#i also have a legion mask on the table staring into my soul

[lazy-gay-frog]

Recently I have finally got the materials I needed for crafting and let's say that..... my room has been looking quite interesting since

[chrysalispen]

i: absolution

i hope none of you thought i was starting with the cart scene ;;

AO3 link HERE, fic chapter below the cut.

====

The anguish of the earth absolves our eyes

Till beauty shines in all that we can see.

War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise,

And, fighting for our freedom, we are free.

---Siegfried Sassoon, 1886-1967

-----o-----

Old Gridania, 14th Sun, Fourth Astral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era

It was a hot midsummer morning and the forest belonged to the cicadas. The dry and hollow whickering buzzed between the leaves, cutting through the oppressive wet weight of the air as if to assert the insects’ supremacy. From her perch upon the rough-hewn bench near the entrance to the Archers’ Guild, Aurelia Laskaris found that even remaining perfectly still was no respite. Not from the heat nor the weather, and certainly not the clouds of midges that seemed to swarm over everything and everyone. More than once, she had watched an Adder or a Wailer stroll past their cramped bench in the hastily repurposed waiting area while muttering curses and swatting at the clouds of insects so thick the air looked gray in places.

With a heavy and somewhat disconsolate sigh, she turned her attention back to the threadbare rug that lay upon the wooden planks a scant few ilms below her sandaled feet. Across the room, near the lectern by the door, she espied a strangely shaped brownish stain of unknowable origin- something that had at some point sunk deep into the fibers. The longer she sat with naught else to occupy her, the more it usurped her attention, until all she could do was stare at it and nibble on the end of the forelock she had twisted around her index finger.

“Are you really that nervous?” her minder’s voice murmured at her shoulder.

Keveh’to looked as bored and miserable as she felt. Dressed in his bright yellow Grand Company overcoat and matching uniform, the man who had been her minder and friend for nigh on five summers now watched her with a knowing light in his grey eyes. Like her, his face was dewy with a thin sheen of sweat, and his ears flickered every time one of the insects attempted to make a landing upon them.

“I’m only about to discover whether or not the Hearers deem me sufficiently reformed.” Aurelia’s gaze lingered upon the outline of that stain. Her brow itched with collected sweat, most maddeningly so about her third eye, but she didn’t dare lift the kerchief she wore. Not even to scratch. “My former enemies hold my very life in their hands. Naught about that could be nerve-wracking, surely.”

Was it blood? Wine? The Garlean couldn’t take her eyes off it. It was inexplicably vexing.

“You aren’t too nervous to be cheeky,” he said dryly, blocking the elbow she sent his way with a nimble swat of his palm. “Watch it! This coat is new.”

“What? One little jab to the ribs isn’t going to muss your uniform, Sergeant-”

“Lieutenant.”

“Right, Lieutenant Epocan now. My mistake.” He scoffed, but her attention was already back upon the stained rug. “...What if they change their minds?”

“About what?”

“You’ve got a perfectly good set of working ears, Keveh’to. Sentiment is turning strongly against-” The soft fall of golden waves upon her shoulders shifted side to side with the swivel of her chin as she tilted it towards one of the nearby guardsmen. “...against people like me.”

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“The hells you don’t.” Her voice dropped to a murmur, though her words were no less vehement for her discretion. “I’m sorry to sound so cross, but you know very well why I worry. What should become of me should they decide to send me packing back to the gaol?”

“They won’t,” he said, but she thought she detected enough uncertainty in the man’s voice that the butterflies in the pit of her belly began to flutter once more. “...Well, they’d be fools if they did.”

“That isn’t a comfort, you know.”

“And if you're that worried about appearances," he reached for the hand that hovered at her chin and tapped the back of her wrist, "walking into an arbitration chamber with a mouthful of your own hair isn't exactly what I would call a solid first impression.”

Scowling at the rebuke, she let out a soft and petulant huff but tugged the end of her forelock out from between her lips and settled her fidgeting hands back into her lap.

She wasn’t convinced, of course. Judges were as fallible as any other soul upon the star in her experience, and no less swayed by popular sentiment or personal grudge- although, she conceded in silence, it wasn’t as if she could control the outcome.

Logic wasn’t enough to assuage her concerns. Four years ago, when she had helped to save a small outlying settlement and dismantle an imperial cohort that had threatened it- that should have been the end of them. In truth, she and Keveh’to had both been lauded as heroes at the time. But four summers was more than enough time to forget, reports or not, and from the rumors Keveh’to had heard, the XIVth Imperial Legion looked to be steadily applying pressure against the still-fragile and rebuilding city-state.

It wasn’t just that. She’d overheard anxious whispers of her own in Hyrstmill. An ominous gloom settling back into Larkscall, the eastern edge of the Shroud that bordered Ala Mhigo. Machina and steel-clad imperial patrols spotted in an ailing and slow to recover Twelveswood. Wailers and adventurers alike, gone missing.

She cast another sidewise glance at the man by the door, but other than a vaguely disinterested nod in her direction he made no comment or gesture.

Hells, this interminable waiting. I’m going to go mad if I have to sit here for another-

“Conjurer Aurelia Laskaris and Lieutenant Keveh’to Epocan,” the bland voice from the desk startled her enough that she felt an unpleasant twist in her stomach. She sat suddenly ramrod straight, eyes wide. “The adjudicators will see you now.”

“It’s about bleeding time,” the Miqo’te muttered, tail smacking against the flat of the bench. He gave his charge a curious glance. “Are you alright?”

“Just a touch of nerves.” Posture ramrod straight, expression displaying a calm she most certainly did not feel, she set her pattened feet upon the rug and stood. “Do I look presentable?”

“...You look soaked in sweat and uncomfortable.”

“Reassuring,” Aurelia said testily, “thank you.”

Keveh’to shrugged. “Just like everyone else here.” He swept one arm towards the closed door, a grandiose gesture that fell somewhat flat. “Ladies first.”

For a moment she felt as unsteady on her feet as she had been that fateful day five years past, bedraggled and dirty and ill, limping alone into a rain-dampened keep for a tribunal to decide what should become of her. She exhaled, quickly wiping her sweaty palms against the hempen weave, and righted her posture once more. Keveh’to was correct, of course; surely this was naught save a formality. They’d either extend her sentence on the work program or they would shorten the leash, and she had only to find out which they had chosen.

And at least this time she wouldn’t be alone.

Squaring her shoulders, she made her way through the door and past the open training area, up a brief staircase, and into the short hallway. The two masked men bracing the door stared at the approaching duo, their lips set in a bland and unreadable line. Other than a curt nod in the Keeper’s direction, the guards seemed to pay neither of them any particular mind. Keveh’to paused, shrugged, then lifted a fist to rap on the oak panels.

“Enter,” called a mild baritone voice.

The heavy doors swung open with a ponderous creak upon brass hinges, and the Keeper and his imperial charge crossed the threshold into a room that to Aurelia’s critical eye was clearly a repurposed private office. Three people sat at a long desk: one Hyuran woman in the ash half-mask of a Wood Wailer, two men, one of whom she recognized. His gaze caught hers, and he acknowledged her with a polite inclination of his angular chin.

“Mistress Laskaris,” Vorsaile Heuloix said, and if the man’s voice was not precisely warm, it lacked the painstaking effort at civility she remembered from her first journey to Gridania five years ago.

Aurelia allowed herself a small smile. “Commander Heuloix.”

“It has been some time. I trust you are well.”

Somewhere behind her she heard the door click shut. “As well as one might expect.”

“Excellent.” His lips quirked, and with that twitch of his mouth his sharp features softened somewhat. “Let it be known that the Grand Company appreciates your timely response to this summons. I surmise we also have the Lieutenant to thank for that.”

“She was in Hyrstmill on behalf of the Conjurers’ Guild,” Keveh’to spoke up at her side, smiling wryly, “so it took a fair bit of time, but yes.”

“Well, we’re all present now.” Vorsaile gestured to the two masked strangers. "Swethyna Brookstone and Lewin Hunte. The commanders of the Wood Wailers and the Gods’ Quiver, two divisions of Gridania’s defense force, whom I have asked to be present today.”

Aurelia nodded to each in their turn, but her brow remained furrowed. “If I might beg your pardon, Commander, I admit to some curiosity as to why there is not a representative of the Council of Hearers present. Will they not also be needed to preside over this hearing? I was given to understand that theirs is the final say.”

Behind the table, the three exchanged meaningful glances. Vorsaile shook his head.

“I’m afraid that either you or Lieutenant Epocan have misunderstood,” he said. “This is not a hearing. The Council and the Elder Seedseer have already made a decision regarding your case- or rather, the Elder Seedseer has exercised her authority to do so.”

Her heart took a sudden and sickening drop into her stomach. Keveh’to seemed to sense her distress; his hand pressed into the center of her spine, whether to keep her upright or keep her from bolting out of the room it was unclear. She found herself feeling suddenly quite appreciative of his presence in either case.

“Well,” she swallowed with difficulty past the tight sensation in her throat, “one hopes that you would not keep a lady in suspense. Go on.”

The commander of the Yellow Serpents did not frown or glare or smile, only inclined his chin gravely. “I quite agree,” he said. “Swethyna, may I have the papers, please?”

Papers?

Lips still set in that neutral line, the masked woman flipped through a sheaf of documents on the table’s varnished surface until she found what she sought, plucked them from the stack, and passed them to the Elezen. He reached for the inkpot at his left elbow with one hand, collected the papers with the other, and placed them on the far side facing Aurelia and her minder.

“Mistress Laskaris,” Vorsaile Heuloix said, “after careful review of the particulars - including your actions while a novice of the Conjurers’ Guild assigned to the village of Willowsbend - it is the consensus that you have proven yourself a friend and ally to the people of the Twelveswood. Furthermore, you have comported yourself in a manner befitting the realm’s most stalwart defenders. It is remarkable enough to witness such conduct from any one individual, let alone a woman who once served under the White Raven's banner. You have the thanks of the Grand Company and the Council of Hearers alike, and of course Kan-E-Senna herself.”

“I… thank you.” It felt utterly inadequate but it was all the response she could manage, unsure as she was what this speech presaged. “I did only what anyone else would have done.”

“I beg to differ- but that is beside the point.” Vorsaile cleared his throat and reached for a small box that sat on the lip of the table. “The Elder Seedseer wished to offer you a place in the ranks of her honor guard, but the Council of Hearers made it clear they would not countenance your appointment to such a sensitive position.”

That did not surprise her. Gridanians were a hidebound people, more so even than her own countrymen, and she had seen over the years how people like Keveh’to were shoved to the fringes of their society. If they wouldn’t trust a Keeper of the Moon even when he wore the colors of their Grand Company, she knew there was precious little chance they would extend that trust to her.

“However,” he continued, “there are conditions to which they have agreed- which brings us to the reason for your summons today. In light of your valorous and compassionate actions in defense of the realm and its people, the Eorzean Alliance and its Grand Companies have decided to grant you a full pardon, and consider your time served.”

Aurelia faltered, staring at the assembled commanders in open astonishment. She was… she wasn’t going to a gaol? Or being reassigned?

“As such,” the small wooden box opened with a click; within it lay a small, plain brass signet ring engraved with a pair of serpents twined about a staff, “it is hereby decreed that you are to be created a citizen of the city-state of Gridania, with all rights and privileges included therein.”

She couldn’t speak. Her eyes stung. It’s sweat, she told herself. Bloody stifling in here.

“Aurelia,” Keveh’to had drawn alongside her while she stood frozen in place. The Keeper’s tail wrapped carefully around her leg, twitching with a slow and soothing rhythm against her knee. “You’re looking unwell. Are you all right?”

“I’m… no. No, I’m- I’m fine. Better than fine, in fact.” Her lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful; it’s simply that this wasn’t what I had expected to hear today. It’s a bit of a shock, I suppose.”

“A good shock, one would hope.”

The commander of the Grand Company interrupted their hushed conversation with a soft hum to clear his throat, then gestured to the inkpot with polite emphasis. “For our city’s records,” Vorsaile said, “we must ask that you append your signature to your citizenship papers. If you would, please…”

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, of course.”

She took the quill in hand, musing as she skimmed the text, the tip hovering at the edge of the inkpot. Five years ago she had been in just such a position- only then it was to formally cast aside her title, defecting from the Garlean Empire under terms of unconditional surrender as a prisoner of the Eorzean Alliance. She would never again be Aurelia jen Laskaris, VIIth Imperial Legion medicus. The vagaries of time and circumstance had forever placed her past beyond any tangible reach.

She was Aurelia Laskaris now, initiate of the Conjurers' Guild and - as of today - a citizen of Gridania. An Eorzean.

Forcing herself back to some semblance of composure, she bent over the documents. The quill scratch and the crispness of turning pages were the only sounds in the room other than the ticking of the wall chronometer. Her vision was so blurred she could barely see the writing on the paper, the loops and arcane curves of her own Eorzean script, but in moments it was done and she was setting the quill neatly back in its pot.

Vorsaile scattered salt across the wet ink, tapped them onto a small groove in his desk, then folded the paper and pressed a nub of half-melted wax against the seam. All of this, followed with the press of a heavy-looking brass seal, and the deed was done.

Aurelia was free.

“Thank you, Mistress Laskaris. That will be all.” Vorsaile held out the ring box. Aurelia took it and stared at its contents for a long moment, feeling strangely numb. “If you have any questions…”

“I have one,” Keveh’to said wryly. “What’s with the ring?”

“Hm? Ah… well. That signet ring is one normally granted to Serpentbearers upon their initiation into the guard - a small act of defiance on the Elder Seedseer's part, one suspects. In any case, it is a tangible reminder that your service has been recognized.”

She traced the engraving on the ring’s surface with one fingertip. Its brass curve gleamed in the late morning sunlight slanting through the nearby window.

“She asked me to inform you that this bauble is not entirely ceremonial. There is a small enchantment upon it which enhances the wearer’s focus in combat- should such a boon be needful.” Vorsaile paused for a beat; at that moment, his polite smile became something closer to a sly grin. “...That said, this is not to be considered tacit permission for you to go about picking fights with imperial soldiers. Even if you do catch them starting forest fires.”

“I shall endeavor to be on my very best behavior, Commander Heuloix. You have my word,” a small laugh escaped her lips. The sound of it brought back a semblance of equilibrium; she felt her nerves begin to calm. “Please give the Elder Seedseer my regards. I owe her a great deal.”

“She would no doubt return the sentiment.” Vorsaile reached forth a hand. “Allow me to offer my congratulations, Mistress Laskaris.”

She took it in bemused silence, unaware of Keveh’to’s eyes upon her.

~*~

“You don’t seem well pleased,” he said. It was the first either of them had spoken on the short walk back to the Canopy. Aurelia kept fidgeting with the writ she had signed, opening the broken wax seal on the parchment and reading its contents with a deep frown knitting her brow, as if she still couldn’t quite believe what had transpired.

“I am,” she insisted, somewhat weakly. “Very much so.”

“Most people in your position would be overjoyed. A full pardon- and citizenship? There are people who have been here twice as long that haven’t enjoyed such favor.”

“Some would think it ill-deserved.”

“Does it matter what other people think?”

“It might, if they feel preferential treatment is being shown to an imperial-”

“Former imperial.”

“It all seems rather too simple.”

“Mayhap. But sometimes matters really are that simple.” The Miqo’te shrugged. A small throng of giggling children sprinted past them on their way to the amphitheater, shouting at each other. Engrossed in some manner of diversion they had spun between themselves, no doubt. Perhaps it was also a sign of the changing times that they paid the Keeper of the Moon and his companion no notice whatsoever. “Seems to me you’re overthinking things. As usual.”

Aurelia dabbed her sleeve against her damp face and said nothing. Keveh’to didn’t understand what she was getting at, and she didn’t feel the wherewithal for another argument-- but his gaze upon her was equal parts sympathetic and concerned.

“All right, spit it out,” he said. “What’s really bothering you? It isn’t actually what happened in there, is it?”

“What? No, it’s-”

“Well, what then?”

“I don’t… I don’t know if this is really where I want to stay,” she said. “And citizenship makes me feel… I don’t know. Bound to the land, somehow.”

“What? Why? People come and go from Gridania all the time.”

She offered no reply save a helpless shrug.

They were passing the rebuilt aetheryte plaza. In the space of those five short years after the disaster which Eorzeans now called the Calamity, it had become a bustling and lively place. The throng milling about the glowing crystal included townspeople and merchants as well as the much rougher-looking adventurers in their motley collection of gear. Just as with the children, few even glanced at Aurelia as she and Keveh’to crossed the shallow bridge in the direction of the Carline Canopy. It had been a long time since she had felt like a local curiosity, for which she was silently grateful.

She paused upon the slope and its moss and stone path leading to the inn’s entrance, looking out over the placid and glassy surface of the river. The great waterwheel creaked in its slow and unhurried way upon each turn, and on the far bank, the warm wind rustled the leaves of young saplings.

“I don’t understand why you think leaving the Empire means all your plans have to change.” Keveh’to shrugged. “You can still be a chirurgeon in Eorzea, you know.”

“I know.”

“If anything, there’s more of a need for people with healing skills now than before. ‘Sides, you’ve got that kit of yours, don’t you? The big one with all the tools and such?”

“Many of the medicines in it cannot be replenished. I would need tools and reagents that simply don’t exist outside the Empire.” At his grimace, she added, “I think given time and closer study I could duplicate certain of them, but Eorzean methods of alchemy are quite different from ours. I suspect that in order to do what needs must, I would need to become quite proficient indeed, and I’ve not the first inkling where to start.”

“It can’t be that different.”

“You’d be surprised. I would explain it but we’d be here the rest of the day.”

“And I’d not understand the first bleeding thing about it even if you did.” His lips split into a wide grin. “Nor care, I���m afraid.”

Aurelia scoffed. “At least you’re honest.”

“Just saving you the trouble. Anyroad, you don’t have to make a decision now, do you?” He began to descend the gentle slope of the hill towards the Canopy, ears forward and tail twitching. “Sleep on it. Take some of Miounne's jobs while you give it some thought.”

The conversation ended as they reached the stone-laden path and passed through the ornately carved doors to the Carline Canopy’s main entrance. Aurelia paused mid-step to linger upon the threshold, her gaze sweeping across the restored common room. The stairwell entrance to the recently rebuilt airship dock was now open, and nearly every table in the establishment seated bustling throngs of adventurers, merchants, and other assorted travelers. The buzz of their conversation filled the room with a low hum, broken with the occasional shout or guffaw from one party or another.

"Assuming Miounne has any work available," she chuckled. Some few of the hopeful newcomers had formed a queue that appeared to be growing by the moment. Even from this short distance, she could see the bright flash of leve cards clasped in gloved and gauntleted hands. “I haven’t seen the Adventurers’ Guild this busy in ages.”

“Aye, not since the Twin Adder opened recruitment five years ago. Mostly new faces too; look at that. She must have her hands full.”

He was right, she realized, upon closer inspection. Most of the would-be adventurers were clearly new to the business, fresh-faced and quite young. There were a few hard-bitten veterans among the lot, but not as many as one might expect. “I wager that trend shall only continue. What with all the displacement from-- oh, she’s seen us,” Aurelia pointed at the hand waving from the desk. “Come with me and say hello?”

“Might as well,” he sighed with mock resignation. “She’s already seen me. There’s no escaping her.”

“Don’t be cheeky. Come on.”

She began to weave her way through the crowd with Keveh’to close behind. A handful of the adventurers watching from the queue glowered at the pair, clearly assuming they intended to jump the line, but Aurelia ignored the hostile stares and kept pushing her way past until the pair had reached the desk. Miounne’s smile was radiant at the sight of them, if rather fatigued.

“Aurelia! And Sergeant Epocan-”

“Lieutenant.”

“Yes, yes, of course! I remember now, Lieutenant. So sorry. My mind is in half a dozen places at the minute.” The Canopy’s proprietress made a vague motion with one hand. “I hate to be so abrupt, Aurelia, but I’ve been looking for you. E-Sumi-Yan asked me to send you on to the Fane - your ‘earliest convenience,’ he said.”

“Why? Is aught amiss?”

Miounne shook her head. “He didn’t elaborate. Shall I ring him and let him know you’ll be along?”

“Oh, no, please don’t trouble yourself,” she glanced at the growing line of visibly impatient adventurers, “Lieutenant Epocan can call him.”

The Miqo’te protested, “Wait, why am I - hey!”

She all but dragged him away from the counter and towards the concierge, out of earshot of most of the crowd. The man at the desk offered a polite and noncommittal smile as they passed and made for the staircase leading up to her room. Keveh’to was still bristling, his tail lashing the air.

“I’ll not be a moment,” she said. “We can go our separate ways at the plaza.”

“I’m not even your minder anymore, let alone your personal secretary,” he grumbled, even though he was already reaching for the small device clipped to his ear. “...Right, well. Just remember you owe me one.”

Aurelia flashed him a quick grin before she opened the door and slipped inside.

The small room was as austere as it had been when Miounne had first let it to her five years ago. She had not acquired much in the way of personal possessions since; there had hardly seemed a point while serving a sentence, after all. There was the field kit she had been allowed to keep along with its contents - what little remained now - and her own small traveling pack with its botany log and change of clothes and her mother’s locket. Next to this sat the small wand she had been gifted by the guild before setting off to Willowsbend. All that she truly owned in the world sat in this one small corner.

She reached into the pouch on her plain leather belt and drew forth the ring box and the neatly folded parchment: both symbols of the changes to come, for weal or woe. In the meantime, she thought, official proof of her new legal status was not something she felt it would be wise to risk losing. The papers she tucked securely into her botany book before replacing it, pulling the drawstring of her bag taut, and buckling the clasp again.

Once that was finished she opened the ring box and after a moment’s hesitation removed its contents. The brass winked at her from the center of her half-open palm. It was not the sort of thing she would have normally worn, and it was a touch too wide for her ring finger. She removed it to slip onto her index finger instead, and there it remained secure.

Satisfied with the fit, she set the box on the side table, grabbed her wand to hook onto her belt, and made for the door. The ring was warm and weighted on its perch. A reminder of the new start she had been granted.

A rap on the door: “Aurelia?”

“One moment!”

Her feelings were no less mixed than they had been before she had quit the Archer’s Guild an hour past, but they were also not something she had time to consider right now. After she had returned from the Fane, perhaps.

She made her way to the door. E-Sumi-Yan would be waiting.

[sick-raven]

Ghosts of the Present - Chapter 1

Batman fanfiction

Characters: Jonathan Crane, OC - Miranda Bradbury, Bruce Wayne, John Constantine, Jervis Tetch, Edward Nygma, Clayface, Ra’s al Ghul, Waylon Jones

About: Miranda Bradbury has gotten her life together with help of magic and Jonathan Crane. Now everything seems to go well in her life - she is happy and loved. But as it goes, happiness cannot continue forever. The League of assassins comes in Gotham and Miranda has new reason to fear for her life. Add Jonathan's constant paranoia to the mix, and you get one life-wrecking cocktail.

Author’s note: This story takes place roughly two months after Ghosts of the Past. Without that story it will hardly make sense, so read that one first.

Fair warnings: NSFW, violence, dubcon, less porn than last time, story full of miscommunications

Status: Finished, will post next chapters when in mood.

AO3

Chapter 1

Jonathan found Miranda standing at the window as many times before. As many times before, she looked at him with a faint smile and shook her head. So, he didn’t ask. It’s been two months since her nightmares started. As if the happiness she felt when the ghosts were finally locked up opened door to worse things.

First time she woke up next to him, she scared him. In the middle of the night, with a shout. She was shaking, cold sweat dripping of her face and Jonathan would swear he saw tears. Miranda never cried.

“Are you okay?” Jonathan asked. He had his fair share of nightmares back in the day. Murder of crows. Murder of granny. Her corpse stalking him, telling him he is dirty. That he should be pure in front of God. She will purify him.

He always felt like shit after.

“Yeah,” Miranda would answer massaging her ribs. “Just a nightmare.” Then she would leave to the living room. First few times he went after her and hugged her until the shaking stopped. Later he stayed in bed. He didn’t give up on her.

“It’s not worth it, Jonathan. Get some sleep.”

So, he didn’t comment on it today either. He just made her tea and went about his business. Miranda never told him what haunts her in the dreams and Jonathan didn’t pry. He would hate it, if she did it to him.

Miranda finally joined him at the table.

“Good morning.”

“Is it?” he responded.

“Better. I’m getting used to it. In no time, I will sleep like a baby,” she joked. She always joked when she was lost. That was one of her talents. Another one was she asked for help only when she was truly desperate. Normal things were okay, she always came to him with jar of pickles, as if she wasn’t the muscle in their relationship, but it looked like anything connected to ghosts or her past she grabbed and pulled in. She suffocated it inside herself like a dead rat rotting in her soul. Jonathan felt as if she was more open before Constantine grabbed her ghosts by the neck. The charm bound the ghosts and also Miranda’s tongue. Or maybe he imagined it. Maybe she never was truthful.

“That’s good,” he answered.

Jonathan hated this situation. First, he was psychiatrist. Talking to people was his job. Why was it so hard now? All he needed was to ask what was bothering her. Try to clarify. Sometimes just talking about it can shun away the trouble. Dreams weren’t that difficult to fix. Yet, he couldn’t get himself to try.

Second, he felt useless. He tried to help Miranda before and, in the end, she ran to get help elsewhere. Is this why she doesn’t ask anymore? He is not good enough, he understands mind, not magic. If the ghosts are acting up, he might never know. She would go after that face-stealing freak in trench coat who… who was able to help her, unlike useless Crane.

And third, he was worried. If she was still haunted, no telling what she will do. Her brain was interesting mix of patience, intelligence and blindness. One day she will get killed because she will act out in rush. Another shock like that he wouldn’t stand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he tried.

Miranda, biting her thumb, looked surprised. Then smiled. “I think we should talk about more important things. Are we going formal or formal tonight?”

Very well, he will follow her wishes.

“Armed, but in all politeness.”

“Masks?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t wait,” she grinned. She’s been excited about tonight for a week. Jonathan didn’t understand the appeal, but he was happy to see her smile again.

“Just remember you are a bodyguard,” he reminded her.

“I will not embarrass you in front of the Legion,” she replied.

“Thank you.”

Miranda smiled into her cup. “Sorry I’m a mess. I promise I will get my shit together.”

“I don’t doubt that. Just know I am here to help.”

“Never forgot.”

Somehow, he doubted it.

***

Miranda never doubted Jonathan would hear her out, but what would that help against the reoccurring memory that woke her every night? It wasn’t even one of the worst ones, yet it made her tremble and cry.

Crying was so freeing after emotionless years and yet it made her feel ridiculous. She locked away the bastards, she nearly overdosed on Jonathan’s medication and it snapped something inside her. No more following the League’s training, no more closing herself down. With pain in her heart she let emotions free and… She felt once again. Feeling…

Miranda was sure feelings unlocked her nightmares.

Five or six, that’s how old she was when this happened. The dream showed her scenes, but she remembered more vividly. Every time she woke from it her memory jogged and filled the gaps the dream left uncovered. It eased it and made it worse at the same time as her mind started racing, not allowing her to go back to sleep.

Little girl ran from the kitchen holding a piece of bread she stole. She climbed out of window and aimed up. Roof was the only place she felt safe at. Nobody ever looked for her there. Cold wind and snow were hitting her face as she was getting higher.

Shouting in the house let her know she will be spanked or worse when they find her. But any punishment is fine as long as you face it with full stomach, that’s what she learned. Yelling, beating, the ugly fat fuck and his whips, none of that hurt as bad as starving.

Feeling like a winner she reached the top of the house. Warm feeling in her chest, happy she got away with it again. She wasn’t good for nothing spawn, she could take care of herself!

Master stood there, waiting with cold stare in her brown eyes. Her short black hair showed first signs of grey and that made her look even more strict. The girl froze, her throat stiffened, the fear ran through her spine. Feeling of victory was gone.

“Unbelievable,” said the master in calm voice that she used before punishments. “You are stupider than I thought, girl.”

Master kicked the girl in the face.

The cold surface of roof slipped through girl’s fingers.

Miranda was falling.

She woke up with a scream and loud crack noise in her ears.

You cannot fight memories, you just have to let them weaken. The impact will disappear in time. A question still hoovered over her. How was it so significant that it made her doubt? Just because of this memory she hurt again. Not only herself but also Jonathan. She had ton of memories that shook her bones even awake. Why the fall?

“Stupid girl can’t figure it out, as I expected,” she heard voice of master in her head.

“I would love it if you shut the fuck up,” Miranda answered.

“What?” asked Terry.

Miranda sighed annoyed over herself. “Sorry, just arguing with the voices in my head.”

Terry shook their head. They got used to Miranda’s occasional weird behaviour. She always talked to herself when she thought nobody is looking and sometimes it slipped in front of other people. “Have you considered shrink, boss?” Terry suggested while putting stuffed bears into the shelf.

“Yes.”

“I mean normal one, not your boyfriend.”

“You are on thin ice, Terry.”

“Sorry, just looking after you.”

Miranda stayed quiet, she didn’t want to snap at Terry. After the rough start they got along well. Terry relaxed a bit, Miranda even invited them for dinner at her place. That turned out to be horrible idea, because Jonathan used it as an excuse to interrogate Terry. Person tries to kill you once and he won’t let it go!

“Just poke me when I get lost in thoughts again,” Miranda said.

“Can do. Hey, boss. Would you mind if I took Saturday off?”

Miranda frowned. “Why?”

“I might have a date, if you let me.”

Saturday was the worst possible day. Miranda needed to be someplace else. “Can’t you do Friday?”

“No, sorry.”

Miranda sighed and waved her hand. “But you have to work twice as much today, get it?”

“Thanks, boss!”

“And give me their name so I can make sure they are good for you.”

“No way,” smiled Terry and Miranda relaxed a bit. World was running as it should have. Her stupid nightmares cannot ruin what she built. There is nothing to fear but fear itself, that’s what Jonathan taught her. Saturday was far  enough, she will figure something out.

Now she just has to focus on her evening.

***

“Remember, just a bodyguard,” Jonathan reminded her as they were getting ready to go for the big meeting. Miranda made sure her weapons were well conceived. Getting accused of potentially trying to kill your co-workers was not on the list tonight.

“You say it like last time it was my fault. It takes two to rodeo, you know,” she replied.

“Therefore, I expect you will be the reasonable one today.”

Miranda grinned. Sky will fall before Jonathan accepts any mistake. Even though – could they call it a mistake? Embarrassment for sure, but nothing bad happened!

“I doubt Legion of Doom meeting will have alcohol.”

“Can we not discuss this now?”

Jonathan was awkward about it while Miranda thought it was hilarious. Long story short, two weeks ago there was a party at Iceberg Lounge. Even there Miranda went as a bodyguard. This created one big gossip – Jonathan was always a solo player and now he needs a bodyguard? The worst was Edward Nygma, or, as Gotham called him, the Riddler. The whole evening he walked around Jonathan with stupid comments.

“Has Scarecrow kidnapped a girlfriend?” “Johnny Boy has to pay?” “That potato sack sure brings ladies in.” “Riddle me this, who is scary virgin?”

Miranda was ready to slice his throat, but Jonathan stopped her with the calmest look possible. “It’s okay. Edward stoops to insulting when he runs out of riddles a five-year-old could solve.”

That ended up with both men bickering like two little kids. And then drinking vodka as a peace offering, as they set their differences aside with: “I like your girlfriend,” and: “Your riddles aren’t stupid.” Miranda joined them during fifth or sixth shot, because they insisted the lady cannot fall behind. Arguably, she was the most sober one and she also remembered the most.

Long story shorter – Jonathan and Miranda got pissed drunk and ended up making out by the entrance to the Lounge so pretty much everyone saw them. That finished Jonathan’s tries to take it easy, stay secret, don’t embarrass each other in front of other rouges.

Good thing he didn’t remember the fact they hid in janitor’s closet for a quickie and when they left, Nygma was leaning on an ash tray by the toilets, shitfaced, clapping slowly.

At least he stopped joking around. Miranda wondered whether he remember more than Jonathan. Erasing all security cameras feed next day was the best thing she could do anyways.

So, yes, they should definitely avoid doing this at Legion of Doom meeting.

“Legion meets only so often. If someone needs professional help, a team of specialists. Anyone can find henchmen, but sometimes you need bigger guns. Not anyone can summon the meeting, just few members have that power,” Jonathan explained to her when he got the invitation.

“Do you?”

“Oh no, I am low level. B-list villain, if you will.”

“For me you will always be A league.”

She loved how he smirked at compliments.

So, today was the big day. As they rode in elevator, Miranda got a bit nervous. She’s heard a lot about Legion of Doom. They were villains allied against Justice League. When they did something, it was huge. Who will they meet there? Joker? Luthor? Some other cool guy?

The elevator door opened into a small conference room. Miranda lost her breath. She expected big but not this big.

At the table sit giant man covered in scales. His face was deformed, jaws with sharp teeth covered in blood as if he just returned from lunch and the lunch was live chicken.

Jonathan paid no attention to that abomination. He sat at the table. Miranda followed his example and she stood beside him scanning the rest of the room. Except for giant… crocodile?... there were several of Gotham’s worst. She didn’t recognize everyone – there was Poison Ivy, she looked as if she didn’t want to be here. And Edward Nygma, he smiled and winked at Jonathan when they entered, but he didn’t say a word. The rest of people she didn’t know. There was this small guy in a top hat whose eyes frantically looked around the room. Another one was very plain woman – something Miranda aimed to be, invisible for naked eye. Uninteresting. Maybe they were unknown bodyguard and henchmen like she was. Or they didn’t cause mayhem while she lived in Gotham. Miranda wasn’t here long enough to read about every B-list jerk.

They all sat there in silence for good twenty minutes. Finally, Nygma couldn’t take it anymore.

“Does anyone know who summoned us here?” he said in annoyed tone of voice. “I have more important matters than to sit here.”

“No,” answered Poison Ivy. “Invitation came in normally.”

“Do friends want some tea?” asked the top hat man.

“I don’t have time for this,” grumbled the crocodile man. “I’m hungry!”

“Biscuits?”

“I will bite your head off!”

“Calm down, Waylon. Let’s give it five more minutes,” decided Jonathan.

“In five minutes I will eat your face, crow man!”

“I want to see you try, Croc. I will make you shake and cry like a toddler.”

“Everybody just wait it out,” the uninteresting woman said. “Waiting is part of the big play, to see if we are worth it.”

“Screw that,” Nygma smirked.

Do you see that, Miranda? That’s why bad guys work alone. Only crazy people would force them to cooperate. Jonathan is not insane, if something stupid is suggested, he won’t take it, right? She couldn’t imagine working with neither of these. Maybe Poison Ivy, but her hate towards humans would make the cooperation impossible. She just sat there, arms folded, didn’t join the arguing. Miranda would love to have her indifference right now. Legion of Doom seemed more like Legion of Fools.

The clock was ticking, and it already seemed like they will just give up and leave, when the elevator dinged, and the door opened.

Miranda nearly screamed. It took every muscle and brain cell to force herself to stay calm. Don’t run! Don’t move a fucking muscle, Miranda! shouted voice in her head.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! shouted the other voice.

And between them the master chuckled like some sort of Bond villain.

A man walked in the room. The bickering stopped and everyone was watching him. He stood at the table and looked at every attendant there. Miranda stopped breathing when their eyes met. I will die!

But he continued looking around as if Miranda was just regular part of the room. Just another piece of furniture. Boring.

Calm down, Miranda. He has no idea who you are.

She knew exactly who he was though.

Ra’s al Ghul. The Demon’s head. The leader of the League of assassins.

Miranda looked at Jonathan. He didn’t seem phased by the entrance of one of the most dangerous men alive at all. Frankly, she never told him what organization she used to be part of, but he should also freak out. Everyone should cry for mercy! How are they so calm?

“Finally,” said Edward. “I thought we will die here of boredom.”

What the fuck, Nygma!? Do you want to die!? You should kneel and hope he will not chop your head off!

Calm your tits, Miranda!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

“I apologize for the lateness. Gotham traffic is disgusting, just like this city,” said the Demon’s head. “I will not hold you much longer. I have a job for each of you.”

“Is this job worth calling Legion of Doom meeting?” questioned the plain lady.

“It requires work of you all. It will move the foundation of the city itself. Of course, you will be rewarded if glory and change isn’t on your bucket list. If you mind.” He handed out envelopes to each of them. Jonathan opened his. Miranda felt the need to look over his shoulder. Just a bodyguard! She didn’t do it.

Nygma chuckled. “How do you want to compensate us for this?” he waved the paper. “I’m not your soldier, I am not suicidal.”

“Read it all before asking any questions,” said Ra’s.

With shit-eating grin Nygma read the rest of the letter. His eyes followed the lines of text and lower he got, the more shocked his expression grew.

“What is this shit?” growled Waylon.

“Your task and your reward,” Ra’s stated the obvious. “I am sure you all know what I am offering. No secret stays safe in Gotham. I need your answer now.”

“I’m in,” said Jonathan without a second to think about it. Miranda bit her lip under the mask. In!? He will cooperate with the Demon’s head!? Is he really insane!?

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

“Me too,” agreed Nygma. “I will show him for the last time.”

One after one the rogues agreed to help Ra’s al Ghul. Even the giant crocodile grinned big, his teeth slimy like a fish. “I like easy jobs.”

And Miranda stood there not ready to die.

***

The world was in mist. Miranda’s mind blank. She had no idea how they left the lair or how she got to Jonathan’s place. As if the body wasn’t hers and some outside force was leading her steps.

“So, what do you think about the Legion? Did it fulfil your expectations?”

Miranda blinked.

And ran to the bathroom to throw up

Next chapter

[jflashandclash]

Attrition of Peace

Thirty-Seven: Axel

The Secret Power of Romantic Assisting

(or: When the Children of Love and Desire Conspire Against their Commanders)

             No one knew how to react when the God of Nightmares poofed into a pig and ran into the darkness, squealing.

           There was a breath of silence in the icy December breeze.

           Then Calex, Kally, Euna, and Pax cheered.[1]

           Everyone else followed suit.

           Clovis looked like he was bowing for a second, then Axel realized the poor son of Hypnos had fallen asleep leaning on Michael Kahale’s spear. Axel had no idea how many bouts of torment Phobetor had put him through, but the boy was clearly exhausted.

           Lou Ellen turned to Alabaster, unbothered by his Cloven Terror helm. She raised a hand for a high-five, and Axel could swear he read the words, “The power of Hecate’s Babes, am I right, Al?” from her lips.

           Axel didn’t get to see if Alabaster stared at her in confusion, or if he was too miserable over losing a god’s foot as an experiment specimen. The impact of Reyna’s elbow in Axel’s ribs was too distracting.

           When they first got here, he hadn’t wanted to touch her; he wanted to stay as distant from her as possible. But, when she had knelt down and her tattoo had glowed to signify that she was loaning Clovis some of her strength, he felt like he could sense her doubt. He could see her shoulders shudder.

           On instinct, he had knelt down to help prop her up.

           Now, after jamming her elbow into Axel’s chest, she rose like she hadn’t been the reason Clovis was still standing—at least sleep standing.

           Around them, the troops bustled with activity. When Thalia made her way towards them, Euna’s face became more animated than he’d seen since her sister died. Kally and Calex set to work tending to the wounded that Lou Ellen had magicked past the barrier. They chattered about how Merry was tucked safely in a sleeping bag in the Roman barracks. Apparently, she’d tried to cross the boundary line and hadn’t woken up since—though Calex was pretty sure that was more from previous exhaustion than Phobetor’s extended magic.

           “OH GODS, MY SHINS!” came from one of the wounded.

           Nearby Sherman’s wails, Pax sniffled back sobs while doing tricks to distract Connor Stoll. The child of Hermes jerked awake, staring at the two clefts in his palm and arm. When Connor tried to lift his hand, he found the outer half of his hand flopped backwards, hanging on by some skin and muscle tissue.

Connor, as would be expected, screamed.

           “At least now you’ll be an expert with hand-and-a-half swords,” Pax laughed hysterically, trying to keep Connor from sitting up so a Roman medic could attend to him.

           The decapitated head on Pax’s utility belt chuckled. “Someone’s pick locking days might be over,” he sang with that horrible scratchy voice. They really needed to get a solid gag for Jack, before he got them kicked out of camp or exiled out of America. “But! Your older brother told me some funny stories about you, so I’ll see what I can do.”

           Axel didn’t know if it would be better or worse if Jack tried to heal Connor. Or even if he could heal anymore.

           Axel felt the strategist in him turn off his sympathy. He couldn’t think about who the Romans had watched bleed out before they got here or who was in that body pile on the other side of the strawberry field.

           This wasn’t a time to be celebrating this mini-victory. Phobetor wouldn’t stay a pig for long, regardless of how powerful Lou Ellen and Alabaster were. He might sulk off humiliated, but they would need to plan to prevent these bouts from happening again.

           Axel couldn’t shake the feeling this was more a diversion from Eris than a finale.

           When he caught Reyna’s cold gaze, he could tell she was thinking the same.

           Axel was about to ask if anything else had happened at the camp other than Phobetor, when Calex stepped to his side.

           Michael Kahale turned away from another soldier that Axel assumed was reporting on border patrol. He scowled at Axel. “Permission to speak out of place,” he requested.

           Reyna scanned their environment, taking into account the way piglet-Phobetor had darted off, how Lou Ellen and Alabaster dragged Clovis to the border, how they still didn’t hear any commotion from inside the camp to hint at others waking up, and how her troop’s morale had lifted.

           “Granted,” she spoke robotically. Her mind seemed to catch up with how odd his request was, and she asked, “Kahale?”

           “You and the Leonis Caput need to talk,” he said, tone careful.

           Axel pulled his shoulders back and straightened his posture. Regardless of whether or not he wanted to talk to Reyna as Reyna, he did need to talk with another tactician to exchange information, discuss potential aggression from the enemy, make battle plans, and figure out what troops were available where. But Axel got a sense that wasn’t what Kahale meant.

           All of Axel’s self restraint went into not scouring his pockets for a cigarette. Well, the pockets he didn’t have in his leather pteruges. All he had was a leather pouch that Pax had assuredly put gum into—it had better be gum. And now was not the time for cigarettes, though maybe his smoking would give Reyna more reason to hate him.

           “The war tent would probably be the best place,” Calex broke in.

           Axel glanced from Calex to Michael Kahale. He leaned to the side to see what tattoo was on Kahale’s forearm: a dove. Aphrodite’s symbol.  

           “That’s not necessary—” Axel snapped.

           “Yes it is, mate,” Calex cut him off, grabbed his shoulder, and twisted Axel to face the tent. “You two go debrief and update us on the battle afterwards.”

Before Axel could protest, Calex gave him a solid shove forward.

Axel stumbled once before catching himself. He paused to gather his composure and mentally add kill Calex to his to-do list.

His ears twitched to hear Kahale’s whisper, “It’s best to deal with distractions before they become distracting during a dangerous situation.”

He didn’t hear Reyna give a vocal reaction, though he could envision her cold eyes boring into Kahale’s soul.

After a brief pause where Axel began to turn back towards them, Reyna stepped past him towards the tent. “Leonis Caput,” she called without waiting for him to catch up.

Axel clenched his jaw. He glanced back to the others.

Kahale glared at him, fingering the hilt of his gladius in the quietest of threats.

Calex gave him a charming smile and a thumbs up.

Axel lowered his Mist mask momentarily to bare his teeth at Calex.

Calex and Kahale both paled.

Without intending it, Axel got the distinct feeling he’d made Michael Kahale regret advising Reyna to be alone with him.

Lifting a hand over his face to recraft his human features, Axel turned back towards Reyna. He found Thalia had run up alongside her. In the glint of the floodlights, the silver studs on Thalia’s punk boots and pants glistened. The Lieutenant of Artemis spoke rapidly. Within a few paces, Axel caught up enough to hear, “—eyes still closed. So, it seems like the statue, drakon, and the rest of the camp are still out cold. Christiana even tried firing toilet paper at them, to see if they’d wake up in anger, but they got no response.”

“You TPed the Athena Parthenos?” Reyna asked.[2]

“For a good cause,” Thalia said. “We also tied a rope to Lesedi and sent her in. She faceplanted fast.”

“So, we still can’t get in,” Reyna growled.

Thalia nodded grimly. She glanced at Axel as soon as he caught up to their stride. Thalia and Reyna paused at the entrance of the tent.

Thalia shoved Axel’s shoulder hard. A shock ran through Axel’s body, like he’d been tased, and he could smell what was left of his shirt smoldering. Axel had to grab the tent post to keep from collapsing. His legs clenched up and his chest shuddered.

“My brother had better be alright,” she snapped.

Axel wasn’t sure what to say. Last he’d seen of Jason during Alabaster’s hailstorm, Pax had been repeatedly kicking Jason in an area that might end the Grace family line. If Axel had to take a guess, this wouldn’t be good information to assure Thalia.

Thalia’s glare darted past Axel, back to the others. “Is Euna alright?” she asked, her tone softening.

Axel straightened. “Go talk to her,” he managed.

Thalia hesitated, glancing from Reyna back to Axel. “I hope you realize that fight against Percy and the others really hurt your application for the huntresses.”

He couldn’t tell if she was joking.

She nodded to Reyna before walking back towards the others.

Once she left, Axel slowly lifted his right knee to stretch his leg. He didn’t want to show Reyna how much Thalia had hurt him, but it was better than collapsing as soon as he released the pole.

“You wanted to be a huntress?” Reyna asked. For a split second, there was humor in her voice.

Axel lowered his leg. This felt like Kronos had used his time manipulation powers to take them back in the past and suspend them in the calm of their stay at Camp Jupiter, where Santiago was dead and Axel still had hope that he might join the legion. “That’s the rumor Ajax has spread,” he said.

Whenever Axel rejected a proposition from a camper or monster at Camp Othrys, that’s how Pax would comfort them. Not that Axel wouldn’t love traversing the forest on an eternal hunt but…

Despite how the exhaustion carved deep circles under Reyna’s eyes, she looked regal in her cloak and praetorian armor. When Axel released the pole, the curtain wrapped around it fell, obscuring the entrance behind him.

He hadn’t been sure what Reyna would do after he left Rome. They’d warned them about Camp Half-Blood, but with how little she must trust him…

“You came,” he said.

For a heartbeat, she stared at him. Then Reyna continued into the tent. The set up was small: a few fold up chairs around a flimsy table with a map of Camp Half-Blood. There was an extra sword rack on one side with some paperwork. An overhead light swung gently from one of the supporting poles. A cot was stretched between two posts, one that Axel guessed Reyna hadn’t touched.

At least the tent material kept out some of the cold air. Axel had been struggling not to shiver the whole night. The Leonis Caput fur was warm, but there wasn’t much left of his shirt, between Percy’s firehosing him and Thalia zapping him. And pteruges weren’t designed for New York winters. There was a space heater in one corner, one Axel wished was a little closer.

Reyna absently slipped her knife out and twirled it between her fingers. She walked to the map of Camp Half-Blood, scowling down. There were notes and sketches jotted on scrap paper nearby. A copy of Ovid’s Metamorphoses lay open with highlighted pages.

“Regardless of whether or not you had fabricated the warnings about Camp Half-Blood, I knew this camp would be in danger. With Frank pursuing you, it wasn’t difficult for the Senate to agree to two task forces—one on high alert in Camp Jupiter in case your warnings were a distraction, and one to come check here.” She jammed her knife into the corner of the map. “Now, what happened after Calex left? If you don’t have any information that will be useful, then make yourself useful elsewhere.”

Axel forced himself not to react to her curtness. This was better than he’d expected. He gave her a brief rundown of the end of the fight, focusing mainly on the end condition of their allies and how quickly they’d be able to recover and help here.

Then, they recapped the current pieces they knew were on the board: Phobetor was at camp, keeping everything quiet, someone had kidnapped Hemera, according to Pax, Lapis had traveled into Tartarus to deliver a message to someone, and Hiro had taken Percy’s little sister, Melinoe had snatched Nico to use as a “shadow bridge” for something, Atë left a vague warning about the Pax brothers coming to camp, and Eris was distracting all of the gods with petty fights.

Although Reyna’s dark gaze didn’t portray much, her shoulders shuddered when Axel talked about Nico and Will.

Axel wanted to prevent any pauses in the conversation. That would force them both to think about other things. “I saw you have the huntresses on border patrol. Monsters haven’t realized the barrier is down yet, I take it?”

“They’ve killed a few on sight, but no mass numbers yet.”

“You don’t have that many huntresses,” he observed.

“Most of them are with Artemis, hunting a Fox that can never be caught,” Reyna said, “I was lucky I was able to get a hold of Thalia. Communication is still mostly down.”

“And we have your troops and a handful of injured campers,” Axel put a hand on the war table, his brain straining to connect Eris’ illogical dots. “We’re dealing with a goddess that doesn’t need an objective,” Axel muttered. He wished he could pull Pax or Alabaster in here. Pax thought a lot like his mother, and Alabaster had been assigned to taking down Camp Half-Blood’s borders during the Second Titan War. But Alabaster would never cooperate with Reyna and Axel didn’t need Pax’s commentary—

Reyna’s fist shook around her dagger as she dug it into the table, plastic twisting up with each turn.

Axel paused.

Her heartbeat, her scent, her determination---

Shut up, he scolded the Leonis Caput, confused by his sudden interest.

And you stand here, once a warrior, now a coward—

Axel didn’t understand its egging. He was too tired to fully shut it out.

This wasn’t the place for this or the time. But, if Phobetor did start the games up, and there was nothing they could do, then Axel might never get to apologize. Could he apologize for being what he was?

Such an apology would be that of a pathetic, broken spirit.

He puffed up his cheeks and popped them. There was nothing he could really say, but…

“Did any ninja zombie bunnies survive?” he asked.

That was not what he’d wanted to say.

Axel wasn’t ready to be punched in the face. Her fist hit him solidly, knocking him a step backwards. Reyna had pivoted for full follow-through and force. “You set my couch on fire,” she snarled.

Axel spit some blood to the side. “Frank was trying to capture me for execution—”

Before he could fully recover, Reyna slid forward to jam her elbow into Axel’s diaphragm. “You ate Frank’s ear.”

His legs still felt like jelly from Thalia’s tasing. Upon stumbling back into the sword rack, Axel lost his footing and would have been impaled had it not been for the Leonis Caput cloak. He could feel the shape of the swords smash into his bruises. “I didn’t eat it—” he cut himself off to duck away from Reyna’s foot as she tried to crack his skull open with her heel.

When he jumped up to his feet, Axel could hear the sound of metal against metal as Reyna withdrew her gladius.

Although Axel probably should have had a stronger reaction, all he could growl was, “great.”

Leonis Caput. Lieutenant of Kronos’ army. Falls backwards on sword rack before being skewered to death by the woman he loves.

The only worthy opponent is one that struggles until death. Fight her as we’re destined, you worthless fool!

Axel wanted to snarl at the Leonis Caput. Not helping.

A true warrior only wants a worthy opponent. She only wants us when—

“You humiliated me in front of my troops,” she snarled.

Reyna grabbed Axel by the back of his hair. While holding him in place she drove the tip of her sword straight at his chest.

Axel reached past the blade to latch his fingers over her sword hand. He grunted, feeling the tip sink a centimeter into his skin. Up close, he could see the fury in her black eyes, the way her lips trembled, how the swaying light cast highlights in her black braid. He could feel her breath on his face. He could smell her honeyed scent mixed with sweat. And he knew she’d kill him if he let her.

He wasn’t going to die here. And he certainly wasn’t going to humiliate himself any further by not actually fighting.

Axel reached into his pouch with his free hand and withdrew his lighter. He struggled to regain his footing and stand taller.

Both their hands quivered as Reyna strained to push the tip of the gladius further in. Her stance was better. He clenched his jaw as a spike of pain spread in his chest, as the blade slowly sank in and blood spread along the scraps of his shirt.

“I was trying to figure out how to tell you…” he snarled, “Xma’su’tal Xib, Liik’il Xtaabay!”

My turn, the Leonis Caput gargled a laugh. Like a black fog, the Leonis Caput wrestled control from Axel and turned its attentions to the preator he was born to destroy.

Thanks for reading! Axel and Reyna have... *ehem* some tough stuff to hash out.

[1] Mel has repeated expressed her sheer disappointment that Kally doesn’t shout something obscene, or at least special, at Alabaster. So, apparently I feel the need to state: Alabaster likes Kally because she doesn’t publicly humiliate him. And while Kally is slowly evolving from a shy doormat, she has yet to reach her final form, where she can express herself without hesitation, and where she can ask Alabaster if he'll use his wand to cast "aguamenti" on her.... I really hope Kally doesn't go to Pax for flirting advice.

[2] I looked up TP to make sure there weren’t any extra letters to it, and I found there is a wikihow entry on toilet papering someone’s house, down to proper throwing and stealth techniques. Pax, I know you and Mattias are out there, giggling behind some computer screen. I will find you.