbled, burying my face into the pillow as the Elrics showed up. The 0.2 seconds of sleep I got were enough to allow me to bolt up and go running when Gracia called everyone for dinner.

Their table was large enough to fit eight people, making it easier to find a seat than it was at my own table back at home with my six siblings. The first few minutes of the meal were kind of awkward, I instinctively going to say grace and stopping myself when I noticed Ed watching. I ended up just being quiet for a minute instead of saying anything aloud. Besides, it'd be weird since I knew Truth was out there somewhere.

On another note, the quiche smelled great, and that was saying something since I was pretty picky about what I ate. If the Hughes' weren't being so kind I probably wouldn't eat the quiche and just eat some raw cheese or something from their fridge. (Did they even have fridges here?) It was really good too, and I was not just saying that because I was basically starving and this was the only real food I had since I arrived in Amestris. They had milk too! I had chugged at least three glasses, which provoked Alphonse to tease Ed, who defended his hatred of milk.

"Come on Al, eat up. Take off that armor and relax." The line of dialogue caught my attention, making me look up from my fourth glass of liquid heaven. For a split second I could almost feel the brief, tense glance Ed shared with his younger brother.

"Oh, I already ate!" Al said with a nervous giggle, Ed continuing with the usual spiel of how the armor was part of his alchemy training. Seriously, how did people not figure Al was just a suit of armor earlier? The rest of the meal was enjoyed with minimum conversation. Elicia was very talkative afterwards when Hughes officially introduced me to her.

"Sweetie this is Mac, she's going to be staying with us for a while!" He squealed, hugging the pig tailed girl tight. She looked up at me with bright green eyes. I glared at him briefly. I guessed the nickname was a little better than my real name.

"Yay! She's going to play with me right? Mac's my new big sister, right?" Elicia asked her dad excitedly. I had a little sister at home about her age. They'd get along so well, being the apple of their father's eye.

"Anything for my little princess!" I smiled as he fawned over her for a few seconds before she asked him,

"Why is she staying with us?" Hughes laughed, leaning back on the couch. It wasn't the one I had claimed, which was now manned by Captain Lucha who hoarded anything shiny he found in the house under the pillows.

"She doesn't have anywhere to stay sweetie." Hughes was calming down a little. If that was at all possible when he was with his darling girl. Elicia seemed to accept that and jumped off the couch to run up to me.

"Can you play with me?" I nodded and let her lead me to her room. It was mostly pink, with toys everywhere (if this was kind of 1900s-ish, did I have to worry about lead poisoning?). We played tea party, or at least I think. It was part pouring tea for her stuffed toys and part fighting a dragon with me as her knight. As much as I missed being allowed to pretend to be fighting the forces of evil with my own little sister, I had better thing to do. Like return Mrs. Hughes' ring before Lucha swallowed it.

It was another hour of tea party until Gracia came in to put Elicia to sleep. I was kind of relieved, it was a lot of work to keep a kid like her entertained. It seemed that the Elrics had gone to sleep already, or at least Ed had. I was so tired I almost didn't notice Hughes sitting on the couch as I sat down next to him. I picked up my bin of things, hoping to change back into my nightgown to feel some semblance of normalcy in my nightly routine. I just needed to find a bathroom.

"Uh, Hughes." He looked up at me, his hazel-green eyes serious and tinged with concern before returning to their normal, smiling selves. "Where's the bathroom?"

"This way," He beckoned, leading me down the hallway to the first door on my left. It was right next to Elicia's bedroom, and across from the Elric's, so I probably wouldn't get lost finding it in the middle of the night.

Thanking him I set my bin down and looked in the mirror. It was a lot cleaner than the prison mirrors, not covered with grime or any other unidentified substance. I hated the way I looked. My eyes looked as if they were bleeding, a combination of lacking pigment and bloodshot exhaustion. My hair, though still really thick and curly, looked like someone had bleached it to look like calcium powder. My skin looked like Truth's almost, only differing in the small imperfections and dark bags under my eyes.

Taking off my turtleneck sweater, I also noted the bruise's new rainbow of colors; greens, browns, violets, and blues had added to the mix, contrasting starkly with my now paper white skin. I felt so ugly. Shaking the self depreciating thoughts from my head, I put my nightgown on, really wishing I had a change of underclothes but was too tired to ask to borrow some of Gracia's (not to mention her bras probably wouldn't fit me…). My foot was looking slightly better, the swelling had gone down now that I was wearing my orthotics, though a few hours of elevating it would do it even more good.

I took two of the three necklaces I always wore out of the bin, leaving the more fragile third inside. Both were religious, so I guess it would make sense to fit the whole 'Don't use my name because my faith is very restrictive' facade. One was a simple brown scapular, the other a choker Celtic cross. The cross would be visible most of the time due to its tendency to get over the collar of my shirt and stay there, but it was fancy enough to be ignored as a cultural medallion of sorts. The third necklace I didn't want to wear to bed out of fear that I would break it (again). It was made from my great grandmother's rosary, my grandmother's earring, and my mother's necklace she had worn to her wedding. All very important to me, and also very delicate.

Leaving the bathroom, I was greeted with darkness. A welcome abyss compared to the bright lights everywhere else. A light came from beneath another doorway down the hall, presumably Mr. and Mrs. Hughes' bedroom. I found the couch with an extra blanket, courtesy of my hosts, and a towel laid out on the ground, which I discovered Lucha had made his own bed after stepping on the poor ferret. I laid down on the couch, comfortably falling asleep for what felt like hours.

I woke up only half an hour later, feeling restless. I just couldn't stay asleep. There was really no reason to stay asleep I presumed, since I clearly felt rested after only half an hour (maybe an hour, the analog clock was hard to read in the dark). Lucha was still asleep, surprisingly, so I took extra care not to step on him (again).

The house was quiet, the people breathing in the apartment, and the movements of those elsewhere in the complex barely audible. It kind of freaked me out to be honest. I wasn't afraid of the dark, I was almost old enough to graduate high school! But...I did't like being alone in the dark.

I guess I wasn't really alone, Al was awake right? But, I wasn't exactly the type to rush in and 'wake' a guy up just because I was bored. Well, not exactly bored. Something was nagging at the back of my mind but I couldn't quite figure out what it was, but whatever it was, it was going to drive me insane. Needing something else to focus on, I determined that I needed a plan to be the Mary-Sue this world didn't need and that the fans didn't want but needed to save the most lives possible.

In the kitchen I could only find cloth napkins, which was kind of annoying since I didn't want to leave evidence of my knowledge lying around where Hughes would find an interesting timeline describing his death. Frustrated but undeterred, I managed to find a pen in one of the drawers. It seemed ancient compared to modern ballpoint pens. It was a fountain pen, a very pretty one, with a metal tip. There seemed to be lots of pens in the drawer, so one missing wouldn't hurt.

Rummaging through more cabinets and drawers as quietly as I could, I couldn't find any paper. Then I had the brilliant idea to write on myself. My skin was paper colored, and no one else would be able to read it if I wrote it on my leg or somewhere like that, but it would wash off when I showered. Truth new I needed one.

Unable to stay focused, I decided to take a shower at...1:00 a.m. the clock read. It wasn't that hard to navigate in the dark, but finding the black clothes I was lent by the prison was a challenge. They were folded up on top of my necklace in my bin, where I had apparently put them.

I took the bin and the fountain pen to the hallway, taking the first door on my left, hesitating a moment to listen for Alphonse in the other room. I didn't want him to barge in when I was showering, even if he was a suit of armor it'd be super embarrassing. Now that I think about it, he had no reason to barge in, but I was being the weird one by showering at dead man's hour.

I undressed, discovering not a shower behind the curtain but a small bathtub. Better than nothing I guessed. Knowing that the hot water supply was probably limited (and used to bathing restrictions from living with 8 other people my whole life) I filled the tub with the hottest water possible. I liked scalding hot baths, though I would have preferred a shower. I slowly got into the tub, bringing the curtain around halfway so I could see the door but still be mostly hidden from view. It was so relaxing.

I slipped under the water for a second, the tops of my knees forced out of the water so I could lay down. I opened my eyes for a split second, not fond of being blind to the world. Everything I saw was red. I was bathing in blood, the water was thick and crimson.

I sat up, gasping for air and restraining a scream. The water wasn't red, there was no blood, I was fine. I got out of the now cold water, drying myself off with the floor towel in my haste to get out of the bathroom. Putting my underclothes back on, I sat for a few minutes on the bathroom floor. The tears had stopped, but my breathing was still hitched and my heart rapid.

I was so scared. I was digging my nails into my palms until they started to bleed, my own blood triggering the memory of the blood that was on my hands a night prior. I had helped kill someone. I was responsible for a human being's death, someone died because of me. I heard my deep, labored breathing, but didn't feel the usual squeeze of an asthma attack, just deep, empty breaths echoing softly on the tile floor and white walls. White walls and white floors, just like the blood splattered walls and floors of the prison. Soaked in the blood of someone I helped kill, someone I made bleed.

It took a me a moment to realize someone was softly knocking on the door. I did my best to collect myself, my eyes puffy and my face red as I picked up my things, threw on my clothes, and turning off the gas lamp, peeked out the door. It was Elicia, thankfully, half asleep and holding a blanket.

"I have to go potty…" She said, yawning and rubbing her eyes as I got out of her way. I didn't even care if I was being rude or weird anymore - I just needed to get away from there. Still having a small panic attack, but able to breath normally again, I laid back down on the couch, pulling the blanket over my head. I waited for sleep, and none came. I heard Elicia leave the bathroom and go back to her bedroom.

What felt like days later, sunlight began to leak through the window shades in the kitchen, and I heard movement in the Elric's room. Hughes was the first up, I could hear him cracking his back and neck as he shuffled to the kitchen. He could use a chiropractor from the sound of it…

The smell of coffee soon wafted through the apartment, alerting me that I should try to look presentable. I still had the fountain pen in my bin of now dirty pajamas, and I needed a notebook or something like Al's 'list of stuff to eat notebook' and Ed's 'philosopher's stone research' one.

When I came into the kitchen, Hughes was having coffee and reading a newspaper. Literally thought he was my Uncle Matt for a second there, except the mountain climbing gear was missing. I slumped into the seat next to him to read over his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind, or at least he didn't notice.

There was a small article mentioning a certain Yoki who was convicted of stealing government funds, another that announced the upcoming State Alchemist Examination with the upcoming Assessment mentioned on a smaller note. I did see a quick flash of a wanted serial killer with a cross-shaped scar on his face as Hughes turned the page, but wasn't able to read any farther into the article as he seemed to finally notice me sitting there.

"Oh, sorry Mac, haven't finished my coffee yet. You want some?" Somehow, I felt that he was implying that I needed it from his slightly worried expression. I probably still looked like Death incarnate, maybe worse from the crying episode earlier. I shook my head at his question anyways.

"Nah, I'm good." I got a glass from one of the cabinets (I knew my way around the whole den and kitchen after my midnight expedition) and filled it with water from the tap. It tasted weird, as everything here was old and weird, but it was better than coffee. I was not a coffee person, or a tea person for that matter.

"Sleep well?" He asked, flipping a page of the newspaper. I halfheartedly glared up up at him as I laid my head on the table. Did I really look that bad?

"Nope." I sighed, examining the table cloth. It was pretty, and rather clean considering Elicia's table manners. And it was red. Scrunching my face up I turned to look at Hughes again. "Can I ask you something?" He looked up, folding the paper shut slowly as he nodded. I looked away from him, examining the gold embroidery on the edge of the table cloth. "How do you live with-"

"Holy crap we're going to be late!" Edward yelled, rushing out the front door. His hair, from what I could tell, was messily braided, and the boy only had his automail arm in jacket sleeve.

"Thanks for everything Mr. Hughes!" Alphonse noted, keeping Ed from tripping over Lucha.

"Oh, and tell Gracia that quiche was amazing!" With a few more blurted goodbyes and thank yous, the Elrics unceremoniously exited the apartment by slamming the door shut behind them. I snorted in amusement, putting my head back on the table. Who would have of thought those two would be late for anything?

"You were saying?" Maes inquired, tapping my shoulder. Sitting up, I looked back at him, no longer in the mood to discuss how he coped with what he did in Ishval. Thankfully, before I could get a word out, Elicia's sleepy giggle caught both of our attentions.

"Daddy! Are you staying home today?" She asked with a yawn, Gracia slowly emerging from the hallway behind the little girl. Hughes laughed, his serious demeanor disappearing faster than snow in July at the sight of Elicia's bed head and sleepy smile.

"Sorry sweetie! Daddy has to go to work, but I'll try to get home early okay my darling angel?" Elicia giggled as her dad scooped her up and hugged her close. I needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do to keep the story the same, but save unnecessarily lost lives.

There wasn't much I could do for the people in Liore, the little civil war down there was going to happen whether people fought over Cornello or not, and it was kind of a key to keeping Ed and Al on their little quest that would bring them right back to Central. After "The City of Heresy" episode it would go to...something anguish? I may have a pretty good eidetic memory, but I needed triggers for this stuff to be clear, I couldn't just pull a list of character deaths from my pocket you know. I would need something to write on and set up a timeline so I could plot out my next move.

Breakfast was really nice, by which of course I mean eating something that was not cereal after 4:30 a.m. (a rare occasion in my house back in the waking world). Hughes left in the middle of it, late for a meeting or something to that effect. I had almost forgotten that McDougal used alkahestry, not alchemy, and that Hughes would report this to Mustang. Oops.

Still, this was probably only episode two right? So, basically Ed and Al sitting on a train and backstory time, which meant I had few obligations and concerns for the next day or two. However, on his way out the door after bidding his wife and daughter goodbye, Maes gave me a stern look.

"You do need to try and find some work, I marked off some jobs I thought you'd like in the paper." He said, mock saluting me. "Good luck, Mac!" I scowled but picked up the newspaper. It was from the day before I guessed, since Gracia brought a new paper in soon after Hughes left.

Elicia was excitedly eating her scrambled eggs, talking to Mrs. Hughes with her mouth full and being chided for it. They were such a wonderful family, I really had to find a way to repay them (and not just by hopefully saving Maes' life).

I finally found the classifieds, seeing the jobs Hughes thought I'd be interested in circled with black ink. Work wanted at a local bakery? No. I was an awful cook. I guess I could make, I don't know, pepernoot cookies but even those weren't that great compared to my cousin Rose's baking. She could really bake well. Another job was looking for help managing a little grocery store here on Main street. It was close enough to walk to, so I guessed that would be my destination for the day.

The other jobs Maes picked out were mostly odd jobs; fixing roofs, making deliveries, stuff I couldn't really do with my skill set or resources. There was one farm hand opportunity, but it was on the outskirts of the city, and I didn't want to trouble the Hughes with anything else. My talents as a backyard chicken mother, wasted in a 1910s alternative universe of Germany. At least the grocery job seemed to pay in czens, not eggs or corn (though I would work for food, who on earth wouldn't?).

It was about 9:00 in the morning when I finally left. Gracia and her daughter were going to the park, then stopping by the grocery store to walk me home if I wanted them to. They were so sweet, how was there nothing wrong with a family as perfect as this? Oh yeah, the dad is shot dead by some guy disguised as the wife. Wonderful.

Gracia had let me borrow one of her purses, one big enough to fit the fancy dancy Certificate in, and to fit a small towel and Lucha in. He was sleeping more than usual, which was next to impossible since he already slept all the time when he wasn't hungry. Weird ferret. Cute, but weird. I hoped he wasn't sick.

People kept staring at me on the way there, making me highly self conscious. Some part of me was screaming at them that I wasn't a murderer, another part was making my face turn a red to match my new eyes, while a third was looking for the sign that read "Main Street Grocery".

I kept bumping into people, the sun blinding me every time it reflected off a window or occasional passing car. It seems like it'd be cool to one day wake up and be albino or even leucistic, but it really wasn't. Especially in the whole normal treatment department. And seeing department. And basically almost every aspect of yourself.

When I finally did see the sign, I briefly checked to make sure it matched the address in the ad before ducking inside. It was a quiet little place, very homey and local. There was a bunch of fresh fruits and vegetables on some benches outside, and inside there were various boxed and canned foods. There was a small fridge of sorts in the far right corner, only containing some juices and milk, as well as being right by a whole stand of wine and other alcoholic beverages. At the front desk there was a young guy, not my type, but handsome and sort of sexy. When I asked about the open position he looked a little startled.

"I'm sorry, did you read the fine print?" He asked, his deep voice nervous. I was so confused by this. Taking out the newspaper ad I had clipped out, I showed it to him.

"What fine print?" He ran a hand through his blonde locks anxiously. "Can I speak to your manager, please?" The guy - his name tag read Albert - nodded and went to a back room. There weren't many people at the store, but an old lady was waiting for her money to be taken. I was no expert in czens, but it couldn't be much harder than working in retail, right?

The woman had thick glasses, so she probably wouldn't notice that I wasn't an employee. Standing behind the counter, which had a convenient list of prices, pretty similar to the one I had used during my time at farmer's markets. Those things were so much fun to work at, except for the days when it was really windy. Those tents could kill someone if they went airborne.

She was buying nine apples, a jug of milk, and a loaf of fresh bread. It smelled so good, like, 'grandpa just pulled it out of the oven' good. Each item's individual price was marked down in neat handwriting. It was strange not weighing the apples, but they were marked down for 3 cenz per apple and 6 cenz for every three. I didn't know what the dollar equivalent of that would be, but it seemed pretty reasonable. I rung up the cost of her items and counted out the money. It was pretty similar to most money, though, I did have to sheepishly ask her if one of the coins was worth 10 or 5 cenz. The back room's door opened just as I bid the woman goodbye.

"What do you think you're doing?" A woman's voice asked. I was surprised that she was shorter than me, but the lady was still terrifying. Her dark hair was tied back in a bun, and her blue eyes seethed with irritation. "Albert says you're here to apply? Are you not literate?" I was so confused. What fine print? Why was everyone so huffy about me trying to apply for a job?

"I am entirely literate ma'am, in multiple languages" I said, though I doubt I'd find anyone speaking the FMA equivalent of German, Irish Gaelic, or Latin. Well, maybe not Latin. A 12 year old in a Catholic school can only parrot so many Gregorian chants. With a nod, I quickly moving to the other side of the counter. Damn, she was scary. Everyone in this world was either scary or really sweet, there was no in between.

"Then you should be aware that the ad does say, 'Ishvalans Need Not Apply'." Great, and here I thought we were over treating the minorities and the Irish like shit. I restrained a glare, looking at me feet.

"I am Drachman, not Ishvalan, ma'am." Geez, I mean, the hair and eyes were kind of similar but I looked like Snow White Extreme incarnate. Was it common for Ishvalans to have pale skin suddenly? Had I already screwed something up?

"Oh? Then get out. Immigrants aren't welcome in my store."

"But-"

"Out!" Okay, I get it, there's a bias, no need to be rude about it. I guess I forgot this was set in the early 1900s. In my world that meant segregation, discrimination, and jazz. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like I'd be enjoying any Louie Armstrong or Jelly Roll Morton here. Wait...Louie Armstrong...I wondered if the Major could play a trumpet...

I stood outside the store for a while, envying Albert - it seemed as if he had been just hired that morning instead of me. I should have headed out when the Elrics left. The store manager - a Miss. Reich from what I overheard - was about to usher me down the street with a broom so I headed off. It was best I explored my new surroundings.

Lucha woke up around this time, poking his pink nose out of the satchel to surprise any passing kids. I really wished I had a hat or something, since the starring returned in full force with the early afternoon lunch break setting in. I needed somewhere to occupy my time with. Gracia and Elicia weren't planning on visiting the grocery shop until the evening - I guess they really thought I'd get the job.

Why would Hughes send me somewhere that wasn't accepting immigrant workers? It hit me that I wasn't just an immigrant (or rather, not an immigrant really at all). I was an Honorary Citizen, and whatever that was, Hughes probably thought it'd help me get hired, or maybe he was hoping I'd have to live with him and be Elicia's big sister forever, but I was hoping he wasn't that mean. I basically sprinted back to the shop, which I discovered was a mistake when my ankle rolled and I knocked down a few people on the sidewalk.

"Sorry, sorry…" I murmured as I tried to reorient myself. The light of the sun was really bright now, making everything look like a fiery kaleidoscope. A hand gently tugged at my own and helped me to my feet. "I'm sorry." I said again, knowing full well that I apologized too much. Once my eyes adjusted and Lucha had settled in his nest of fabric, I realized it was Albert who had helped me up.

"What're you doing back here?" He asked, his blue eyes nervously darting to the shop window where he could see Miss. Reich helping a customer at the register while he swept. I rubbed my arm. I had hit the ground hard, but escaped with only a scrape. Lucha seemed fine, peering at Albert for a second before snorting and going back to his nap. He must have been homesick, the ferret never slept this much. I felt around in my bag for a moment before my hand touched the paper.

"I need to talk with Miss. Reich again," As tempting as it was to call her something derogatory to let out my frustration, I needed to get on good terms with her. I wasn't taking a job that was halfway across the city, not even if Hughes lent me his car. I didn't even think it was his, the military probably gave it to him for work related purposes.

I finally convinced Albert to let me talk to Miss. Stick-up-her-but and I showed her the Certificate. She seemed pretty impressed, though still a bit reluctant to let me work for her. It took some sweet talking on my part (she was almost as hard to persuade as a stubborn show heifer) but she eventually conceded to a contract. It seemed I'd still be a little curbed by the whole anti-immigrant policy, but I did have myself a job working in the backroom.

They had a bunch of filing cabinets, as well as extra stock. I was informed by Miss. Reich herself of my duties, which involved coming by at dawn to stock the store with the delivery of fresh eggs and milk, as well as to organize the chronological payment records. It wasn't that much compared to my summer job at the farmer's markets, except I wouldn't have to deal with cranky hippies screaming at me for $5 for every basket of blueberries (if they had such a problem with it they should have picked their own). Still, it'd be work.

Dark was falling when Gracia and Elicia finally swung by, picking up a gallon of whole milk and some apples for a pie that Mrs. Hughes planned on making in a few days. Albert was adorable in his anxiety when Gracia asked if a white haired girl had applied for a job here recently. Miss. Reich had to clear up the misunderstanding that I was, in fact, a girl to Albert as I listen to their conversation as I organized some heads of old cauliflower.

"No, she wrote it on the contract and it was on her Certificate of Honorary Citizenship-"

"He's an Honorary Citizen? So that's why you gave him the job-"

"No, Al, she is a girl. I'm sure of it. Ask her yourself." They rounded a corner that was slightly overflowing with green beans. They'd last a few days, granted I fixed the ventilation problem back here, I was burning up it was so hot. It wasn't summer here was it? It was too cold the other night….

"You need something ma'am?" I asked, though it was pretty easy to hear Elicia through the thin walls.

"You're family is here, I think." Miss. Reich said, leaving an awkward gap of silence between Albert and I. "Anything you want to say to Irish, Albert?" I shrugged and avoided eye contact as the poor guy awkwardly struggled to ask me something.

"Yes, I am a girl." I noted his sudden crestfallen attitude as he walked me back to the front and took my apron. Truth, that was depressing. Damn this overwhelming cultural shock. Gracia smiled when I emerged from the back room, Elicia charging me and clinging to my legs.

"Yay! Big sister's here! Can she play with me later mommy? Can she?" The pig tailed girl was just like my little sister back at home. Such a manipulative sweetheart that could murder someone and be ready for ballet by dinner.

"Sure, just - hey, be careful!" I chided as she nearly knocked me over the fruit stand by the front desk. Gosh little kids were so careless sometimes. "Oh, Miss. Reich!" I called as Elicia was all but dragging me after her mother. "Thank you for the job, I'll repay you someday!" I had no clue how I was going to do that, maybe help with saving most of Amestris from the Promised Day? Probably not, considering I could barely get a job and was practically blinded by light. So this was how vampires felt…

The walk to the apartment was quiet, Gracia asking me to retell how I managed to get a job at the store. Apparently Miss. Reich was notorious for keeping immigrants out of her shop, so hiring me was quite a strange occurrence for Gracia to hear. All my life I'd felt that the stories of close knit communities was all a hoax, and now I was seeing my host talking about some random shop owner as if they were the best of friends.

I was never going to get used to this 1900s life, not without a proper shower. This was so weird. Lucha reminded me he was getting hungry by climbing up my sweater to scratch at the neck. It hurt more than it tickled, the bruised skin still sore. I put him back into the bag and held it closed as us three marched up the stairs to get to the apartment.

Inside, I helped Gracia with some bags she had picked up at some other stores. They were full of clothes. Why did people have to be really nice? I didn't know how to respond to kindness that well, or new clothes. I didn't think I had ever worn anything besides handmedowns. The nightgown I had was my Aunt Mimi's, and the slippers were from my older sister. Elicia seemed contented with playing in her room while Mrs. Hughes and I sorted my situation in the spare room.

We moved the extra bed to the corner of the room, creating a lot of floor space. The hardwood floor was a little dusty, but I wasn't complaining. There was a dresser along the wall of room, which we filled with the new clothes. They were kind of old fashioned, but they were pretty. There were a few dresses that we hung up in the closet by the other bed, but most of the clothes were sweaters, button downs, slacks, and a few skirts that also joined the Gown Battalion of the closet.

"Thank you so much for buying me the clothes, I'll pay you back-"

"What is it with you and having to pay people back? I wanted to buy you those clothes, not to mention Elicia will grow into them. Eventually." Mrs. Gracia said as we changed the sheets on the bed - my bed. I really needed to stay focused, I only had a day or two until the Elrics came back and then I had to figure out what the heck I was going to do about the Nina Alexander chimera problem.

"Mrs. Hughes-" She ruffled my hair gently. Goodness this woman was so likable, I hated having my hair messed with but when she did it I was completely fine with it.

"Call me Gracia." I shrugged, puffing up the pillow one more time. It wasn't the same as Timait, but it would do. Yes, I named my pillow Timait; after developing such a special bond with the very thing that you have dreamed upon for years, a name is in order. Okay that was a lie, but I was really missing my pillow back at home.

"Gracia, do you have a notebook or something I could use? I don't mean to impose any more than I already have, I just-" Opening a small cabinet under the sink, she pulled out a small, leather bound book. How in Amestris had I not found it during my rummaging earlier?

"I'm sure you have your reasons, besides, tax season is always a pain. Will this do?" She asked, handing the empty tome to me. It was almost exactly like the ones the Elrics carried around, except more flexible with a strong but with a malleable spine. Perfect for writing down my plans of world destruction or maybe a copy of the Twilight series.

"Thank you so much!" I said as I rushed back to the spare room - my room. Elicia however, caught me as I almost escape to its sanctuary.

"Mac! Can you please play with me now?" How could I say no to that face?

"No." I said, suddenly irritable. When she made the saddest, most heartbreaking puppy dog face, I rethought my decision. "I'm sorry, just a minute." Putting the empty book on my bed and checking on Lucha's sleeping form for any signs of impending death, I went back to Elicia's room.

Okay, so maybe this wasn't the most exciting action packed day of my time here, but I was making progress to building relationships, making contacts, and organizing information that would be pertinent to my near future. All I had to do was play Princess for another hour or two until Maes came home.

Masterlist

#fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemsit brotherhood #si/oc #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #the price of a life #the price of a life - chapter 2 #bbb writes #bbb #bluebookbadger

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kawaiipsycho101srpblog · 6 years

Text

Righteous Side of Hell--Ch.1

(NOTE: I’ll only be posting the first few chapters of this fic, so if you want to read the rest, you’ll have to go to my main blog, my ff.net page, or my AO3 [all have the name KawaiiPsycho101]. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!)

1. That! That!

You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

It had taken a while, but with Ryuk’s assistance, I’d finally been able to track down the current owner of my notebook to a local mafia faction. The mere idea of these thugs possessing my Death Note, using it, defiling it, made me sick to my stomach.

“You’re all scum, ya know that?” I said to the oblivious men and women. “Worthless, life-sucking scum,” I could see the back of a head with silken blonde hair extending a graceful, well-toned arm. In its gloved-covered hand was my notebook.

A woman, huh? That’s actually rather impressive. Don’t see many godmothers these days.

“I look forward to murdering you all slowly and painfully,” I continued as I began to head towards her. “Your screams will bring me absolute pleasure, and only when you’ve begged for the sweet release of death will I holy shit, you’re a guy.”

Indeed, sitting before me on a tacky zebra-striped sofa was an attractive young man sporting a pair of tight leather pants with a matching vest. Dangling from the corner of his black-lipsticked mouth was a bar of chocolate that bobbed up and down with the movement of his jaw as he chewed, occasionally bumping against the wooden rosary around his neck. I glanced down and blinked at the most-likely loaded gun snugged securely in the front of his trousers. I looked up at his name and found the words Mihael Keehl floating above his head. Mihael was a boy’s name, last time I checked.

My notebook is in the hands of a blonde, leather-wearing, chocolate-munching, gun-toting, possibly-sociopathic, pretty boy?!

I slowly rubbed a hand down my face and sighed.

“Of course. Sure. Why the fuck not?”

After a few more seconds of staring at the oddity, I decided it was time to make contact.

He can’t see me until Snydar touches it. Guess I’ll have to wait...

A few seconds later...

Fuck this shit!

I plucked the notebook out of the blonde’s hands, giggling at the look of pure shock plastered on his face, and slapped it against Snydar’s cheek before dropping it in his lap.

“The...The notebook just flew.”

“Heh, it’s a notebook that kills people. Hell, nothing surprises me anymore,” said a fellow mobster named Dwhite Gordan, a beefcake who only wore a suit-jacket to hide his chest.

Nothing surprises you, eh? Just wait...

I watched as Snydar turned around and saw me, his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates.

“Ha! You should see your face right now!”

“AAHHH!” He fell out of his seat and pointed at me. “Boss, who is this?! The guy in the freaky costume?! Who the Hell is he?! Who brought him here?!”

“You idiot, don’t you know a shinigami when you see one?”

“A shinigami?” He began to laugh hysterically.

“That’s right. Now if I were you, I’d have the others touch the notebook before the men in white come and take you to the Happy Home.” I pointed at the Death Note. “Go on.”

Snydar picked up the notebook with shaking hands and looked at me, then his cohorts.

“It says you can see it if you touch the notebook! Please, everyone touch it! I swear I’m not crazy!”

Everyone looked at Dwhite, and I realized that he must be their leader, which struck me as strange. I’d been almost certain that Mihael was the one in charge, seeing as he was the one lounging around like he owned the place and examining my notebook like it was a shiny new toy, plus the sense of leadership and authority that practically radiated from him.

Then again, he’s awfully young...Perhaps he’s a second-in-command...Still though, for someone so young to make it this far in the mafia...

I was snapped out of my thoughts when Dwhite gave an annoyed grunt.

“Fine, whatever. Come on guys, touch the notebook.”

Just as the first person’s hand was inches away from the book, I got a brilliant idea and quickly went through the wall closest to me.

“Well Jack, where is it?”

“It was right there, I swear! Just now!”

“Sure it was.” I heard a mumbled agreement from the other men in the room, figuring that by now they had all touched the notebook, and made my move, sliding through the wall as quickly as I’d left.

“WHAAAAZZZZZUUUUHHHP?”

The screams and gunshots that followed were music to my ears. I hadn’t laughed so hard in years. I was still trying to keep my sides from splitting by the time they calmed down.

“Jack’s right,” Dwhite muttered. “That ain’t no costume. That’s a real-life shinigami.”

“Damn straight,” I snickered.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing really, just my notebook.”

“Your notebook?”

“Yes, my notebook.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How do we know it’s yours?”

“Flip to the inside of the back cover and you’ll find a series of symbols scratched into the material of the lower right-hand corner. Those are my initials, which translated to the English alphabet, would be A.K.A.” The mobsters did as they were told and, sure enough, my initials were there.

“Okay, so it’s your notebook. Doesn’t mean we have to give it back to you.”

“Au contraire, my bald, muscular friend. You see, I don’t have long to live, and if I don’t write down some names in that Death Note soon, I will die. And if I die, that notebook will burst into flames. And if the Death Note is destroyed, you will all die in thirteen days.” The mobster’s faces all paled at my last sentence. If Ryuk hadn’t told me about the fake rules he’d written in my notebook, I wouldn’t have had my bargaining chip. “Tell you what, since I’m such a nice shinigami, I’ll make you a deal. Let me borrow the notebook for a little while so I can write some names down and expand my life-span, then I’ll give it right back as soon as I’m done with it, okay?”

As I spoke, I couldn’t help but notice that the blonde seemed unusually calm considering the situation he was in; not every day could someone talk to a shinigami. But his eyes never left my own, and I could practically see the gears in his head working at break-neck speed.

“How do we know you won’t just run away with the notebook? Or write all of our names down, and then run away?” My attention returned to the head mobster before me.

“A few reasons: one, the human has to willingly surrender the notebook in order for it to be returned to its original owner. Second, I can tell by looking at your lifespans that not that many of you have long to live, so why should I bother killing you if your deaths won’t be that much use to me? And thirdly, do I look like the kind of shinigami that would go back on its word?” I smirked under my scarf and held out my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll only need it for a few minutes, and I promise I’ll give it back.”

“But-”

“Just give it the notebook, Rod. I think it’s telling the truth.”

There was a brief silence before the mob boss spoke.

“Are you sure, Mello?”

Wait, WHAT?

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” Without another word he handed me my notebook, and I took it from him while doing my best to hide my sudden anxiety.

Did he say...? No...no, it can’t be...I must have misheard.

“Thank you.” I pulled a pen from my belt and flipped to a fresh page in the notebook. “Any preferences?”

“No, thanks. We already took care of that.”

“Ah. Excuse me.” I stepped past him and sat cross-legged on the floor facing a TV. It was a news show; an anchorwoman was posing before a camera with a lot of bystanders standing behind her. “Perfect.”

I picked my victims, and the causes and times of their deaths, at random, while throwing in some criminals for good measure, but not enough for the men watching me to notice. After a couple minutes, I’d written down enough names to last me for a very long time.

“There,” I slapped the notebook shut. “I should be set for the next couple hundred years or so.” I stood up and handed it back to Rod. “I told you I was a shinigami of my word.”

“Right...” he said uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong? Still put off by my appearance?” I cleared my throat and threw my voice around until it was a perfect imitation of his. “Or is it the voice? Does the way I talk upset you?”

The man’s eyes widened.

“How...how are you doing that?”

“It’s a quirk.” I grinned, knowing that my voice trick was putting everyone in a state of unease.

I’ll have these pigs in the palm of my hand in no time.

“Umm...Could you please,” mumbled one of the other mobsters. “Not do that?”

“Well, since you asked nicely...” I reverted back to my normal way of speaking. “Sure.”

“Shinigami.” I looked at the blonde on the couch, and was surprised to find that he was still remarkably composed. The way he looked at me...It felt like he was sizing me up, figuring out various ways I could be of use to him, and then when and how to dispose of me once he was through. This was a man used to getting what he wanted, and anyone who got in his way would most assuredly wind up with a bullet lodged into their skull. Normally I despised people like this, and frankly, he was no exception; and yet, the more I studied him, I realized that unlike other pompous brats, he had the skill to back up his bravado. I hated to admit it, but I was starting to respect him.

Maybe...there’s a chance it might be him...But I have to be certain.

“Yes?”

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me A for now.” I noticed how his brow twitched ever so slightly, as if maybe I’d struck a nerve. “Or ‘Shinigami’, or whatever. I don’t really care.”

“Then tell me...A,” he asked, taking a bite of his chocolate. “Is there anything else we need to know about the Death Note? Any other rules or limitations to who we can kill?”

I got an idea and smirked.

“There are, but I don’t like giving things away without getting something in return. So, how about another deal?”

“What do you want?”

“That.” I pointed to his chocolate. “Give me some of that, and I’ll answer any questions you have with the utmost sincerity. No lies, no tricks.”

“Done.” He grabbed another chocolate bar off of a table next to him and tossed it to me, which I easily caught. I carefully unwrapped it, the smell instantly making my mouth water. I lowered my scarf and heard quiet mutterings from the others as they saw my razor-sharp teeth. As I bit into the sweetness, letting the taste melt into my tongue, my eyes rolled back into my head and I felt my knees buckle a little. A low moan escaped the back of my throat as I savored every single bite.

Oh, sweet motherfucking Christ, yes.

As I finished it off, I placed my palms together and closed my eyes for a brief second in an almost-reflexive sign of thanks. I didn’t really notice I was doing it until I’d opened my eyes again.

Huh...that’s odd.

I quickly put the thought out of my mind and positioned my scarf back over my mouth with a grin.

“The thirteen-day rule is totally bogus. Also, if I die, the notebook will not be affected; the same would also apply to me if the notebook is destroyed.”

“You mean those rules are fake?!” Rod cried.

“That’s what I said.”

“So earlier,” one of the mobsters grumbled. “When you wanted to borrow the notebook, you were-”

“Playing you for a bunch of chumps? Yes, yes I was.”

“But why? Why would you put in fake rules?” The blonde’s gaze narrowed.

“I didn’t, someone else did.”

“Who?”

“No idea,” I lied. “Most likely another shinigami. Probably did it to mess with a human. Ya know, shits and giggles. Oh, and you’ll probably want to know about the eye-trade.”

“Eye-trade?”

“A shinigami’s eyes can see a person’s real name and lifespan above their heads. In exchange for half of the current owner’s remaining lifespan, I can give him those eyes. And speaking of names, would you mind telling me how to pronounce yours?” His cerulean eyes narrowed as I squinted at the floating letters above his head. “I can read it, but I can’t figure out how you’re supposed to say it. Is it-?”

“That’s enough!” His outburst almost made me flinch. “I go by Mello, understand? Nothing else.”

Ho. Ly. Shit. It is him. It has to be!

“Alright, alright,” I raised my hands in a position of mock-surrender. “No need to get snippy.”

Mello quickly cooled down and resumed his leisurely position on the couch, his body practically draped over the cushions like a model about to be drawn nude.

“Are you serious about this eye-trade?”

“Quite. But I can only make the deal with the current owner of my Death Note,” I turned to Snydar. “That would be you.”

“Make the deal, Jack,” Rod ordered.

“Wh-what?!”

“You heard me. Make the deal for the shinigami eyes.”

“But I’ll lose half of-” It was at this point Snydar noticed the way Rod was reaching into his jacket. “Ya know, on second thought, I’d like to make to the eye-trade.”

“Atta boy.”

“So, uh...” Snydar looked at me. “How does this...umm, happen? What are you going to do?”

“Just close your eyes and hold very still.” He did as instructed and I gently placed my hand on top of his head. “Now, I’ve never done this before, so it may take a few tries,” I didn’t know whether to mock or pity the man as he started to tremble. “But it shouldn’t hurt a bit.” I focused for a second and felt a strange tingling in the hand that was on Snydar’s head which quickly shot up my arm and dissipated. “Annnnnd done. You can open your eyes now.” He did so, revealing bright red irises which quickly faded back to his natural eye color. “Congratulations, you are now that much closer to death.”

And I’m that much closer to getting my Death Note back...

“What do you see?” Mello asked.

“Names...” Snydar whispered. “And numbers. Are those their lifespans?”

“Yeah, but they’re done in the numeral language of the shinigami. To translate it to human calculations, you’d need a calculator and a great deal of time, depending on how precise you’d want it to be.”

“Excellent.” Rod thumped Snydar on the back. “Now we’re in business.”

“Thank you, A.” Mello smiled. “You have been very helpful.”

I felt something stir deep inside of me. A quiver just below my stomach that sent tingles up my spine and made my lower extremities throb ever so slightly. The sensation was new, yet faintly familiar. I almost gagged when I realized what it was.

Oh no, nope, nuh-unh, don’t even think about it, don’t you dare feel attracted to him ah shit, too late.

“No problem.” The inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper. “Any other questions?”

“I think we’re good for now.” His smile disappeared, as did the sickening feeling, and I inwardly sighed with relief. “We’ll let you know if we have any more questions, but for now, you can keep watch outside.”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t quite believe what I’d just heard.

“It’ll be very convenient for us that you can’t be seen by humans. Go outside and keep watch, got it?”

In another time, I would have pissed my pants and ran at the look he gave me then. It was goddamn creepy. But I had changed since then, and had grown used to these kinds of gazes. If anything, I thought it was extremely humorous.

“Heh...heheheh...” His left eye twitched in surprise as my giggles turned into guffaws of laughter. Everyone stared, bewildered, as my voice rose and fell, cracking in its insane cackles.

“What’s so funny?” Mello asked, irked.

“You are!” I chuckled. “You are without a doubt the strangest human being I have ever encountered! Your appearance! Your intelligence! Your chocolate and leather fetishes! And now you’re givin’ me friggin’ orders! Me! A goddamned shinigami! A being that has every single person in this room terrified except for you! The whole thing just strikes me as hilarious!”

I continued to laugh maniacally as the blonde glared at me with the icy daggers that were his eyes. Eventually, I began to calm down.

“Finished?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I’ll give you this though, you’re probably also the bravest human I’ve seen; it takes some serious guts to boss around a death god.”

There was a brief pause as my words sunk in. I had a feeling I had said what everyone else had once thought at one point or another. Mello was a very strange person. Brilliant yes, but strange...and maybe a bit psychotic, but hey, I wasn’t one to judge.

“So, are you going to keep watch, or not?”

My lips clenched into a scowl as my good humor immediately dissolved.

“Okay, let’s make something explicitly, perfectly clear here.” I took a few steps toward him. “The only reason I’m here is because shinigami law requires me to be. That does not make me your servant, alright? You do not get to order me around like one of these shit-for-brains asshats.” I motioned to the group of men surrounding us, stopping once I was right in front of him. He hadn’t moved an inch, his face only expressing the slightest hint of emotion. It was really starting to tick me off. “So, do we have an understanding?”

There was a tense silence, the people in the room waiting with bated breath for Mello’s response, until...

“Do it, and I’ll give you more chocolate.”

-snap!-

Before I knew what I was doing, I’d grabbed the blonde by the throat and yanked him to his feet. He audibly gasped in surprise and pain as I slammed his back against the wall above the couch. I found it immensely pleasing.

“Listen well, Pretty Boy, because I’m only going to say this once,” I leaned in close until we were perfectly eye-level. “Don’t fuck with me. Fuck with me, and you’ll regret it. You have my word on that.”

I dropped him back on the sofa-cushions and he glared up at me with hate-filled eyes.

“You...you...” He was so angry, he couldn’t think of anything to say. I knew that feeling well.

“Maybe when you’re ready to treat with me some respect, we can try this again.” I placed a hand on his shoulder, tightening my grip when he tried to shake it off, and leaned in again, hissing into his ear. “Your tricks won’t work on me. I’ve been dealing with your type for a long time now. I’m used to it.”

My type?” Mello whispered, caught off-guard again as I released his shoulder and stood up.

“Anyway, if you have any more questions regarding the Death Note, just give me a holler. Later.”

Black, feathery wings popped out of my back, and I flew up and out of the hideout so fast that Mello’s enraged shouts just barely reached my ears as faint whispers. I smiled in content as I settled on a high tree-branch, but it didn’t last long as I began to think about the recklessness of my past actions, and the young man whom was currently handling my notebook.

Hmm...Short-tempered, calculating, a bit on the arrogant side, chocolate addiction, late teens...There’s no doubt about it...It’s the Mello he told me about...

I held up my left arm and pulled down the shirt-sleeve, revealing a single letter carved into the flesh of my wrist and a list of names beneath it. Using the sharp tip of my pen, I began to add the names of the people I’d sentenced to death just a few minutes prior. I hoped that the familiar pain would be enough to distract me from my rapidly growing feeling of dread.

This might change things...

Alternate title for this chapter: HEYKIDSWANNASEEADEADBODY?

And before you ask, yes, Mello wearing black lipstick is totally canon. Don’t believe me? Look it up. Fabulous, no?

#death note #fanfiction #my work #Righteous Side of Hell #AKA

0 notes

kawaiipsycho101 · 7 years

Text

Righteous Side of Hell--Ch. 1

1. That! That!

You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.

“You’re all scum, ya know that?” I said to the oblivious men and women. “Worthless, life-sucking scum.” I could see the back of a head with silken blonde hair extending a graceful, well-toned arm. In its gloved-covered hand was my notebook.

A woman, huh? That’s actually rather impressive. Don’t see many godmothers these days.

My notebook is in the hands of a blonde, leather-wearing, chocolate-munching, gun-toting, possibly-sociopathic, pretty boy?!

I slowly rubbed a hand down my face and sighed.

“Of course. Sure. Why the fuck not?”

After a few more seconds of staring at the oddity, I decided it was time to make contact.

He can’t see me until Snydar touches it. Guess I’ll have to wait…

A few seconds later…

Fuck this shit!

I plucked the notebook out of the blonde’s hands, giggling at the look of pure shock plastered on his face, and slapped it against Snydar’s cheek before dropping it in his lap.

“The…The notebook just flew.”

“Heh, it’s a notebook that kills people. Hell, nothing surprises me anymore,” said a fellow mobster named Dwhite Gordan, a beefcake who only wore a suit-jacket to hide his chest.

Nothing surprises you, eh? Just wait…

I watched as Snydar turned around and saw me, his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates.

“Ha! You should see your face right now!”

“AAHHH!” He fell out of his seat and pointed at me. “Boss, who is this?! The guy in the freaky costume?! Who the Hell is he?! Who brought him here?!”

“You idiot, don’t you know a shinigami when you see one?”

“A shinigami?” He began to laugh hysterically.

“That’s right. Now if I were you, I’d have the others touch the notebook before the men in white come and take you to the Happy Home.” I pointed at the Death Note. “Go on.”

Snydar picked up the notebook with shaking hands and looked at me, then his cohorts.

“It says you can see it if you touch the notebook! Please, everyone touch it! I swear I’m not crazy!”

Then again, he’s awfully young…Perhaps he’s a second-in-command...Still though, for someone so young to make it this far in the mafia…

I was snapped out of my thoughts when Dwhite gave an annoyed grunt.

“Fine, whatever. Come on guys, touch the notebook.”

Just as the first person’s hand was inches away from the book, I got a brilliant idea and quickly went through the wall closest to me.

“Well Jack, where is it?”

“It was right there, I swear! Just now!”

“WHAAAAZZZZZUUUUHHHP?”

The screams and gunshots that followed were music to my ears. I hadn’t laughed so hard in years. I was still trying to keep my sides from splitting by the time they calmed down.

“Jack’s right,” Dwhite muttered. “That ain’t no costume. That’s a real-life shinigami.”

“Damn straight,” I snickered.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing really, just my notebook.”

“Your notebook?”

“Yes, my notebook.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How do we know it’s yours?”

“Okay, so it’s your notebook. Doesn’t mean we have to give it back to you.”

“How do we know you won’t just run away with the notebook? Or write all of our names down, and then run away?” My attention returned to the head mobster before me.

“But-”

“Just give it the notebook, Rod. I think it’s telling the truth.”

There was a brief silence before the mob boss spoke.

“Are you sure, Mello?”

Wait, WHAT?

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” Without another word he handed me my notebook, and I took it from him while doing my best to hide my sudden anxiety.

Did he say…? No…no, it can’t be…I must have misheard.

“Thank you.” I pulled a pen from my belt and flipped to a fresh page in the notebook. “Any preferences?”

“No, thanks. We already took care of that.”

“There,” I slapped the notebook shut. “I should be set for the next couple hundred years or so.” I stood up and handed it back to Rod. “I told you I was a shinigami of my word.”

“Right…” he said uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong? Still put off by my appearance?” I cleared my throat and threw my voice around until it was a perfect imitation of his. “Or is it the voice? Does the way I talk upset you?”

The man’s eyes widened.

“How…how are you doing that?”

“It’s a quirk.” I grinned, knowing that my voice trick was putting everyone in a state of unease.

I’ll have these pigs in the palm of my hand in no time.

“Umm…Could you please,” mumbled one of the other mobsters. “Not do that?”

“Well, since you asked nicely…” I reverted back to my normal way of speaking. “Sure.”

“Shinigami.” I looked at the blonde on the couch, and was surprised to find that he was still remarkably composed. The way he looked at me…It felt like he was sizing me up, figuring out various ways I could be of use to him, and then when and how to dispose of me once he was through. This was a man used to getting what he wanted, and anyone who got in his way would most assuredly wind up with a bullet lodged into their skull. Normally I despised people like this, and frankly, he was no exception; and yet, the more I studied him, I realized that unlike other pompous brats, he had the skill to back up his bravado. I hated to admit it, but I was starting to respect him.

Maybe…there’s a chance it might be him…But I have to be certain.

“Yes?”

“What’s your name?”

“You can call me A for now.” I noticed how his brow twitched ever so slightly, as if maybe I’d struck a nerve. “Or ‘Shinigami’, or whatever. I don’t really care.”

“Then tell me…A,” he asked, taking a bite of his chocolate. “Is there anything else we need to know about the Death Note? Any other rules or limitations to who we can kill?”

I got an idea and smirked.

“There are, but I don’t like giving things away without getting something in return. So, how about another deal?”

“What do you want?”

“That.” I pointed to his chocolate. “Give me some of that, and I’ll answer any questions you have with the utmost sincerity. No lies, no tricks.”

Oh, sweet motherfucking Christ, yes.

As I finished it off, I placed my palms together and closed my eyes for a brief second in an almost-reflexive sign of thanks. I didn’t really notice I was doing it until I’d opened my eyes again.

Huh…that’s odd.

I quickly put the thought out of my mind and positioned my scarf back over my mouth with a grin.

“The thirteen-day rule is totally bogus. Also, if I die, the notebook will not be affected; the same would also apply to me if the notebook is destroyed.”

“You mean those rules are fake?!” Rod cried.

“That’s what I said.”

“So earlier,” one of the mobsters grumbled. “When you wanted to borrow the notebook, you were-”

“Playing you for a bunch of chumps? Yes, yes I was.”

“But why? Why would you put in fake rules?” The blonde’s gaze narrowed.

“I didn’t, someone else did.”

“Who?”

“No idea,” I lied. “Most likely another shinigami. Probably did it to mess with a human. Ya know, shits and giggles. Oh, and you’ll probably want to know about the eye-trade.”

“Eye-trade?”

“That’s enough!” His outburst almost made me flinch. “I go by Mello, understand? Nothing else.”

Ho. Ly. Shit. It is him. It has to be!

“Alright, alright,” I raised my hands in a position of mock-surrender. “No need to get snippy.”

Mello quickly cooled down and resumed his leisurely position on the couch, his body practically draped over the cushions like a model about to be drawn nude.

“Are you serious about this eye-trade?”

“Quite. But I can only make the deal with the current owner of my Death Note,” I turned to Snydar. “That would be you.”

“Make the deal, Jack,” Rod ordered.

“Wh-what?!”

“You heard me. Make the deal for the shinigami eyes.”

“But I’ll lose half of-” It was at this point Snydar noticed the way Rod was reaching into his jacket. “Ya know, on second thought, I’d like to make to the eye-trade.”

“Atta boy.”

“So, uh…” Snydar looked at me. “How does this…umm, happen? What are you going to do?”

And I’m that much closer to getting my Death Note back…

“What do you see?” Mello asked.

“Names…” Snydar whispered. “And numbers. Are those their lifespans?”

“Excellent.” Rod thumped Snydar on the back. “Now we’re in business.”

“Thank you, A.” Mello smiled. “You have been very helpful.”

Oh no, nope, nuh-unh, don’t even think about it, don’t you dare feel attracted to him ah shit, too late.

“No problem.” The inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper. “Any other questions?”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t quite believe what I’d just heard.

“It’ll be very convenient for us that you can’t be seen by humans. Go outside and keep watch, got it?”

“Heh…heheheh…” His left eye twitched in surprise as my giggles turned into guffaws of laughter. Everyone stared, bewildered, as my voice rose and fell, cracking in its insane cackles.

“What’s so funny?” Mello asked, irked.

I continued to laugh maniacally as the blonde glared at me with the icy daggers that were his eyes. Eventually, I began to calm down.

“Finished?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I’ll give you this though, you’re probably also the bravest human I’ve seen; it takes some serious guts to boss around a death god.”

There was a brief pause as my words sunk in. I had a feeling I had said what everyone else had once thought at one point or another. Mello was a very strange person. Brilliant yes, but strange…and maybe a bit psychotic, but hey, I wasn’t one to judge.

“So, are you going to keep watch, or not?”

My lips clenched into a scowl as my good humor immediately dissolved.

There was a tense silence, the people in the room waiting with bated breath for Mello’s response, until…

“Do it, and I’ll give you more chocolate.”

-snap!-

I dropped him back on the sofa-cushions and he glared up at me with hate-filled eyes.

“You...you…” He was so angry, he couldn’t think of anything to say. I knew that feeling well.

“My type?” Mello whispered, caught off-guard again as I released his shoulder and stood up.

“Anyway, if you have any more questions regarding the Death Note, just give me a holler. Later.”

Hmm…Short-tempered, calculating, a bit on the arrogant side, chocolate addiction, late teens…There’s no doubt about it…It’s the Mello he told me about…

This might change things…

Alternate title for this chapter: HEYKIDSWANNASEEADEADBODY?

And before you ask, yes, Mello wearing black lipstick is totally canon. Don’t believe me? Look it up. Fabulous, no?

#death note #fanfiction #my work #righteous side of hell

0 notes

bluebookbadger-blog · 7 years

Text

The Price of a Life - Chapter 12

The next week sped by in a blur, every little inconvenience bringing tears to my eyes. I literally cried over spilled milk. Twice. But, despite the heavy cloud hanging over my head, I had made some headway in my plans. With Gracia, I visited the bank, and relearned the process of making a withdrawal, the banking system quite similar to the one back in my world.

However, on Friday, when I was officially declared well enough to be without crutches and had my stitches removed, was the day of Miss. Reich's funeral. The wake would be held in a funeral home on the other side of the local cemetery.

I didn't tell Camilla or Gracia where I was going, but from my black dress that the Fuhrer had given me and the thin shawl over my shoulders, they could have easily guessed.

The walk felt much longer than it had previously, the hot sun making the stiff black clothes unbearable. My mind drifted to the idea of the wake. Would there be a priest? Would there be a lot of family there? Would I even be allowed to attend? I thought about the last funeral I had attended in my world.

It had been for the old German spinster who lived across the street from us. Me and my siblings always called her Omama. She was strict and would always yell at us for trampling her tulips or letting the chickens free range on her lawn, but the old woman had a softer side.

We would go over to her houseafter finishing our school work to eat some of her famous spritzkuchen, which were like doughnuts. She would help us with our Latin homework, or at least she tried to, her explanations wandering into German. Omama was single, and was the youngest in her family that came to America. All of her siblings had died, and despite her snappiness and angry grumbles, our family had become hers.

My mother had known her when she was younger, and even then my mother would bring her boyfriend of the month over and eat popcorn and watch a movie. Afterwards Omama would take one last look at the guy, and tell my mom he wasn't the right one. My dad was one of those guys, but I think that was the only time Omama was ever wrong about something. Or at least the only time that I know of.

Her funeral had been about a year before I left my world. It was unexpected, or at least as unexpected as the death of a 104 year old woman living alone could be. Ironically, I wasn't even that sad. All I could think about at the wake was all the New Year's Eves spent huddled around her little tube television with a mouthful of popcorn, and all the times she threatened to cook up one of the chickens for eating her tomato garden.

But this wake was going to be very different, judging by Hughes' funeral. It would most likely be curt, professional, and silent. Though I still blamed myself for what happened, some of those self loathing feelings had ebbed. Perhaps she and Albert were destined to die. Maybe someone else had died, somewhere far away, and maybe their death's were simple coincidence.

Somewhere my subconscious dismissed those thoughts as wishful thinking, but they gave me some relief from the weight on my conscience.

The funeral home was small, with vines growing up the brick and mortar sides. There were a few cars and buggies parked haphazardly on the road in front of it. I was frozen standing at the steps, the questions returning.

Just as I was about to turn away, social anxiety clawing at my insides to go back to the apartment, the door creaked open. A man stepped out, a freshly lit cigar between his lips. He wore a top hat and suit reminiscent of one you would imagine in a Jane Austen novel. He had dark hair, by evidence of his twitching black mustache. His eyes stood out the most: bright, clear, blue eyes. Blue eyes that were staring at me.

The man blew a puff of smoke, motioning with the cigar in his hand.

"Ye can go in y'know," The man said, his accent strange compared to the clear and enunciated speech of most Amestrians to which I had spoken. Now that I thought about it, Amestris had almost no variety of dialects, at least not in Central. I suppressed a smile, recalling my cousin Morgan's conclusion that, 'You Nutmeggers have an accent - the accent of not having a damn accent' the same could be said about Central. No slurred consonants, emphasized vowels, or abbreviated words - they spoke as if they were reading from a dictionary.

"Hey, ye okay lass?" The man's gruff voice stirred me from the brief moment of thought. I nodded numbly, all of my fears and sorrow regarding the wake dissipated. I had attended at least a hundred funerals in my time (related to old age and illness, though I believe there may have been a car crash or two in my extended family at some point). This one would be no different. This would be executed with the same solemn, collected, finality that Hughes' funeral had, and I would be just fine with that.

I stepped inside the quaint building, greeted by the homey, slightly smokey scent of the funeral home. Seeing a guest, book, I approached and read the names.

Reich...Reich...Reich...

All family, except for me. I scribbled my cursive name and followed the faint sounds of voices. Everything was strangely muted, my own breathing and uneven steps muffled by the carpeted floor and atmosphere of the hallway. I soon found a small room filled with people who stood in groups of three or four, mumbling quietly to each other.

Suddenly feeling unwelcome, I turned to leave but found my feet unwilling. I had to go in there.

I took a deep breath, and took a few steps into the room. No one even noticed me.

'Finally,' I thought, maneuvering between groups. 'My wish to become invisible had been granted,' At last I was beside the raised casket, the top portioned opened to reveal the body inside. I swallowed a lump in my throat at the sight of her. She looked so peaceful, as if she were asleep, but her stillness was too unnatural and broke the illusion.

Unlike the wakes I had attended previously, there was no kneeler for me to say a few prayers on, not that I was capable of doing so without rekindling the pain in my side. I stood there quietly for a moment, my hands folded before myself for a few whispered prayers. When I finished, I felt the urge to turn and run, before the crowds noticed my presence.

Stronger than that urge was the habit of tradition. I brought my hands to my neck and undid the clasp of my mother's golden necklace, the attached rosary and earring clinking quietly as I lifted it from my chest and laid it in the coffin beside Mrs. Reich.

It was a tradition of my family to put a small token of oneself in the coffin. Some caskets would be stuffed with books and wine glasses, other bedazzled with jewelry and small statues. I considered Mrs. Reich to be one of the few people I knew as family in this world, so the gift was justified. Keeping my eyes trained on the ground, I weaved my way back to hallway.

Stepping softly back into the warmth of the city, but the bright sunlight seemed colder now. I was not going to sit through the funeral, however brief it may have been, just to be alone in a crowd.

Back at the apartment, all was quiet. It seemed the Grace, Camila, and Elicia had gone out for the day, leaving me to my schemes. I limped to my bedroom, exhausted by the long walk. Stripping off the dress, I threw on a loose blouse and some comfortable pants before getting to work. I changed the sheets on my bed, neatly folding every corner, before emptying every drawer and packing it into the bag I had been given.

Once satisfied with my choice in attire, I closed the bag and hefted it onto my shoulder and exited the room. I stood in the hallway for a moment, wondering what I was doing before shaking myself from the doubts and heading to the door.

Quickly placing on the table a previously composed note expressing my wishes to leave, I left the apartment. I moved robotically, I can barely remember even leaving the apartment. My thoughts were elsewhere, wandering the expanse of my life that had led to this cowardice.

That's right, I was a coward. I was just running away from these people and this place. And I was just fine with that. I wasn't even supposed to be here, let alone involve myself in the lives of the people here. It wasn't my place to play God and decide who lived and died, and as of late, I no longer had any power in such matters. And that was okay.

I continued walking until I found the bank, keeping my eyes low as I withdrew some money from my account, receiving hostile glares and suspicion from the teller. I then realized I wasn't wearing a hat, and that I must have appeared mightily foreign to the teller. I didn't care. They couldn't get me arrested for taking money from my account. Well, maybe they could call the police, but what harm would that do? I gathered up the cenz and paper money and threw it into my bag before strutting arrogantly from the bank. I didn't care what they thought.

Night was falling as I made my way farther from the center of the city, the dilapidated flats and closed store buildings becoming more sinister as darkness fell. The lights here were not electric, and it seemed only a few had been lit out of necessity. The exhaustion from the day was making me weary, but the dark alleys and the less than pleasant looking residents of the slum were enough to keep me from lying down in a side street to rest. Still, I needed somewhere to sleep for the night, and I wasn't about to risk any of the parasites or diseases that lurked in the apartment buildings.

So I continued walking towards my destination. I was tired, yes, but fear is a damn good motivator. And currently, I was quite afraid. Afraid of the man who has been walking behind me for a few blocks now, afraid of the prospect of sleeping in some alleyway, afraid of sleeping without a weapon - there was plenty to fear on a night like that.

The man following me was my greatest concern in that moment, his dark silhouette barely illuminated by the flickering streetlamps. I had walked around a block a few times to make sure I wasn't being paranoid, but the figure was definitely stalking me.

It was unnerving, especially considering the only weapon I had was probably in a plastic evidence bag somewhere in Central Command. I guess I could have grabbed a kitchen knife, but it would be too awkward to carry around, and butcher's knives didn't have a handle to keep you from cutting yourself if your hand slid forward. I had no other choice except to keep moving. I could sleep when I inevitably died.

The footsteps disappeared into one of the dilapidated buildings, but my anxiety did not let up.

The slums gave way to the outer ring of the city, populated by the tents and shacks of the homeless. A few fires burned here, the only source of light in the dreary landscape. Most of these fires were encircled by cloaked figures, their tired red eyes trained on the flames and their dark lips speaking in hushed whispers. I kept to the path, but avoided these areas. I may have trusted them in the day, but night made it difficult to discern friend from foe. I doubted even my likeness to the Ishvalans would grant me automatic acceptance in these dark outer limits of the city.

The pathway I walked on was raised above the haphazardly constructed shacks, which sat in low ditches carved into the sandy earth. The path would branch into grids that outlined the square ditches. I imagine that it must have looked like some complex computer chip from the air, with the scrap metal rooves reflecting the silver light of the stars and the fires pin pricks of gold.

I continued walking until I came upon an abandoned fire, the red embers still giving off enough light to be seen from my distance. I began walking towards the dim light, the secondary pathway narrow and ill defined from its surrounding ditches. I somehow managed to maneuver through the maze of pathways without falling down the steep incline to the shanties below. The people who huddled around the fires watched me with unblinking eyes. I could not tell if curiosity or wariness was the cause of their stares, so I avoided meeting their crimson gazes.

I kept my own maroon eyes fixated on the nearing embers. This ditch was slightly larger than the surrounding campsites, but the hovels were more numerous and smaller. I cautiously slid down the incline, the gravel and sand scraping my hands as gravity pulled me down. All was quiet, with the exception of the muffled crackle of the embers. The faint glow revealed several sleeping forms, and I had to push away the urge to continue walking. I needed to rest for a little while, and the chill of the autumn air was numbing my hands.

Stepping gingerly over the slumbering beings, I crouched by the embers and tried to warm my hands. Using a nearby charcoaled stick, I stirred them to life, and reveled in the heat they gave off. The flickering lights illuminated the sleeping forms to reveal children, who huddled together for warmth. It pulled at my heart strings, seeing their thin shivering forms wrapped in rags. Some bore pale scars on their dark skin, evidence of the cruelty such small children had already endured.

I counted them, noting that there was no one in the huts. In total, I could make out at least sixteen children. I wondered where their parents where for a moment, before the memory of the war resurfaced and I once more felt intense pity for the children. Homeless orphans, from my best guess. I shrugged off my jacket and laid it over a boy who wore only a pair of tattered shorts.

Using my bag as a pillow, I laid my head down and looked at the stars. I could never properly see them in the city, where the glaring lights obscured them from view. Here, however, they were bright and clear, sharply defined against the inky indigo abyss of space. They were not familiar at all. No Ursa Major or Andromeda were visible, the scattered lights uncoordinated with any familiar constellations. Another reminder of how out of place I was. Another reminder of this alien world.

At some point in the night I had drifted off, but only briefly, as the first grey lights of the morning sun startled me awake. Well, more than the light, the rumble of engines woke me. The children from the night before were gone, their shabby blankets missing and the only evidence of their existence being the footprints in the sand. My eyes followed the prints to find that they led to the shacks. Before I could investigate further, a truck rolled to a stop above me.

"Hey!" A voice called, a young Ishvalan waving to me. "You want work?" I thought for a moment. Did I want to go on that truck to who knows where for possible 'work' which could be less than desirable? Not really. Did I want to stay here and wait to be confronted and forced to go somewhere else? No. Creepy truck it was!

I nodded, and picked up me bag.

"You won't be needin' that," The man said, motioning to my satchel. I looked at the huts and sighed. Hopefully the children would know better than to rifle through my things. I walked to the nearest shack and placed my things just inside the 'door' which was no more than a sheet of ragged fabric. I took a quick inventory of my clothes, the pants and loose shirt concealing anything that might dissuade a job offer that involved intense physical labor. My boots would hopefully have enough support to keep my ankles from giving out if this 'work' involved being on my feet all day. It was harvest season after all, and the only land outside of the city that was not modified Hoovervilles was farmland from the looks of it.

I scrambled up the incline to the road, where the truck was waiting. I hopped up onto the bed of the truck where the Ishvalan man clapped a hand on my back.

"So, you're new 'round here I'm guessing," He said with a chuckle as the vehicle roared to life and began sputtering down the narrow path away from the city.

"Yes," I responded quietly, hoping not to sound foreign to the man. "What kind of work are we doing?" I asked softly as the truck slowed to a stop, more Ishvalans boarding the truck. Most were young men, strong and shirtless, but a few women boarded as well, their silver locks tied up in braids to be kept out of their faces.

"The Meyer Farm, nice folks, nothin' you need to worry about," He said, moving over as more people crowded the truck bed. "The work's hard though, sure you up for it? You look a little pale," I ducked my head, forgetting that I had no hat to hide my features, which must have been quite conspicuous even in the dim morning light.

"I can handle it," I responded firmly, though I did not meet his eyes. Perhaps I could handle it, perhaps I could not. My hip was quite sore from the long walk the other day, but the pain was manageable compared to the pain when I first received the injury.

The truck continued its stop and go until we reached the edge of the shantytown and the dry sandy earth faded into ranch land. The man spoke with the other riders in a language I did not recognize, at least from the series, which made me nervous. Perhaps I should have stayed with Gracia.

The vehicle thundered to a stop, shaking my worried from my mind as the people got off the truck and immediately set to work. We had stopped at a small farm house, the faded blue paint peeling to reveal the half rotted wood beneath. I followed the crowd, realizing more trucks full of people where off loading their cargo. I followed the man who had invited me, his broad shoulders cutting a pathway in the crowd for me to follow behind him.

I avoided meeting the prying eyes of the other workers, and focused on the man in front of me. He was young, in his mid twenties at most. But scars where raked across his left shoulder, a peppering of bullets that could have killed had they been a few inches lower. I swallowed involuntarily, looking away from the scar tissue. I kept forgetting that these people lived through a war.

Tailing the man, I collected several baskets, each about half a meter in diameter and in depth.

"What are we picking?" I finally asked as we boarded another truck.

"So he can speak!" Exclaimed one of other workers above the engine, an older man with a neatly combed ashen beard. I gave a nervous smile as they gave a small laugh of amusement at my meek demeanor. "It's sugar beet season son,"

"It's Harvest Day, the boss expects frost tonight. Wouldn't be surprised if we're picking greens today," The man I had followed responded, I listening intently. I had picked sugar beets when I worked on Mr. Solosky's farm back home, but I preferred picking greens. Parsley, basil, cilantro, dill, watercress - Solosky's was mainly a bean farm, but we had small fields of greens where most of the girls worked, simply because it was not as labor intense as corn and cucumber harvesting.

"Naw, there won't be frost, my knee isn't aching like it would if there be frost on the way," The older man replied, patting a knee that was barely held together with sinew and stringy muscle. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from asking why there was no automail to facilitate his walking, which must have been impeded by the war injury.

I looked over the edge of the truck, avoiding the current debate over the connection of body aches and weather predictions. The neat rows of vegetables and vine plants spanned much farther than I had ever worked. Where I normally picked 100 yard rows of tomatoes, there was at least a mile of squash and gourd plants. The other side of the road was lined with golden wheat fields that shivered in the wind.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I reminiscence my own time on a farm. Sure the days were long, the sun was hot, and tomato plant tar never came out, but it paid well, and it was a pretty good learning experience. I had to manage small ragtag teams of workers that varied day to day and coordinate with the boss on what and where and when tasks could be completed. Working the register at markets was the customer service facet of the job, laced with irrational demands and crying, impatient children.

This work seemed different though. It seemed as if today would be filled with more monotonous, repetitive picking and less human interactions, which I was completely fine with. I still was not quite ready to throw myself back into the lives of complete strangers, not yet at least.

The truck rumbled to a stop, and I lifted my head to see an endless sea of green rows. The man whom I would be tailing for the day, I am going to start calling him...Roger, because I know it would be rude to ask an Ishvalan their name for their religious reason and whatnot, beckoned me to follow him. I eagerly kept pace with him as he led me to a row of plants that had the faintest scent of beeswax and freshly cut grass - watercress.

Roger plucked some from the moist earth, the morning dew not yet evaporated.

"Pick it just like this," He said, demonstrating the roots still clotted with earth. He then threw it into the basket, and met my eyes for a moment. "Can you do that?" I nodded and set to work, using both hands to grab handfuls of the herb at a time. Roger walked away, satisfied with my pace and began on his own row.

I was wrapped in nostalgia as I worked, the rhythm to the labor setting in as time drew on and the sun grew hotter. I was falling behind, and it began to irk me as Roger passed me despite starting long after I had begun. For a little while I drove myself harder, trying to work fast enough to keep up with the others, but quickly gave up and returned to my previous pace. I was going to burn myself out trying to work any faster than I already was.

My mind wandered in the simmering heat, the sun seemingly too hot for the chill I had felt just hours ago. I worried about being paid, but could not really care for the money. So long as the Ishvalans didn't kick me out of the little camp, I could make due with sleeping under the strange stars.

Wiping some sweat from my brow without looking up, I thought about the children I had stumbled upon. A worry gnawed inside me that they had gone through my belongings, ripped up my Certificate of Honorary Whatnot, and had spent what little money I had on candy. I was swift to dismiss the thought. I could have some faith in them. Until they proved me wrong.

The sun was high in the sky when I finally noticed why I was so much slower than the other workers. Where I picked all six independent rows of Watercress, they went down one side of their row, collecting only half so as to get the rest on the return trip. I looked down the row, seeing that a small gathering was taking place with the truck. All of the workers had completed their half a row.

I assumed they were resting, the shade from the many trees that bordered the field. I licked my lips, realizing how thirsty I was, but quickly went back to the task at hand. I could drink when I finished, and it would take too much time to walk all the way down there just to drink. And so I kept working, my hands black with fertile earth and blistering from the rough handles of the basket.

Memories of Mr. Solosky's farm returned as I found my rhythm again and got back to work.

I could feel the weight of my jeans as I weaved my way through patches of weeds taller than I was to find the last few rows of wax beans, heavy with fruit and hidden from man and beast alike. Anya, Mr. Soloksy's daughter, in her ankle length skirt and flattering t-shirt hard at work in the wash station with piles of sweet potatoes in the sinks. Vitaly and Vladimir would always joke about who would win my sister's heart, only to be shocked by Mary's disinterest in men, and marriage in general. I found myself smiling at the memory of my meek, shy older sibling coming to Harvest Day bonfire with her first, and admittedly only ever, girlfriend.

It took some time for Roger's voice to register, the hum of my own heartbeat and breathing lulling my into a trance-like state of dogged work.

"Kid, 'ey, you all right?" I looked up, sweat beading on my eyelashes making it difficult to focus on the identity of the speaker. I rubbed my face with my elbow, the sleeve of the blouse coarse against my skin. I met Roger's worried red eyes and nodded confidently. He gave an unconvinced smile and handed me a canteen that looked as if it had fallen out of a WWII movie. "We all gotta drink, don't over work yourself,"

I took the canteen and drank, the water cold and refreshing. I'm not sure if everyone can relate, but I took those long, deep, gulping mouthfuls of water you take when you're in a hurry or have just eaten a ghost pepper sandwich. Smiling sheepishly, I handed the now empty canteen back to the man. Looking around, I realized that an entire crowd of workers were standing behind him. Some watched the exchange intently, others sat in the green grass and talked amongst themselves. I had finished my row entirely.

It took a great amount of effort to keep from throwing my arms in the air and flopping down in the tall grass and taking a victory nap. Instead, I shuffled the heavy basket onto the grass and carefully lowered myself to the ground, knowing the hypnosis of work would fade away, leaving pain and aches behind. At least Roger seemed amused. He, with one hand, easily hefted the near full basket onto the bed of the truck, which had acquired a few barrels of water since I last saw it.

"Well, take a rest for now, you deserve it kid," I took his words to heart, but merely nodded and watched the other workers.

Men and women mingled, but none were treated with disrespect. If anything, the people seemed to have some sort of reverence for each other. The older one was, the more respect they commanded, the deeper the nods, the longer the conversation. It was pretty darn strange to me for some reason, which made watching them as I relaxed for a few moments even stranger.

Most of them did not sit down, only the elders took such a privilege. Those who stood did not stand still, they shifted their weight from foot to foot, as if they were still in the fields working to the rhythm of some unsung song. Their respect seemed so unnatural compared to what I had seen in my own world, making me feel somewhat guilty for my place in the grass. But I couldn't have gotten up if I wanted to.

My hip throbbed as though a separate heart had been transplanted there, hot blood rushing through my veins. I must affirm that it was not close to as painful as when I first received it, but Lord almighty did it hurt. I took a moment to pray it was not infected before watching the people again.

Suddenly, they began walking back to their half finished rows. Perhaps the sun had shifted a little or the air had cooled a degree or two to notify them that they all should get back to work, but I could not detect it. Roger walked up to me, and offered me a hand.

"Back to work, brother," He said softly, I doing my best to hide my faltering steps from him. "You can help the Brother," Roger pointed at the old man with the crooked knee, who struggled to stand. I had to resist lifting an eyebrow. The Brother made it sound as if...I answered my own question, realizing most of the monks would have been killed in Ishval, and the probability that this man was the only monk who worked here would make sense.

Roger gave a stiff clap on my shoulder, urging me to go help the man. I glanced back to see he had already traveled back to his own half finished row and had resumed work. I walked over and held out a hand to the Brother, who looked up at me with eyes that sparkled with laughter.

"Child, I have not lost myself quite yet," The man shakily stood, and I felt anxious at the sight of his trembling hands. I could almost see him collapsing into a pile of ash, his fragility disclosed as he regained the strength to take a step. However, once he gained some momentum, the Brother and I shuffled along at a brisk pace to the end of the half picked row.

It took me a moment, but I found the task of carrying the basket to be sufficient in aiding our almost agonizingly slow pace. We trailed behind all other workers, not because we were doing twice as much more, but because it took twice as much time for the stiff, shaking hands of the elder to gather up the greens. It was quite annoying to be honest.

I think those few hours, of just wanting to move a little faster for the sake of finshing the task and getting on to the next really tried my patience. I realize that he was old, and frail, and his age was to be respected, but I came from a world of high speed internet and online shopping. I felt a little entitles to immediate reward, in other words, an empty row behind us. But there was nothing I could do but hold the basket and walking behind him, watching the workers become more and more distant.

I held the basket in my arms, its weight growing with every plant the man added, but I could not complain. Clouds had overcome the sky, blocking the sun from sight. They brought with them a cool, dry wind that smelled of distant apple orchards. This was much more comfortable to work in compared to the blazing heat, but that itch of impatience still compelled me to constantly judge the distance between us and the next hill crest that would let me view the end of the row.

The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon as we finished, the other workers patiently loading their baskets onto the cargo wagon and standing quietly by the truck. With the final plant of the row plucked from its dusty niche, I hefted the basket around the man and headed for the cargo wagon, which was drawn by a thin mule behind the truck. I nestled it among the countless others, which were carefully balanced in a neat pyramid.

I trudged back to the truck, where the Brother and the workers had already clambered onto its bed. I yawned as Roger helped me up, his hands covered with dirt and slick with sweat. He chuckled at my sleepiness.

"Long day?" I nodded, my back and feet sore and my still healing wound now aching with pain. He gave a half smile and ruffled my hair, the action gaining him a cross look from myself. That right was still reserved for Gracia, and now my hair was dirty and I had nowhere to shower.

The realization then dawned on me - I had no shower. Roger must have observed my face contort with terror at the thought. I was no germophobe, but I needed to shower at least every other day to keep my tangled mane from becoming a feral mass of matted hair. The idea left a sour feeling in my stomach. Perhaps I couldn't move away from Gracia quite yet.

The truck stopped at the farmhouse, and we all sort of staggered off the vehicle best we could and headed to the following mule drawn cart to offload the greens to the safety of the storage sheds. I somehow managed to drag a basket of what appeared to be Romaine lettuce to the shed, a meager contribution compared to the two or three baskets most of the workers carried at a time.

I could not have cared less at that moment. You probably can related to the bone tiredness of pure exhaustion that had glazed over my eyes and sunk into my bones as I sat there being useless while the other workers gathered around the farmhouse porch. Somewhere in my mind I had an inkling that they were being paid, and that I would not get my share if I didn't crawl over there, but the aching of my joints and the throb in my side kept me still.

I had money, and so long as I was welcome in the Ishvalan slums I would not need to spend any of it anytime soon. Well, if my money was still there when I got back. After what seemed like forever the crowd of people shuffled back to their respective mode of transport, Roger climbing up onto the truck and helping the Brother up before coming to sit beside me.

"You didn't get your money," I nodded, the swirling reds and violets of the sunset mesmerizing. "I would have brought it to you, but Mr. Meyers doesn't even know you work for him, not yet," I nodded again.

"Not all of us rely on money for pleasure, child," The old man spoke up, watching Roger with half lidded eyes, "To be close to Ishvala by working with the earth is all some need to find true happiness," Roger bowed his head, a student corrected by the teacher.

"But all of us need money to buy food," I said quietly, looking at the Brother to see his response. The Ishvalan religion had always intrigued me in its ambiguity. The only points made clear about its teachings were that names were considered sacred, and alchemy was strictly forbidden as it was arrogant and perverse in its nature.

"And should not our brothers provide for us?" The Brother asked in response. I was too tired to process the words then, but in retrospective this question was probably a bit of a test for me after I challenged his words.

"One cannot depend on others to provide for you, you must toil for your wheat, and share the excess it with others, that they may plant fields of their own, until all are satisfied," I said, trying to put together a cohesive sentence from the foggy catacombs of church catechisms and Sunday homilies.

"And why don't you share all of your wheat with others?" I gave him a hard stare. We were all tired, it was getting dark, the truck had only one headlight and he wanted to go all Socratic Method right this second?

"I don't know," I said with a sigh, "Probably 'cause you gotta make some bread to eat so that you don't drop dead," This roused a small laugh in the Brother.

"True, my child, quite true," The truck thundered to a stop, I for the first time realizing I was at the camp where the children sat around the fire. I shakily climbed down off the truck, squinting up at the dark figures still left.

"I'll see you guys, have a good night," I bade with another yawn, skidding down the embankment. The children around the fire parted for me, my unopened bag holding a place for me.

It unnerved me a little, the circle of kids sitting around a fire just waiting for me to get off the truck and join them, like some dark cult awaiting the sacrificial lamb. The small boy who now wore my jacket scooted closer to me, eyes alight with curiosity. One of the older children, a young girl who must have been nearing her teens finally spoke up.

"We didn't go through your things, sir," Her voice trembled slightly, but her red eyed stare met me with unexpected intensity. "But where are you from?" The other children began to speak up, questions rising cacophony.

"Where did you come from?"

"How did you afford this coat?"

"Why are you here?"

"Who are you?" That last question hung in the air a moment longer than the other, the child who spoke it recognizing the taboo of its answer. I could only look out tiredly, sleep calling me. I could not help but answer all of them, the routine of my introduction coming reflexively in my exhausted state.

"I'm from Drachma but I have an honorary citizenship, I had a job in the city that paid well, but I lost it, I'm here to work on the farm, and my name is Irish," I said, laying down in the sandy earth. My bag was under my neck, the support easing my aching spine.

I could hear the new questions arise, but the words escaping me. A deep voice commanded silence, and all fell quiet. As curious as I was to its source, I dared not sit up. My hip felt as though the bones were chafing away at each other, and any movement only worsened the damage.

I stared up at the dark sky, the stars blurring as I fought to look up at the beauty for a few moments longer. For a second I thought I glimpsed a familiar belt of stars, but they disappeared as I drifted into unconsciousness.

Masterlist

#fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #si/oc #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #bbb writes #bbb #bluebookbadger

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