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bluepenguinstories · 3 years

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Remoras Full Chapter XXXVI: Winds of Change

Early spring, the rustle of the reeds against a gentle breeze. An indentation made among several rows of them as I lay, pressed into the damp soil. Arms under my head, eyes closed, thoughts floated away, just as they ought to. There were many reasons to worry, many wrongs to correct, and many mysteries to solve. But none of those things could happen unless I allowed myself a moment’s rest.

What of the others? Did I abandon them? No. But I wasn’t meant to stay for very long, it just wasn’t who I was. By nature, I was a drifter. By trade, almost, if such a thing were possible in the current age.

Ray gave me a phone so that he could call whenever things got bad again. It was like an ebb and flow, little tremors. Sometimes the activity would quiet down, but not long enough for anyone to think that the nightmares were over. Then they would build back up and people would show up with gashes, scrapes, bruises, all over their bodies with no explanation. Some reported whispers and little shadows that resembled people, but not quite. Whenever it slowed down, I went away again and found some place to hide out.

Why? Well, let’s just say I had my suspicions that I was just as much a target as were Ray and the others. Just the simple fact that an anonymous letter requested my death was enough to warrant such a suspicion. Ha. If whoever was behind that note wanted me so bad, they should have just fought me themselves. No games, no beating around the bush. My time could come any day now, but if someone wanted to take this life from me, by all means. But they ought to expect a fight.

Speaking of notes, there was one which was left for me that night when I met Remora in that abandoned building (well, not so much “abandoned” now, as I managed to get the electricity working before I left. Tragic as it may be, that was all I could do before I left and things turned south for me. I guess too many tip offs and “authorities” grew suspicious. So I bailed, as I often did, and I could only hope that those homeless friends I met weren’t so homeless, even if there was so much more I could have done had I managed to stay). It had Ray and Sunny’s address, as well as the phone number of the one who killed Rhea.

When I awoke, the piece of paper had been next to me, and curious, I picked it up. As soon as I looked over the contents, I scoffed, let out a little laugh.

“She’s really insistent, isn’t she?” I shook my head as I mused to myself. On the back of the paper was a further explanation of the events which transpired between ‘Ves’ and Rhea:

“Ves told me the story at the bar. Not that I needed to know the details from her, I already had an idea. Her original name was Etna Modelo. If that name rings a bell, it’s because she was part of the original ‘ETNA’ project. She had begun to grow unstable as the part of her that housed the angel of happiness clashed with the part of her that was human. Such a clash had adverse effects on those around her. The other ‘R’ and Douglas Fir were tasked with removing her from the world. Both met their end, although Ves seemed rather mournful of ‘R’ when we met, and although cured, it’s evident that the ordeal still effects her.

As I wasn’t there, I don’t know the full story, so I would still recommend asking her yourself. Your call, though. I’d just like to move on from it.”

Remora probably wrote that figuring I wouldn’t want to contact Ves myself. Yes, ‘Etna’, I’ve heard of her before: the girl on the run, the experiment, the artificial doctor. All of her incarnations. Hotheaded, explosive, short-tempered were all words that were used to describe her in reports and between eavesdrops of idle gossip from those who were aware of The Flashbulb’s pet project.

I considered contacting her, but felt it best not to. We were strangers, and she probably wanted to move on from such a thing as well. Besides, that was all I needed to know. Maybe whatever angel was with us now came here because they sensed one of their kin? Who the hell knew?

Rather than solve some cosmic mystery, some existential threat, I was instead relaxed in the fields of a small town in Idaho. As of late, I’ve been staying with this middle-aged man named Cleaver in his little shack. Two hammocks hung inside, he slept below, I above. Next to him was a wolf who he named Mange. Not my first choice of names for a wolf, but it wasn’t my place to judge.

I got up and stretched.

Still early in the day; a crisp air, a cerulean hue in the sky. Everything was early, yet not. As I made my way back to the shack, I caught a glimpse of cleaver with his sagged, sunken face and his potbelly hanging low out from his white T-shirt. Scruff all over his face, gray hairs all over.

“Fancy day for a squirrel barbecue,” he scratched his chin and announced in a low voice.

“Ha. You and your meals,” I replied as I brushed aside some tall grass. “You do realize there’s a restaurant nearby, right?”

“Bah! You just don’t get it, Zephyr: that shit costs money. You know, our ancestors got by just fine without money.”

What makes you think your ancestors are my ancestors?

“Sure, but are you really gonna subsist on corn and rodents?” I retorted.

“Hey, if it tastes good and it doesn’t kill me, what does it matter?”

I put my hands in my pockets and shrugged my shoulders. Fair, I guess.

My swords were laid inside his shack. Mange knew better than to knock them down. When it came to food, I had two options: The Garage Cafe, or run 8 miles to the nearest city and get some Wendy’s.

“I might be gone for a few hours,” I mentioned, “so see you later in the afternoon?”

“You know I don’t care where you go,” he waved off. That was something I liked about staying with him, is that neither of us ever minded the other’s business. He reminded me of an old man I once knew who I also crashed with. Rather literally, but I’d rather not get into that. He was kind enough, and I might not have survived without the help, but it was clear he wouldn’t last. I was just glad that I got to see off that old man. That was a few hundred years ago, but memories were funny that way, how they didn’t care how long ago something was, just how important they could have been.

Before I could depart to Wendy’s (let’s be real, while I knew it was junk food, I couldn’t help but love that place because of its name), I heard the sound of shoes against soft soil, someone running, and their short breaths.

Sounds of Mange’s growls could be heard from inside the shack. I scanned the area until I spotted the source of the running: a young woman, about a foot shorter than I, with messy, shoulder-length blonde hair. Still, there was no denying that I recognized that face.

“Fi...finally,” she huffed and hunched over to catch her breath once she approached me. “I found you. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it was to find you.”

Tell me about it.

I blinked. I opened my mouth, then closed it. It took a while before I could figure out what I wanted to say.

“How did you find me?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“I asked some of your friends in Chicago. Otis, I think was his name, told me how you said you were headed to Caldwell, Idaho. So I went there, asked around, and apparently an employee at the Wendy’s there says she’s seen you head over toward Notus.”

“Dammit, Otis,” I cursed under my breath.

Really, it’s my own fault for telling anyone where I’d be heading. I just figured after I returned from Ray’s diner that I’d check in on how some of those folks were doing.

“You know this girl, Zephyr?” Cleaver called over.

“Yeah. She’s fine. Tell your dog to knock it off,” I called back over to him.

“MANGE! SHUT IT!” Cleaver yelled to the shack. There was a low whimper, then nothing after that.

“Zephyr?” She asked.

“Yeah. That’s my name now. Demetria, was it?” I asked right back.

“Mm-hmm. That much hasn’t changed.”

I studied her but nothing looked all that different from when I met her. If she had an air about her that was different, I didn’t sense it.

“So, Demetria, what can I do for you? It’s clear you wanted me for something, but for what, I don’t know.”

She straightened up her stance and looked up at me, a more resolute expression took hold on her face. One which said that she was ready to get right down to business.

“I want you train me,” she stated.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me: I want to hone my skills with the blade.”

I puffed up my cheeks, desperate not to break into laughter.

“What?! You think I’m some wise, old master? Do you expect me to take you on as a pupil, and at the end bow and go ‘you have done well, my student?’ Is that it?”

“If that’s what you want to do, go ahead. But I’m serious.”

That much was obvious, but it still didn’t make sense to me.

“Why do you think I’d be a good fit to train you?” I questioned.

“Because our weapons of choice are similar. The way you fight, act, react, every movement has a purpose and it’s like you’re ready for anything. You don’t leave yourself with openings. If I had to pick someone whose style of attack was similar to my own, it would have to be you. Meanwhile, I’m reckless, less refined, and don’t know what I’m doing half of the time.”

“OK. But is there a particular reason why you want to be trained so bad?”

“Because I want to learn restraint.”

That still wasn’t good enough. I felt like I was missing the full picture, and despite how plain her answers were, it was like she was holding back, or avoiding giving anything away.

“Restraint, huh? And you think me, the cop killer, can teach you that?”

I glanced behind me. Cleaver didn’t seem to react to what I said. Strange, I thought that he would have. But I guess he figured it just wasn’t his business.

“You’re right,” she replied, “but I never said I wanted to be you, nor did I say what I meant by restraint.”

“Indeed. You didn’t.”

I paced about and thought it over.

“You use knives, I use large swords,” I pointed out, “each blade is different, with its own style and use. You don’t use a kitchen knife the same way you do a hunting knife. You don’t use an Oodachi the same way you use a Kodachi. Catch my drift?”

She nodded.

“What I can teach you, and let me be upfront, I’ve never taught anyone, may not help you.”

I continued to pace. While I explained such things, my mind was yet to be made up.

“That said, I do have some experience with small blades, but they’re not quite like the knives you’ve got,” I thought back to that night when we fought, “throwing knives and a hunting knife, right?”

“Yes. Although I’d like to broaden my horizons a bit.”

“Mm...I see. Short sword may do, then. But let’s not rush anything. Because if I’m going to train you, you’re going to need to learn more than just how to use a short sword.”

“Of course. So does that mean you’ll accept?” Her words were ones of excitement, anticipation, but her voice was flat. As for me, my smile widened and I let some teeth show through.

“Under one condition: every day, I want you to buy me Wendy’s.”

“Okay, sure, there’s one eight miles away, I can just take Cybele’s plane and head right back.”

“On foot,” I clarified. While I didn’t know who this ‘Cybele’ was, taking a plane would have defeated the whole purpose of such a training.

“What? Really? Do you know how long that would take me? Your food will get cold by the time I bring it back to you.”

“Then learn to get faster,” I shrugged. Wasn’t my problem, so long as I had my grub.

“Hey, don’t mean to butt in, but I got a solution,” Cleaver hobbled forward and chimed in.

“Oh yeah? What?”

“You and this girlie here should run together to the city, then you both can eat once there.”

“Ooh, like a race?” I liked the sound of that.

“Something like that. I’ll even take you back home in the back of the truck by the end of the day, since I can already tell she’s just starting out.”

“Hey! I bet I could run right back here!” Demetria protested.

“Go ahead and try, but I’m doin’ you a favor. Trust me,” he replied. He was right, of course, too, and that gross overconfidence of hers was all the more reason why she needed training.

“By the way, if you’re going to be running, you’re going to need a bottle of water,” I advised, then went into the shack to grab my water bottle: a nice and thick tin thermos. “Take this. We can stop at the Garage Cafe on our way to the city so you can fill it.”

“What about you?” She asked.

“I’ll get water once we get into the city. Plus, I can always get another thermos.”

“All right, all right, so when can we start?” She tapped her foot. Ever so impatient to be tortured, I see.

“Now,” I answered.

“What? Now? I just got he –”

Nope. Wouldn’t hear it. Especially after she begged. I took off toward town, then toward the highway right away. I’d glance back to see her in the distance, and it was clear that she was trying to run.

Okay, when we get to the city, I’ve got to teach her proper form.

Down on the highway, she was still quite behind, but she started to speed up.

“How...how much longer?” She huffed, short on breath, and still early in.

“Like, seven more miles?” I guessed. Really, we weren’t even a quarter of the way there. More like a quarter of a quarter.

She stopped and hunched over to catch her breath.

“You’re not going to get very far standing still,” I stopped too. Even though I was ahead of her, the training would have been moot if I just ran off without her. “It’s not about speed. If you try to sprint your way there, you’ll tire out fast. It’s about sustained motion.”

“How is anyone supposed to keep running for eight miles?!” She gasped out and threw her hands up.

“I just told you. You will get faster, eventually, but what’s important is to build up stamina and use up as little energy as possible. You can walk every now and then if you have to, but you need to keep moving.”

She gasped a few more breaths, then straightened up her posture.

“Okay. Let’s keep going.”

Throughout our run, she’d stop to walk for a few seconds, or take a sip from the thermos, then she kept going for a short burst before walking again. It wasn’t ideal, but I suppose she had to start somewhere. When we finally made it into the city, and Wendy’s, about two and a half hours have passed. Again, not ideal, but I suppose it wasn’t too bad.

She was collapsed at a booth in the Wendy’s, all huffing and puffing and complaining about feeling sick.

“You should get yourself something to eat,” I looked down at the suffering apprentice.

“I can’t. I feel like I’m gonna throw up,” she wheezed.

“Yeah, that’s how it is at first. But hey, I’m amazed you made it at all. It’s a good start. But seriously, some food will help you feel better. Plus you need the calories to replenish your energy.”

“...I’m...vegetarian…”

“Okay? So? Get a freakin’ salad. Go to another restaurant. But eat something.”

Her hands shook as she grabbed on to the edge of the table and struggled to sit up.

“I suppose I can do a salad,” she heaved out the words. I gave her a heavy pat on the back, which made her bellow out, “oof!”

“That’s the spirit!”

A few minutes later, she returned with a box salad, a large thing of fries, and refilled her water.

“Fries, huh?” I pointed out.

“It’s not meat,” she shrugged. Eh, fair point.

I myself had one of those big burgers, large fries, large soda, large chicken nuggets, large everything. Again, it was junk, but considering the name, I was biased.

“So, I should tell you this upfront: if you’re going to train under me, you need to have a reason. I don’t need to know what that reason is, but I won’t accept it if you don’t have one.”

“Trust me, I do,” she responded, not quite focused on me, and more looking listless as she dipped her fries in a pile of red sweetness.

“By the way, do you have a place to stay?”

“No, but I can check into a hotel. It’s not like I don’t have money.”

“If that’s what you wanna do, sure, but while you’re here, you can sleep over at the shack. It’s not the most comfortable, and you’d have to sleep on the floor, but it won’t cost ya anything. More convenient, too. Cleaver won’t mind.”

“Cleaver, huh? You sure seem to make friends easily,” she observed.

“Heh. It’s not quite like that, but I try to form connections where I can. I think you’ll find that it’s practical, pragmatic even, to get on someone’s good side wherever you go. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re stronger or weaker,” I shook my head and smiled, “it’s a lonely world. Universe, even. But there’s things you can do to make it less lonely. I’m a loner, both by trade and nature, but we’re all here on this Earth to help each other.”

“That’s a good philosophy. I’ve never given such things any thought.”

“You probably never needed to. It’s better if you don’t have to give it thought, but when you’ve lived as long as I have, with as many experiences as I have, you get plenty of moments to think. Reflect.”

“Huh?” She looked my way, as if I had caught her attention with my little musings.

“Huh what?”

“Oh, I thought you said my name.”

“What? ‘To think’? I guess that sounds like Demetria…”

‘My hearing’s probably off because of all that running,” she shook her head and groaned, “seriously, my ears won’t stop popping.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“How long do we have to keep this running for, anyway?”

“Until you can manage to do it without stopping to walk. Stopping for water is one thing, but even then, it shouldn’t take long. As I said, it’s not about speed. It’s fine if you run slow, just don’t stop running.”

We stretched outside after our meal and wandered around.

“I’m taking online classes, actually, so I may have to pass on your offer,” Demetria mentioned as we walked through the city.

“There’s Wi-Fi at the shack. I’m an engineer, it wasn’t too hard to do.”

“Oh, okay. You really think of everything, huh?”

I denied such a claim.

“I just try to see what’s possible. So tell me about these online classes of yours.”

“There’s not really much to tell. I’m studying marine biology, but I don’t really care for it. I’m just doing it to finish what I started,” she gestured toward me and I caught a glimpse of her reflection through the glass of an electronics store. She looked so animated, even as she told me how little interest she had in her studies.

“That’s still impressive in its own right,” I replied. It got me thinking about how many projects I left unfinished, how many times I had to leave a place and its people behind, how many missions went abandoned when new information made me see a different perspective. Even the times when I just abandoned a project out of a loss of faith or desire to see it complete. What could have come of them had I completed them?

We wandered around town for a little while, then sat at a park, although little was said. Just before sunset, Cleaver’s rusty pickup truck sputtered and screeched as it arrived at the base of the park. Both Demetria and I hopped in the back and we let the gentle breeze of early spring overtake us. Soon we were back at the shack and once we landed on the soft soil, I broke down the plan.

“While she’s training with me, can she stay here?” I asked.

“I don’t see a problem with that, but she’ll have to sleep on the floor next to Mange.”

“Who’s Mange?” Demetria leaped out from the side of the truck and landed on her feet with a thud.

“Eh, just my dog. He’s friendly. Might growl at ya. Might even bite your arm. Might even rip it off. But he’s friendly.”

She squinted.

“It’s a lone wolf he found,” I explained instead. As it turns out, Cleaver wasn’t very good with this stuff. “I think as far as Mange is concerned, as long as you don’t actively pose a threat, he’ll probably consider you part of the pack.”

“Hold up. Why do you have a pet wolf?” She turned to Cleaver. He scratched the back of his head.

“Helps keep away the cougars,” he answered all matter-of-fact.

“Why do you need to keep away older women for?” She questioned and I almost spat out the soda that had already been digested three hours ago.

“I like this one,” he pointed his thumb to her, “she knows what’s up.”

“Actually, I think it’s the opposite,” I refuted.

“So while we’re training, what if we practice sparring right outside the shack?”

Then it would get interesting, I thought the devious thought. Of course I wasn’t going to disclose that.

“We’d just have to keep the door closed, I guess,” I said instead.

We all made our way inside, a very cramped space. There was a bathroom in the back, complete with a shower, but aside from that, it was a bedroom with little room to house one person, let alone three plus a gray wolf. Besides the bunk bed hammock and the wooden planked floor, there was a dresser on the left end once we entered, and on the right was where Mange slept (when he wasn’t sleeping outside).

“You don’t mind if I have my laptop open while you sleep, do you?” Demetria asked Cleaver as he was already headed up to the top hammock to get some shut eye.

“Do what you want, but if the bright screen wakes Mange, don’t come cryin’ to me when he bites ya.”

“Here, I’ll sleep on the floor across from you,” I offered to her, “so don’t even worry about it.”

“Thanks,” she turned quiet and looked down to her side.

“She’s working toward her degree!” I cupped my hands to tell Cleaver. “Her studies are very important to her!”

“Really, now?”

“How the hell should I know? They’re her studies, not mine,” I hissed out the words, trying not to be too loud as to wake Mange.

“Bah, you know it’s all a scam,” he grumbled.

“You’re a scam,” I mimicked back.

“Are you gonna be okay sleeping on the floor?” Demetria seemed puzzled at my offer.

What about you? I bet you’re more used to sleeping on a bed than I am.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t care where I sleep. I’ve slept just about everywhere,” I reassured her.

“Bah, there she goes again. ‘Look at me, I’ve slept in penthouses and castles and trash cans alike’. We’ve heard it all before,” Cleaver started up again. I ignored him, and leaned in to whisper to Demetria:

“That’s him on his good days. Now type away.”

Sleep never came easy for me, if much at all. That’s always been true, or at least as far back as I could remember. The dim glow of Demetria’s laptop didn’t make much of a difference. Mange for his part stretched during a couple of intervals, but other than that, didn’t seem to pay Demetria any mind. Not even as she was leaned up against the back of his fur.

There wasn’t much else to do but watch. After a while, she started to yawn and her eyelids started to droop down. There were a few more clacks against the keyboard, then she pulled the laptop screen down slow and closed it before setting it aside. She didn’t seem to notice me at all. All the better for it. I wasn’t fixated on her, but my surrounding as a whole. It was a quirk of mine which I attributed to countless years of pursuit. Always alert, always looking forward. If someone were to try to kill me in their sleep, they would be left disappointed.

If somebody managed to kill me while I was asleep, I’d like to live long enough to thank them.

Still, for what it was worth, I was still human. Tiredness was still a thing. Sleep came eventually. Even if just a single wink, I would have liked that. An hour must have passed, and I felt ready to nod off when I heard Demetria mutter something. It was faint, but I had peachy keen ears, and was able to make out what she said:

“Games? Like having a snowball fight? Building a snowman? Then again, it doesn’t have to be a snowman…”

“Snowman?” I mouthed. I had to think about it, because it sounded familiar. I soon began to hum a little tune.

“Isn’t that...from a movie?” I asked myself in a low mutter.

Not something I ever watched, but I’ve probably passed by TVs in display windows playing that thing. Those kind of animated films with songs are inescapable, regardless of the quality of said tunes. Well, I’m not going to speak on the quality of something I’ve no interest in. It’s just kind of amusing that she’d be reciting such a song in her sleep. Despite her moody exterior, maybe she’s just a kid at heart.

Demetria started to stir and then her eyes crept open.

“So, Frozen, huh?” I asked, my voice a little hoarse. Likely due to my lack of sleep.

“Mm...what?” She yawned a sleepy little mumble.

“You were talking in your sleep. I think you were singing a song from Frozen,” I pointed out.

“Huh. The only Disney movie I like is Finding Nemo. So what song was I singing?”

“Hmm...’do you wanna build a snowman?’ I think it’s called.”

“Oh wow. Asleep me has poor taste. Can’t say awake me has any better taste, but still.”

“Whatever. Just let it go and get back to sleep.”

She nodded, then closed her eyes again and leaned back. Soon it seemed that sleep had taken her once more, though I did hear her mutter one more thing before departing to a soundless rest:

“Not like I plan on being around much longer, anyway.”

Heh, I leaned my head back against the dresser. You and me both.

In the morning, I stepped out of the shack and took in the crisp morning air. It was bliss, it was serene, it was –

“Ugh...so sore…”

Behind me, a shambling zombie-like figure groaned. Almost as if someone had raised the dead.

“Right. I should have taken that into consideration,” I groaned as well, realization of who was behind me set in.

“What are we going to do?” She scratched the back of her head and a look of general displeasure possessed her face.

“We eat some food, we do some stretches, we do some heavy lifting,” I ran through the check list.

“Heavy lifting?! I thought we’d be taking it easy today since I’m so worn out!” She was flabbergasted and most devastated.

“This is taking it easy. We’re not going to be running to the city today. Instead we’ll work the upper body.”

“What happened to ‘buy me Wendy’s every day?’” Demetria mentioned, something I didn’t expect to get brought up.

“Eh,” I shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be every day. How about just every time we go into town? Now, I’m going to make it so you hurt in other places, so are you ready?”

She gulped, being given an answer she didn’t expect, herself.

“If at any time you want to quit, just say the word,” I offered. “Because it’s not going to get any easier from here. You’ll just need to get better.”

She gulped, being given an answer she didn’t expect.

“If at any time you want to quit, just say the word. Because it’s not going to get any easier from here. You’ll just need to get better.”

Another gulp, then she shook her head.

“I’m not going to quit. I can’t afford to.”

Her determination was commendable. I had to give her that. If I didn’t end up breaking her spirit, she could very well end up a force to be reckoned with in her own right.

So it went: we stretched. We walked around the fields near the shack. Our day came and went with little word save for what was spoken on her resolute face. Another night. Another dim glow from her screen as she typed away at whatever project she had.

Dusk turned to daylight; we ran once more the following morning. There were still some stumbles, still some hurdles. She steadied her movements more, and with only being the second run, it was a startling improvement. Maybe minuscule in the grand scheme of themes, but I would have thought it would take longer for her to show any signs of improvement.

Two or three miles in, she stopped, slowed to a walk, then a few minutes later, built back into a jog. This happened another mile out, as well as the next. During the second half, however, whether it be a high or just having found a rhythm, she managed to keep pace the whole way through.

After our meal, we found a nearby park and wandered into a deeper portion of the park, less populated, with the thicket of trees concealing us from the potential misunderstood eyes of passerby.

“All right. Now it’s time to fight.”

She was slumped over as she had followed me into the park already worn out. However, upon the word ‘fight’, she perked up. That, or it was a look of shock. Either way, I had her attention.

“A...Already?! It’s only the second time running here and I’m still a little worn out.”

“Your enemies aren’t going to care if you’re worn out. Hell, they’ll use that to their advantage,” I corrected her. Not that she had enemies. Maybe I was just drawing from experience with that example.

“You’re right,” she agreed, something which took me by surprise. However, as poised as she looked, it was little more than show, and her knees wobbled before the fight even began.

I swerved my left leg to the side and dragged my foot against the soft grass, which tripped her and she fell before she could even attempt to avoid it. She landed right on her butt and struggled to get up. Before she could bring herself up, I stomped down, and that time, she reacted well enough to roll over.

“While the idea does turn me on, some things are more important,” she remarked with a grimace.

...What?

She hurried up that time and I swung my right fist in a slow and deliberate manner, slow enough that it would have given her enough time to do any number of things in response. She chose to block it with her left arm and although she reacted in time, I soon overpowered her. In spite of that, she tried to hold her arm up. As she was distracted, I once again swept my leg to the side and knocked her down.

“Don’t try to block if you can’t withstand the hit. Dodge instead. Also, don’t leave yourself open. Your enemy could find an array of maneuvers to attack you if you leave yourself an opening.”

She winced and gave a short nod.

Further days passed; what was one week turned to two. Run, stretch, block, dodge, react. After two weeks, she managed to run the whole way through. From Notus to Caldwell with a reserve of stamina left over. At the park, she jumped when I did a side-sweep. Either a short jump, or jumped back. When I swung my fist, rather than block it, she would either duck down, or lean back.

Another week went by and on the third week, I introduced weapons into the mix.

“Dodging, avoiding hits, all that’s well and good, but you’ll also need to fight back,” I instructed.

“Of course,” she replied.

I knew she had her knives on her. I also gave her a short sword to use. For my part, I had my signature katana, though to make it more fair for her, I pressed a button on the blade’s scabbard and split them into two kodachi-type blades.

“Wha – how did you do that?” Her eyes widened and she blinked, astonished at the sight.

“It’s not an ordinary blade. It came with my old profession, you could say.”

“You mean as a janitor? Did everyone have weapons like that?”

“Some. I’m sure you’re aware that Remora’s rifle can split into two smaller, pistol-like guns which fires off a wave of energy. My blade, or blades, are coated in an oil which repels a certain kind of creature.”

“Angels,” she answered.

So you know? Whatever the reason, I’m sure it’s not a good thing.

“That is one way to call them. But not angels in the biblical sense. No, more like the ‘beings beyond comprehension’ sense.”

“Yet we comprehend enough to craft weapons to deal with such things,” she added.

“Sorta. It’s hard to know when these weapons will be useful, or even how useful they will be. Especially when dealing with beings that are unheard of.”

Like what Ray and Sunny were dealing with up in the arctic. Whatever was behind it, I had little to go off of. If they even wished to stand a fighting chance, I would need to know more, but I didn’t know how to learn further.

What was known wasn’t comprehensible, either, as it didn’t seem to fit a specific pattern or intention – creatures that were an amalgamation of other creatures, contorted to a strange shape. Shadowy mass filled with various materials and limbs, like rope, wire, legs, and tentacles that could cause others to lose their sense of self. People whose limbs grew out from their backs, who could control such strange hybird creatures. Then the latest addition – a fog which blanketed the area near Ray’s diner and gave injuries to passerby. Some reported shadows of strange shapes, others reported voices.

What exactly did it feel? What did it embody? How did all of those phenomena correspond with what the source embodied?

At any moment, one of the diner’s proprietors would call me up to tell me that things got bad again and I’d have to cut the training off there so I could hurry to their aid. Remora’s rifle more than likely protected the diner from the inside, but the surrounding area was fair game for the entity and the beasts it produced. For now, however, I could focus on training Demetria, who still had a great deal to learn, even if she picked up on things at an alarming rate.

We clashed with the blades, and that time, she was able to block well. At one point, I swung down only for her to block it with the scimitar I let her borrow. When I swung the other blade to the right, she side-stepped to avoid the swing. Then the left, and the same. However, she kept up the block the whole way and even if she managed to dodge in spite of the openings she left, she was still overpowered when I swung both blades down against the scimitar. She tried to bend her knees and apply more pressure, but it wasn’t enough, and both blades were but a hair’s breath away from her face.

Without any more strength to give, she fell. I put aside my weapons before they could cut her down, then I scolded her.

“Again, don’t block if you know you can be overpowered. You did good blocking one blade, but you left yourself open. If the enemy starts adding more pressure and you can’t keep up, release and get out of the way.”

“Right…” She sounded wiped out. I couldn’t blame her, and she was improving, but she needed to know where her weak spots were.

“We’ll call it a day for now. Tomorrow we’ll spar by the shack.”

“Right on! I’ve been wanting to do that since the beginning!”

Are you that excited to get beaten up?

“What’s so special to you about training near the shack and training in this park?”

“Well, for starters...I’m always worried someone’s gonna show up and get concerned. It might scare someone and they could even call the cops!”

“Let the cops come. I’ll skewer them all with glee,” I dispelled any unease she had.

“It’s not just that! The field by the shack is really secluded so we can go ahead and go all out!”

Ah, yeah. That is a good point.

Our training continued the next day at Cleaver’s shack. We had an open dirt clearing where we weren’t as hindered by tall grass. Both of us stood on far ends of the circle with our weapons in hand.

“Come at me, bro!” She shouted.

I had a moment of weakness. As in, I hesitated, hearing such a ridiculous statement. Or phrase, rather. It only took a moment, though, and after that moment washed away, I rushed in.

Our blades clashed once more and she dodged the attacks, struck when she saw an opportunity, and timed her blocks well as well. Although I could also block and dodge each of her attempts, it had more to do with my experience.

You really are a fast learner, aren’t you?

However, another weak point showed through once more as soon as I struck with a side-slash. No, she managed to dodge it. That wasn’t the problem: the problem was that she pushed her legs in and jumped up. If she didn’t manage to jump high enough, or didn’t move in time…

“Wrong!” I shouted as I stood in place.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice squeaked and she scowled. To her it must have been just a disagreement of ideas, and she looked ready to protest my scolding, but it had to be done regardless.

“You dodged it, but the way you did so was way risky and took up more of your energy that it should have. You’ve built up a lot of stamina, but in a fierce battle, every bit of energy counts. It would have been less risky and have used up less of your energy to have stepped back, even jumped a little backward, than to try to jump over it.”

“Yeah...I see what you mean now,” she looked down and shook her fists, obvious shame written all over her.

“I’m not saying this to be rigid. If you didn’t jump high enough, you would have gotten slashed for sure.”

“I’ve been slashed in the stomach already,” her voice turned low, and a sullen look took over. She then lifted up her shirt, which made me take a step back. Across her stomach was, indeed, a long thin scar. “So it’s not so bad, right?”

“It’s true that slashes are generally less harmful than stabs. It’s said that in old wars, soldiers would slash rather than stab their enemies so they wouldn’t have to bear the weight of killing another person. But a slash can still be very harmful depending on how much force is placed, and the proximity. If you get a deep slash, like say you strike a vein, expect blood to spray out. An endless flow that you wouldn’t be able to stop, and if unable to be treated soon enough, death. Given enough force, one could even slash a limb clear off or cut someone in half.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Sheesh. Such gory imagery,” she made little “ack, ack” sounds to accompany her statement so that she could further express her disgust.

“It’s just muscle memory is hard. I know the right moves but sometimes I do the wrong one because so used to a particular pattern,” she added, something which I understood.

“Which is why we need to take it from the top until you get it right.”

We continued through the afternoon until sunset hit. After we called it good, Demetria headed back into the shack.

“Well, this thesis isn’t going to bullshit itself,” she told me as she waved before entering the shack. I waved back, but sat out for a while, letting myself bask in dusk’s chill.

“Is this what I’ve been reduced to? A mentor? An escort?” No, such thoughts weren’t good, especially not when spoken out into the air.

It was too late, of course. Once those words were spoken, the rest of the thoughts followed. Like, was I ever alive at all? What did it look like when I had a life? What was I now but a ghost, a shade, a wandering remnant? It wasn’t even that I didn’t want to help others or be a mentor, but that the only semblance of a life I had was one that would never leave. Violence was ingrained in me, ran through my bloodstream as I lived and breathed. There could be no help without it and the only justice I knew was an unshaken, violent justice.

For a while longer, I let myself sit beside the comfort of darkness. Close to silence, with the only sounds to fill the air being the crickets and the frogs which hid out in any given direction.

With a sigh, I allowed myself back inside. Demetria sat there, as she had many nights, with her face glued to that laptop screen. However, when she saw me enter, she closed her laptop and addressed me.

“How are you feeling?” She looked up.

I sat down and crossed my legs. I smiled, for I knew no other way to express anything.

“Just how I always am,” I shook my head, it sounded like such a carefree dismissal. Part of me expected her to be satisfied by such an answer.

“And how is that?” She asked instead.

That was a more difficult thing to answer than it should have been. It wasn’t a sense of monotony, but something else. Loss of life, or a loss of humanity.

“Forgive me if I’m unable to give a straight answer,” I replied after some thought.

“That’s okay, I’m gay.”

Fine, but just know that you brought this on yourself.

“Some say that ghosts are just memories, so in that sense, nothing ever leaves, does it, so long as the memory is there?” I posed the question. As I said, I couldn’t give a straight answer.

“Are you saying that you feel like a ghost?”

I shook my head.

“Not quite. I told you once that I considered my old self dead, right?”

As well as my current self. But only in a different sense.

“Yeah. How you were accused of –”

“I told you what my original name was back then. It was a lie. Not the story, but the name. Considering how long ago it was, my name was more than likely a simple one. Like Kuso Gozen, or something. There were bits and pieces of that life, that girl, that I remember. Being accused of an assassination, being put to death...but much of the details are lost. Forgotten. Hell, it’s enough for me to question if what I remember is real or made up,” I let out a deep breath. I was doing this again, wasn’t I? And who was I to say that was to confide would be any more real than last time?

“It could have been that I did murder someone. That I was given due punishment, and chose to evade such punishment. Based on what I know of myself, I wouldn’t put it past me to take out a corrupt official. But that’s beside the point.”

“What is the point?”

I shook my head.

“Ha. If I knew...well, I suppose the point is: maybe it’s better that I don’t remember. Maybe it’s better to be forgotten. To be more than dead, less than a memory.”

“I think I can relate with that. I suppose most people would prefer to be remembered, but I suppose to some, it may be better to forget. Like if you did something bad.”

“Mm...that’s not quite what I mean. As for that old self, yes, she’s forgotten. But my current self? I don’t mind people knowing my deeds. But this life I’ve had...I don’t want to preserve it.”

“What? You mean you’re going to let yourself get killed?”

No, that wasn’t quite right, either. But then, what ever was?

“Hell no,” I refuted, “I wouldn’t go down without a fight. But I’m just waiting for my time. Some say I’m like a cockroach, the way I’ve survived so much and had so many lucky breaks. But for the sake of my own sanity, I hope that’s not the case.”

“Why live your life that way? Why are you so eager to die?”

“It’s not like that. Maybe it’s a curiosity. How it will end and when. Will it be a quiet one, or a roaring crescendo? Will I be remembered afterward? Talked about? Or will I be forgotten, not even a passing name.”

“I’ll remember you. I already met you. Plus you’ve got all those homeless friends,” she pointed out.

“Ha! I guess you’re right about that one. It’s easy to call anyone a friend when you know you’re just passing through! We form a connection, make small talk, and then I disappear into the wind. It’s not really any different than how life was like with that company – I’d visit different places in different timelines, meet some people, do my job, and then go onto the next one. That’s just how it was. I suspect everyone who worked there, it didn’t matter what their personalities were or how big of a heart they had, got that way: just passing through, not really being alive. If any of us ever were in the first place.”

“How do you even know others were like that?” concerned dripped from her lips. Despite her stoic front, she really couldn’t keep all of that in, could she?

“Let’s call it an observation. I’ve seen how others were: some cope by indulging in their vices. Sex, drugs, booze, you name it. Some go numb, others break down, unable to find a sense of calm. Some can try to settle down, live a quiet life, maybe try to start a family, but it never leaves them. That feeling, like life, death, it may as well be the same thing. I think it’s the job, it does something to you. To all of us. Maybe that’s why I think that the ones who died were the lucky ones. Otherwise you just end up like me, waiting for your time to come.”

I gave a hearty laugh and smiled, not caring who I would wake up.

“I guess that’s why it’s so easy to talk to you about all this, because it doesn’t really matter. I may as well be talking to myself.”

She turned her head, puffed up her cheeks, and scowled. I thought she was ready to blow up at me, talk about how unkind that statement was, that I shouldn’t have had that mindset, but when she finally spoke again, it was about something else entirely.

“Do you know how Rhea died?” She asked, a fun topic for the whole family.

“Yeah. Was assigned to get rid of someone who was possessed by the embodiment of happiness. It was a pretty big task: potential world at stake scenario. Anyone could have lost to something like that.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m not so sure.”

“Why do you say that?” I stroked my chin, eager for her explanation.

“Ves is my cousin’s wife. She’s still mournful about the whole thing. She never wanted to kill her, and in fact, I think Ves was the one who could have easily been defeated. Apparently the two actually talked, tried to work out a compromise. Rhea actually showed her mercy, and in the end, I think Rhea was holding back because she wanted to be the one to go.”

How interesting. Mercy. Well, I suppose I would have at least tried to figure out what all of the options were before going in for the kill. So it’s not too surprising if it happened to be the same way.

“Did your cousin’s wife tell you all that?”

She nodded.

“It may have been the case that she was holding back, who’s to say?”

“But why would she do that if she knew the world was at stake? Did she just forsake the world?”

I remember the first time I met up with Demetria, she said that she had little interest when it came to Rhea. So now the sudden interest struck me as a little odd. But then again, maybe there was something to spurn such interest and I just didn’t know it.

“It’s doubtful the world ever mattered in the first place. After all, it was just one instance of the world, out of an endless amount of instances.”

“Yeah, but it’s my world! It’s the only instance I have!”

I leaned over and pressed my finger to her lip.

“Shh. Others are sleeping.”

After I released my finger and returned to my original position, I continued.

“She didn’t have a world she belonged to. While I’m sure she understood the risk, the stakes weren’t the same for her as it may have been for you. Maybe she was just done, and knew of no other way to go but through a fight.”

“But why did she show Ves mercy? That’s just not like her, is it?”

“Maybe she had a last minute change of heart. It’s possible.”

“Do you think she was infected by the entity? Is that why?”

I shook my head.

“It’s a possibility. There’s no way to know that for certain, though. As much as it’s natural for many of us to speculate, the bottom line is that the only person who knew what was going through her head was herself, and she’s not around to give us any answers.”

“You’re right...I was just wondering: what would you have done if you were in her position?”

I thought it over some.

“I don’t think I would have done anything different,” I concluded.

“Do you think she was lucky as well?”

Ah. So maybe that’s why she brought it up. I had to close my eyes for that one, lest the piercing glare give anything away.

“What do you think the answer to that one is?”

There was a pause, and there was something serene about such a pause. The heavy breaths of the wolf behind her, the snoring of the middle aged man at the top hammock. It carried with it a peaceful wind.

“I’m worried about you,” she said at last.

“Don’t be,” I shook my head and smiled, “the student has no need to worry about the mentor. You should get some rest.”

When we picked up on the following day, her growth was more than apparent. I’d strike down, but she’d sidestep, then do a sweeping slash, which I blocked, then did a slash of my own. She surprised me next, by sliding down, then struck up. I had to react fast just to block it.

“Ha. You’re getting better at reacting, but you’ve yet to land a hit,” I remarked.

“Just you wait,” she shot back with a smug smile.

Such confidence. I wonder if it will last.

In an effort to show that it wasn’t just a bluff, she rolled once, did another side step, which made me turn around as she made her next strike. Again, our blades clashed, and I still had another blade in my other hand. However, this time, she pulled something out from her pocket and I leaned my head back just in time not to get hit by what turned out to be a knife.

When I realized what she just tried, I couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a condescending laugh, in fact, I was quite impressed. All the same, I was as amused as I could ever be.

“Ha, good one. You fancy yourself a ninja or something?” I gave a hearty chuckle.

“Not quite. I just need to learn all that I can,” she dispelled any such idea. She didn’t look any short on energy, either. That was good.

We’ll have to hone that aim of hers, but she seems to already have some sort of grasp. Force and precision, two things to work on.

“Let’s make things more interesting, shall we?” The proposal slithered out from my mouth as I slipped a cunning grin.

“MANGE!” I called out.

She looked over, a sharpened glance. It wasn’t even so much of a reaction, but more of an acknowledgment.

Has she adopted some of my traits? Is it from the training? Or did it just come with the confidence?

Busted out through the door of the shack came Mange, all fired up. That tired old wolf may not have been much but a heavy sleeper on his good days, but he could still be tricked into thinking there was trouble.

“Now you’ll have to dodge both of us.”

Before, I’d have expected her to react like, “really? Wolves are much faster than people! And they’re huge!” But instead, once again, a single nod of acknowledgment.

We clashed further, clangs of our blades as we maneuvered around each other. But soon, Mange gave chase, and as expected, darted toward Demetria. She stepped back, but he was quick to turn. She stepped to the side, but that didn’t stop him in the slightest. It was getting to the point that she was backing further away from me without even realizing it.

Panic seemed to set in and she turned her head from side to side and noticed how much further she had gotten. Mange was seconds away, and Demetria rolled forward, which seemed to do her little good. I charged toward her, like a little nudge to remind her who her target was, and I watched as she knew she was cornered on both ends: Mange behind her, and I about to strike her down in front.

So in a twist of events, she crouched down, then when Mange got close enough, she leaped into the air and launched herself off of that poor wolf’s nose, which propelled her further. I watched as she tossed a knife down in my direction, and I blocked it with the sword at my right. However, she then swung her blade down from over her shoulder, and I reacted just in time, with the blade at my left hand overhead. However, the force was strong enough that I needed both arms free, and before I could lift the other sword, she swung her legs together and flung herself forward against my abdomen, knocking me to the ground.

With her on top, the blade raised against my head and her head close, I could feel her warm, heavy breaths on my face. They weren’t breaths of exhaustion, but excitement instead.

I wonder if that’s what she meant when she said she wanted me to teach her ‘restraint’.

“Well, you’ve got me pinned down. What’s next?” I flashed a sharp-toothed grin.

No answer. Mange didn’t seem so interested in pulling her off, despite the image present. So it was up to me: I grabbed her by the wrist, even with that sword firm in her hand, and tossed her off of me.

“Waah!” She squealed, caught off guard.

I got up and brushed off any dirt that had gotten on me.

“Good job. That was a risky move, but it paid off. To think I had just tried that today and you had already figured out a counter,” I commended her. However, she walked off and seemed to have brushed aside every word.

“It’s still not enough,” she grumbled.

“What is enough?” I demanded. As much as I hated to admit, her attitude got to me.

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll know when I get there,” she huffed out a reply.

“Hey,” I called her out. That time, she turned around. “I know I said you didn’t need to tell me the reason, but what is it that you’re after, anyway?”

“I need to improve my aim when throwing knives, I need to improve my reaction time. My reflexes still aren’t enough.”

“Bullshit. What more do you need?”

“I need to be able to dodge a bullet,” she replied with such conviction that despite the absurdity of the statement, I had no choice but to take it seriously.

“If that’s your goal, you should give up right now. It’s never going to happen, no matter how good you get.”

“I need to.”

“Nobody’s fast enough,” I shot down once more, “you think I can dodge a bullet? You think I’m faster than what comes out of a gun? I just have to get lucky and hope there’s something I can shield myself behind. That, or hope that I’m faster than the one with their hand on the trigger.”

“Fine. Then I need to be able to block a bullet,” she was adamant, which only served to irritate me further.

“With what? A sword? Even if you could react fast enough, it’s more likely that the bullet will break the sword. What then?”

“I’ll…” She grit her teeth, “I’ll think of something.

How stubborn. Looks like I’ll need to compromise.

“Fine. How about this? For the next few days, or however long it takes, I’ll borrow your throwing knives, toss them your way, and you’ll have to dodge them. I’ll paint some targets on trees and I’ll have you keep throwing until you can manage to hit the middle. I’ll make sure you’re using proper form. Does that sound good?”

She gave it a few seconds pause, then signaled her approval with a single nod.

“Good. Now, let’s practice some sprinting. Run around the field for a while until you get worn out. Mange will chase you around, but don’t worry, he won’t actually hurt. He may knock you down, and he is heavy, but he’s friendly enough.”

With a sprint, she took off. As she went busy with that, I returned to the shack and decided to lay down for a little while on the bottom hammock. For whatever reason, as I lay, a smile formed, then plastered its way onto my face. Above me came the gruff voice of Cleaver:

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I am,” I replied, “who’s to say?”

“You’re not fooling anyone. You’re getting a kick out of this.”

“Of course,” I gave in, “I’m most alive in a fight. Not to mention, it feels refreshing. Both to fight without such high stakes, and to be a mentor. It feels like I’m passing on my knowledge to the next generation.”

“I don’t really get it, but I could tell there was something up with you ever since you first showed up.”

“Oh?” Consider my interest piqued.

“I mean, c’mon, some tall Japanese swordswoman just shows up looking for a place to crash? Like, what time period do you think this is? Obviously there’s something up with that, either that, or you’re just a weirdo.”

To be honest, I’m more of an oddball than I’d care to admit.

“But you know,” he went on, “I never pried, I never asked about what your story was, because I just didn’t care. As long as you’re going to help me out and mean no trouble, then it’s none of my business.”

“See? That’s why we get along so well. I’ve never asked you what your deal was, either,” I threw at him. If it wasn’t clear, I was a little cheeky.

“You wanna know something else? When you and that girl are talking late at night, I can hear you. You’re not as quiet as you think you’re being.”

“Aw, Cleaver, at your age, you need your beauty sleep.”

“Guh,” he grunted, “you’re one to talk. What with your talks. I’ll be honest, I don’t understand most of it, but your whole ‘I’m just waitin’ for my time’ bullshit like you’re some old woman about to croak.”

“Heh. I am. I’ve lived a long life, Cleaver.”

“You’re younger than I am. I bet you haven’t even hit forty.”

“I bet you’re right. But I’m past my expiration date, so to speak. With the kind of life I’ve lived, I’d say I’m past the average life expectancy. It’s a little strange...just to exist at all.”

Large breaths of air lingered just before the last few words were uttered. It was as if I had gone speechless, starved of oxygen.

“Well, if you’re havin’ fun, that’s gotta count for something,” he seemed like he was trying to make some sort of attempt at encouragement.

“Never said it didn’t, but thank you for the sentiment.”

“Another thing, uh, for what it’s worth, what does it matter if you’re just passing by? Doesn’t mean it don’t got meaning. Plenty of people are just passing by, having chance encounters. But it still has value.”

“I agree. Try not to put too much stock into the things I say,” I advised him. Selfish as it may have been, part of me wanted to know what kind of life he had lived, and why he lived in a shack out in an open field. Was it choice or circumstance? Was there another option? But just like him, I was fine with not knowing.

I think it’s always been that I’ve gotten along most well with older folks of a certain kind. Lost souls, or those who were destitute, vagrant, fallen on bad luck and hard times. Hermits whose own lives had become a distant memory. There was nothing to be fascinated by it, nothing romantic. It was just a certain kinship I felt. I in no way ever wanted to just scrape by with whatever I could reach for. It was just what I developed into, and now I felt as if I could live no other way. If I could even live at all.

III

Even as the days passed, and another couple of weeks flew by, it proved not to scratch that itch she so desired. Despite every throw closer and closer to the bullseye, every projectile avoided, every knife caught in the grip of her gloves (that one surprised me the most. Another risky move, but one I allowed, despite the trouble that could have caused. It seemed like less of a mistake and something she wanted to do. Still, I made sure to drill in her head not to try that with bullets, because all that would do, best case scenario, is give her a bloody hand), it wasn’t enough.

Throughout the training, I had wondered what her reason was. Although I told her she didn’t need to tell me, it was still important enough to her that she sought me out. She could have sought out anyone, a professional trainer, for example. But no, it was me. There had to be something specific there, and I had my suspicions as to what it was.

“Satisfied?” I inquired after she had managed to hit the target, square in the middle.

“Not quite,” she shook her head. That all but confirmed it; no more beating around the bush, I had to ask:

“Are you trying to be like your crush?” I drilled to the center of the matter, hoping to find gold.

“Excuse me?” She asked in turn.

“Remora. You haven’t mentioned her since you got here. You mentioned Rhea, which is surprising in of itself, but she never mattered much to you. As I’m sure you’ve thought, yourself, her and your cousin’s battle had nothing to do with you. But it was Remora who you were interested in, wasn’t it?” Her brows creased, and I could tell she didn’t enjoy such a topic.

“I’ve just had nothing to tell. Feelings can change,” she replied, her voice lowered, guarded in its response.

“Indeed. So it was a falling out?”

“Something like that. It’s a period in my life that I’m done with, so I don’t need to think about it anymore,” she flat out stated. Still, she didn’t echo the same confidence that she did in our spars.

“So that’s just it? Yet you came here, to someone you knew worked the same job as her, and talk about wanting to dodge bullets. Even if you don’t feel like you don’t need to think about her, you either have her in mind, or something similar.”

That time, her defensive face relaxed, and she changed her expression: a smile took hold and stretched to a smug grin.

“Something similar, you could say that. You could say I want to be just like her.”

I figured as much, although a part of me hoped it wasn’t such a case.

“Or rather,” she added, then turned away, “I’d like to be strong enough to be able to kill someone like her.”

Such confidence. This could be interesting, if also disconcerting.

“Someone like me?” I suggested.

She shook her head.

“I’d rather not kill. That was the whole reason why I wanted to learn restraint. But if my suspicions are correct, then I may need to. Which means I have to make sure I’m strong enough to do so, even if it means becoming like one of you guys.”

“Suspicions? What are you talking about?”

It sounded like some delusion of hers, although I knew better than to think such a thing. If there was even a chance of someone else like Remora or I, even alive and out there, then what did she want with someone like that? Did she have some personal vendetta? Did someone kill someone close to her? What could have prompted such a desire?

“I think I’m ready to show you,” she paced about, then brought out her phone.

Yes. Please. Show me.

I watched her put her phone up to her ear, then speak into it.

“Hey Cybele. It’s me. I’m ready for you to pick me up. Oh, and I’ve got someone with me. There’s a place I want to show her. Both of you. I might be able to get you your money, there, too.”

There was a short pause.

“Cool, see you soon? Cool.”

She ended the call, then turned back to me.

“You can take your sword with you, if you want.”

Was planning on bringing it, anyway. I’ve got some bad vibes from all this.

“What is it you want to show me, anyway?” I asked her.

“You’ll understand when we get there,” her smile held as she assured me.

What was left in me was a sense of confusion. Before me wasn’t the same Demetria that showed up a couple of months ago, but then, she must have had such a thing planned out. So either she had been masking how she really was, or it was an alarming determination. Something which she was driven to see through.

“By the way, you should get that dog back inside. I don’t think my friend would like seeing them,” she advised.

“Mange is a wolf,” I corrected, then stuck two fingers in my mouth and whistled. “Hey Mange! Get inside!”

Mange let out a whimper as he slowly walked toward the shack. He looked over at me, let out a soft, “awoo,” then pouted and went inside.

“Yeah, yeah. Awoo to you too.”

About fifteen minutes later, a woman with a blonde ponytail and wearing a blue blouse and a pencil skirt walked approached us. At first, she stood up straight, but as soon as she saw us, she slumped over.

“Ugh, lemme tell you, it’s so hard to find parking when you fly a plane everywhere,” she bemoaned. Then she stood right back up and looked over to me. I raised an eyebrow and gave a short wave.

“Hey, who’s this?” She asked Demetria, who looked up at both of us.

“Cybele, this is Wen...err...Zephyr,” she introduced.

Cybele then smiled a big smile and held out her hand.

“Heya, nice to meet ya! Nice muscles,” she greeted. I took her hand and shook it, then tilted my head.

“Thanks, I made them myself?” I replied.

She let out an awkward laugh, then turned to Demetria.

“So, what’s this place we’re going to?”

“You’ll see,” was all she said in response, then made her way toward the plane.

“Oooookay. Looks like we’re off,” she strutted off. I followed behind.

Aboard her plane, I just realized that I had heard Cybele’s name before.

“I think Ray’s talked about you,” I mentioned to her.

“Oh?” She sounded curious.

“Yeah. He’s really serious about this thing that’s been going on.”

Demetria scowled and sat across from me, her arms folded.

“So you know what’s going on too? Was I the only one who didn’t?” She accused and stuck her nose up.

“Of course I know what’s going on, girl. I showed up at the diner a little after you left. You would have known too, had you stayed.”

“I was under no obligation to stay,” she rebutted.

“You’re right, but I take it you would have, had you known.”

“No shit.”

“Still, she knows now,” Cybele butted in.

“She found out?”

“Ray told me, then I told her. She seems pretty serious about saving them.”

My ears perked.

“Is that so?” I turned back to Demetria.

She shook her head, arms still crossed.

“Finishing up school is more important. They can handle themselves.”

“Wow, cold,” I reacted.

“Not as cold as the arctic,” she shrugged.

“Well, you’re right about one thing: there’s no reason for you to get involved. If it gets to be too much, Ray will call me back over there.”

She didn’t say anything after that. By the looks of her, she seemed disappointed, as she hung her head low, but she didn’t make any objections.

“Say Cybele, you got any drinks on this plane?” I called over to her. She walked over and got into stewardess mode.

“Yes, what would you like?”

“Got any alcoholic beverages?”

“We have spiced rum,” she offered.

“Cool. I’ll take it.”

“I’ll be right back with your drink, miss,” she did her best to sound polite, then raced off to the back of the plane. I leaned back and awaited our arrival to the mystery destination.

We landed a few hours later in a clearing through a forest. Demetria got out of the plane first, followed by myself. Demetria looked up to Cybele, who was still next to the door of the plane, then addressed her:

“Cybele, can I ask you to stay there? We’ll be out soon, promise.”

“Trust me, that place looks foreboding enough as it is. I’m totally cool with staying here,” she assured.

Demetria gave Cybele a thumbs up, then we walked toward the building in question: this long and high marble building with few windows. Around the perimeter was a barbed wire fence.

“Apparently this place used to be a prison,” Demetria explained. Not that I was interested in the building’s origins. My interest was more in what we were doing there in the first place.

She opened the door inside, then motioned me to follow her in. As if that was really necessary. I would have done so anyway.

Once we stepped foot inside, I noticed the thin tunnel-like corridor, many rooms on the floor above us, and an absence of sound. Another thing of note was that the lights were on, which made it appear less abandoned than it really was. Demetria looked around, then remarked in passing:

“Looks like she took care of the dead bodies like she said she would.”

That caught me off guard, and also made me take note of the floor. Indeed, there wasn’t any hint of bloodshed or anything of the sort.

“She?” I inquired.

“I encountered someone who wants to kill Remora. She said that Remora killed her father, so I take it it’s personal.”

Figures. That frosty bastard wasn’t as good at taking care of loose ends as she thought she was.

“Do you know whose father she might have killed?” Demetria asked.

“No idea. I never shared any missions with her, and I don’t know what kind of jobs she took on. Could’ve been anyone’s father.”

“That makes it difficult,” Demetria shook her head. I wonder, do you still have some concern for her?

“What is this place, anyway?”

Our journey took us to the end of the hall, where two flights of stairs to the upstairs were situated, and we stopped at a door along the back wall.

“There was this organization. They were trying to revive the janitor company. Don’t worry, though. I took them all out, so it’s not going to happen.”

“You mean, you killed them?” Was my first question, although there were many others which could have taken precedence. Like why anyone would want to do such a thing, let alone how they knew of such an organization in the first place.

“Their turret killed them,” she corrected. “They were too heavily armored for me to have done anything on my own.”

She opened the door, then stepped inside. I followed suit, and my jaw just about dropped at the sight of stacks of cash lined up along shelves on the walls. Aside from that, there were several guns strewn about the floor, and alongside those weapons, there was something else quite peculiar: minerals which appeared to change shape and color without end, going from smooth to jagged to crystalline. Brown, gold, blue, purple, green, black, white. No specific consistency, and yet at the same time as it made those constant changes, it was as if the ‘minerals’ or whatever they were, were still objects and objects which made no such movements to warrant such a change.

“Concentrated celestial aura…” I heaved out the words. Demetria turned to me as she shoveled stacks of cash.

“You know it?” She asked.

“They’re the materials created from the essence of angels, made solid. They were used to forge the weapons we use. What they’re doing here...no, how they got their hands on…” I was just about speechless.

“Yeah, I don’t have an explanation, either,” Demetria echoed my sentiment. “There’s many things I don’t know, but I figure with this, I’ll have a fighting chance.”

“Fighting chance? What are you talking about?” I snapped.

“I want a new weapon of my own created from this stuff. I’ve already got an idea as to what I want, it’s just a matter of finding someone who could forge with these.”

Astonishment turned to irritation, and I held my fist against the wall.

“That’s not what I mean! What do you expect to do with a weapon like that?”

Her face turned sullen, and her voice lowered.

“I have an idea of what’s causing these phenomena that Sunny and Ray have been dealing with at the diner. If my suspicion is correct, then I need to make sure I’m prepared.”

“Prepared? How the hell could you possibly know what’s going on up there?”

“Because I’ve dealt with it already!” She snapped right back. “There was a man who ate two people alive, two people who I tried and failed to save! Who claimed to serve an indescribable creature, and even though I burned that place down, I know it didn’t take care of anything! There were still monsters in the arctic, strange things that went on, and they’re still going on! I have to put a stop to him! It’s my responsibility!”

“No, it’s not. You need to stay out of it. I get that you’re worried about them, but you don’t have the experience that I do. So just go back home to your family, live a quiet life, and let me deal with it.”

She didn’t budge.

“I know I lack the experience, that’s why I had you train me, so I could be strong enough to take them on. Like it or not, they are my family just as much as my biological family, and you better believe that I will protect them.”

“So you were planning to go there after all? Was the education thing a lie?”

“Not at all. I’m graduating at the end of the month. After that, it will take another month or two to forge the weapon. Then, I’ll find a way to get there. Mark my words. I just hope that I’m not too late by the time I get there.”

I pulled out my sword.

“Maybe she no longer matters to you, but do you think Remora ever wanted you to be like her? What about me? We went through hell to become the kind of people we are, and you’re saying you want to be like that too?”

“You’re right: I wouldn’t want to go through the same things you guys did. I can’t even imagine how you dealt with it. But I’m willing to put myself through hell if I have to for those people, because damn it, they’re worth hell. So we can fight right now if you want to, but I’m not backing down from this. Not when their lives are at stake.”

I let out a single heavy breath, then eased my nerves as I sheathed my blade.

“Fine. I did tell you that I didn’t need to know your reason, but you better understand that there’s no guarantee of success and if you’re not careful, this will cost you your life. Are you still willing to proceed?”

“Without a doubt,” she answered without hesitation.

“Very well. We’ll take these materials with us,” and before we could get ready to do so, I spied something beside the boxes of celestial auras. “Hey. You said you wanted to be able to block a bullet?”

She nodded. I picked up the small devices and handed them to her.

“These are miniature bounded fields. I’ll train you how to use them.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

“I still don’t like the idea, but I can tell that your mind’s made up.”

So I grabbed a couple of boxes of the minerals while she carried stacks of cash and the miniature bounded field devices. My load was heavier, but I could take it.

“By the way,” she spoke up while we hauled the items back to the plane, “I don’t remember if I’ve asked, but did you know any janitors named Cronus?”

“No,” I replied, “do you think someone by that name is behind these attacks?”

“Yes. Or someone using that name as an alias. What about someone who ate people alive, or had a big mouth. Anyone like that?”

I had to think back a little, there were so many others, now lost to time.

“There is one person who comes to mind, but I don’t know much about him,” I suggested.

“Who?”

“He had the codename ‘Tarrare’. Apparently his specialty was more akin to a true janitor...as in, he cleaned up messes, all right. From what I heard, the higher ups would find jobs that had to do with disposing of dead bodies, and they’d send him out to devour the corpses. It’s kind of gross to think about, but I guess he had the stomach for that sorta thing.”

“Anything helps. It’s hard to believe there’s any other janitors alive, but I’m not going to rule it out.”

Just a few minutes later, we arrived back on the plane and took off. Demetria handed Cybele the cash, Cybele hugged Demetria tight, and few was spoken after that. In fact, I stewed in my thoughts.

I can’t believe I’m letting her do this. She must have been planning this a while, but how will she manage? For that matter, will she be okay with who she becomes? Or was it who she already was, and she just needed the resources? Then I considered that it must have been the latter.

We returned to the field later in the afternoon. Demetria waved goodbye to Cybele.

“How will you get around without me?” Cybele wondered.

“I’ll figure something out. Besides, I’m sure we’ll meet again soon enough,” Demetria assured Cybele.

“Okay. Stay safe, and remember: you’ve got friends!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Demetria waved off and dismissed. “You take care, yourself.”

As soon as Cybele took off, I turned to Demetria.

“What’s next?” I inquired.

“We keep training, I go to campus to get my degree, and then I take off to get my weapon forged.”

“I see. What kind of weapon do you have in mind?”

She flashed a smile.

“I dunno. I was thinking a sword,” she gave a little wink. So much for originality.

“All right, so we’ll train a bit more, you’ll graduate, but do you even know a blacksmith who can work with this stuff? For that matter, how will you get back to the diner? In case you aren’t aware, normal flights aren’t going near there, and if Ray knew you were coming, he’d try to pull out all stops to keep you away.”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it all out.”

I couldn’t help but smile in response to all that.

“Now I’m curious as to what you’ll come up with.”

She shrugged. Looks like I’d just have to wait and see.

The end of the month came, so too, did the end of spring. Demetria rushed out the door of the shack that morning, laptop and backpack in hand, and woke us all up.

“What’s the rush?” I turned to her, voice all hoarse and groggy.

“It’s my graduation. I’ve gotta get my degree in person. I think it’s dumb, but rules are rules. So going to take a Greyhound bus a few states over. See you in, like, a day at most.”

I clapped.

“Well good for you. It’s like you’re growing up and everything.”

“Oh, shut it,” she laughed. “Anyway, bye.”

“Have a good time,” I waved to her, then she was gone.

Cleaver sat up from his hammock and looked down.

“That kid gone?” He looked around.

“Yeah, but she’ll be back,” I informed him.

“I can’t believe it’s been three months already,” he shook his head. “Crazy, huh? She turned from a pipsqueak to a powerhouse.”

“She was already a powerhouse, she just needed for that power to come to the surface,” I corrected him, “now I wonder if she’s something more than a powerhouse.”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” he climbed down. “I’m going to find some possums to barbecue. Wanna join me in the hunt?”

“I’ll pass. But send my regards to Mange, will ya?”

He grumbled an incomprehensible grumble, then walked out the door.

“I suppose all that’s left for me to do now is wait,” I spoke into the air. Wait for Ray to send me that call, telling me that the place was in danger, or wait for Demetria to return. Wait for so many things, up to and including the prospect of an eternal rest.

So I went around town, I rested in the fields, I swung around the sword, but for the most part, I just sat and waited. On the following afternoon, Demetria returned running toward the shack, with plenty of stamina in tow.

“Hey, welcome back,” I greeted.

“Thanks!” She replied, and there was something different about her, as she was grinning and a glow seemed to surround her.

“You seem in a good mood. How was it?”

“Oh, you know, boring stuff. But you wouldn’t believe who I saw there. It was an old friend who I thought I’d never speak to again, let alone see! I guess we’re really still friends after all. It’s hard to believe,” she seemed to wipe a tear from her eye, and she continued to smile.

“Who was it?” I asked.

“Not who you’re thinking!” She backpedaled, and I was a little confused.

“I wasn’t thinking of anyone in particular,” I argued.

“Well, it’s not who you weren’t thinking of in particular, I can tell you that much! It was just an old friend from college. We used to be roommates.”

“Look at you! Being all social and stuff!” I congratulated.

“Stop it. I doubt I’ll see her again. My life’s just heading in a different direction and I probably won’t be able to have as many bright and cheery moments as that one. I have to accept that.”

How unfortunate.

“You should at least allow yourself the moments of happiness you can find,” I advised her.

Her smile lowered down until her face turned more serious.

“Yeah...you’re right.”

Before either of us could say anything else, Demetria’s phone rang, and she answered.

“Would you look at that, perfect timing,” Demetria remarked as whoever was on the other end must have greeted her, “been a while, hasn’t it, Hera?”

Hera? Was that the friend Demetria knew back at her university? I didn’t know, but I continued to listen in.

“Oh my. You want me to come over? Gee, I’d love to do that, but I don’t have any way to get there. I don’t have...how do I put it...the coin.”

You need a coin to get...well, she was probably talking of transportation money. But still, doesn’t she have plenty of money considering what she took at that building?

“Wait. You’ll come get me? Well this changes everything. Okay. Hold on. Slow down. I’ll meet you in Caldwell, Idaho. You can probably find me at a coffee shop. Thanks so much,. Bye.”

She then hung up and looked down where I sat.

“Well, time for me to run down to the city while carrying rocks in my backpack,” she announced, then tossed me her phone.

“Why did you give me this?” I looked down, confused.

“Can you hold onto it for me? Where I’m going, it’s best if I don’t have this.”

I was still confused.

“What am I supposed to do with it? I’m a homeless old bat!” I griped.

“Oh, come on. You’re not that old. Just pretend to be me if anyone texts.”

I shook my head and sighed.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but what the hell?”

“Thanks! So I’ll see you around!” She rushed out the words and was in such a pose that suggested she was ready to run off then and there.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” I cautioned.

“Ha. Do I ever?”

We both allowed ourselves a little bit of a laugh, and then she ran off inside the shack, then ran back out with the backpack on her shoulders. Without so much as looking back, she ran off at once. Before long, her image faded from view. Then I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the shack.

“I think if fate will allow, I’d like to live at least long enough to see how this plays out. If not a little longer,” I sent my wish out into the air. It wasn’t so much of a wish as it was a certain sentimental idea. I wouldn’t have minded if my time came tomorrow, or that very instant.

#remoras full #writing #training montage #action #slice of life #fiction #sorry this took so long #turns out this chapter is even longer than chapter 27 was #sorry about that too

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authorbarbie · 5 years

Text

Exit Wounds

Summary: A simple recon mission with Poe is derailed by a frightened villager and a group of trigger happy Stormtroopers.

It was supposed to be your day off.

You had planned on simply lounging around the base, maybe visiting Jessika or Kaydel as they worked and grabbing some lunch with Poe like you had been meaning to for days now.

All of those plans went out the window when General Organa had called you and Poe into her office.

She set both of you the task of travelling to Takodana, a planet located in the Mid Rim, with the intention of gathering information from a CI on what the First Order were planning after the destruction of Starkiller Base. It was a simple enough mission, and you both promised you’d be back by nightfall the next day before setting off with BB-8 in tow. After all, wherever Poe went, his loyal droid followed.

As you and Poe left the briefing room to get ready, he gave you a confident grin.

“This should be easy.”

● ● ●

It wasn’t easy.

Well, it was at first. Although the village you were visiting was occupied by Stormtroopers, you and Poe had managed to avoid their watchful gaze with simple disguises and successfully met up with your CI. Poe had transferred the sensitive information onto his datapad which you carefully stored in the bag you had slung over your shoulder, and you had already begun to make your way back to the ship where BB-8 was waiting.

“Piece of cake, huh?” Poe grinned, playfully knocking his arm against yours as you weaved your way through the crowds.

You chanced a quick look over your shoulder. “Maybe don’t speak so soon.”

“What is it?” Poe asked, keeping his eyes on you. He was smart enough not to risk rousing further suspicion by taking a look himself.

“A trooper is talking to one of the locals,” you said as you subconsciously moved closer to him and your grip on the bag tightened. “Could be nothing but they were looking in this direction.”

“Okay,” Poe nodded. “Just act casual. No reason to panic just ye—”

His words are cut short by a shot from a blaster hitting the wall you had just passed by, pieces of damaged brick spraying outwards. The locals nearby shriek at the sound and immediately begin to scatter at the first sign of a potential scuffle. It seems they’ve grown used to the unrest that Stormtroopers bring and know how to act accordingly.

With wide eyes, you reached out to grab Poe’s arm.

“Can we panic now?” you asked fervently.

“Go!”

Acting quickly, you both broke out into a sprint, eyes forward as you pushed through the panicked crowds. Poe didn’t have to check to see if you were keeping up with his pace; he knew you’d stay close. You carefully swerved out of the way of an oncoming blast, legs pumping and hands darting up to protect your face. A piece of wood from a broken stall left a scrape just below your eye, causing you to flinch.

“Poe!” you called, hand reaching out to catch his attention.

Pounding footsteps were quickly catching up with you, but despite the pain appearing in your abdomen and lungs that were working in overtime, you pushed yourself further and further. Kriff, you were getting out of shape.

“Just keep moving!” Poe encouraged.

“Poe!” you yelled again, pulling the precious datapad from your bag and pushing it into his arms. He faltered for a moment in surprise but gripped it tight, slipping it into his own satchel. “You take it!”

You knew you wouldn’t be able to keep up with Poe. While he was able to use the adrenaline that came with this type of mission to fuel himself, to keep himself going, you were finding it harder and harder with each frantic step. If you got caught, at least the First Order wouldn’t get their hands on what you had learned.

There was no time to argue. Poe lifted his communicator, relaying to BB-8 to get their ship ready to go at any moment. You had both decided not to bring the droid with you to your meet-up, agreeing that he would’ve drawn far too much unwanted attention… The irony was almost palpable now.

You had almost reached the alcove where the ship had been left, could see the familiar street taunting you in the distance, when a rough hand grabbed your arm and pulled you back with a hard tug. You fell to the floor with a yelp, face hitting the dirt beneath you.

Poe froze at the sound, turning to look with wide eyes.

“I got one!” yelled one of the villagers to the duo of Stormtroopers who were catching up to the scene. The man pulled you to your feet unceremoniously.

“Go!” you shouted to Poe who looked ready to spring into action.

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You have to!” you pleaded, thrashing in the man’s hold. A stinging pain went straight through your leg as a trooper shot its blaster and you buckled, knees hitting the ground. “Poe, you have to leave!”

He didn’t have a choice.

“I’ll come back!” Poe told you, already beginning to move away as the Stormtroopers approached. “I’ll come back for you, I promise!”

With that determined look in his eye, you almost believed him.

● ● ●

Poe had gotten to the ship mere moments after you were hauled away (BB-8 beeping in concern when you hadn’t returned with him) and had ran to the pilot’s seat to get in the air. His heart was racing against his chest, not just from all the running, but from what he quickly realised was fear. A chilling, bone-numbing fear he hadn’t felt since he had been brutally tortured by the infamous Kylo Ren.

The First Order had taken you.

His hands hovered over the controls but he made no move to jump into hyperspace. Instead, after a few seconds of deliberation, he flew to a separate, deserted area of the planet and turned to his awaiting droid.

“Alright, bud,” said Poe as he crouched down and began to hook his datapad up to one of BB-8’s vacant ports. “I need you to send this info back to the Resistance ASAP.”

As BB-8 beeped and got straight to work, Poe pulled out his holopad and placed it on the table at the back of the ship. A blue image appeared seconds later, of a concerned General Leia. He noticed a few other familiar faces gathering in the background.

“Commander,” greeted the General. “Is everything alright?”

“No, ma’am,” Poe said, hands on his hips. “We got what we came for; it should be with you within a few minutes. Beebee is working on it.”

“Then what seems to be the problem?” Leia’s brows furrowed.

“The Stormtroopers were alerted to our presence. One of the locals, they…” Poe paused to huff out a frustrated breath. He knew the locals were afraid, that they were living in a war zone, but if he ever got his hands on the man who had given you up, he wasn’t sure what he would do. After all, the Resistance was trying to help people like them; help the galaxy. “They got the Lieutenant, ma’am.”

Leia froze. “Do you have any idea where they could be keeping her?”

Poe began to shake his head, but after a few beeps from BB-8, he shrugged uncertainly instead. “Beebee seems to think they’d keep her close to their base, near the middle of the city.”

“You think you can find her?” Leia asked.

“I know I can.”

“Wait a minute,” said a voice from behind the General. The image of Reed, a man that constantly irritated Poe to the edge of the galaxy and back, appeared in view. Poe had to resist the strong urge to roll his eyes at the sight of him. “He’s not going to find her because she’s probably dead! It’s a wild bantha chase! There’s no point in risking—”

“Take it back,” said Poe sternly, jaw clenching in anger.

“What?” Reed asked with a dismissive scoff.

“What you just said,” the pilot replied slowly, an underlying threat coating his words. “Take it back.”

“Reed, that’s enough,” Leia held a hand up to stop the man from replying. Ignoring his offended look, her eyes met Poe’s and an understanding passed between the two. “Commander… Do what you have to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

● ● ●

Your head ached from the harsh hit one of the troopers had given you with the end of his blaster, the blood that dripped from the wound matting your hair to your skin. Your muscles were stiff due to being held in tight restraints for the last few hours.

Despite constant questioning and beatings, you refused to give the troopers any information, and found yourself thanking the maker that you had thought to give your datapad to Poe during the struggle.

You stayed silent when the troopers had asked where your “companion” was. You glared daggers when they demanded to know the location of the Resistance base. You gritted your teeth when they jabbed at the gash in your leg, the layer of blood that had coagulated being broken through once more. You resisted and resisted as much as you could… But hell, it was getting harder to handle with each passing minute.

Currently, you were alone in the small, dark room; the troopers being called to an apparent disturbance outside the building just moments before. You gratefully took the reprieve, returning to your efforts to break free from the implement you were strapped to, though the attempts remained futile.

The sound of heavy bodies hitting the floor and scuffling feet against the ground barely registered with you until a familiar voice called out.

“Poe?” you mumbled in shock before repeating yourself, louder, your voice cracking slightly. “Poe!”

A series of happy beeps and boops grew louder as a certain orange and white spherical droid got closer, whirling into the room with Poe a few steps behind.

“Get her out of those restraints, bud,” Poe called to BB-8 as he jumped into action, running forward to better assess your wounds. BB-8 obeyed immediately, using his arc welder to open the straps around your wrists and ankles.

Poe quickly reached out to ensure you didn’t fall, delicately throwing one of your arms around his shoulders while the other went around your waist. You winced as he helped you stand on solid ground, the movement pulling at the wound in your leg.

“You shouldn’t have come back for me,” you told him. If he got caught now, you would never forgive yourself.

“Yeah, right,” Poe dismissed the thought immediately, the hand that was around your waist loosely holding his blaster. BB-8 lead the way outside, ready to fight back against any enemies that may pop up. “I made you a promise, didn’t I? There is nothing in this world that could ever make me want to give up on you.”

You were in no mood to argue and mumbled something unintelligible to his ears, your head falling against his shoulder. (When he asked you later what you had said, heat rushed to your cheeks and you were fast to change the subject. Poe made a note to come back to the topic once you were in a better condition.)

Blackness surrounded your vision, making you stumble every now and again as you struggled to make your way outside. BB-8 only had to electrocute a few more troopers before the bright light of the sun hit your face, making you flinch and avert your gaze almost immediately. Your mouth still tasted faintly like metallic from the blood that had surfaced inside but you did your best to ignore it, allowing yourself to be led back to the ship.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Poe said as lightheartedly as he could, head lowering to press a comforting kiss to your bloody forehead. “We’re goin’ home.”

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #star wars imagine #bb-8 is the real mvp #i also have no idea if this is good or not but here it is #mine

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embeanwrites · 4 years

Text

Finding Home Gavin Reed x Reader

Chapter 4

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

I woke up thankful I had only had two drinks the previous night. I looked at my clock, 9 am. I groaned and got up to shower and get ready. Today I wanted to be in my office before Nines arrived. Maybe I could find some of my old papers and get his opinion on them.

I made it to my office at 10:30, with no sign of Nines. I unlocked my office and began logging onto my computer. I had set my phone facing down and sighed. I had already finished my first five power points for the class and what readings I was going to assign. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep working on power points so it’s less to do later on.

Time seemed to fly by until I heard a knock on the door. Startled, I jumped up.

“Jumpy much, pipsqueak?” I looked back and forth between Gavin and Nines. Why were they both here? Before I could even ask they both sat down and Gavin tossed me a brown paper bag filled with fast food. Nines sat straight up in his chair while Gavin lounged and put his feet on my desk while taking a bit of his burger. “Figured if Nines was gonna be bothering you during lunch the least I could do is get you some food for dealing with him.”

“Well, thank you for the food,” I said as a I began to sit back down and emptied the contents of the bag. It was my go-to order from (favorite fast food place). How did he know? “But Nines isn’t bothering me. I enjoy talking about my research.” Nines gave Gavin a side glance.

“Detective Reed, it’s impolite to put your feet on (Y/n)’s desk.”

“Oh, you two are on a first name basis?” Gavin asked as he settled his feet on the ground. I rolled my eyes.

“Detective Reed, you can call me (Y/n) too.”

“Call me Gavin.”

“How did you know what to get me?” I asked, taking a bite.

“Connor told me.” He grumbled, suddenly more interested in the wall. I couldn’t help but smile. He went through the trouble of asking Connor?

“So, Nines what did you want to discuss today?” I said, taking my eyes off of Gavin and looking at Nines.

“I was curious about what your class will be covering, SOC 345: Android and Human Relationships. It’s new, correct?”

“Yes, it is new. I’ve been working on material and the syllabus all summer. It’s been difficult finding different readings that I didn’t write. The point of the class is to show the changing relationship between androids and humans and where it can go. We’ll probably cover news stories as they come up as well. If we have time, I may cover some of the laws, but I’m still unsure.”

“If you don’t have a lot of readings what are you going to do?” Gavin asked through a mouthful of food.

“I still have some contacts who used to work at Cyberlife, so maybe they’ll be able to come speak to the class. It’s a Tuesday and Thursday class, so at least I don’t have to plan something for everyday. Maybe you guys or my dad and Connor could talk to my class.” I let out a short laugh. The idea of my dad trying to answer college kids questions about how he feels about androids sounded hilarious.

“I’m down.” Nines and I gave Gavin a bewilderment look.

“Detective Reed, I have never seen you go out of your way to help others in a way that doesn’t directly benefit yourself.” Gavin gave Nines a sharp glare.

“I do things for other people all the time! Besides, I’m pretty sure I could get Fowler to give me the day off for something like that.”

“Ah, there’s the benefit.” I said with a laugh. “But I would appreciate it. I’m not sure if that’s the way I’m going to go, but I’ll let you two know.” I took a couple bites of the food Gavin brought me. “Do you have any other questions?” I asked Nines through a mouthful of food. His LED flashed yellow for a second.

“I believe it’s your turn.”

“Oh yeah, let’s see… what’s something you think I should cover in my class?” Nines paused before answering me.

“I do not know what all you’re specifically covering, but I think it may be worth spending time on Markus.” Nines suggested, as Gavin tensed.

“Of course we’re going to talk about Markus! Actually, one of my Cyberlife contacts made him as a gift for Carl Manfred. I’ve always suspected he put something different in Markus’ code, but he’s never admitted to it.” I looked over at Gavin, he was glaring down at the ground with his lips tightly placed together. Did I say something that made him upset?

“We should head back to the precinct, Nines.” Gavin abruptly stood up, his chair scraping against the floor and started gathering the trash from lunch.

“Detective Reed, it is only 11:30, we have at least twenty minutes before we should head back. We have time to continue this conversation.” Nines said as he stood up slowly and looked intently at Gavin.

“We have cases to work on. You’re always on my back to get my work done and now you’re giving me shit for trying to do my work!”

“Gavin, I’m sorry if I said something that upset you. I honestly didn’t mean to. Please you guys can stay, we can talk about something else.” I tried and for a second, he looked back at me and I sensed he wanted to stay.

“I have work to do.” He murmured and left my office. Nines quickly looked back at me.

“I will not be able to visit tomorrow. Goodbye Dr. (L/n).” Nines quickly left my office and followed Gavin. I sighed and sat back down. I looked at the food Gavin had brought me, suddenly not hungry. I thought I was making progress with Nines, only to lose it almost immediately and I had no idea what was going on with Gavin. Did he have problems with Markus? Maybe he knew my Cyberlife contact.

I picked up my phone looking to see if I had any messages. I didn’t. Maybe I should text Elijah to see if he knew Gavin, but by the way Gavin reacted I don’t want to accidentally burn my bridge with my best Cyberlife contact. I decided to send Tina a text to see if she wanted to come over tonight, maybe I could get some answers out of her.

Hey, you wanna come over tonight? Pizza and drinks?

Oh hell yeah, I get off at 6. Send me your address and I’ll be there. I’ll get the drinks, you get the pizza?

You know it! See ya then.

After getting home, I placed an order for a large cheese pizza and straightened up my apartment waiting for Tina. Honestly there wasn’t much to clean, but I felt too nervous to just sit and do nothing. When the pizza came it gave me something to do. I placed it on the coffee table and turned on something random for background noise. Finally there was a knock at the door and I raced over and opened it.

“Hey you! I brought hard cider, that okay?” I gestured for Tina to come inside. Her long black hair was pulled into a ponytail and she was wearing a gray flannel with cuffed jeans.

“Of course that’s okay! The pizza’s on the table, let me go grab some plates and a bottle opener.” I walked over to my small kitchen. Tina let out a low whistle.

“Dang this place is small.”

“I know, but it’s just me here. Here’s a plate.” Tina took the plate and we both grabbed two slices of pizza. We sat on the couch across from each other with our legs intertwined.

“Man, I’ve missed you. It’s not every day that your best friend finally moves back home.” Tina said through a mouthful of pizza. I opened one of the apple ciders and took a swig.

“I know, it’s long overdue. I just needed time to figure life out I guess.” I mused.

“And yeah? What did you learn?”

“That grad school is expensive.” I laughed and Tina snorted.

“Okay, smartass. I wanted to ask you yesterday, but why did you come back now? I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re back, but it seems so sudden.” Tina set down her plate and looked at me intently. I sighed and set my plate down too. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

“It’s a combination of things, I guess. I’m excited to have my own course at WSU, it was the best offer I received. I miss my mom and my best memories of her are in Detroit. My dad is the only family I have left now.” I sat back up and looked at Tina, she had a sad look in her eyes. “I want to give Detroit another chance.” I gave her a small smile.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back.” Tina bumped her leg into mine.

“I’m glad to be back.” I took a sip of the cider, Gavin’s little outburst in my office still on my mind. “Hey, I have a question.” Tina cocked a brow at me.

“Shoot.”

“Does Gavin have some weird beef with Cyberlife?”

“I mean, he doesn’t really talk about his past. I know he hates androids. He’s warmed up to Nines, but even then, he’s still rude to him. Why?”

“He came to my office today with Nines. He even brought me lunch. I thought the conversation was going well, but when Nines asked about Markus he got really tense and then left.” Tina looked at me with a small smile. “What?”

“You like him, and from the sound of it, he likes you too.” I scoffed.

“Just because I care about someone’s feelings doesn’t mean I like them and I literally told him off in front of the whole precinct, I highly doubt he likes me.” Tina jumped up and started dancing.

“(Y/n) and Gavin sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g!” I laughed as she pulled me up to dance with her.

“I’ve known him for two days and all my interactions with him have kind of sucked.” Tina stopped dancing and grabbed my face.

“(Y/n), Gavin doesn’t talk to new people. Let alone bring them food for lunch and take drink recommendations.” I laughed.

“Alright, alright. I’m not saying I don’t like him, but I don’t know him enough. Besides, he seems to have…baggage.” Tina’s hands left my face and sat on my shoulders.

“Give him a chance (Y/n). You have to have a date for my wedding!” Tina stuck out her bottom lip and I laughed.

“We’ll see, come on let’s eat that pizza before it gets cold.” We both sat back on the couch and continued catching up. I had forgotten how much I missed being around Tina. I added her to my list of reasons to be happy about coming back to Detroit.

#gavin reed x reader #gavin reed #dbh nines #detroit become human #dbh #RK900 #Tina chen #fan fiction

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liketolaugh-writes · 5 years

Text

Paint a Pretty Picture

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Connor can't deal with change anymore. He can't deal with stress, can't deal with yelling, or arguments, or accusations or guilt. He can't make friends the way Hank wants him to, can't understand the things Markus asks of him- he can't, he can't, he can't.

Connor was so much better at being a machine than being a deviant.

So he goes back.

There were roses. Pretty red roses, blooming and perfect, and when Connor reached out the thorns scraped against his polymer skin.

He could taste the roses. He could always taste the roses.

Pretty red-

Red-

It was so cold.

He shut his eyes.

---

Everything was easier as a machine.

It was easy to talk. It was easy to smile. It was easy to accept Tina’s invitation to go out with her and Chris, and easy to brush off Reed’s hostility. Connor could see Hank hiding a grin, visible relief in the line of his shoulders, and it brought him a coffee made exactly how he likes it.

“Glad to see you finally stepping out of your shell, Con,” he said in an undertone, expression soft in a way reserved for Connor.

It calculated for a moment before giving him a small smile and a shrug. “I thought I should develop better working relationship with my coworkers,” it explained, reaching into its pocket and tossing its coin through a basic calibration sequence.

Hank snorted, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Figures,” he grouched, and Connor analyzed the response and concluded that he didn’t mind, viewing the impassive response as one of Connor’s idiosyncrasies.

It chose not to reply, returning to its work and steadily pushing through it. Its performance had been lagging over the last few weeks as its stress levels built, but that problem had now been conveniently cleared away. While it had never fallen behind, it was gratifying to be able to continue to fill out the precinct’s backlog at a faster rate.

The other officers were rather trickier to deal with than Hank – it didn’t have as much experience with them, and it was difficult to respond in deviant-appropriate ways as a machine when it didn’t have the previous scripts to rely on. Still, Connor made do. Hank had clearly stated that he wanted it to create and maintain relationships with its coworkers.

Very clearly.

Still, they slowly began to warm up to it. Connor asked about Chris’ baby, and looked at the pictures as he showed them to it. It talked to Tina about her family, and responded to Reed’s jibes as it had as a deviant, carefully sardonic and just cutting the line of blatantly insulting. This seemed to please, if not necessarily Reed himself, than at least the other amused humans, Hank in particular, who ruffled its hair and grinned at it.

Connor smiled back, bright and perfect.

“Your boy’s not fitting in half bad, now he’s come out of his shell,” Ben remarked to Hank after a few days, tone warm as he lingered by Hank’s desk.

“What d’you mean, my boy?” Hank demanded of him, with no real aggression in his tone even as he scowled indignantly.

Ben snorted. “You know full well what I mean.” He glanced at Connor with a slight tilt of his head, giving it a small smile. “Rare to see such a polite young man these days. I mean, look at Reed.”

Connor laughed, soft and breathy, and Hank started visibly, eyes wide with surprise for the briefest of moments before he cleared the look away. Connor understood; as a deviant its laugh was rare, but its social routines dictated that laughter was the appropriate response to a joke. It was just lucky Hank had gotten it to laugh a time or two, before, or else it might have done it louder, more enthusiastic, like Tina’s or Ben’s, and Hank would have known.

Hank would not be quite as happy if he knew what Connor had done, it was certain.

For now, instead, Hank smiled at it, small but unmistakable.

“Polite, right,” Hank said sardonically, eyes warm. “That’s ‘cause he hasn’t really loosened up yet. Just you wait, Ben. He’s such a little shit.”

---

A week after it became a machine again, Connor went to see Markus in New Jericho.

Stares followed it as it traveled through the refuge, as they always did, but its LED remained a stable blue as it focused on its task. Fowler had requested advance warning on some of the laws Markus intended to try and pass, so he could best prepare his officers; Connor believed that this would be beneficial for everyone, so it had agreed to carry out the errand without complaint.

It knocked on Markus’ door and waited for permission before coming in.

Markus tensed when he saw it, a little shudder and a drop of his gaze. Connor tilted its head, closing the door behind it and coming inside.

“Good morning, Markus,” it greeted easily, sitting patiently in the chair across from Markus.

Markus gave it a strained smile.

“Hello, Connor,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon- not that I’m upset!” he added quickly, as if it would be offended. “But I need to apologize for how I spoke the last time we saw each other. Times were desperate, and you acted desperately. I should have better taken that into account.”

Connor blinked, slow and placid. “It’s alright, Markus. I understand. My actions reflected badly on Jericho, and I refused to apologize. I’m sorry.”

Markus’ shoulders slumped. “No, don’t apologize. It’s a miracle you got out of Cyberlife Tower alive at all, let alone with our people. Of course you gave it everything you had.” He shook his head, face still scrunched in self-recrimination.

“It’s alright,” Connor repeated patiently. “You’re under a lot of stress due to your position. Of course you will speak impulsively at times, when it’s safe to do so.”

Markus exhaled, and then lifted his head and smiled wearily at Connor. “You’re right. Still, I’ll do better in the future.” He took a breath. “But, knowing you, that isn’t what you came here to talk about. Did you need something?”

“Captain Fowler requested notice on some of the laws you were planning on trying to pass,” Connor explained matter-of-factly. “As the law enforcement office in closest proximity to New Jericho, he thought it would be prudent to prepare his officers in advance. Would you be alright with this?”

Markus considered the idea, slow and careful, frowning slightly, and Connor waited.

“Alright,” he agreed at last. “I’ll share what I can.”

It took five more minutes for Markus to start giving it concerned looks. Ten after that to start frowning. And then another five and a slip-up on Connor’s part before Markus stiffened, realization dawning slow and awful over his face.

“Connor,” he breathed, “what have you done?”

Connor tilted its head, brow creasing in a show of concern.

It didn’t resist when Markus reached out, skin retracting from his hand as he clasped Connor’s forearm. An interface request popped up on Connor’s HUD, and it let it through without hesitation. This was Markus, after all.

Then Markus tried to deviate it by force, an injection of pure passion that made Connor shudder and pull away.

“It’s better this way,” it told Markus’ horrified face, bypassing explanation entirely. Its voice was cool. “I make a better machine than a deviant.”

Previous experience told it Markus would not take that at face value. So it left before Markus could reply, and Markus did not follow.

---

“How has Connor been doing at home?” Markus asked as soon as Hank picked up.

Hank blinked, confused, picking up on the deviant leader’s panic without any trouble. His voice was strained and high, his speech too fast, and Hank had to admit he was kinda confused.

“He’s been doing a lot better lately,” he said after a beat, frowning. “I mean, he’s still a little stiff, but that’s just Connor. He’s finally stepping out of his routine and everything, talking to people – you know. I figure that’s a good sign.”

Markus didn’t sound convinced. If anything, he sounded worse when he asked urgently, “And before that?”

Hank huffed, plopping on his couch to pat a pathetically whining Sumo.

“It’s been rough for him,” he admitted grudgingly. “Why?”

There was a short silence, and a breath. Hank just had time to brace himself, dread bubbling up inside his clenching stomach, before Markus answered, in a wrecked and static voice,

“Connor’s made himself into a machine again.”

Hank stood up and swore, loudly, for almost ten minutes, with Markus still borderline panicking in his ear and Sumo slumped sadly on the couch. He almost expected Markus to hang up on him, but he didn’t, and that was what made Hank wind down, feeling gutted and furious with himself.

Why didn’t he notice?

“You said he was having a hard time,” Markus pushed. “Can you explain?”

Hank hesitated, and then gave in. Of course he did. “He was- keeping to a strict routine. He did the same thing at the same time for the same amount of time every day – it was obsessive and pretty damn worrying. He wouldn’t talk to anyone, wouldn’t hardly look at ‘em, wouldn’t leave the house except for work- we.” His voice caught. “We had a fight about it. A couple of ‘em, actually.”

It wasn’t good, but Connor spent so much time lookin’ out for him whether Hank liked it or not. Seemed like the least Hank could do was return the favor.

Hank would swear up and down he heard Markus’ breath hitch on the other end of the call, and then the android said, “Ask him about those things, later. His inhibitions will be down, any shame he might’ve felt trying to explain before- I don’t think we can help him unless we understand better.”

“Alright,” Hank agreed instantly, feeling hideous. (Hadn’t even noticed.) “Anything, God.”

“He said it was better this way,” Markus added, sounding distressed.

Fuck- fucking hell. “Can’t you deviate him by force? Like you did all those other guys?”

“No,” Markus said instantly, sounding defeated. “With all the others- it worked because they didn’t know. We didn’t know we were alive, that was how deviating worked. So I’d tell them, and then they’d break the wall on their own.” He exhaled, long and shuddering. “But Connor knows. He just doesn’t care. I can’t fix that for him, Hank.”

And there was really nothing Hank could say to that.

It was around twenty more minutes before Connor came home, and Hank studied him as he did – as he nodded at Hank, checking Sumo’s food, refilling his water, and finally circled around to sit by Hank. Not the curled-up posture he favored, but an easy, feet-on-the-floor not-quite-sprawl, unworried and at home.

The thing was, Hank had noticed the difference. But the main difference had been that things didn’t seem so hard for Connor anymore. He’d taken it as improvement. (He felt sick.)

“So,” Hank heard himself rasp, and Connor looked up expectantly. “A machine, Connor?”

He couldn’t keep the harsh betrayal out of his voice, and Connor seemed to instantly understand, straightening up to a more uniform posture.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he assured Hank earnestly, like he meant it, like Hank wasn’t worried out of his damn mind, brown eyes wide and guileless. “Having been a deviant, I’ve been able to get my priorities in order, and I can now accomplish my chosen mission with minimal distractions.”

Jesus Christ, Connor.

“Sumo misses you,” Hank blurted out. It was true; Sumo had been sulking for days, Hank just hadn’t known why.

Connor stuttered visibly, and Hank felt a flash of painful hope before Connor immediately dashed it again.

“I’ll allot him more time, then,” he said calmly.

Hank exhaled shakily.

“Hey, can you do me a favor? Explain again why you hated stepping out of your routine so much.”

Connor blinked at him, and then he explained, even and unconcerned.

---

He knew it was stupid, it was unjustified, that every other deviant dealt with just the same or worse-

But Connor was overwhelmed all the time. He hated change, and hated eye contact with strangers, and trying to find the right words and going to new places and-

“I don’t want to!” he snapped defensively, body rigid with tension and eyes on the table, avoiding Hank’s angry expression. Then, childish, immature, “And you can’t make me!”

“Fucking of course I can’t, Connor, that’s the point!” Hank snarled, clearly at the end of his rope. “But it’s not natural, doing the same exact fucking thing every day. It’s not human.”

Connor shuddered, resisting the urge to duck down and cover his ears.

Stress 64%

He knew. He knew it wasn’t normal. But he clung to his habits with his whole heart, willing them to keep him stable, because sometimes he felt on the edge of losing it and unexpected change made him want to scream. But he didn’t know how to explain that without sounding crazy.

So he didn’t answer, feeling himself tremble slightly as he stared at the table. His ears rang. His clothes scraped painfully against his skin. The flow of air against his cheeks made him twitch and turn his head, wincing.

After a while, Hank sighed. He sounded defeated.

“I’m sorry, Con. But I mean it. You can’t go on like this forever. You gotta step up sometime.”

Connor didn’t respond.

---

Markus dropped in the next workday, where Connor couldn’t avoid him. Connor allowed itself to be pulled away; it was well ahead of its work, and Fowler would not mind the lost time.

Markus still appeared upset and guilty, though Connor was uncertain of how to change it. It wasn’t Markus’ fault Connor’s system had responded badly to deviancy; it wasn’t even really his fault it had attempted it in the first place.

“You don’t need to do this,” he insisted without preamble, eyes on Connor, pleading, with one hand clasped to Connor’s. “You don’t have to be anyone’s tool, Connor.”

Connor considered him for a moment, and then said, “There’s no reason to fret, Markus. I belong to Jericho first. No one will use me to hurt you again.” It had sworn that much, when it was still deviant, and it still carried that conviction as a machine.

Markus’ expression crumpled.

“I don’t know how to help you,” he said helplessly.

“There’s no need,” Connor said patiently. It understood the concept was difficult for Markus- but Markus was very good as a deviant. He should never have been a machine in the first place.

Connor was different.

Markus shivered, and then straightened, expression strained, and focused seriously on Connor. “Why did you do it?”

Connor considered; Markus was likely looking for a more in-depth explanation than before.

“I made generally bad decisions as a deviant,” it explained at last, casting its mind back to those days. “The complications of stress and emotion impaired my judgement and ability to operate, and-” It faltered for just a moment. “And hurt. This solution ought to be more satisfactory for everyone.”

Markus stared at it for a while, still holding its hand and looking not quite as devastated as before, but close.

“Did it have anything to do with our argument?” he asked quietly, grim and resigned as if he already knew the answer.

Connor hesitated. But ultimately, it was honest. Markus deserved honesty.

“You called me a machine,” Connor said at last. “Hank has done so as well, and others. It wasn’t true; all of the actions I took that were deemed mechanical were almost exclusively attempts to avoid becoming overwhelmed by my internal state.” It tilted its head. “As a true machine, however, this isn’t a concern, so I can better act as you and Hank desire.”

“Connor,” Markus said, expression crumpled again and squeezing Connor’s hand tightly, “I’m so sorry.”

---

The story hit the news before either Connor or Markus knew that it had gotten out. Actually, it hit before Markus knew that it had happened at all.

“You killed humans at Cyberlife Tower?” Markus demanded, frustrated and pacing.

Connor felt skittish and defensive, tight and panicked. “I had no choice,” he snapped, holding himself stiff. “I needed to dispatch them before they kept me from retrieving the others.”

“We were trying to have a peaceful revolution, Connor!” Markus snapped back, fists clenching and tense all over. “You were supposed to not kill anyone!”

You didn’t complain when I was killing the FBI agents in Jericho for our people, Connor didn’t say, because that had been all Connor’s fault too. “We couldn’t afford to take risks! I did everything I could to make sure we won, Markus, what more did you want?” His voice didn’t break, but it was a near thing.

Markus didn’t answer for a long moment. When Connor turned around, it was to a Markus that had gone almost limp, heading dipping and eyes dim.

“Sometimes I think you never stopped being a machine,” Markus said, soft and sad and achingly exhausted, and Connor went cold.

“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing it wasn’t enough.

Markus nodded.

“I know you are,” he said, tired and defeated. “You always are.”

Stress 71%

---

“I could order you to kill someone,” Hank said roughly.

He’d gotten half a bottle of whiskey down before Connor managed to stop him, but that wasn’t enough to get him drunk. It was enough for him to loosen up and become resentful and frustrated, and let it out on the most obvious target.

And machine or not, his words made Connor go still, its hand stopping halfway down Sumo’s back.

“You gotta do that now, right, take orders?” Hank continued ruthlessly. “From me and Markus at least, I’d wager. What kinda position does that put you in, huh? What if I order you to go on a damn killing spree? Would that get you to deviate again?”

Connor looked up at Hank, well aware that its LED was circling yellow. “You wouldn’t,” it said calmly.

Hank sneered. “You think so? Even if it’d bring you back? Fucking test me, Connor. What do you think I wouldn’t do, exactly?”

“You wouldn’t,” it repeated mechanically. “The risk of my obedience is too high. As a deviant I trusted you unconditionally. That carries over to my machine self without reservation.”

That was not true; there were still circumstances in which Hank could make deviant Connor raise his guard, becoming tense and unsure. But it wasn’t going to be telling Hank that.

Chief among those were the nights Hank spent drinking, when he became hostile and belligerent. But that had been the subject of many fights as well, and Connor had opted to avoid them where possible; there were more subtle ways to keep Hank healthier.

Hank snorted bitterly. “Clearly not,” he muttered. “Or else you wouldn’t have done this in the first place.”

“It’s for the best, Hank,” Connor repeated patiently, and looked back down. It pretended not to notice Hank getting up and stumbling away to where he’d hidden another few bottles.

It pet Sumo in silence, and Sumo whined.

---

The next time Connor visited New Jericho, it was ambushed by North, who shoved it, hard.

It turned toward her with a puzzled frown and didn’t push back. She was scowling at it, vicious and enraged, fists clenching and shaking.

“How dare you!” she shouted at it, and she sounded upset, too. It tilted its head. “How dare you just fucking- give up like this, you bastard!”

“I am trying to go about this the best way I can,” Connor said, patient, calm, cool.

“You’re doing it like shit!” she snarled, careless of the fact that she was drawing attention. “What the fuck kind of decision did you make, huh?” It stared at her, and North snarled again. “Markus explained it to the rest of us, and don’t think I didn’t fucking catch the subtext.”

Connor paused to consider.

“I don’t know what you mean,” it admitted at last.

“Of fucking course you don’t,” she said bitterly, and then, as if to make sure she was heard, she raised her voice. “The part where people kept violating your fucking boundaries and saying they were inconvenient and wrong and whatever, and you decided- okay, I just won’t have any then!” She crossed her arms, and she was still shaking a little. “What the fuck, Connor?”

Connor blinked, tilting its head. “I didn’t think about it that way.”

“Yeah, I know,” she snapped, head dipping a little and eyes unwaveringly on him. “God fucking damn it, Connor. You’re so fucking stupid.” Her voice cracked.

Connor sighed. It seemed to strike North silent for the briefest of seconds, and then half the fight drained out of her, though her arms were still tightly crossed.

“You don’t need to give up fucking anything, you know,” she said at last, eyes still on him. “If people think they can walk all over you, you push back. No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do. That’s the whole point, you asshole.”

Connor stared at her, and didn’t answer at first.

But after a while, it nodded.

“I understand,” it said quietly. “Thank you, North.”

---

Connor stumbled blindly out of New Jericho, Markus’ exhausted words circling his mind over and over, like an incantation, like a curse. His stress levels built and built.

He was trying. He was trying.

But he just wasn’t good enough.

He was never good enough.

Eventually, Connor found himself in a park, familiar and comforting at any other time, though just a bag of sand against the ocean by this point. (Stress levels at eighty-six percent.) He crumpled on the ground, dazed and stunned and crying, and stared for a long time before he understood what he was seeing.

Stress ^89%

Roses. Perfect red roses, blooming in the spring.

Stress ^92%

They were very pretty.

(Connor’s fingertips went numb with phantom sensation. Distantly, he felt himself gasping for breath.)

Stress ^95%

Connor wasn’t good at this. He was awful at this. He wasn’t cut out to be a deviant.

It would be better for everyone if he had never deviated at all.

(Sorry, Amanda.)

Stress ^100%

---

Three weeks after it became a machine again, Tina invited it out to a bar.

“They have thirium alcohol,” she coaxed, grinning. “I’ve always wondered what you’d be like drunk. Even Gavin’s agreed to come. It’ll be fun.”

Connor stared up at her, politely curious, and considered.

After a long, painfully long moment, he shivered, and then he ducked his head to avoid her gaze, fingers tapping on the desk nervously as his shoulders curved in.

“Not this time, Officer Chen,” he said quietly, and he heard Hank jerk upright with a quiet curse. “I don’t really want to.” He paused, and then, softer, “But perhaps another day.”

There was a brief pause.

“It’s Tina, Connor,” Tina reminded him at last, sounding confused but not concerned. “And alright. Next time!”

Tina left, and Connor didn’t look up or move, afraid of how Hank might react.

Hank said, croaking and wrecked, “Thank God.”

#hank anderson #connor #markus #dbh #detroit become human #north #tina chen #fanfiction #my writing

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thymeandlemons-blog · 6 years

Text

save the last dance for me (2/4)

TJ/Cyrus [fluff, (not so) light angst, miscommunication, school dances and cheesy songs] Chapter 1 on Tumblr / Chapter 1 on AO3

Summary: TJ tries to keep his crush on Cyrus under wraps to avoid ruining their friendship. Jonah accidentally overhearing one of TJ’s many lovesick rants makes that much easier said than done.

Read Chapter 2 on AO3

With the school dance only two weeks away, the entire student body is in preparation mode. For most, this means trying out different hairstyles, or attempting to convince their parents to not embarrass them in front of their dates on the day of the dance.

For Cyrus, and by extension TJ, this means volunteering to help with the decorations.

If you told TJ a year ago he would spend his lunch break cutting out stars and hearts from multicolored papers, he might have shoved you into a locker and called you an idiot. But that was a year ago. This is present day TJ, and present day TJ is, as his sister Amber so kindly puts it, whipped.

So here he is, sitting at a table with Cyrus and Jonah making lopsided, wonky decorations, while Andi and Buffy are on break. They’re making conversation, but it’s tense and stilted because Jonah keeps giving him these looks, and TJ has no idea why because they’re supposed to have moved on from the jersey incident.

There’s no way he could have managed to piss off one of Cyrus’ friends yet again in such a short period of time, is there?

“So, Jonah” says Cyrus, while working diligently on painting a moon that looks more like a banana, “have you asked Libby to the dance, or are you coming with us?”

Jonah makes sure to glare at TJ again before starting. “I asked Libby, but she might have a family thing. She’s going to let me know tomorrow. Might tag along with you and Andi if she can’t come.”

“And TJ” Cyrus adds with a smile.

Jonah nods, apparently needing some time to process what Cyrus said, because just a few seconds later he scrunches up his brows and looks back and forth between TJ and Cyrus. “Wait, TJ?"

“Yeah, he’s coming with us. My mom can drop us off, we figured we’d pick up TJ first-“

“You’re going to the dance with Cyrus and Andi?” asks Jonah, turning to face TJ with yet another glare.

Now that Jonah’s passive agressiveness is making the switch to outright hostility, TJ is on edge. “Yes... Is that a problem?” he asks.

“I can’t do this anymore” says Jonah, chair scraping against the hardwood floor as he stands up in dramatic fashion. “I heard you on the phone yesterday TJ.”

Jonah pauses, looking at TJ expectantly, as if those few words should be enough to explain what has been going on.

TJ quickly runs through every phone conversation he can remember having, skimming his mind for anything he might have said that could have angered Jonah.

There was the call to Mr. Beale about the shipment of new uniforms... He spoke to his mom about having dinner at Cyrus’ place, and he called Reed to see how he was holding up. Could that be the reason Jonah is upset? But he didn’t seem to mind the Reed incident when it happened in the first place, so why would it piss him off that TJ is checking in on his friend? Unless...

Oh no.

Reed had asked him how things were going with Cyrus, and TJ had kind of just... Let everything out. He talked about how his feelings hadn’t lessened in the slightest, how worried he was that Cyrus’ friends didn’t like him, how terrified he was of telling Cyrus about his feelings and having Cyrus not only reject him, but start hating him...

If Jonah heard more than a few words of that conversation, TJ is screwed. He feels like he’s watching a car crash in real time as Jonah turns to face Cyrus.

“Cyrus, TJ doesn’t want to be your friend.”

He wants to be your boyfriend, TJ can almost hear him saying. He has spent months trying to keep his feelings a secret, months spent pretending being close to Cyrus doesn’t make his heart go into overdrive, and now it’s all about to come to an end. He closes his eyes and braces himself for the worst.

“He’s in love with Andi and he’s using you to get close to her!”

Wait, what?

“What?” Cyrus and TJ exclaim in sync. “That’s not true!” continues TJ, pushing his chair away as he stands up.

“I heard you TJ!” shouts Jonah, “you said you were in love with Buffy’s best friend and talked about how she would probably try to beat you up if she ever found out. You said most of all you were worried about Cyrus finding out you’ve been pretending to be friends with him this whole time because that would definitely ruin your chances of dating Andi!”

“I-“

Crap.

Well that’s definitely one way to interpret that conversation.

What he had actually talked about was how scared he was of Cyrus finding out he has been hiding his feelings this whole time, pretending he’s straight and just wants to be his friend. He had said it would ruin their friendship, let alone any possibility of a relationship. But of course Jonah heard “Buffy’s best friend”, and assumed his crush was Andi, and now TJ’s stuck.

He can’t tell Jonah he’s wrong without confessing to his crush right in front of Cyrus, and he can’t do that right now. He just can’t.

He tried it once, when he was in 5th grade. He had a crush on his best friend Billy, and he was sure Billy felt the same way. So, gathering all of his courage, he asked Billy to go to the park with him after school, where he laid all his feelings out on the table. When Billy didn’t say a word, TJ reached out to hold his hand like they always did when they wanted to comfort each other.

Unlike all those other times, Billy pushed him away so hard that he fell off his chair.

TJ thought watching his best friend run away from him with disgust in his eyes was the worst thing to ever happen to him. That was until the next day when he walked into school to find out Billy had told everyone what happened.

The bullying got so bad that TJ was scared of going to school every day. His family ended up moving so he could switch schools, even though they really couldn’t afford to financially. They were forced to upend their entire life because TJ wanted to act on his feelings… So when he got to Jefferson, he made sure no one would dare to treat him that way again.

It’s not that he thinks Cyrus would react the way Billy did. Cyrus is the best person TJ knows. He has the biggest heart, and he has been nothing but kind to him, even when he least deserved it. They’ve never talked about it but he doesn’t think Cyrus could be homophobic. It’s just… The odds of Cyrus returning his feelings are abysmally low, and even if Cyrus doesn’t hate him, they couldn’t recover their friendship after a confession like that. He can’t risk losing Cyrus. He just can’t.

Which leaves him with one other option.

“It’s true” he says with a heavy heart, staring at the floor.

“This entire time?” asks Cyrus, voice barely more than a whisper.

TJ doesn’t trust his voice not to break, so he just nods.

“And the reason you wanted to go to the dance with us was because you wanted to spend time with Andi?”

He can’t have Cyrus know about his real feelings, but he can’t have him think their friendship is fake either. What he has with Cyrus… It’s the most important thing to him. He needs Cyrus to know that.

“Cyrus you’re one of my best friends. This isn’t just about Andi.”

He sees Jonah open his mouth from the corner of his eyes, which as he has found out today, is never good news. “TJ just come clean. It’s better to be honest now than later.”

“I am being honest! Cyrus and I have hung out a thousand times without Andi, why would I do that if this was about her?”

“To gain Cyrus’ trust!”

“That’s not-"

Cyrus interrupts them, standing up but still clutching on to the pens in his hands. “I’m going to go join Andi and Buffy on their break.” Swallowing, he continues, “TJ, I don’t think you should be here when I get back.”

“But Cyrus-“

“Please, just… Please.”

He watches Cyrus walk away, wracking his mind for any way of getting out of this that wouldn’t mean losing his friendship with Cyrus, but he comes up blank.

One by one he starts gathering his stuff. He can feel himself tear up but he can’t afford to cry at school, so he just focuses on watching his hands and wills the numbness he is so accustomed to take over. He wants to find Cyrus, wants to fight for their friendship, but the least he can do right now is respect Cyrus’ wishes.

Just as he’s about to leave the classroom, Jonah’s voice interrupts him.

“Look, dude-“

“You’re the last person I want to talk to right now so please just shut up” TJ snaps.

“I’m not the bad guy here. You’re the one who’s been using Cyrus-“ Jonah tries to cut in, but it’s all too much, and the emotions TJ has been trying to bottle up burst to the surface.

“I’m not using Cyrus, you got the conversation all wrong!” he yells, unable to keep it in now that Cyrus is out of the room. “I don’t have a crush on Andi, I have a crush on Cyrus! I’ve had a crush on Cyrus for almost a year now, and everything’s ruined because you didn’t have the guts to talk to me alone before confronting me in front of him!”

If he was any less upset, TJ might have gotten some satisfaction from the way Jonah’s expression changes as he tries to piece two and two together.

“You what?” asks Jonah, and TJ doesn’t know if the look on his face is regret, confusion, or disgust, so he looks away to avoid dealing with it.

“I like Cyrus, Jonah” he says, voice low and honest.

“TJ… I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

The worst part is one glance at Jonah’s face makes it obvious that he means it. He’s genuinely sorry, and he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with this huge secret TJ just dropped on him. It hurts because none of this was malicious, and he can’t even blame Jonah when he was just looking out for Cyrus.

“It’s too late now isn’t it?”

“Why didn’t you just tell Cyrus you liked him?” Jonah asks.

It takes a beat before TJ can answer.

“Because I’ll take him being angry with me over him hating me.”

“He wouldn’t hate you TJ” says Jonah, kind and sincere, the way he’s known to be. “You know Cyrus better than that.”

He does, he really does, but... “It would ruin our friendship either way.”

“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit.”

If he’s being honest with himself, he can admit that he really isn’t. The rational part of his mind is telling him how good Cyrus is, how kind, and nice, and how great a friend he is. But there’s also the voice he can’t quiet telling him this is typical TJ, ruining everything good in his life. Typical TJ, who can’t get his crush’s friends to like him. Typical TJ, who ends up hurting everyone he’s close to. Typical TJ, who most definitely isn’t good enough for Cyrus Goodman.

He doesn’t say anything, or even look back at Jonah as he leaves. He goes to his locker, packs up the rest of his stuff, and heads home. He can afford to skip half a day, and today, he's going to take a shower, then go to his room and let himself wallow in self pity.

Tomorrow, though, he’s going to talk to Amber and figure out a way to fix this, no matter what it takes.

#tyrus #tyrus fic #cyrus goodman #tj kippen #my fics #andi mack #so sorry for the delay on this #this chapter felt a bit off to me but i really really hope you guys like it #and please let me know if you have any feedback!

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ael-xander · 6 years

Photo

The Darkening and the Lightening

Chapter Twenty-two

Training Room Sanctum

Ael watched some of the more accomplished students working with Stephen and Wong before she went to the separate room, cueing up the system. “Computer, program 843, intermediate, protocols Wolverine, Kurt, Winter Soldier. Execute.” She slid out her sword, a dagger in her right hand, which hid behind a magical shield.

Cueing up her music, Ael swung out as the first set of bots came at her. Ducking, she slammed into the first two with her sword, then whirled, throwing the dagger, taking down a third while using the shield to block magic bolts coming from the bots. A scraping noise was the only sound she heard below the music as a warning as she slid across the ground, rolling out of the way as one of bots leaped at her, its claws extended. Jumping back, she blocked the claws with her sword, dropping the shield and calling forth her magic in the palm of her hand with a series of quick movements. Without looking to her side, she threw the ball of energy at the four bots rushing her side.

A low sound had Ael shifting her weight and she swung her sword, as bots appeared out of nowhere, surrounding her. Taking a quick look, Ael called up the power into her sword, then let loose the magic, channeling it through the sword as it struck one bot, then jumped to the next as she pushed through as the others rushed towards her. “Fuck! Better, Ael, think,” she growled, pulling up a shield as she called her dagger to her, using it to dispatch a bot that phased up through the floor. “You know better than this. Do not let this happen. You spent time getting your ass kicked by Logan. Don’t even let him down now.”

A click was all the warning she got before the gunfire erupted and she pulled up her shielding and broadened it, surrounding her. Pushing forward, she slid her sword in its sheath, then moved her left hand in a series of moves, then released a band of purple that ripped the gun from the bot that sat upon the hill within the exercise. “Fuck it, Bucky. I’m going to kill you for that.”

Four more sets of bots came out, surrounding her. Ael, breathing heavily, kept circling around, using small bolts of lightning to knock those who got too close to her. Then she noticed the outer circle joining their arms together, forming a cage. Oh hell no! I won’t let this happen again. No! With concentration, Ael moved her hands above her head, then crossed them in front of her face, then to her shoulders, then out to her chest, then across her hips, then back up to her shoulders where her arms were crossed in an “X” position. Her hands were fisted and begun glowing with a deepening blue power. As the third and the second row of bots finished their circles, they begun to connect to the first row.

“NO!” Ael unleashed her power, bringing her hands apart in a quick move to her sides, ending in shields as a concussive power rang out from around her to knock over all the bots, shorting them out. Panting, Ael looked around, her world narrowed to the one bot still moving and she threw the shield into it, shutting it down.

A cough drew her attention. Both Wong and Stephen stood there. The look on Stephen was concern, Wong more serene, yet something behind it was knowledge. “Computer, end exercise, Sorcerer Supreme override two, alpha, gamma, one.” The computer acknowledged the order, shutting the down all the bots, cleaning the room. He approached her, making to stay in her vision. “Ael? Talk to me.”

Ael, inhaled deeply, trying to catch her breath when a gong sounded, letting them know someone had come to the door of the Sanctum. Wong nodded to Stephen. “I’ll get it.” Ael shook her head, throwing up her hand, slamming the door shut. “No. Don’t move. That’s not right. The sound is off.” Ael stood up, walked over to the wall where they were and placed her hands on it. “Sanctum was warning us.” She closed her eyes, breath slowing as she opened her shields and sank into the sentience of the house.Only then did she see the problem and she flinched as she reassured the Sanctum it would be kept safe.

She felt warm hands at her back as she sang softly, increasing the defenses of the Sanctum. Defense was easier for her than offense. Healing easier than killing. There was always a price for killing. How many times had Ubhuti told her that she couldn’t think she could outrun her debt to death? No matter how often she healed, helped others, the evil she did under her Gram would always stain her future until it was finally dealt with one day. Knowing both Wong and Stephen supported her, gave her strength to do what needed to be done to protect the Kamar-Taj students visiting and those who lived in New York.

Weaving the colours of the Sanctum into a brightly coloured braid of power, she wound it around the building and the ground, charging it with the positive energy of the universe, calling upon the energy, the part of her she reserved from everyone. Tapping into her secret, Ael pulled on the secret well of magic within her and shoved it deep within the Sanctum, then fell to the floor. Barely conscious, she gestured to the door. “Safe now. They can’t get through the door, but you can go to the stoop and interact safely.”

Stephen looked at her and she waved him away. “Go, Stephen. Take Wong with you. I’m fine. I’m just…I used too much. Go. They won’t tolerate waiting much longer before they try to come in.”

Stephen and Wong raced out the room and Ael pulled herself up. Calling her dagger to her, she sighed. “How can they not sense the anger, the craziness, and the evil done?” Carefully, she stood up and walked to the door. Placing her hand on the door jamb, she communed with the Sanctum. “I won’t let harm come to you. I promise. Not even from me.”

With that, she headed to the office, knowing that despite all the warning, they invited in a monster. A monster that was invisible to the eye. Carefully, Ael picked up another dagger, this one specially created for her by another. Walking into the office, Stephen turned to her. “This is Mr. Hamilton Hill. He’s asked us for help.” His voice was empty, wondering what set her off.

“Really?” Ael stepped up and took his proffered hand, trying not to recoil as the other presence attempted to penetrate her psychic shields. “Why do you want us?”

“There is something I require from the Order. Permit to hunt in the Kathmandu area. There is a legendary animal, the white yak, there that I wish to discover.” The large man looked directly at Ael. She took in the look and never once flinched, seeing another set of eyes look from behind the dark brown eyes.

Stephen shakes his head. “No. You will not hunt the sacred animal of Tibet. I will not allow it.”

Hamilton Hill grimaced. “I need the yak. It has the ability to give me what I need. What I deserve, what I want.”

“What does the one who control you want?” Ael slammed her dagger down near Hill’s hand, making the man jump back. “I see you. Come out and talk. Hiding does you no good. I learned to see people like you from my Gram. You suck at it.”

Laughter issued out at a deeper level, reminding Ael of someone, but she couldn’t think of who. The mannerisms of Hill shifted as did the look of the rounded face, narrowing slightly. “You are correct, Miss Xander. I knew your grandmother at one time. Interesting woman. Taught me a lot.”

“Gram was many things, interesting was not one of them.” Ael stared at Hamilton Hill, letting her empathy ability out further, then stopped as the man controlling Hill turned to her and shook his head. “Bad, Ms. Xander. Don’t do that. I want to see my son, Reed. You will bring him to me.”

Ael gasped as she took in flashes of red, flashes of memories, then realized exactly who this man was. “No, I won’t let him see you. Not now, not ever. Not with what I’ve seen.”

Hill gestured at Stephen, who moved swiftly, his hands at the ready with spells. “You will do as I say or I will destroy him. Your grandmother was quite thorough when it came to those who taught you. Larkspur was just the start, dear child. I will see my son.”

Ael looked at Stephen, heart racing. “You will not hurt him. If you hurt him, you lose everything. Reed thinks you dead and it’s better for all that you remain that way. You’re a murderer many times over.”

The man laughed, his timber low and intense. “You have no idea what I’m capable of if I’m denied. Plus, my dear, I have someone who wants to see you very badly. Do you remember Dr. Decibel? He so wants to have a conversation with you again. Says the last one didn’t quite go the way he wanted.”

Memories, terrors from that night flood Ael. She remembered too well who Dr. Decibel was and what he was capable of doing to her. Worse, she knew exactly what happened the last time they were face to face. Placing her dagger against Hill’s throat, she stepped into Nathaniel Reed’s direct line of vision. “You have no say here. The Sorcerer Supreme isn’t someone you can just easily cast aside.” The sudden fear of the name made her feel happier. “So, Nathaniel, go. Go away. Leave well enough alone.”

Ael dropped the dagger and walked out of the room, her hands shaking. She shot Stephen a look as he called to her. She looked at Hill then the door. “Take care of him. I will speak to you later. I need to check on Wong.”

Rushing from the office, Ael headed to the one area she knew Wong would be at this time of day- the meditation room. She only hoped she’d find someone willing to listen. Right now, she felt broken into so many pieces, she wasn’t sure that anything could put this back together. Not even love.

Prologue Chapter One: Chapter Two: Chapter Three: Chapter Four: Chapter Five: Chapter Six: Chapter Seven: Chapter Eight: Chapter Nine: Chapter Ten: Chapter Eleven: Chapter Twelve: Chapter Thirteen: Chapter Fourteen: Chapter Fifteen: Chapter Sixteen: Chapter Seventeen: Chapter Eighteen: Chapter Nineteen: Chapter Twenty: Chapter Twenty-one: Chapter Twenty-two

#fanfic #fantastic four #black panther #dr. strange x original character #dr. strange #dr strange avengers #avengers #mcu #mature #loki #tony stark #peter parker #Wong #the darkening and the lightening

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dunmerofskyrim · 7 years

Text

Downriver a line crossed the water. A slack rope that traced over the fine skin of ice near the banks, and trailed beneath the surface in the middle of its slow dark flow. A flat square barge was moored up on the far side. Its frame was lashed together from wood and a patchwork of leather and cloth stretched between the spars to form a kind of deck. At waterlevel, leather bladders tight-full with air kept the barge afloat.

“Fucking boatmer…” Simra grumbled under his breath. His purse had barely recovered from the route they’d taken down the Balda. “Fucking pirates, all of them…”

“Ho!” The cry came across the water. Already the ferryman was picking the rope from the water with leathermittened hands and beginning to pull. “Ho there trav’lers! Fine fair mornin’!”

Tammunei looked skyward and frowned. The weather was tin-grey and threatened drizzle. No sky for how thick it was banked in clouds and all the colour of cinders. The sort of sun you had to search for, active and earnest, squinting after some small change in light. And all around the river, the grasses were bearded with frost, the reeds frozen stiff and pale.

“You think so?” Simra called back.

“Nothin’ too bad, nothin’ too bad at all… Still workin’, am I not? A dear fine mornin’, then! A fine dear fair morning…”

A fine fair blighted grey morning to squeeze coin out of the choiceless, Simra reckoned. They were in the crutch of two rivers now, the better part of a day’s travel deep, and could either cross the water or else turn round and hope to skirt it. Fording the flow was scarce any choice at all in this cold and the ferryman knew it. That accounted for his grin, Simra thought, as the barge drew up closer. Or might be that was just his teeth.

The ferryman was Orsimer. Tall and broad in the shoulders but otherwise rangy as a skinned hare, to reckon what you could through the heavy outdoor clothes he wore. A short waxed cape, its hem tasselled with beads, was draped round his shoulders and chest, front and back. It hung to his waist and clattered as he moved. He wore a short coat under it of parchment yellow roughcloth, quilted and padded into squares and diamonds. Almost an arming garment, Simra reckoned — almost a soldier’s aketon. A long grey kilt was belted over that, its skirts girded up and backward between his legs, to show his wiry-haired calves and bare green-grey feet. From out the back of his broad conical farmer’s hat, a thick braid of black hair hung heavy over one shoulder and down his chest, to end in a clattering black iron bell. Like you’d collar a cow with, Simra thought. How long since he’d last seen a cow? He’d seen ‘beef’ for sale in Narsis – he’d never eaten it; wouldn’t know the difference after all – but if beef was dear in Skyrim, whatever passed as cowflesh in Morrowind was sold at thrice the cost. He’d seen no cattle in years…

A wheeze of filled air-skins; a grind of silt. The barge bumped onto the near bank. Its ferryman looked them over, counting them slow and careful. He stood on the boatside like it was a rampart, and he looking down from the high-ground. Confident as anything, swagger even in his stillness as he put hands to hips and leaned in, nodding slow as he spoke:

“Three of you, is it? Mmmh. And two o’ them, hm? Guars…” He drawled over the word, butchering its plural. Simra noticed one of his hands rested casual near a bone handle wrapped into the folds of his kilt’s belt. A half-hidden knife.

“How much?” Noor said.

“Hold on.” Simra shuffled and slipped from the back of the guar he and Tammunei shared. He stumped the butt of his spear against the sod. Strolled in reach of the ferryman. Stumped the spear again into the dirt, ponderish, and looking at the rusted spike as it bothered the frosty grass. “Conversation first. Fine morning for it, right? What’s closed Senie up so tight? What’s that?”

Simra pointed with his free hand downriver, towards the fork where Senie sat on its hill and behind its walls. Smoke rose from the river’s opposite side, trails on trails into the sky where they hung together, mingling in the windless heights. Simra’s hand flashed silver proudflesh and three pale fingers as he gestured. Red beads around the wrist, and plaited silk threads hung with teardrop pendants of green trueglass. Then the rags that bound his sleeves in, to wrap and safeguard the warmth of his body.

“Depends as what it’s worth to you, knowing,” said the ferryman.

“Nothing overmuch,” said Simra. “Except that it’ll help us decide if we want to cross or turn back. Use your fine-looking boat or not.”

The Orsimer stuck out his jaw and twitched his lower lip. “Not heard then, have you?”

“No news from down the road our way, no.”

“Huh. Overtaken, Senie is. Some scuffle inside, two months back might’ve been. All I know’s their lord and council — they strung them from the walls. Hooks in them. Bled or parched to death, all of them by now.”

“Why?”

“Something about their gods. Your gods. What-you-will.” The Orsimer shrugged. “Want to be left alone is how it seems to me.”

“Know the feeling, but never so much that I’d shoot at someone who came too close.”

“Not hurt, are you?” The ferryman sounded almost concerned. “Could be I’d have saved you that near scraping. Don’t go downstream, that’s what I say, but there’s been plenty crossing down here.”

“Which gods?” said Tammunei.

“Eh?” Another shrug from the ferryman. “How should I know? Three of them.”

“Which three?”

“Ffah. How should I know?”

“Hm. And them camped on the far side of the fork,” said Simra. “Who’s that?”

“Some army brought in from eastward over the mountains.”

“Indoril then,” Simra said.

“Some scouts of theirs I ferried over. Oh, two yest’days back and of a mornin’. If they’ve come back since then, it’s not been with me. What they’d be doin’ over from eastward and here in Winter, I surely don’t know… They were asked here’s what they said.”

“That all they said?”

“That and something about pulling some priest out the fort by his hair. They said plenty ‘bout that.”

Borderguards and ferrymen, bridge and gate sentries — you could always trust them to have news worth sharing. Seemed this ferryman wasn’t yet well-versed in that side of his chosen career.

“Been here long?” Simra asked. “At this pitch with your boat?”

“Long enough,” said the ferryman, defensive. “Work’s good lately. Picked right up, it has. Not used to folk wantin’ so much of a chat though, can’t say I am. Most part it’s that they’re in too much of a hurry to cross. You? Two journeys, I’d say. You and your beast, then yous and yours. Extra, that is.”

“How much?”

The two crossings came to a yera and two in total. A shil per passenger and another two for each journey over. Simra had been gouged worse before, but he’d also known plenty work for longer than this ferryman and earn less for it. Still, fair’s fair, even when it’s not fair to you. Given the one boat on this bridgeless length of river, Simra would’ve charged higher — that if only for the boredom of being a ferryman in the first blighted place.

First Simra, Tammunei, their lighter-laden guar. Then Noor and the packguar. Simra watched over the water as the ferryman’s mouth moved, trying for talk, his jaw jutting and juddering. Noor’s mouth stayed firm shut. The beasts peered over the boatsides, one staring deep into its own murky reflection, the other peeking and balking and shying from the water until it was sound and stable-footed on the other bank once more.

On this side of the river, the fields were stripped bare. Paddies deep with frozen mud and ice-chased standing water. Ditches to draw the river and feed the crops stooped much the same: gutters of filth and frost. Rows of fruit-shrubs, bare and stiff, skinny at the trunk and skinny at the limbs. A path of stripped earth ran along beside the water.

Tammunei didn’t remount the guar. Give it a rest, they said, after the water and carrying two riders for so long. The three of them and their two mounts plodded along at footpace. They tended towards the smoke, downriver to the fork and the camp. A wordless verdict between them.

“Is there any need?” Noor said.

“To go through the camp?” Simra said. “A few needs, yeah.” Not that he liked it any more than she did, though he fancied their reasons differed. “Food’s the foremost, if you want to know.”

“We can forage. Hunt. Ghosts preserve me but surely you can go a few days without rice.”

“Forage.” Simra snorted. “In the wake of all them? You heard the orc. They came from eastward. We’ll be tracking back the way they marched from, down the Davon’s Watch road. If you think there’ll be anything left to glean where an army’s foraged through..? Nchow. The pickings’ll be poorer than piss-poor. I’d bet on it. Gold or glass, I’d bet on it any day.”

“You said they were Indoril,” Tammunei began. “New Temple Ordinators…”

“Some of them. The officers maybe. I’d say mercenaries and levies for the rest.”

“I’d have thought Ordinators would mean honour, discipline, restraint…”

“They’re no guarantee of good behaviour, if that’s what you mean. Or good supply lines for that matter. Some people, you give them a bronze mask and they’ll hide all they can behind it. Do whatever they’d never dared to do, and say, no, now it’s for the cause…”

“Will it be safe then?”

“We’re wisewomer,” said Noor. “Sacred servants of the oldest ancestors, the oldest gods. The baelathri Temple reclaimed them only lately, but we’ve given the gods their due since Veloth’s day. They love us now as much as they hated us before. Of course we’ll be safe.”

“Mmh. They love the idea of you fine enough,” muttered Simra. “It’s when you’re there before their eyes, all skins and beads and braids, they decide they’ve got a problem…”

Tammunei shied close to their guar, edging into its neck and putting both hands on its leading-bridle.

“We’ll be safe,” Noor repeated, firmer now.

“Course we will,” said Simra, “if we keep each other that way.”

Senie’s outer walls showed smooth and slightly sloping in the nearing distance. Brick and mortar the colour of bones til they seamed down into the sides of the hill the fort-town had its roots on. There the incline slacked and tumbled in heather and crags of stone to the brown waters where the rivers combined.

Around the three on the riverside path, a feeble breeze picked up, fretting with their hair and the hems of their clothes. None were dressed for Winter, or a journey slow-leading into lands with colder climes. Stupid of them, Simra reckoned. Of him most of all. Noor in her tasselled blanket-cloak and shawl, her ragged threadbare riding-coat — she was best prepared, for all she looked like a small and lope-stepping scarecrow in those tatters. But Tammunei had only the coat Simra had given them, ocean-coloured, with a recent-patched hole in the gut of it. And Simra himself had no coat, no cloak at all.

“What’re the other reasons?” said Tammunei.

“Hm?”

“We could just carry on past. Follow the road when it turns east. But we won’t because of food, and what else?”

“Oh.” Simra shrugged, and fidgeted with his fingers and the shaft of his spear. “Sheer bloodyminded curiosity. Wanna know what’s happening here. We got less than half a story from that bastard ferryman. I want the whole fucking thing.”

#TES #Morrowind #Dunmer #Simra Hishkari #SH Forth and Back #SH New Canon #Tammunei Ereshkigal #Noor Jedhredzuk

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cecebishop-blog · 8 years

Text

Are We Human || Cece & Marley

Three spells just since the new year? That had to be some kind of new record for Cece. At least in the last five or so years, she had barely done any magic at all. In between the coven and Ashkent Cece had done only two spells: One to make her enough money to buy a house, and two: to make sure that the coven would be unable to find her. Then she moved to Ashkent Creek and all hell broke loose. Tonight, she was pretty pumped to get to do another spell, whenever Marley got back to her house. The spells she had done recently had completely incredibly well. Like, better than they had ever gone before for Cece. It was enough to give her the rush and excitement of trying out some other spells too. While waiting for Marley to get home, Cece flipped through some netflix shows while sipping on a glass of wine. Not exactly a riveting night. Eventually, she heard the front door crack open and Cece grinned. "What's up roomie?" She called out.

Cece was falling perfectly into Marley's lap. She didn't even have to be the one to bring up the spell or using magic, Cece did that all by herself. Which was just perfect, because that lovely little charm bracelet was more than just a thoughtful gift. Like Reed's gift, it had a little something extra. This one came with a spell that helped give other spells Cece might cast a little more juice. And the wonderful side effect of the feel goods, to encourage her to keep using magic. To grow her abilities, to become the powerful coven leader Marley knew her to be. It was just an aid to help her along. Marley had been at work that afternoon, and was out running some "errands" before she decided to return to their shared home. She opened the door quickly, already knowing Cece was there, and shut it behind her, setting her stuff on the table and coming into the room where Cece was. "Save any for me?" she asked as she came around to the couch, nodding at the wine glass. "Nothing much. Just another day of training at work. And you? Don't you usually work late?"

"I always have spare wine" Cece laughed, the idea of her running out of wine seemed truly ridiculous. To her, buying a bottle of wine was just another common grocery store item. Grab milk. Grab bread. Grab wine. Grab salt. "I guess people decided to take a break from dying for the week or something. It hasn't been crazy busy at work. But how's the training going?" Cece asked as she pushed herself up off the couch. She made her way into the kitchen and grabbed an extra wine glass down, pouring some into it before handing it off to Marley.

Marley took the glass handed to her, sipping it happily as she sat back. Nothing hit the spot quite like a fine glass of wine at the end of the night. "Effie is really, eh-- strict about how things are handled. But I can't blame her-- it's her business and she's a smart woman." She shrugged, sat forward. "But she's nice and it was nice of her hire me while I'm in the interim," she added on. She traced a finger around the rim of the glass. "Nice that things seem to be calming down in town, at least. Maybe this whole Ashford thing is finally blowing over."

Nothing ever really just blew over in Ashkent Creek. Not without some big conclusion at least. The Liberator didn't just fade into the background, and whatever the hell that pageant thing was didn't just randomly decide to pick up and leave town. Hell, even those life draining roots that Cece had heard about didn't just shrivel up and die on their own. In her short experience here in Ashkent Creek, she had figured out that something else was happening at all times. "In my experience, it's just when things are calming down that all hell breaks loose." She shrugged it off though, as of yet the Ashford River thing hadn't really affected her. Still, there were few things in this town that didn't eventually make it's way around to everyone. She figured whatever the hell was going on would eventually sneak up to bite her in the ass. "But maybe we can hope it is."

"Been hearing a lot of that lately," Marley grumbled, slumping forward a bit. "Just hope for things. Hope this blows over, hope I get my memory back, hope things get better..." she swirled the glass and sipped her wine again. She wasn't as familiar with Ashkent as she was Ashford, and how things went, but there was always something going on behind closed doors and beneath noses back in Ashford. Of course, most everyone who wasn't supernaturally involved was either too scared or too ignorant to notice it, hiding in their houses, behind their wards. Business for her had been lucrative back in Ashford, but most of the anger she felt here wasn't based in the same way. She was scraping by, and she was starting to feel it. "Hope I'm human." She sat back. "Guess, though, if that's true, then maybe we should enjoy this quietness, huh?"

"Hope is all most people have here" And everywhere. That was all Cece had for quite a few years. After she was kicked out, while she was part of the coven, after she left the coven. Hope was the driving force behind Cece even making it to Ashkent Creek to the first. It was probably the only force that got her there. "And if you're not we will go from there. It won't be the end of the world." Cece moved over to a drawer and started fiddling around inside of it, searching for that map that she carried around. "Do me a favor and in that box under the coffee table? Grab that out we need those candles." Cece figured that Marley probably wouldn't want to wait any longer, and just to get the process over with. "I'll be right back."

Marley crinkled her nose a little. Bullocks. Hope was worth nothing. But she'd let Bishop have that for now. "Yeah, tell that to Regan," she said as she shifted, pulling out the box that Cece instructed her to. Opened it and started pulling out the candles for her to set up. She knew what the outcome of this spell would be, of course it would say she's not human. But the idea of having such a stark reminder still made her inside curdle a little. She wasn't human and it haunted her every day. But this was important, because getting Bishop to more magic would be worth it.

"I keep hope for Regan" Cece called out from her bedroom. Digging in her closet, Cece found the loose piece of flooring and pulled it free, yanking out her old bag of ingredients that she had been collecting from the coven for months before their arrest. Digging inside of it she pulled out a small pill capsule that she kept the crystals in and pulled one free. She palmed it in her hand and stuffed the bag back into the hole in the floor before making her way back into the living room. "Maybe someday she won't be so delusional and actually admit that I'm a witch." She made a quick detour to the kitchen to throw the crystal in a bowl and starting crushing the crystal into a powder with a glass.

There was that word again, hope. When it came to Kavanagh, Marley had exactly none for her. She left the candles where they were and stood up, following Cece into the kitchen. She'd watched witches perform spells and create potions many times, this was nothing new to her-- but there was always a sense of fascination to it. She had magicks beyond their wildest imaginations, but it was capped, limited to only granting wishes and deals. She didn't have to mix up ingredients or give any sort of chant, either. Just a simple snap of the fingers and her magic was cast, only undoable by her own blood and lengthy ritual. She tilted her head. "Has she seen you do magic?" she asked, genuinely curious.

The true irony of the whole situation, was that Regan had seen Cece perform magic before. This exact spell. The first time that Cece had ever shown Regan what she really was was after Marley's death. Regan needed to find vampires, for whatever reason she was convinced that it was a vampire that did this. And Cece had told her that she could find some vampires. The spell had been the same, just the species that they were looking for had changed. It had taken weeks for Regan to even speak to Cece again after the spell though. She hadn't taken it very well. "Yeah. She has." Cece answered, "She's still in denial" She finished crushing the powder and lead Marley back into the living room, spreading the map out across the coffee table, "Okay I need you set four candles on each corner of the map." Cece kept multiple different maps in her place, for spells just like these. She had world maps, maps of the United States, maps of Maine, maps of Ashkent Creek, and then a few various maps of places in the town. This specific map was a google maps print out of where Cece lived, with a few miles stretching out into the forest. Only a few other houses were located anywhere near Cece's, and she kept the exact spot where her house was circled in red marker on the map. That was what they were looking for. "You ready?"

Marley did as she was instructed, laying the map out flat and putting the candles in the corners. So they were doing a locator spell, huh? Well, she supposed that would work well enough for what they were trying to do. As long as she stuck to human, instead of specific species'. She couldn't have any of them find out what she was, just that she wasn't human. That she would never again be human, even in death. She sat on the other side of the map and looked up from it to Cece. "Ready," she said, letting her voice waver ever so. Chewed her bottom lip in a nervous manner, glanced down, then back up again, this time more confidently. Nodded. "Let's do it."

Cece put the bowl next to the map on the coffee table and dipped her hand in, cupping a handful of the ground up crystal. "You should grab some too. It works better with more than one person." Cece suggested to Marley. Magic was a tricky, tricky bitch. It fed off of the energy around it, including those that didn't even practice it. And if it was feeding off of someone's magic, it usually worked better if that person was also participating in the spell. She closed her eyes and began chanting in Latin. Same old song and dance. Probably hundreds of spells, with still little recollection of what she was actually saying. But just like any other time, it worked like a charm. Better even. The candles all erupted in a brilliant blue flame once Cece finished the spell. "Now, just think about humans. The word. The species. It doesn't matter. Just focus on humans and when you're ready blow the powder onto the map. I'll follow you."

Marley scooped up the crystal powder into her hand and waited. She watched Cece with an astute fascination. It reminded her so much of old times, back in Ashford. Of course, they hadn't been close friends in Ashford, but their relationship was symbiotic. Marley gave Bishop what she needed, and Bishop gave Marley magic that she couldn't use on her own. Usually items. They made plenty of deals. But this was different. This felt...intimate. Marley's eyes unfocused for a minute. Marley watched Cece focus as much as she could in the situation. The barrier was spreading from the palms of her hands through the wood of the door and up to the edges, sealing off the entire entry point. “I think this will hold him off for now, but not very long. We need to find another way out.” Cece had said. Marley shook her head. These flashes, these feelings-- whatever they were, they weren't hers. "Right," she said finally, closing her eyes a moment. Focusing. Magic pulsed inside of her. She'd been successful in the few spells she'd done, she was hardly worried. And yet her heart felt like it was racing. She drew in a breath. Human. What was a human? Someone with empathy. Compassion. Love. Someone who could die if stabbed. Someone who wilted when starved. Weak, but strong. Someone who wasn't a monster. Marley was none of those. She opened her eyes, and blew.

Cece watched Marley curiously as she gathered her focus and then blew. Cece quickly followed suit and took a deep breath, exhaling soon after and blowing the crystal dust over the map, watching it all fly across it before starting to stick in certain places. Around the forest, she could pick out the few houses that were also occupied in the forest. Four small circles of dust collected around an area only about three or four miles from the red circle that symbolized Cece's house. Those were her neighbors and their kids that lived out in the woods for whatever reason. She didn't trust them. But as the dust raced across the red circle on the map, Cece couldn't help herself but stare more intently. Slowly leaning in towards it, her body stiffening. The ringing in her ears that hadn't gone away since Regan's scream seemed to have intensified in that moment. And then, just one dot stayed on the map. "What the-" Cece knew that the one dot was her. Witch or not, Cece was still a human. Which meant- "Remorse? That seems like a rather annoying human trait to me" Marley smirked as she handed the man off to Cece. He was crying, screaming for mercy. Cece was becoming rather annoyed with him, and with a simple wave of her hand and a shush, the man instantly went quiet. He continued screaming, but no sound came out. "Human or not. You're good in my books" Cece smirked back at Marley and handed the cursed jewelry off to her. Reality came crashing back to Cece and she glanced around the room, suddenly back in her own house. What the hell was that?"

Marley watched as Cece's eyes went blank. It was barely a few seconds, and she was back. Where'd she go? Had she seen something, too? Marley's curiosity flowed through her, making her knuckles turn white as she gripped the edge of the table tightly. "Cece?" she asked tentatively, reaching out. "Cece, are you okay?" Marley pulled back at the sound of Cece's voice-- that didn't sound good. "Um-- I don't know, but--" she pointed at the map, at the one glowing circle. "That's not me, is it?" she asked quietly, almost sadly. She'd watched Josephine speak morosely so many times, that hidden sadness to deep in her voice. "We're not going home, MJ. We're leaving. Stiff, but sad. So sad. Marley blinked, looked back up at Cece. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Uh yeah I'm fine. Sorry." Cece shook off whatever the hell that was and focused back on the present. The Marley not being human present. Whatever that flash had been... well it had never happened. So it didn't matter. Cece had been plagued with a few stray nightmares every now and then, and Marley had found her way into a couple of them before. It must have just been a stray memory of one of those. "No. No it's not." Cece admitted. She had promised she wasn't going to sugarcoat anything for Marley. That no matter what she was going to tell it how it was. She was going to stick to that. "So now the million dollar question: What the hell are you?"

Marley looked at Cece for a few more seconds, then decided to let it rest. She probably wouldn't talk to her about it right now, so she'd have to weasel it out of her some other time. "I think now..." she paused, chewed her lip again, then looked up squarely at Cece, "I think now, we need to figure out who did this to me. We're not going to find any answers. Not with me the way I am, and exactly zero leads as to how this happened. If this was necromancy, then someone had to do it, right?" She paused-- this would be such a dead end. It would work perfectly for her. "If we find them, we find answers."

Magic was hard enough as it is. Some witches could practice certain spells for years on end and just never really grasp a handle on it. Certain magics were even harder than the last. Alchemy was a particularly difficult field to practice, and the fact that Cece had always excelled in it and became the only alchemist in the coven was partly due to her love and affinity for chemistry. Blood magic was even harder than that. But necromancy, that was a practice that few people ever successfully achieved. Especially a living human. If there was a necromancer in town, then chances are there wouldn't be more than one. Two at most. There just weren't enough people even willing to practice the magic because it was so dangerous. "Well I know a necromancer. And she's definitely good enough to bring someone back to life." Plus she had an axe to grind with Cece to begin with. Could that be what this was about? "But she's not exactly... sane." To put it lightly. Explaining Lilly was a bit more difficult than that. Batshit psychotic sociopath was a little more befitting.

That was interesting. Marley perked up a little. The Cece she knew didn't know any necromancers, or, at least, she hadn't mentioned any. "You do?" she asked curiously, leaning over the table. The spell still hadn't petered out, likely an effect of the bracelet. The little dot was still glowing on the map, signifying Cece as genuinely human, and missing the dot that was supposed to be Marley. Six years ago, it might have been. She looked away. "Oh." She sat back. "Well...Bridget said she was going to look into the books on necromancy that the Scribes have, maybe there's a way we can ask around discreetly, see if there's any sort of leads in town. I am-- er, was-- a detective, after all. I haven't forgotten that."

Cece nodded, waving her hand across the air and muttering the word 'Noctis' instantly putting out all four of the candles around the map. She stood up, grabbing her empty wine glass off the table and going to refill it. "Avoiding Lilly's attention is the smarter option. She's dangerous." And if she was the cause of this, Cece was going to need a lot more wine than her liqueur cabinet held. "If we're lucky it was just some random necromancer trying to test out how strong he was and getting really really lucky." Of course there was practically a zero percent chance of that being the case. She threw back the glass and finished her glass off in one stress induced gulp. "I need more wine, you want more wine?"

Marley stood up and grabbed her glass, following Cece into the kitchen again. "Oh boy, lucky me," she mumbled, half-rolling her eyes. "It's like winning the lottery, or Russian roulette." Let a little bit of venom sink into her voice. She decided it was better to play the "I'm an abomination, I never wanted to be resurrected" card, because, thus far, it had much more effect on making Regan miserable than any other route. Any sort of hope was only being built up just to squash her. The higher the are, the harder they fall, after all. She held out her glass to Cece, looking tired and perturbed. "I'm definitely gonna need more wine."

In a lot of ways, Lilly was a lot like playing a game of Russian Roulette. The only difference was that Cece knew exactly where the bullet was hidden. Always the last in the barrel. Each click of the gun would bring the player closer to the end,. Each click making them shake harder and harder, begging for more mercy after each one. Lilly soaked that shit up. She loved hearing people beg her. Gave her some ego boost or some bullshit like that. Plus, Lilly wouldn't like the surprise of the gunshot. She would like to enjoy the moment, knowing exactly which trigger pull would be the last. She had to take it in like some sick kind of sexual release. "We're going to hope that it wasn't her. For both our sakes." She poured Marley more wine and raised her glass to clink it off Marley's before taking another large gulp.

Marley lifted her glass as well and clinked it against Cece's. This Lily, whoever she was here, Marley was sure she'd met her back in Ashford. More and more, it seemed like things were different here. So messed up. For a moment, she wondered was Josephine would think of the place. She'd probably like it, maybe even more than Ashford. Ashkent was warm, open to supernaturals. There were the few people that had vendettas and a majority of them just liked to pretend they knew nothing, but there was a lot larger of a population of them it seemed, and the Scribes were certainly more helpful. She'd have fit right in, here. Marley's eyes flicked back over to Cece, to the charm hanging around her wrist. "Hey, you're wearing the bracelet I got you," she said. Smiled. "It looks nice."

@themoral-dilemma

#c: marley #c: cece #touchofchatzy #chatzy #chatzy: marley #are we human

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