#i know canonically he's not the tallest manager and IS the same height as a big cheese but to me he's taller. it's scary. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

outoftheframework · 4 years

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characterization cheat sheet: the batfamily boys

Hey everyone! I had the idea to compile a comprehensive list of different traits and attributes for each member of the batfamily based off of both canon and fanon interpretations. I think this could be useful for new members to the fandom, or those looking to write and/or draw for these characters. Remember that these will have a slight bias considering I, a fanon creator, am creating the lists. But I’ll try to make them as accurate as possible.

Appearances vary from artist to artist, so I’ll try to stray away from general details and add more little things you can consider in your art.

Bruce Wayne:

Age: 35-45

Appearance: Extremely physically fit, but signs of aging and prolonged exertion can slip through. Has a collection of scattered scars varying from fresh to fully healed. Strong, dark features. Conventionally attractive, but can easily switch to be foreboding/intimidating. Well kept in public appearances, but can look like death incarnate when in private.

Personality: Dual personas: “Bruce” (at home, but not as batman) and “Brucie” (public appearances like galas, news interviews). Bruce is stoic, well-read and educated, well-mannered, and occasionally can be witty and laid-back. Smirks rather than smiles. Brucie is loud, spontaneous, charming, and sometimes oblivious. He is the womanizer and scandal-maker. Often the actions of Brucie are motivated by Batman’s interests.

Speech: Bruce was mainly raised by as English butler, so his speech patterns are proper and smooth. Rarely uses speech fillers such as “uh” and “um,” except when interrupted while concentrating. Despite living in Gotham his entire life, he has not picked up the accent. His voice is newscaster American, almost impossible to pinpoint to a certain region. His speech as Brucie changes to relate more to the audience he is addressing. Speeches to Gotham high society will sound different than those aimed to the general public.

Additional Attributes: Bruce Wayne in all of his personalities is fiercely protective, and can easily slip into a deeper voice to intimidate. Bruce can be extremely empathetic and slightly impulsive when it comes to children who have lost their parents. As learned through his training to become Batman, Bruce is disciplined and can work for hours straight.

Dick Grayson:

Age: 23-29

Appearance: Dick Grayson mirrors a young Bruce Wayne despite their not being blood related. This could be a subconscious action by Dick to absorb traits of his father figure. His lean acrobatic body starts to set him apart from Bruce’s image. Dick manages to be well-built but still limber and flexible. His feet and hands are rough and calloused. His hair can get long but usually stays at a length in between Bruce’s and Tim’s. His eyes are bright blue without even a hint of green or brown.

Personality: In one comic I believe it was Superman who said that Dick Grayson is a universal constant, meaning that on every alternate earth or timeline, you can always rely on him to be good and pure. I think this really sums up who Dick should be. He is kind to a fault, and can sometimes be naive and not think things through. He loves to love, be that in his family, in his romantic relationships, in his friendships, and even in strangers. He is a chronic hero who only wants to see the world as a better place. But it’s important to note that Dick can get angry when pushed, and holds grudges.

Speech: Dick is an extremely interesting study in speech patterns. As a child he traveled with the circus, until he lived with clear-spoken Bruce Wayne and a proper English butler. So influences to his speech and accent come both internationally and locally to Gotham and Bludhaven. As a child living at Wayne Manor, Dick picks up a slight Gotham tinge to his accent with some British flourish in his vowel sounds. He regularly speaks in slang. As Nightwing he is able to suppress his unique speech to sound more evenly American.

Additional Attributes: Dick acts differently around each of his family members as to be what they need in a big brother. For example, he is more fatherly to Damian while to Tim he is more an equal. Dick can fidget and has less of an attention span than Bruce. He can use jokes as a coping mechanism.

Jason Todd:

Age: 22-26

Appearance: Hair is often long on top and shorter on the sides, sometimes with a white streak as a side effect from the Lazarus Pit. Tallest and heaviest of all the kids, very physically intimidating. Has a lot of scars and burns, and in some fan works he has a “Y” shaped scar the length of his chest from his autopsy. Never skips leg day. Green/blue eyes.

Personality: Jason goes through a lot of character development, but for this list I’m going off a timeline of post-Under the Red Hood, where Jason is on okay, yet still a little shaky, terms with the rest of the family. Jason has a hard time separating vigilante life and civilian life; his death as Robin ended his life as Jason Todd, blurring the lines between the two. Jason is legally dead, so he is basically building an identity back up. He holds some attributes from childhood: brave, impulsive, loud-mouthed, and street-smart. But his experiences post-Robin have made him a hardened loner. He lives modestly and with some semblance of order. He’s hard to foster a relationship with, but can be a passionate friend/family member when he opens up.

Speech: Jason probably has the least influence from Bruce and Alfred’s speech patterns, seeing as though he spent a lot more time with his biological family/on the streets than he did as a preteen in the manor. He is the definition of Gotham vernacular, with a rough edge. So much so that as a child, the high society gala attenders sometimes had a hard time understanding him. Often talks in curt, short sentences.

Additional Attributes: He has trouble expressing his emotions, more specifically anger and/or grief. Can both love or hate furiously. Inherently good, but sometimes does “bad” things. Protective over children, especially those living on the street. Very much a believer in “the ends justify the means.”

Tim Drake:

Age: 17-20

Appearance: Pale skin, dark hair. Sharp cheek bones and jawline, mostly from how skinny he is. His body isn’t technically “built” to be extremely athletic, but he’s forced a nice lean build from stringently working out. Easily loses and gains weight as a direct result of his work, causing fluctuations in his build. Five foot something, will eventually be out-grown by Damian. Long hair that can still be styled to look professional.

Personality: Tim Drake is very passionate in pretty much everything he sets his mind to. He feels as though he imposed himself onto Batman to become Robin, so he works twice as hard to prove his worth. He can be self conscious and deprecating. Tim as Robin or Red Robin is very different than civilian Tim; his hero personas can be bolder and more confident. Despite dropping out of high school, he values education.

Speech: Tim grew up rich, and his speech reflects an intelligence gained from private tutors. Despite this, he knows how to interact with those his age in using less formal language and slang. Often quotes books and movies. Can be awkward and stumble over his words when teased by his friends/family. He can manipulate people easily in business settings by talking fast and confidently while explaining complex topics.

Additional Attributes: Tim’s demeanor is directly tied to his varying levels of confidence and anxiety. Tim is has above-average intelligence and is diligent in detective work, but can still act like a teenager. He can be stubborn to extremes and will patiently play the long con. He does not cope well with loss.

Duke Thomas:

Age: 17-19

Appearance: Short dark hair, shaved on the sides and/or the back. Often wears the colors yellow and black. Around the same height as Tim, but a little taller. Stronger and heavier build more alike to Jason than Dick, but he’s still light on his feet. Expressive face that can give away his feelings easily. Still a bit of a baby face, but he’s still well-proportioned and conventionally handsome.

Personality: In my works, I’ve often described Duke as having a “sun-shiny” personality. He is one to not even think twice about putting others before himself. Duke uses his own personal experiences to guide him as a hero rather than suppress his emotions. Duke went from being an only child to having a large family, so he can sometimes feel overwhelmed. He is on friendly terms with every member of the batfamily, as well as many other heroes. Duke is self-sacrificial and is still learning how to effectively work as a detective.

Speech: Duke grew up in a middle class Gotham family, so his speech is influenced by his parents as well as his city environment. Duke has a mild Gotham accent and speaks a lot in modern slang. He hasn’t had much influence from Bruce and Alfred, considering he hasn’t lived with them for long. It’s possible that as he grows he will pick up some influences from Bruce and Tim’s way of speaking, but will most likely hold onto the accent of his childhood.

Additional Attributes: Duke is a metahuman vigilante in a city where Batman typically bans them, which causes a bit of an insecurity and a perfectionist drive. These are exasperated by the long line of history preceding him, as well as the fact that he involved himself in the Robin movement rather than being handpicked by Batman. He and Tim can relate in that way. Duke is an ardent student of Batman and is dedicated to the cause.

Damian Wayne:

Age: 10-14

Appearance: Looks similar to Bruce when he was the same age, yet stronger and with tanner skin. His hair is expertly cut and styled, but still age-appropriate. He is the shortest of the batkids, but still has a lot of time and potential to grow. He pretty much won the genetics lottery with Bruce and Talia as his biological parents, and is made for athletics. He has some scars that stand out with their pale coloring against his tan skin.

Personality: Damian is slowly becoming less of a brat, to put it bluntly. He admires his family and tries to mimic them, but will never confess it. Damian is quick to judge and will voice his opinion no matter how scathing it may be, both as civilian and hero. Damian is slowly realizing he may not want the Batman mantle as quickly as he planned. Jon is a perfect foil to Damian, and often makes him a better person when they’re together.

Speech: His speech is proper and formal. Prefers formal titles: ex. “father” over “dad” and last names over first. Damian is at least bilingual (Arabic and English), and can switch between languages easily. Most of his speech patterns developed from his tutors in the League, and more recently, Alfred. Influences like Jon and Dick have introduced him to a more modern, laid-back way of speaking, which he sometimes utilizes when relaxed.

Additional Attributes: Damian has problems with authority, especially those that he doesn’t respect like his teachers at school. He can be arrogant and childish ever though he often acts like he knows everything. Damian is still a child and has much to learn from batman and family as well as unlearn from his time at the League. Dami was forged to be a ruthless warrior, but now has to find a balance between the hero Robin and the child Damian Wayne.

Hope this helps someone! Feel free to add on if you think I missed anything. Just please remember to be civil and respect different interpretations of these characters. Let me know if you want another one of these posts outlining the girls or other characters.

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blazing-emblem · 4 years

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FEH Height Chart (Book 1-4, Summoners)

Here I am, after 2 years?, finally back with an updated height chart!! These heights are based on if the character is standing straight up and with heels. If they’re slouching or bent over, that is not taken into consideration. For example, Helbini is slouched over in his art. How tall I put him in the chart is how tall he would be if he stood straight.

DISCLAIMER: While I do have proof for why most characters are as tall as they are in this chart, a few are still pretty vague about their heights, so I have given them estimations instead. These characters with vague heights are: Surtr, Hel, Eir, Freyr, Freyja, Plumeria, Triandra, Mirabilis, and Peony. Feel free to change these up to your liking!

Below are the proof and reasons of these heights. You don’t need to read it, but it’s here if you’re curious of what I have to say, like for example, why Loki and Thorr aren’t here, or why the cast of Book 5 was omitted, and others.

Any evidence I have taken is only of when characters are right next to each other, enough so that you can see their height differences without much distortions from perspective or weird angles.

Askr and Embla

I was lucky to find a FEHkoma chapter where these three are standing together. Anna is not present in any of the animations, so she was the hardest to figure out how tall she is for the longest time. In Three Houses, Anna is 168 cm (~5'6"), but since the Heroes cast has no definitive height listed like in 3H, it’s hard to compare. So this shot from one of the chapters was a good find. From tallest to shortest, Alfonse>Anna>Sharena

Now this might seem a bit of a stretch, but the reason why I took this as canon is that all of these heroes are drawn by different artists, thus giving them different proportions because they were drawn by different people. But IntSys scaled these artworks like this for a reason right? I had to move Lif and Thrasir a bit lower because their feet weren’t on the same level as the others, but other than that, these heights look valid.

Another evidence can be found in Dragalia Lost where both Alfonse and Veronica are right next to each other. In the Valentine’s Day screenshot, Veronica is around where Alfonse’s eyes would be, and in the screenshot below, that is about how tall she ends up.

Here are for Lif and Thrasir (clearer version), and one for Bruno and Veronica.

As for Alfonse and Sharena, it was noted in Book 2, that Sharena was quite short. But in Book 3, it seemed she grew a bit taller, so I took the latter version as the one being canon. You might say that’s Lif’s Sharena, and thus should be different than our Sharena, but the FEHkoma chapter above makes Sharena the same height as the one shown in Book 3.

The results of the Askran and Emblian height differences was interesting. Gustav is the tallest character, with Bruno following next, and then Lif. Among the adult ladies, Henriette is tallest, then Thrasir, then Anna.

Nifl and Muspell

This is the screenshot that shows how tall Fjorm is against the Askran siblings. Since Alfonse and Sharena are pretty much a solid place to compare heights to, it makes Fjorm’s height a good place to start for comparing the heights of the Book 2 characters.

This is also how tall Sharena was before Book 3.

These two artworks below were drawn by Shigeki Maeshima himself. As the artist of Book 2, how tall he draws his characters would be pretty valid. A nice thing that both Laevatein and Laegjarn were drawn against Fjorm.

And the last of the remaining Book 2 characters were luckily found in the FEHkoma.

Hrid and Helbindi are both taller than Leagjarn, however, both are a bit vague on how much exactly taller they are, so I made them both as tall as Lif. It works out because Ylgr, who is as tall as Helbindi’s chest area, is as tall as Gunnthra’s chin. And Gunnthra is a bit taller than Fjorm, who I have said before is a good place to start comparing heights to.

As mentioned before, the only one who doesn’t have proof of their height is Surtr. It’s shown in the Book 2 trailer that is he quite tall, and even his sprite is the largest humanoid, biped sprite in the game so far. But that is all that’s known about his height. How tall he is to Alfonse, Sharena, or Fjorm is not clear. So I made him as tall as Gustav, who is the tallest proven character in the game.

Hel, Ljósálfheimr, and Dökkálfheimr

Now these characters...most of these are vague comparisons. Most of them have scenes together, but there are not against Alfonse or Sharena, hence why I said they have vague heights. Take these as a grain of salt.

Like with Surtr, I made Hel as tall as Gustav. Her body proportions in her art shows that she’s quite the lanky lady, which means she is tall. In the only scene she has with Alfonse with them "standing” (they are bent over), she is tall. Though how much exactly isn’t clear.

What we can know from Hel and Eir, is that Eir is as tall as Hel’s chin.

Same problem. These two have heights compared to each other, but not to either Alfonse or Sharena. So as a “base”, I just made Freyr as tall as Lif.

At least these next characters have some base, still not solid though.

In Dragalia Lost, Sharena mentions that Peony is nearly her size. Which backs up this scene in the Book 4 animation where Sharena walks in front of a mirror and Peony shows up instead of her reflection. You could say that this is to show that they switched places in the past, and the Sharena now could not be the true Sharena. Even in the Book 3 ending animation, when Veronica switched to Thrasir, their models were the same height, when it is now clear that Veronica is shorter than Thrasir. This was to show that they were the same person. That reasoning could apply here as well with Sharena and Peony.

But it’s something for Peony, so I went with it. I made Peony as tall as Sharena.

Now that we have some base for Peony, her scenes with Mirabilis and Triandra shows how tall they are in relation to the other characters.

In this scene with Mirabilis and Peony, there’s a bit of an angle and perspective that needs to be taken into consideration, but it wasn’t too drastic that I couldn’t use it. Because of perspective, Peony appears to be taller than Mirabilis, hence why I made Mirabilis as tall as Peony instead of shorter than her.

And lastly, Plumeria. Other than the Book 4 ending animation, there isn’t much material of her for me to use. But I couldn’t use the Book 4 ending animation because the perspective and angles were making it hard for me to compare her to Triandra. All I got from it was that she looked taller than Triandra.

So I made Plumeria as tall as Henriette. But Plumeria could be as tall as Frejya, who turned out to be a bit taller than Triandra. As long as Triandra is the shortest dokkalfr, you are close to canon.

Unmentioned Characters

Loki and Thor were omitted because it was very hard to find how tall they are in relation to the other characters. Even in Dragalia Lost and in the FEHkoma, they are seen by themselves, with each other, or hard to decipher because of the angle/perspective. I could have just put them in like I did with Hel and Eir (I didn’t include them at the start), but what made me include them in the end was because we know Hel is very tall, and that was enough to give me a comparison. Oh Hel’s tall? Let’s make her as tall as the tallest guy.

What we do know is how tall Loki and Thor are compared to each other because of Shigeki Maeshima. If Loki were to straighten up, she appears to be the same height as Thor, or she might be slightly shorter.

For the Book 5 characters, since there’s barely any content with them currently, so I have decided to omit them from the chart. We know they are short though since we were told, but I forgot where exactly. Reginn is shown to be as tall as Sharena, so Otr and Fafnir might be as tall as Alfonse or shorter.

Dagr was drawn taller than Nott in the promotional art, but in the Book 5 trailer, Dagr was shown to be shorter. Sooooo I am confusion

Summoners

I’ve been asked by @charlie-darkheart-roxas to include the custom Summoners in here too, so here they are. I didn’t include them in the overall chart though. Photoshop was already dying with the characters I have put in, and to add 7 more? Photoshop will kill my laptop. They’re compared to Alfonse anyways, so if you want to compare how tall a Summoner is to someone else, compare that character to Alfonse too, and there you go.

How did I manage to get heights from the different summoners even though most have never appeared in an animation? Simple.

Hooded Kiran is already shown to be taller than Alfonse in the Book 2 trailer, I think around Henriette’s height. Now selecting all the layers (in Photoshop) the Summoners are on, and scaling everyone at the same time, it keeps everyone in proportion to the Hooded Kiran.

And then I put them on the same “floor” so that they are on even ground. Surprisingly, the Summoners do have different heights. I’m surprised how short the white-haired Summoner is, and that the orange-haired Summoner is taller than the Hooded one.

Though of course, how tall the Summoner is, is up to you as the player in the end.

And that’s all for my updated height chart! I hope this helps you creatives out there with whatever you need this height chart for. I’ll do this again in a couple of years (maybe), or someone else do it for us ahaha

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 3 years

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Hokan’yc

A RESOL’NARE FLASHBACK ONE SHOT

A/N: This is long overdue and something I started working on WEEKS ago when @darkmist111 asked a question regarding Din and Navina’s former relationships. I mentioned a girl named Aashi that Din fell for when he was still a teenaged mando learning how to become a warrior and decided that I needed to tell their story so we know what happened and why he’s flying solo now. This is CHOCK-FULL of my personal thoughts on what training in the covert would be like so forgive me if my HCs contradict canon and please enjoy some young mandos in love.

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Warning: violence, death, injury- they are Mandalorians you guys, This is the Way and all that jazz.

Word Count: 6k

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He noticed right away.

The others did, too. They always did. It was an increasingly rare occurrence as they got older. The youngest in the covert were far more used to the sudden appearance of a new student among their numbers. Whether they’d been born a member of The Tribe or taken in as a foundling like he had, all children began combat training after their 8th birthday, so the addition of a new face- or more accurately an unfamiliar helmet- in class was anticipated, expected. But by the time they’d advanced through mid level and into the final years of their required training, newcomers were few and far between.

And they stood out. Hushed whispers of buyca circulated through the room, heads tilting in the direction of the only helmet not decorated with dings and dents.

The Instructor’s gloved hands came together in two thunderous claps to signal the start of the day’s training, the chatter in the dimly lit sparring hall dissipating as the upper level class fell in line for drills. There were no assigned rankings, the students simply using height order to determine who stood where, the tallest in the last of four rows. Third row had been his designation for years, never quite the largest or most formidable in the room. But the new addition had crowded the second row by one, the overflow meaning that he would need to step back.

Fourth row, finally, thanks to the shiny buyca.

He was welcomed to the ranks of the teenaged giants with a rough elbow from Hast, the blunt jab to the ribs serving both as a kind of jovial congratulations for moving up in the world as well as a reminder that he was still the smallest of the giants. Before he could return the gesture with a thump or smack of his own though, the Instructor's booming voice silenced both of the boys’ grunts and laughter.

“Hast! Djarin!” He flinched behind his visor and knew the broad shouldered hulk beside him did, too. Though he didn’t need to, both of them already aware of what they were in for, the Instructor pointed at the front of the room, indicating that they should join him there. “Looks like you’ve volunteered to be my demonstration assistants for today’s technique.” Dank farrik.

As he and his friend reached the front of the hall, feeling the stares of the rest of the class and knowing that under their helmets they were all biting the insides of their cheeks to keep from laughing at the misfortune the two had found themselves in, he prepared himself for a rough three hours. They’d worked on a single combat series that started with a sweep from the standing position and progressed to the ground, working on maintaining control during a fight before ending in a leg attack that when applied at full force was developed to disable the knee joint completely. Both volunteers had taken fall after fall, their limbs manipulated over and over as the Instructor demonstrated and the students got their practice in. While they were only applying light pressure as they torqued and twisted and pulled on the two volunteers’ legs, the two were left sore and aching from the repetition of the series.

If the reps and demonstrations weren’t enough, the half hour of sparring rounds afterwards certainly was.

Despite the over-torqued joints, fatigued muscles and sore spots from tight grips and unexpectedly harsh contact with the ground, he held his own for the first four rounds grappling almost as he did at full capacity. Vizsla was twice his size and always got the best of him, though still no more than usual. Hast had it just as rough as he did that day, so neither of them completed a submission during their round. He managed to sweep and submit Gralin, which was actually an improvement on their last match up, and he and Kevaz had each pulled off a submission within the allotted time of the round. Trying to control his breathing in the quick respite allowed between friendly simulated warfare, he hoped that there was still some herbal salve left in the jar back in his quarters. I’m going to need it.

His final round turned out to be the one that did him in. And it was against her- the buyca.

He, like all Mandalorians, knew that it didn’t matter if a warrior was male or female, large or small. It didn’t matter if they were quick or strong. What mattered was how well they could use the attributes and skills that they did have to defeat their opponent. He, like all Mandalorians, knew that underestimating your enemy before the fight begins is the first step in losing that fight. That’s not what he did with her, though the outcome was still the same.

The last thing he noticed as he squared off facing the newcomer, was the fact that even though she had also just finished three hours of drills and four rounds prior to that one, her helmet was still completely undented. It wasn’t even smudged. Has she even hit the ground? Mere seconds into the round he was on his back and he didn’t know how he’d gotten there, but she hadn’t let up, taking full advantage of his disorientation and finishing a very basic but extremely efficient shoulder attack. The rest of the round had been more of the same, though he was able to at least fend off any more completed submissions. By the time the Instructor called for the end of the day’s training, he was spent. But she seemed only mildly inconvenienced from the hours of physical exertion they had all just endured.

He decided right away that he had to learn what she knew.

Able to walk with far more ease than he could at the moment though, she was out of the sparring hall and heading towards the system of tunnels leading to the living quarters. Sighing, he waved off Hast and Vizsla’s attempts to get his attention, and gritting his teeth, hobbled as quickly as he could after her. “Hey,” he huffed, raising one hand in her direction even though she was facing the other way.

She slowed her pace to allow him to gain some ground, though she didn’t turn or stop. “Hey,” she responded almost questioningly, tone a mixture of uncertainty and amusement.

“I… you fight well.” He clenched his eyes shut and dropped his chin. You fight well? Di'kut.

That did make her stop, but only until he was immediately to her left, starting up again once he had a fair chance at keeping stride with her. Releasing a breath that sounded like a laugh, she nodded. “I know I do, but thanks.”

“I meant… your technique. It’s-” He tried to recall how she’d upended him so quickly, where she’d made her grips, the placement of her weight, but it was a blur. He shook his head. “I’ve never seen it. Not even in class.” So how do you know it? That was what he wanted to ask. How does a foundling know how to fight like that?

As though in answer to his unasked questions, she turned her head to face him. “We learned differently on Concordia.”

He blinked, the mention of Mandalore’s moon stopping him in his tracks. What? Of course it made sense now that she wasn’t new to Mandalorian culture. On the contrary, she’d been more heavily steeped in it than any of them. But I thought… Oh. It clicked then, that the buyca wasn’t that at all, not if she was raised on Concordia.

“When things… when we had to leave, my family came here.” She gestured at the walls of the tunnel they were walking through. “Dantooine is the only Mandalorian covert they knew of, so we joined our brothers and sisters here.” Turning back in the direction that they were walking, she nodded. “This is the Way.”

There was pain and heaviness in those words as she spoke them, but he knew that was true no matter who they came from. “This is the Way,” he responded.

She cleared her throat. “Right. So now that you know I’m no foundling, you don’t have to feel so bad for what happened back there.” She jabbed a thumb backwards towards the sparring hall.

He tried to shake his head but a sudden pinching sensation shot down his neck in protest so he aborted the motion. “No, that’s not what I-”

“No?” She stopped near the split of the tunnel where one branch led to the mess hall and the healing wing and the other to the collection of carved out spaces each occupied by Mandalorian families. He stopped as well, thankful for the chance to rest. She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck one hip out. “Then what did you chase me down for exactly?”

“I told you.” He was slightly confused by her question. “The technique that you used against me. I’ve never seen it before.”

She regarded him silently for a beat. “No, you haven’t.” She began walking again. “That was pretty clear from how quickly I had you down.” The smirk, or what he imagined might be one, was back in her voice.

He followed, trying and failing to hide the slight limp the day’s training had left him with. “Well can you-“ He stopped short to avoid crashing into her as she spun around again , the unexpected shift in his weight causing him to wince behind his visor.

Hands on her hips, she tilted her head, the dim light from one of the torches hitting the still undented, unmarred surface of her helmet at an angle that threw light around the dark hall. “Can I what?”

“Can you teach it to me?”

A small snort of laughter came from her, shoulders bouncing as she shook her head. “Didn’t you take enough of a beating for one day?”

He shrugged. “The Instructor says we don’t learn if we don’t lose. This is the Way.”

Mandalorians were taught not to fear or resent loss. Not in life and not on the battlefield. Though victory was the goal of every Mando’ade who engaged in combat, in sparring, losing was viewed as an equally valued outcome. Every loss came with the opportunity to learn. To adapt. Each opponent is a teacher and the true winner is the one who leaves the training hall with more knowledge and sharper skills than those they came in with. He was only trying to adhere to what he’d been taught, only trying to become the best warrior that he could be.

She nodded slowly, the motion giving over to a head shake instead as she let out a burst of air. “This is the Way.” She agreed, taking a step towards him. “But,” she placed her hand on his shoulder and he was glad she couldn’t see the slight wince the light contact forced across his face. “No.”

He cocked his head to the side, taken aback, the jerky motion sending a sharp pang of soreness through his neck and down his left flank. Damn that- but he ignored the twinge and focused on her refusal. “Why not?”

He knew that she was new to their covert, but the unspoken rule in the training hall was that all trainees had something to teach each other. It had to have been like that on Concordia, too. It was more than a rule, it was a responsibility, a duty to ensure that every member of the fighting corps was as well prepared as they could be. It was important to learn not only to trust but to depend on each other in battle, in the field. They were training to join the ranks of the elite within the corps, which meant that being anything shy of lethal would be considered unprepared. I know she’s new but she-

“Because,” she laughed, the lilting sound making him snap his attention to her hidden face. “It’s Djarin, right?” He confirmed with a nod. “Well, Djarin, I can’t teach it to you now, because you’re already in rough shape and I don’t want to explain to the Instructor next class why his best training dummy is all torn to shreds.” She was teasing, he could tell, her hand still on his shoulder as she gave it a light squeeze, and despite only having known her for a few hours during which she and the rest of the trainees had taken turns trying to rip him and Hast limb from limb under the Instructor’s tutelage, he thought she might be smiling. “But,” she went on. “I’ll give you a few days to heal up and then,” she nodded and dropped her hand from his body. “Then I’ll teach it to you.”

-- -- -- -- --

A few days later, the two of them agreed to meet in the sparring hall on a rare day off from drills, the sound of his body hitting the ground echoing in the nearly empty space each time she swept him. His grunts, every time she planted her foot on his hip filled the room, the clatter of his helmet scraping against the stone beneath him as she dragged him down and extended the leg she had planted to flip him over her head, the sound of their gloved palms smacking together as she offered him a hand back to his feet after a particularly harsh sweep. But each time she sent him off his balance, he picked up another detail of the technique, piecing them all together to understand the motion.

He could feel the bruises forming each time he hit the ground, and he knew that later that night when he got undressed to wash up, just like the day he’d met her, his hip and the side of his thigh would be covered in purple-blue splotches. Planting his hand firmly behind him, he let out a breath and pushed himself back to his feet. “One more.” His eyebrows came together in concentration beneath his helmet. “I think I have it now.”

She tilted her head, arms crossed over her chest. “You don’t quit, I’ll give you that.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

On the next try, he got the jump on her, accurately making his grips and bracing the sole of his boot in the crease of her hip. Dropping his weight in a sacrifice style throw, he extended his leg like she’d shown him, finally getting the timing right to send her flipping over his head and onto her back. Following her momentum and keeping his grips, he rolled backwards over his shoulder to come up in a mounted controlled position. That was it. I- She coughed out a wheeze, the air clearly knocked from her lungs. Oh, dank farrik I-

But before he could concern himself with whether or not he’d inadvertently hurt her, she grabbed his ankle, trapped one of his arms and with a bump of her hips, rolled them both over to reverse the position so she had the upper hand once more. “Nice work, Djarin.” She released his arm and ankle and stood. “But don’t forget to maintain control once you have it.”

She was right. He knew that. The Instructor had been drilling it into his and all of their heads since they were eight years old. If he caught me losing control that fast he’d make me regret it. He sighed. “Right.”

“That was,” he looked up at her as he got to his feet. “That was really good, though. Do it again.”

-- -- -- -- --

By the end of the month he was hitting the move against Kevaz and Gralin during live rounds. He’d also learned the buyca’s clan name was Zurn, and that she was an excellent training partner for him. In two on two drills, they teamed up against Hast and Vizsla, their individual attributes complementing each other’s well. Their extra time spent drilling together had allowed them to develop good non-verbal communication skills, and they learned to read each other well.

By the end of the year even the Instructor had noticed, and he recommended that the pair complete their final stage of the elite training program together. It was customary for recruits to team up for the last tests of their abilities as the missions that would determine whether or not Mandalorians were worthy and capable of the duties that they would be expected to perform. Protecting the Tribe. Striking first against known enemies. Reconnaissance. Responding immediately to threats. They were responsibilities that the man who raised him had taken upon his shoulders- a deeper level of the Creed that was sworn by all Mandalorians. This is the Way.

His buir had given his life in that line of duty only a few years prior, when the young Mandalorian was thirteen and had just finished his mandatory training. He had mourned in the moment, as was appropriate, but he, like all in his Tribe knew that his father was not gone. He had joined the Manda and would always be a part of the collective soul that each Mando’ade shared. His choice to follow those footsteps was a choice he made to honor the man. Had he not been a member of the elite fighting corp, he would not have been there to rescue the scared boy in the bunker, and that scared boy in the bunker might not have made it out.

That boy was no longer a boy nor was he scared. He and Zurn accepted the recommendation, and one year and two months to the day that they had first met, the two of them were sent out on their first overnight mission: staking out a rebel base on the planet that had been attracting a lot of traffic to Dantooine. The covert’s main goal was staying safe, secret and hidden from the Empire. But the increase of rebel activity wouldn’t go unnoticed for long, and the Tribe needed a clearer picture as to what they were facing, and if they needed to consider relocating the covert. He’d heard whispers that Nevarro, another planet in the Outer Rim, was the selected backup, but he, like everyone who heard those rumors, hoped that that’s all they would stay.

They were camped out behind a large outcropping of rock, completely concealed from view of the base in the dark of the night. They had spent the day charting a lay of the area and choosing a position that would keep them hidden until the morning, when they could hopefully get an idea of the goings on at the rebel encampment. He leaned against the cool rock, chin tilted upwards. The fire had burned down to just the embers, still providing enough warmth to get them to sunrise, but dim enough now to see the night sky and everything in it with no interference from the flames. Once he finished his training and had a real helmet, he would be able to change the filter on the visor to block out any amount of light he wanted. But for now he had to wait.

And he had been waiting. The last time I saw the sky at night I was-

He froze, a sudden weight falling into his right hand where it lay open on the dry ground. That’s… His eyes widened as he registered what it was, her fingers curling into his palm. She isn’t...

He was still wearing his gloves, but she had taken hers off to warm her hands by the fire. She hadn’t put them back on. He could feel the difference even through the worn leather, and it caught him completely off guard.

“Six,” he blurted, immediately cursing himself the second the syllable was out.

But instead of laughing or teasing him, the way she always had in sparring, he felt her grip tighten as she moved closer. “Six what?”

I… what do I say? Should I- He tilted his head down, watching his fingers close around hers as though they were acting of their own volition. Dank farrik, why did I just-

“Djarin?” He snapped his attention back up to see that she had turned, resting the side of her helmet against the boulder so she could look at him as she spoke. “You said six.” He sighed and nodded. I did. “Six what?”

He wasn’t sure if anyone aside from his buir knew this fact about him, the man gone and this fact with him. Why would anyone care? It doesn’t matter. But instead of ignoring the non contextual number slipping out, she had asked him what it meant. Which meant that it mattered to her. He realized in that moment that there was no one else he felt comfortable enough around to let his guard down and enjoy the stars or think about how long it’s been since he’d seen them. It was only because he trusted her that he had allowed his mind to wander into memories, that he was relaxed enough to even make the slip and say something he hadn’t meant to. He realized that he actually wanted to tell her. It shouldn’t matter but it… it does.

His right hand was still occupied with hers, so he pointed with his left at the endless, swirling silver pricks of light poking through the thick velvety blue black sky. “Ca'tra.” She followed his direction and trained her gaze upwards. “I haven’t seen the stars since I was six.”

Dropping his arm back into his lap, he felt her thumb swipe across the top of his glove. She was still touching only fabric, her thumbnail snagging on a loose stitch near the opening. But she was so close to making skin to skin contact that if he so much as sneezed she would leave her thumbprint on his pulse point. If that happened she’d feel it racing.

“Me’ven?” She whispered her disbelief, swiveling her head over to look at him. Yes, really.

None of the children ever left the covert at night. It was dangerous, they were told, because outside the halls of their underground home, there were people who would capture them, hunt them simply for being what they are- Mandalorians. That was one of the many reasons that their education revolved so heavily around weapons and combat; so they would be ready to defend themselves and others when, not if, they needed to. She and her family had come to the covert later on in her training, and things had been different where she was from, so she had no real frame of reference for what it was like to give up the stars, grow up without them. For the ones born here, they don’t… they don’t even know what they’re missing.

He took a breath, readying himself to explain. Before he could, the fire cracked as the flames found a pocket of moisture or an unlucky beetle in the wood, spitting a few red hot embers towards the pair of trainees. Without thinking, he pulled her out of the way and nearly on top of himself, one of her legs falling between his knees. He heard her surprised gasp as she caught herself, reaching for his shoulder to prevent their foreheads from colliding. His left arm curved awkwardly around her shoulders as he moved them both further from the fire and out of range of any more stray embers.

As he shifted, her fingers did too, sliding from his shoulder to his neck- to the narrow sliver of his throat that was visible between his collar and his helmet. To the place where his blood ran quick and hot beneath his skin at how close they were. He swallowed, knowing she would feel the movement of his muscles beneath her touch, unable to help the way he had reacted.

He still had her hand in his, was still holding her closer than he’d ever held anyone. Say something. “Sorry, I… the fire was-“

“Djarin?” She hadn’t taken her hand away, her fingers curling around to the back of his neck.

“Y-Yeah?” He cursed himself for the waver in his voice. Another reason to look forward to the helmet he’d receive upon the completion of his training was the modulator in the speaker component. It served multiple purposes. To further disguise a Mandalorian’s identity by modifying their voice, yes, but also to cover any vocal slips of emotion or signs of weakness. Though if he was being honest with himself he wasn’t even sure if the device would be enough to hide the effect she was having on him.

It didn’t matter though. Nothing did as she slipped her fingers into the wavy curls that stuck out from beneath his helmet at the base of his skull and he thought that every last star in the galaxy could burst, the entire sky exploding at once, and it wouldn’t take his attention from that feeling.

She… she’s… His mind was working as hard to form a thought as his lungs were to keep his breathing even. Both were failing.

“I’m glad you got to see the sky tonight.” She made no move to get off of him, and he tried to stay as still as the stone they’d been leaning against, unwilling to allow his own anxious movement to be the thing that chased her away yet unsure of what to do next.

He gave a small nod, keeping space between them so he wouldn’t knock her helmet with his own. “Yeah,” he let out a careful breath, trying not to let it shake as her light touch continued to ignite his skin. “Me too.”

Her fingers spread wide against the back of his neck, pinky dipping daringly under his collar, and suddenly he felt himself tighten the arm he had around her, his hand curving over her shoulder. This… if she doesn’t want this she’ll- He focused on the horizontal slit of her visor, his heart beating behind his eyes as he found himself wondering what color hers were, and what they would look like if he could see her now, what she’d look like, wanting this.

Wanting me.

She tilted her head down, a tiny motion that he might not have even noticed if not for the way the firelight flickered in the reflection of her helmet. “And I’m,” she paused and he felt her shoulders and back expanded under his arm as she took a breath. “I’m glad I got to see it with you, Djarin.”

“Din.” Like the number six, his name leapt from his tongue before he could pull it back, and its release into the world left him feeling almost dizzy. That’s- I just...I shouldn’t have- He felt her freeze and stiffen, heard her shocked gasp, and knew he’d made a mistake. I shouldn’t have told her. She doesn’t...we’re- we aren’t-

“You...did you just-” She brought the hand that was still twined with his up between their bodies, resting them both against his chestplate. Something in the weight of them and the way they looked covering the carved ironheart symbol in the center, made him wonder if maybe it wasn’t a mistake. She’s still… she hasn’t moved. She didn’t get up or… The fingers of her other hand curled around the back of his neck, gripping him more tightly. “Djarin, is that your-”

“Yes.” He watched their hands rise on his chest as he took a deep breath, then glanced up at the place where he wished he could meet her eyes, finding only the smoky lens of her training visor. “My name.” Wished he had followed her lead and shed his gloves too, he ran his thumb along hers, pressing down. “It’s-”

“Din.” She whispered it back to him. Though the times he had heard his given name since swearing the Creed had been few, he knew that it had never sounded like that. Before he could fully appreciate the charged, electrified way that it made him feel, she was sending another jolt through his chest as she spoke again, lowering her forehead even closer to his. “Aashi.”

That’s her...She told me her n- He moved the hand he had on her shoulder to her back, flattening his palm over her spine as the charge ran through his bloodstream. Gulping down another breath, all attempts at keeping his reaction from her discarded, he pressed her closer. “Aashi.”

Until that moment he’d only known her by her house name, Zurn, and the clan signet that she’d painted on the dented steel plate that covered her left thigh. Two daggers. He never thought that the symbol fit her. It was perfect for her Buir, the woman more than proficient with blades. But she- Aashi, his heart flipped in place just thinking it- was just as skilled and dangerous without knives or vibroblades, maybe even more so without them. He’d known that from the very first day he’d met her, when he first referred to her only as buyca. And now I know her.

She closed the remaining space to let the curve of her helmet meet his with a soft but audible, tangible clink. “Kar'taylir, Din Djarin.”

He sighed out her name again as her fingers slid higher up beneath his helmet in his hair. And to think I was impressed with the stars.

That night, for the first time since coming to live among the Mandalorians, Din Djarin felt the press of lips to his bare skin as she sat behind him and lifted her own helmet just enough to kiss the back of his neck.

Kar’taylir, Aashi Zurn.

-- -- -- -- --

He noticed right away.

As he looked back over his shoulder, the tilt of her helmet was off. She was moving too slowly. A sudden chill gripped his chest making it hard to take a breath as he shoved his way back through the fray to get to her. No! Cyare! Another blast hit the wall of a nearby home that came crumbling down, and he knew that at her current pace she wouldn’t get out of the way in time. Launching himself at her, he caught her in his arms and rolled them both safely out of line of the debris, shielding her battered body with his own. He was extremely grateful that they had both just received their beskar helmets, knowing that the metal placeholders they trained in would do nothing to protect them in this situation.

But as he dragged her into an alley to safely assess her injuries, he saw that having the beskar wouldn’t matter. Not for her, not this time. No… No, Aashi… His hands shook as he placed them over the growing red bloom at her shoulder.

Aashi’s helmet, one pauldron and both thigh plates were pure Mandalorian beskar. The rest was just durasteel. Since the Great Purge beskar had been extremely hard to come by. The Armorer had to be discerning in her distribution of new pieces, oftentimes awarding warriors with beskar for achievements or special services for the Tribe. It was how he had also come to possess select pieces made of the precious material. Her wound though, was on the shoulder not encased in impenetrable armor. And he knew what that meant. She did, too.

Another year had passed since the night by the fire- a year that had kept them and the rest of their squadron busy in protecting their covert from the encroachment of Imperial violence. A year that had been spent deepening their bond not only as warriors but as partners. A year that made him certain that he was bound to her in all but ceremony.

“You h-have to go, Din.” Her voice was hoarse and thin, the modulator in her helmet doing little to hide the obvious agony she was in. He felt her weak grasp on his wrist as she tried to pull his attention from her bloodied shoulder to her face. “Din…” Hearing her speak his name in that tone broke him, and he dropped his head, letting her take his hand, letting her bleed slowly into oblivion.

“I won’t leave you.” He could hear how stubborn he sounded and he hated it. Hated that he couldn’t detach like he’d been trained to, hated that he would have to leave her, hated that he hadn’t been there to take the hit that she’d taken.

Using what little strength she still had, she brought her hand up behind his neck, fingers sliding slowly into his sweat slicked hair. He let out a shaky breath and realized his eyes were damp. “You could n-never leave me, cyare. You are a p-part of me, always.” She bent her fingers gently to nudge his helmet down to meet hers, and he placed both of his hands on the sides of her head. “B-but you have to...to warn the others. You n-need to… the covert. They need to…”

“Shh,” he silenced her, moving one hand down to mirror her touch, placing it on the back of her neck. “I know. I… I will.” He knew that she was right. He had to get back to the covert to help as many of the Tribe escape off planet to Nevarro as possible. He hadn’t gone through additional training, sworn additional oaths just to forsake it all to die in this ally with her and let the rest of the Tribe suffer the same fate. “I will.”

“Kar’taylir, Din Djarin…” She managed once more to tell him what he’d felt for so long, and then he felt her go limp, felt his heart stop, felt the world dim.

She was gone.

No. He shook his head, banishing the heartache that threatened to claim him. No. Not gone. She could never be gone. Like she told him, he was a part of her. And she was a part of him. She would be, always.

Leaving her there was the hardest trial he’d ever undergone, but there was nothing more he could do for her, and he refused to let her death be for nothing. He pushed himself back up and ran back to the covert, alerting who he could and helping as many to safety as possible.

It wasn’t until night fell three days later on Dantooine that he allowed himself to finally feel the cuts, the breaks in his heart. He had stayed behind with the rest of the elite squadron until all of the Tribe’s members were accounted for, either fallen or fled to Nevarro. Only he, Hast, Vizsla and a handful of others remained on the planet, and would be leaving in the morning never to return.

He’d spent that day solemnly traveling to the place of their first mission together, to the outcropping of rock where they’d hidden from the rebels and bared their souls to one another. When he arrived there, he felt her, as though some part of her presence had stayed there that night. He thought a part of himself must have, too. Silently, he knelt down and took the blade from its sheath on his boot. Kaysh meg miit'gaana, oyacyi. The act of writing, even something that was unlikely to be read, even something that only he knew existed, was an act of commitment. Though Mandalorians were not known for making monuments to the dead, remembrance was of personal importance to all who swore the Creed. Placing his other hand on the cool stone, he brought the sharp edge to the rock face and began carving into it. One symbol, then the next, etching the lines until all five were legible. He didn’t know how long it took, but when it was done he knew how long it would last.

“Kar’taylir, Aashi Zurn. Darasuum.”

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek @fific7 @becs-bunker @commanderlola @greatcircle79 @cannedsoupsucks

#din djarin #mando #the mandalorian #young din djarin #pedrostories #the mandalorian fanfic #resol’nare #resol'nare one shot #din's first girlfriend #aw #this is the way #mando'a #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #mando fanfic #mando fanfiction #din djarin x oc #pedro pascal characters

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spicycreativity · 3 years

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Ticket Crimes - Oneshot

Rating: T Words: 9,752 Characters: All Category: Gen Summary: To welcome his new crew members about the USS Foley, Starfleet Captain Janus Gaines schedules shore leave on the pleasure planet of Ya'Lotus. Janus and Virgil run into an old acquaintance who seems to have ulterior motives; Roman and Remus attempt to infiltrate a drug trafficking ring; Patton and Logan narrowly avoid death on a history tour. Content Warnings: Mild violence/violent intent, alcohol use/mild intoxication, guns and phasers (no shots fired), mentions of drugs and drug trafficking (no drug use depicted) Note: You do not need to be familiar with Star trek to read this. In fact, it's probably better that you're not, because I took a LOT of liberties with canon

Doctor Patton Kelsey's boot heels clicked along the metal floor of the USS Foley as he made his way out of Sickbay. Despite the corridors' unusual emptiness, he kept to the right side out of habit, dragging his fingers along the wall as he went. He counted the doors, mouthing the numbers to help him keep track, until he came across the door he was looking for.

There was nothing usual about Ensign Virgil Salem's door except for the fact that it rarely ever opened. Virgil emerged for his shifts and for scheduled meals and made himself scarce the rest of the time.

Patton had studied Virgil's chart extensively but found no psychological defect that would render him unfit to serve in Starfleet. Surmising that Virgil was shy, Patton privately declared himself responsible for looking after the young recruit. The fact that they had joined the crew at the same time only served to strengthen this notion.

Patton raised his fist and knocked gently on the door, knowing full well that Virgil was inside. "Ensign Salem?" No response. "Virgil? Kiddo? Our group is about ready to beam down."

"Do I really have to go to that?" Virgil asked, his voice muffled behind the door.

"You don't want to?" Patton asked. "It's a party for us!"

"I would have been fine with a bottle of Saurian brandy, but nobody bothered to ask for my opinion, did they?"

Patton smiled a little and leaned against the doorframe. "Look, kiddo, you'd better just come with me before Captain Gaines calls you over the intercom."

"Shore leave is supposed to be optional," Virgil shot back, but Patton could tell that his resolve was slipping away. Virgil took a while to warm up to things, but he could usually be convinced.

"Not when the whole reason we're here is to celebrate you!"

"And you," Virgil said, and he was much closer to the door now.

Patton stepped back and waited for the door to slide open. It did a moment later, and Virgil appeared still tugging on his gold tunic over the standard issue black undershirt. His dark brown hair, slightly longer than regulation permitted, stuck up in the back where he had been resting his head against his pillows. Patton absentmindedly smoothed it down, though he managed not to lick his hand to do so.

Virgil let him lead him down the hall toward the Transporter Room. "You know I'm not actually your kid, right?"

"But we look so much alike!" Patton smiled sunnily at him. Patton was sturdy and soft where Virgil was rail-thin, and his honey blonde hair and blue eyes contrasted with Virgil's own dark hair and darker eyes.

"Sure, pops." Virgil shook his head, but there was a fondness to it. "I look like your shadow."

He stuttered his steps as they approached the Transporter Room so Patton would enter before him. Virgil respected Captain Janus Gaines, but he was also keenly aware of their difference in rank whenever they shared space. While Captain Gaines played fast and loose with regulations and encouraged his crew to do the same, Virgil never forgot what those regulations were. They had been drilled into his head at the Academy and haunted him like a ghost no matter how casually the Captain treated him.

"Took you long enough," Janus drawled. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost."

"That was one time," Virgil said before he could stop himself. Not that it mattered; Janus had only ever been amused by Virgil's backtalk.

The rest of the party to beam down were milling about like guests at a mixer, largely ignoring Virgil and Patton. Janus stood out among them not only for his nonchalance, but for his unusual appearance. He made no secret of rejecting his half-Vulcan heritage and regularly spirited away Lieutenant Commander Remus Aime to help him bleach his hair and eyebrows. This resulted in unhealthy-looking white-blond hair and stark black roots. To make up for this transgression, he kept his hair at an acceptable regulation length, one that revealed his mismatched ears. The left was pointed exactly as a Vulcan's ears would be, but the right was rounded like a human's. Contributing to the asymmetry were his mismatched eyes: the left was a piercing blue while the right was warm and brown.

"We're ready now!" Patton said. He often focused on the bridge of the Captain's nose to avoid staring openly at him, and he did so now with a sunny but vacant smile gracing his lips.

"Places, everyone," Janus said, cutting off the murmured conversation between the remaining party members.

They all stepped onto the platforms, Virgil with his stomach turning with nerves, Patton staring dead ahead, still smiling.

It was over in a blink.

Janus stepped forward, turning around so he could address his party. "Gentlemen," he said, raising his arms for maximum melodrama, "welcome to Ya'Lotus."

"Uh, yeah, so what is this place?" Virgil asked, stepping off his platform.

He was interrupted by Lieutenant Roman Aime, who had made no secret of his disregard for Virgil since day one. "Weren't you paying attention the first two times we explained it to you?"

Janus rolled his eyes, annoyed at having lost control of the conversation, but made no attempt to regain it. "Logan?"

The android nodded at him, stepping forward and edging Roman out of Virgil's space. "Lotus Island, located on the planet of Ya'Lotus, is a popular shore leave destination due to its vast array of amenities and unique ticket-based economy."

Virgil, who had not been paying attention in the slightest the first two times this was explained to him, frowned. "Ticket-based?"

"Like Earth money," Remus Aime interjected.

"Yeah, yeah," said Roman.

"Ooh, like the county fair!" Patton said.

Virgil wheeled around to face him. "Is that an Earth thing? I'm from Alpha Proxima II."

"Well," said Janus, regaining everyone's attention by clapping his hands once. "Thank you, Ensign Salem, for that fascinating little jaunt into your personal history. But seeing as we're here to have fun, why don't you just stick close to me until you figure everything out, hm?"

"Yes, sir," Virgil said, squinting at Janus. He, like many others, was never sure where he stood with the half-Vulcan, and was unsure what to make of him because of it.

"Joy," said Janus. Addressing the rest of the landing party, he said, "Virgil and I are off to the Tier III Lounge. Is anyone else coming?"

"Logan said he wanted to do the self-guided history tour," said Patton, nudging the android in the ribs.

Logan nodded, causing his ash blond hair to dance along the line of his jaw. His gray eyes differed from organic beings' only in that they reflected no light, and he turned this unsettling gaze upon Patton, who tried not to flinch. "That is correct."

"An island full of debauchery and you're going on a history tour?" Remus demanded, grabbing a fistful of Patton's shirt. Despite the height disparity (Patton being the tallest member of the party and Remus being the shortest), Patton bit his lip and leaned back as much as the young Romulan's grip allowed. With his extravagant face tattoos and devilish bearing, Lieutenant Commander Remus Aime was no stranger to getting his way through intimidation tactics.

"You get free salt water taffy," Patton said, glancing around to see who might assist him.

It was Remus' twin brother who came to his aid, yanking Remus back by the hair. "Knock it off."

"I am your superior officer!" Remus said, releasing Patton and turning to face his brother.

"Oh, I do apologize, Lieutenant Commander Hair Dye," Roman said. To Janus, who was toying with his bleached locks with an exaggerated carefree expression, Roman said, "We'll go with you."

"No way!" Remus said, freeing dark hair from his brother's grasp. "I don't want to go to some stuffy lounge."

"We'll find our own fun on the way," Roman said.

"Again with the melodrama." Janus sighed and looked over at Virgil, who was slouching with his hands jammed in his pockets. "Follow me. If we lose them, we lose them."

Janus turned on his heel, an impressive feat given he was supplementing his already substantial height with three-inch heels, and left the receiving Transporter Room with Virgil in tow. Always loath to be left out, Roman followed suit, trailing Remus, Patton, and Logan behind him.

The first stop was a massive receiving terminal where they were all made to spin a wheel to receive their first round of tickets.

"How, exactly, does this work?" Virgil asked, folding his tickets into a small stack.

"If you really cared to know, you should have paid attention the first two times Logan explained it to you," Janus said, stuffing his own tickets up his sleeve like an Earth magician. "You're more than welcome to join him and Doctor Kelsey on the history tour if you think that would be a better way to spend your time than a high-end liquor tasting."

"You know," Virgil said, "I think I'll stick with you."

"That's what I thought."

A fair distance behind them trailed the Romulan twins Vrih and Vaebri i-Elehu tr'Aime, better known but their preferred names. Given that they hailed from a particularly superstitious region of the planet Romulus, the twins had dubbed themselves "Roman" and "Remus'' respectively to avoid the bad luck of giving away their full names.

"Captain Quick Step is trying to ditch us," complained Remus, his boot heels clicking against the concrete. Patton and Logan had already peeled off, leaving the brothers to tag along after Janus and Virgil on their own.

"Don't let him," Roman urged, nudging Remus to hurry up.

Lotus Island was a hectic place, bustling with all races of aliens. Music rang out loud over strategically-placed speakers and workers called out for the crowd to try their luck at a variety of carnival games from multiple cultures. Sequestered away in gravity-defying skyscrapers were gambling halls, and further inland towered the tracks of massive roller coasters.

Remus dodged an inebriated Orion and nearly tripped, grabbing onto Roman's tunic to stay upright. "He's dodging and weaving, that bastard!"

"You shouldn't have worn heels," Roman chided, grabbing Remus by the wrist and yanking him forward.

"You're wearing heels, too."

"But I can actually walk in them."

Far ahead of them and gaining ground, Janus was employing Earth-based power walking techniques. Virgil stuck close behind him at a jog, toying with his tickets, privately amazed at the unfamiliar sensation of actual paper between his fingers.

Virgil, despite his rigorous Academy training, was somewhat out of breath. Janus was not, and even if he was, would not have allowed Virgil to see him gasping for breath. He had determined long ago to take the best of his Vulcan heritage and the best of his human heritage, suppressing his weak points far beneath the surface where no one could ever see them. Despite his fondness for Remus, Janus Gaines was simply not a man who allowed himself emotional attachments and weaknesses, and this had very little to do with his early childhood training on Vulcan.

"Any particular reason you're running me like a racehorse?" Virgil asked.

"Like you've ever seen a racehorse," Janus replied.

"Okay, don't answer the question."

Despite their rapid pace, Janus managed to turn and leer at Virgil, micro-expressing as only a Vulcan could. "Because it's funny."

Virgil didn't see what was so funny about ditching crewmates, but (wisely) kept that to himself. "Why don't we catch a lift, then?" He gestured to one of the many ride services available, surreys and bicycles, rickshaws and moving sidewalks.

"We're almost there," Janus said, motioning to a blue-black building ahead of them. The rounded windows were blacked out, leaving Virgil to wonder at what was inside.

It was a regular lounge, as he soon found out, quiet and upscale. The interior was dark and just a touch too cool for Virgil and Janus' liking. Virgil crossed his arms as he followed Janus to the bar, but was soon distracted by a familiar hissing and clicking from the corner. "Is that a pinball machine?"

Janus looked at him like he'd just said something phenomenally stupid, mostly to hide the fact that he had only a vague idea of what a pinball machine was. "You can worry about that or you can let me buy you a drink."

"Fine," said Virgil, who had yet to master the subtle and esoteric art of decoding Janus' communication style. He clambered onto a barstool and picked at the piping on his sleeves that denoted his rank while Janus ordered something that the universal translator couldn't translate into English.

The sensation of eyes on him made Virgil shudder. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and glanced down the bar only to make eye contact with a pair of green eyes. They belonged to a Vulcan Virgil had never seen before. Unsure of what to do, Virgil froze, leaving the Vulcan to break the eye contact. He looked Janus up and down, then up again, his gaze lingering on his bleached hair.

"Dude," said Virgil, once he had recovered from the off-putting sensation of having been cased and rejected, "I think that guy likes you."

Janus leaned forward and peered down the bar before pulling back in an attempt to hide behind Virgil. "Shit."

Then came the voice, bassy, yet undeniably Vulcan in its even monotone. "Chu'lak? I thought that was you."

"Fuck," said Janus, already smiling, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He slipped off the barstool and landed cleanly on his toes so the click of his heels didn't disturb the lounge's quietude. "Sihok."

Sihok saluted both Janus and Virgil, though his attention was mostly on Janus. "Scheduled shore leave?"

"A welcome party," Janus said, holding out his hand for a shake.

Sihok eyed it with what Virgil regarded incorrectly as apathy and Janus recognized as disgust and a trace of amusement. After a fraction of a section of hesitation, he shook Janus' hand. "And this is the new recruit?" he asked, indicating Virgil with a small nod.

"Ensign Virgil Salem," Janus said.

Virgil, who had been trained in cross-cultural contact, gave the proper Vulcan salute with a trembling hand. Despite being unable to decipher Sihok's body language, he could sense the tension between Sihok and Janus as keenly as he could the difference between scotch and bourbon. Somewhere behind them, Virgil registered the click of their drinks being set down.

"Ensign Salem," said Sihok. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Virgil said, trying not to fidget.

"It is gratifying to know that you've held on to your manners despite your proximity to Chu'lak and his… half-measures."

Virgil's eyes went wide and he quickly averted his gaze. But to Virgil's surprise, Janus, rather than dressing Sihok down, gave a cold chuckle and put a hand on Virgil's shoulder. "It's Janus. Captain Janus Gaines."

"You always did have trouble conforming," Sihok said.

"Yes," said Janus, "Mathematically speaking, I thought I would go for half acceptance. How do I measure up?"

Seeing that his companions were otherwise occupied in their strange battle of insults, Virgil rotated slightly to retrieve his drink from the bar behind him. He had a feeling he was going to need it if Sihok stuck around for much longer.

Sihok lifted one eyebrow ever so slightly. "They call you The Mad Vulcan."

"Well, now you have my attention." Janus turned and retrieved his own drink. "Shall we get a booth?" He knew perfectly well that Sihok was getting at something, and the mystery of the subject matter had him more curious than he would care to admit. He was reasonably sure he had managed to hide this from Sihok, having expressed anger and amusement as a sort of misdirection.

Virgil said, "Is this a worm?" He held his drink up to the light, examining the fizzing red liquid within to try to get a better look at the thing floating in it. "Like mezcal?" From the look Janus gave him, he judged that the universal translator hadn't been able to find a good Vulcan equivalent of the word. "Never mind. Booth?"

"But first." Janus held up his glass for Virgil to toast. "Congratulations, Ensign Salem. Welcome to the Foley."

"I didn't want to go to that stupid lounge, anyway," Remus said, crossing his arms. In a fit of pique, he grabbed Roman's braid, which ended just shy of his lower back, and gave it a yank.

"Oh, don't pick a fight with me just because you're grumpy," Roman said, flicking Remus' temple. "There's a million other things to do; I'm sure we can find something more fun than stalking the Captain and the new kid."

"Drugs?" said Remus, brightening considerably.

"I meant like a roller coaster or something, but if you want to go find an upper, I guess that's--"

"Let's go!" Remus started walking away.

"Seriously?" Roman said. "I was kidding! An island full of stuff to do and you want to get high?"

"Re-lax, Vrih. Janus will have a fit if I bring drugs onto the Foley, inside or outside of me. This is more of a personal challenge." Remus continued on his merry way, weaving behind buildings and sticking to areas so nondescript that Roman would have stayed away from them out of pure instinct.

"C'mon, Vaebri, I'm sure the heavily-regulated pleasure planet doesn't have a scary criminal underbelly for you to infiltrate. We're wasting time."

"We're almost there," said Remus.

"What do you mean we're almost there? Almost where? You've never even been here before."

"Do you ever shut up?"

Roman crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, but continued to follow Remus as he strode away from everything that made Lotus Island appealing. They ventured past a few 'Keep Out' signs written in Federation Standard and Vulcan into a gray jungle of humming machinery all locked inside tamper-resistant metal cages. Remus darted up to one particular machine and wasted no time jamming his face up against the grating.

"I'm gonna leave," Roman threatened, his arms still tightly crossed over his chest.

Remus was only half-listening, having just uncovered something he found far more interesting than gambling or thrill rides. "This powers an elevator!"

"Ooh," said Roman, barely giving the gray machinery a glance, "an elevator. Not like the Foley has turbolifts or anything."

"Someone wasn't paying attention to Logan's little spiel."

"Uh, yeah, Ensign Salem."

"No, no. You know what's under the island?"

"Water?"

Remus rolled his eyes and gave Roman's braid another tug. "You've been spending too much time with the Captain.

"Will you knock that off?" Roman demanded, kicking Remus in the shin.

"It's the staff's living quarters!" Remus said, growing bored with the argument.

"Oh," said Roman. "So we're definitely sneaking down there to take a look around?"

"Way ahead of you," Remus said, already fiddling with the control panel.

Behind them came the distinctive hiss of turbolift doors opening, followed by conversation. Roman and Remus, in a moment of synchronization, both turned on their heels and stood at attention. As Romulan twins, they were both fully aware of the attention they tended to attract once strangers figured out they weren't Vulcans. But the pair of humans, both wearing hot pink uniforms denoting them as staff members of Ya'Lotus, didn't so much as glance up as they carried on toward the Midway.

The twins exchanged a glance, then Remus dived for the closing doors with Roman hot on his tail.

"Nice," said Roman, already examining the panel of buttons.

Remus pressed one at random and the elevator began to drop, taking them far beneath the surface of Lotus Island. When the doors opened again, the twins were met with the sight of pale blue walls and concrete floors. It was eerily silent.

Roman stepped out hesitantly, looking around for any possible passers-by, but there was no one. He motioned for Remus to come out after him. While Remus held the higher rank, arbitrarily bestowed by Janus, Roman was the older (and bossier) twin and had yet to relinquish the sense of authority he had gained from a childhood of leading Remus around Romulus and, later, Decos Prime.

"What language is that?" Remus asked, nodding at the phrases painted on the walls.

Roman studied it for a moment. "Federation Standard. Sickbay is to the left, plus the Medical Staff Break Room. Living Quarters to the right."

"Break room," said Remus, already heading toward it. Roman fell into step beside him, so perfectly synchronized that the click of their heels on the concrete sounded like that of only one person. It was a trick they had perfected in childhood that had served them well in previous instances of trespassing.

"It's kinda freaky down here," Roman muttered. "Where is everybody?"

Remus shrugged. "Sleeping? Working?" He wasn't too bothered. Remus was of the mind that getting caught was half the fun of misbehaving.

"And what do you want with Sickbay, anyway?" No sooner had the words left Roman's lips did realization click into place. "Are you still on drugs?" he hissed, barely resisting the urge to grab Remus by the shirt and drag him back to the elevator.

"No, I'm not on drugs," Remus whispered back, displaying a picture-perfect shit-eating grin. "That's the problem." Upon spotting the door to the break room, he fell out of step with Roman and lunged forward to peek inside.

Roman was savvy enough to stop walking when he noticed Remus breaking away. He watched, half annoyed and half embracing the inevitable, as Remus froze in the doorway with wide eyes. With his facial tattoos, his unruly hair, and his mustache (which he had to shave before every inspection), Remus did not pass for Vulcan half as well as Roman did, even with his long hair.

Still, Remus straightened and crossed his arms behind his back, falling into a passable impression of Vulcan stoicism. "Good morning."

In the hall, Roman frantically flashed the Vulcan salute, trying to get Remus to notice.

"Officer," said a voice from within.

"Lieutenant Commander," said Remus, wiggling his fingers playfully at Roman behind his back.

"Did he send you?" asked another voice.

Remus' facade fractured for a moment, his lips twitching with excitement. He clenched one hand into a fist and shook it at Roman as much as his current positioning would allow. Roman rolled his eyes, confident now that Remus could see him.

"Yes." Remus had to fight to hold still as he stared down the two Caitians lounging at a table in the center of the room. They both had PADDs and communicators in front of them, both had half-empty mugs of a substance Remus couldn't identify.

One of the Caitians, whose name tag identified her as M'Birr, tilted her head at Remus, pupils going wide. "Shaa. What if he's lying?"

Remus rocked forward onto his toes, and he flashed several nonsense hand gestures at Roman behind his back in excitement. It was time to bring out one of Janus' favorite lines, albeit with less sarcasm than the Captain usually employed. "Vulcans do not lie."

"Yeah," said Shaa, her pupils also wide, "I have heard that. Beside, the Big Guy would have vetted him before sending him to us."

Bored with the waffling, Remus decided to take a risk. He had no way of knowing what or who the Caitians were referring to, or even if there was any mischief afoot. But Remus had a nose for trouble and he could see Roman getting bored in the hall. So he adjusted his posture and fixed M'Birr with his best impression of a calculating Vulcan stare. "I was instructed to obtain a sample of the product."

It was all he could do not to squirm in delight when M'Birr sighed and said, "He could have at least given you a Staff shirt. How am I supposed to sneak a member of Starfleet into Sickbay?"

"Incidentally," said Remus, still wiggling his fingers at Roman, who was pantomiming shock in his peripheral vision, "I wasn't told the name of the product."

"Like it matters," said M'Birr. "They're calling it 'kin.' How much did he tell you to move?"

Before Remus could answer, one of the communicators on the table chirped. "Voight here."

"Shaa."

"Starfleet's onto us."

Shaa side-eyed Remus, who took pains to hold completely still. "How can you be sure?"

"We've got two hitting all the stops on the trail. Not buying. Just looking. They went straight from the Help Desk to the Founder's Statue."

Remus and Roman sighed in tandem, both knowing full well it had to be Patton and Logan making their rounds on the self-guided tour.

"Not with us," Remus mouthed, looking M'Birr in the eye.

She exchanged a glance with Shaa, who shrugged briefly and addressed the communicator again. "What's the plan?"

"Dispatch. We can't let them off the planet."

"On our way." The two Caitians stood and moved toward the doorway where Remus was still standing. "Sorry, Lieutenant Commander, but we've got trouble."

Unable to help himself, Remus said, "You're just gonna leave me down here?"

"I'd think a Vulcan would know better than to cause trouble," M'Birr said pointedly. "Excuse me." She pushed past Remus, followed closely by Shaa. "And who's this?"

"Backup," said Roman, trying not to react to the sight of the two cat-like aliens before him.

M'Birr stared at him, calculating, but Shaa nudged her and said softly, "We don't have time for this."

"See yourselves out," said M'Birr. She and Shaa took off for the elevators, leaving Roman and Remus to stand awkwardly until they were out of sight.

"Drugs!" said Remus, stamping his heels on the floor and shimmying. "What did I tell you?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Roman, annoyed despite himself that Remus had gotten his way. "Can we go save our friends from getting murdered now?"

"Sure," said Remus, heading back toward the elevator, "if they haven't already died of boredom yet."

After receiving their specially-programmed PADDs for the self-guided tour (along with two bags of saltwater taffy), Patton and Logan had set off for the first stop on the tour.

"Ooh," said Patton, who was attempting to read, walk, and eat taffy at the same time. "There's trivia."

Logan grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him out of the way of a group of Andorians. "I believe that all the knowledge we gain here today could be referred to as 'trivia,' Doctor Kelsey."

"No, no." Patton shoved a candy wrapper in his pocket so he could use both hands to show Logan the PADD. "There's a trivia contest at the end! We should pay extra close attention."

"Noted," said Logan. "I will make an effort to keep the information in my memory banks."

"Oh, by the way." Patton navigated back to the map of Lotus Island. "You can call me Patton, you know."

"If you're sure," said Logan. "I am aware of the human concept of 'politeness' and did not wish to overstep if you were being polite when you introduced yourself."

"Nope! You really can call me Patton," Patton said cheerfully, holding up the PADD and rotating it, trying to get his bearings. "Where's Virgil when you need him?"

(Virgil was, at the moment, weighing up the benefits of crawling under the table and abandoning Janus and Sihok to their Vulcan mind games)

"Allow me to assist." Logan removed his own borrowed PADD from under his arm. "Next up is the, ah, 'Fun Wheel.'"

"That thing?" Patton asked, pointing to the massive Ferris wheel ahead of them. At their current proximity, the hulking metal contraption dominated the horizon.

"Yes," said Logan, biting back a sarcastic comment. The Captain responded well to sarcasm and Logan's communication style had evolved accordingly, but time and experience had shown that most people found Janus' sarcasm off-putting. And Logan had seen him don the mask of diplomacy, which received much better reception. So Logan decided he would be diplomatic in the hopes that it would make Patton feel at-ease. Logan did not want to be the crewmember responsible for scaring off their new CMO.

They made for the Ferris wheel, Patton still with his nose buried in the PADD. "You get more taffy for correctly answering trivia questions!"

"What could we possibly do with more taffy?" Logan asked.

"Share it with the others!"

They reached the viewing platform of the defunct Fun Wheel and both held up their PADDs to read the description.

What the PADDs did not tell them was that less than 30 guests attended the self-guided tour per Earth year and those guests that did were rarely members of Starfleet. The PADDs had also not been programmed with the knowledge that every single stop on the tour was a tradeoff point for distributors of a new drug known colloquially as 'kin,' as the scientific name was several syllables long, untranslatable from Golic Vulcan, and contained a multitude of niche phonemes.

"Do you smell that?" Logan asked, searching his memory banks for several pieces of data at once.

Patton sniffed and looked around in confusion. "The ocean?" Most of Ya'Lotus consisted of a saltwater ocean that contained no indigenous life. The sea breeze was fresh and cool and smelled, to Patton's human nose, unremarkable.

Logan shook his head. "There is a strong chemical smell emanating from the lower cabin of the Ferris wheel. I believe it may be opioid in nature."

"Opioid?" Patton sniffed and again could only smell rust and sweet ocean air. "You can get all that just from the smell?"

Logan nodded and approached the low metal fence, leaning over it to try to get a closer look at the cabin. It was caged off and covered with a fine mesh that blocked even his keen android eyesight. He cycled through his senses, again landing on smell as his best means of solving the puzzle before him. Beneath the smell of iron and grease, there was a definite tang of something other, something distinctly sedative. He wasn't specialized to identify chemicals like this, and the sensation of answers dancing just out of reach in his databank was enough to elicit an emotional reaction. He looked at Patton and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fuck."

"Whoa!" said Patton, tucking the PADD under his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Forgive me, Doct-- Patton. I am expressing frustration because I would like to know the source of the smell."

Patton leaned in over the guardrail. "Maybe it's just an industrial agent you're smelling? I can't think of any reason why opioid drugs would be anywhere near a Ferris wheel. Not here, anyway. Not on this planet."

"You're right," Logan said. "I will let it go." To emphasize this, he let go of the railing and stepped back. "Are you finished reading?"

"Yeah," said Patton, also backing up. "Let's move on."

And they turned and walked away from the first hidden kin manufacturing still on the tour.

By this point, Janus was fairly sure Sihok was getting at something, though he was circling around the point like a seabird waiting for the kill. It was a tactic Janus could respect, though it was decidedly un-Vulcan. Virgil, meanwhile, signaled for another round of drinks with his fingers. He too had an idea that Sihok was getting at something, and that Janus was as well. While he was admittedly inexperienced with Vulcan body language, he was reasonably sure that Janus hadn't figured it out yet. With boredom and alcohol combining in his mind, Virgil sat back and decided to try to figure it out before Janus did. Sure, he was just an Ensign, but he wasn't stupid.

At the moment, Sihok and Janus (whom Sihok insistently referred to by his Vulcan name, Chu'lak) were talking lightly about their careers.

"I thought," said Janus, drawing one fingertip around the rim of his glass, "you were studying xenobiochemistry."

"I was."

"So how did you end up here of all places?" He gestured to the room at large. Virgil, tracking the movement with his eyes, caught sight of the pinball machine and gazed longingly at it before remembering himself. "As I recall, you had a natural talent for the sciences. If you'll forgive my saying so, working security at a glorified casino seems a bit beneath you."

Sihok's expression did not change that Virgil could see, but he marked that Janus was smirking just a bit.

Sihok nodded. "I discovered in the course of my schooling that xenobiochemistry better suits me as a hobby. And, if you will permit a lapse in logic, I find the the atmosphere of Ya'Lotus most agreeable."

"You dig the vibe," Virgil blurted before he could stop himself. Janus and Sihok both stared at him and before his eyes, the expressions he had mistaken for disapproval read simply as confused. A small spark of triumph ignited in him; he was learning to understand Vulcan mannerisms.

"That didn't translate," Janus said.

"I thought you spoke Federation Standard," Virgil said.

"That was not Federation Standard."

Virgil's cheeks began to burn. "Ah, never mind. You were saying?"

"I think," said Sihok, "there is a certain beauty in mathematics. Do you agree?"

"Sure," said Janus. "But why do I get the feeling that you're not referring to fractals?"

Virgil fished a maraschino cherry out of his drink and began to bat it around the table with his fingertips.

"There is an objective beauty in symmetry," Sihok said vaguely. "No one could argue that. But it's asymmetry that has my interest. Chu'lak, answer a question for me."

"Yes?"

"Where are you staying tonight?"

Virgil stilled, his eyes flicking to Janus. He had no doubt that the question had translated oddly, that Sihok wasn't seriously propositioning Janus. But Janus had been given an opportunity to tease, and even from his limited experience aboard the Foley, Virgil knew that Janus rarely passed up an opportunity to make fun.

"I hadn't decided yet," Janus said with an arch smile, staring at Sihok under his lashes. "The Foley, I suppose, or someplace lavish if I ever make it to the casino."

Virgil resumed playing with the cherry, knowing on some level that he was behaving unprofessionally. He was just drunk enough to not care, the alcohol softening the sharp edges of his anxieties.

"Why?" Sihok asked.

"Why?" Janus repeated.

"You have everything you need on the Foley, don't you? And the free accommodations here are sufficient to sustain life? Why strive for more?"

Janus made no effort to hide his confusion. His patience was wearing thin. He had been intrigued at first by Sihok's vague enterprise, but his insistent refusal to get the point left Janus struggling for diplomacy. "I didn't think you cared for philosophy, Sihok. You've changed."

"Think it over," Sihok said.

The maraschino cherry rolled across the table. Virgil grabbed for it, having flicked it a little harder than intended, but missed, and watched in a hazy mixture of horror and amusement as it rolled off the edge of the table, hit Janus in the knee, and bounced to the floor.

"Sorry," Virgil mumbled, already ducking to grab it. Movement under the table caught his eye; Sihok adjusted his grip on something. Forgetting the cherry, Virgil eyed it curiously. It looked very like the rolls of Lifesavers that Alpha Proxima II would import from Earth, little pieces of culture to keep the colonists connected to their heritage. Virgil had preferred dark chocolate bars and later, coffee and brandy, but his mother had been quite fond of the sharp taste of spearmint Lifesavers. Whatever Sihok had a grip on was wrapped in a translucent white paper that allowed Virgil to see the colorful discs within. Not wanting to linger too long, Virgil resurfaced with the cherry and set it down on a cocktail napkin. "Sorry," he said again.

"Didn't you say you wanted to try the pinball machine?" Janus asked. He was already formulating an exit strategy, but it had never been his intention to hold Virgil hostage. Sihok was taking his time getting to his point, and this was supposed to be a welcome party for Virgil. "Here." He scooted out of the booth and stood.

"Thank you," Virgil said. He walked slowly, listening as Janus apologized and Sihok began to wax philosophical once more about the beauty of asymmetry in mathematics.

A few rounds on the Starfleet-themed pinball machine only left Virgil frustrated and half-sober, overstimulated. He didn't understand why Janus didn't just make an excuse and go. They had both been drawn in by Sihok's vague manner, but Virgil knew that his continued refusal to get to the point must have been driving Janus crazy.

The music changed to something reminiscent of heavy metal, blast beats ringing loud in Virgil's ears. He practically felt in his face: the shredding guitars, the way all the conversations became louder to compensate, the beeps of the pinball machine. Virgil had been declared mentally fit to serve in Starfleet, having proven he could push through bouts of anxiety and even thrive in high-pressure situations. But subjecting himself to the torment of this noisy bar was unpleasant and wholly unnecessary, so he turned and followed signs for the bathroom.

Once inside, he leaned back against one of the cool metal walls, heedless of the potential for infection. He had been vaccinated for just about everything under the sun upon joining Starfleet and he doubted any pathogen on Lotus Island could make it through his defenses.

The door opened and shut and a human stepped in, eyed Virgil up and down. "You look like you could use a chill pill."

It was old vernacular, slang Virgil had picked up at the Academy, because no one on Alpha Proxima II talked like that. He was quiet for a moment, wondering if this stranger was merely using a turn of phrase or if they were, in fact, stupid enough to offer drugs to a member of Starfleet. He decided on the former. "Am I that obvious?"

"You're about to chew a hole in your lip," the stranger said. "Look, you're already bleeding."

Virgil had long grown used to the taste of iron on the tip of his tongue. "It's just a little loud out there."

"I've got meds that can help with that," the stranger said.

Virgil blinked and reassessed: they really were that dumb. "I'm Starfleet," he said incredulously, glancing down at his yellow tunic in case he had somehow taken it off and forgotten about it.

"So what, you're not allowed to cut loose a little? You're on vacation."

Virgil scoffed and let the back of his head rest on the wall, marveling at the audacity of this strange human.

To buy himself time, he walked over to the sink and began to wash his hands. A plan was beginning to form in Virgil's head, neurons firing and making connections. He steeled himself and turned back to the stranger. "How much?"

"So, and just so I'm crystal clear on this," Remus said, stomping along beside Roman with his unstyled mohawk ruffled by the breeze, "our heroic plan to rescue Patton and Logan is to take the guided tour?"

"Oh, shut up." Roman backed away from the Help Desk and shoved the PADD at Remus. "Ugh, I don't understand maps at all. Where's Virgil when you need him?"

(Answer: Making a drug deal in the bathroom of the Tier III Lounge).

Remus studied the PADD. Roman had already set the translation to Romulan, but it was crude and hard to navigate. "Man of metals?" he asked, squinting.

"Oh, nevermind." Roman snatched the PADD back and began to walk. "It's the Founder's Statue. It's made of titanium and platinum. Get it?"

"Well, that's a terrible translation," Remus grumbled.

"Maybe you should learn Federation Standard," Roman nagged. This was far from the first argument they'd had about it and he already knew that Remus would refuse point-blank, masking his frustration and insecurity behind stubbornness. Remus had none of his brother's knack for languages, and while he was a talented engineer, he'd always struggled with his classes far more than Roman had.

"Maybe the Federation should start using Romulan," Remus shot back, and changed the subject before Roman could escalate the argument. "You never answered my question. What's the plan?"

"We need to catch up with either Patton and Logan or, uh… the Caitians."

"Shaa," Remus said with unnecessary smugness, pleased to have something on Roman, "and M'Birr."

"Sure."

They were both out of breath by the time they reached the Founder's Statue, both privately regretting the decision to wear heeled boots. The marginal boost to their height still left them the shortest members of the crew, a fact for which Janus loved to tease them.

"Onward to the next one," Roman said, looking around and seeing no one. He held up the PADD, and Remus peered over his shoulder.

"Rotation wheel," Remus read in Romulan. He looked up at the towering Ferris wheel in the near distance. "Well, that shouldn't be too hard to find."

"It's called a Ferris wheel," Roman complained. "It's a proper noun. Why would they try to translate that?"

Remus paused so he could stamp his foot. "Focus."

"Yeah, yeah." Roman tucked the PADD under his arm.

They caught sight of the two Caitians just after the Ferris wheel and pulled back to avoid being spotted.

"They have guns!" Remus said, a touch too loud even for his own liking. "Real guns! Not phasers!"

"Speaking of…" Roman sighed and touched his hip where his phaser and communicator would sit. Weapons were not allowed anywhere on Ya'Lotus and communication was restricted to their own official channels. "What are we supposed to do?"

"Vulcan nerve pinch?" Remus reached over and grabbed Roman's neck.

Roman stared at him, unamused. "Right, so we'll just try to stay out of a fight. Maybe if we can get around them, we can catch Logan and Patton and, uh… Well, get the Captain, I guess."

"Running off to get Daddy at the first sign of trouble," Remus sighed. "This is why I got promoted and you didn't."

"Yes, that's why. Not because you were the only one stupid enough to risk bleaching the Captain's eyebrows for him."

"Only chemical burned him one time!" Remus said proudly. "Where are we going, by the way?"

"Oh." Roman consulted the PADD. "Banana stand."

"What's a--"

"Walk and talk."

Remus shook Roman's hand off his shoulder. "What's that?"

"It's a kind of Earth fruit. I'm sure they have them here, since the founder of Ya'Lotus was human."

"Boring," said Remus. "Race you!" He took off running, moving awkwardly in his heeled boots. Roman sighed, looked around, and grabbed a tandem bike. It was not the most dignified form of transportation on the island, but it was one he happened to be familiar with. He and Remus both had a bit of a fascination with human history: Remus specializing in weaponry and warfare and Roman preferring to study courtship rituals. He mounted the bike with only a little difficulty, found his balance, and pedaled after Remus

"C'mon, get on."

"Oh!" said Remus happily, not even bothered by the direct order. "It's like a motorcycle with pedals!"

"How have you heard of a motorcycle but not a banana?"

"Will you focus?" Remus flicked Roman's shoulder blade. "You are now officially the Navigator and Helmsman of the Federation vessel Gemini."

"Subtle." Roman would have rolled his eyes, but between trying to steer and keep an eye on the PADD, didn't want to risk it. "What does that make you?"

"The Captain, obviously," Remus said. Roman put his head down as they pedaled by Shaa and M'Birr, but Remus whooped and flashed them a rude hand sign.

"Are you trying to get us killed?" Roman wheezed, a little winded from having to haul both his and Remus' weight. "Fucking pedal!"

"Don't talk to your captain like that," Remus said, giving the pedals a few half-hearted turns.

"Could you at least take this a little seriously? Our crewmates are in danger!"

"Oh," said Remus, kicking his feet out, "guns aren't that dangerous. Not compared to phasers."

Roman just huffed and didn't answer. He steered them to the banana stand without incident and, upon seeing Patton and Logan about to leave, dived off the bike to reach them. Ignoring Remus' annoyed cries behind him, he sprinted over to his wayward crewmates. "Hey!"

"Roman," said Logan, glancing over at Patton in surprise. "You appear to be in distress."

"We gotta get out of here," Roman said in Romulan. Despite the universal translator, he usually switched to Federation Standard out of politeness when speaking with Logan and their human crewmates (though Patton's native language was Welsh), but he was too stressed at the moment to try to switch gears.

Behind him, Remus cursed and examined his left palm, which he had thrown out to break his fall when the bike had tipped. "I'm gonna kill you."

"Kill me later!" Roman shouted back. "We gotta go!" He wrapped his arms around Patton and Logan's waists and started to steer them toward the crowded boardwalk. "Remus!"

"I'm bleeding!" Remus said, scampering to meet them.

"You are?" Patton stopped and turned, ignoring Roman's cursing. "Is it bad?"

"Kiss it better?" Remus asked, batting his lashes.

Roman dragged his hands down his face. "Do you want to get in a gunfight with-- Oh, don't answer that. Of course you do."

"Forgive me, Lieutenant, did you say gunfight?" Logan asked, extricating himself from Roman's slackening grip.

"We don't have time for this!" Roman stamped his foot to try to get Remus' attention, but he was too busy playing up his injury for Patton. He only had a few minor scrapes across his palm, a few dots of green blood here and there.

"Roman, I must insist that you explain," Logan said. "I understand that you are agitated, but if you simply explain the situation, I'm sure we can--"

"We don't have time!" Roman interrupted. "Is it not enough to know that we're in danger?" He turned to his brother, desperation shining in his eyes. "Back me up on this."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you tried to murder your superior officer," Remus said as Patton continued to pick bits of gravel out of his palm.

Along the path, Roman caught sight of the Caitians. Their pace was quick but not frantic as they scanned the horizon for their target, hands on their guns. Roman whispered an untranslatable swear word and made a decision.

Abandoning his crewmates, he straightened, crossed his arms behind his back, and strode forward to meet M'Birr and Shaa.

"Greetings" he said, trying not to let his voice tremble.

"You again?" said Shaa, crossing her arms. "Where's your partner?"

Roman swallowed. "After some discussion, we agreed it would be logical to interfere on your behalf."

"How so?" M'Birr asked. She frowned at Roman, her eyes scanning him.

"We acted under the belief that Starfleet officers would be more likely to trust other Starfleet officers. As you can see, we were correct. We have gained their trust and ascertained that they are not aware of the operation." Shaa tilted her head, and Roman felt compelled to add, "Vulcans do not lie."

"If you're really Vulcans," M'Birr said, still eyeing him with wide-pupiled green eyes. "And not, say, Romulans."

Roman forced his face to remain impassive. "That is an easy mistake to make, particularly if one is not familiar--"

"Oh, shut up." M'Birr drew her gun. "We can take care of all four of you."

Roman's pulse and breathing quickened, his vision narrowing to a very small spot, centering on the matte black of M'Birr's handgun. It was bulkier than a phaser and, he reminded himself, less deadly. He stared at the barrel, mind formulating and discarding half-formed plans for escape. Regardless of what Remus had said, he really didn't want to get shot.

What Roman did not see in his narrow-minded panic, was Remus abandoning Patton and flanking his brother and his assailants. He also did not see Patton flanking the other side, nor did he notice Logan appropriating a golf cart from a confused family of humans.

Remus flew into Roman's field of vision and tackled M'Birr, followed shortly by Patton who dropped Shaa with a sweeping kick to the knees. Adrenaline kicked in and Roman grabbed Remus by the wrist and hauled him up, spotted the golf cart, and dived for it. Patton beat them there and swung around to the passenger seat.

"Go, go, go!" they all shrieked, and Logan obediently stepped on the accelerator. The golf cart began to roll forward at a leisurely pace.

"Oh, are you kidding me?" Roman demanded.

"It's okay!" Remus said. He had turned so he could peer out the back, and was happy to see Shaa and M'Birr still struggling on the ground. "Dang, Patton, I think you broke Shaa's leg."

"Don't say that!" Patton wrapped his arms around himself and instead turned his attention to Roman. "What was that all about, anyway?"

Roman explained, punctuated by interjections from Remus. This concluded with Remus sitting back in his seat with a huff. "I can't believe nobody got shot."

"Should we have confiscated their guns?" Patton wondered out loud.

"Hopefully security will deal with them," Logan said. "Does anyone know where the Tier III Lounge is, by the way? I've been making evasive maneuvers, and now I am unsure--"

"So we're lost," Remus interrupted. "Possibly with more assassins after us, if the kitties called for backup."

Roman rested his forehead against the back of Patton's seat. "I hope the Captain is having a better day than we are."

Despite the lack of immediate danger, Janus was having a much worse day than the whole of his crew, save perhaps Virgil, who was still negotiating his drug deal in the bathroom.

"So you see," Sihok was saying, his drink nearly untouched, "an asymmetrical system is beautiful not only for those at the top, but for those at the bottom by instilling hope in them that they might someday reach the top."

"Capitalism," said Janus, bored. "You just described capitalism."

"Perhaps I did," Sihok said, and displayed the Vulcan equivalent of a guarded smile.

Janus masked his utter confusion behind raucous laughter. "Sihok, what exactly are you implying?"

"Nothing at all," said Sihok primly. "I was merely displaying my admiration for the artful execution of a certain style of economics."

That was when Virgil emerged from the bathroom clutching a roll of tablets, the drug known as 'kin.' It was identical to the one Sihok was holding, and the implications of this turned his stomach. Sihok was head of security for the whole of Ya'Lotus, and the way he had spoken to Janus had implied that he was after something, though Virgil had no idea what it could be.

Virgil hurried over to the table, heart racing in anticipation of what he was about to do. He had information that Janus might need and he couldn't speak it out loud. After hearing he had been assigned to the Foley, he had made a point to study the biology and abilities of Vulcans, though he had no idea what telepathic abilities Janus might have inherited as a human-Vulcan hybrid, and a genetic anomaly at that. Virgil was taking a risk, one that might draw the Captain's ire or make him look foolish, which was as dire a consequence to Virgil as death.

He approached the booth and, before Janus could get up, gently rested his hand on Janus' shoulder.

Janus froze. Sihok marked this, and Virgil noticed him notice. Dread trickled down his spine like cold water. "Excuse me, Captain," he said weakly.

"Bored already?" Janus asked. He directed an amused look at Sihok and said, "The human attention span," in a tone of patient exhaustion, then got up to let Virgil in.

Virgil was careful not to brush up against Sihok's legs, but he could tell that Sihok was staring as he scooted back up against the wall. Despite Janus' lack of reaction, he had a sneaking suspicion that his plan had worked too well and that not only Janus, but Sihok as well had picked up on the information he had transmitted.

They all lingered for a moment in a silent standoff. It was Janus who broke the silence, laughing again and rolling his eyes. "I have to say, Sihok, I'm a little disappointed. And offended, if I'm being honest." He took the roll of kin from Virgil and set it on the table. "You're pushing a capitalist drug empire on a pleasure planet. What was the master plan? To establish a capitalist regime within the Federation with you at the top? How un-Vulcan."

Sihok ignored the slight. "I had intended to offer you a partnership. Are you declining?"

"Was that not obvious?" Janus asked, abandoning the last of his pretense at Vulcan restraint. "Not only am I declining, I'm calling you an idiot. Sihok, you are an idiot and a disgrace to the planet Vulcan, and I don't mean that as a compliment. I suppose now you're going to kill us before we can report you to Starfleet?"

"Yes," said Sihok.

"How?" asked Janus. "We're sitting down. Do you want to arm wrestle us to death?" Sihok took a breath to speak and Janus cut him off, "Don't even think about your phaser. Sure, you could get one of us, at which point the other would disarm you."

"Well," said Sihok, "it seems we have reached an impasse."

Virgil took another risk. "May I?" he asked, nodding at Sihok's drink. "You haven't touched it and if I'm going down today, I'm going down drinking."

"Control your crewman," Sihok said to Janus, deadly serious.

Virgil took the drink. "Thanks." He held onto the tumbler, using the numbing ache of chilled glass against his palm to ground himself.

"So," said Janus, disregarding Virgil, "an impasse."

"About that," said Sihok. "Your Ensign is new to Starfleet; you said so earlier." He drew his phaser and aimed it at Janus. "I do not believe he has the capacity to disarm me, especially as he has been drinking and his reaction time will be slowed."

Thinking that now was as good a time as any, Virgil touched Janus' leg and splashed his drink in Sihok's face. They both scrambled out of the booth and sprinted out the door. They paused for a moment to get their bearings, and that was when a golf cart plowed into Virgil at a speed equivalent to 10 miles per hour.

Logan hit the brake and reversed so as not to run over Virgil's legs. "Forgive me, Ensign Salem. Are you alright?"

Roman, who hadn't picked his head up from the back of Patton's seat, began to lightly tap his forehead against the metal support bar. "Please tell me you didn't just kill our Helmsman when we need him most."

Virgil scrambled to his feet, too full of adrenaline to register any serious pain. "We gotta get out of here."

"You too, huh?" Remus said. He patted the seat next to him and addressed Janus. "Climb aboard."

Janus hopped on and was forced to sit on Remus' lap. Unruffled, he barked, "Ensign Salem, evasive maneuvers. Now."

Virgil hopped into the driver's seat, which Logan had recently vacated, waited for Logan to clamber onto the back of the golf cart, and slammed down the accelerator. "Where to?"

"Evasive maneuvers, Ensign Salem. Let's lose our pursuers before we worry about a destination."

"Yes, sir." Virgil pulled around the back of the Tier III Lounge just as a dripping-wet Sihok emerged, phaser drawn. The chase that ensued was unremarkable, as the golf cart began to pick up speed while emitting a worrisome whining noise.

"I made some adjustments to the engine while we were moving," Remus said proudly.

"That's impossible," Janus answered.

"I said that, too," Logan said.

Virgil continued to steer them in concentric circles around Lotus Island, self-assessing now that he was calmer. He could already feel the dull ache of impending bruises on his hip and elbow, but the damage seemed minimal.

"So," said Roman, "who are you evading?"

"Oh," said Janus, feigning boredom, "just a would-be capitalist drug lord Vulcan hellbent on murdering us. You?"

Roman put the pieces together. "Said Vulcan's lackeys, also hellbent on murdering us."

"Oh!" said Patton and Logan simultaneously, albeit for very different reasons: Patton to express dismay and concern, Logan realizing why he had smelled opioids earlier.

"You're welcome, by the way," Remus said, addressing Patton since he was easier to reach. "Those Caitians were after you and Logan."

"Thanks," Patton said weakly. "You know, I'm not feeling very relaxed."

Janus looked around and, seeing no trace of either murderous Caitians or murderous Vulcans, leaned forward to address Virgil. "Set a course for the Transporter Building, departures terminal. Let's get the Hell out of here."

After making some arrangements on the viewing deck, Janus arranged for Virgil and Patton to be summoned from their rooms, where they had both gone to decompress. Virgil and Remus had first been strongarmed into going to Sickbay, where Patton looked them over and pronounced them fit for duty.

Remus was showing off his bandaged hand to Janus and regaling him with a greatly embellished tale of how he had received the injury when the doors slid open and Virgil and Patton appeared.

Patton came in first, Virgil lingering behind him. "Aw!" he said, looking around at the array of alcohol and finger foods arranged picnic-style on the floor. "What's this?"

"It's your welcome party," Janus explained. "Since Ya'Lotus didn't quite work out. Come sit."

Patton sat down next to Logan, leaving Virgil to occupy the empty space next to Janus. Janus offered him half a smile. "You did well today, Virgil. You may even have saved my life." He paused, then added, "Although I probably still could have disarmed Sihok before he got the shot off. Regardless." He poured Virgil a glass of bourbon. "Thank you, Ensign Salem. You did well."

"Yay, Virgil!" Patton said happily.

After ensuring that everyone had drinks, Janus regained command of everyone's attention and raised his glass. "A toast to honor our new crewmates. Virgil Salem, Patton Kelsey." He looked at them in turn. "Welcome aboard the Foley."

#spicywrites #spicywrites ticket crimes #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #platonic dlampr

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the-kings-of-games · 3 years

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20 Somewhat Important Questions for [Kizunashipping]

Who sleeps in the middle? Crow mostly. He likes being held, and Jack likes holding both him and Yūsei. Yūsei is happy with whatever as long as everyone's comfortable.

Who is the best cuddler? Jack, by force. He has a habit of pulling whoever's closest and laying them on top of him when he takes naps on the couch. He likes the extra weight, and tucks Crow or Yūsei under his chin and wraps his arms around them carefully.

Who gets hurt the most? Lmao, probably Crow if we're talking about small cuts and bruises. He's not really careful about himself when doing routine stuff, and they don't really hurt most of the time really. It's just a part of his day really. If we're talking about larger wounds and injureis, Jack if he's dealing with crime again (lol) or Yūsei in sacrificing himself for his friends (smh).

Who acts like the baby? Depends. Jack can be very childish with his high standard of luxury and spoils himself on the team's budget. Yūsei can be childish too by being petty if Jack and Crow get into another argument and manage to actually annoy him. Crow is the baby because he's the youngest out of all three of them and will act like it if it's just between the three of them. Usually, he does it to get something he wants like extra sweetness to his drink (usually rejected by Jack).

Who teases the others the most? Crow. He's a lot better at it and more happy to do with than the other two. That being said, Jack and Yūsei can tease him right back in their own way.

Who proposes? They don't get married, but when it comes to making big important decision, there's just an unspoken agreement to do it together. Move into Poppo Time and join the WRGP as a team. Live in the same house together when Jack and Crow are on breaks from Turbo dueling. Take responsibility over the kids any of them have together or separately. (Jack and Yūsei allot themselves as the other dads of all of Crow's kids.)

Who is the most protective? They all can be very protective, but Yūsei is the one to hold grudges if someone ever really hurt Jack and Crow (and his other friends). Crow is protective in a mostly physical manner as in pushing loved ones out of the way, or using his body as a shield. Jack's the most confrontation about and will the danger head on.

(My favorite canon moment of protect Kizuna is when Team 5D's meet Team Unicorn and Jack and Yūsei stand in front of Crow and tell Unicorn to back off. That was so sweet and adorable, I love them so much just for that.)

Who is the closest to the child? (Whether it be a fur baby, scale baby, or human child.) They're all close to their kids in their own way! I gave them three kids: Sky (oldest), Loki (middle), and Haruka (youngest). I love them all very much.

Yūsei is the main parent for Sky and Haruka while Jack and Crow are gone on their tours. Martha, Akiza, and the twins are also there in the instances when he's not available due to work or something. He knows their habits and body languages very well, he pays attention to his kids. Loki doesn't live in City becuase he lives with his Roganorak parents, but Yūsei makes sure to video chat with him at least once a week and always sends gifts. Once Sky gets older, Yūsei will get into arguments with her over programming and stuff; it's one of their pastimes. Haruka will stay out, but he's also their level of nerd and will throw hands too.

Jack is the one who spoils the most. Kids say the darndest things, but this man will take them seriously. If Sky says she wants lava cake, Jack will say they're going to France. If Loki says he misses his otō-san, Jack will cry and promise to come and see him as soon as possible. Even when Haruka gets taller than him, Jack will carry him if Haruka asks. He's always making plans to spend time with his kids when he's home! They're his first priority.

Crow gets all the instinctual love because Hogans are hella close. He can sense trouble the moment any of his kids thinks about it, but he's also the most understanding about causing trouble. Yūsei worry because he doesn't want his kids to get hurt, and Jack would want it done under parental (his) supervision. Crow is, like, be careful, come home for dinner, call if you need help.

Jack and Crow visit whenever their tour is in Europe to spend time with him, they also do video calls and send gifts.

Who gives the best advice? Hmmmmmmmmm, Martha.

Who is like a therapist? They all have their ways of being the therapist? Mostly it's cuddling each other until whoever is having a bad day feels like talking. Sometimes, the cuddling is just enough. They don't talk things out as much as they recognize how the other is feeling and show physical affection as their way of comfort. If they want to talk, they'll talk.

Who sings B and C to sleep? Jack. Sometimes, he hums.

Is the relationship healthy? They try to do good by each other, and aren't afraid to call stuff out. They genuinely love each other and adore each other, but also have their own space. They're not completely dependent on each other, and are awfully close. They're queerplatonic!

Do A and B have a stronger bond with each other? Or do C and B or C and A have a stronger bond? Or are A, B, and C close together [equally]? Jack and Yūsei definitely have something that's only between the two of them, but that doesn't push Crow out. Jack sees Yūsei as his number one rivals, but he also sees Crow as a formable challenge and would not want to lose to Crow not just because he's the King but also because that's his best friend too.

Crow and Jack have the comfortability of arguing because they both want and need a push in their daily life. Yūsei and Crow love each other.

Who can be trusted to be left home alone? Yūsei.

Who cries the most? Jack, hands down.

Who is the softest? Jack has the softest touch, and Crow is the softest to touch. They're all soft in heart in their own way.

Who is the shortest? Crow. Two to three inches of his height is just hair, I swear.

Who is the tallest? Jack. Tol since childhood.

Who likes cuddles the most? Crow! He loves being sandwiched and pampered.

Last of all, who sings terribly in the shower? Crow is a terrible singer, but he loves to perform whether he looks good or not. Jack and Yūsei find it endearing and silly, and they can tell he's in a good mood when they hear him sing in the shower.

Original post!: https://never-close-our-eyes.tumblr.com/post/171983768644/20-somewhat-important-questions-for-ot3s-who

#imagine your ot3 #kizunashipping #crow hogan #jack atlas #yusei fudo #yugioh #yugioh 5ds #flame muses

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haberdashing · 4 years

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No Puppet Strings Can Hold Me Down (9/?)

The Magnus Archives fanfic. An AU that diverges from canon between episodes 159 and 160, in which Peter Lukas’ statement that “he got you” takes on a different meaning.

on AO3

Breakfast... dinner... brinner was quiet and uneventful, after that. It would be easy to assume that it was meant to be a comfortable silence, that they had said all the things that really mattered back in the Lonely, but was that really true, or was there more to it than that? Jon thought it was the latter. Or perhaps Jon simply hoped it was the latter, hoped that this silence might be a sign that Martin knew more than he was sharing and didn’t much care to make small talk with Jonah Magnus regardless of whose body he was wearing. It was hard to tell for sure.

After they both were done, though, the silence got heavier. There was no clear activity for them to do next, after all. There was only them, them and an unkempt but cozy safehouse and time that needed to be spent within it or around it until they needed food or sleep once more.

Jon had dreamed of a life filled with nothing but leisure time like that, once.

Jon had dreamed of an awful lot of things that seemed to be coming true now in the worst way possible, like his subconscious had gotten hold of a monkey’s paw and milked it for all it was worth.

Martin was the one to finally break the silence between them. “Are you good now?”

Jon felt his face wrinkle and contort in a semblance of confusion. “That’s an awfully broad question. What do you mean?”

Martin hesitated, blinking a few times before responding. “I just meant, er...” His voice trailed off a bit as he looked pointedly at one of the stray piles of newly-brought belongings strewn across the place, though what made that particular pile special Jon couldn’t tell at a glance. “You’re not still hungry?”

“Martin, we just ate.”

“Not- not that kind of hungry.” Another semi-furtive glance directed towards the same pile of unorganized necessities. “Just, you know, I brought them along for you and all, but I don’t know how often you, well, need one-”

Jon put together the pieces a moment before Martin made his meaning even more plain, though Jonah just raised his eyebrow in response.

“The, the statements. Do you need to go read a statement, Jon?”

Even though he knew he had no control over the actual response to Martin’s question, Jon thought about what his response would be just the same. He’d started to practically take the statement reading for granted, these past few months, which probably wasn’t a great sign in hindsight; honestly, he’d grown better at tending to that need than making sure he ate actual food, if only because he’d learned the hard way what happened when that sort of hunger went unchecked. Now that he thought about it, though, he felt fine, at least physically. No hunger, no weakness, none of the symptoms he’d once mistaken for an illness before he’d known better.

Had it just not been long enough since the last statement for it to set in, or was his current situation enough to override that need, at least for the time being?

Jon’s train of thought was unexpectedly derailed by the sound of his own voice speaking up.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Alright, well, they’re all ready for you. Got a bunch over there-” Martin waved a hand in the direction of the pile he’d been staring at before. “-though I didn’t look too close at what I was grabbing, they might be ones you’ve read already, or, or even fake ones, I don’t know-”

“I’m sure it will be just fine. Thank you, Martin.” Jon felt his lips curl into a smile he didn’t really feel.

“Don’t mention it. Just, er, while you’re busy with that...” Martin scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Mind if I take a nap?”

A brief moment of hesitation, in which Martin’s face grew more and more pink by the second.

“Not that I don’t like hearing you monologue, but I figure hey, if the bed’s not being used...”

“Oh, of course. Go right ahead.”

“Thanks.”

Martin went off to curl up in the bed, and Jon hoped that he slept well, that maybe they could keep making arrangements like this so Martin could at least spend some time sleeping somewhere more comfortable and height-appropriate than the sofa.

Jon couldn’t tell if Jonah was looking for something specific in the statements, but he did glance at a couple before deciding on one and pulling it out from the stack, giving Jon a bit of a paper cut in the process, though he knew from experience the sting wouldn’t last and the cut would likely be gone in minutes if not seconds. A small blessing, there, one minor upside of an otherwise horrible situation. Lose your humanity, heal faster from paper cuts. Not Jon’s idea of an ideal trade-off.

“Statement of Isaac Kaufmann, regarding the aftermath of an attempted mugging. Original statement given August 13th, 2009. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins...”

It was a bizarre feeling for Jon, reading out loud a statement without being drawn into it, going through the motions without any of the emotions he usually associated with the act. He felt bad for the guy, sure, but that was just basic human sympathy (or basic inhuman sympathy perhaps), not literally feeling everything this Mr. Kaufmann felt upon almost being mugged and surviving only by way of encountering something stranger and no less dangerous than the man who had tried to mug him initially. Jon had wondered from time to time how odd his reading statements must look from an outside perspective; now, it seemed, he was as close to getting an answer to that question as he was likely ever to get.

The words pouring out of his mouth sounded like a passable imitation of his usual statement voice, at least, and if Jonah faltered once or twice, well, Martin wasn’t exactly hanging on his every word, napping as he was in the cabin’s lone bed...

Though that gave Jon an idea.

Jon couldn’t do much now, but he could still Know things--he’d learned that already, had done it without even trying to back in the car.

When he’d tried too hard to Know what Peter Lukas was planning some time ago, he’d made himself sick, even blacked out for a moment afterwards before getting what had to be the supernatural equivalent of the world’s worst hangover.

What would happen, then, if he tried to Know what Jonah Magnus was planning now?

At best, he’d get some answers, know exactly what was in store for him, though Jon wasn’t holding his breath on getting the best possible outcome here; life never seemed to be that generous towards him.

Maybe it’d do to his body what it’d done before, disorientate him, weaken him, and weakening him meant weakening Jonah Magnus now, so that was a price Jon was very much willing to pay.

At worst... well. Not much could be worse than the present scenario. Worst case would likely be his attempt at Knowing failing utterly, and Jon still would know nothing and Jonah Magnus would still be running around unhindered in his body, and it still wouldn’t actually be any worse than if he hadn’t tried at all.

Jon didn’t hesitate.

What is Jonah Magnus’ plan?

The information poured into Jon’s mind all at once.

Ignaz Semmelweis, the first doctor to successfully prevent most postpartum infections by encouraging doctors to wash their hands, was roundly ignored by his contemporaries and died in obscurity. The tallest body Jonah Magnus has ever inhabited, one by the name of Mark Matthews, stood at six feet, three inches tall. The Admiral has a half-sister that lives nine blocks away from Georgie’s flat. Hydrophobia is a historic name for the disease of rabies due to late-stage symptoms in which the infected person cannot swallow liquids, cannot quench their thirst, and shows fear or panic when presented with liquids to drink. Liz Culvert, who dated Elias Bouchard when both were attending uni, wrote a short poem about Elias’ eyes while they were dating. The rhyme “Red touch yellow, kills a fellow; red touch black, friend of Jack” does successfully distinguish between venomous coral snakes and nonvenomous scarlet king snakes, but is only entirely accurate when applied to snake species native to the southeastern United States...

The information keeps coming rapid-fire, the details of each seemingly-random factoid soon blurring together in Jon’s mind, his senses overpowered by the sheer weight of Knowledge within his head. The world faded away, replaced by static and words, and still the information kept coming and there was nothing he could do about it-

The next thing Jon knew (lower-case), he was sprawled out on the floor, head pounding, back smarting, every part of him hurting like hell--still unable to move a muscle of his own accord, though he did give it a try just in case--and the only good thing Jon could think of was that Jonah Magnus must be feeling this pain as acutely as he was.

If he had actually learned anything about Jonah Magnus’ current plans it was lost to him now, a drop within a sea of more or less useless information, a needle buried deep within a haystack.

Did Jonah Magnus feel as disoriented as Jon did? The only way to know for sure was to engage him in conversation, Jon supposed, but... he’d rather pass on that, thanks, especially since that’d probably manage to make his headache even worse somehow.

His hands were shaking as he sat up, though, and as Jon wasn’t the one controlling them, wasn’t the one in charge of their shaking or lack thereof, he figured that meant his little stunt must have had some effect on his mental captor.

“Jon?”

Jon looked over as Martin rushed over to his side. Jon had assumed that Martin wouldn’t have noticed any results of what he’d done, that he’d be too lost in sleep to wake up for something so relatively minor, but evidently that assumption had been a faulty one.

“Jon, what happened? Are you alright?”

Jon tried not to read too much into the questions Martin asked, tried not to search them for even the slightest signs of understanding, but to no avail. He’d thought that he’d given up on false, useless hope already, and yet...

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Just a... a bit of a dizzy spell, I suppose.”

“Do you know what brought it on? You didn’t hit your head on the way down, did you?”

“I don’t believe so, no. And... hard to say. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

As Martin looked down at Jon, a hint of a smile crept onto his face. “No, no, I couldn’t sleep anyway. Wasn’t your doing. Now, d’you need a hand up?”

“Er...”

“Sounds like a yes to me.”

Martin extended his hand, and Jonah took it for him, and Martin was still cold to the touch but his manner was still warm as anything, and it didn’t matter what temperature his hand was, just that it was big and soft and embracing Jon’s own hand in turn, supporting him both physically and metaphorically a-

Don’t try to pull that little stunt again.

And Jon’s train of thought was disrupted in the most awkward of fashions by Jonah Magnus’ butting in just before Martin released his grip as Jon stood upright once more.

His arms were still shaking, though, and Jon doubted that Jonah was putting that on for show, not when his head still ached from too much knowledge filling it all at once.

So he could do something, then. He could do at least one thing that would affect the world around him, not just the worlds within his own mind. Granted, that thing was basically eldritch self-sabotage, but it was something at least. That had to be a good sign. That had to be better than nothing.

And if Jonah Magnus was warning him against it, that meant that Jon now had some form of leverage against him, something he could threaten Jonah with that was clearer and more tangible than any of Jonah’s own vague yet ominous threats.

Jonah said something to Martin, but Jon didn’t hear it, busy as he was laughing to himself, hoping that his laughter would be loud enough for Jonah Magnus to hear.

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