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Violet Evergarden Ever After: Chapter 2

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The Night and the Auto-Memories Doll

Everything went around.

From past to present and from present to future. The dead bodies that decayed within the soil would dissolve into the earth, and from the earth, too, would new living creatures be born. Within a few hours’ time, curtains made of stars and nightly shades would be covered over by curtains in the colors of dawn.

People went around as well.

Children would be born, muster out their voices, start walking and, once they became aware of their own selves, their stories would begin. A cycle of discovering passion, coming to know love, stopping to be children and, upon sympathizing with other families, birthing offspring just as their parents had done. A cycle of learning about the world, spreading information, teaching their knowledge to younglings without sparing any of it away and generating more such younglings. A cycle in which someone’s story was someone else’s encouragement, and those who were encouraged would conceive stories of their own.

Everything went around.

There was one cycle here. It was the story of a meager cycle that likely could happen anywhere in the world.

A man picked up a wild beast from a small island to which he had drifted. It was a beautiful beast, but it had been stocked with skills long before coming to his hands. Skills for slaughtering people with ease and seeking submission.

Their first meeting was terrible. His underling had attempted to lay his hands on the beast’s beauty. As if it were a given, the beast had killed his many subordinates, leaving only one person. That was him. Granting him both disaster and salvation at the same time, the beast had sought subservience in regards to the man.

The man fled around the island where all but himself had been murdered, but gave in and accepted the beast. The beast was useful, but also an existence that he could not handle. Be it morning, noon or night, his head was troubled with the beast, his heart unable to calm down.

Essentially, he was a man who did not want to be shackled by anything. After all, he had a past of being forced into submission by his household and parents. He had escaped from his responsibilities and his home, jumping off into the sea. The man, who had been born in a family that bore the name of a flower, had run away and gained freedom.

He yearned for it – for a freedom that no one could steal from him – more than anything. Even if he had to cast away his little brother for it. Therefore, the man had done the same in the beast’s case. The one who mattered most to him was himself. He wanted to break free from that horror. Most likely, he had cut off from himself a child in need of salvation.

Everything went around.

——O God, I want to .

Everything.

A voice that sounded like bells echoed.

“Captain,” it whispered, as if to tickle the man’s ears. “Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

It was evening. A time when people were returning to their homes.

“What would you like to do?”

An orange light shone from the window inlaid with stained glass. With the sunset reflected on the elaborately designed interior decoration, the place itself looked like a single work of art.

“Could it be that, because of the impact earlier, your hearing has...”

It was supposed to be. The place where the person who called out so insistently and the person who intentionally ignored her were in was an art gallery that just recently had its interior and exterior finished.

“As if.”

“I am relieved. Then, I would like to ask if you have a plan.”

In a place they were not supposed to be at, the two who were not supposed to be together were kneeling on the floor in resignation.

“Captain.”

“.............................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“................................”

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

“............”

“What would you like to do?”

“..................”

“I would like to ask if you have a plan, by any chance.”

“.....................”

“The civilians are in a predicament.”

“........................”

“If I may offer my opinion, firstly, I could act as a decoy—”

“Be quiet, monster. Don’t keep repeating the same thing over and over. Don’t breathe either. I’m thinking right now.”

Dietfried Bougainvillea, a naval captain of Leidenschaftlich, eldest son of the Bougainvillea – a household of patriotic national heroes – and the man who had picked up Violet Evergarden in the past and brought her to this country, was covering his eyes with his hands due to having too much on his plate. The little bit of silence and darkness had brought him relief, but someone’s sobbing, the voice of a man reproaching it and the sound of a person being brutally kicked and tumbling down dragged him back to reality.

He had a severe headache. Whether it was caused by his anxiety or his injury, he had no idea. He put a hand on the back of his head and examined it, but only a bit of blood had come out.

In order to somehow spit such awful mood out of his body, he took deep breaths. He felt that he had become a little better, but the unpleasant sensation returned once he opened his eyes and cast his gaze at the woman next to him. A spoon of discomfort, rejection and fear each was thrown into Dietfried’s emotional vessels, set on fire and boiled up. However, the most prominent feeling was something else.

The woman who had been talking to him so insistently until a moment ago was now quiet just and not letting out a single breath as he had told her. Violet Evergarden.

Dietfried looked fixatedly at his former servant. The woman, whose appearance had transfigured considerably in comparison to when they had first met, bore a radiantly shining cold beauty, which was even more conspicuous under such tense circumstances. She was almost like an ice sculpture, Dietfried thought.

——Even though you used to stink like a wild beast...

She now smelled of nothing but flowers.

——...you turned out just as I’d imagined.

“You’re a siren.”

Silence.

“My little brother destroyed a train station just to keep you alive; you’re a siren through and through. I’m not into you, but my mental stability is wrecked right now, and I’m sensing the harmfulness and influence that your existence brings about in that. You’re unmatched when it comes to breaking things and causing problems.”

Dietfried had once told his brother that the beast could become a siren. He had meant to say so including all sorts of matters. This young woman named Violet was a creature that God had created by mistake and had not been born under a good star. When one was by her side, there were many of them.

“Damn troublemaker.”

Many problems. Even though she had not wished for it, she had been born this way. Under a star that attracted disasters.

——It goes round. All of it.

He ran and ran from her, yet they would end up meeting, thus Dietfried had started to think that it might be some sort of divine revelation at this point. Telling him to face the girl that he had thrown away.

Violet was still, hand on her brooch. He someway guessed that it was given to her by his younger brother. He felt like clicking his tongue. This girl might become the worst-ever wife whose hand his most beloved little brother was going to take.

——We can leave that for later; gotta overthrow this situation first.

Determined to fight this reality, Dietfried then turned his gaze towards the sight that spread out before his eyes. Women, men, elderly people – everyone was crouching on the floor with guns pointed at them regardless of anything. Obviously, the same applied to Dietfried and Violet.

Unexpected situations – situations in which they could not make a false move even if they were on their own, let alone in the presence of so many civilians – were responsible for this. On top of it, Dietfried was also saddled with someone that he had to protect despite not wanting to. Of course he would feel like clicking his tongue at it.

Perhaps they were thought to be lovers, as no one said anything even while they stayed close to each other.

“Hey, did you really stop breathing?”

She did not seem to be in agony, but her figure as she diligently obeyed made Dietfried feel uneasy.

“I was joking; breathe.”

Violet’s blue eyes blinked with a snap.

“Yes.”

And then, she finally let out a breath. Dietfried hated himself for being remotely relieved that she had safely started breathing again, was what he thought.

“Hey, you.”

“Yes.”

“From now on, follow my orders. Don’t act on your own accord.”

“All right.”

“I’m gonna save the civilians. It’s my duty. There’s no helping it, so I’m counting you in that math too... No idea what my little brother would do if he found out I’d let you die. Even if it weren’t on purpose, if anything that could kill you happened under these circumstances, I really have no way of knowing what he’d do. He’d probably hate me.”

“No, Captain, he—”

“Have some self-awareness, Monster. My foolish younger brother blew up a train station to let you live. This fact did turn into a subject of teasing towards Gil for no matter how much time passes from now, but if you think about it on normal terms, it’s out of the ordinary. That’s the way you’ve changed him. Damn witch...”

She was the tool that he had found and that used to exist for his sake. A woman who used to be a dog with no name. An orphan whom he had picked up from a solitary island, brought back with him, attempted to get the most out of yet was unable to, and then threw away.

Asset. Girl soldier. Automatic assassination doll. Witch.

——Even if I don’t want to, for now, I gotta protect this thing and take it home.

“I’ll save you, so you save me too, Witch.”

Fate went around, adding a chance meeting as the best seasoning for a finishing touch. After all, at this very moment, Violet Evergarden and Dietfried Bougainvillea were being attacked by robbers and had weapons thrust at them.

“That’s awfully unpleasant for me, but I’ll take action by considering your life to be the top priority. Not for you. For my little brother.”

Understanding that she had received permission to talk once she had received permission to breathe, Violet gave her own opinion, “No.” She did it directly, without any restraint. “No, that is my job, Captain. Major... Lord Gilbert loves you.”

Dietfried’s eyes blinked. Those green orbs were staring fixatedly at Violet since earlier, enough to seem like they would suck her in. They were green jewels in a different shade from his younger brother’s. Those green gems, enveloped in shock, reflected Violet’s serious gaze.

“I shall guard you, no matter what happens,” Violet declared with resolution, like a knight. “I will obey your orders to the best of my abilities, but if I judge it to be dangerous, I shall take action with your safeguarding as the maximum priority.”

“Hey.”

“I will definitely protect you and bring you to Major safely. Please do not leave my side, Captain.”

“That’s my line,” Dietfried said while nonetheless wanting to kill Violet.

For the exchange between the two to reach this stage, things had first begun when morning visited Leidenschaftlich. This might be going back much too far in time for a clarification, but it all had indeed started since daybreak.

The morning weather was overflowing with sunlight on that day – typical of Leidenschaftlich in early summer. Early rising ladies formed queues in the bakeries that opened at dawn and little birds flew about the shops’ surroundings to receive breadcrumbs. There was a café three stores away from one of the popular bakeries, famous for serving floral teas, its signboard girl preparing to open it. If one went further ahead, there was a bank, and round said bank, there was a main street lined with large-scale shops.

An art gallery arranged to open the next day had been erected on the main street. Its name was Artemisia. It bore the name of its owner, who was an artist.

The gallery Artemisia displayed the works of its proprietor, of course, but it also had works of artists from within and abroad Leidenschaftlich. There were rows of works from unknown young artists that the owner had taken interest in as well, devoted as she was to the cultivation of new talents.

The Artemisia Gallery, which was to become a place where novel forms of Leidenschaftlich’s art would be born, was scheduled to hold a pre-opening party today, attended only by the people concerned. The gallery’s staff had started cleaning its interior and the sidewalk in front of it from morning.

Around noon, a restaurant employee hired for the sake of that day had visited, bringing in wine, snacks and table sets. As for the dishes, there were two types: the ones that had already been prepared and the ones that would be made by borrowing the kitchen of the owner’s residence, which had been built on the gallery’s top floor. Since eating was not the main focus, the preparations were merely enough for the upcoming guests not to feel hungry.

As evening came, the inside of Artemisia began to speed up with haste. If there were anyone in command of such a scenery, they would likely be asserting with a baton: “hurry”, “faster”, “elegantly”.

An envelope closed with a wax seal bearing the establishment’s crest. Customers arrived one after another with the invitation taken from inside of it at hand. For a pre-opening party with a limited number of invitees, there was a large amount of people. The elect few of Artemisia’s employees were in a flurry of activity.

“Bring me a coat” here, “not enough drinks” there, a plate breaking somewhere. “Where’s the owner?”, “Got caught by the guests”. “There’s no one to give us instructions”, “Oh, well” – just like this, things descended into chaos behind the scenes.

Normally, their job was to calmly recommend artistic goods. Therefore, they were unable to hide their bewilderment at handling so many visitors at first. Nevertheless, if one looked at the guests being entertained, how were they? Appreciating the artworks, looking like they were having a blast. Upon seeing this, the employees were able to understand deep down. That “what, so things are the same as usual”. By the time that the customers were completely familiar with the gallery’s interior, the employees were able to show smiles with a little bit of ease.

Among the guests invited to Artemisia, a foreign body completely unrelated to this world was mixed in.

It was a woman. A beautiful one at that. From an appreciative viewpoint, there would be nothing to complain about if she were one of the artworks. She was clad in a ribbon-tie one-piece dress, snow-white as a flower in full bloom on a summer day. Her long, softly curved golden hair extended to her waist. Perhaps she had come straight from work, as she held a heavy-looking trolley bag on one hand. “Click, click,” knocked her cocoa-brown boots against the marble flooring each time she took a step.

She walked while observing every artwork one by one. Idyllic landscape paintings, abstract paintings that looked like silver ink spilled on pure-white paper, oil paintings in which the people seemed as if they would move at any moment. Glassworks and ceramics that one would be very afraid even to look at from nearby. At first, the exhibition was of works from artists renowned within the country, but the small hall of its latter half integrated displays from artists who were still nameless. The woman stopped in front of one such work.

A painting of whimsical fantasy. Was it a winter sea? It depicted various things falling and sinking into dark and cold water. A pocket watch, a feather, a bed, a knife, a white flower and a chair. All were worn-out and had damaged parts. At first glance, one would not know what it was expressing. Only the boy painted in the center seemed to pierce through the viewer.

He was still a teenager and his appearance could also be considered that of a girl. After staring at him for a while, the feeling that he was supposed to be saved would surface. Because the boy had a facial expression that almost looked like he was making eye contact with the viewer as he fell. But this could not come true. He was sinking in the picture. No one on this side could do anything. One would not know what to do with themselves after looking at it – it was that kind of picture.

“Excuse me; I was the one who painted this. Is there anything wrong with this painti...”

Suddenly, a voice called to the woman from behind. A rock thrown into the quiet atmosphere. A low tone that cut through the dimness of the room.

People were mostly heading towards the famous artists, so the woman had been all by herself on that spot until just now. The man who had showed up a bit late was coincidentally the creator of that fantastical painting, and found himself talking to the woman who had stopped in front of his art. That was an extremely natural encounter for a pair. If their positions, circumstances and everything else were different, something might have been born between them. It did not have to be romantic love, just something – something else that “the two of them originally had”.

“Captain Dietfried Bougainvillea.”

The moment the woman turned around, the space resounded with a loud squeak. It actually had not resounded, but at the very least, Dietfried heard the thump of his own heartbeat, which gave his whole body goosebumps. He was enveloped in a strange sensation, as if the blood inside him were flowing backwards. One of the things he had once evaded in his life was standing there.

“What’re you doing, Monster?”

Violet Evergarden.

Before the emerald eyes that Dietfried possessed, of a hue different from his younger brother’s, there was a young female Auto-Memories Doll. The reason why he had not recognized her from the back was likely that her golden hair was slovenly loose.

He had not had a chance to see her after she had become a grown-up ever since the incident during the Flying Letters. Only people who had great amount of interaction with each other would be able to tell such a thing just by looking at someone’s back.

“I was looking at the paintings, Captain.”

Violet was expressionless. However, her hand alone promptly searched for her emerald brooch and squeezed it.

“You, paintings? Can you understand them?”

First, a scornful laugh, and then a head start with a verbal attack. She needed to put up a defense line. After all, this girl was formerly a weapon. An automatic assassination doll.

“I cannot. It is just that... my eyes and legs stopped.”

She was the one and only woman that Dietfried feared. If he had run into anyone else, his emotions would not be so disrupted.

Dietfried was scared. This girl was terrifying.

“I caused you trouble last time.”

He knew the things she had done. He knew whom she had killed. And he also recalled how he used to treat her, telling himself that it was all right.

“By asking about Major.”

Because she was a monster.

——O God, I want to .

These words wandered about in his head. They were words that he had prayed in his childhood to the one that he would meet at some point – probably in his dying moments. Thinking back on it now, it had been a foolish, immature and helpless wish, but he was serious about it at the time.

Looking at this girl made him remember his embarrassing past self.

“I shall see myself out. Captain, please take your time.”

“Hey.”

Violet had decided to retreat from the place, putting it to action. She concluded that this would be a peaceful solution for both sides and that it would secure each other’s survival.

“Hey, wait.”

However, Dietfried still had something that he wanted to say.

At the call of restraint, Violet’s feet halted mid-step. She then gazed at Dietfried. “Why?” her eyes were asking.

Choosing to leave must have been her own way of showing respect. Considering the current and the previous relationship between two of them, it was a sound judgement. Hence, she stared at him presumptuous and mutely.

Even now, it pierced Dietfried. That quiet “why” perforated him.

Despite being the one who had told her to wait, Dietfried lost sight of his next words. He had tons of complaints. Rather, complaints were the only thing that ever came out of his mouth. Most likely, he had never presented any warm words or attitude to her. No, he had at least patted her head when they parted. But what about it? That was all he had done. Which perhaps was the reason why.

——What did you think of that painting?

Just a question like this was exceptionally challenging for him. If it were anyone else, he would surely be able to ask as easily as breathing. He could also boast that he was the one who had painted it. However, only with this woman was it so difficult.

A long silence drifted between the two. A truly long, long silence.

The mood was almost like two beasts had come across each other in the wilderness and were estimating which would attack first. Both were underdeveloped and, not matching their insides, only their appearances were actually full-fledged. Seen from the sidelines, they were a beautiful adult man and woman looking at each other, but the air flowing between them was that of a battlefield.

Dietfried was starting to sweat. As for Violet, even her breathing was becoming shallower.

Violet seemed to be thinking about something. She opened and closed her mouth, repeating it several times. What should she do in that situation? What was best? She was probably unable to decide. This was something that not just Violet but also Dietfried was thinking about, yet the degree of seriousness in behavior was surprisingly higher on Violet’s side.

She would normally not be like this.

He was the person that even Violet Evergarden, who had written so many letters, was at loss as to how to act around. That was the man called Dietfried.

Perhaps her thinking had eventually arrived to a conclusion, Violet left her baggage on the floor and put her hands behind her back. “Feel free to.”

At first, Dietfried had no idea what she was doing. Violet looked like she was offering her body.

“Ha...?”

Without hesitation, almost as if she were a tool.

“I am still. Feel free to.”

“Feel free to feast on my life,” she seemed to say. Her current self overlapped with the beast of the past.

“To do what, is what I’m asking...” Dietfried’s mouth felt sticky, giving him a hard time mustering words out. His head had been occupied mostly with how to mend the blunder that he had exposed to her, so he could not respond to Violet’s surprise attack immediately.

“Do you not remember? I used to do this whenever I had to receive reprimand or punishment.”

He could not. All of the information that had been fluttering about in Dietfried’s head until now disappeared. It vanished.

“You, what the...”

The owner of the blue eyes that stared at Dietfried as if to shoot through him always did unexpected things, tossing him about.

“I did not know how to speak back then, so in order to show that I had no intention to attack you, Captain, I would do this.”

Those eyes.

“No matter what I say, surely... there is no atonement for me. With time, I have come to understand the things I... did. And how much terror I made you go through. Nevertheless, I am grateful for the kindliness of placing me under Lord Gilbert. I wish to pay you back somehow. If you say that it is unnecessary, at the very least, do as you please.”

For whatever reason, when those eyes asked him “why”...

“Be it with fists or with reproach, as much as you want.”

...his chest ached as if it had been stabbed.

“Feel free to.”

If that place were not a quiet art gallery, Dietfried would have yelled furiously at her, without caring about shame or his reputation. He managed to ball his fists hard enough for it to hurt and swallow down his angry voice due to his high level of self-respect.

“I hate that about you...”

This girl always made him aware that she would never act as he expected.

“...to death.”

At the words spoken by Dietfried’s quivering tone, Violet took a step back. Her stance of offering herself did not change, but her instincts were on-guard, wondering if she was not going to be killed by this man. Seeing that, Dietfried sneered at her figure.

“You’re the one who could choke the life out of me anytime,” he seemed to say.

Dietfried suddenly felt the heat that had gone up his head cooling down. Violet had taken a step back. That became the trigger for him to regain his composure. Because he was able to reconfirm that she was but a child in the end. This innocent aspect and action that were much like what a child would show to an adult exerted a great influence on the other party. Dietfried loathed that.

For he, who despised interventions from anyone, had so much aversion to it that it make him want to vomit.

Those who were accustomed to oppression from others would very easily choose to hurt people. She was inwardly frightened of that tendency. Yet albeit frightened, she prioritized others over herself. That creature was like a mass of contradictions.

——Disgusting. Stop. Die. Don’t look at me.

He did not want to get involved with her. But he had a mountain of things to say. However, when it came to whether or not he could properly do it, even if he managed to squeeze them out, they would turn into nothing but abusive language.

There was a large lake between the two of them and all they could do was gaze at the opposite shore, unable to tell how deep it was. Their first meeting was to blame for that. It was the cause of everything.

His underlings had attacked her and she had killed all of them. She then chased and chased after him, making him into her master. Despite there being a hierarchy, Violet was the one who had a grip over his life.

One would understand, after spending time with the girl, that this was a necessity for her. She was always like that, ever since the island only the two of them knew. Whenever anything happened, she would prioritize Dietfried. After all, even as he handed her over to Gilbert, she had not resisted.

If anything could be changed, that was the moment.

The two who never mingled with each other met again countless times in a parallel line. On such occasions, they would become unable to make a move due to shouldering the truth of rejection and of the things they had done, thus running away.

——Gilbert.

What did the person who brought the two together, whom they loved most, thought of that?

“You... I...”

——If I could change for Gilbert...

“Captain...?”

——If I could change, right here and now, for your sake...

Would it be easier for him to breathe?

Just as Dietfried was about to make a bitter decision...

“GYAAAAAAAAAH—AAAAAAH—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

...an incident occurred.

It was clearly not a hasty crime. The scream of Artemisia, the owner, echoed, and by the time that Dietfried and Violet had bolted from the quiet hall where there was just the two of them, robbers were already thrusting their weapons mostly at vulnerable women and children, having them on their knees. The course of action was far too swift.

Wide-eyed, Violet swung back her trolley bag and was about to throw it at them, yet Dietfried stopped her.

“Are you stupid?! Those aren’t all adults that can run...!”

Among the hostages, there was also a little girl held under someone’s arms, looking like she did not understand the situation.

“I will save them as fast as possible and take control of the rest.”

“They’ve got guns; what’re you gonna do if they hit someone else with a warning shot?! There’s the other artworks too... This ain’t a stage for a tactless bastard like you to brawl! Just stay put for now!”

“But, Captain—”

“Stay put!”

While the two were trying to push past each other, the robbers took notice of them.

In the main hall, perhaps in order to bind people up through fear, the men were being beaten without exception, being put on their knees over the floor. Seeing that, the women naturally sat down, trembling, and began to cry.

While screams were resounding like music, one of the robbers headed towards the duo. “So there were still weeds growing here?” was the look in his eyes as he swung his firearm emotionlessly.

Dietfried would have managed to avoid it. He had done it several times until now. He could do it as easily as floating on water. If he could catch the man’s gun with one hand and pulled it just like that, he was able to picture the opponent falling over as a reaction. Once he stole the gun, he could shoot each member of the robber gang one by one in the head. And then, there would be a gunfight. He would have done that if he were alone. Yes, if he were alone.

——Why now of all times?

There was nothing more humiliating than a punch that one had to resign oneself into receiving. But he had things he had to protect above his own dignity. Thus, he accepted the attack without dodging. If he were to start a scuffle amidst the current situation, he did not think that all of the people who had become hostages would remain unharmed. He would aim for a chance. That was what he should do. He made such decision not only for his own welfare but also for that of other people.

However, the automatic assassination doll made a completely different one. When her eyes glinted like that, she quite literally moved on automatic. She came forward to take his place. In that instant, the face of Dietfried’s younger brother was the only thing crossing his mind.

——Gil.

It was almost as if he had readied himself to do it. That was how quickly his arm reached out. He forcefully embraced Violet and turned his back towards the robber. A violent hit struck him from head to back. He could hear Violet’s breath quietly catching while holding her in his arms.

And such was how they had arrived to the present.

Dietfried did not think that his decision to suppress Violet was a mistake. He was aware that she was the woman who had fought by herself against terrorists inside an exploding train, but it would be a problem if she did something of the sort in the Artemisia Gallery.

Right now, he felt like a pet owner containing the rampage of his mad dog.

As for the mad dog herself, she had grown quiet ever since Dietfried had been hit, as if her functions were gone. Dietfried had pushed away the hands that had attempted to give him first aid. Any false moves and the robbers might beat him again.

She, who always took upon herself to protect, wound up being protected. On top of that, she had let the other be injured. This must have caused her to fall into despondency, enough to result in service outage. However, with time, she had rebooted and was rousing herself up once more to get through this situation.

“I understand that I should refrain from the use of force in an art gallery. But should we not place human lives above the artworks?”

——Whose fault do you think it is that I got hit on the back of my head?

Because she was saying the most obvious thing with the most serious face, Dietfried grabbed the collar where her brooch resided, taking the brooch along, without thinking. The thread that fastened the ribbon-tie dress’s button let out a screech. It was not the kind of deed that a gentleman would do to a lady. But Dietfried did not loosen the strength that he put into his grip.

“You... Do you still need disciplining from me?” he said, voice filled with rage, close enough for their faces to touch. “Think of this as a place that can hardly compare to any other... This thing’s pretty important for you, isn’t it?”

After blinking with a snap, she opened her mouth once, then closed it.

Once Dietfried’s hand let go of her, she grasped the brooch as if to protect it. She was more concerned about the brooch than the crumpled bust of her dress. She stroked it over and over, making sure that it had not been damaged.

Finally, she whispered in a dazed state, “I understand.”

“As if an idiot could,” Dietfried said with a snort, yet the other was a poker-faced Auto-Memories Doll. No matter how much he hurt her, it would have no effect. That was what Dietfried had thought.

“I understood completely. I will avoid combat here as much as possible.” Alas, her voice sounded a little faint.

Dietfried stared at Violet from the corners of his eyes. The brooch was indeed important to her. She was holding it down with both hands. She did not want anyone to touch it – that was what she was indicating. The two of them were speaking in an awfully low tone, but her timbre just now was as thin as the cry of a mosquito.

Dietfried said with a somewhat softer voice, “Good that you get it. I’m indebted to the owner of this gallery. I’m gonna choose the best I can for her sake too.”

“All right.”

“Human lives are the priority, of course. But we’re not gonna fight in a stupid way.”

Like a child, Violet nodded repeatedly.

“You’ve only ever been doing body guarding, murders and military action, and that’s why you don’t understand. In the sea... In fleet battles, we fight to protect. Our way of thinking is different from those who fight to conquer.”

“To protect...”

“If you can’t put brakes on them at sea, the enemies go to land. The reason why Leidenschaftlich is called a military nation ain’t just the army’s achievement. I’ve... never taught you how to fight at sea, huh... For now, forget the method of destroying and taking control of everything. Learn from my ways.”

“Understood.”

Dietfried was inwardly surprised at the obedient reply. Rather, even more than this, he was surprised that he and the “beast” were able to have mutual comprehension.

When she was in his hands, this beautiful Auto-Memories Doll was a “wild beast” that did not know how to speak, as well as a tool. An incontrollable beast, to boot.

“Still, if that is how it is, please do not forget that your wellbeing is my top priority all the more. I shall fight to protect you, Captain. Please do not think of protecting me for Lord Gilbert’s sake. If necessity arises, I will not might if you use me as a shield. I can be replaced, but there is no substitute for you.”

If, at that time...

“This is also linked to protecting Lord Gilbert.”

...in that place...

“Bye, Monster. This guy’s your next master.”

...he had educated and guided her instead of letting her go, would she have grown up the same way?

“Shut up.”

Would she have thought like that?

“Shut up, Monster.”

He had never even thought about it.

Another side of him immediately answered “no” to the self-questioning. Surely, a Violet Evergarden raised by Dietfried Bougainvillea would not have turned out like this. He might have at least taught her how to talk. They would have trouble communicating otherwise. He would have probably given her clothes and personal belongings for daily life. Bringing her along when walking around would look bad for him.

However, when it came to whether or not he would have bestowed this girl with something that would be enveloped in her hands with utmost zeal...

——I see; so it’s the same color as Gilbert’s eyes. That brooch.

...he would undeniably have not.

——Come to think of it, she was always following me around from behind ‘cause she hated being alone.

If there was anything he could have done for her, it was to at least fill up a coffin with flowers and leave it available for her. He did not intend for anything to happen, but he might have done that much. After all, if Violet had stayed beside Dietfried Bougainvillea, she would have surely died before him, for his sake.

“We’re gonna do an act.”

——Aah, Gilbert.

“An act?”

——I’m always late to realize how great you are.

“That’s right. You’re the one who suggested it, so I’m gonna make you into a decoy.”

——You’ve made that filthy beast into this.

“Understood.”

——You were able to change her like this.

“First, take this... It’s late for that, but... you got any questions about a joint struggle with me?”

As Dietfried asked, Violet responded with her neck tilted, “Why...? I do not.”

For whatever reason, his former weapon would show scraps of emotion only at times like these. Just innocently, unaware that it was merciless of her.

“Please use me correctly, Captain.” She smiled.

Why had robbers attacked the Artemisia Gallery?

There was a certain amount of history that led to such violence unfolding amidst everyday life. Firstly, it would be preferable to start with the time when a turning point happened in the life of the robbery’s main offender, but that would be rewinding too far. On to a brief explanation.

This case was a crime committed by a habitual criminal.

There were various reasons for people to rob, yet the advantage was but one. Earning compensation within a short period. Good citizens would be paid for their work, but thieves did not share this mentality. People received rewards through serving others. In order to gather a large sum, a long time and effort were necessary. Thieves abdicated from this. To achieve success, no matter in what land, a person had to be equipped with skills as a rule of thumb.

If one could stop after doing it once, why did they do it countless times? There were people here and there who thought this about criminals. It was because, if they had succeeded once, they could do it again. They were instantly able to attain things that they would have to spend a long time out of their lives to earn. This was the arrival of an opportunity to do that.

Once one got used to it, identifying opportunities was surprisingly easy.

Supposing that there was someone who excelled at predicting people’s thoughts. The other person’s personality would be determined by the movements of their eyes, the way they breathed, their voice tone, the relationships of power in their background, their social position and other such things, so one would be able to deduce what kind of conduct should be taken in order to derive the “correct answer”. It seemed like magic at first glance, but it was no more than the result of someone continuously keeping watch on another person for many years.

Since this was a strategy against individual matches, the robbers needed a slightly better ability to grasp the environment. As they were walking around the city, they incidentally found out that a new gallery was going to open. The opening date was also announced. It appeared that there would be an event only for those concerned on the day before.

No matter the establishment, dealing flawlessly with the inauguration of a new shop was difficult. Even if there were people in it who already had experience working in a gallery, but the use of their abilities to have control over such a situation and proceed with it smoothly was different. Employees would be in quite a panic on the day. If it was a members-only celebration day, there was no mistaking that the original state of the security that should be guarding the gallery would be insufficient.

And so, the robbers had thought, “Aah, if you poke this place, it’ll surely crumble down.”

They did not have any grudges in particular. They had simply judged that they could do it, thus undergoing the assault. The truth was merely that the Artemisia Gallery had been unlucky.

How many hardships the owner had gone through until she was able to open the gallery, had she lived her life bowing her head to other people? How many artists were looking forward to seeing their work exhibited in the gallery? The feelings of such people could be trampled miserably at times.

Not that many people paid any mind to weeds when walking. That was all. Except, this time, the Artemisia Gallery had been lucky about just one thing.

“No good... Hum, excuse me...! She suddenly...!”

A naval captain who loved art...

“Ugh...”

...and the woman who used to be called Leidenschaftlich’s War Maiden were amongst the hostages.

The man who had caused a commotion and pleaded to one of the robbers in a panic raised both of his hands as a display of no resistance. He was a long-haired a man. His slightly curvy dark hair went past his shoulders. Right next to him was a woman holding her stomach and trembling.

“What?”

A few armed men gathered around them.

“It seems her stomach hurts.”

“Just a stomach ache? Leave it alone.”

“You’re telling us to let her go to the bathroom? We still gotta watch these people. Besides, she’s a woman. If someone takes her to the toilet... Well, how much stuff did we get?”

“We’ve piled most of the paintings in the carrier, but there’s still the ornaments. It’s still gonna take a while.”

The robbers had a choice. The option to either silently let her suffer or kindly take her to the restroom. Beating only the men was likely one of their policies. They did not hesitate to make use of violence when needed, but when it was not, it was best to have as least animosity as possible in order to get through with things unobtrusively and quickly take the treasure. It seemed gentlemanly but was a self-righteous thinking.

“What do we do? The Head is...”

“The Head got in the car first. As if we can ask him stuff like this every single time it happens.”

“Head” probably referred to the member worthy of being their chief.

As the quiet exchanges continued in front of the agonizing woman, she finally lay down on the floor while still holding onto her stomach. The man who had appealed about her bad condition shook her shoulders, telling her to “hang in there”.

As if she had received a signal, the woman raised her face slowly. Her gemstone-like blue eyes were visible through the gaps between her disheveled golden hair. She was covering her mouth, perhaps trying not to vomit. Even so, it was easy to tell that the woman’s looks were remarkably good.

“It’s gonna take a while, huh. Besides, we’re gonna need the women later.”

Her eyes locked with one of robber’s as though sucking him in. One would not understand the destructive power that having this woman look up at them from their feet with her eyes wet had, unless they witnessed it themselves.

“Then, I guess it’s okay.”

From the vulgar smile of the man who had said so, one could presume what his intentions were. As the woman was covering her mouth, the robber instructed her to stand up, pointing his gun at her, and then took her to the restroom.

After that, the woman and the robber did not return for a while. Since there were no other people who mustered out the courage to say that they wanted to use the toilet, the period of their absence passed as if it were natural. In the meantime, the gallery’s exhibits were being carried one after another to cars with roof racks parked outside the establishment. The robbers were dressed as employees who worked with the transportation of goods, so even those walking down the street did not think there was anything strange about that work scene.

Once they had finished relocating most of the merchandises, one of the cars left the gallery. The other one that remained parked was meant for the getaway of those who were keeping watch. With the artworks that had been collected for the sake of this day snatched away down to the last one, the gallery was bare. The owner, Artemisia, had all the while been suppressing her cries and shedding tears.

Apparently, those thieves were quite the habitual criminals. They had threatened everyone with armed force upon entering the establishment, robbing people of any resistance, but after that, as long as everyone stayed still, they would do nothing but coldly keep control of the hostages, not even raising their voices. If people did as told, they would not lose their lives. That hope made the hostages obedient. Even though they were robbers, this seamless way of dealing with people was like that of artisans. They did not think of humans as humans.

“Excuse me; I just... want to lend her a handkerchief. That’s all. The sleeves of her clothes are already soaked with tears. Can’t you allow just this much?”

Hearing a voice from the back, Artemisia turned around. It came from one of the artists that she had invited over for today, whom she had known for quite some time. She was shaken by a sense of guilt that she had done something terrible to him as well.

Their first meeting had started at a certain recreational facility, when she peeked from behind while he was painting a landscape. She did not know his occupation, but they kept in touch and she had him show her his art. It seemed he had always been drawing as a hobby. He told her that even most of the people who were close to him did not know he painted, and that he had truly only been doing it for himself.

The busy man had weaved his way through spare time and the work he brought had swayed Artemisia’s senses. At first, he had hesitated at her request to put it on display, but then smiled like a boy and gave her his ready consent, looking happy.

——Aah, God. Please give it back. Please give that fun time back to everyone.

Artemisia was upset and vexed at the fact that the artworks were being stolen, but more than anything, it felt like the regret towards everyone who had been looking forward to this day would split her chest open.

“Hey, he told you to use this.”

He had lent a handkerchief to Artemisia through one of the robbers. Artemisia wiped her tears and managed to lock eyes with him somehow. She then mouthed a “thank you” to him without letting out her voice.

The man smiled. But it was not the smile that Artemisia knew. He was different when he talked about art. She had shivers before she could think. His eyes were not smiling.

“ .”

The man said something to Artemisia. As he had only moved his lips, Artemisia could not tell whether she had been able to read what he tried to convey. She could not, but most likely, he had said:

“It’ll be over soon.”

Eventually, the robbers started to create an atmosphere of evacuation at last.

“Let’s take one person with us until we leave the harbor. Can be a woman or kid. Which do we choose?”

“Woman it is.”

“That guy was playing around with the woman we were planning to use for that, wasn’t he? What happened to him?”

Assuming that they would finally be freed, the hostages started fidgeting. They had faced a disaster and the artworks that they had dedicated their lives to making had been stolen. This joyful day had been repainted into despair. But they were alive. That was the one and only bright side of today. They would not be able to maintain their rationality unless they comforted themselves with that. At any rate, they wanted to hurry and be liberated.

Amongst them, there was a man who merely observed the robbers’ movements in silence all the while. It was the man who had been caring for a woman that had a stomachache, looking worried. Once the woman had been taken to the restroom, he became expressionless, as if he had lost interest in everything. Occasionally, there were moments when he even yawned in secret, as if he had grown sleepy.

“Go call him. We could use that woman as hostage. She’s young, so she can come back walking if we throw her away on the street.”

Hearing these words, the man let out his voice and laughed. By the looks of it, he had not intended to laugh, but wound up doing so. He put a hand to his mouth, but then shrugged and let the robbers see it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of you. But trying to rape that thing, huh? No matter how many lives you have, it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Hey, what’s with you...? Got a complaint or something...?”

The man kept laughing, as though to say that the robbers’ threatening figures were even more comical. With her eyes, the owner, Artemisia, begged the man provoking the robbers to restrain himself, for she could not afford to lose not only the artworks that she had collected but also a guest that she had invited, yet the man closed one eye at that and replied, “Artemisia, it’s okay.”

No one in this place knew his social status. Or his history.

In the past, Dietfried Bougainvillea used to wield a weapon that could become the world’s best. It was now away from his grasp, but it was not as if their master-servant connection had been completely severed. The beast had a high level of loyalty, so although they had met by chance after a long time, her heart recognized it. That he was the one she had been following in the past – someone worth being served by her. Therefore, the beast would attend him to exhaustion.

Only a limited number of people could handle the beast. The feeling that she had returned to his hands for now was somewhat strange.

“She runs quick.”

“Ha?”

“That’s why it’s the end for you guys. My bad.”

“Hey, shut this dude up.”

As Dietfried had suddenly started talking, the robbers naturally had a doubtful reaction.

“She’s as fast as a deer. And this is the city’s main street, so there are hotels nearby.”

“So, what’re you saying?”

“I left my bodyguards behind to come here today. They’re probably drinking at their room’s bar. There’re also guys among them who know that thing from the time when she was still by my side. I left my hair tie with her, so she should be able to convince them with that. I could predict that you’d take the things you stole to the port. It’s pretty difficult to get away from pursuers on land when you make such a mess in the center of this city. It’s harder to be tracked using the sea route than the land route, right? But the sea route doesn’t work against me. It looks like one vehicle left a while ago, but it’s over by the point they reach the port. You’ll probably go outside now, but if you’re thinking about taking someone along as a hostage, you’d better drop it. Many of my subordinates are hot-blooded. If you rouse them up like that, they’ll probably get too excited. If that happens, you’re the ones who’ll be getting the short end of the stick. No matter how many dead bodies fall down, we can deal with it all we want in the aftermath. We’ll need to get the stories straight, but today’s hostages will surely choose to cooperate with me. Having people trample on the proof of a life that you’ve lived with all your might is painful for anyone.”

The eloquent man did not run out of breath even when speaking nonstop in such a situation. However, this majestic aspect of him was reflected in others’ eyes as dreadful and similar to madness.

The robbers abruptly realized that all the hostages were looking far behind them. They felt that there was something behind them. It was like a ghost, hiding even its flame of life, simply waiting for the orders of its lord.

Outside the windows of the gallery, they could hear the sounds of someone fighting from around the area where the car was parked. Simultaneously, they could hear a faint breathing just behind them.

The respiration of a woman who was out of breath from running loomed over their ears.

“Do it, Violet.” Dietfried raised his thumb and made a swift throat-cutting gesture.

While watching his doll render the robbers unconscious with a strength as overwhelming as a monster eating people, Dietfried reminisced to the past.

——Everything goes around.

He recalled the time when the two of them were stuck in that isolated island.

The beast had been scared when the rescue fleet arrived. So had Dietfried. He would not be able to bear it if more of his comrades were murdered. Hence, he had taken the beast’s hand and guided her to the outside world. In his perception, it was the same as taking the reins.

There were no reins anymore now. No need for him to pull her by the hand when walking, either. There was nothing between them.

Not love, passion, attachment, desire, anything.

“Captain.”

There was nothing, but one thing was for certain.

“Captain Bougainvillea.”

If he called for her, this Auto-Memories Doll would most likely go to the ends of the world to save him. That was her nature.

“I have just returned. Are you unharmed?”

At that moment, the beast was well aware that he had called her name for the very first time. Her eyes were crinkling.

“Yeah.”

Just this much compensation was enough to make the beast smile.

After a little while passed, Leidenschaftlich was embraced by the gentleness of the night.

Summer constellations were decorating the jet-black sky. Just as sunny as it was during daytime, the night sky was twinkling so brightly this evening that it could be called a banquet of stars. The day was about to end in Leidenschaftlich. Today was filled with chaos ever since morning.

While being observed by gathered-up onlookers, the arrest drama that had unfolded in front of the Artemisia Gallery was already coming to a conclusion, its many procedures and processing passed over to the military police. Seeing the stolen artworks safely re-delivered to Artemisia, Dietfried took a breather. His gaze then fleetingly drifted to the side. A dirtied ceramic doll was standing there. A woman beautiful enough to look like such, who shone amidst the night, was standing there. He had to say something to her. As one would expect, he should do that at least now. But he could not think of anything.

——“You did well”. “That wasn’t too bad”. “Good work”. “I commend you”... Which one?

Inside his head, words were being conceived and then disappearing. Just like the dreams that the sleeping children all around Leidenschaftlich were surely seeing right now. They were born and then vanished.

At last, he attempted to open his mouth, “Aren’t you cold?”

“It is summer, after all.”

And ended up talking to her like a man who was unused to inviting women out.

Violet Evergarden, who had been fighting reasonably and in order to protect, was still by Dietfried’s side. It was fitting to say that she had been today’s most meritorious person. The one who had come up with the idea of the arrest operation was Dietfried, but the one who had done all the work for it was Violet.

First, she had put up the woman-with-a-stomachache act and gone with one of the robbers to the restroom. She had then quietly strangled the neck of the man who had reached a hand to her shoulder with her mechanical prosthetic arms, making him pass out.

She had broken out and escaped through the restroom’s window. Rather than going to the military police, she had gone to the hotel that Dietfried instructed her to and notified the naval soldiers, who were enjoying cigarettes and drinks in a room on the top floor, of the circumstances. One of the soldiers, who happened to know her, had been frightened at first, but upon seeing that she had been entrusted with Dietfried’s ribbon, his facial expression changed and he contacted the military police, then informed the port’s security to reinforce their inspections.

Without waiting for them to get ready, she had immediately run back to the Artemisia Gallery and infiltrated it through the same route. A few of the robbers, who had the bad luck of spotting her, fell to the ground with one kick or punch to the abdomen, and so, she had finally returned. As Violet stood behind the remaining robbers while catching her breath, the hostages stared as if she were their safety, but Dietfried was sneering as he looked at her.

Just as ordered, she had saved Dietfried without damaging a single artwork.

“About what happened...”

“It will probably be best not to tell Lord Gilbert. He would worry.”

Upon seeing the last artwork be brought in, Violet took the trolley bag that lay by her feet. She likely intended to go home by herself.

After making her do so much, something similar to guilt was now sprouting within Dietfried. He wound up acknowledging that she, too, was important to someone. That was what he thought after the battle, when he saw Violet stroking her emerald brooch as if to confirm that it was there.

Even though she used to be a wild beast whom no one would mourn if she died.

——Aah, that’s an excuse. It’ll be nothing but an excuse. If so, then I don’t wanna say it.

Back then, when she was by Dietfried’s side, every single day was filled with madness on all accounts. They used to roam around battlefields, fighting from dawn to dusk, growing too accustomed to violence. The war then ended, peace had returned, and he realized that an era in which he could even make art was arriving. That those times were abnormal and the way he felt now was the default.

“I’ll take you home.”

“No need. Your escorts must be waiting, so please, feel free to take your leave, Captain.”

“It’s fine; just this time. I’ll take you home.”

“No need.”

“I’ll take you. Listen up, this is an order.”

“I cannot accept your command.”

“You little... You were taking action like I instructed you to just a while ago.”

“Because it was a state of emergency... Besides, Captain Dietfried, it would be reasonable if I were to take you home, but the opposite is illogical.”

“What’re you talking about? You’re a woman, aren’t you?”

“A woman”. Finding himself asserting this with his own mouth, Dietfried regretted it even more.

The corner of Violet’s lips had a cut and blood was coming out of it. Her ribbon-tie dress was drenched in sweat. Even those who did not sweat much would be like this after such a huge scuffle during summertime.

“I’m calling a carriage. It’s all right; just wait right there. I’ll see you off until you get inside the Evergarden house. And then it’s goodbye. We’ll never see each other again. No matter what you and Gil become, we’ll never see each other again.”

What he had done today to this woman, who had become fully able to accept someone’s love, was not something that a son of the Bougainvillea should ever do to a lady.

After they had hopped into the carriage, a moment of silence went on for a while.

——Is it okay for her to keep such an open secret even though those two are a couple?

Dietfried found himself accidentally concerned about his younger brother’s love life. After all, this situation might be a betrayal to his dearest brother. Gilbert had completely forgiven Dietfried. For pushing the headship succession onto him. For not having any consideration for their family. For forcing an indescribable wild beast onto him. He had forgiven everything.

Thinking back, the only time that he attempted to push Dietfried away, saying he would not forgive him, had been when Dietfried offered Violet to him. He had called it “human trafficking”. Told Dietfried not to be violent with a child.

Most likely, those two were each other’s only exception from the very beginning. There was probably no pardoning what Dietfried had done to Violet today. Gilbert would forgive most things. Save for matters related to the one and only thing that was most important to him. Being hated by a loved one. This could cast a shadow over anyone’s heart, regardless of how old they were.

“It is all right.” The voice that cut through the silence was thrown at him as if to soothe him down. The words sounded almost as if she had perceived Dietfried’s uneasiness. “If, by any chance... word ends up reaching him through someone else about this case, I will definitely defend you, Captain Dietfried.”

“‘Defend’, you say?”

“To tell the truth, I often get involved in large-scale incidents without Major knowing. But I return without fail. To Leidenschaftlich. I will return today as well. Therefore, we are all right.”

“What do you do out there?”

“We were separated for much too long. Therefore, we have many moments that the other does not know about in the first place. Perhaps even now, too. I have work to do and so does he. We have limited time to see each other. However, I will definitely always return to Major. He knows this as well. Even when we are apart, that person is the only one who occupies my mind. I am not sure if I convey it to him properly, but that is how it is.”

Her statements were something that would normally make him burst into laughter, but Dietfried was unable to do so.

——When did you become like that?

Dietfried hated Violet. Several factors had induced his emotions to it.

——Now you can correspond to someone’s love.

He saw himself overlap with her. Her subservience to adults and the way that she herself wanted it disgusted him. He despised the wild beast that did not yearn for freedom. Despised the fact that she had been trained by someone to be this way. Despised everything. To begin with, Dietfried did not have many things that he liked.

Even the number of people who could become kind had a limit.

The truth was that, even if he wanted to be kind, it was no longer possible. He had prayed to God for it countless times in the past. However, unable to achieve this, a man named Dietfried Bougainvillea existed.

——O God, I want to, he begged a certain Someone in his mind for the first in a long time. Perhaps since his childhood.

Still, this sort of being did not give any reply to calls. Even now, he had no idea if his plea had reached Him. It was certainly impossible. His and Violet’s stars were in a position that would not radically change.

Nevertheless, for some reason, he had the overwhelming desire to ask someone for forgiveness today.

——I wanna go back.

Not even he knew where to.

——Hurry and be over, this day, today and the time I have to spend with her.

He was not annoyed.

——O God, I want to...

But painfully miserable.

“Captain.”

The carriage ran amongst trees dyed in the darkness of the night. A cool voice echoed amidst them.

Violet was looking at the scenery outside. She was observing the moon, which chased after them, no matter how far, far apart they were.

The moon was something that would continue to exist forever. Unlike stories. Regardless of whether Dietfried concerned himself with it, everything about his story would come to a closing one day as well. Demise would arrive even to the things that he did not wish to ever be over. Even the feelings he had now would end.

“How was I today?”

“What?”

“Did my work earn your satisfaction today?”

Dietfried could not read the intentions behind Violet’s question at all. She was someone whose emotions he could not read in the first place, but it was even harder to understand the meaning of that sentence.

“What do you want to say?”

Silence.

“Hey, just say it straight. Don’t be dodgy with me.”

“All right,” the cool voice entered his ears once more. Such coldness resembled the night, but it never left his ears, easy as it was to catch.

Violet turned her neck and cast her gaze at him. Slowly, blue and green eyes blended with each other.

“I...”

Bathed in moonlight, she was simply, purely beautiful, enough to take Dietfried’s breath away.

“When I was with you, Lord Dietfried, my work was never satisfactory. Now that I became an adult, have I finally been able to repay my debt... with my work?”

“What d’you mean by ‘debt’?”

His voice was hoarse. He suddenly felt as if this icy woman had robbed his entire body of its heat. The inside of his mouth was extremely dry.

“I mean everything. It all started when you brought me from that island. I am the way I am now because you entrusted me to Ma... to Lord Gilbert.”

“If you’d stayed with me, probably nothing good would’ve happened.”

“How would I be if I had continued to serve you?”

These words became a bullet and pierced Dietfried’s heart. He felt as if his breathing would stop at the unexpected question. Things had been like that since the distant past. Dietfried would reconfirm time and time again that she was a woman who could have become a lethal weapon for him.

“So you also imagine a hypothesis... of ‘what if’,” her exquisitely cold voice rang within the darkness. Upon being asked, “You too?”, Violet nodded.

That was his line, Dietfried thought, but Violet then sent his gemstone eyes a dream-like gaze. His existence might be devoid of realism to her.

Violet began to whisper. If only she had disobeyed that order back then. If only she had rushed to him a step faster at that time.

“Back then, if”. “Back then, if”. “Back then, if”.

She could not bring myself not to think that, if only she had had this extra step, he would not have lost that emerald eye.

“Besides, I wonder... if I had managed to protect him back then...”

She had to let go of her most beloved lord’s hand and was entrusted to someone else as if she had been thrown away.

“...I would not have had to spend that time away from Major.”

Thinking back, she had always been abandoned and then picked up by somebody. She should have been used to it. That was the star she had been born under.

She was originally a foreign body to this world and was supposed to have been eliminated. Her destiny had also flowed in this way. The reason why Violet had rebelled against her sectioned path, despite having been tamely submitting herself to it, was that the other was special.

——I also threw her away.

He had thrown his home away. Thrown away his little brother, who cried in protest. And thrown away this beast.

“I also wonder what would have happened if you had not left me with Major.”

This woman.

“But all of these are akin to dreams, crossing my mind and fading away. After passing through countless ‘if’s, I...”

He had pushed this woman onto his brother and forsaken her. Looking at her made him sick. He was also scared of her. Most importantly, he would have stopped being himself. This terrified him.

“And now, I have become an Auto-Memories Doll and am spending a night with you.”

This woman possessed an element that transmuted people.

“Y’know, you’ll be alone one day. You’re the one who’s got the longer lifespan, aren’t you?”

Violet closed her eyes at those words. If she had pictured numerous “if”s, this would obviously come to mind as well.

“I do not know.”

“If that happens, what’re you gonna do?”

“I do not know. But are you not the same as me when it comes to this? You love him, right?”

“I’m... I’m the older one. I’ll be gone sooner.”

“No one knows about that. But... if, one day... I do become alone... if I am left living by myself... my order will still be valid. I will probably live on.”

If she ended up living by herself, this supposition was the cruelest of things to the beast. Just what did he want to do by making her say this now?

Thinking back, ever since they had first met, he had not known how to deal with her. Should he have protected her? Killed her? Protected? Killed? Or perhaps...

“That is why I write letters every day. Even if they do not reach him, I write letters to Major every single day.”

Silence.

“Captain, what will you do?”

“Me, huh? I... let’s see. Paint, I guess.”

“A painting or Major?”

“That’s right.”

“May I go see it?”

To Dietfried Bougainvillea, this wild beast was both a woman and a monster from the very beginning. She was now as far-off as a dream.

“You’re the only one of my relatives who knows I paint. Do whatever you want.”

——O God, I want to be a good person.

#violet evergarden #fyeahvioletevergarden #veedit #dietfried bougainvillea #kyoani #kyoto animation #akatsuki kana #takase akiko #my translation

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audreydoeskaren · 3 years

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Hello again. It didn't all fit into one. What detail from that time do you hate? What is the most memorable event of that time? What event would you like to participate in at that time? Where do you recommend to start studying that time? Thank you for answering your questions in advance! Statement. You are cute and at least ten people who are addicted to the 50s called your blog cute. And perfectly-a vintage man from the 30s.

Continued. I don’t really hate any details from any time period if you mean the fashion, but if I had to pick one I’d say the gaudy fabrics used in the 20s; they just didn’t coordinate and looked tacky on a person.

There were way too many events in early 20th century China so I don’t really know which one to pick, but I guess the 1911 revolution and WWI were both very important. The subsequent drama with the weird new monarchy and civil war was also very interesting but simply too complicated.

If I were alive back then I’d probably participate in movements to liberate women’s fashion e.g. protesting against foot binding and breast binding.

If you’re interested in the political history of that time I’m sure there are plenty of books and documentaries that do the job perfectly, but if you mean fashion history it’s a tad more difficult and complicated. Of course you can follow me and read my series on early 20th century Chinese fashion (I will write about Ming and Qing Dynasties in the future, hopefully), but if you want something more academic my blog wouldn’t suffice. I personally haven’t read any professional fashion history book start to finish, mostly because 1. I haven’t found really good ones 2. the research in the famous books could be outdated or very generalized, like a lot of books on this topic try to describe the entirety of historical Chinese fashion in one book less than 1000 pages, they couldn’t possibly go into detail about any century, let alone decade. These books usually leave me with more questions than answers. I often marvel at some scholars’ ability to do that, I couldn’t fit all the information about just Edwardian European fashion in that volume. There are a couple of very iconic books by Gao Chunming and Shen Congwen but they’re quite old (written in the 70s and 80s) and some of their research is probably overturned by now. I would recommend looking up primary sources (many calendar paintings and advertisements with dates from early 20th century China on Pinterest) to get an idea of the general silhouette, or if you’re serious about it you could purchase antique garments and study their construction in detail. If you could sew I highly recommend trying to make replicas of period originals, learning by praxis is very effective. If you live in China or could visit China after the pandemic, going to museums is a great option too, as you could observe the garments up close. Sometimes when the museums put up a fashion exhibition they would publish booklets with information or sewing patterns, but these go out of publication quite quickly so they’re less accessible, but if you come across one it would be very useful.

Here is a link to a very knowledgeable blogger whom I worship. https://baike.baidu.com/tashuo/authorcenter?authorId=b9ad24c52f69f5c5d50e5820

Again thank you and your friends for the kind words. I will eventually cover the 1950s in my series so please stay tuned!

#ask

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artistrashofmine · 3 years

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We got some katsuyami angst a request of @asianlychallengedasian for the exchange hosted by @protobnhaweek. It’s bit later then I was hoping due to an unforeseen power outage, though here it is at last! AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27950525

UA’s doors were huge, the whole building was. It was surreal, to see it in person like this. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, wearing the UA uniform, a backpack was thrown over his shoulder.

“We did it. I told you we would!” The blond stood tall, a glint in his red eyes as he studied the building.

A shorter boy stood beside him, shoulders hunched, messy, dark purple hair with bangs that fell over one of his eyes and freckles that dotted his checks, “yeah, Kacchan, you were right.”

“Aren’t I always? Come on! Stand up straight for fucks sake, we’re students of UA now. We’ll be heroes Yami.” The sharp grin could scare away anyone it was aimed towards, that was if they didn’t already know how harmless the humanized kitten was.

The other straightened up, “alright Kacchan. If you’re so sure... let’s go before we’re late!”

The pale blond snorted, “I got us here early so we wouldn’t be late, only an idiot would manage that.”

And with Katsuki’s smartass comments, there went the contagious, cheery spark that he latched onto a second ago. Yes, they made it into UA, against all odds - well, for Mikumo. Katsuki was pretty much fated to be a hero. They both passed the exam, he passed the exam quirkless. And yes, they were both in the hero course, in the same class together. But looking at the oblivious blond beside him, looking back on his own life, socially, they were screwed.

He couldn’t keep his nerves at bay as they walked down the hallways, already creating scenarios in his head of how their first introduction to their classmates will go. Throughout elementary and middle school he didn’t really have friends, for obvious reasons. He was quirkless, no one wanted to be friends with someone who was quirkless. And frankly, Mikumo didn’t want to be friends with them either. He wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, preferring to keep to himself when possible and avoid others. Maybe that’s because most of the ‘others’ would have rather made fun of him than actually hang out with him. Still, it left him with a lot of free time, most of which was put to good use towards the end of middle school when he got serious about becoming a hero, without a quirk. To prove them wrong, that a quirkless person could be a hero.

Where did Katsuki play a part in this? They were childhood friends. Katsuki was there for him when he wanted. Though they did grow distant going into middle school, different interests and such. They didn’t stop talking completely. It wasn’t until the blond had caught him tinkering with a support item that they reunited.

Katsuki was smart. A child genius. Consumed knowledge as if it were his last meal. And if Mikumo was being honest, he likely wouldn’t have made it this far without the blond’s helpful comments, or moderately helpful to the “I know you meant well but that only made things worse” encouragement the blond tended to give off. With the help of the other, he was able to design a few inconspicuous items that make it almost appear as if he had a quirk. That and Katsuki had started pulling him into his workout routine. Getting up at a stupidly early time and jogging for a stupidly long time. And he had annoyed the curly-haired teen into purchasing a few weights.

Mikumo would be lying if he said the sudden workout regiment didn’t do anything. It was amazing to see the results. He had never thought of himself as unfit per se- sure he wasn’t god-level fit but it’s not like he got winded walking up a few flights of stairs or anything like that. Still, he never realized how much room there was for improvement. Katsuki appeared smug when he admitted such, claiming how that’s what he’s been trying to tell Yami.

It was a good improvement. It paid off in the end. He was here, UA, with his best friend- in the same class as his best friend.

“Yami, here, this is the classroom. You’re always so slow!” The dark-haired teen hated to see how the rest of the class was going to react to them. It was impossible for Katsuki to keep his voice at a moderate volume. Even more impossible for him to forego sharing his honest opinion.

It didn’t help that he had no mind when those opinions became insulting. Yamikumo didn’t mind it for the most part, he knew the blond didn’t mean anything bad by his words. Actually, he usually meant the opposite, to encourage others. Still, no one else knew that. They didn’t have years of experience in understanding the odd character’s way with words. They would likely take offence, but as long as he didn’t get like that right off the bat, maybe they’d have a chance of fitting in. Well, Katsuki would. Yamikumo was pretty well screwed either way, not only was he inexperienced when it came to the whole social thing- he was quirkless and a quirkless teen in a hero class was bound to stand out. They were bound to figure out he didn’t have any quirk. After all, “what’s your quirk?” was as common a question as “the weather, huh?”.

And Kacchan was good at making the fact that he was quirkless a big deal - yeah, he meant well, he meant it as a way to brag about Mikumo’s success, but still, the dark-haired teen preferred not to be the center of attention.

Long story short, they were screwed. Their high school life was screwed. Though, it was a hero school. He could only hope his peers would be kind, kinder than those in middle school.

Turns out they took plus ultra quite seriously. His classmates were beyond Kumo’s expectations. There was the brown-haired girl, he had helped her in the entrance exam. The first friend he’s made since Katsuki. Then came the others, the class president of whom he was originally quite reluctant of - the first person Katsuki had managed to criticize to the point of offence - “why the hell don’t you wear contacts, four-eyes?”- soon followed with a- “Soumei… a rich family then, I guess you could afford glasses every time they fall off your fucking face”.

Then there was Endeavour’s son, son of the number two hero. As a result, Katsuki appeared to be quite eager to beat the guy. Though Mikumo honestly didn’t care all that much. He didn’t care as much for the mainstream heroes. Well, honestly, he was yet to find a hero he cared much for. After getting rejected by the number one hero, that kind of shit put a bad taste in your mouth.

Speaking of the number one, he was teaching here. Talk about awkwardness. It would have been fine if Katsuki didn’t stick his nose into things, he’s sure All Might hadn’t recognized him, not until the blond started talking. Once he heard from Yami on what happened between the two of them, the blond wasn’t afraid to tell All Might what he thought.

Katsuki was something. He could be exhausting, but he was still the freckled student’s best friend.

But maybe they needed a break.

“It’s a miracle we’re both here, Yami.” The realization came after their recent argument, Mikumo had snapped. He’s snapped at the blond before, whenever he went too far.

“What do you mean?” But this time was different, he hadn’t a clue on what the other was going on about.

He tended to get lost in his own thoughts as he let the other go off, talking about whatever self-improvements he could make, before going on to review Yami’s day.

“Well, you are quirkless. There’s never been a hero like that before-” Ah, something like this again. It’s been about a month since they’ve started at UA. Katsuki was still going on about how impressive it was.

“That doesn’t mean I couldn’t make it…” the green eyes squinted at the grinning blond, “you know me better than that.”

“Well yeah of course I do, why’d you think I called it a miracle?” Seriously, how could someone be so bad with words? He clenched his jaw, Yamikumo knew Katsuki meant it as a compliment, knew the blond meant nothing bad by it.

Still, he couldn’t help but snap, “and you wonder why I’m your only friend Kacchan.”

Maybe Bakugou went too far this time as well. And usually Katsuki caught on. Sometimes he’d have to be more direct about it, but he usually could tell when he went too far, when he actually pissed the purple-haired teen off.

“Huh?” The red eyes blinked at him, despite how long they’ve known each other, the purple-haired teen never knew when the other was joking or not. But looking into the confused red eyes, he could tell Katsuki was serious. He had no idea why Yamikumo was on the last straw with him, no idea what Yami was upset about.

It was crazy to think that the guy just didn’t get it, but he didn’t. No matter how often Yamikumo tried to explain it to him, their classmates were still trying to get used to it. But maybe, maybe they’ve been taking the wrong approach, trying to get used to it as they wait for the blond to figure it out himself.

He was never going to. It’s been years.

And this fight was somehow different. This time Mikumo wasn’t going to stand for it.

“Fine Kacchan. Come find me when you finally get it.”

He’d have to get it at some point.

And maybe it was because UA was treating him well, he had actual friends for once- either then the blond beside him. He couldn’t wait around, re-explaining it to the blond for another ten years. It’s gone on too long, it’s been adding up to this.

Maybe it’ll be the push Katsuki needs.

So Yamikumo walked away.

Bakuogu Katsuki felt lonely, felt alone. He’s never had something like this happen to him, not with Yamikumo at least. Sure, he knew he tended to piss people off. Sometimes he knew why, but usually it was a mystery. He didn’t intentionally want to make people feel like shit, especially the purple-haired teen. Yamikumo was his best friend, one of the few people he was close with. He wasn’t supposed to leave. That wasn’t part of the plan. They were supposed to become heroes together . The two of them against the world - of course, that saying was bullshit and made no sense but Katsuki was certain it could be applied to this situation. They were in this together, always had been.

Bakugou didn’t factor in their future classmates. That was likely his problem. Yamikumo now had friends. He was popular in the class and Katsuki, well, was not. It only made sense for the other to drop him. Katsuki didn’t have a good way with words, even worse understanding of their effect on others. He was good at math, good at biology, excelled in chemistry. Language had always been his weak area. And consequently, that meant socialization. Not that he cared to socialize with most people anyway. Everyone in their middle school was a moron. Even in elementary school, he rose above everyone else. No one could compare with him. It made no sense to stay friends with people who didn’t actually try, yet remained envious of the blond’s accomplishments.

That and he tended to piss people off. Sometimes the truth was too harsh for people to understand, and sometimes Katsuki had a hard time understanding how he pissed someone off to begin with. The case was no different at UA. Sure, he wouldn’t mind getting along with many of his classmates, they seemed like good people for the most part. And they couldn’t be that stupid, they were in one of the top schools, being taught by heroes to become heroes. It was fucking amazing. Everyone here was a part of a small group of the students who had applied to be in this position. Many of which stood a fighting chance, or at least had enough confidence in themselves to believe that. So yes, if Katsuki were to believe in miracles, this would be one. Hence what he told Yamikumo. After all, that was one of those things people said, or so the blond had thought.

He didn’t understand why the other got so upset over it. Did Katsuki really mess up that badly this time? He’s said some shitty stuff in the past, the other had never been afraid to call the blond out for it, why was it different this time around?

Because of others, that’s why it was different. Yamikumo didn’t need Katsuki anymore. He had other friends, other people he could go to. Yaoyorozu was the smartest in the class, she has a creation quirk. Yami could go to her for anything he needed. And he could brainstorm with anyone in the class. He got along with them all, and everyone liked him.

Katsuki didn’t try to get along with anyone else. He didn’t think he needed to. He had the freckled teen as a study partner, or talk over ideas with. He didn’t need anyone else. Maybe now it was time to rethink that.

The first person Katuski had actually started to get along with in the class was the redhead, Kirishima. Which was strange, because the blond hadn’t been very quiet about his distaste for the painfully fake coloured, unnaturally spiked abomination atop his head. It was practically a warning signal for villains; yes, I am here, the hero with the shitty-hair who turns their body to stone. Though, the blond had to admit his quirk would work well as a defence against Katsuki’s own explosions.

Still, he hadn’t outright told that to the other- he didn’t need anyone knowing his weakness. So that made it all the stranger when the redhead with the shark teeth laughed off Katsuki’s brutal honesty. No one had done that before, most people got offended. And outright pissed when the blond refused to apologize. Katsuki hadn’t bothered paying any mind to Kirishima. Other than his quirk, he wasn’t all that impressive. And Katsuki had Yamikumo. But now, well, the redhead was increasingly more difficult to ignore when the blond had no one else to turn to. No one to eat lunch with, or choose as a sparring partner. But Kirishima practically volunteered himself to work with Katsuki.

That was a first.

It didn’t feel bad. Katuski wondered if this was the beginning of a new friendship. Though it felt different from his relationship with the purple-haired teen. Something was missing. He missed the other. It had always been them, Yamikumo had always been special to him. Katsuki didn’t want that to change.

It was the end of the week, they had finished off training when Katsuki had finally found Yamikumo alone. When he was finally able to talk to the other, to confront him. The other had been waiting outside the changing room. The blond had been the last in there, he wondered if the purple-haired teen had the same idea to confront Katsuki. If he realized how hopeless the blond was at communicating. This time, he wouldn’t let the other start. He wouldn’t have the other fishing for apologies.

“I’m sorry okay! I- fuck, I’m bad at this, you know that, but it’s no excuse… I don’t-” Truly, the one thing Katsuki was bad at, what was he supposed to say? He still didn’t know but he couldn’t stay quiet, he had to be the one to start this conversation, “are you fucking crying?”

That wasn’t what he expected the result to be. He apologized, he thought that’s what the other wanted. He didn’t think he said anything wrong yet, he thought this was likely one of the few times he was aware of what he was saying, of the meaning behind what he was trying to say.

“Kacchan, I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have just ignored you like that! It was horrible of me. I just- ” Nor did he expect the other to apologize, after all, he did have the right to get upset at the blond, “I got so frustrated.”

“I know - I’m trying to understand.” It was difficult, more difficult than it should be, “I don’t see things the way you do - fuck, I don’t see things the way most of you do. When I say something, it’s not supposed to hurt anyone, but it does. I don’t understand, but I’m trying to.”

“Kat…” He had that determined look upon his face, the same one he had when deciding to become a quirkless hero, “I’ve missed you.”

The blond’s face broke out into a grin that could mirror the sun, “me too, Yami.”

This, this was how they were supposed to be. Together, no matter what was going to happen. Working things out, teaching each other, learning from mistakes. Not ignoring each other.

“And I didn’t mean it,” Katuski’s eyebrow creased, “about the no friends thing. You belong here, with us, with them - your friends. They love you.”

The teen looked almost reluctant, as if he were giving Katsuki away, saying goodbye or some shit like that.

Katsuki stared at the other, red eyes hardened, “I want to be with you.”

“What do you mean by that?!” The other's face flushed- an unusual feat for Yamikumo.

“We’ll be heroes together, promise me?” The face-value meaning of the words made Katsuki feel stupid, but he knew that Kumo would understand what the blond was trying to convey, the insecurity he didn’t want to admit to, the hope that they’d remain by each other’s side no matter what.

With a genuine smile, the other replied, “of course Kacchan, together.”

#proto bnha #protobnhaexchange #katsuyami #katsuki bakugou #yamikumo #midoriya izuku #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakudeku

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spc4eva · 3 years

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Mandokar: Chapter Four

I’m weak willed y’all. Enjoy the years flying by. *cries in hopeless romantic* I couldn’t stop myself - HERE HAVE IT.

Summary: The years make the heart grow fonder. But the Empire looms on the horizon and they’ll not leave any planet untouched.

Word Count: 17,673

Rating: M (+18) latter part of the chapter contains full on smut - praise kink, the helmets stay on, dirty talking, unprotected, vaginal, and fingering

Warning: mentions of questionable consent for touching and coercion past comfort

Cross Posted on AO3

Masterlist

Din was the first to return. He'd not really been expecting it to go any other way, but he had sort of hoped that Sena might be waiting, gracing him with a middle finger and arrogant helmet tilt. Instead, he knelt before the Elders in the Foundry as he handed over the supplies purchased with the credits from his hunt. Shustii, the only other mando who did not wear a helmet amongst the council, creased a smile amongst her wrinkles.

"You have impressed the Tribe, Djarin," her trembling elderly voice announced, speaking for the group. His own eyes went to Rhenx, whom he had always admired, but it was always Shustii who gave him attention. "You are the first to return from your Trial and with a bountiful harvest. For your success, you shall move forward in your training."

Din bowed his head respectfully, pausing in the position, before coming back up mechanically. Waiting for his dismissal, it was given when Shustii nodded, allowing for him to get back to his feet. The Armorer stepped forward and acquired his offering before he turned around, departing from the Foundry. While he was proud to be the first one back, he also didn't think the job had been that difficult. His bounty had all but sobbed at his feet, begging not to be taken in. Up to his eyeballs in debt, the man knew he was going to be killed or forced into servitude. None of that was Din's problem. It was a job and the man had done this to himself.

He wondered what the rest of his vod were up to, trying to silently place his bets on the order in which they'd return. He banked on Sena being a close contender, followed by Kedth and Xivi (who had decided to wait until she was 17 to go on her hunt). He was absolutely astonished to see Aya return next, but quickly realized that it wasn't because she had been successful. Over the years, since her loss to Sena, she'd cut herself off more from the rest of the group. He didn't pity her, as he took his own solace on not always being a part of the main crowd, but they were opposites. He took his part in the Tribe very seriously and Aya did not try. Most of her peers disliked her, Din included, because of what she'd done after the end of her duel. The mando had never apologized for it and Sena was quite popular within their class and outside of it with hunters around her brother's age. If she had just apologized, her luck might've been much better.

From the sag of her shoulders and the uneasy amount of time she was locked in the Foundry, Din knew she had failed. Noticing her departure at dusk, he could hear her cries coming out from her vocoder as she dejectedly wandered off. People who failed were allowed to try again when they were older and would eventually be assigned duties around the covert. Since they were not talented enough to manage easy bounties, they would be put to better use in doing things like cooking, raising the Foundlings, and supply requisitions. These were not bad jobs, as they were necessary for the Tribe to function, but it had to be a hard pill to swallow - watching your peers move on and being barred behind because of incompetence.

Kedth arrived the following day, brimming with pride, and leaving the Foundry after a short hour of talking with the Elders.

"Who else has come back?" Kedth asked, finding him in the Den.

"Aya failed, but she is the only other one," he answered, feet kicked up on the edge of the hearth table where flames sputtered up from the center.

"Dank farrik, I beat the Vizslas?" Kedth let out a little hoot of victory. "Knew I wasn't gonna beat you, but I expected Sena to be neck and neck with you."

"Depends on where her bounty was," Din shrugged. By this point he assumed it was a lengthy distance, because she wouldn't have taken their bet if she knew she was going to lose. He thumbed something in his pocket, contemplating whether or not after the First Trial was the best time to give it. He'd already noticed Hyvhast eying Sena and after they left normal classes, any of the female mandos would become fair game. It hadn't been his intention to eye up his rival, but he also didn't like the idea of anyone other than himself hunting her.

"Did you hear me Djarin?" Kedth intoned.

"What?" he tilted his visor back, dropping his hand from his pocket.

"I asked who you think is gonna get here next."

He shrugged, unable to levy bets when they had no idea where their vod were in the Outer Rim. They didn't have to wait around too long. Oyiin followed, which began making him anxious. Xivi was next, followed by Vowr, and finally Sena. Everyone had passed and he knew that Vizsla had too by the hefty supplies she dragged with her to the Foundry. Din waited for her to be released, darkness falling over the village before she stepped out of the Foundry, the moonlight catching the golden paint on her armor, lighting it up like a beacon against her dark armor.

"Looks like you lost," he announced smugly.

Sena's helmet turned up toward him, a strange, uncharacteristic line in her shoulders as she just stared. "Whatever," she grumbled and walked away.

He assumed she was just bitter, trotting after her. "Where did your bounty take you?" he inquired casually.

She did not answer, quickening her pace as she carved the path back to the Vizsla house.

This disquieted him. Sena was a blabber mouth, more than eager to talk about her success and paint vivid stories with her words. " Vod ?"

"I don't want to talk about it," her crisp voice was cold and distant.

"Did you fail?" That was the wrong question. Of course she hadn't failed. Din had watched her carrying in her supplies, but he couldn't logically find another reason why she wouldn't just say what happened.

"No."

"Then what-"

"I don't want to talk about it!" she snarled. The Vizsla temper was infamous around the Tribe, but it wasn't often that it was bared. Most knew to be wary of it as Hux had once displayed how terrible their family's temper could be. There were a few times where Paz had threatened to teeter over that delicate edge, but his antagonizers quickly backed off as Big Blue had become the largest person in the Tribe.

He didn't find out why she was so upset until he was sparring with Paz later in the week. Sena had been incredibly quiet compared to usual. While she was amongst her friends, she didn't contribute to the conversation or answer questions as frequently as typical. He parried a thrust, bones ringing beneath his vambrace at the strength in Paz's well placed strike. If he had to guess, this Vizsla also seemed rather irritated.

"Hey," Din muttered once they'd come to a close, his heart pounding his chest, Paz shoving the straw of his water bottle underneath his helmet before greedily drinking. "Are you two alright? Since coming back from the First Trial-" he trailed off, Paz glaring at him and straightening at the suggestion.

"What's it matter to you?" the blue mando asked sharply.

"We're vod ," Din offered poorly.

For a fleeting second, Din thought that Paz was going to pummel him into the ground. Instead, a breath hissed through his vocoder, crackling slightly at the end. "Mission was tough on us," was all he was willing to admit.

The answer was cryptic and Din still didn't comprehend. "Tough quarry?"

"I wish," Paz grumbled. "Just don't bother her about it. She just needs some time to cool down. Ready for another round?"

8BBY

Cooling down took much longer than Din had expected. His thoughts wandered about what had happened that was enough to shake Sena and Paz. Whatever it was, he couldn't even begin to fathom it, but it must've been bad. Training continued as usual and he clung to the small gift he had intended on giving her way longer, until it became just a familiar weight in his pocket, and he shrank back as older hunters began talking to her. Paz was almost always nearby, hovering like a menacing shadow, refusing to allow anyone who wasn't a classmate of hers linger for more than a couple of minutes.

As annoying as that might've been for Sena, Din was thankful for it. Or, he had been until Hyvhast finally broke through her denials and disinterest, officially staking his claim on Sena after their Second Trial. To say that Din was bitter was an absolute understatement, sparing his friend long stares as he noticed keldabe kisses being exchanged between her and Hyvhast. Beyond that, he didn't know what else was going on relationship-wise and felt too peeved (and awkward) to even think about asking her how things were going.

It wasn't permanent was it? Maybe eventually Sena would see that Din was a better hunter and leave behind Hyvhast. He snorted at his dumb thoughts, aware that Hyvhast's unrelenting persistence was the only reason Sena had agreed to court with him. Din Djarin had done nothing to express his feelings toward her. In fact, he'd held onto the gift he'd intended on giving her for two years. Not once had he felt it was the right time to give it to her and come the end of the Second Trial, she was suddenly taken.

He'd grown closer to Paz, not because it suited him, but because he liked the Vizsla. Always willing to help when he had time, Paz made for a great companion and an even better teacher. Din would have been an idiot not to take advantage of the other male's knowledge. They'd gone a few hunts together and out of most people, he found he preferred working with Paz to those he grew up with.

"Where's the Guild that we're headed to?" Paz yawned, cleaning his heavy blaster before the mission, setting the pieces spread on the table in the Vizsla karyai .

"Felucia," Din answered shortly. Wasn't the best planet, in fact it was incredibly humid and sticky, swampy to the point where just walking around town felt as if it soaked you straight through, but the Guild outpost there was remote and nondescript. "Where do you usually go?"

"Dadrus," Paz was cleaning the bolt still with a rag, wiping away the residue before picking up his ale and drinking it through a straw. "Not too bad out there. The Guild Master is fond of Sena, so he tends to give us good pucks."

"Where is she? I haven't seen her around recently," Din commented, trying to sound disinterested and nonchalant.

"She went out tonight," Paz grumbled, his mood shifting immediately.

Oh. Din turned his helmet back down to his ambien rifle and tried to pretend as if that didn't bother him. For a split second, he thought the conversation had been dropped like a hot potato, but Paz picked back up with a sharp intake of breath like he was a bull nerf about to charge.

"Don't understand what she sees in Hyvhast," Paz vented, shoulders pinned tensely as he hunched closer to his weapons. "He's a good hunter, but he's ori'buyce, kih'kovid ."

Din snorted, aware of what he was referencing. Hyvhast had no modesty. Well, that wasn't quite a trait taught amongst Mandalorians, you still acknowledged your Elders and those that were better than you. He didn't spend enough time around Hyvhast to know him too well, but he'd heard the other hunter boasting in the Den before, loudly enough that the rest of the patrons could hear him. He wasn't being brash accidentally, he wanted everyone to hear.

"Never understood why you never made a play at her," Paz remarked between his snippets of insulting Hyvhast.

Din froze, almost dropping the priming pin in his hands at the Vizsla's proclamation. Swallowing hard, he looked over to see the visor fixated on him, undoubtedly Paz locking eyes. Was he saying that he would've allowed it? That he wouldn't be complaining about Din half as much as he did about Hyvhast? Somehow he doubted that. Whoever dated Sena was going to have to deal with the over protective big brother.

The door opened, saving his shebs from having to offer a rebuttal to Paz. Snapping his visor away, finally releasing Din from the power of holding his gaze, he sat up and dropped his charging handle on the table and stood up abruptly. Cocking his head, he turned around to see what was going on, noticing that Sena had returned home for the evening. His heart ached at the sight of her, not noticing the tremble in her shoulders or the quick way she ran to her bedroom.

Paz was at the door just as it closed in his face, causing Din to glance back in confusion. "Sen'ika? Sen'ika open the door or I'm coming in-" his voice dropped, tender and unlike the man that Din knew. Something was wrong and Din hadn't even noticed, but the moment that Paz had laid eyes on his sister it'd taken all but two seconds for him to know. That made his stomach shift uncomfortably, wondering how many times he'd never noticed that she was upset. Maybe he really didn't deserve to court her.

Paz punched the code into the door, an item falling out of his bandolier and catching the door before it closed completely. It jarred it, leaving it open just a breadth, Din staring at it as he heard the conversation he wasn't intended to.

"Sen'ika?"

There was quiet sniffling, followed by the bed squeaking, bucking beneath Paz's weight as he sat on it. "Am I ugly?" she asked her brother quietly, voice unmodulated; her helmet was off. She always had a different accent from everyone else, so articulate and prim (aside from when she cursed) and it made his knees weak even now.

The silence threatened to strangle Din where he sat, wondering if anyone outside her aliit had seen her face. Finally, Paz spoke, "Why would you think that?"

She broke out into more tears. Such an awful noise, each little whimper sending unpleasant stabs down Din's back, his throat parched, and his fingers tightening around the arms of the chair he lounged in.

"Did Hyvhast do something? Did he see-"

"N-no, not beneath my helmet," she hiccuped.

"Then why would you think that? Why would you think you're ugly, princess?" he soothed, his own voice suddenly warmer and unmodulated.

"W-we were fooling around and... you know how I feel about that after what happened on Tatooine-" she choked out, hoarse and tinny. "-but I thought he was nice, s-so I let him. He's been wanting to for weeks now, b-but I wasn't ready. Wh-when he saw beneath my-" she wailed again, Din flinching.

"He saw what?" the edge of fury hissed in Paz's voice, the low growl that would build up into more.

"H-he said I looked like a b-boy. Th-that I have no chest. And then m-my marks-"

"Shh, Sen'ika. He's di’kutla . He'll never know the mesh'la dala beneath the helmet," Paz soothed. "He was never worthy."

"I told you that Anaxians age slower," she whined. "I-I'm still growing. I just thought maybe he would wait a couple more years but-"

"That was never his interest. I warned you about what happens when hunting begins," Paz muttered darkly. "It's not always with the intention of entering riduurok ."

She broke back down into a fit of crying, Din glued to his chair and unable to move for fear of alerting the both of them that he was eavesdropping. From what he garnered, Hyvhast had pressured her into doing things before she was ready and that vexed him. What had happened on Tatooine? What the kriff was an Anaxian? He thought she was Sephi. His memories flipped back to their first time by the moon pool as children, the way she'd climbed the tree and howled at the stars. There had always been something strange about her that he could never quite place his finger on. Part of that mysteriousness had drawn him in.

Now there were other reasons. His fingers thumbed the item in his pocket, clenching tightly around it that the beskar pressed through his gloves and into his skin. She was a loyal member of the Tribe, shouldered her duty, made an amazing hunter, and pulled her weight amongst the Tribe without ever offering a complaint. Aside from her abilities as a Mandalorian, Din thought she was one of the most amusing people he knew. With a mouth like a sailor and goofy to a fault, when she wasn't being serious about her work, she was fun to be around... easy to be around. And tolerable. More than tolerable by this point. Din liked spending time with her, even if that just meant practicing in the yard. They'd done that a lot less recently.

Then there was the fact that the both of them had come from similar backgrounds, ripped away from their homes amongst war and battle. Neither had spoken much about it, other than acknowledging that there would always be those memories before they were Mandalorian.

Hearing his friend cry broke something in him, each little sniffle like the a kal in his chest, prodding him again at her despair. Wasn't often you heard Mandalorians cry, let alone someone as chipper as Sena. She was so kriffing stubborn and prideful that she'd suffered being bullied as a kid because she was unwilling to balk or bend. The only person who seemed to see the emotional side of her was her brother. And in a way, Din was betraying her trust by continuing to listen.

Eventually, Paz got up and headed for the door. He paused, freezing when he saw what had caught in the door, picking it up before heading out and shutting the bedroom with a hydraulic hiss. Din jolted, visor locking with the blue Mandalorian's, wondering what was about to happen.

"Did you-" Paz started.

Din nodded.

" Hukaat'kama ," he ordered, striding out of the house.

Reassembling his rifle, he slung it over his back and sauntered after Paz. There was no question as to where he was going. Night basked them as they stalked their way past the Foundry and toward the Den. Paz's shoulders were set back, chest puffed out, and he moved as if they were on a bounty hunting mission. Halting outside the entrance, Paz rounded so quickly that Din threw his hands up defensively, uncertain if he was about to become the man's fixation while he saw red.

"Go in first. Ping me once you set eyes on him. If I go in, there will be no doubt why I'm there," Paz handed over a small comlink. He didn't need to say the name of the person he was referring to. Din was blatantly aware that they were there for Hyvhast.

Taking the comlink, Din nodded and stepped by him, entering the Den. Set down a few steps in another dome shaped building, the lighting was dim and most was procured by the hearth tables. Small, simulated flames leapt up in the center, horseshoe shaped benches surrounding tables where various mandos put their black ale. A rambunctious group was collected to the far right, his eyes immediately finding the earthen brown armor of Hyvhast which was accentuated with moss green stripes. He was tall and lean, about Din's height, though not as broad. Caught in an animated conversation, Din slid over into a table just flanking to see what it was they were saying.

"So you're not with her anymore?" Mirrair asked, a mando in dusty orange beskar'gam.

"Kriff no! Look, she's a great hunter and has mandokarla , but she's got the body of a 12 year old boy. Hard to tell beneath the armor. Was a huge turn off," Hyvhast announced, immediately met with an awkward silence from his companions. "What? You guys think I'm wrong?"

"Well, she's Sephi, isn't she? Don't they, um, age differently?" Loah was a female mando in tan armor, a few black swirls decorating her helmet.

"If she's got mandokarla , what does it matter if she's flat-chested? You think you're going to find a female mando with a rack here? We're all athletic," Jiabe spoke up, just as affronted as Loah, crossing her arms over her cuirass defensively.

"There's not only that," Hyvhast backpedaled quickly. "She had there weird gold marks all over her skin - almost like tattoos, but they glowed-" Din pressed the comlink, not willing to listen to the bastard detail any more of his friend's body. Especially when his audience was also just as uncomfortable with the subject.

"She's not human," Jiabe stood up, her voice rising. "Where is she? What did you say to her?"

Hyvhast jetted to his feet to meet her challenge. "She went running home. Couldn't take a little honesty."

Jiabe barked a harsh laugh. "Oh you're absolutely shab . Did you really think that Paz wouldn't find out about this?" She jammed her finger in between where the sides of Hyvhast's armor met, hitting flesh. "Who do you think you are? Hunting a vod and then laughing at her, talking to the rest of us about what is beneath her armor? I could give a womp rat's ass how much you supply for the Tribe. Not only have you insulted Clan Vizsla, but you've insulted ever dala in the Tribe."

"Jiabe you're overreacting-" Hyvhast tried to placate her as if calling her hysterical was the right move.

It was not.

Jiabe's fist flew out, catching the man underneath his helmet and directly into his jaw. A sickening crack indicated that something had broken as he flew back, colliding with the back of the couch he had been standing in front of. " Ni cetar'narir kay'shebs ," she threatened, stretching her fingers just as Paz busted into the Den, causing everyone's helmet except for Jiabe's to turn.

"Hyvhast!" Paz howled, shaking the room with the boom of his voice.

The mando only groaned on the couch, still dazed from Jiabe's hook. She had his collar now, dragging his sorry shebs out of the booth and into the aisle where she dumped him to meet the Vizsla. "Think you're looking for this jayc'kovid . Might've stolen the first punch from you," she informed him, glaring down at Hyvhast as he started coming to. "Think I broke his jaw."

Paz was livid, but he did glance over at her slightly in confusion. "Wha-"

"He was talking osik about your vod . No one has the right to express what they see beneath the beskar'gam, even if they do not like it. He affronted all dala in the Tribe by doing so and ridiculing her. But... he insulted Clan Vizsla first. If you wish to repay me for what I have stolen, I shall take it," Jiabe offered honorably, squaring up to him without fear.

" Nayc ," Paz disagreed immediately. " Vor entye . Help me take him out back and we'll call it even."

Honor was pinnacle in the Tribe and as Jiabe had said, Hyvhast had been impudent to assume that betraying the nature of what was beneath the beskar'gam - something so sacred to all of them - with the addition of his audacity to remark about a lack of a chest, was highly insulting to other women who might be self conscious about their features. Din had never really considered it, seeing that everyone except for the Foundlings were in armor, but supposed that Jiabe was right. All the women, except for the retired and elderly, would be physically fit and might not have much of a chest. He'd never particularly found himself staring at Sena's iron heart. That wasn't what was attractive about her.

Paz and Jiabe dragged Hyvhast out as if he were a bag of garbage, undoubtedly for another beat down before they'd dump his shebs at the Med-Deck. His mind went back to the conversation and the fact that Sena had said Anaxian and not Sephi.

"Want anything?" Voormi was behind the bar this evening, gesturing to the only thing they had on tap - black ale.

"I've got a question," he proposed, receiving a nod from her. "Do you know what Anaxians are?"

"Anaxians?" she rocked back on her heels, tilting her lime green helmet as she hummed quietly to herself. "Race, I think. Anaxes used to be a planet before it got turned to rubble in an accident. Don't think it was much of an accident though. Empire was invading the planet."

I snuck up on a stormtrooper and slit his throat...

Those words echoed in his head, thinking back to their blade lessons years ago. Had Naboo been invaded by the Empire? He didn't really know much about what had happened all those years ago, being secluded on Vorp'ya without listening to the adults talking about the news.

"What were they like?"

"Anaxians? Dunno. There were a few native races to that planet. One was reptilian and the other... I think they were sub-human. Can't say. They never traveled off planet, so it's likely they were wiped out entirely when the planet exploded," Voomri shrugged, polishing the counter mindlessly. "Do you want a drink?"

"I'm fine," Din pushed himself to his feet, thinking about the new knowledge. Was it possible that Sena belonged to one of these races? He didn't think she was Reptilian and if he thought really hard, she might've mumbled something once or twice about being a Sephi offshoot and not actually Sephi. Anaxian? Golden markings on her skin? She had markings on her helmet, he wondered if those were supposed to be in relation to what was on her skin. He felt his breath quicken in his chest, imagining beneath the flight suit for a brief moment, the glow of golden teardrops...

Chewing his lip he started for the edge of the village, trekking across the moonlit grass, over the hills and toward the pond shaded by the ancient tree. Cresting the last rise, he froze when she saw a small figure sitting by the edge, legs drawn up to her chest, chin of her helmet on top of her knees as her visor gazed out toward the water which rippled peacefully from a wind that swept down from the moors. The leaves of the tree rustled like breathy chimes, the breeze picking at the edge of her braid and sighing deeply.

Sliding down the hill, he approached her carefully, as not to disturb her, but she sat up and glanced back. He could be stealthy when he wanted, but she'd always been the best out of their entire class. She could move soundlessly, despite how much equipment she was wearing.

"Hey," she offered simply, turning back to the water to continue staring at it, diving back into her thoughts.

Din padded up and sat down beside her, his own visor listing in the direction that she was looking. He wanted to tell her that Hyvhast was blind and an idiot. That he'd never deserved anyone as amazing as her. That he was getting his shebs kicked by Jiabe and Paz. But he didn't. Instead, he just watched the way the moonlight refracted on the mirror surface and wondered what she might look like without any beskar'gam on, wading into the water, the ethereal light playing tricks against her skin. Her hand was tan, he remembered that from when she'd challenged Aya; a deep, coppery tan. Paz knew what she looked like and had called her mesh'la . Those hadn't just been words of comfort, Din actually believed them.

"You alright?" he asked finally after a few minutes of blissful quiet.

Sena rolled her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "I'll get over it," she grumbled, the normal inflection of her voice returning. Din liked her voice, he always had found the articulate accent alluring. As she'd gotten older, it had gotten deeper and less whiny, replaced with a smooth alto, pleasantly curling in his ears with each word. He wished the one time he had heard it without the modulator, she hadn't been crying.

He didn't bring up the subject, didn't pressure her to talk, he only sat there with her, lending her a sense of companionship that went deeper than conversing. After all, she had already told Paz and it wasn't his place to try and force the story out of her. Time dragged on, a soft sigh parting from her lips finally as she contemplated what had happened. Din's hand was in his pocket, thumbing the charm, before he pulled it out. The moonlight hit the beskar Jai'galaar eyes strung on a leather strap. So many years in his pocket, polished constantly from the soothing manner in which he'd palmed it when he thought about his friend.

"Sena-" he cleared his throat, freezing when she sat up to glance over at him.

"Hm?"

"Paz wanted me to give this to you," he said stupidly, lifting up the necklace. "He said it might make you feel better." Maker almighty, why did he say that? Why couldn't he just tell her that he had gotten it for her? She was still recovering from what had happened with Hyvhast and while this felt like the right moment to give it to her, it also felt like the wrong moment to be honest as to why.

She reached up, her gloves brushing lightly against his, causing his skin to tingle underneath as little electric pinpricks lanced up to his elbow. " Jai'galaar eyes?" she muttered, finally taking it. "How befitting-" he could hear the wry smile in her voice as she rolled her shoulders back and cracked them, stringing the necklace around her throat, which was obscured by the collar of her armorweave.

His heart was thumping wildly, as if he were being chased by a mythosaur, while he watched it plunk softly against her durasteel heartplate. The length of the strap dropped it low enough to reach her iron heart. Turning it over in her glove again she shook her head wistfully.

" Kaysh mirsh solus ," she commented. "Not surprised. We Vizslas all have lonely brain cells. He could've just given this to me later."

Din chuckled quietly at her joke. The Tribe did joke lovingly about their nerf-headedness, but Clan Vizsla was well loved despite the teasing. They were a clan of admirable warriors, all of which pulled more than their fair share for the Tribe. "Seems it did do the job."

"Of what?" she tilted her visor back up, her voice reading as confused through his visor.

"Cheering you up," Din pointed out, smiling now.

" Lek well-" she unfurled her legs and stretched her arms straight out above her head. Like a loth-cat in the sun, she shook out the tenseness in her muscles before keeping her legs kicked out, putting palms back on her knees. "Nothing for me to dwell on. Paz was right. Again." Hopping to her feet as if it were the easiest thing to do, she offered him a hand up. "Race you back?" The proposition was an old one, like they were little kids again coming to practice beneath the moonlight. There had been many times where Din had attempted to climb the tree with as much dexterity as her and had jammed his finger.

Gripping her forearm, he was wrenched to his feet, glancing up the steep hill. " Elek -" they both bolted off, Din getting to higher ground before Sena. She wasn't far behind, closing the distance with her dark pine green cloak snapping after her like an angry bird's wing. They were beskar and durasteel javelins against the grass. Just as she had done when they were younger, she let out the strange sort of baying yip, which caused Din to trip over his own feet and go down hard in the grass. Rounding and absolutely howling with laughter, she clutched her stomach as he tried to untangle himself from his cloak. Before he could even say anything, she turned back around and continued - with her lead - back to the village.

Din thrashed before managing to spring back to his feet, but it was too late. He'd given her too much time and she had vanished into the night. Grousing to himself, he wasn't entirely upset that he had lost, pleased that she had recovered in light of the awful evening she'd had until that point. He wondered if the animal cry she kept making was from Anaxes.

2BBY

"And then a giant bird swooped down from the sky and gnashed its beak. OMNOMNOM! " Sena roared, snapping her fingers to mimic a bird's impressive beak and digging it playfully toward the tummies of the Foundlings that surrounded her in a horseshoe formation. Her duties in watching the children had long since passed now that she was a fully fledged hunter and provider for the Tribe. However, she did like to stop by after missions and greet them with candy and treats she had picked up from whatever planet she visited. Usually the flavors and types changed, which always thrilled the little womp rats.

Giggling and squealing ensued as she tickled them, before they realized they could overwhelm her in one fell move. Tackling her to the ground, piling in a heap, she was pinned to the ground. Even if she'd finally stopped growing after all these years, she still was barely 45 kilos soaking wet. A dozen children were more than enough to take her out of commission.

" Ori'vod ! Where's our candy?" a gap tooth child demanded, as if she'd forget.

"Oh, I totally forgot," Sena betrayed whimsically, the children shrieking like jai'galaar at her confession.

"You didn't forget. It's right here," Zim held up the bag, now 15, and donning a helmet of his own. His lekku poked out from the modified bucket and he had painted it the same colors that Sena originally had hers - plum and dull yellow. "Back you beasts! I'll give it to you if you release our Ori'vod !"

The little zombies abandoned her, trailing after Zim who was on Foundling duty. Sena sat up, chuckling as he began tossing the candy, letting it rain down above them, distracting the little brats.

"You spoil them too much," Din commented, having just entered the Nursery to see the war raging. Sena tilted her head back from where she was laying on the floor.

"Oh lek ? What have you got in that bag behind your back?" she challenged, snickering as he tucked it behind his cloak as if he were ashamed that she'd caught him bringing treats for the kids. "Nice to see you, vod . How was your hunt?"

Din trotted down to help her to her feet. She dusted her armor off, frowning at all the scratches and dents on it. Since it wasn't pure beskar, came with the territory. Needed a good repainting. Beskar was harder to come by now with the Empire still being a load of osik . "Not too bad. Nearly threw my shoulder out since the bounty was trandoshan-" he let out a soft noise, which she knew was a laugh, his modulator never really picked it up right. "And you? Seems the candy is a hit this time."

This time. The last planet she'd gone to she hadn't bothered to taste the candy first. If she had, she would have realized it was flavored like krill and squid. Yeah, she'd felt quite bad as the kids began spitting out the gummies and gave her the most reproachful looks. Since then, she always made certain to try the sweets before committing to buying a bag full. "Easy enough... Well, actually-" she drew in a long winded breath. "-Jace gave me a bit more trouble than usual. Was trying to keep me on Dadrus longer than usual. He's always flirted with me, but it was really strange-"

"Need me to give your Guild Master a stern talking to?" Din gestured to his blaster.

Sena gave a good natured laugh. Din had nearly become part of Clan Vizsla by this point. He was close to her brother and went on quite a few hunts with him. She preferred to work alone, since Paz was way too kriffing loud. Their rivalry, while still there, had turned into a deep friendship that she wouldn't trade for anything in the galaxy. It was different than Xivi and her other friends. Din just... understood. They didn't even have to talk about, there was comfort in the silent nights by the moon pool just contemplating their lives. "Oh, no. He's a good person. Just a chatterbox."

"You say that as if you're not," Din pointed out.

"I'm not when I'm out in the field," she grumbled with a petulant frown. Sena liked to believe she was imposing, mysterious, and intimidating when she went out - armed to the teeth and speaking in short sentences. Maybe not. She did talk to Jace quite a bit since she'd known him for years now and still thought he was cute. The man had tried a few times to convince her to sleep with him, but Sena wasn't about to mix work with pleasure. Bad for business. Not to mention she'd sort of taken a step away from that life for now, focusing on doing her job, and not repeating what had happened with Hyvhast. Even if she'd grown into her skin now, she still felt highly insecure about her Goddess Markings as Hyvhast had poked at them and asked her what the kriff they were.

"What have you got for us, Ori'vod ?" a child had taken notice of Din now, standing in the play area.

Din pulled the bag out and opened it, crouching down to reveal little toys in the shape of little fish. Each was about the size of a child's palm and brilliantly painted. "They're-"

BOOM!

The Nursery shook, children screaming around them as they huddled close to the nearest armored warrior. Sena had several clutching her legs, trembling as their helmets snapped toward the door. Instincts kicking in, Sena whipped her head to Zim who dropped the bag of remaining candy. "Get the children to the back door, wait until our command to beeline for the extraction point," she barked, thrusting a comlink into Zim's hands before she slipped out of the grasp of the kids. Din was beside her, sprinting for the door as they drew their weapons.

The covert was consumed in absolute chaos. Imperial ships were descending from the grey sky, a convoy of troopers having already landed and prowling through the streets. They had been taken by surprise, Mandalorians quickly making their stands and barking orders in Mando'a as they tried to grab onto a semblance of cohesion and shake away the confusion. This only took a few minutes, as they were all trained in military tactics and how to react in situations like this. There was a strict set of instructions ingrained in everyone's mind from Foundling to Elder.

Trainees or Vod'ika would rally up the Elders and Foundlings. The youngest hunters, beneath the age of 21 would act as escorts and leaders, taking leash on their biggest ship the Cabur. Once the young and old were on the ship, they would get into hyperspace while the remainder of the Tribe protected them. Both Din and Sena were older than 21 and thus would act as soldiers on the field to protect the future of the Tribe.

Her blood rushed, the sight of the stormtroopers bringing back the memories of Anaxes, her heart pounding steadily like a war drum. She'd murder them all. Kill them, revive them, then kill them again for what they'd done to not only Genmaris, but now the Tribe. The shootout began, they needed to get around the back of the Nursery and clear the path for Zim to escape with the children. Raising her pistol, she shot the nearest snow white soldier in the face, aiming purposely for his eyes. She could wield a rifle or shotgun now if she pleased, but she'd always liked the pistol better. The years of practicing only with the sidearm had made her a spectacular shot. In a close combat arena like this, Sena was in her element.

" Hukaat'kama! " she called to Din, drawing Cu'Sith and Pog-Sticker.

" Oya !" he shouted back between the ringing of blaster fire and explosions.

She had never forgotten the way they had spilled blood on the elas stone. The blood of a peaceful people who lived in the forest. Or the way she'd walked through it barefoot. Moving like a dervish, she dashed forward with primal rage, the curve of her swords - now beskar - reaving through the plastoid armor as if it were made of butter. They were slow, sloppy, and weaker than the soldiers from a decade ago. These were not clone troopers. Nor did they speak Mando'a. Grinning at the realization, she ducked gracefully, cutting the soleus on the back of the trooper's exposed calf. She heard a cry, watched him stumble forward, and then beheaded him.

Her vindication was not uncommon amongst the Tribe, just one of the most brutal and bloody. She spotted her brother letting off his heavy blaster, mowing down troopers. Despite how well they seemed to be doing, it all came down to supplies. How long would it be until they ran out of energy and ammo? Before a tidal wave of white snow weathered them down in a blizzard that they couldn't dig themselves out of? They had to flee, because there were several more dropships coming. But most importantly, the children needed to escape.

She sliced down a few more troopers before racing back around the Nursery, Din covering her as they began clearing the path for the children. The ships were stowed beneath ground, in a hangar that would part the grass and open. They had been on Vorp'ya for many years now and continued to upgrade their home to make it more difficult to be discovered. Didn't seem to matter now. Pulling her comlink, she spoke briskly in Mando'a, " Bring them out. We're clear for now ."

" Roger ," Zim answered, the door opening. Lined up and hands linked, the children had also been trained on what to do. They were to stay together in a chain, holding onto the leader, which was Zim.

Other trainees had begun posting, fleeing the main fight to help keep the path to the ships open. There was no time to feel the pride of their unflinching resolve, but the kids were doing what they were trained to do. Despite how loud, how terrifying it all was, the young Mandalorians spoke in hand signals, bringing up the rear before entering the bunker entrance that led down below to the ships. Zim disappeared and Sena rounded as the last of the Elders were escorted below. Her eyes trailed back up to see how many ships there were, horrified as she and Din took up defensive positions around the hangar doors. This would be their last stand area. She wished she had the time to retrieve her traps from her home, but this was a surprise attack.

Eventually, the rest of the Tribe began to fall back to the hangars, the first ship, the Cabur departing with the children and elderly. Sucking her teeth, she hoped there would still be enough time and coverage for more of them to escape off planet. But as she watched, she grit her teeth, wanting nothing more than to kill than hide. That's what would happen after this, they would hide away again. The number falling back was pitiful and Sena's heart plummeted in horror. Paz was dragging their buir beside him, some - but not all - of the injured fleeing into the tunnels. They weren't going to be able to escape, not with this many drop ships coming in.

"Look!" Kedth pointed toward the sky, ships zooming down to meet the Imperial ships. Who they were, she had no idea, not until they started to jet out of the droppers with jetpacks. Sena had never been so happy to see foreign Mandalorians as she was now, choking out a thankful sob. Continuing to fight through the avalanche of stormtroopers, the ceaseless flow of them started to weather down, the verdant grass spattered with red, downtrodden beyond the point of recognition.

The other mandos were beginning to approach them, thanking the Maker that someone knew about them and had come to their support. A tug on the back of her cloak made her turn, the weary smile disappearing immediately when she saw the terse line of her brother's shoulders. Panic set in, replacing the original thrill of battle, remembering that her buir had been injured when he arrived. Stomach churning, she sprinted after him, down the stars and to where the injured were being tended. Her eyes stretched wide, watching the blood pool beneath her adopted father from a gash in his side where the heartplate did not meet.

Collapsing in a heap beside him, she pressed her gloves to his wound in a futile attempt to staunch the flow. He had lost too much and the majority of the bacta had been taken with the Foundlings and Elders. "No! You can't! Not you too!" her voice betrayed her, cracking as she saw the visage of her papa turning around, the golden lightsaber illuminating his hands as he marched to his death. Hux had become her father, the man that had finished raising her and in every way, her papa now. Everything that she had become was thanks to Hux, his steady hand, his temper, and his love.

"Stay strong, cyar'ika ," he muttered, voice distant and fading, cracked and weak. "I'm so proud. So proud of the warriors that I raised."

Paz was beside her now, fallen to his knees as they had their final moments with their buir .

"You know... the place, Paz. Sova's beskar'gam ... my beskar'gam ... inheritance," he was struggling to talk now, his chest rising and falling shallowly, a soft groan parting his lips beneath his helmet. Paz leaned forward, removing it so that they could look upon their father, see the light in his icy eyes. Pale blonde hair was striked with grey now, the faint line of a golden beard against his jaw. His lashes were heavy, fluttering open just enough gaze at them, a faint smile gracing his features. "Love you. I love the both of you."

A primal, animalistic cry escaped her as Hux closed his eyes for the final time. Paz leaned against her, pressing her face into his pauldron as she sobbed as hard as she had when she was a princess fleeing Anaxes. Maybe even harder. She couldn't hear anything but her own misery. How many people would die around her that she loved? All because of the Empire. This was the Empire's fault! Her hatred redoubled, unaware that she could hate something even more and with every fiber of her being. They sat there on the cold floor, grieving for their fallen buir and for the others that had lost their lives in the assault. Hux was not the only one.

Amongst the fallen was Aya, Vowr, Xaevo, Vhic, Bhone, Crehl, Khaan, Durr, the Smith, and Drold. Their bodies were lined up in the hangar, resting in their eternal vigil, going up to Manda. Despite the honor it was to fall in battle, Sena couldn’t help but feel as if it had all been a waste. So much training, so much love in the Tribe and the Empire tried to smote them from the galaxy. They hadn’t done anything. They had kept their noses out of anything Imperial. Not anymore. Sena wasn’t going to let them walk away from this.

“Sen’ika,” Paz was just as hoarse as she was, but they were standing in the Kote. “What buir was referring to was his riduur ’s armor. My mother-” he opened a panel to reveal the full suit of plum beskar’gam . “He always intended for you to inherit it one day. Just as you inherited her helmet.”

Sena gazed at it, all beskar, and in need of a good repaint. Her fingers slid against it, the feminine curve of the heart plate, the ensemble of pauldrons, cuisse, and greaves. The vambraces were missing and when she glanced at her own arms, she comprehended why. She hadn’t realized that Hux had given her Sova’s vambraces after her Second Trial. She had just assumed that there was beskar to spare for the newest hunters to forge their vambraces since they were so important. Licking her lips, she tilted her visor up toward her brother. “The other mandos here-”

“They came from Mandalore. They are looking for help. The Empire is attempting to take the smaller planets in the system first before attacking Manda’yaim .”

“I’m going,” Sena decided without hesitation. “I’m going to fight.”

Paz’s shoulders slumped slightly, the defeat of losing their father and now the idea of losing his sister too heavy for even his broad, masculine figure. But he did not try to convince her otherwise. “Too many died today. They will need guidance-”

“ Ori’vod you don’t need to explain to me why the Tribe needs you. I know they need you. I do not think any less than you, but… you understand why I must go,” Sena was picking up the armor now, beginning to replace her durasteel with Sova’s - no… it was hers not by right. “Twice now. Twice. Only this time I can fight. I can help. I will not turn my back on another battle with them. Not now. Not ever again.”

“You will bring much honor to the Tribe,” he announced, but he was choked up, grabbing her and thrusting his helmet against hers. There was an unspoken acknowledgement, the fact that they both knew that Sena probably wasn’t coming back.

“I will keep in contact with you if I can. I’ll send transmissions to the Kote ,” she promised, the words hollow on the back of her throat as she said them. “ Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ori’vod .”

“ Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum ,” he returned. “You better come back. I need nieces and nephews running underfoot one day. With those stupid pointed ears just like yours.”

Sena barked a laugh that was halfway in between a sob. After shedding her durasteel armor, mismatched, she embraced her brother once more before heading down the dock. The hangar was a makeshift base of operation as the injured were tended and the other Mandalorians commented about how the planet was going to be overwhelmed soon. They needed to pick up and leave immediately. The Tribe was unwilling to help, picking up the fractured pieces of their people, weeping for those who were now marching. Legs churned mechanically, she glanced over at Din as he bowed before his buir who was just as still as her own. Lower lip quivering, she decided to say her farewell to her friend.

Placing a hand on his back, she crouched beside him, his visor snapping as he tensed immediately. It took him a moment to see clearly, to finally see that it was her. And then he glanced down at the plum beskar’gam and eventually back up to her visor. “I’m leaving,” she told him calmly. Such a strange calm, like the eye of the storm before the hurricane hit. “I am going to fight for Manda’yaim .”

Din did not speak. She had long grown accustomed to his silent contemplation. He wasn’t daft, he was just as quiet as he had always been. “You’re leaving?” But there was too much grief, too much confusion for him to understand properly that evening.

She nodded slowly. “I can’t turn my back on the Empire again. Not when I can fight against them. I will be joining our vod in the coming battles,” she announced. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

Din stared and she didn’t know if he were in shock or if he were just being his normal, reserved self. “When will you come back?”

A shaky smile formed beneath the cover of her bucket. “We’ll meet again. Even if that is marching in Manda’s halls,” she promised, standing up. “Take care of my brother, please.”

“Sena-”

“I have to go. Ret'urcye mhi .”

9ABY

Maybe we will meet again. Din had clung to those words in Mando’a for so many years, desperately hoping that the visage of his favorite vod would pop back up, insult him, and maybe toss a middle finger in for good measure. Never happened. As the years weathered on, one becoming two, becoming four, becoming five , he had started to lose hope. Everyone had heard about The Great Purge and the decimation of Mandalore. He didn’t like to think like this, but he expected that was probably where Sena had died. His thoughts tormented him, how he’d been too choked up with everything going on that he hadn’t even been able to tell her how he felt. Watching her turn around in mismatched beskar’gam before walking away with the foreign Mandalorians. He hadn’t told her that he loved her and now he’d never be able to. Paz still believed she was coming home, but after more than a decade, Din was convinced otherwise. The war was over. If there was any hope that Senaar Vizsla would return to the Tribe, it would have been four years ago.

The loss gouged at him deeper than he thought it ever could. His original comfort around the Tribe faded, replaced with the sorrow of seeing the Foundlings, remembering how she used to play with them, bring them candy, and tickle the life out of them. Walking through those empty, sewer halls in Nevarro, he was a shell of armor with nothing but a ghost inside. Provide. That’s all he did. He provided for the Tribe as he always had, leaving for long bouts of time and returning to drop off the supplies before going out again. This had become his typical routine, ignoring the other Mandalorians until he’d all but estranged every single one. Paz had been the first. The Vizsla’s insistence that Sena was still out there was so misplaced and gut wrenching that Din couldn’t stand to be around him. She was dead.

He thought back often to their peaceful upbringing on Vorp’ya and of all the things he should have done. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and if Din had another chance, he would have told her how he felt back when he first gave her the Jai’galaar necklace. Even if she still insisted on leaving come the demise of their covert, at least he would have had those years with her. To take care of her, to love her, to kiss her, and to make her feel as if she were the most mesh’la creature in the universe. He was haunted by his memories and his yearning, so it was easier to turn his emotions off. Even at all these years, he could still hear her stupid howling in the moonlight, her guffawing, and her cultured, articulate accent. What he would give just to hear her again, to listen to the hum of her rich voice as he fell asleep.

Din Djarin was a brokenhearted man with little to live for. He’d been like this for a while, trying to carve out the rest of his 20s amongst Malk’s crew to find a little lust for life. Worked for a bit, but Xi’an was a cheap version of Sena. Her expertise with blades, while adept, still wasn’t as adept as Sena. She also had a piss poor attitude. After that, he’d stopped trying to date, because it was always a comparison and his memories warped - placing Sena on a pedestal and forgetting how goofy or stupid she could be at times.

He’d dropped the Mythrol off before heading down below to the covert. Wasn’t often that he felt like lingering down there for more than a day, but he went there anyway. He had a small set of quarters that collected dust. The Razor Crest was his home for the most part, away, quiet, and transportable. Still, he kept some meager supplies in his apartment. Which, you couldn’t really call it an apartment. It was just a recess built into the sewers that was large enough to fit a table, a small kitchenette, and a bunk. All of which were stuffed like tuna in a can with barely any room to move. This was not Vorp’ya where they had large karyai in each house. Punching the code into the door, it puffed open, and his visor shifted to the almost darkness.

Stepping in, his head cocked, staring at the small light in the corner that was on. He’d not been in here for months. Why would a light be on? Cold metal pressed to his throat, a soft tut escaping his captor’s lips. “That was very careless of you.”

Din almost threw up at the sound of the silken voice, spinning around and throwing the Mandalorian against the wall. They moved lazily, allowing for themself to be captured as he pinned them against the wall. The armor was the wrong color, not green and not mismatched as he had last witnessed it. Instead, it was a dusky grey-blue accented by stripes of ashy black, burnished to the point where it glimmered magnificently even in the dull light of the tomb-like room. The helmet was painted with strange markings, akin to those patterns on a loth-wolf’s face. Emblazoned on the left pauldron was the rebel insignia - no, it was the New Republic insignia now. Whereas on the right, where the aliit marking went was the trademark Jai’galaar eyes of Clan Vizsla. Several blades, a midnight blue cloak, and a relaxed confidence that set his teeth on end as if she hadn’t been gone for so many years and this was a mischievous game of tag around the village where she’d managed to sneak up on him again.

“Sena?”

“Huh, where?” she glanced around, the tuft of her dark braid coming into view as she mocked him.

“But you-”

“Dead? Missing? Gone marching such a long time ago?” she filled in impishly.

“ How ?”

“I fought and we won,” she said as if it were that simple. “I told Paz to keep you updated with my whereabouts. I thought he would have.”

His stomach sank and he released her. Din had estranged Paz, sick of hearing that Sena was alive without any proof. He had believed that the man was in denial over his sister’s death, but here she stood, in New Republic glory. “The war has been over for years,” he found the chair at the small table, falling into it as he tried to rationalize what had happened. Everything was crashing down around him, his head aching just as much as his heart as she stood there, sheathing her blade and cocking a hand on the hilt.

“War might’ve been over, but I still had people to track down and kill. There’s still a lot to be done, but I knew it was finally time to come home,” she sat down across from him, clasping her hands together as she propped her elbows on her legs and sighed deeply. He saw the necklace he had given her swing forward from her iron heart. “There’s still remnants out there and I did everything in my power to work on killing every last one of them.”

He believed that. “I-” he was overwhelmed, all those pent up emotions, all those things he’d wanted to say but assumed he would never get the chance bubbling up to the surface. Originally, he would have given anything to tell her how he felt and now that he had the opportunity, the back of his throat felt so incredibly parched. “I missed you,” he said finally, cursing himself for not saying the other words, but it was a start. His emotions had been shoved into a tiny box, locked up and he’d thrown away the key years ago.

“Missed you too, shebs ,” she snickered, but despite the humor in her voice, he could feel… something else.

Silence settled between them, but not the typical silence that they had found comfort in when growing up. No, this was deeper and more profound and distinctly uncomfortable. His heart was hammering in his chest and he wondered why she had approached him like this. She could have just greeted him in the Foundry where he’d been earlier.

“I can - uhm, come back later. I know you just got back from a hunt,” she offered, standing up.

Din flew from his chair, unwilling to let her slip away, to let her go a second time. He caught her hand, holding it between his gloves, staring at the detailing in the leather and the seams. Heat blossomed in his throat, grinding his voice as he spoke, “Don’t.”

Visor tilting up toward him, her head listed slightly to the side where she gazed at him, questioning. “Are you certain?” she asked tenderly, her inquiry holding much more depth.

He ran his hand underneath the collar of her flight suit, brushing the edge of her helmet, before coming down to grip the spot between the pauldron and heartplate where flesh was instead of armor. Grip tightening, his chest constricted slightly at the feel - the real feel of her beneath his gloves. Emboldened by her leaning into his touch, Din released her hand and slid against her hip, hot flames of desire licking his body and causing him to shudder at the merest touch to her fully armored frame. He looked back to her, wondering if this were permissible, if he was allowed to do this or if he had overstepped the boundaries of their friendship. That’s not what he wanted and he wouldn’t make the same mistake of doing it again.

“Din,” it had been so long since anyone had actually called him by his name. “I know it was you who gifted me the necklace and not my brother. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was afraid.”

“ You were afraid?” she poked the bear, her voice absolutely astonished by his confession.

“I was afraid to push you away and it didn’t matter in the end. I lost you to the war,” Din answered. “After what happened with Hyvhast, I thought you wouldn’t be-”

“Interested? Dank farrik you think too much,” she grumbled warmly. “If there was anyone in the Tribe that I actually felt comfortable being myself entirely, it was you, Din. I just assumed you had never thought of me like that. I mean, I was sort of annoying.”

“Sort of?”

“ OK, I was very annoying.”

He pulled her closer, her hips to his now, grinding up against her slightly. The touch made his skin dance, pulses of lightning lancing across his body as he let out a soft, trembling sigh. “Let me-” he started, voice cracking at the very idea of what he was about to offer, “-take care of you. Please .”

“Five minutes and I’ve already got you begging? You’re a changed man, Djarin,” Sena teased, but she hadn’t pulled away. Instead she leaned into him, pressing against his growing hardness, letting out a breathy huff which crackled in her vocoder. “I just-” she cleared her throat, aroused, but also worried. “Since Hyvhast, I never-”

Din groaned at the idea. Sena having been entirely alone during war, focusing on her hatred for the Empire rather than satisfying herself. The heat between his legs twitched more, which was pushed against her. If she felt it, she said nothing, only staring up at him with her palms against his red durasteel armor. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised, dragging the pad of his thumb against the collar of her shirt, exposing her copper throat. Tilting her head back, he saw the faintly glowing marks, like tiny golden dew drops that ran against the hollow and disappeared beneath the fabric. Even that small bit of skin was more than enough for him. “ Mesh’la. ”

“I trust you,” she whispered, handing herself over entirely as he ran his fingers down her hips, and picked her up.

It all felt like a dream, one he’d had many times before, but one that he’d never been able to place. Hands gripping her ass, he could feel the well sculpted muscles, the definition of a honed warrior, and her quivering in his palms. He set her on the bed, throwing his gloves off as if they were offensive, pressing his helmet to hers in an insistent, belabored keldabe kiss. Stars, he should have done that when they were young and not for the first time now. Stripping her armor, piece by piece, he slid the fabric down to expose her gorgeous skin. Whatever Hyvhast had said was wrong. Ripping it down he exposed the breast band and more of the dazzling markings, so many of them. She was slender, more than most humans, but he didn’t think she was shapeless. Lanced by scars from her years, her skin was smooth, pebbling beneath his calloused fingertips. Narrow waist, stomach punctuated by the line of her muscles, the bottoming of wide hips which disappeared beneath her belt and trousers.

His eyes traced the markings that she’d been insulted for, the way they trailed down her throat, danced against her collarbone and shoulders, curved beneath the bra and were obscured from his prying gaze. “Can I?” he entreated, aware that she might still be self conscious about it all and the last thing he wanted to do was push her away. He watched her swallow hard and nod. Hook by hook, his fingers trembled, before he dropped the fabric and exposed more of her to the dry, mild air of Nevarro’s underground. Small, soft breasts greeted him, not enough to fill his palms, but befitting of her natural frame, dark maroon nipples puckering as he grazed one, watching in intrigue as they stiffened into small peaks, so pretty and perfect.

“Din, I-” she warbled quietly, the original confidence disappearing in an instance and it broke his heart hearing her like this.

“ Mesh’la, ” he repeated with stern insistency, cradling her breast tenderly. “So fucking perfect-” the words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he meant every one.

She let out a soft moan, leaning into his hand.

He traced circles around her skin, chasing the golden marks against her warm flesh, watching as each tiny movement sent chills across her body. Resting her against the bed as he followed the teardrops that cradled her breasts, he wondered how anyone could have found her unattractive. The beautiful copper of her skin, the contrast of the soft marks that had an ethereal hum as if the sun itself had dripped golden fire and graced her with its light. Finally, after minutes of wandering her upper body, he undid the buckle to her pants, discarding it to have her trembling slightly in just her underwear. Just as his hands had told him earlier, she had full legs, years of stealth and crouching, her ability to jump as if she were a nexu, and to land gracefully from extreme heights without injuring herself. The curve of her hips bottomed out and Din was entransed, caressing her ass, finding more of the golden marks as they flanked the outside of her leg and burned a wake to the tops of her feet.

“I-I dreamed about this,” he told her, resolve crumbling as his index fingers glided down her stomach and against the hollow of her hip. He’d been quiet for decades, resenting himself for his silence. “If I ever saw you again, what I’d tell you. Wh-what I’d do to you. Was always so afraid to push you away.”

“What’s changed now?”

Din laughed at her question, the same soft laugh that fizzled out through the vocoder, not quite being picked up properly. “Nothing changed. Not how I feel. Just… Circumstances. Regrets. Things I never said when I should have. That I-”

“Not yet,” she interrupted. “It’s been 10 years. Let’s enjoy this now and talk after. There’s a lot to talk about. But not now-” Not when he couldn’t keep his hands off of her. Not when all he wanted to do was praise her and love her. Even if she wouldn’t let him say it just yet, he fully intended on showing her what their separation had done to him. He wasn’t inexperienced by any means, but it had been a long while, never feeling the urge to do more than palm himself for relief, often dreaming of how he’d remembered her. Now she was here, spread out on his bed against the woolen comforter, her chest rising and falling quickly as he flicked the edge of her underwear.

It had been over 10 years and in his haste, the little box he’d locked and thrown the key away for, had burst open. He smirked at the irony of Sena being the wiser one for once, warning him to be careful of what he said, for they might not be the same people. Somehow, he doubted that.

Pulling the underwear off, he drank in the vision of her nude aside from her helmet. Neither of them could remove it, not unless they exchanged riduurok and she had been correct. There was much to discuss, like what had happened during the war and what their future might hold. Their future. Din had been living life day by day, never thinking of what might be waiting for him in one year or two or ten. Soft dark hair painted the top of her mound, fingertips cruising toward the bundle of nerves as she squirmed at the touch. He wanted to taste her, to feel her plush skin against his face, and to bite every since golden drop upon her skin as if he were a parched settler on Tatooine desperate for water.

Finally, he drew his fingers beneath her legs, slicking them against her wetness, astonished by how wet she actually was. “All this for me? I’m beginning to think you liked me a lot more than you ever let on,” Din purred to her disdain, watching her jerk her chin up and expose the hollow of her throat. “Or that you’ve just been pent up from never being pleasured. Dripping - waiting for someone to take it-” he slid his middle finger in with ease, a soft yelp crackling through her modulator as her back arched. Despite her hourglass frame, she was still small and light boned, part of him worried that he’d not be able to do much more than play with her.

“I might’ve done this sooner if I knew how much you talked,” Sena gritted out through her teeth.

He pumped into her, bowing over her and taking her breast in his free hand. Grinding his helmet against hers, he listened to the soft noises that the modulator wasn’t catching quite right, her back arching as he placed another finger in. “I can be quiet if you want,” he doubted it, but decided to threaten silence to see what she would do.

“Kriff! Please don’t,” she whined, her voice hitching as he thumbed her clit. “Keep talking. I like it. I - ahhh ,” he found the spot, pinching her nipple as he quickened his pace on her bud.

“That’s it. Be a good girl, come for me. You like it right there, don’t you?” he pressed harder, a shudder overcoming her body as she gripped his heartplate. “Fuck-” his cock throbbed painfully, stealing his breath away for a moment as he listened to her titullating response to his stimulation.

“Can you take it off?” she asked between her belabored breathing. “The beskar’gam -”

He had been so riveted by her, snared in the trap that was her body, that he’d forgotten entirely that he still had everything on, weapons included. Only his gloves had been shed, fingers deep in her warmth and clutching her chest as he unraveled her string by string. Removing his hand, she whimpered at the loss of the pleasure, pressing her thighs together as Din ripped off his own attire without an afterthought. The years of being covered head to toe, unwilling to let anyone look at so much as his hand, barely a consideration as she laid out bare for him. He’d already made this decision a long time ago, piling the armor on the ground, chest heaving as he bent back down over her, picking up where he left off.

Her fingers pushed against him, calloused pads in the dark hair on his chest, tracing the muscles of his pecs, between his breastbone before tracing down his stomach. Each gently, tentative touch as she came to remember him, but in a new way. Her palm flushed just beneath his abdomen, causing him to tense involuntarily, his own breath getting caught in the back of his throat as she ghosted over his pelvis. Distracted by her roaming hands, he fixated, hyperfocusing before he coated his fingers again in her heat and began working to prove to her what he felt.

Sena’s skin was on fire, the rough fingertips of her childhood friend and rival causing her to make all sorts of noises she’d never known were stored in her. Paz had told her years ago, during their brief transmissions while at war, that the necklace had been a gift Din had been holding onto for years before actually giving it to her. The knowledge of that had made her blubber like a baby - because Sena cried all the kriffing time. As a kid, as a teenager, as an adult… The fact that the unpainted idiot had never told her how he felt, that weighed heavy on her shoulders for years. Because if she had known, she might’ve never gone to war. The original question her brother had asked had been ill placed. When she was 16, she wasn’t thinking of romance, but by the time the covert had been attacked on Vorp’ya… if Din had asked her, she would have said yes. Back then, he had basically been a part of Clan Vizsla from how often he had been around. While they pestered one another, the original terse rivalry had been replaced with a different kind of friendship. Both of them had been too afraid to acknowledge it and Sena was still battling with the idea that no one would ever find her body attractive. What if Din had thought the same? She wouldn’t have been able to hide her embarrassment if he had scorned her too when finally glimpsing what was beneath her armor.

She didn’t feel like that now as his helmet met hers and his hands were between her legs. For what felt like an hour he explored her, tracing the Goddess Markings on her skin, praising her. And fuck did that turn her on. Hearing someone say that she was beautiful, that everything about her was absolutely perfect. His hot baritone in her ear, the slight fumbling of his words as they fell out of his mouth in the most uncontrolled manner she’d ever heard, losing all restriction behind closed doors. She’d never known it could feel like this, his expert fingers making her weak, the very warmth of his body so close to hers a comfort that she had so desperately missed. They’d never been close like this, but Goddess she had wanted it so badly after Paz had told her about the necklace. There hadn’t been any time for pleasure during war, but she did think about it in her dreams when she tried to escape the harsh reality around her. Dreaming faintly of the silver beskar helmet of her old friend, thumbing the Jai’galaar eyes, and hoping that he might be waiting for her back with the Tribe. The very necklace was frigid against the hollow of her chest now, shifting as she moaned, the muscles in her legs tensing and her toes curling.

“That’s it, mesh’la, howl for me. Howl like you did by the moonpool, in the trees, howl for me ,” he insisted, her alto cutting off as a wave of white noise and numbness began to edge at her being. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do much more than push her helmet back into the pillow as the overwhelming pressure built up in her sent swells of ecstasy coursing through every fiber of her being. The cry came after, while her body was still riding the intoxication, like she was floating amongst the starlight without a ship, out of her own body and adrift as her eyes remained shut. “So perfect,” he muttered against her, removing his fingers as her bundle of nerves twitched, oversensitive and grounding her back to reality as she tried to suck in a few strangled breaths.

“D-Din, that was-” she was stammering, unable to catch her voice as it ran away from her with the orgasm, making her sound pitifully tinny.

“Was it what you imagined?” he asked, his voice quiet again.

“I didn’t know what to imagine,” she admitted dolefully. Sena had touched herself before, but it had never felt that good. Someone else’s fingers gliding over her, the arousing words in her ears, the feeling of proximity which set her teeth on end and skin crawling in just the right way. It was lovely and it was real, not just a string of thoughts and what-ifs. No fear of being caught with her hands in her pants while trying to get some shut eye and relieve the tension in her shoulders - the obviously palpable tension from the stress of being at war for so many years. Her eyes listed down, noticing his massive hardness, somewhat terrified of being speared on the end of it. His fingers had filled her up and she could only fathom what his cock might do to her. “What about-”

“Do you want me to?”

She moaned gently, still taken aback by how careful he was being with her. They were both in their fucking 30s and she was the blatantly inexperienced one. Yet, here he was being so tender, despite how much his hardon had to be bothering him. Pleasure wouldn’t come without a bit of pain first and Sena, while afraid, knew that it wouldn’t kill her. Nodding, she reached down and grasped him, her fingers unable to fully encircle his girth. He was tacky from where his own wet fingers had fisted himself, her juice smeared along his length as she stroked him once. His helmet ground into hers more, a deep rumble in the back of his throat which she could hear in her ear.

“Are you certain ?” he challenged this time, spitting the words out in the same dark manner as he had when talking to her amidst his playing. “If you’ve never-”

“I’ve been hurt worse before, Djarin. I think I can handle a little temporary discomfort,” she retorted thinly, stroking him again, enjoying the way that he bucked against her. “I know how this all works.” She’d just not experienced it. While she appreciated how careful he was being, she didn’t need to be fully coddled.

He brushed between her legs again, the gesture making her tighten when his fingertips touched her swollen bud. “You might think you know,” he started, positioning himself above her, jerking her hips toward his. “But I don’t think you do.” The weeping head of his manhood met her folds, lathing it in her wetness before he tested against her slightly. With one glance, she knew that he was going to absolutely split her open, her hips dwarfed by him and her sex quivering at the idea of trying to accomodate him. He began to ease against her resistance. She chewed her lips raw, trying not to cry out as he moved in and then out, coating himself and trying to make progress, centimeter by gruelling centimeter. Her own hands were clutching her breasts, pinching her own nipples in a futile attempt to distract herself. “Sena-” his visor tilted up. “You need to relax or this isn’t going to work.”

Relax? Relax? He was literally stabbing her between her legs, how could she relax? Her chest heaved in short, panicked breaths before she scrunched her eyes shut trying to calm herself down. A hand rubbed against her stomach, soothing in small circles. This wasn’t at all like what she had witnessed on Tatooine. This was an agreement between two people who cared for each other. She let out a long exhale and loosened her grip on her aching nipples. Din pushed into her entirely, filling her to the brim, stretching her and breaking past the initial discomfort. While it still hurt a bit, she adjusted her hips and let out a quiet mewl as he froze, head bowed, buried to the hilt.

“Dank farrik,” he cursed, gazing down at Sena’s copper body, his cock sunk into her warmth, her silken walls quivering around him as he gripped her hips. Even if she’d calmed down for a brief moment, at his words she’d tensed again and squeezed his cock. Din gasped, muttering in Mando’a to himself, absolutely blissed out in the moment. “S-so good. Yo-you feel s-so good,” he managed, finally finding the willpower to glide out and back in.

“Was it what you imagined?” she asked in a faint voice, her articulate accent raking electricity down his spine. That kriffing voice. He could listen to it all day, even if she was saying the most stupid, pointless things.

Din’s jaw slackened and he managed a choked laugh. “Better,” he swore, craning back down, caging her body beneath him as he moved with no insistency. With little intention of hurting her, their reunion wouldn’t be too impassioned. Even if she claimed she could take it - her telltale stubbornness shining through - Din knew that he might be hurting her a bit. She was impossibly tight, but her walls eased slightly as he brought his helmet back down to hers, savoring each gentle keen that escaped her throat. He placed a hand against her neck, fingers sliding through a few stray strands of inky hair, thumb tracing the hollow as he gave a little squeeze. He was already getting close, a combination of how long it’d been since he’d had sex, the fact that it was her, in addition to how perfectly she wrapped around his length, so pleasingly snug and firm, leaving little to no room for anything else. “You were made for me,” he insisted in his delirium, sailing along a growing high as his legs ached and he felt the building pressure behind his groin.

She was hanging onto him, the golden marks on her skin winking as he glanced down at her, reminding him that she wasn’t quite human, but something so much more precious and coveted. A piece of the sun bundled up in beskar and joined to him as she threw her head back against the pillow again. Her walls fluttered around him, her whimper dying in her chest.

“Coming a second time? Fuck-” he was being thrust precariously to the edge by her, wishing he could last a bit longer, but she was strangling his cock. “Y-you’re so good. So perfect. C-can’t believe I waited this l-long. I-I’d wait forever if it meant I c-could have you a-again.”

She bleated at his words, continuing to strain beneath him on the edge of her own orgasm.

Despite intending to be utterly gentle with her, he had to bring himself over. He pumped into her a good few times, the sensation absolutely wrecking him, as she cried out, digging her fingernails into the flesh around his shoulders. He painted her insides with his seed, clamped on so tightly that he hadn’t the strength or will to do it elsewhere. Sagging forward, he pushed the visor of his helmet into the pillow beside her, trying to collect the scattered fragments of his sense as he wondered when he’d ever had such a good orgasm. His body was still quaking from the effort, despite how slow they had been going, tanned skin slick with sweat from a combination of effort and the stale desert air.

Finally, he disentangled himself and slipped down on the small bed beside her. He offered his arm, the cool beskar helm nestling into the crook of his pec, clicking lightly with the bottom of his own.

That’s going to get annoying, he realized, but put the thought aside. Mindlessly, his hand nestled against her waist and traced against it, comforted by her silken skin underneath his palm. Sliding over them like the moonlight on the moors of Vorp’ya, a comforting silence eased between them as they slowly drifted down from their high like a leaf slowly spiralling down from a tree’s most upper branch. He was nearly dozing off, her nails tracing lines in his chest hair, when she finally spoke.

“We should talk.”

Those words shouldn’t have frightened him, not when he was holding her against him, naked save for their helmets, having just fucked her, but they did. His heart fluttered, disconcerted and malcontent at the suggestion that there was really so much to talk about. “About?”

“What this means, what happened during the war, and where we go from here,” she answered simply.

They owed each other to fill in the gaps, and try to work things out. “Mm,” he hummed, continuing to caress her. “I don’t know what you’ve heard from Paz.”

“That you’re an absolute di’kut ,” she informed him.

Din snorted. Of course Paz would still be mad at him, though he didn’t entirely blame the man. They weren’t on the best of terms at the moment. “Could say the same for him.”

“You’re both idiots,” Sena declared. “But I know it must’ve been hard to believe him after all this time.”

“Hard? It was nearly impossible. Why didn’t he just show me one of the transmissions?”

“Because they were coded specifically to be erased immediately after being opened,” Sena sighed. “I really could only send one at most every year or two. I was deep in Imperial territory and if those got intercepted, I could have gotten my entire team killed. I promised Paz I’d only send them to the Kote. ”

He should have expected that Paz would have offered evidence if he had it, but it still made him upset that he’d gone for so many years without confirmation - having to rely on the words of a man who was grieving for the loss of his entire clan. “What were you doing? I assumed the worst… that during The Great Purge you went marching-” his voice cracked, fingers tightening against her as he closed his eyes and tried to shake the terrible nightmares he’d recounted as he imagined her being killed over and over again without him there to watch her six.

“Barely made it out of there. Mandalore was absolutely ravaged. There were a few of us trying to figure out where to go, what to do… We didn’t feel right just throwing the towel in and giving up. Not after all the vod we’d lost on Mandalore. So, we found the rebels and offered our help. I split off from the others as the rebels began growing their numbers. I did a lot of recon, recruiting, and then set up on Hoth. Lot of people joined, but a lot of those people didn’t know their ass from their elbow. They had heart and they needed training, so I stepped into the position as teacher. None of them ever took a shine to fighting like Mandalorians, but they also didn’t have the luxury of extensive training. It was learn quick or die in the next fire fight-”

She continued detailing her years amongst the Rebels, how the operations grew, and she continued to help train until there were others who could take up the torch. Her talents were better used elsewhere, especially with the growing tension and necessity of an elite set of soldiers that could employ better stealth tactics. Her hatred of the Imps had never faded and she fell in step with being known as the best extractor of information. Whenever an officer was captured, she would be the interrogator, making certain they didn’t off themselves with their implants. They were tough nuts to crack, but Sena always had them singing for death, begging to be released from the revenge she took out on them. There was no pity in her heart. Not one single shred.

With the war reaching a climax, she took boots to the ground, working alongside other soldiers and groups as a leader and front-liner. Her years of experience, tactical training, and warfare made her a prime candidate for commander and she went wherever she was needed. No wonder she had no time to reach out, she was constantly traveling and offering support to troops. There was no time to run-ashore, to lollygag, or to take a moment for herself. They were at war and she’d be damned if she slacked even for a moment, costing anyone their lives. Din’s heart burned with admiration for her sacrifice, her unflinching resolve, and dedication to the cause. With each story, each word, he felt his resentment for her lack of contact vanishing as if it’d never been there. She hadn’t purposely been estranging herself. Sena had been an important leader in the war and trying to reach out to the Tribe would’ve put it in danger. She had been protecting them with her distance and he’d given up on ever seeing her again because of it.

When the end of the war came, it did not mark a complete close. The Death Star might’ve imploded, but there were still many warlords looking to make a last stand and attempt to regroup forces to bludgeon the wounded New Republic. Again, she could not leave in good faith until she was quite certain that the New Republic could handle everything on their own. So she remained, helping track down and hunt the remnants, counting the heads on spikes as she considered what returning home might feel like. It would all be worth it. She’d gone that far and that long to protect her people, for the risk of the Empire swooping in and taking the Tribe once again to never happen a second time. Her own personal needs did not rival the needs of the many.

Listening closely, he felt himself falling in love with her a second time.

“So as you can imagine, it’s been a long awaited homecoming. Not to mention how glad I was to take this kriffing bucket off on Dinhue . Thought the thing was glued onto me at that point,” she remarked, rapping her knuckles against the grey-blue steel. “Not that I didn’t miss you, but I wouldn’t trade what I did for anything, Din. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but I had to go. I had to because they destroyed my planet. And then did it a second time when they attacked Mandalore.”

“I understand,” he assured her. “If you had remained here, you’d be asking yourself constantly what might have happened if you had helped. You wouldn’t have been happy.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, nuzzling back against his neck, the beskar chilling him. “Didn’t think the war would take that kriffing long, but… suppose it couldn’t be helped.”

“ Ni vod’ika ,” he teased, tracing the golden marks on her collar.

“I was a commander,” she groused, but shifted abruptly, sitting up so that she had a palm on the pillow and was gazing down at him. “And when you say that, when you say my- ”

“I mean it,” Din answered honestly. “ My cyar’ika. Mine. Did you think I would change my mind after you told me your war stories?”

“Thought I might be too cool for you. That you’d be intimidated-”

“ Intimidated ?” Din snarked, laughing at the idea. He pushed her off, a soft huff escaping her mouth as she landed and he rolled on top of her. “Intimidated by you? After I had you soaking wet and on my cock, begging for me to talk dirty to you? You’re still the same di’kut. Arrogant, foolish-” he ground his hips to hers, his length beginning to twitch. “-so fucking dorky.”

“Alright, alright-” she complained, squirming beneath him. “I get it. My one brain cell did get a little swollen over the years. The rebels aren’t Mandalorians, so it was easy to stick out-”

“No, you’re wrong about that,” he palmed her breast, twisting her maroon nipple between his fingers, watching as it pebbled beneath his touch. “Despite being a di’kut , you’ve always been special. You’ve always had a way with people. And you’ve always been an impeccable warrior. I was always jealous of that - your ability to play so nice with others, the way that they’d all look at you, how they all accepted you right away when you first arrived to the Tribe. The fact that Rhenx favored you more than me…” he huffed, letting loose all his discontent and the frustration he’d felt growing up as they fought for the lead. The growing attraction that had become more as he admired her talents, the ones she excelled in versus him, the fact that she was able to blend into all aspects of the Tribe. He’d always been reserved, unable to lead from the front as she did so naturally, surrounded by friends and hunters who adored being in her space just as much as he did.

“You know, it doesn’t sound like you like me very much,” Sena chuckled, squeaking when he pinched her nipple.

“You’re right,” he admitted, bending down to spread her legs again, thrusting his hardness against her quivering lower lips. She gasped as he slipped right back in. “ Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum .”

“D-Din!”

He moaned at the sound of his name being cried out, conscious to not be too rough, but still finding himself pumping into her at a steady pace. Her walls trembled around him, his palm seated against the small of her back, another flush to her mound as he drew quick circles around her clit. “I’ve loved you for such a long time. S-since we were kids. I-imagined h-having a family w-with you,” he was fraying around the edges, her sharp keening and noises hooking him toward the abyss once again. “E-each year you were gone. Felt like a piece of me died too. N-never telling you. Can’t do that again. Can’t let you out of my sight without letting you know how you make me feel. Hasn’t changed. You haven’t changed. Fuck-” his voice was breaking, the overwhelming urge to kiss her again consuming him. “Yo-you’re so good. Didn’t even dream you’d be this fucking amazing. Mesh’la. These markings-” he followed the crescents beneath her breasts. “-I want to taste every single one. I want to taste you. I want everything .”

Her back arched beneath his hand, walls clenching around him and pushing him into the sweet divinity of her warmth, the heat of her embrace, and the sharp intake of air before letting out a trembling cry. His head scraped her cervix, each thrust sending jarring shockwaves up his spine, from helmet to toe. For the second time that afternoon, he climaxed and was winded, losing all sense of knowing as he fell forward. His helmet felt awfully constricting, more so than usual as he panted, the breaths billeting back in his face.

They both fell asleep, exhausted from their tryst.

Din woke up to the space beside him vacant of Sena’s warmth. Panic billowed in his chest, eyes snapping open as he wondered if it had all been some kind of illness induced fever dream and the exchange had never happened. But when he glanced across the small room, he saw her at the kitchenette brewing tea. Her long hair had been pulled out of the braid and scattered in obsidian waves all the way down past her ass. She had his shirt on, which was big and baggy, the sleeves pushed up, and the hem skimming the tops of her thighs. Even if her armor looked good on her, Din liked seeing his own clothing draped over her slender form. Her visor settled on him and she gestured to the kettle.

“Would you like a cup?”

“Mm,” he nodded, grabbing his trousers and slipping them on, glad that she was still there and that it hadn’t been a dream. Striding over toward her as she began steeping the leaves, none of which were his, he placed his hands against her hips and brushed into her, humming as he set his chin on top of her helmet. Eventually his hands wrapped around her entirely, her slender form leaning back against him as she huffed at him.

“I can’t finish if you’ve got me like this,” she informed him.

“Then don’t,” he muttered.

“I’m not wasting good tea leaves,” she snipped, worming out of his grip so that she had enough room to work. Once she had steeped them properly, she removed the leaves and added a bit of honey.

“Made yourself comfortable in here while you waited for me, didn’t you?” Din mused, aware that this apartment was rather scant in supplies.

“I take my tea everywhere with me,” she insisted evenly. “These are from Naboo.”

“Which you’re not actually from.”

“No, I am not,” she admitted.

“Where are you from?”

“Paz told me you overheard that evening.”

“Course he did,” Din grumbled, wondering how much the siblings shared with each other. At this point, seemed like bloody everything. “Yes, I overheard that you were Anaxian. Although, I never knew much about Anaxes or the people who lived there.”

“A lot of different people lived there. I lived in a forest called Genmaris,” she informed him.

A forest. Now he understood why she had been so much more excited to see a tree than the pond. She was accustomed to running between branches and boroughs and had there been more trees, she might’ve leapt amongst them completely in her natural element. “What was it like there?”

“Peaceful,” she sighed wistfully, facing him and leaning back against the counter. “I was a brat-”

“Still are-”

She gave him a defiant head tilt before continuing. “Used to find ways to worm out of the castle all the time. Go flouncing in the woods and get all my nicest dresses ruined-”

“ Castle? ” Din repeated.

“I was a princess,” she sounded so indifferent that Din was shocked into silence. “Oh, come on now. You said you overheard that evening after the farce with Hyvhast. Paz called me a princess.”

“I thought it was a pet name, not literal,” he croaked in disbelief.

“ Anyways, ” she continued. “Genmaris was very beautiful and rich with culture, vegetation, and the architecture was glorious. Metal wasn’t very often used for building. The castle was made of stone and wood.”

“The accent makes more sense now,” Din realized out loud.

“Hm?”

“Your accent, princess .”

“Don’t start that osik with me. I haven’t been a princess for twenty-two years. That life was put behind me when I joined Clan Vizsla,” she snapped irritably, his lips curling up at her frustration. “ Speaking of which, my brother is rather cross with you.”

“You think he’ll be more upset after he finds out I fucked you?” Din teased, quickly adding, “Twice.”

She slapped his chest - hard - taking her mug of tea and sliding out of his grasp. “Paz does like you. He was thinking of us as a match back when we were 16,” she sat down, crossing her legs, the hem of the shirt riding up slightly. “But you were too stupid to do anything other than stare.”

“You could’ve said something too, cyar’ika ,” he took the other mug and sat across from her.

“Anaxians don’t reach sexual maturity until their twentieth name day. And what that means, is that we don’t go through puberty until then. I wasn’t really thinking about that sort of stuff until we were older and even then, I was quite put off after what had happened,” Sena reminded him, lifting her helmet enough to take a sip of her tea. “I ended up dating because it felt like the right thing to do, since everyone else was.”

Din’s stomach shifted uncomfortably, horrified by what he was hearing. Not because he’d overstepped boundaries, but because Sena had been trying so hard to fit in and she had gotten burned because of it. Hyvhast’s stupid bucket appeared back in his mind. She had dated him because ‘it seemed right’ only for the mando to strip her growing body after constant pressure and coercion. No wonder Paz had been livid. He’d also felt just as upset, but Paz had known all these things those years ago. His sister was still an adolescent and Hyvhast had defiled her, laughed in her face, and then told others about it. Fortunately, the Tribe wasn’t as stupid as Hyvhast and Jiabe had throttled him for speaking out of turn.

“And now?”

She glanced over at him. “Well, we didn’t quite date did we? Though circumstances withstanding, I wouldn’t take back any of what we did.”

He was happy to hear that, taking a sip of the tea, which was pleasantly floral with earthy undertones, a hint of caf, and the sweet bloom of the honey. “What are we?”

“Together, if that’s what you’d like,” she proposed, but quickly followed up. “Despite what you’ve said, I think we should get to know each other again. We shouldn’t be too hasty.” They shouldn’t exchange riduurok immediately was what she was darting around.

Din would have right in that moment, but respected her request. Duly he remembered that he had promised Karga that he’d pick up the next big bounty soon, something about beskar being involved as payment. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her side after being reunited. But she had full beskar armor. He did not. “Together then,” he agreed. “You’re not going to tell Paz that we-”

“ What!? ” she screeched. “Do I want your helmet bashed in? No! I’ll tell him that we’re courting. Again, he’s still rather pissed at you,” she cocked her head, setting the mug down on the table. “I know the years haven’t been easy for you. Paz told me that you’ve been living a half-life, not really engaging with the Tribe. Still pulling more than your fair share of weight, but a lot of our vod aren’t too pleased with you. Din… Are you ok?”

He sighed, bone weary and not looking forward to this conversation. “The days were monotonous. I just fell into routine and… you were really the only reason I talked to most of the Tribe. Your brother tried to bring me back in and we got into a few fights over it. I thought you were marching away, so hearing him sound so foolishly hopeless about your return… I started to resent him. Which only grew as the years dragged on and he still hadn’t given up about you.”

Sena stood up, trotting over to him and wrapping an arm around his hot neck. “Well, you’d better apologize then, because who’s the shebs now?” she pointed out, letting him lean into her chest, hooking his bicep around her waist before he tugged her onto his lap.

“I am,” he grumbled, nestling his helmet into her collar.

“Mm, you have changed a bit. Admitting defeat so quickly?”

“Only to you,” he frowned, sitting back up. “It’ll get better. I’ll get better,” he assured her, touching his helmet down in a keldabe kiss.

“Better? No, Din, you’ll feel better. You’re not broken, just hurting. And I’ll be here for you to talk to. I’m not going anywhere now,” she insisted, pushing back against his helmet.

He hummed in agreement, holding her close, savoring their proximity once again, clinging to the idea that he’d not be alone again. Truly, he’d never been alone as he was surrounded by the Tribe, but he’d estranged himself after the defeat on Vorp’ya. He didn’t feel hopeless anymore, but there were still many other emotions he had to come to grips with. “Do I really have to apologize to Paz?”

“ Elek, di’kut, ” she flicked his helmet. “Better sooner than later, because if Paz finds out that you-”

“You said you wouldn’t tell him,” he scowled.

“If it’s going to force your apology out of you, perhaps I might casually mention it.”

“We won’t be exchanging riduurok ever if your brother kills me,” Din reminded her lightly.

“Mm, would be such a shame. You’ll never find out what an Anaxian princess actually looks like,” she jested.

“If this part of you is any hint at what’s beneath the bucket-” he ran his hand down the front of the shirt she was wearing. “-then I know I’m in for the shock of my life.”

“Oh,” she huffed mockingly. “Can your heart take it?”

Din pushed her off his lap as she broke out into a fit of howling laughter. He’d missed that especially. “Still a brat.”

“ Your brat.”

“My brat,” he agreed.

Translations

ori'buyce kih'kovid - all helmet, no head (overdeveloped sense of authority) mesh'la dala - beautiful woman di'kutla - stupid, worthless Hukaat'kama - watch my six shab - fuck/fucked dala - woman ni cetar'narir kay'shebs - I'm going to shove my boot up your ass shebs - ass jayc'kovid - dickhead osik - shit Vor entre - I owe you a debt (or thank you) Kaysh mirsh solus - his braincell is lonely Oya - let's hunt, let's go Manda'yaim - Mandalore Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you Ret'urcye mhi - Goodbye (lit. Maybe we'll meet again) di'kut - idiot Ni vod'ika - my little soldier

#big brother paz vizsla #paz vizsla & oc character #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #growing up mandalorian #din djarin x oc #din djarin smut #smut with feelings

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hilltopsunset · 3 years

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4 Ways to Breathe New Life into the Pokémon Franchise

I love the Pokémon franchise. It’s because I love it that I truly want new installments of the game to feel meaningful, to make an impact, and to provide players with something new, different, and worth coming back for without relying on complexities that could turn away new players.

As I will talk about in a later blog post, Game Freak seems afraid to stretch Pokémon’s creative muscles any further; meaningful innovation has been petering out since the end of Generation IV in lieu of minigames like Pokémon Contests and Super Training alongside inconsequential time sinks like Secret Bases and Poké Pelago. While I do enjoy the inclusion of things to do outside the main storyline, these additional events and sidequests should not be the only significant additions to new generations of main-series Pokémon games.

The main attractions of recent generations have provided slight twists to gameplay with the addition of mega evolution and Z-moves, but these changes don’t fundamentally change or challenge the way players experience the game on a moment-to-moment basis. And despite the graphical and processing power of recent gaming devices, and even the long-awaited shift of the franchise to a main console, we are still getting the same low-effort and outdated battle animations we’ve been seeing since X and Y. We are continually denied a more genuine battle experience with Pokémon physically interacting with each other through animations that more appropriately suit each Pokémon’s unique identity.

So what can be done? Here’s a short but detailed list of 4 things I would like to see in a new Pokémon game, in no particular order of importance.

1. Let the Player Character Be an Active Part of the Story

When has the player character ever been a consequential part of a Pokémon game? They never speak; they never have any personality whatsoever. They never experience any growth, regardless of NPC’s trying desperately to iterate how much the trainer has grown over the course of their journey. Certainly the Pokémon carried by the player character have some impact on the story, but the trainer?

Let them speak! Let the player character actually interact with NPCs in meaningful ways rather than just listening at all times. Give the trainer a personality of some sort. Don’t just slap a never-changing pleasant face onto the model regardless of tense, frightening, or sinister scenarios (I’m looking at you, Sun and Moon).

Giving the player character a more active role in the story provides intrigue—as a player, it doesn’t feel compelling being pulled from one place to another; it’s not interesting when the only thing pushing me forward is NPCs telling me I need to get the gym badges, or stop Team Rocket. It would be much more interesting if the Player Character had some imperative reason to pursue these endeavors, rather than get involved simply because “it’s the right thing to do” or, worse, “it’s the ONLY thing to do.” I want to watch the character I’m controlling grow as a person and make choices that have positive or negative consequences on people they care about and the places they visit, rather than be a perpetual observer of events with no real stake in the game.

2. Trainer Levels

Speaking of the player character, create a leveling system for them. There are so many possibilities for a system where the trainer more actively impacts gameplay. For instance, there could be a class system and each class can have unique skill trees that provide access to passive and/or active abilities that improve how the trainer interacts with the world throughout the game. It could be required to choose your path at the beginning of the game, or perhaps you can access them all throughout the game, but can only have one active at a time.

Here’s a list of example possibilities:

Explorer: The explorer class specializes in travel, as well as tracking and catching new Pokémon—this tree can be subdivided into those paths: Travel, Tracking, and Catching. This tree provides skills that assist them in accessing otherwise inaccessible locations, increasing encounter rates with rare Pokémon, and specializing in different types of Poké balls to improve catch chances. Experience for this class is gained through catching Pokémon, encountering rare Pokémon, and exploring (walking in new places, finding treasure, accessing hidden areas, etc.).

Combatant: The combatant class excels at offensive battle prowess through its three branches: Type Affinity, Commands, and Reputation. This tree allows a trainer to specialize in certain Pokémon types (up to 2) to improve their STAB damage. Eventually, you can get a skill that provides STAB for your specialized types even for Pokémon not of those types! You gain access to in-battle shout commands that provide momentary buffs to your party, like improving damage, resisting a big attack, or improving critical hit ratio. A strong reputation will allow you to avoid battle even with trainers who have caught your eye; and in battle, an enemy Pokémon may flinch due to your intimidating presence. Experience is gained by knocking out Pokémon, winning battles, using moves of your type specialization, and issuing commands.

Breeder: The breeder focuses on developing deep relationships with their Pokémon. Skills of this class can be divided into the Breeding, Bonding, and Healing branches. Through this tree, trainers can hatch eggs more quickly, improve high IV chance from newborn Pokémon, develop friendship levels more quickly, etc. Bonding provides Pokémon with beneficial defensive capabilities during battle, like providing a chance to survive an attack that would otherwise bring HP to 0, and having a strong will to resist abnormal status effects like paralysis and confusion. A Breeder’s knowledge of caretaking allows for healing outside of battle, and can even teach Pokémon how to slowly recover in-battle. Experience is gained through hatching eggs, developing friendships with your Pokémon (through feeding/petting, etc.), participating in Contests/minigames, and having Pokémon in your party with whom you have developed a close relationship.

The establishment of a class system like this, where experience is gained through different means relevant to each class, incentivizes players to participate in those aspects of the game, and provides extra rewards for players who already want to get involved. It makes the trainer feel like a relevant and impactful part of the team, rather than a hollow vehicle strictly used to lug the real heroes—your team of Pokémon—from battle to battle.

And for those who think the inclusion of such a mechanic would trivialize the content, I have several suggestions: first, they could easily make the game content more difficult to compensate. Second, they could mitigate the strength of these class skills during key battles like Gym Leaders, the Elite Four, the Enemy Team (Rocket, Galaxy, etc.). Third, NPCs (especially the aforementioned key NPCs) could have access to these skills as well. Remember, I’m asking for significant changes, and this would provide something new, interesting, and impactful.

3. Battle Animations

Update them. It’s that simple. Let Blastoise shoot water out of his water cannons rather than out of his face. Let Scorbunny run up to its opponent and give it a nice kick! Get rid of the old, outdated animations of a drawn foot—we now have well-rendered 3D monsters on gaming systems capable of handling the graphical processing necessary for this to happen. Give each Pokémon a more unique identity with their animations; make them feel like they’re actually in a battle with one another. It’s time.

I acknowledge that providing significant animation updates for the 800+ models is an enormous undertaking that would require a massive amount of time and manpower to make possible. To this I say: spend the time doing that rather than developing Dynamax or whatever. Spend the time on more significant animation development instead of wasting that time on another gimmick that isn’t going to significantly impact gameplay anyway.

To be honest, this point alone would be enough to convince me to buy a new Pokémon game.

4. Populate the World with Pokémon

I know that the Let’s Go series and Sword/Shield did this a little bit, and while it certainly wasn’t executed perfectly, it was fun running around and actually seeing all the Pokémon that inhabit it. Spawn rates in both games were often a bit too high, resulting in cluttered areas. Adding aggressive Pokémon would further enhance the immersive experience—being required to sneak around certain stronger Pokémon could be a really fun mechanic and provide tension; it was a bit too easy to avoid Pokémon in Let’s Go and in the Wild Area. While it was nice to get through Mt. Moon without encountering a single Zubat, imagine instead running through a section of the cave with a trail of 15 Zubats on your tail? Make me work for it a little!

Ultimately, I want to see Pokémon behaving more naturally in their habitats, and not just in sections of the world that I can’t get to. I want to run into a Caterpie hanging from a tree, or a Fearow fishing for Goldeen, or a Pikachu grooming itself. I want to interrupt Pokémon from their lives, not run into a giant gaggle of automatons circling tiny areas for no reason.

So there it is: a look at just a few things Pokémon games could include to make things more interesting and breathe new life into an aging franchise. These changes would require work, but any new game should—I would hate to see Pokémon continue the troubling trend of easy and/or insignificant content when there is so much potential to do so much with what they have.

With all that said, I do want to offer a bit of praise—Sirfetch’d and Galarian Ponyta are pretty awesome, and Galarian Weezing is perfectly ridiculous. But I ask that you keep in mind what your money is telling Game Freak when you purchase their games: it tells them that you don’t mind the severe lack of innovation and improvement. It tells them you don’t mind Scorbunny hopping in place as a giant, orange, human foot strikes its opponent. It tells them that you’re willing to fund their copy/paste animations from 6 years ago, their uninspired gameplay updates, and their ever-increasing focus on gimmicks and minigames.

As for me, I will continue holding Pokémon to a higher standard and hoping that, eventually, Blastoise will fire water from his cannons.

#pokemon #game review #game freak #hilltop sunset #suggestions

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mythicalcanary-literature · 3 years

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FanFiction - Crossing the Stars

Hetalia (c) Hidekaz Himaruya

FTL: Faster Than Light (c) Subset Games

[CHAPTER LIST]

Author’s Note: This FanFiction is a crossover between the sci-fi strategy game ‘FTL: Faster Than Light’ by Subset Games and the manga/anime called ‘Hetalia’ by Hidekaz Himaruya. The story will follow closely to the events of the rougue-like gameplay in FTL and the human characters will be replaced with the human versions of the national personifications in ‘Hetalia’. This is a fun personal project and it requires no knowledge of either fandom to enjoy this story. I’d encourage checking the original sources out though! Use of screenshots in this FanFiction are to supplement the storytelling to help plot the course of our heroes’ journey in the universe. Whatever the outcome of the gameplay I base this story on (as each playthrough is very unique) will be translated into the plot of this story. i.e. If the spaceship gets damaged, it gets damaged in the story. If a character dies in the game, they’re dead in this fiction. (Please note that I find this kind of storytelling entertaining to play/write and I plan to do more in the future if time allows!)

Chapter 2

The crew of the S.S. APH pondered their options. At the Exit Beacon of their first Civilian Sector they had a choice on where to jump. Both branching sectors were civilian areas, one was under Engi Control and the other under Zoltan Control.

Captain Alfred F. Jones brought up the file on the Engi species. “It says here that Engi dudes are made of nanomachines. That’s pretty damn sweet! Maybe we could get them to be our mechanics?”

Arthur Kirkland, the weapons master, pulled up the file on their second option, the Zoltans. “Apparently both the Engi and Zoltans are allies. We could encounter either species in either sector so we have a coin toss here. Zoltans are energy beings, meaning that they can act as a kind of battery to save us some engine power. That’s rather handy.”

Their engines expert Francis Bonnefoy hummed in approval. “Now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind having either of those creatures on board. An expert mechanic? A spare battery, pardon ze term… and if we can encounter them in any of these two sectors I don’t think we could lose.”

“It says that the Engi are secret allies of the Federation. That bodes very well for us. Provided the Rebels haven’t corrupted them, of course,” Arthur added thoughtfully.

Their American Captain beamed. “Hell yeah! I guess that means the Zoltan dudes are allies as well. Can’t go wrong here.”

Arthur coughed. “Actually, if we enter Zoltan territory and we’re attacked by hostiles whom have a Zoltan Energy Shield we could face problems. Those energy shields are a bitch to destroy. We need to avoid as many problematic scenarios as possible.”

“Agreed,” the Frenchman said quickly. “I am still shaken from ze last battles.”

“Engi Controlled then?” Alfred suggested. “Back to your stations! Let’s get this important cargo on the move!”

A cautionary message popped up on Alfred’s monitor. It warned them that Mantis had been preying on the Engi core worlds and those insectoids were a rather violent race. He hoped for a peaceful voyage this go-round. He programmed in the next jump, reluctantly avoiding the temptation of visiting the store located at a nearby beacon. If they could harvest more scrap maybe they could invest in some more kickass weaponry or upgrades!

A rather disgruntled British voice chimed over the announcement system. “OH FUCKING HELL!” As tempted as the Captain was to discourage swearing, he allowed it in this case. Out of the frying pan and into the literal fire!

Francis gasped, staring out of his nearby airlock window at the super-giant Class M star! They were too close, they were going to cook like that rather delicious duck l’orange he made for his crew before they left the Federation space port back home. “Oh non non non!”

DANGER! SOLAR FLARES! DANGER! SOLAR FLARES! DANGER!

“Incoming dumbass Pirate Scout ship! Kirkland lock weapons on their shields and weapons rooms before we grill like a BBQ!” Captain Jones commanded as he anxiously kept an eye on their FTL Drive charge. He really did think those pirates were dumbasses, who dares lurk around a giant star to attack passersby at the risk of setting their own ship alight? Idiots.

The S.S. APH successfully damaged the pirate ship but the enemy return shot rocked the weapons room. FIRE!

Arthur hardly knew what hit him, but the searing heat was enough of a tip-off to tell him that if he didn’t move right now he was going to die. Scrambling to his feet, he reached for the fire extinguisher and tried to combat the flames. This was very bad.

His best friend’s voice hailed him over the comms. “Artie, get out of there! I’m gonna open the airlocks to snuff out the fire. Go literally anywhere where you have oxygen.”

“Aye, sir!” he acknowledged, coughing from the smoke as he fled to the shields room. The portside and starboard side airlocks shot open along with a couple of doors into the weapons room draining the air rapidly to deny the fire any fuel.

As soon as the fire was out, Alfred closed all of the doors. That was all kinds of horrible. The pirate ship was repairing and had shields online. If they could get their weapons…

The super-giant Class M star wanted in on the action. It stretched a solar flare right out to the warring ships!

WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

Good thing Kirkland kept that fire extinguisher. Fire seemed to be following him today. Alfred sighed from the Bridge and called his crew. “Artie, get out of shields, I’ll open the starboard airlocks. Bonnefoy! Assist Kirkland in weapons, we need to get those back online.”

“Aye-aye, Captain!”

In the weapons room, Arthur and Francis united to repair the systems. The Frenchman quickly pulled his on-and-off frienemy into a hug and checked him for injuries. “Mon Dieu! I am happy you aren’t too badly hurt. Ze shields are down, we have to work quickly. Are you well?”

Arthur huffed and pushed him away. “Yes, I’m fine. Let’s get to work before more fire follows me.” He was feeling a little paranoid that he had pissed off a sun god or some crap like that. They had to get away.

The pirates were fighting well! They destroyed their surveillance system, not that it was a vital system at this point in time but it was extra hull damage that our heroes could not afford to take. “Bonnefoy! Shields are broken, meet me there. Artie, I see weapons are online, stay there and give them hell!”

Give them hell indeed! The Englishman dealt the deathblow to the pirates and was glad to dust his hands of the bastards. Unfortunately the star was not done with them and heavily damaged their oxygen systems and the weapons room again. The battle was won but the war wasn’t over!

“I’m off to repair O2!” Arthur announced as he fled from his post at weapons to stop them from suffocating. Alfred acknowledged. “Francis, join him! Get the oxygen back online, we can repair other things later but our ship can’t handle more of this. I’m gonna jump us away!”

“Oui! Please get us out of here, I am sweaty and it’s gross.” The pair split directions and Alfred slammed in the co-ordinates of their next destination at the Bridge. If this was what was in the stars for them in this sector they might not live to see the end and that thought was terrifying.

The next leap took them to an existing battle between a Mantis ship harassing a small Engi research vessel. Alfred was almost ready to command an intervention but the insectoids fled as they entered their space. The Engi Captain hailed them, offering thanks for showing up, and gave the S.S. APH a new drone schematic.

Captain Jones gasped in awe. “OH SHIT YEAH! A BOARDING DRONE?! YEEEEEAH!”

His friends joined him on the Bridge. Arthur blinked in surprise. “A Boarding Drone? Wow, that’s powerful tech! Too bad we don’t have a drone room.”

“Dudes, we get one! Or we can sell it if we can’t, whatever, but damn, those Engi guys were nice.”

Francis stretched. “Let’s keep moving, mes amis. Ze Rebels are always on our tails.”

Arthur beamed. A Boarding Drone? That would be fun to use against the Rebel Fleet.

“Alright, dudes, you’re gonna hate me for this, but I’m gonna backtrack to the store. Our hull is fucked and if we can get a drone room to use this fancy-ass tech we’re sure as hell getting it!” Arthur chided him for his horrible use of the English language but agreed that the risk might be worth it. Their hull was already fifty percent damaged, it could spell death if they carried on without fixing it.

Luck turned in their favour! Alfred authorised the purchase of the new drone room to house the Boarding Drone, and it also came with a free Defence Drone Mark I! Bargain. They spent the rest of their scrap on hull repairs and moved on to the next beacon.

They backtracked to an earlier beacon and leapt right on towards the distress signal. Captain Jones listened to the plea and cringed. Oh boy, this was not a pretty distress call but he didn’t feel that they could risk a rescue mission. He called his crew to the Bridge to make an informed decision.

Francis peered through the window in surprise. “It’s an evacuation.”

Alfred hailed the fleeing vessels. “Yo, this is Captain Jones of the Federation Star Ship APH, what’s the sitch?”

Arthur glared at him for once again disregarding etiquette. He ignored his friend.

One of the fleeing ships responded; “Help! We’re being overrun by some sort of giant alien spiders!”

The Frenchman squealed. “WHAT? That’s disgusting! Call pest control!”

Arthur whacked him across the head. “I think literally anyone coming to their aid IS pest control.”

Alfred winced. “Giant alien spiders? Seriously?”

The fleeing ship yelled, “Help us or flee yourselves! Those things are evil!”

Arthur bit his lip. “Sending an away team isn’t advisable, Alfred. I don’t think we can afford to waste more time with the Rebels on our heels and we don’t know what we’re up against.”

Francis nodded. “Oui, I say we go. They’re already evacuating, we should stay ze course.”

The young Captain sighed and agreed resolutely. “Yeah, you’re totally right. Back to your stations, we have a mission to complete!”

“Heads-up, all! We’re navigating an asteroid field.” Alfred paused and checked the radar. “Incoming pirates! Kirkland, power down the Artemis missile and channel it into the drones. I’m gonna power down the medbay to support the Defence Drone, it’s gonna take out the asteroids for us.” Arthur switched the power routes and confirmed that the drone was ready.

“Ah shoot, it looks like we’ve got another coward on our hands. Enemy vessel is powering up its FTL Drive!”

“I’ve destroyed their weapons, sir!” Arthur replied, prepared to change tactics. “Thank God for this drone, it’s stopping the asteroids from striking us. Their hull is weak, the pirates won’t last long.”

True to his word, the pirates perished soon after and they could reap the rewards. There was no time to spare, they had to continue the journey!

“Hey, dudes! We have a Rebel Auto douche here with a sweet cache. Let’s attack it and steal its shit.”

Arthur audibly sighed over the comms system. “Is that an order, Captain or are you daydreaming aloud?”

“HAHAHAHA! Shut it and fire up the weapons, bro.”

“How the hell did you earn your Captain’s badge again?” he asked rhetorically.

“By bein’ a HERO, of course! Fire up!”

“I’ve taken out their weapons, Captain!” Sadly, that wasn’t enough to stop an enemy missile from screwing with their shields.

“Shields are down! That goddamn drone is setting everything on fire! Francis, run to weapons, I need to open the airlocks!”

“Oui, I’ll keep Arthur company and hope he doesn’t attract fire again,” Francis responded, running down the halls.

Arthur scoffed. “Quiet, idiot, or I’ll make sure you’re in the way of the fire beam.”

“So cruel!” the Frenchman whined as he entered the weapons room. The Englishman stuck out his tongue and switched the Burst Laser to lock on the drones as Alfred opened the airlocks to control the drain of oxygen.

Once the fires were extinguished, Alfred shut the airlocks and commanded Francis to repair the shields and medbay. The Auto-Assault ship exploded and left them with a decent reward. Arthur examined the weapon from the cache. A Healing Burst? That could be useful but he was hoping for something a little better.

The next beacon was a store! The Engi hive operating it seemed friendly enough and Alfred treated Arthur to a special weapons augmentation. As the Engi repaired their hull, Arthur installed the ‘Automated Re-Loader’. An extra ten percent recharge rate on their weapons could really give them an advantage!

Feeling refreshed, the crew embarked to the next beacon, painfully aware of how close the Rebel Fleet was getting to them.

“Yo, crewdudes! I found a dormant Rebel Automated Scout here. I’m gonna try and download its data stores. You guys chill or whatever.”

A FEW MOMENTS LATER…

“Uh… Yeah, Artie, can ya do me a favour and like… blast the ever living hell outta this thing? I miiiight have activated it into fight mode.”

Francis could have sworn he heard the audible facepalm from his friend, but then again he could have done that deliberately over the announcement system.

Fortunately these ships were quick to deal with and Arthur destroyed it without putting up much of a fight. They collected the loot and moved on with their lives.

The next beacon was located around a pulsar. A small research station orbited it, but it seemed to be abandoned. Alfred scanned the area and flipped on the Red Alert sirens. “BATTLE STATIONS, PEEPS. WE HAVE MORE PIRATES!”

“I thought this was Engi space? All we’ve seen are Rebels and Pirates!” Francis complained over the comms system.

“They could be Engi pirates? We don’t have the scanners to see into their ships,” Arthur reasoned as he powered up the weapons. “Brace yourselves for ion waves, everyone. Our electronics are going to go haywire.”

DANGER! ELECTROMAGNETIC WAVES! DANGER!

The enemy weapons room was targeted and blasted to pieces. An ion wave disrupted their engines and shields, whereas the enemy had a mild disruption to their weapons and oxygen rooms.

“We have another runner! Take these losers down, Kirkland!”

“I’m doing my best! The bloody pulsar knocked out my weapons charge.”

“Shit, they’re getting away!”

There was a tense moment as the pirates used their FTL Drive to flee. The crew of the S.S. APH were worried that they would alert the Rebel Fleet about their location. This did not happen and they could breathe again.

“Fuck, that was intense!” Alfred called over the announcement system. “Look, things are gonna get ugly. We’ll pitstop at the next store but we’re gonna encounter the Rebels at the Exit Beacon. Artie, be on high alert when we get there.”

“I’m already on high alert, but I will do my best to fend them off so we can get to the next sector.”

“Good man. Franny, come with me, we’ll get the supplies this time.”

The Engi trader was a nice entity. He showed the crewmembers his wares and allowed them to discuss budget. In the end, they settled for a Flak Gun Mark I to potentially give them an advantage over multiple shields on enemy vessels along with an extra bit of fuel to tide them over. That was it, that was ALL of their scrap, which included the extra currency they made by selling their Healing Burst. They hoped it was enough to keep them alive.

Captain Jones gathered his friends in the Bridge with a grave expression. “Okay, so the Rebels are definitely at the Exit Beacon, no escapin’ that. Just do your best and try not to die. Our priority is to buy time to escape, alright? We’re not aiming for a win, we’re aiming for an escape.”

Francis looked nervous. “I don’t want to die!”

Arthur sat on the pilot’s chair and rested his head in his hands. “We all know the risks. Let’s not be pessimistic. We’ll either succeed in getting through the beacon or they will blow us to kingdom come. We’ve better head there right now. I just hope they haven’t had time to set-up anti-ship batteries…”

“Good luck, guys! I believe in you!” They all hugged for a brief moment before marching off to their stations. Here goes nothing!

As Alfred suspected, the enemy ship had two layers of shields to deal with. The investment in the Flak Gun was worth it. Arthur warmed up the weapons and aimed the Flak Gun at the enemy engines with additional fire power aimed at their shields in the form of the Artemis missile. He also noticed that they had a teleportation pad. Well, this was about to get bloody!

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED!

“Bonnefoy! Get out of engines and man the doors! I’m opening the back airlocks, don’t get caught in it, I’ll try and suffocate the bastard!” Alfred called over a private comm link as he monitored the single human intruder.

“Aye, Captain!” Francis responded, racing to his new post as the engine and oxygen rooms were starved of air. The intruder was going to regret beaming aboard alright!

In weapons, Arthur cringed as his Flak debris missed the FTL Drive. He was counting on the Artemis missile to destroy the shields to help things along. The shields were hit on both ships and they tried their best to remain stable.

WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

The oxygen room was under attack by the one intruder that was slowly suffocating because he didn’t bring a space suit. The S.S. APH’s shields were vulnerable, which meant that the Rebel Elite Fighter could definitely land more hits. This wasn’t looking great and the FTL was taking its sweet time to charge up!

Francis did his best to hold the doors firmly secured shut. This was difficult when they never invested any scrap to upgrade their reactor and subsequently their subsystems further. He could not leave his post whilst the intruder remained on board, which left the engines unmanned so that he couldn’t assist Alfred with dodging attacks, and if he left the doors to repair the broken shields Arthur would be attacked by the intruder, no doubt. This was a horrible situation and it was going to get worse.

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED! WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

Arthur managed to damage the Rebel’s engines, shields and weapons but chaos had already reigned on the S.S. APH. Enemy retaliation had damaged their piloting systems, shields and engines. On top of that, there was a fire in the drone control room and the entire oxygen system had been destroyed. They were in major trouble!

WARNING! SHIELDS CRITICAL!

WARNING! HULL AT 75%!

It was a never-ending sound of alarms on the ship. Alfred was stuck repairing the piloting system so that they could continue charging the FTL Drive, Francis had left the door system room to try to fix the shields to give them SOME protection as Arthur madly aimed their weapons at the enemy ship.

Arthur panicked and knew he had to do something or they’d be stuck as a waiting target for the Rebels to destroy any minute now. He ran to the engines to repair the FTL Drive. “Alfred! I’m repairing the engines. We can’t leave if they’re broken!”

“The weapons are auto-firing, right?!” he called back.

“Yes! I…” Wow, the air was constricting in this room. He continued working as hard as he could to get the engines back online but he couldn’t focus for some reason… “We need to get vital systems online!”

The Rebels were close to destruction but that felt like a hollow promise of victory. The teleportation room activated again and now they had THAT to deal with too.

Alfred was sweating. The drone room was directly behind the Bridge and that was completely on fire now. He couldn’t run to help his friends and they were losing! He checked the ship surveillance to see how everyone was and his eyes widened in horror. “FRANCIS, GET TO THE OXYGEN ROOM NOW. FIX IT QUICKLY, ARTHUR’S DYING!”

“What?!” came the Frenchman’s startled response. “I’ll head there now!”

“ARTIE, BUDDY! Your vitals are critical. Are you conscious?! Get out of there and head to the medbay right now. ARTHUR! Move it! Please…”

Arthur was hanging on by a thread. He could barely move but he had to get out of there. Somehow he got to his feet and felt his way out of the engine room. His health was waning and he almost fainted en route to the medbay. He had to get there. To heal. To breathe. There was so much NOISE. Where was medbay again?

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED!

Arthur collapsed on a bed in the medical wing. Luckily the system was able to start helping him to convalesce but he was extremely close to death! Thankfully he made it there in time.

Francis was struggling. It took a lot of effort but the oxygen was back online! He coughed and hurried over to the medbay as his health depleted further. He was the second member close to death that day. He saw Arthur and relaxed, letting the system heal his body.

BOOM! The enemy vessel exploded leaving them with a nice bit of fuel to move on when they weren’t burning to death. That was one less worry for Alfred but he had plenty more to deal with post-battle. Namely the one intruder destroying their weapons room!

Alfred sighed with relief and spent a moment recovering. He checked on his friends’ vital signs... they seemed to be improving in the medbay. Good. That was too close for comfort. He exhaled and began opening most of the airlocks, not only to deal with the raging fire in the room behind him but also to make the intruder suffer.

He watched as the oxygen fled the ship and waited for his best friend to regain consciousness. They had to get this ship running again pronto or they’d face another vessel, which they can’t afford to do!

WARNING! INTRUDERS DETECTED!

Alfred made a beeline to the medbay once most of the fire was extinguished. He hugged Arthur once he woke up and dragged him to the door systems room. “Good job there, Artie. Sorry you almost died, but we’re alive now. I need you to focus and help me repair these doors or we’ll never be able to close them. Francis repaired the oxygen room, he’s healing at the moment, and we have an intruder on board and the Rebels are kicking our asses but we’ll be fine! Just help me fix shit so we can leave, okay?”

The shorter blond blinked his emerald eyes tiredly at him and nodded, helping to restore the systems. He put out the fire in the door room with Alfred and was feeling well enough to take back responsibilities on the ship.

Once all of the fires were extinguished on the ship, Alfred remotely sealed the doors and responded to an alert from the medbay. The intruder had decided to launch an attack on Francis whom was still recovering!

“Gotcha, Rebel scum!” Alfred yelled as he barrelled into the intruder and started hand-to-hand combat with the enemy. Arthur woke up his bearded friend and together the three of them eliminated the rebel for good. Panting, the crewmates gathered their wits as the medbay healed them.

Francis looked pale. “I think we almost died. For real that time.”

Arthur bit his lip. “I should have known that something was off when I tried repairing the FTL Drive. I didn’t realise the oxygen was knocked out, I should have gone there, but my thought was to fix the engines so we could flee.”

Alfred sat down on a bed and ran a hand through his hair. “Ugh, that was horrible. I almost lost you both. I don’t want to pilot this ship on my own, we’re already a tiny crew.”

“Well we made it!” Francis chimed in optimistically.

Alfred hugged them all tightly before standing up with purpose. “Now we’re all healed, let’s get this ship functioning again and then get the fuck outta dodge!”

Arthur stretched and saluted half-heartedly. “I’ll fix drones, Jones should take engines and Bonnfoy fix my bloody weapons. When we get to the next sector we REALLY need to focus on upgrades if we can. Our reactor power is weak and we can’t use all of our systems to full capacity.”

“I know that, dude,” the Captain scoffed. “Let’s just get out of here and then worry about the technicalities.”

With repairs completed, Alfred went back to the Bridge alone. The sector map branched out into two locations. They could either go to another Engi Controlled sector, not that this sector bore much fruit for the S.S. APH, or they could risk everything and attempt to survive in Rebel Controlled territory. He groaned. Being a space Captain wasn’t as cool as he thought it would be. He wished he had convinced his friends to stay home instead.

TO BE CONTINUED IN THE NEXT SECTOR...

Chapter 2 - END

[CHAPTER LIST]

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[Cover Art] This image was drawn in HB pencil and painted in watercolour paints on the 8th August 2021. It was digitally enhanced in GIMP Image Editor on the 9th August 2021. Paper type = 130 gsm

This chapter was written on the 30th-31st August 2021.

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Please do not repost, modify, resell or claim this work as your own.

(Reblogging is fine, though!)

[Mythical Canary Info]

2 notes · View notes

isabilightwood · 3 years

Text

THE PROBLEM WITH AUTHORITY - CHAPTER 5

Or, Sacrifice Summon! Jiang Yanli is here to make things right, be the ultimate big sister (step 1: bring back her dead brother), and maybe steal the Peacock throne in the process

AO3[1][2][3][4]

Wen Qing knocked the mortar and pestle to the ground as she jumped to her feet, the red-orange powder scattering across the ground.

Belatedly, Jiang Yanli realized she had stepped into view.

“Who are you?” Wen Qing demanded, reflexively reaching into her sleeve for a needle. She came up empty. “This is a warded house. You can’t be here.”

Wen Qing was wan and pale, like the sun had not touched her skin in long years. Dark circles ringed her eyes, though cultivators could manage on little sleep. A woman for whom the nightmare of their youth had never ended.

“I -” Jiang Yanli’s voice caught, and she pressed her hands to her throat. Her umbrella dropped to the ground, and the downpour rapidly soaked her through. “You’re alive.”

“How did you get through the wards?” She demanded again, scrutinizing Jiang Yanli as though trying to place her.

She must be wondering why a Jin is happy to see a Wen alive. Qin Su cut through her shock.

Her thoughts inched into motion, like wading through the muddy shallows of a lake after a long day in the unforgiving sun.

Of course. Wen Qing was not trying to place Jiang Yanli, but Qin Su, who she had never met. She should say something, to allay her fears. Something, anything to explain. But she could do nothing but stare at those suspicious eyes, in that impossible face.

A stirring of air against her neck heralded Nie Huaisang’s arrival at her side. “Wen Qing? Now this is a surprise.”

Wen Qing laughed, harsh and rough, like she hadn’t had reason to in a long time. “Six years in the same rooms and I’ve finally lost it. Nie Huaisang is not standing outside my prison.”

“Nie Huaisang is standing outside your prison.” He swept his fan outwards, giving a shallow bow.

Wen Qing considered this, and let her shoulders slump. “Ok, then. Who are you?”

Jiang Yanli hesitated.

Maybe you shouldn’t have this conversation out in the open. What if a servant comes by with dinner, or something? Qin Su suggested, gently coaxing. Jiang Yanli was reminded that though she usually thought of her like a shimei, Qin Su had been a mother. And from how the young disciples ran to her excitedly, trusting and curious, she had been a good one. However acerbic she might have become, Qin Su still had a good heart.

Qin Su flinched, and closed herself off even as Jiang Yanli gathered herself together. And so she did not hear Jiang Yanli wonder if the same could be said for her.

“Before I say, may I come inside? If anyone comes by...” She glanced over her shoulder, and saw a servant dash past, carrying a lidded tray, unprotected under the rain.

Wen Qing studied her, and Jiang Yanli stared back, unblinking. Finally, she sighed.

“You might as well. But I’m not making you tea.” Wen Qing agreed, shockingly apathetic. Though Wen Qin had often pretended indifference, it had never felt like she meant it before. Now, she accepted an apparent stranger with unknown motives entering her room like it was nothing.

Once, in the calm before the storm after the Sunshot Campaign, A-Xian had joked that if someone tried to kill him, it would be the most interesting thing to happen that week. When he saw how distressed the idea made her, he’d rushed to assure her he didn’t actually want to be assassinated, and never repeated the sentiment. But it had been the truest thing he’d said in those months.

In spirit, this felt the same.

“And you’re going to sit on a towel.” Only as Wen Qing spoke did she realize rivulets of water were dripping from her hem and sleeves, and the pins in her hair dragged heavily at her scalp.

In her own body, Jiang Yanli would have spent the next week lying fevered in bed at least. Now, she would simply have to change before returning to the conference.

Reaching into a cabinet, Wen Qing retrieved not one, but an armful of towels, and lay them out as Jiang Yanli maneuvered herself over the windowsill. As she retreated to her desk, Jiang Yanli dripped her way into a seat on the towel across from her.

Nie Huaisang perched on the windowsill, one leg hanging outside. He, unlike her, had remained mostly dry. “I’ll keep watch,” he said, though he posed like he expected to model for a painting.

But then, maybe Wen Qing was his witness, and he was lying. She couldn’t be sure. The fact that they were both liars did not mean he would be honest with her.

“Explain.” Wen Qing demanded, folding her arms and setting her jaw in a way that did not scream willingness to listen.

And there was the question. Was it safe to reveal her identity? Was it any more dangerous to tell Wen Qing she was Jiang Yanli than Qin Su? If there was a chance she would tell Jin Guangyao, either would crumble her nascent plans, and she’d be lucky to flee to Yunmeng with her life.

Yet she did not believe that Wen Qing would ever be won over by Jin Guangyao’s act.

Well. Wen Qing had always appreciated bluntness. She’d grown up in a snake den, and could smell deceit from a mile away. If Jiang Yanli wanted Wen Qing to trust her, there was only one option.

“I’m a dead woman in a living woman’s body. This,” She gestured at her face. “Is Qin Su, Jin-furen. As for me, you once sheltered my brothers and I at your Wen Ning’s request, and it cost you everything.”

An inscrutable collection of emotions passed over Wen Qing’s face, settling on anger. “That isn’t po—” She cut off, jerking back.

“So you know it is possible.”

Wen Qing’s brows narrowed further. “Prove it.”

And — that was a problem. Nie Huaisang had caught her in a slip of the tongue. That would not work with Wen Qing. She couldn’t say which stories A-Xian might have told her, or which might have entered common knowledge. She and Wen Qing had been friendly, but not close. “It’s not well known that you helped my brothers and me. But if anyone was actually listening...”

“I did,” Nie Huaisang volunteered, grimacing as he once again admitted to possessing knowledge. “I imagine your late husband’s friends do as well.

These are trying times for him. Qin Su, who had been slowly emerging, surfaced fully to say. If people know he uses his brain, they might expect things from him.

Her guard frayed from recent revelations, Jiang Yanli giggled aloud. “Sorry, Qin Su said something.” And I’m sorry to you as well, she told Qin Su, though she could read the feeling within her.

Qin Su’s exaggerated good humor deflated. I can’t keep running away from him — from the memory of my son forever.

“A joke at my expense, no doubt.” Nie Huaisang tilted his head back to rest on the frame, his mouth curled upwards.

“Did you say Qin Su is within you? But —” Wen Qing snapped her jaw shut.

“That’s not how the array works? Yes, I noticed that. Nevertheless, here we are.” Her hands fisted in her soaked robes, replacing body-warmed fabric with the cold drape of her skirts. Shivering again, she forced her hands to let go, and smoothed out the fabric. “But you wanted proof.”

Wen Qin nodded sharply, retrieving a worn, threadbare red pouch that had been hidden behind the pile of books. She clutched it in her hands.

Jiang Yanli had not, yet, thought of anything truly conclusive to offer. “Anyone could guess we mostly spoke about our brothers, under the circumstances. I must confess those days are something of a blur, thanks to my fever.”

“That doesn’t prove your identity, no.” Wen Qing agreed shortly, but Jiang Yanli barely registered her tone.

The open book to Wen Qing’s left was new, a half-labeled diagram of a person’s meridians on the page. A still wet brush and bowl of ink sat nearby. She didn’t recognize the herbs that had spilled from the mortar, despite her experience in both cooking and field medicine. But the stack of thin volumes with deteriorating bindings were too low quality for even a non-cultivating Jin servant to purchase.

Yet she had seen their like in Koi Tower before.

“Quite the quandary,” Nie Huaisang shifted to put a hand behind his head, his other reaching out to brush the finally slowing fall of rain.

Perhaps not. “Those tattered journals — You’re the one who’s been transcribing A-Xian’s work, aren’t you?” Wen Qing’s eyes widened, and she knew she was correct. “Would it convince you if I read one?”

“His journals may as well have been written in code for all Jin Guangyao and his minions can make sense of it.” Wen Qing shifted on her knees, her posture losing its perfection in a way that somehow conveyed challenge. “I suppose it would. I haven’t worked through this one yet.”

Selecting a volume from the middle of the stack, she held it out to Jiang Yanli.

She took it with trembling hands, wary of which of A-Xian’s secrets she might find within. Flipping it open, she found lotuses. “He tried to grow lotuses in the Burial Mounds?” She asked, but Wen Qing remained impassive.

Jiang Yanli would gain no sympathy, without sufficient proof. “This describes his attempts to grow less-hardy crops in lands tainted by resentful energy, beginning with the ‘noble lotus’, because ‘as Shijie always said, lotuses are a vital part of any diet, and radishes are rabbit food.” She couldn’t help but smile, almost able to hear A-Xian say those words. Certain, for the space of a breath, that if she turned, he would be standing behind her, grinning and no older than ten. “I definitely never said that last part.”

Lotuses; however, should be a part of any diet. They were, objectively, the best vegetable. Less popular in seafood-loving Lanling than Yunmeng, unfortunately.

A-Xuan’s pond had been maintained, but only as a memorial. No one who truly knew them had been involved in that decision.

“He predicted lotuses could only tolerate a certain level of resentment, and calculated that the levels of the patch of land must be reduced by 60%. He played Chenqing to draw out spirits bound to the plot and — there’s a drop of spilled ink there— the bound spirits willingly moved on.” She turned the page, hoping to find the missing link. “Oh. This is.” There was an unusually detailed piece of artwork filling the next page, depicting Wen Ning and a boy who must be a younger Lan – no, Wen – Yuan elbow deep in a muddy pond of lotuses in full bloom, Wen Qing with an overflowing basket of laundry on her hip, watched them fondly. Smaller figures were grouped together in the background, bent over in the fields, or sitting together over the mending.

This had been the Burial Mounds they all so feared.

“What is it?” Wen Qing asked.

Wordlessly, Jiang Yanli turned the book towards her.

Wen Qing took a shuddering breath, and looked away.

It was a reminder, Jiang Yanli realized, that Wen Qing was the only one left.

Except that she wasn’t. “The boy, A-Yuan. He’s alive.” She said, breathless. “Lan Wangji adopted him. No one else would have guessed, but...”

To her, it had been obvious.

Wen Qing met her gaze, disbelief warring with naked hope. “You’re not lying. And you’re really —”

“I can cook for you if you need more proof.” She smiled, looking down at her hands. “The servants would get a shock out of Jin-furen in the kitchen.”

Soup-making is not a required skill for Qin cultivators. Qin Su said. I could not be trusted not to poison myself.

Only the basics had been required of the Jiang. But Jiang Yanli had taken to it, latching onto the skill instinctively. A young girl who had finally found something she was good for, beyond a marriage alliance.

“Jiang Yanli.” Wen Qing breathed, her lips parting as her grip on her needle tightened.

The sound of her name on Wen Qing’s lips felt like a warm embrace, though Wen Qing had never touched her in anything but a professional manner. The first time she was recognized by someone who mattered to her before everything went wrong.

She shivered, but not from the cold.

Concerned, Wen Qing got to her feet. “I’ve changed my mind. Since you’re not a stranger or a lying impostor, I will make you tea.” She slapped a heating talisman on a cast iron teapot with a peacock motif emblazoned on the side and turned to grab a folded robe from a nearby cabinet. The robe, she handed to Jiang Yanli. “And put this on, or you’ll catch your death.”

She held the robe away from her body. “I won’t. While many of my problems carried over into my new body, my health ones did not.”

“How did I never notice you’re just as bullheadedly stubborn as your brothers?” Wen Qing sighed. “Wei Wuxian told me he invented his drying talisman to hide the evidence when he pushed Jiang Wanyin in the lake, but he never figured out how to make it work while someone was still wearing the clothing.”

Letting her will be faster and less suspicious than going back to the Fragrance Hall to change, Qin Su pointed out.

They were both right, but — since when had accepting help become so difficult?

Maybe she was just like her brothers, when she wasn’t spending all her time as their moderating influence. “I am a Jiang. But I appreciate the gesture.” She hurried behind a folding screen to change, and attached the offered quick-drying talismans.

When she stepped back out in Wen Qing’s robe, she said, “I have some questions.”

“I can guess them.” She poured a cup of tea for Jiang Yanli as she knelt on a fresh, dry pillow.

Jiang Yanli cradled the cup close to her chest, savoring its warmth. “I missed much of what happened while I was -” shell-shocked and unable to summon the expected wailing sobs, terrified for her brother, while still hoping Zixuan would walk through the doors, and it had all just been a big mistake — “attending to my husband’s mourning rites. You turned yourself in?”

“They promised Wei Wuxian and my clan would live if A-Ning and I turned ourselves in, and then killed everyone except us.” What might have been a broken, bitter laugh tore from Wen Qing’s throat. “Though I don’t think Jin Guangshan ever knew about me, since his son used me to make his heart give out.”

“What on earth made him think it was a good idea to keep you around?” Nie Huaisang asked. “Meant in an entirely complimentary way of course.”

Jiang Yanli grimaced. “What Nie-zongzhu means ask is—”

“Exactly what he said. It’s fine.” Wen Qing rolled her eyes. Nie Huaisang awakened Jiang Yanli’s eldest sibling instincts simply by existing, so perhaps Wen Qing was experiencing the same phenomena. “They wanted A-Ning as a tool, to figure out how Wei Wuxian made him, and how to control him. Me, well — there’s no one else in the world who knows more about golden cores.” She wasn’t bragging. The woman who had kept Wen Ruohan in a semblance of stability for years and kept company with the Yiling Patriarch had no need for boasting. “My familiarity with Wei Wuxian’s work was merely a bonus, he said, though he’s gotten more out of my translations than his original goal.”

“His original goal?” Jiang Yanli took a careful sip of tea. It was a rich golden color, with the fermented taste of a pu’er, of mushrooms and dried fruits and honey. Wen Qing had left the box out, and its label read Qishan, and a date two decades earlier. A purposeful reminder, then, of everything Wen Qing had lost.

A tea or a wine might age into readiness, but Wen Qing lived on borrowed time.

“To strengthen his golden core.” She said. Knocking back her own tea like it was wine, she poured another. “A lack of proper instruction and years with a fake manual left his stunted. Of course, I’m his prisoner. I’d prefer he stay that way. So he doesn’t trust anything I come up with.”

“Greedy.” Nie Huaisang said, “Meng Yao would never have kept you around.”

“If Jin Guangyao erred, it’s our gain.” This time, when Jiang Yanli reached out, Wen Qing let their fingers brush before pulling away.

Shaking her head, Wen Qin continued, “If you’re hoping to use my skill against him, that would be difficult. He takes my methods and has them tested extensively before use. Especially on himself.”

“I’m certain you could find away around that,” Jiang Yanli busied her hands with the teapot to keep from offering unwelcome comfort. “But you’re A-Xian’s family. You are worth finding, whether or not you can be of use.”

Rather than risk eye contact Wen Qing stared at Jiang Yanli’s hands. “Though Jin Guangyao understands it’s not so easy to correct his block, he’s starting to get impatient. Now that his known enemies are out of the way, I don’t know how much longer he’ll take to accept I’d need to treat him directly to have any effect. He would never allow that, of course. I’d kill him.”

Qin Su made an offer to hold him down that Jiang Yanli did not repeat.

“Speaking of murder, did you help kill my Da-ge?” Nie Huaisang asked pleasantly.

“Unless he used something a second time, no.” Wen Qing said. Then startled, “Chifeng-zun is dead?”

Pointedly, he hummed a tune that sounded… off, somehow. When Wen Qing just stared at him, he huffed. “He used an obscure musical cultivation score.”

Wen Qing raised her chin high, and stared him down. “I am the last person anyone would ask about music. My attempts at a lullaby made A-Yuan cry. I couldn’t even clap a rhythm when Wei Wuxian needed one for his cultivation. He had to ask Popo.”

Nie Huaisang did not loose his flippancy when he said, “Then you can live. Perhaps, if you’re willing to trade some information, I could do something about your brother’s situation.”

Wen Qing looked him over, calculating. Glancing at Jiang Yanli only briefly, she nodded. “I doubt there’s much you can do for me, but if you can find a way to free A-Ning, that would be worth it.”

“We came here looking for a witness to Jin Guangshan’s murder.” Nie Huaisang leaned towards them, balanced precariously on his perch.

I’d almost forgotten. Qin Su said softly. Jiang Yanli had forgotten.

“Well, I mixed the poison. But the person you came for might be upstairs. I was restricted to this floor a year ago now? Or so? It’s difficult to keep track of time, these days.” At that, Wen Qing seemed deeply disturbed. Jiang Yanli could understand why — days passing in infrequently interrupted isolation could be no less disorienting than waking up one day to find her infant son reached her waist. “Sometimes, I hear footsteps overhead.”

“Excellent!” Nie Huaisang snapped his fan closed, and jumped down outside the window. A gray flash blasted upwards a moment later.

In his absence, silence crept in. Wen Qing’s hands shook as she reached for her teacup, and she let them fall in her lap.

“I should return to the banquet soon.” Jiang Yanli said, finally. “But I am wondering. What is Jin Guangyao using to keep you here?”

One of Wen Qing’s brows quirked up. “You must have noticed the wards.”

“Yes, but they’re based on A-Xian’s work, and you know it better than anyone else alive.” And after his complicity in her family’s murder, Wen Qing must be unable to overcome his means on her own.

“If it was only those wards, yes.” Grimly, Wen Qing pulled up her sleeve.

An inky blackness ringed her wrist, a chain of distorted characters that wavered before her eyes. Unthinking, Jiang Yanli reached out to touch, but the characters dissolved and scattered up her arm as her fingers connected with warm skin. There was an intake of breath, and Wen Qing hurriedly drew back her hand. As she did so, the characters began to creep back into place, now somehow less comprehensible to her mind. “Sorry, I didn’t think.”

“It’s fine.” Wen Qing refused to meet her eyes. “This is evidence, I think, of the only time Jin Guangyao lowered himself to personally research demonic cultivation. Wei Wuxian filled dozens of journals with his inventions and theories and half-baked ideas he dreamed up at three in the morning. But he never would have come up with anything like this, and Xue Yang couldn’t have managed it.”

“What does it do?” She asked, certain she wouldn’t like the answer.

“If I take a single step out that door, A-Ning will not only die again, but his soul will be shredded.” At that, Jiang Yanli gasped. Wen Qing’s face crumpled. “They — they kept him for experiments. Like he’s nothing more than a mouse.”

“Oh, Wen Qing.” Jiang Yanli wanted, instinctively, to hold out her arms, and let Wen Qing fall against her shoulder. But she knew better than to offer. Wen Qing hunched inwards, clasping her arms at the elbows.

A thump from outside the window startled them, but it was only Nie Huaisang, resuming his perch. “There’s a woman upstairs. She didn’t notice me. But you, Wen-guniang, must have much more interesting information.”

“There’s a problem with that.” Wen Qing had straightened her posture while Jiang Yanli was turned away. Unwilling to show Nie Huaisang weakness, where she’d let some of what she was feeling through when it was only Jiang Yanli. “You can’t come back here. Not when Jin Guangyao is in Koi Tower, at least.”

Jiang Yanli thought she might have a solution. “Are you familiar with A-Xian’s papermen?”

“The ones he pranked the Lans with back in the Cloud Recesses? Of course, but he never had cause to use them in the Burial Mounds. I don’t know the talisman.”

“I do. Here, let me demonstrate.” Once, her mother had confined A-Xian to his room for a month, and for the week it took her father to decide the punishment was too harsh, the talismans had been their only contact.

Jiang Yanli borrowed a talisman paper, since her own were ruined by the rain and cut out the shape of a paperman. She focused, but the world didn’t swirl down into a mouse’s perspective. She registered the empty feeling in her mind at the same time as the paperman twitched, and stood. “Qin Su?”

The paperman nodded. <This is weird> Qin Su’s voice said, as though from a strange distance. Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang startled.

“You can hear her?” She asked, breathless.

Wen Qing stared, open-mouthed at the tottering paper figure “You said she was still around but — this shouldn’t be possible.”

Qin Su’s little paper body wobbled from the center of the table towards the edge, but before she got halfway, it fell, inert. Qin Su was back in her mind. I lost my hold on it. Looking at a giant version of your own face is extremely disorienting.

Much in the way seeing a face that didn’t belong to her in the mirror every morning was disorienting, she imagined.

Still, that was amazing! I need to try it again. Qin Su continued. I wonder how long I could last in there with practice. Just being able to move again…

“You’re welcome to try to figure out what happened.” She told Wen Qing. If anyone living could figure out what had happened to Qin Su’s soul, and if it had affected Jiang Yanli’s, it was her.

“Another time. You said you needed to go.” Wen Qing urged.

“Yes.” She agreed. She’d stayed far too long as it was. “After you make one of your own."

Jiang Yanli returned to the banquet in talisman dried robes, with Wen Qing’s paperman in her pocket. It was uneventful, in comparison. Her absence had gone largely unremarked. the dramatics of Nie Huaisang were universally understood to be time consuming. That she returned without him only helped sell the ruse.

That he’d been cagey about what he wanted to speak to Wen Qing about without her was less comforting.

It was another few hours before Jiang Yanli could retire for the night, but she absorbed little of the conversation.

Finally sliding open the door to her bedroom, Jiang Yanli lit the candles with a wave of her hand. The thrill that went through her at the fact that she could turned to terror at the sight of a figure sitting cross-legged in the middle of her floor.

Until she saw that it was Nie Huaisang. Which wasn’t entirely reassuring, but was unlikely to end in bloodshed.

“I’d appreciate if you could remove your sword from my throat.” He tapped Chunsheng’s edge.

Jiang Yanli was startled to realize she’d drawn the sword. Qin Su’s instinctive panic had bled into her, and she’d acted without thinking. Her ears rung from the force of Qin Su’s scream, visions of splattered blood flashing with each blind.

She sheathed the sword with a sigh. “I’d recommend not hiding in our rooms in the future. Traumatic experiences. Qin Su still wants to gut you.”

She was actually stuck in the panic stage, her volatile emotions ricocheting around the confines of Jiang Yanli’s mind like a coin caught in a crevice. But a part of Jiang Yanli wanted to gut him for her, a heretofore unknown bloodlust that crawled back with her from the grave.

I think that’s just me, Qin Su managed. But Jiang Yanli knew better. I don’t think I could have stopped in time.

“Yes, well. That’s nothing new! Someone tries at least once a week.” Nie Huaisang waved her off, unshaken. “Wen Qing and I came up with a brilliant idea! Just a tiny seed of a suggestion, really.”

She’d been working with Nie Huaisang for one day, almost to the minute, and he’d already begun involving her in schemes that would probably get her killed. A second time. Dragged Wen Qing into it too, as though she weren’t in a dangerous enough position already.

Rather than sit, Jiang Yanli crossed her arms, taking up a position between Qin Su’s two ink paintings. “I’ll listen, if you promise this won’t happen again. And leave, after.”

“If you still want me too!” He agreed brightly. “You should get Wen Qing out for this. The lynchpin was her idea. Very clever. I would have just found someone convenient. I’m nothing if not lazy, after all. But she thinks we can take out two birds with one stone.’

As he was speaking, Jiang Yanli had reached into the seam of her robe, and retrieved the paperman. It stirred in the palm of her hand, as though Wen Qing had been waiting for the right moment.

<I’m flattered.> Her little paper arms folded over one another. <Not that you managed to say anything with all those words.>

Nie Huaisang’s sly smile broke as he grimaced at the paperman. It returned, as he tilted his to look at her from the corner of his eye. “What would you say to bringing back Wei-xiong?”

“Yes.” The part of Jiang Yanli that crafted dark, twisted schemes for that very purpose responded before she could stop herself. She shoved it back into the dark corner of her mind where it belonged. “But the sacrifice summon doesn’t work without casualties, and I can’t —”

“Yes, that is a problem.” He agreed, at odds with his breezy tone. “Who would buy into trading their life for vengeance, and deserve to have their soul ripped apart? Or at least, that’s a problem for you. I care about getting the job done.”

I miss being able to think that pleasant-seeming people were just pleasant people. Qin Su grumbled, and Jiang Yanli wholeheartedly agreed.

Yet Nie Huaisang wasn’t volunteering himself, she noticed. “It wouldn’t be difficult to convince someone I was Qin Su, possessed by my own spirit. But unlike you, it is the destruction of the soul that concerns me.”

<Would you still be opposed if the sacrifice did deserve it?> Wen Qing interjected.

Jiang Yanli’s first instinct was to say that no one deserved that. It was even more unlikely that someone so monstrous would agree. But when Wen Qing explained her suggestion, Jiang Yanli found herself agreeing.

“You don’t want to bring your brother back?” She asked, later, after Wen Qing’s paperman lost its animation. It was not a serious offer. Though Jiang Yanli had not disliked Nie Mingjue nearly so much as most sect leaders, she could not help but think that if he had not been quite so intransigent, A-Xian might not have been driven to the lengths he had.

She would not trade her chance to bring back A-Xian for Nie Mingjue. She simply needed to know if Nie Huaisang was going to be a problem.

You can be kind of scary sometimes, Yanli-jie. Qin Su was likely reconsidering her stance on Jiang Yanli’s general level of bloodthirstiness.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes went wide before he sputtered into a fit of laughter more bitter than a mouthful of lotus pits. Wiping a tear from his eye, he said, “Are you kidding? Dage would murder me. Which would be worth it, except he’d immediately undo all my hard work and send himself into another qi deviation. Resurrect Dage, really.”

He tsked, and laughed again, but this time there was something wistful in it.

Longing, perhaps, for what he could not have.

“And you? You don’t want to bring back your husband?” He asked, startling her.

“Zixuan? I hadn’t even thought about it.” She had loved her husband, and lost him far too soon. But she was, she felt, capable of grieving him, where the place A-Xian belonged was a gaping hollow inside her. She’d practically raised A-Xian, watched him grow and change into a brilliant young man. A world of difference lay between him and the man she’d admired from afar, and only gotten to love for a single year.

There was, she thought, another key difference between them. A-Xian was like her. He’d never move on peacefully to his next life, while those he cared for were unhappy or in danger. Zixuan, on the other hand… “If I know my husband, Zixuan will have already been reincarnated.”

His soul probably belonged to a child not much younger than A-Ling now. One with doting parents and many siblings, for whom the worst thing in the world was sitting inside to memorize characters.

Or so she hoped. “But A-Xian… he’s still waiting. I’m certain of it.”

“Waiting? Not a restless ghost, or in…?”

“A-Xian’s anger never lasts- lasted. He’s always burned bright and hot. If he took revenge, that was it.” The longest grudge he’d ever held was against Zixuan. It had also been his pettiest. There had been Wen Chao, of course, but something had stopped A-Xian from getting to him faster, though he’d never told her what. Otherwise, A-Xian’s anger was like a firework: a spark, an explosion, and gone, as insubstantial as smoke. “And if the kings of hell are as quick to condemn as mortals, then what’s the use of the justice he loved so much?”

Justice that had been stolen from him in every turn in life. Jiang Yanli could only hope that this new life she might — just might — be able to offer him would grant her A-Xian everything he’d been denied in the first.

Nodding, Nie Huaisang produced a jug of wine from his sleeve, and raised it towards her in toast. “To brothers with too many morals and bringing yours back.”

Qin Su spent the night practicing slipping in and out of a paperman, wobbling around on tiny paper legs and indulging in her newfound ability to move and speak, of her own volition. She lasted longer each time.

Each shift kept Jiang Yanli alert and awake, the feeling of being alone in her mind now as strange as sharing it had been at the start. Jiang Yanli didn’t mind. She wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway.

Even as she hoped to see her brother again, she felt the empty space in her bed more viscerally than ever. A-Xuan would not have had advice she could use. Likely, he wouldn’t have approved. Certainly, he wouldn’t have understood. But he wouldn’t judge her, or try to stop her. He would hold her close, stroke her hair, and give her a place where it was safe to feel.

Jiang Yanli hadn’t known that was something she was missing, before him. It was something she would likely never have again.

The paperman Wen Qing had left lying inert on the table surged back to life. <Oh, you’re still awake. Or did I wake you?>

“Couldn’t sleep.” She whispered, propping herself up on one elbow, softly enough that Qin Su — busy scaling the shelving near the door — could not hear.

<I couldn’t either.> Wen Qing admitted. <You gave me a lot to think about.>

“Questions of morality?” Questions like, who was Jiang Yanli to condemn a soul to be torn apart by trickery? Who was she, if she purposefully eliminated a living person’s soul, a line only Xue Chonghai had admitted to crossing? What, then, separated her from Jin Guangyao?

Qin Su had caught her wondering this, as her thoughts cycled through those questions on one of her returns, and scoffed. The difference is you’re not murdering innocents for power.

But Qin Su’s anger was scalding and freshly kindled; her own was a low, steady flame. She had the clarity to stare down the path she’d chosen, and ask where she’d draw the line, if not here.

Jiang Yanli couldn’t help but wonder how much blood she’d have on her hands when the dust had settled. Whether anyone else would be able to see it.

Wondering wasn’t enough to stop her.

But Wen Qing surprised her.

<You gave me hope. I haven’t had hope in a very long time.> She took a flying leap into the air, the little paper figure drifting unevenly down from its peak to land on the bedframe, near Jiang Yanli’s head. <I’m sorry if I’ve caused you inner turmoil.>

She giggled a little into her hand, surprising herself. “Turmoil. That’s a good word for it. But I think — I’m glad you did.”

The silence that settled between them felt warm and comfortable, like she’d just put on a broth to simmer. Like if she waited for it to be ready, maybe she wouldn’t be so lost after all.

After some time, Wen Qing asked, <Would you mind telling me about A-Yuan?>

What she knew wasn’t much. But to Jiang Yanli’s surprise, she drifted off in the telling.

#the untamed #cql #wangxian #yanqing #qin su #my fic #the sacrifice summon! JYL fic #where the summoner (qin su) sticks around #this time featuring the return of wen qing #and plotting wwx's resurrection #finally my yanqing tag is relevant #posting multiple days after i uploaded to ao3 whoops

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rwriting · 4 years

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sleepover // celesgiri + naegami (dr1)

description: i was talking to a friend (the wonderful and ever talented mantis, @ohkorekiyo) about byakuya and celestia’s friendship, and this idea came to fruition! it’s a soft and light hearted pre despair high school story. this is my first time writing in a while...i hope you enjoy it!

word count: 2k

content warnings: hmm not much? there’s fluff (in the form of both the story and a pillow fight), spoilers for kyoko (talent and gloves), and a potentially paranoia inducing ending? (being watched). it is obvious how much the writer longs for meaningful connection....

The ending bell rings, true and bright on Friday afternoon. An ending bell is often welcome, because it signals just that: an ending. But today, for four particular students at the prestigious Hope’s Peak Academy, it was not an ending but a precursor – a precursor to something wondrous and joyful and-

‘Kyoko~!’ The words came with a throwing of arms around shoulder and a nuzzle into a neck. ‘Are you writing again?’

The speaker was, naturally, Celestia Ludenberg – a girl who cut an intimidating figure unless, of course, you were her girlfriend, Kyoko Kirigiri. Two seemingly impassive, cold and emotionless figures reduced to admittedly adorable messes when in each other’s company – and they were not the only ones.

Outside of this classroom, outside of this floor, outside of this school, walking side by side – and by extension hand in hand, two figures. One of whom you’d expect this level of affection from, the other… not so much. Byakuya Togami, head usually held proud and tall was looking down, with a blushing face, at a much shorter figure. The figure, the shorter person, the boy, Makoto Naegi, looked up to see the blushing face of his beloved, only to see him turn away at the last second. A small pout on his lips, and then words.

‘You look cuter when you’re smiling at me.’ innocently and offhandedly said, but with quite a flustering effect on his partner.

‘I do not!’

‘Yeah, you do….’ and suddenly arms wrapped around the taller boy’s neck, the shorter boy on tip toes, a small kiss planted on the nose of Byakuya Togami, whose face was starting to resemble more and more the rose garden they were walking through.

How the moment would have progressed uninterrupted is but a mystery, because at that very moment the sound of a phone rang through the air, separating the two and sending hands off waists and back to pockets, where they had both received a message from one Celestia Ludenberg which read simply: ‘Be seeing you at five!’ and then the details of Kyoko’s address.

‘Come on,’ Byakuya spoke, injecting some authority into his voice, ‘we can stay at my house for a short while. And then be dropped off at Kyoko’s by car. Naught to worry about.’

‘Um, Byakuya? I don’t think I have money for a taxi…’ Makoto muttered, trying to hide his embarrassment by tilting his face to the side.

‘Don’t be foolish, Makoto. Not a taxi. A chauffeur. My chauffeur.’

‘Oh, right. Haha…’

‘Honestly!’ An exasperated sigh, a roll of dark green eyes and a small smile, hidden and kept for two.

‘Let me paint your nails.’

‘No.’

‘But I want to! And you’ll look even more beautiful!’

‘Flattery doesn’t work, Celeste’

‘Pity! If it were the other way round…..’

This back and forth, between these two girls, could have gone on for an infinite amount of time. But it was brought to what would either be a swift close or a pending climax by the next words said by the lavender haired detective.

‘Okay. But only if you say please.’

In that moment, so many expressions crossed Celeste’s face, that anyone who wasn’t a detective, nay, anyone who wasn’t the ultimate detective would have been bewildered. But Kyoko’s practised eyes could pick out, in order, surprise, shock, amusement, realisation and then a sort of mild annoyance that comes when the thing one desires is within reach only if one is willing to lower themselves a little further – Most people would have had no problem saying please – and Celeste usually wouldn’t – but well, being asked to say it was an entirely different matter indeed.

It was, arguably, in Celeste’s nature as the ultimate gambler to bluff and negotiate her way into preferred positions – and relationships were, by their very nature too, a compromise. But there was something about the girl you love most in the world asking you for something that changed you a little.

‘Alright then, you devious kitten.’ Celeste lowered herself into a curtsy and looked up at Kyoko with gentle eyes. ‘Lady Kyoko of Kirigiri House – may I please paint the nails of your hands using nail polish that I’m sure is located somewhere in your room?’

‘It’s not.’ Kyoko said, unable to suppress a grin.

‘Well! No issue at all. I have 4 vials in my handbag for situations like these alone.’ And, true to her word, Celeste pulled 4 vials of nail polish from an immaculately organised handbag and placed them on Kyoko’s writing desk come dressing table – a commodity Celeste was sure she’d rectify, a mental note made to attempt to persuade Kyoko into purchasing something much more stylish.

Taking Kyoko’s hand gently in her own, her own pale complexion looking almost alien next to the dark and honeyed glow of Kyoko’s unfortunately scarred skin, Celeste began wondering how a detective – a person of a profession so usually associated with a lack of physical labour had ended up with such an unsightly injury. Not unsightly, Celeste thought to herself. the beauty of Kyoko’s hands matches that of her face, her arms, her shoulders….. Little thoughts, but thoughts that truly were the indicator of purest love.

Just as Celeste placed her brush to begin painting the Kyoko’s last finger, the door bell sounded – an annoying trill that would have distracted and startled the hand of any other than Celeste, who – to her everlasting credit – remaining entirely calm, precisely proceeding to finish the last finger, before staying her hand to seal the bottle. ‘I’ll go get the door! Can’t having you smudging your nails, especially after I’ve spent all that wondrous effort on them.’

‘You made the painting look quite easy!’

‘I meant saying please.’

‘Ah.’

‘Ah indeed. Do not move.’ The sound of gently stockinged feet pacing the landing before proceeding downstairs was found oddly soothing by Kyoko, who was examining the sparkled and glossy dark purple coat of her nails. Maybe it’s not the sound of the footsteps, but instead the knowledge of the one who is making them…..

‘Kyoko!’ The excited voice cutting through the serene atmosphere of Kyoko’s room, was – even without looking – easily recognisable as the voice of Makoto Naegi. He rushed forward and sat down on her bed in front of her. ‘Hi!’ His eyes scanned her room, absorbing every detail and filing them away to memory – as air headed as Makoto Naegi may have seemed, he had and observant eye and excellent instincts. ‘Your nails look so pretty! The colour suits you so much.’

Kyoko smiled – a genuine smile, once a rarity in her life but now something she was growing ever used to, and expressed her thanks. One could always be assured that when Makoto Naegi was speaking, the words were genuine. The figure in the doorway however…

‘Don’t listen to him. You look quite awful.’ The tall figure of Byakuya Togami leaned in her door frame, bearing a smile that once seemed demeaning but now - with just a little effort on Kyoko’s part – could be appreciated as… some form of endearing. The smile disappeared however, as a pair of pale hands clasped him from behind. He struggled for a brief moment before relenting, ‘Alright, alright! She looks lovely – There, I said it! Let me go this instant!’ The frantic requests were obliged and his words met from behind with a gently muffled murmur.

‘So!’ Celeste remarked, sitting on Kyoko’s bed also, and affectionately ruffling Makoto’s hair. ‘What are we to be doing on this fine eve, gorgeous hostess?’ A goofy smile from Makoto and a roll of eyes from Byakuya.

‘Isn’t obvious?’ He said, punctuating the sentence with a gently exasperated sigh. ‘I’m going to beat you at monopoly.’ The otherwise calm atmosphere shifts, with his words, almost imperceptibly to one filled with startled concern and laced with a competitive edge.

‘Well! You know… when both of you play monopoly together things can get a bit... which is to say, you’re both so good, and I don’t think it’s necessary to-’ Makoto was abruptly cut off with an owl like swivel of both of the heads of the people in question. They, together spoke in a dull, monotone unison.

‘Board. Now’

‘Well, my hands are all sticky. But hey, Makoto – I think the board is on the leftmost shelf in the spare room.’ Kyoko said, a tense and small smile overtaking her features.

‘Top shelf or bottom shelf? Because if it’s the top one he’s going to need help reaching it.’ said Byakuya, his face describing what could only be described as cruel amusement.

‘Hey!’

‘It’s the bottom shelf.’

‘You guys….’

A scarce five minutes later, the board had been retrieved and laid neatly down. But no game had been started, as these two competitors could argue about seemingly anything.

‘Well, I want to play as the cat.’ Byakuya said, unaware of the escalation this supposedly innocuous statement would lead to.

‘You can’t play as the cat! I’m going to be the cat. I have a cat.’ Celestia responded idly, voice reaching a small height towards her last sentence.

‘Exactly!’ Byakuya pounced. ‘How many cats do you know that own other cats?’

‘Plenty! That’s how mother cats work.’

‘Well, that’s not owning. And even then it’s debatable considering the fluid dynamics of familial structure in feline families.’

‘You’re talking to me about feline families?’ Celeste interjected, a look of mock outrage on her face, wide eyes accentuated by her precise makeup. She was about to go onto would be a spiel, predictable only in the sense that it would involve as many personal blows to Byakuya’s ego as was possible, and a myriad of cat related metaphors. Kyoko, sensing this, and desperate to prevent her sleepover from turning into a competition of who could deal the most insults, decided that now was the time to interfere.

‘Why is anyone talking about feline families, to be honest?’ Makoto shot her a thankful look. ‘Forget this – you guys are playing scrabble and whoever wins the game has won the argument. End of case’

‘Not really the civil solution I was looking for, but it’ll do....’ said Makoto, sending her a gentle smile.

‘With these two, there was never going to be a civil solution.’ The words were muttered by Kyoko, and naturally, entirely true.

Byakuya and Celeste had locked glaring eyes on each other, before agreeing in unison that yes, scrabble would be most palatable.

Scrabble was, of course, a precursor to more of the same.

‘No. That’s not a word. Don’t think you could best me.’

‘I have no intention of besting you, Byakuya. Only beating you. And I ensure that this is, indeed, a word.’

‘See! You’re bluffing. It’s in your nature. Someone get the dictionary.’

A groan from, well, everyone, filled the room. Makoto looked at Kyoko pleadingly.

‘Please – this time, can you do it?’

‘I’m sorry Makoto,’ came the calm response, voice tinged with sadness. ‘My nails haven’t dried yet – and I don’t want to ruin my books.’

‘….Okay….’ Makoto answered softly, with seemingly no fight. As he left the room, Byakuya turned to Kyoko with a curious expression on his face.

‘Are your nails really not dry yet?’ Byakuya questioned. ‘Whenever I get my own done, it takes scarcely fourteen minutes at the absolute most.’ He paused. ‘Then again, maybe my polish is simply better than yours.’

‘Are you trying to give me even more reason to beat you at scrabble! It’s my polish and it is custom made. I won’t tolerate any of your baseless slander!’

‘I lied.’ Kyoko said, face gently blushed. ‘I just really didn’t want to have to carry the dictionary.’

As raucous laughter ensued, gently flitting out of the confines of Kyoko’s room and out of her open window, the hearts of the joyous high school students swelled with happiness and understanding. If you were standing there, you would have seen the pillow fight that came to pass, and the happiness that emanated from the whole scene. You would have heard not only the exuberant voices of the friends, but something else, like a distillation of happiness and a boisterous sort of tranquillity. And if you were the Ultimate Despair, watching eagle-eyed from a nearby apartment building, you would have heard something different entirely: potential.

#my writing #danganronpa: trigger happy havoc #danganronpa #celestia ludenberg #kyoko kirigiri #byakuya togami #makoto naegi #celesgiri #naegami #fluff #pre despair high school #pre killing game #sleepover

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theouijagirl · 4 years

Text

Hey Tumblr. It’s been a while.

It’s not you, it’s me. Lately I’ve had to shelve quite a few things in my life, and Tumblr wound up being one of them. I’m really sorry if any of you became extremely worried or distressed at my sudden absence. I didn’t intend to be gone for so long.

I should start off by saying: I’m fine. The cat is fine, my house is fine, etc. Everything is okay; nothing is wrong. There’s nothing to worry about.

Honestly the only thing that has gone wrong lately has been the fact that a new virus evolved that is extremely deadly, and my government has decided that it would rather wish it would go away than try to do anything to stop it or prevent people from dying. My job was an indoor facility that mainly involves active play for families and manly profits from birthday parties, so obviously my building closed with no knowledge of when it would open. And toward the end of August, I got an email from my CEO saying that she decided she would not be reopening my building.

At first I felt okay, because the worry and the wondering was over, and now it was a sense of excitement of a new chapter of my life starting, and wondering what new people I would meet at my new job. And truly, I have met some incredibly wonderful people at the places I work (two part-time jobs, so I can still be full time) and I feel more like I’m really becoming the professional person I want to be at my jobs. On the other hand, the sense of grief at losing my job that I’ve had for five years has really hit me hard during October. My coworkers really were some of my dearest friends, most of whom I haven’t seen since March. Some of them have had babies, and I don’t know when I can see them. We had Halloween traditions which involved Costco pizza and lots of candy, and it physically hurts to know it won’t happen this year and that last year was the last time and we didn’t even know it. It aches to know I’ll never again walk into my old office. It hurts to throw out my old employee shirts. It truly has felt like a death to me and I really have needed to take some time to process it.

But really, Good News Number 1 is that I am working full time again, which doesn’t allow me as much time on this blog. I was at my desk at my old job, in which I could totally go on Tumblr whenever I wanted, and there’s no way I can do that at my jobs now. Also, Good News Number 2 is that I have new health insurance and I have the best team of doctors I’ve ever had in my life, and they’ve put me on some incredible medications to manage my depression and migraines. For the first time in my life, I’m not depressed every day. We are still working on the migraines, but I don’t have a headache all day every day. However, I still have the fatigue from having chronic pain, and I’m dealing with some pretty severe side effects, so when I come home from my jobs I go to bed.

Good News Number 3 is that my ASMR YouTube channel has given me more joy than I have ever expected. I actually really delight in making a schedule, filming, editing, and posting, and of course checking and replying to comments. It feels incredibly rewarding. I’ve been meditating on why it feels so different from any other hobby I’ve had, and I’ve come to realize that all my other hobbies are basically “Put money into the thing to make yourself feel good.” So I’ve tried distancing myself from any of my hobbies that encourage spending, such as video games and Kpop. I haven’t watched anything on a paid streaming service. I’ve been limiting my time on Pokemon GO, only because their Halloween event right now is actually good, compared to other years, but I’m not doing any activity that is made easier by purchasing items. And everything just feels more freeing, like there’s suddenly a weight off my shoulders that I didn’t even know was there. I allow little things here and there, like I’ll listen to a new Kpop release when it comes out, but not stream it, and the new Sims pack looks amazing so I’ll have to play for a bit once it comes out (and the only game I’ve allowed myself is Among Us, but really only because of the social aspect). But just having my hobby be something I create that people around the world can relax and enjoy and learn from, since it’s an educational channel, feels so incredibly rewarding. It feels better than working on my Animal Crossing town, or learning a Kpop dance. It’s my favorite thing out of all the Good News.

And now there’s this Tumblr. I always do a big blog post project in October. I started it early in October. I kind of hated it. But I didn’t have any other big ideas for what to do. And I mostly felt uninspired for two reasons. 1) Even though I made a post asking people not to do this, a majority of my asks was still people asking my opinions on Shannen Doherty and Keke Palmer. For the record, I literally have no opinions on these women, so please stop asking. 2) Even though we really don’t want to admit it, Tumblr is dying. It’s nothing like it was before, and it’s easily not even in the top 5 social media sites these days. Like, what’s the point of doing a big series on a social media site that nobody uses? And this isn’t toward my solid fan base, but my solid fan base is like a couple hundred people. I used to get the “wow, I just found your blog!” Anon once a week, now I’m lucky if I get one every few months. Our community just isn’t using Tumblr like we used to. Now, it seems like TikTok is the way to go. And I just don’t want to use TikTok. I’m a writer. I just figured out how to use YouTube, and even then, I don’t like the TikTok format style of video. Like, it’s great, but it’s not the format that I feel creative with. So I just feel stuck. And it makes me not want to write on this blog, honestly.

Of course I’ll still answer questions, I always will. I don’t think I’ll ever quit this blog. And of course, if you send me an ask or message that is life or death, I’ll respond the second I see it. But I really don’t know what the future of this blog is going to be anymore.

As for the spooks, that’s never going away either. If you don’t feel that energy outside at night right now then are you even human. It’s tangible. Not to mention, when I was filming an ASMR video about spooky places and was talking about Salem, and mentioned the name of the first young girl to be hanged, I felt a cold hand run down my right hand and arm, and my room was very warm considering I close all the windows while filming and have a warm cat in my lap.

Regardless, it’s gonna be a good Halloween.

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lorei-writes · 3 years

Text

Match-Up #20

You had the perfect timing, @zazax42, for yours is the last in the 2nd round of match-ups! Hello, may the match-making begin!

Note from the future: I do hope I did a decent-ish job. I didn’t want to postpone it any longer ^^”””

Hmm... I see. I presume then that somebody who can be both thrilling and grounding, as not to lead to overstimulation. I wouldn’t say that very lively characters would necessarily be a bad choice, however, I’d like to hold my judgement on that until I have more data.

Nobunaga (+1) Mitsuhide (+1) Kenshin (+1)

I suppose that friendliness would be an overall appreciated quality, although some may consider it to be somewhat annoying at first. Nonetheless, I think that once the suitor warmed up, the’d cherish it regardless of their initial attitude - and a drive to make friends may be the sole quality that allowed the relationship to reach that level in the first place. As such, no points were distributed based on this quality in particular.

Now, to determination. I suppose it would be particularly treasured by goal oriented warlords/those who share this trait... Or perhaps by those who lack their own goal and admire people who have one.

Nobunaga (+1) Mitsuhide (+1) Mitsunari (+1) Masamune (+1)

As for rationality... I think it could counter the anxieties of some of the suitors well, as well as perhaps show some of them a different way to tackle a matter/their feelings. I suppose it would provide a common ground with certain suitors as well.

Hideyoshi (+1) Mitsunari (+1) Ieyasu (+1) Kenshin (+1) Yukimura (+1)

Confidence? Plenty of that would be necessary to deal with some of the more dominant personalities here. I think certain suitors find it appealing as well.

Nobunaga (+1) Mitsuhide (+1) Masamune (+1) Kenshin (+1) Shingen (+1)

Lastly: the desire to make people laugh. It’s such a sweet thing! I presume it would be appreciated the most by those who oftentimes hide their struggles. Surely, it wouldn’t solve the core issue here - but a joke or two can sometimes make a day a whole lot brighter. That being said, I think some suitors would be annoyed by it. Or perhaps would miss the jokes entirely.

Nobunaga (+1) Mitsuhide (+1) Hideyoshi (+1) Mitsunari (+1) Ieyasu (-1) Masamune (+1) Kenshin (-1) Shingen (+1) Yukimura (+1)

Hmm... Well, I would like to first consider the combination of two first traints: being anxious and controlling (sensitive to details). I presume that any major changes in the environment could then cause a spike in anxiety? For that, I would probably point towards warlords who prefer to have their environment neatly organised and don’t change it frequently.

Mitsuhide (+1) Hideyoshi (+1) Mitsunari (-1) Masamune (-1) Yukimura (+1)

Now, to the overthinking itself, combined with anxiety. You did mention being rather confident previously and seeking adrenaline (stimulation?), so I suppose it’s not necessarily overthinking because you may not do well enough to succeed at a challenge, but overthinking because the change happened too fast and you lacked the time to adapt/switch into it? Or perhaps because you may not know how a certain thing would be received? Well, regardless, those are just my speculations and may be completely wrong. What I’m trying to point to is that, I wouldn’t discredit certain warlords on the principle of risk-taking, but I would based on how predictable it could be. In other words: I would suggest suitors who could perhaps do something rapid, but with whom there would be some... Set premise? As with Mitsuhide. He may think on the spot and act rather rapidly, but with how his character is built, we are to suppose that he has a reason for it and that it will end well - or that he does not mean any harm by it. It’s a bit different to Masamune’s spontaneity, which is completely unpredictable and there’s no underlying premise to determine the outcome of an action. It just happens - sometimes without a reason, sometimes without knowing when. Also, this all may be just a hella long paragraph of rambling.

Nobunaga (+1) Mitsuhide (+1) Masamune (-1) Kenshin (-1)

Now, to being controlling and sensitive to details. Well, all I have to say here is that any suitor who attempts to take it away this sort of stability may be a bad choice. I wouldn’t say that a person trying to challenge this would make for a terrible partner, no - it’s only that I think it would be better if one gave up on this control willingly rather than have it taken away. If the want to give it away, of course. Also, a point to note: I suppose that suitors who value their personal freedom greatly could feel threatened by it and may not know how to cope with the issue.

Masamune (-1) Kenshin (-1)

As for forgetfulness and being messy... Well, it would certainly get amplified by suitors who are just the same. Yet, given the previously mentioned qualities, I don’t think that it implies that love interests who would take care of it for you are the correct answer.

Mitsunari (-1)

Materialistic... Well, I don’t think most suitors would mind that trait much. It may not be an obstacle in relationships with them... However, it could make living with few characters difficult, either due to their line of work or specific aspects of their homeland.

Mitsuhide (-1) Shingen (-1)

Lastly, indecisive! Well then... Perhaps suitors who can prompt their partners to learn to target the core of the issue and wouldn’t mind covering for them if needed be?

Nobunaga (+1) Mitsuhide (+1) Hideyoshi (+1) Mitsunari (+1) Masamune (+1) Kenshin (+1) Shingen (+1)

1st Summary:

Nobunaga (+6) Mitsuhide (+6) Hideyoshi (+4) Yukimura (+3) Shingen (+2) Masamune (+1) Kenshin (+1)

Points distributed for likes:

Nobunaga (+2) - literature, cuddles Mitsuhide (+3) - cuddles, music/dance, literature Hideyoshi (+1) - cuddles Mitsunari (+2) - cuddles, literature Ieyasu (+1) - cuddles Masamune (+3) - cuddles, literature, cooking Kenshin (+1) - fashion (apparently, he has a good eye for that? A CE story)

Nobunaga (-1) - being alone (busy) Mitsuhide (-1) - being alone (missions) Hideyoshi (-2) - being alone, uneventful days Shingen (-1) - uneventful days

2nd Summary:

Mitsuhide (+8) Nobunaga (+7) Masamune (+4) Hideyoshi (+3) Yukimura (+3) Mitsunari (+2) Kenshin (+2) Shingen (+1)

Mitsunari (+2) - too dependent Kenshin (+2) - too dependent

Nobunaga (-1) - he does take MC to the battlefield against her will and it’s plenty loud there. Overall, I have a feeling that sudden changes of this kind may just kinda occur around him, sometimes orchestrated, sometimes not. (Ambushes, treason, etc).

Oh, so would that last bit be a bit like rejection sensitive dysphoria? I suppose then that characters who are harsh with their words could accidentally end up being hurtful. I’d also rather pick suitors who don’t need much support, or much rather - don’t depend on MC to help them tackle their issues/can sort it out mostly themselves.

Nobunaga (-2) Masamune (-1)

I could distribute some positive points here, as I’m certain some suitors would found those endearing or interesting, but it seems that it may not be necessary as it wouldn’t change anything regarding the results.

It seems they were already crossed out. Thanks for sending your form in, the verdict is (drum roll, please)...

Final Ranking

Mitsuhide (+8) Nobunaga (+4) Masamune & Hideyoshi & Yukimura (+3)

Mitsuhide

Confessed first: You, as he’d never dare to even consider it, as he believed himself to be unworthy.

Makes tea in the morning: Mitsuhide

Hogs blankets at night: You.

Is the little spoon: It’s about an equal split.

Possible points for conflict: Mitsuhide being dishonest or cryptic about his endeavors, even after the matter was dealt with. It may be a bit of a habit of his, he may also wish not to endanger anybody. Regardless, it can be addressed and managed.

Free time ideas: Visiting various markets during your travels (Mitsuhide would arrange for any items of interests to be purchased in secret, as not to get either of you out of your role), creating plays (as you may need to have some ready for when you’re on a mission), cooking together (as Mitsuhide would never come close to eating properly otherwise; trolling may occur), mutual lessons (as surelly, as a future person, you posses knowledge Mitsuhide lacks - and vice versa).

Favourite date spot: You don’t really have one - each travel is different and each brings a spot that could be a “favourite”.

A secret you share: He lets you play with his hair and you can do just about anything with it. You might have tied this sort of fringe he has, so that it would (for once) get out of his eyes.

His favourite thing about you: How smart and sweetly affectionate you are.

His message to you: “You’re still working, Little Mouse? Do take a break, I insist... Hm? You do not feel as if you have done enough? My, my, I assure you, you have done plenty beyond enough. Do take a moment to breath, or today’s dinner duty will be fulfilled completely by me. I will not feel responsible for the results of that in the slightest.”

#match-up #ikesen match-up #ikemen sengoku match-up #ikesen #ikemen sengoku

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herkawaiinovels · 4 years

Text

[SS] Chapter 14

The carriage of Marquis Weiand arrived at the Tonz estate. When the door opened and Prillance stepped off the carriage, an unexpected person came to escort her.

“How come the Duke is personally escorting me?”

It was Roman who escorted Prillance off the carriage. Even from before, he had never met her at the outset of their dinner.

“Because I’m not busy today.”

Wearing his usual attitude, he claimed it wasn’t a big deal. It was as if he was passing by and decided to stop by because he had some time. But to the best of her knowledge, Roman was not a man who moved without calculation.

That is, except for one person - Cecia.

“I’ll take that.”

Prillance, whose mind was distraught with thoughts and feelings for Ver, did not want to react sensitively. She knew that if she started a war of nerves with him today, she would most certainly lose.

Roman politely escorted her to the dining room. He had no intention of explaining to the puzzled Prillance. After quite some time, the dinner between the two began.

“The reason we started having dinner dates was because of my engagement with Lady Royne, isn’t that right?”

Roman, who was eating quietly, was the first to open his mouth. He didn't stop moving, but his sole attention was on Prillance.

“That’s right.”

It wasn't an unusual conversation, so she answered without much concern.

“Or was it because of Viscount Grant?”

Roman spoke in passing and as expected, Prillance froze and looked at him. She stared at him for a moment but quickly erased her expression. Acting casually, he had always tried to grasp her intentions just like this.

“When did I say that? Why do you keep...”

“I heard you were trying to get the Viscount to become a knight for your house.”

Prillance could not continue with her usual excuse as Roman cut off her words. At the moment, Roman stared at her intently. With a very satisfied look.

Surprised by his words, Prillance had no time to think about her appearance.

“I was always curious.”

Roman grabbed the end of the wine glass in front of him and shook it. She watched as the liquid in the glass sloshed back and forth.

The wine swaying in his hands was red.

Her throat burned with unknown anxiety. Prillance tried to recover her senses by drinking the water in front of her.

“At the time, why did you propose?”

“That's……”

Prillance, who became distracted by the glass of water, tried to speak.

“Why did you meet Viscount Grant before that? And what was the reason for constantly meeting him?”

At the end of his words, Roman’s eyes met hers. Like a prey caught by a predator, she felt goose bumps all over her body. She couldn't move, as if her body had hardened into stone.

“Nothing was connected, so your reasoning was a bit hard to deduce.”

Then Roman got up from his seat. Prillance was seized with an instinct to run away.

However, her body did not follow. Instead, she just stared as Roman slowly came toward her.

Roman turned Prillance's chair and made her look at him. Afterwards, he bent down in front of her and stood close to her face in line with her gaze.

“You were doing something very clever.”

Fortunately, he was not expressing his anger like last time. He was just looking at her with a smirk around his mouth. How far did he know? He would not have known that she knew the novel’s story and was acting on it. That was not what Prillance was worried about.

It was the fact that he knew she was trying to get Ver to become a knight of their house.

“Thank you for reminding me of a fact that I’ve completely forgotten.”

If he gives the same offer, just like in the original story, then everything would flow similar to the original story. All her plans would go awry, and everything would go back to its original place. Prillance thought, her eyes shaking in anxiety.

She had to think of a way. Or at least give some sort of excuse.

“Do you remember how last time I said you’ve become quite interesting?”

Prillance was no longer listening to him. She was trying to think as her eyes darted rapidly back and forth. Roman could guess that she was thinking about something else.

'When did a puppy become a fox?'

Perhaps she was thinking of the person whom she was so eager to be next to. The thought led Roman grasp Prillance's chin and make her look at himself. Only then did her eyes turn towards him.

Should she make excuses, or should she deny it?

Prillance's eyes shook hard as she tried to think of something to say. He grabbed her chin. Finally, she focused on Roman.

But would this man believe her?

Prillance met Roman's eyes.

“You seem to live up to expectations, so this time it is my turn to give back.”

She knew best that he wouldn't believe it. Roman continued to talk, looking at her eyes as it shook anxiously at his words.

“I think you can look forward to it.”

Roman noticed her pupils for the first time. The subtle mixture of light brown and yellow colors caught his eye.

Then he smiled dangerously, wiping the water around her lips with his thumb. Prillance thought his eyes were predator-like eyes that kept its attention on its prey.

***

“See you again next time.”

Like Roman's pick-up, his see-off was also perfect. His voice was more cordial than usual. Rather, hearing it made Prillance nervous.

What will he do?

“Prillance.”

Jack called for Prillance who did not get off the carriage. Only then did her gaze, which had been staring absentmindedly into space, turn towards him.

“Are you alright?”

Prillance nodded slightly, but it didn't look like she was alright. What happened during the time she was with Duke Tonz? Jack's hand became strained as he helped her out of the carriage.

“Perhaps, did you strike up some type of deal with the Duke?”

Jack asked as he led Prillance to her room.

“Huh?”

Prillance looked quite surprised. Her expression seemed to ask how he knew. Perhaps if Roman hadn't mentioned it, she probably wouldn’t have told him.

“During your dinner with the Duke, did he perhaps…”

“Did Duke Tonz tell you about it?”

Prillance intercepted Jack's question. Her inquiring face looked somewhat uneasy.

“That’s right.”

Jack admitted innocently. At the same time, Prillance hurriedly stepped back into the carriage.

“Where……”

“I need to go somewhere briefly. I’ll quickly come back.”

She shouted as the carriage departed. Even from a distance, he could hear her voice asking for the coachman to drive as fast as possible. He couldn’t understand what was happening.

In the place where the carriage once stood, only Jack’s sigh could be heard.

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#Side Story

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verai-marcel · 4 years

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What Is Real (RDR2 Fanfic, Corrections AU, Javier x Fem!Reader, Part 1 of 2, 18+)

Summary: You’re a barista at the Strada Cafe, and you’ve noticed that a couple of men who seem somewhat familiar have been visiting lately, with two of your regulars. You have a hard time believing that it’s Arthur & Charles, two of the bouncers from the BDSM club you used to attend when you lived in the big city. Then one of their friends shows up, and now you’re 100% sure it’s them, because you couldn’t forget those warm brown eyes and charming demeanor if your life depended on it.

Author’s Notes: My first true Javier x Reader fic. @eddescuella, @mrsescuella, @javiescuellx, I dedicate this to you.

Tags: Javier x Reader, smut, D/s, plot, romance, drama, dirty talk, name-calling, spanking

AO3 Link is here, baby.

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Chapter 1: We Meet Again

Word Count: 2788

"Good morning!" you said cheerfully as the front door opened, the bells jingling daintily.

Two men greeted you with a polite smile and a nod before sitting at a corner table. They must be waiting for someone, you thought, as they did not stop to purchase something from the counter.

You had seen the two men more often recently, but not together; in fact, you had seen them paired with two of your regulars, the veterinarian and the prison guard. Part of you felt strange, seeing them here in this city after so long. They didn’t recognize you, which was a relief. Then again, you wouldn’t blame anyone for not recognizing you if they saw you outside of that club.

Two years ago, when you moved to this city to start over, you swore off your other life. You had been a grocery clerk by day, and at night you would go down to the Free & Brave, dressed to the nines in your best latex dress, and play your heart out.

But you had gotten too close to a certain club employee; he was just doing his job and you were addicted to his services, coming back to the club again and again, just for him. In hindsight, it was cringey, the way you always looked for him, the way just one smile from him would light up your whole night. His suave mannerisms, his voice, and his guitar playing were only part of the whole package. You sincerely cared about him as a whole person, but you were starting to feel foolish, knowing that he didn’t feel the same way.

So when you got fired from your job, you decided it was time to leave the big city and head east, away from the complicated feelings, away from your addiction, away from everything. On one hand, you wanted desperately to see him again, and on the other, you wanted to just forget about what you had been.

Every date, every lover, every one night stand you’d had since then? No one could compare. You were never satisfied.

The door jingled open again.

“Good morning!” you said before turning to the door. You paused for a split second, your heart leaping into your throat. Forcing it back down, you continued. “Welcome to Strada Cafe!”

“Hi,” the man that haunted your memories said with a polite smile. He looked around and spotted the other two men and waved at them. “I’ll come back to order something,” he said to you before he joined his friends.

Your heart was hammering. Did your eyes deceive you?

Was that… Javier?

***

“Hello gentlemen,” Javier said as he walked towards the two men who looked back at him with neutral expressions. He had emailed them, asking to meet up. When they agreed to meet him in a cafe, he was both relieved and anxious; after all, he was the one who had pushed them away when they had told him the truth about the Free & Brave’s secret operations. So he understood why they weren’t exactly welcoming him back with open arms.

“Javier,” Arthur said, nodding at him. “Been a long time.”

“A couple of years at least,” he replied. “A lot has happened.”

Charles stayed quiet, watching Javier sit down.

“Listen, about… the club.” Javier took a breath and blew it out slowly, a contrite look on his face. “You were right. You were both right. I should’ve left. I just… I didn’t want to see the truth.”

“At least you see it now, right?” Arthur asked. When Javier nodded, he continued. “So where’ve you been?”

“The feds detained all of us, told us to not leave town while they did the investigation. I had to get a job somewhere, so I worked at a restaurant for a while. The feds kept bringing me in for questioning. It was a mess. Different agents would ask me the same question, over and over. But I didn’t have anything to tell them. When they finally told me I was free to go, I started looking for a quiet place to live. Moved out here a couple of days ago. John told me you two lived out here.”

“You still talk to John?” Charles asked.

“We email sometimes. Not much talking, really,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh,” was all Charles could say. He suspected there was more to this than just Javier’s response, but he didn’t have any desire to pry.

“So how’ve you two been doing?” Javier asked, changing subjects.

Charles and Arthur both shrugged. “Doin’ fine, I s’ppose,” Arthur replied. “Just workin’ almost every day, gettin’ by.”

Javier nodded. “Sounds… nice.” He sighed. “I’ll just cut to the chase. I need to find a new job.”

“You tried the internet?” Charles asked, a bit sarcastically.

Javier ignored the jab at his intelligence, though it grated a little at his pride. “I did, but I was hoping one of you had a lead.”

Arthur shook his head. “We don’t. Our boss isn’t hiring at the moment.”

Charles glanced at Arthur before responding. “We’ll let you know if she needs another person.”

Javier bowed his head. “Thank you." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I know things didn’t end well back there, but I want to start over. You two were the most level-headed guys at that place.”

He held out his hand. "I’m sorry for what I said. Forgive me.”

Charles took his hand and shook it firmly. “It’s alright. Water under the bridge.”

When Javier turned to Arthur and offered his hand, Arthur glanced at Charles, who nodded imperceptibly. Taking his hand, he shook it once before letting go. “I haven’t forgotten, Javier.”

Wrinkling his brow at Arthur’s response, Javier nodded. “I understand. Let me buy you a drink, then you can go about your day.”

***

You couldn’t overhear the three of them talking clearly, but you knew that there was something going on, when Javier shook both of their hands, and then got up and walked towards the counter. You fumbled your pencil as you tried to set it down before going back to the register.

“Wh-what can I get for you?” you asked, attempting to hide your nerves.

“Two coffees, black, and a honey lavender latte.”

You blinked. “Alright, anything to eat?”

“No, but thank you.”

You rang him up and turned the tablet to him so he could pay. When he finished and you turned the tablet back to you to complete the order, you noticed he was looking at you in a curious way.

“I think I know you,” he said.

You swallowed. “Um, maybe?” Your voice cracked as you finally looked up at him and met his kind gaze.

Suddenly he smiled. “Don’t lie, querida. I thought I recognized you.”

Querida. His pet name for you at the club. He remembered. And you panicked.

“I, um, well, yes,” you stammered.

“I won’t bother you while you’re working. Can I come see you after your shift?”

“Yes!” you said with far too much enthusiasm. “Come back at 3pm,” you said more quietly. You passed him two cups of black coffee.

“I’ll be here,” Javier said, winking at you as he went back to his table.

Your heart beating wildly in your chest, you quickly went to make the latte. You knew it was for Javier; after all, his room at the club always had a light lavender scent.

***

After accepting the coffee from Javier, Arthur and Charles made their excuses and left, saying they had other errands they needed to do, leaving Javier to wait for his latte alone. He sat at the table, staring outside and contemplating his future; he had left the big city to start over. It still hurt to think about the past and the choices he made, the sides he took when he should’ve thought about it more carefully.

But he had cared so much about the club. He had cared about Dutch, the man who brought him in, encouraged his talents, encouraged him to be free. He taught him to treat others with respect, to be open to new things, to be a better person altogether.

And instead, he turned out to be the head of an underground crime syndicate, with alleged ties to assassinations and blackmail.

It hurt to have his belief in someone turn out to be so misplaced.

At least he could take comfort in the fact that most of the crew were just as in the dark about the club’s ties to the underground as he was. When he reached out to the others who had left, only Lenny had responded. Without him, Javier would never have gotten in contact with John, to whom he apologized, but got the feeling that he was still angry at him for what he had said before.

He was surprised that John told him where Arthur and Charles were, after he had asked. Maybe it was because he had written that he wanted to apologize to them.

Charles was a forgiving man. Arthur… Arthur still carried a grudge. That much he could tell.

Javier knew things would never be the same. But at least he could start over in this city with the knowledge that he had a chance at reclaiming some of the connections he once had. It gave him hope.

***

“You forgave him so easily.”

“It’s been a couple years, Arthur.”

“Do you even remember what he said to us?”

“I know. But he was intensely loyal to Dutch. When your faith in someone is upended like that…. Some people don’t handle it well.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re a better man than me.”

As they walked to their cars, Charles clapped Arthur on the back. “You’re a good man too, Arthur.”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

Charles smiled. “Just ask your lady.”

Arthur sighed. He knew what she would say. “Alright, alright.” He pointed at his beat up truck. “I’m goin’ to see her.”

“Tell her I said hi.”

Arthur raised two fingers and waved goodbye as he got into his truck and took off.

***

“Here’s your latte.”

Javier looked up at the barista and smiled. Another connection that he had thought disappeared forever now stood before him. He felt like the world had given him a second chance; he wasn’t going to screw it up.

***

Javier’s dazzling smile blinded you to everything else, and for a moment all you could do was smile back like a fool.

“Where’d your friends go?” you asked.

“They had things to do,” he said, looking out the window again, looking a little forlorn.

You immediately sat down, despite knowing that you had to get back to the counter right away. Touching his arm, you gave him a sympathetic look. “You can stay here as long as you need,” you said kindly.

“Thank you,” he said as he turned to meet your eyes. “I’m happy to see you again.”

You felt warm all of a sudden. “Me too,” you said. Patting his arm, you got up and went back to your counter, but you were definitely distracted by the man in the corner.

Eventually, he got up and left, winking at you before he left. “See you at 3,” he mouthed to you while you were ringing up another customer.

You were so distracted that you had to reset the transaction, much to the chagrin of your boss.

***

When 3 o’clock rolled around, you signed out of the Clover station, swapped places with your coworker, and bounded to the back room. As you were clocking out and pulling your stuff out of your locker, your boss came up to you.

“Hey, can we talk?”

Oh god, you thought. “Sure,” you said with some trepidation.

“You made a couple of mistakes today at the register. You caught them before you finalized the transaction, but still.”

You nodded. “I know, I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“Alright. Also, don’t flirt with the customers.”

You felt your face heat with embarrassment. “I wasn’t flirting, he’s an old acquaintance,” you replied, tamping down your irritation as best as you could.

“Uh huh. Well, you have a good rest of your day.”

As she walked away, you breathed a sigh of relief and quickly left out the back door. Walking around to the front, you saw Javier, waiting for you.

He had on a pair of brown chukka boots, dark blue jeans, and a black athletic cut T-shirt, tight on his lean muscled body. You could see the bottom of his eagle tattoo that you knew adorned his left pectoral and curved around his shoulder, the tattoo that he had gleefully shown you on a rainy night after a session, telling you how happy he was that he could finally afford to get it.

***

“Isn’t it sore?” you had asked, gesturing at his tattoo.

“A little, but I can handle it. Just to see you, I would brave a thousand needles.”

When he had told you that, your heart had fluttered and a part of you had wished it was all real, a real relationship, not a series of sessions at a fetish club, where you pretended to be someone else.

***

The two of you walked downtown, heading for a small burger place to grab food. You were hungry, and he offered to accompany you, though he had eaten not too long ago.

You met his eyes, feeling shy all of a sudden. It was strange and yet oddly comforting to see him outside like this. You had never seen him like this before, and yet it felt natural, felt… real.

"So what brings you to town?" you asked, curious.

"I moved here."

You stared at him for a moment. "Really?"

"Yeah." He was silent for a few moments before he continued. "Wanted a new start. So now I'm looking for a new job."

"We need a new barista," you blurted out before you could think better of it.

He looked at you for a couple of seconds before he spoke. "Maybe I shouldn't. After all, it isn't good to date a coworker."

You stopped walking as you looked at him in shock. He laughed at your expression, turning around to face you. "Does that surprise you, querida?"

"Yeah, it does," you said. "I mean, we, back then, I…"

He stepped closer to you and took your hands in his. "Let's start over. We can be real." Caressing your cheek, he leaned in. "What do you say?"

He was so close. How many times in the past had he been this close? And yet this time was different from all the rest. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, reveling in the feel of his warm hand on your face.

"Yes," you finally answered.

***

As you munched on a burger, Javier slowly sipped on a coke. He had asked what you’d been up to the past two years. You just gave him the rundown of how your life was pretty humdrum these days, since you moved here. You weren’t about to tell him everything, about how your addiction to your other life caused you to get fired from your previous job.

You did tell him about how you spent your spare time writing, trying to put together ideas for a book, but you never got very far, always coming up with new ideas, never settling on one plot.

After a few minutes of silence as Javier absorbed everything you said, he finally spoke.

"The club closed a couple of years ago, pretty soon after you disappeared."

You were shocked. "Why?" you asked.

He shrugged. “Finances got bad,” he said. “Everyone got laid off. I tried to stay in the city, but it’s hard to make a living there. So I came out here to have a quieter life for a while.”

You nodded sympathetically.

“How about you?” he asked. “Why did you leave?”

“Same as you, wanted to live somewhere not crazy.”

Javier laughed. "And yet life is crazy, bringing us back together." He looked over at you, his face turning serious. "Are you getting what you need?" he said in a low voice.

You nearly choked on your burger, swallowed, took a sip of your soda, and looked up at him. His sympathetic gaze did things to your heart, things that you were not prepared for.

"No," you finally answered. "I missed you."

Javier's fingers caressed your cheek. "I missed you too, querida."

You reached up and held his hand, taking it away from your face. "Let's try being… normal. Maybe we go on a date first?"

He chuckled. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

You nodded. Normalcy, that’s what you wanted right now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 2 is here.

#rdr2 fanfic #javier escuella #javier x reader #corrections AU #modern au #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic #prisoner AU

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fugandhi · 3 years

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Why We Rise (A Meditation on Humanity)

by Adam Kenichi Wekarski

The time has come for me to write about Christopher Nolan’s Batman Trilogy (and why it is the most important cinematic franchise of our time). *Please purchase & view the franchise in it’s entirety prior to reading this independent essay. Spoilers are No Fun for Anyone. SUPPORT The STORYTELLERS*

Although it’s a story derived from a comic book, this is not a movie franchise to be taken lightly (or for granted for that matter). Christopher Nolan’s film, “Memento” was the first work he had accomplished that I had ever seen (back in the Blockbuster days - ahem, VHS RULES!) and it is still spinnin’ my mind after all this time. Christopher Nolan ALWAYS delivers some form of ground-breaking excellence in his work - his ‘Dark Knight’ Franchise is no exception.

When one thinks of Batman, it’s very easy to consider the various forms (literature, animation, cinema, video games, etc) of said character (God Bless You, Adam West! R.I.P., Good Sir!). SO many INCREDIBLE & [BEYOND] TALENTED folks have, not only performed as the character, but have helped in shaping this character’s Monumental & Positive Imprint on contemporary society (worldwide).

I still believe Christian Bale is one of the most under-appreciated performers of our time. I first saw him in the Dark Comedy, “American Psycho” (DUDE! Holy Smack-a-RONi! Totally Bonkers & Viciously frightening). I still can’t believe he did not receive an Academy Award nomination for that performance (for shame, HollyWould). As much as I love Tim Robbins (SHAWSHANK, BaBY!), Christian Bale is one of the greatest actors of all time (100% WITHOUT A DOUBT). He plays Bruce Wayne PERFECTLY (TOTALLY the BEST Bruce Wayne OF ALL TIME! DONE! NO ARGUMENT! END-ALL-BE-ALL..”..Been there, Done that - got the album, Bought the Tee-shirt..NEXT” (Ricky Gervais, The Office [UK]). CHRISTIAN BALE DESERVED AN ACADEMY AWARD FOR “The Dark Knight Rises” - I’M SAYING IT - HE DID SUCH A PERFECT PERFORMANCE in (Yeah ALL Caps) this entire franchise. I need to address that because so many folks seemed to be swept-up in their own distractions as viewers (Yeah we get it, he disguised his voice with a growl - get over it, ya’ll). He seems to be a good person (‘seems’ being the operative word) & I’ve read about his efforts in his life off-screen (You are a Good Man, Sir) when the cameras are not around. I have a belief that it’s good for people to appreciate those ‘moments-of-truth’ more often (just one person’s opinion, take it or leave it).

Speaking of ‘moments-of-truth’ - This story (spanning across three EPIC films) is the ultimate moment-of-truth for Sir Christopher Nolan (Why Not?; He actually is CBE apparently; Respect) and his AMAZING Production TEAM’s collective efforts. So many people put their well-being on the line to make these stories happen (some even, their lives, Rest in Peace) and I believe this franchise deserves ALL of the Success & Recognition & Praise (and honestly, Time) for the awe-inspiring efforts put forth (in regards to cinematic storytelling). This is a franchise for the fans (due to how well it honors the source material & simultaneously manages to elevate the art-form).

Bruce Wayne is one of the most important modern characters of our time. Not since the days of Jesus Christ, himself, has there even been someone who sparked a universal impact (sorry ‘Supes’ - You & Ol’ ‘Batsy’ are Tied in my book) upon average people worldwide. Granted - Bruce Wayne is NO Jesus (there can only be one), however, his life’s journey is a true Test of Faith, which is a universal lesson that I firmly believe Jesus Christ was attempting to spread in his message of good faith towards one another.

Bruce Wayne (played by Christian Bale & Gus Lewis, respectively), as it is now [mostly known], was born an heir to The Wayne Family, an age-old empire in modern society (Gotham City, U.S.A.). In Christopher Nolan’s particular take on this (now-classic) SuperHero story - Reality is the cinematic setting.

“Batman Begins” is Nolan’s homage to Richard Donner’s “Superman”, having been THE standard for comic book movies (since the late 1970’s if I’m not mistaken). Having obviously been a fan of Donner’s work (Gee, who isn’t?) - it’s an obvious source-of-influence for the first installment in Christopher Nolan’s Perfect Epic.

When I had first discovered the news that Christopher Nolan was Warner Bros. Studios’ choice for a brand new Batman reboot - I have to admit I was VERY optimistic. After having seen “Memento”, and his work with that incredible team - I was very, very optimistic that for ONCE the Batman universe was going to be actually depicted like it is in the comic books (at least the ‘80s Batman Comics - Hello Dark & Gritty Vibes). Considering the mental intensity of “Memento” (and how linear-storytelling-need-not-apply) - I was absolutely curious to see how well the story would finally be done on-screen (with all due respect to Tim Burton & Joel Schumacher & All previous efforts achieved in the known story-telling community). After all is said and done, this franchise is a ‘Grand Slam’.

Christopher Nolan’s version of Milton “Bill” Finger’s (Bob Kane took all of the credit for Bill’s work; for shame) story of Bruce Wayne/Batman is the most inspiring work I’ve seen achieved on the concept (and characters) to this day. With the initial tone set in the first film - we find a young Bruce Wayne as a child - simply playing in the Wayne family’s garden with his best (& childhood) friend (and one of the most important characters in the franchise): Rachel Dawes (played by Katie Holmes, Emma Lockhart, and Maggie Gyllenhaal, respectively). Bruce & Rachel establish the innocence of childhood (and of our main protagonist) with the playful phrase, “Finders Keepers” which is followed by young Bruce falling into an old dried-out well (which then traps him into a slight crevice, filled with Bats).

As we discover in this story, the symbol of Batman has a rather deeper meaning to Bruce Wayne than what had been initially expected (unless if you’re a fan of the comics). When the first film starts to take form, we find Bruce Wayne lost in the depths of ‘hell’ as an adult man. Having been an heir to a Family’s Kingdom (so-to-speak), Bruce Wayne had lost his Mother & Father; Martha & Thomas Wayne (SUCH Good People) at a tragically-early age, having their lives taken by a lost soul in the dark of night (a reality known, all-too-well, by our own collective experiences as a contemporary society).

Martha & Thomas Wayne establish the core values that help shape Bruce Wayne as an Individual. Their Leadership, their knowledge, their wisdom, their love (their faith). All of their finest attributes shine a light on how the community - the city of Gotham (and their actions as people) help shape said community. Without their Faith, Bruce Wayne’s immediate world probably wouldn’t have even been established for him (perhaps). It is that faith that is the driving force of this franchise, and the greatest tragedy of this film is, indeed, the blatant & cold-blooded murder of Martha & Thomas Wayne. Ya know, they were really good people in terms of their contributions to their household & community & their lives, and they truly cared about their impact on the world (in a greater sense).

With such care, they made important choices (that had an effect on everyone in Gotham, regardless of outlook). Choices that made a necessary difference in, not only their home, but in their overall world. Gotham may be fictional, but I will let the fantasy play and I will acknowledge the tremendous amount of detail put into these stories that went unnoticed in the initial ‘life’ of this franchise’s release. Having said that - Unless if memory serves inaccurate, this film received a lot of unwarranted criticism for the realistic depiction of modern violence (due to the UNGodly public shooting(s) that have been taking place in our country; I acknowledge the real-life tragedies, but also acknowledge the importance of artistic vision). I say unwarranted due to the fact that Christopher Nolan managed to hold up a mirror and we need to pay close attention (and look beyond the glamour & simulated violence), and this was accomplished well-before Todd Phillips’ incredible film “Joker” had been produced (which drew plenty of inspiration from Nolan’s signature style and Heath Ledger’s actual development of said character; Joker’s Journal).

At the core of this story is Faith.

Faith is what was instilled in Martha & Thomas Wayne (and their lessons with Bruce as a boy). Alfred Pennyworth (played Beautifully by Sir Michael Caine in a Nomination-worthy performance for Best Supporting Actor in my humble opinion) is the reinforcement to protect the Wayne Family’s Honor & Good Name. On the surface, Mr. Pennyworth is Bruce Wayne’s Butler, however, when he’s not maintaining the Wayne fortune, he is ‘the guiding light’ (no pun intended) in Bruce Wayne’s Journey (despite the efforts of various opposition). While Rutger Hauer (rest his soul; “BLIND FURY”!!! YES!) had set the tone for what was to come later in young Bruce Wayne’s life (at the funeral for Martha & Thomas Wayne) - it becomes abundantly clear that Bruce Wayne has quite the journey ahead of him in his life (with plenty of whom have pre-developed plans & agendas to seize Wayne Enterprises for their own gain).

Bruce Wayne, born of a Mother & Father, heir to “the throne” (as it were), and thriving billionaire, one day decides to leave it all behind. It’s a moment of internal crisis for our protagonist due to the severely traumatic act of witnessing the death of his own parents (while almost being murdered himself). I know a lot of people think Kal-El (aka ‘Superman’, aka ‘Clark Kent’) is the end-all be-all of Superheroes (myself included), however, after a retrospective look back at Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight Trilogy it becomes abundantly clear just how much credit this franchise did NOT receive from the critics & the artistic community (Hi, Academy. I’m lookin’ at ya’ll). Despite the worldwide acclaim, I believe this franchise was well ahead of it’s time in terms of the most important aspect of the entire achievement - The Story.

This is a franchise fully-devoted to the story and that is a significant contributor to the success of this version of Batman. I grew up watching old reruns on TV of Adam West & Burt Ward going around and ‘CLEANING-SOME-CLOCKS’ as it were (POW! ZAM! KLAM! CHOWDAH!), and I always hold that version near-and-dear to my heart because I still think the early 1960’s version of Batman was really fun & really awesome & an absolute delight. Plain & simple. ..Granted - as time continued and the characterization of Bruce Wayne (and his alter-ego “Batman”; His Armor; His Protective Shield) had advanced & developed into a new ground (conceptually-speaking). The core values of who Bruce Wayne is, where he comes from, and Why he does [what he does] did not truly become profoundly-realized for me until I’d say when the Animated series (1990’s! DUDE still one of the best Animated Series I’ve ever seen; like ‘a fine wine of cartoons’). “The Mask of The Phantasm” is still one of the best Batman stories I’ve ever seen - Such an incredible origin story for Bruce Wayne - and definitely one of the best animated, full-length features I had ever seen as a kid (Not to discount Tim Burton’s gothic-induced-dream-like version of the knight’s tale).

With Christopher Nolan’s contribution to the overall storyline of Batman - we truly have a Masterpiece Trilogy before us (as audience members). Nolan’s take on Batman is truly like no other (even surpassing efforts that preceded the franchise) in that he actually provides a glimpse into what it would look like if the fantasy actually became a reality. Christopher Nolan achieves that goal (Ten-fold) with this trilogy.

In the first film - what we know about Batman becomes hyper-realized with the emphasis on Bruce Wayne’s life in modern-day America (Gotham City being the quintessential metropolitan All-American city). An America that has succumbed to an overall tone of darkness & hopelessness (with the reality of tangible corruption & streets of truly deadly conditions) which has reached a pinnacle-of-suffering for the good people of Gotham (and perhaps, rippled outward into the rest of the world).

Jim Gordon (played PERFECTLY by Gary Oldman, one of the finest performing actors ever to be on screen), a symbol of Gotham’s defeated Law Enforcement, patrols the streets of Gotham City each night. Jim Gordon is one of the key individuals that Bruce Wayne reaches out towards (in his pre-Knight regalia) in the first stages of ‘Batman Begins’. Jim Gordon was the person who wrapped the coat around (a young) Bruce Wayne’s shoulders after his parents had been needlessly-murdered right before his very eyes. Jim Gordon was the one who kneeled to Bruce’s level, acknowledged his loss, and gave him that moment of kindness & warmth & honest-to-God decency. He acknowledged Bruce’s sorrow & loss with grace. He gave him a moment of simple human decency & kindness for the sake of kindness itself.

Jim Gordon’s kind gesture is merely a moment in time, which made all the difference for a young kid who just needed someone to simply be there for him. A moment that showed Bruce Wayne that Goodness & Human Decency can & does still exist in the world despite a traumatically-life-changing tragedy. Jim Gordon’s simple, nearly effortless act, is a sign that people Do honor good faith (and people who truly deserve it) and the good Do get rewarded.

I really like the character Bruce Wayne. I think he’s a better character than most that I’ve ever seen, especially since he actually has character. It’s a shame that people can not see beyond the surface to find the deeper meaning of this story. Bruce Wayne’s [incredible] journey takes place all over the world. When we find him in ‘..Begins’, he is locked up in the ominous mountains of Bhutan. His home now a desolate wasteland of an existence due to his loss. His tragedy (despite Jim Gordon’s act of kindness) had lead him astray and brought him across the other part of the world (only to discover what it truly means to suffer in poverty & hunger & pain & strife & darkness without any means of comfort). As the story unfolds, it becomes clear that Bruce’s path is the ‘path-of-most-resistance.’ Rather than succumb to a frivolous, meaningless, and hollow existence - Bruce Wayne took the path rarely taken. He chose his own path, to earn his own personal truth, his own story to be lived & known (and eventually discovered by Gotham City).

When Bruce meets an unusual individual by the name of ‘Ducard’ (aka Ra’s al Ghul; aka Liam Neeson; Also played simultaneously by the honorable Ken Watanabe, respectively) in his own ‘personal hell’, Ducard feeds into Bruce’s fall from the path of grace (and his spiritual confusion). Ra’s al Ghul/Ducard is only interested in one thing: controlling Bruce Wayne. As Ra’s al Ghul is the quintessential ‘Handler’, or ‘Hypnotist’ of Bruce Wayne in the training period for Bruce Wayne’s spiritual journey - it becomes evident with each effort from Wayne that Ra’s al Ghul represents The Devil (aka ‘The Prince of Darkness’, ‘Satan’, ‘Lucifer’; The ‘Shadow Side’ of Saturn; See “Yikes!”; See “YOWZA”; See “Hide Yo Kids, Hide Yo Wife”; No Disrespect To The Coven; See Not My Lord; See God Protect Me).

From the moment we first-see Ra’s al Ghul - he is shrouded in darkness - lurking in the shadows within each unseen corner of the world - the proverbial serpent of the shadows (so-to-say). In a manner of speaking, Ra’s al Ghul is merely one of many faces throughout the story that showcase the forces of darkness in this particular cinematic legacy (from the depths of darkness, here to possess the living). Ra’s al Ghul attempts to indoctrinate Bruce Wayne (in Bad Faith) in the Bhutanese abyss; a wasteland for the damned (and where the death of hope thrives amidst the stone-prison-walls). Despite Ra’s al Ghul’s efforts - Bruce Wayne not only proves to be the most-prominent under-study of the cult (while being initiated into a secret society; a clandestine fraternity; a subversive order of assassins following an ancient practice (unknown & unseen by the blissful light of day).

Bruce Wayne’s prominence during his training cycle with ‘The League of Shadows’ (an appropriate title) shows us that he surpasses even Ra’s al Ghul’s expectations: showing how the student becomes the teacher (by upholding an authentic approach to having a Personal Moral Code & Justice & Ethical Values). Bruce Wayne is not only faster, stronger, and smarter than Ra’s al Ghul - Bruce Wayne is also wiser. Due to Wayne’s parents (and his friendships) he truly is ‘the shining example’ of true justice that Ra’s al Ghul has yet to achieve in life (due to his obsessive wrath).

Having destroyed the League of Shadows’ initiation grounds & temple of darkness - Bruce Wayne LITERALLY SAVES RA’S AL GHUL’S LIFE. ‘True Colors’ does not even begin to define such a moment for our protagonist (that’s a true sign of Mercy).

Despite Bruce Wayne saving Ra’s al Ghul’s life, afterwards the dude STILL tries to come back and kill Bruce AND Gotham City (Showing how The Devil has No Mercy for Anything, Anyone, or Anywhere and is just flat-out unwilling to acknowledge when something good actually does happen). Granted, at the end of “Batman Begins” we discover how Martha and Thomas Wayne were murdered as a direct result of Ra’s al Ghul & The League of Shadows (and their hatred for all things Gotham City & Western Civilization). It’s a diabolical reveal that the devil holds nothing sacred in the sanctity of human life. The devil will literally kill an angel after having been saved by said angel. In fact, Bruce Wayne’s own personal brush with death is (tragically) a common concern of not only Alfred, but Lucius Fox (played exquisitely by one Morgan Freeman), a former Board-Member & former colleague of Thomas Wayne (prior to his passing).

Bruce shows us that good people typically make a lot of good friends and have good people looking out for one’s best interest (no matter their walk of life). The most awe-inspiring truth of Bruce Wayne/Batman is that his ‘best interest’ is preserving & honoring the good faith of his community and the people in his life (including his ancestors, mind-you, as well as the herculean guidance of one Alfred Pennyworth). Without friends - life goes nowhere - that’s a universal truth. Bruce Wayne nearly died so many times in this trilogy and I don’t think people appreciate that aspect of these movies. This is an individual who literally put his life on the line to save the soul of the city he loves (wanting nothing other than a good, normal, & happy life). I know people only fixate on ‘the How’, but I think ‘the Why’ is the most important element of Bruce Wayne’s fictional example.

Bruce Wayne (as all of us) exists for a reason. His life (albeit fictional) does have an important purpose in the grand scheme of things (as one puts it).

Of course, this reason is emphasized (more & more) by his best friend, Rachel Dawes (among others). It’s a shame that Katie Holmes did not portray Rachel Dawes in both of the first two films, however, I found it to be very impressive [just] how smoothly Maggie Gyllenhaal performed as the character. It’s one of the rare instances in which a character is portrayed by two different performers who both managed to bring an equal amount of dignity & respect to said character. Katie Holmes & Maggie Gyllenhaal should both be applauded for their contributions & performance(s) as the grown-up portrayal of Rachel Dawes.

Rachel Dawes is the positive-female-influence in Bruce Wayne’s life (complimentary to that of Alfred Pennyworth’s positive-male-influence; or non-gender-specific-neutral-influence? Sure, why not) that is necessary to develop his respect & honor towards women (which is a necessary element of chivalry). Chivalry is not dead in America: The examples set before us can be found within our own real-life society (I shall go into that more later..).

More important than Rachel Dawes’ positive influence on Bruce Wayne is her genuine friendship (since their childhood). Rachel is not interested in taking advantage of Bruce or using him for her own personal gain. Rachel Dawes genuinely cares about Bruce Wayne and how well the quality of his life (as well as the life of the community) have grown. Rachel Dawes shows Bruce what is occurring in the streets of Gotham on a daily basis. Rachel is living, breathing, working, and seeing what has become of Gotham City - a limping giant of a once-prominent-city (Modern-Day America in a nutshell). Rachel Dawes reminds Bruce Wayne of the importance of Good People Taking Ownership of One’s Community. She reminds him that life is not only about one’s own personal pain, but alas, the collective pain of which a community must endure & resolve (as a said community) with good faith; “It’s not about who you are underneath, it’s what you do that defines you.”

In the second act of Nolan’s Cinematic Epic, “The Dark Knight” - Bruce Wayne encounters the tangible result of Newton’s Third Law: for every action there is an equal (or greater) reaction; hence ‘The Joker’ (played enormously by the late Heath Ledger; Rest in Peace).

The Joker is the response to Bruce Wayne’s actions in the first act, and in every way, he is Bruce Wayne’s exact opposite (albeit opposites, their life paths are balancing on the same proverbial axis of existence). Bruce Wayne is a reflection of light while The Joker is a product of darkness (Negative Energy, Pessimism, Hate, Evil, Unhappiness, Pain, Suffering, Misery, Torment, Violence, & Trauma). While Batman is the answer to corrupt forces in Gotham City - The Joker is the reaction to The Bat-Man.

The Joker is the continuation of opposing forces attempting to infiltrate Bruce Wayne’s life & community (as would a specter in the shadows, a spider in the darkest reaches of lunacy; a.k.a. the absence of faith, the inversion of angels; i.e. Demons, Demonic Entities, Dark Deities, etc). The Joker represents everything evil in society - everything sick, everything sad, everything hurt. To The Joker (and the fools before him) - society is an infestation, a plague, a result of toxicity & corruption (especially the light of which darkness cannot fathom). Batman is the antithesis to Joker’s Chaos. Batman is the collective honor & balance of civility & justice & good faith quantified into one symbolic rogue.

Heath Ledger’s performance of Joker was nothing short of awe-inspiring artistry & workmanship (WorkPERSONship?). His passing was a needless tragedy and although his performance garnered him numerous accolades - I wish he did not have to die in order to attain it (It should have been him accepting the award - it should have been him). Without a doubt, an equal to Joaquin Phoenix’s performance (if not Superior) - I still acknowledge Heath Ledger’s ground-breaking performance as a perfect triumph of Acting (although I think the character is absolutely distorted on all accounts; despite Joker’s persuasive wit).

Many people like to compare Joaquin Phoenix & Heath Ledger’s performance(s) as The Joker (folks compare everything in life), and I think both performances stand strongly on equal ground. Total Perfection. No doubt about it - and one kinda goes with the other if you were to align the vision side-by-side. Of course I love me some Jack Nicholson in Tim Burton’s “Batman” - I think he gave an undeniably frightening & charismatic performance just as Ledger & Phoenix (proof of the character’s universal & artistic appeal). Although Heath Ledger’s performance shall always be praised as a definitive milestone in Acting on Film - I still think the character is a twisted f**k (pardon my American).

Not only does Joker attempt to destroy Bruce Wayne’s personal Faith, but also everyone he cares about in his life, and everyone in the entire city of Gotham, USA. The pitiful tragedy of Joker’s existence is the sad truth that he lacks good faith in not only himself, but the people of Gotham, and the one individual who is genuinely trying to make a good difference in the world: Bruce Wayne.

It is a tragedy & a disgrace to humankind that Rachel Dawes & Harvey Dent (played by the Always-Excellent Aaron Eckhart) died in vain (as Thomas & Martha before them). It’s a sin that the Joker did what he did to everyone in Gotham City. It’s unGodly that so many human beings had to lose their lives, needlessly, just because of one individual’s own loss of innocence, and more specific, his loss of personal faith in his life (and in the world, of which, we live). The reason why Joker is dangerous is because he is the quintessential ‘mass shooter.’ He is the terrorist. He is the result of a society that has forgotten him. He is the reason why so many people struggle & suffer in contemporary society - not because he caused it, but because he fed into it - preying on the life force of humanity & destroying the efforts of truly good people who kept striving to save the soul of humanity (within the framework of a struggling eco-system).

If Bruce Wayne did not have friends he would have been dead in the first act of the story - that is a fact. When Dr. Jonathan (Not ‘Frasier’) Crane (aka ‘The Scarecrow’) had attacked Batman (in ‘Begins’) with the weaponized hallucinogens, Bruce Wayne was almost killed. If it was not for Alfred Pennyworth & Lucius Fox, Bruce would have been dead in the streets of Gotham. The consistent importance of Friendship is quite evident when thinking of Bruce Wayne’s network of acquaintances (both in ‘high’ & ‘low’ places) in the city of Gotham. This also applies in the opposite, with Bruce becoming an important (and powerful) friend to certain individuals of Gotham City (in return).

Friendship is a universal quality of humanity that should be cherished & honored. Friendship, like everything, requires effort. Bruce Wayne’s life requires effort even though he is a “billionaire playboy” - he still has struggles just like anyone else, and he shares the struggle with his friends (since they became a sort of surrogate family; more like extended-family; legal & spiritual guardians). Bruce Wayne is a fictional example that no one is free from life’s struggle and life’s personal challenges & lessons (no matter the ‘advantages’ or ‘upbringing’). It’s a sign of brilliance on behalf of the conceptual team behind the vision of The Dark Knight Trilogy. I know a lot of people focus on the action sequences and the drama of the theatrical dance of Light & Dark play out on screen in the form of the Batman & the Joker, but beneath the surface is a sincere sociological & political commentary (and spiritual message).

The Light & The Dark (i.e. Positive & Negative, God & Lucifer, Heaven & Hell, Angels & Demons, the Good & the Bad vibes, The Upward Infinity & The Downward Spiral, etc, etc, etc): it is at the fundamental core of our collective balance of existence; Life as we know it to be. It is my humble understanding that the eternal balance is a necessary process, it requires effort on both sides. Both Light & Dark must cooperate to preserve the equinox-of-existence (just one person’s opinion based off of observation & objective analysis, take it or leave it).

The death of Bruce Wayne’s best friend, Rachel Dawes, was not only a tragedy in Bruce’s life, it was a tragedy for innocence. She was so angelic & kind & giving & honorable & brave - her Faith is what helped Bruce remember his childhood innocence (before he was robbed of said innocence), and her last words (which were concealed from Bruce due to desperate-times-call-for-desperate-measures; see Alfred Pennyworth), she continued to spread the message of Good Faith in Humanity despite the fact that she was needlessly murdered. A defining attribute of Rachel Dawes’ character is one-in-the-same as Martha and Thomas Wayne - the Belief & Faith in Humanity despite the monumental heartache & loss (and yes, trauma & death).

If one recalls the time in the first act when Alfred was bringing Bruce Wayne back from the mountains of Bhutan - Alfred briefly mentions how Bruce Wayne’s ancestors’ tireless efforts to keep their community alive (even at the worst of times) nearly made them bankrupt. It was their tireless dedication (their faith) that paved the way to set a foundation for future generations to prosper (while honoring the efforts of said ancestors). Although their example did not improve Gotham’s economic prosperity overnight, the murder of Martha & Thomas Wayne set the wealthy of Gotham into action (as the story goes).

Bruce Wayne comes from a long lineage of helpers. Helpful People who are Good. People who want to see the best results out of humanity’s efforts (as a whole). People who believe in the power of the individual, and the social end-result of one individual’s tireless faith (and life choices).

Although Bruce Wayne’s ancestors are not the focal point of Batman, they are his bloodline & family’s history which in it’s own right deserves to be honored & respected (I know this is a fictional character, but roll with me here, people HahaHA).

Yes, “The Dark Knight” consists of nothing short of complete Mayhem, and YES, The Joker may make ya pee a little bit (just a little), and maybe even laugh (the writing is pretty damn genius in my humble opinion). I acknowledge that “The Dark Knight” should have been nominated for Best Picture (Double that for “The Dark Knight Rises”), and I acknowledge that Christian Bale should have been nominated for Best Actor his final performance as Bruce Wayne/Batman (I think he was snubbed, but hey I’m not in the Academy, so what do I know, right? HahaHA).

Speaking of “The Dark Knight Rises”, I still believe it’s the best Batman movie of all time. I understand (and have heard) many folks say “The Dark Knight” was a better movie, however, I believe (on the contrary) that not only is the third act of Christopher Nolan’s masterpiece a testament of cinematic storytelling - it is a testament to just how AWESOME we are when we perform at our best. When we work together, we are at our best (as a country, and as a people).

“The Dark Knight Rises”, at it’s core, is a cyclical nod to everything that was established in the first act of the trilogy (a perfect Full Circle), and of course, is the conclusion of Batman. Every lesson in Bruce Wayne’s life, every struggle, every enemy, every friend - every aspect of Bruce Wayne’s life is interwoven with Gotham City (and the people of Gotham) as he & his friends defend Gotham City (and everyone in it). In “The Dark Knight Rises”, Bruce Wayne has become a Hermit; locked away, half man, half mythos, in an air of mystery & fascination (among the ones who still speak of the elusive figure; a fading memory of a silent guardian). And as a hermit, Bruce has become deeply reclusive due to the Joker’s killing spree in Gotham City nearly a decade prior (while exploiting the sick minds & lost souls who stand for nothing [and truly fall for anything]).

While an average person would possibly accept Bruce Wayne’s physically-defeated, emotionally-scarred, and spiritually-damaged condition - Alfred Pennyworth (God Bless ‘em) does what any individual of Good Faith would do - he encourages Bruce. He sees Bruce as a human being, not as a symbol. He cares about Bruce Wayne’s life, his well-being, his overall fulfillment, and Bruce’s personal happiness. He chose to honor the pact he made with Thomas Wayne to protect the family fortune (most importantly, Bruce). Alfred Pennyworth has his own fascinating & rich history from his own backstory (having been a soldier in his younger years). Fact of the matter is, Alfred never stopped being a soldier at heart. He is True Blue; a true man of the cause; a true Englishman, a true American, and overall a true HUMAN BEING. He is a True Believer of preserving all that is sacred & righteous in our world. He is a Saint and he is a blessing (in contrast to Ra’s al Ghul’s curse-like presence; working in Bad Faith; a destructive force; almost the polar opposite of Alfred).

One thing I love about the final film in Nolan’s titanic, artistic, commercial, & cinematic effort is just how well the Production had managed to pull off the third act (having so many characters and SO much exposition) especially considering the factors that most wouldn’t even consider (i.e. Budget, Lights, Sound, Wardrobe, Set Design, making sure everyone’s hitting their marks, making sure all the stunt-work is safe, making sure it’s all coordinated to the “T” - the amount of brain-storming, conceptualization, the marketing, the pre-production, the principal photography, the post-production, etc etc etc). Movies that require so much of the cast & crew do not always work well, but Warner Bros. & Nolan’s Team somehow managed to actually pull it off. They did what no one else could do - they made Batman real. Christian Bale made Bruce Wayne real. He made Bruce Wayne truly Human (even if just for a moment).

In this day & age (with everything that just happened very recently in our very own United States of America) - one could find a jaw-dropping parallel to what happened when ‘Bane’ came to Gotham City (played ferociously by the envelope-pushing Tom Hardy; see “Bronson”, so gnarly) to what had happened to our own U.S. Capitol.

Bane is the darkness (cloaked with brute force) that feeds off of the fear of humanity. Bane is a product of The League of Shadows (with Hardy’s vocal performance being a nod to UK & Ireland Bare-Knuckle-Boxing Champion, Bartley “King of The Gypsies” Gorman), and was actually ex-communicated from the league (so the story goes) by Ra’s al Ghul (himself). Word around the campfire is that Bane is a force of nature (more destructive than known before) and will stop at nothing to ‘fulfill the destiny of Ra’s al Ghul.’ Bane is a result of fringe-Cult-Mind-Control-Indoctrination (a life devoid of pure faith & free-will entirely; typically due to some possible form of sincere trauma and/or loss and governing authority; aka The Darkness).

The legend of Bane is more rumor than fact. He is just as elusive as Batman, and just as evil as Joker (if not more). Bane’s physicality brings Bruce Wayne to his knees in the third act of Nolan’s 3-piece work-of-art, while also providing all of the intellectually-driven rationale (totally psychotic) behind his Madness & Apocalyptic ambitions. Bane is a real-life-threat to Bruce Wayne & Gotham City (and The American Way). Bane represents the overall threat to our way of life (as a humanity). Bane is everything wrong with world leaders & corrupt forces (cultivated into the most toxic physical form); like a deranged & disfigured Churchill who lumbers about (as a lion in a den) in the underground infrastructure of Gotham City’s sewage system (almost as a warped, drug-induced, Shakespearean Emperor). Bane is a deadly force of nature, fueled entirely by the sickness of bad faith; coerced into his own psychosis by probably the most complex & frightening character of the entire series - Talia al Ghul (a.k.a. ‘Miranda Tate’, played unnervingly-well by one Marion Cotillard [the child played by Joey King, respectively]; her performance sends chills up the spine upon numerous viewings).

While introducing Batman & Gotham’s new enemies, some of Bruce’s new friends in the final (and most epic) installment of Christopher Nolan’s Batman storyline are Officer [Robin] John Blake (played exceptionally by Joseph Gordon-Levitt) and a Wild-Card-Femme-Fatale character by the name of Selina Kyle (a.k.a. ‘Catwoman’, performed very well by Anne Hathaway). Joseph Gordon-Levitt shines as young Patrol Officer Blake - also having been an orphan, like Bruce Wayne, and a true believer in the purpose of Bruce Wayne (Batman) in Gotham City. Unlike Bruce, however, Robin is not a billionaire & Robin was not born into a life of privilege. Despite his brief backstory, Robin Blake, like Bruce Wayne, has Faith in Humanity. It’s why he puts on the uniform (speculative subtext). He does not have the luxury to become Batman, so just as Jim Gordon does - He works with what is given to him. He applies himself within the structure already established within Gotham (despite the restrictions & limitations of said structures of society). He, like ‘Serpico’ before him (see Al Pacino) is a regular Cop who just wants to do what the Law is supposed to do: To Protect & To Serve the good people of Gotham City.

Selina Kyle, on the other hand, is on a path between The Light & The Dark (on a sort of ‘spiritual tight-rope’ between the two paths). Selina’s life path is one of constant survival and constant running. As a ‘Cat Burglar’, Selina Kyle is a flat-out Crook. Her tough exterior conceals what truly is underneath her mask - a person who, too, has faith in humanity (proof that the ones who wander are not lost). Unfortunately for Bruce Wayne, as previously-mentioned, ‘Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures’ - and Selina Kyle’s desperation put Bruce directly into the hands of Bane & The League of Shadows (at a truly disturbing moment in the film). While forces of The League of Shadows’ (combined with a few of Wayne Enterprises’ own ‘bad seeds’, i.e. Daggett, Stryver, etc) disseminate chaos throughout the plot of “The Dark Knight Rises” (by destroying the city of Gotham and exiling Bruce Wayne across the world into a pit of hell) - all of the friends Bruce Wayne has made start to band together to organize a resistance with the surviving members of local (and once-established) authorities. The honor, the people, the community of Gotham City, and the overall driving spirit - the collective faith of the city (as a whole) had been damn-near destroyed entirely in this film. The resistance was born from those of whom are still faithful to their city and the rights of every individual who resides within.

Between the clandestine operations of Robin & his fellow law enforcement officers (all trapped underneath Gotham due to The League’s devastating terrorist attack), the United States Federal Government (and necessary agencies) & Wayne Enterprises (with ‘Miranda Tate’, Lucius Fox, etc), and the awe-inspiring action-sequences in this grand finale - there is no denial that the final installment of The Dark Knight Trilogy is the most realistic & visceral revolutionary epic set in modern-day America. It’s funny when one stops to think that this was all originally based off of a comic book character published by Detective Comics in the late 1930’s. It’s astonishing to think of just how far this fantasy story has evolved throughout the years.

Bruce Wayne is more than a comic book character. Bruce Wayne is a symbol of humanity. That is his ‘superpower’ - his Humanity. He is more than just a person fighting crime to honor his family’s faith & heritage - he is honoring the faith of humanity as it stands today. After all of the corruption & loss & trauma - Bruce Wayne never lost faith in what we have in life (even after losing so many loved ones and frequently having his own life in harm’s way). As he strives to defeat the darkness of Gotham (by striking fear into the hearts of those who prey upon the fearful), the force of darkness continues to rise to attempt to destroy & defeat The Light (Futility at it’s finest).

The greatest villain of all, Batman’s most incredible threat throughout the entire trilogy is actually Talia Al Ghul (Ra’s al Ghul’s daughter & heir to The League of Shadows; the true leader of the cult). She is the one who almost destroys Gotham City (if it wasn’t for Bruce Wayne and everyone who stepped up to do what was right to defend the city).

Although Talia does not fight Batman physically - she is the only villain who ever slept with Batman & exploited him with complete intimacy (seducing Bruce Wayne in a seemingly romantic moment in the film). Talia (still known as “Miranda” by this point in the story), appears innocent & sweet upon first glance, however with multiple viewings of the film, one begins to understand the disturbing nature of what Miranda/Talia is and is Not saying in Bruce Wayne’s presence (a brief glimmer of her spiritual void). Talia al Ghul truly is Ra’s al Ghul’s daughter and her light has been completely stamped out by the fact that she, not Bane, was the one who came out from the pit of hell (as it is revealed in the climax of this epic conclusion). The Devil lurks in many forms - in this particular case, Talia al Ghul displays the darkness as it exists in feminine form. Marion Cotillard was the most over-looked performance of the series (in my personal opinion) and I think as much as Tom Hardy does not get enough credit for his, at times, somewhat Macbethian performance (albeit not as flamboyant as Joker, but even more deadly) - I believe Talia al Ghul is the greatest threat to Gotham City in this trilogy (sorry, fellas).

While magnifying the character of Talia al Ghul, one must acknowledge her natural ability to be a ‘Wolf-in-Sheep’s-Clothing.’ She is the deadliest threat to Humanity due to her belief in a necessary demise of Gotham (seeing Gotham City as a hotbed of hypocrisy & imperialism). Talia al Ghul has no problem burning the barrel over a few bad apples (if that makes sense). While Talia is the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, she was also simultaneously dictating every strategy for The League of Shadows behind closed doors. She is the ‘Queen’, ‘The Head of The Serpent’, The Leader of ‘The Hive.’ She is the quintessential ‘Wicked Witch’, The ‘Bad Girl’, the ‘Goddess’, Kali, Baphomet, etc etc etc). She is an individual, born into a pit of darkness, and exposed to a potentially-life-shattering amount of trauma (based off of the staggering display of complete psychosis; albeit tremendously stealthy & downplayed under her facade of congeniality).

Talia al Ghul is the mastermind who inherited the crown from Ra’s al Ghul’s ‘throne’ (if that makes sense). She is a product of trauma, suffering, & loneliness, but more importantly, a severely sick individual who needs some serious mental & emotional help (more than Joker & Harley Quinn combined) and is the deadliest foe of all (due to her intellect & internalized rage & female fury & her knowledge of all things Gotham & Bruce Wayne/Batman). Talia al Ghul, like Batman, is a force of nature; especially due to her complete cutthroat tactics and inversion of personal Faith in Humanity. Talia al Ghul initially comes across as a meek & angelic person, responsible for the credibility & success of Wayne Enterprises. Her entire life, however, has been dedicated towards the infiltration of Gotham City, USA, and she is the only character in the film who is truly superior to Bruce Wayne in terms of sheer will-power (He caught up to her in the end though). What saves Bruce Wayne is his network of friends (Alfred, Jim Gordon, Lucius, Robin, Selina, etc), in addition to his mind, body, & spirit (once they attain alignment).

I don’t know what others have said, but I think Robin & Catwoman were actually done brilliantly in “The Dark Knight Rises.” Robin was a pleasant surprise for me as a viewer (truth be told; although I thought Ryan Gosling (GOS!) would have made an amazing Robin in ‘The Dark Knight Rises’; much respect for Joseph Gordon-Levitt), and Selina Kyle/Catwoman is fascinating due to her being the wild card of the last film (that truly helped level the playing-field; Girl-Power).

Catwoman, unlike Batman & Robin, is a big question mark throughout the majority of the last film. Her presence is just as elusive & threatening as Talia’s, however, Catwoman (unlike Talia al Ghul), underneath it all, is a Good Person trapped in a bad situation. That is a common thread in this storyline - Good people being in bad places (i.e. Jim Gordon, Lucius Fox, Rachel Dawes, Harvey Dent, etc). On the flip side of the coin - there are plenty of bad folks in good places amidst Gotham’s corrupt forces (i.e. Dr. Crane/Scarecrow, Carmine Falcone, Judge Faden, Detective Ramirez, Detective Wuertz, etc). It’s a reality known all too well in our modern society.

When one observes the overall arc of Bruce Wayne’s transformational life experiences in Nolan’s Comic Book Epic - I have to reiterate the notion of duality consistently interwoven within each one of these films. Light & Dark - Good & Evil - Positive & Negative - the eternal dance - it is the driving force of this franchise (as Bruce is the quintessential “Light Worker” - not that I’m soliciting ‘New Age’ [or ‘Old Age’ for that matter] ideologies, just a matter-of-saying). Bruce Wayne symbolizes The Light of God found in human form (at the very core and most-primary form of what Natives call, “The Great Spirit”, respectively), of which must seize the day to tame the night. Bruce is the epitome of a Capricorn/Aquarius cusp (Western Astrology/Zodiac) - in full force - bringing the water to those who are thirsty, bringing food to those who are starving, and healing the suffering of a people by means of very serious mental, physical, and Yes, Spiritual Work & Seriously Visionary Goals. Bruce Wayne is the Light while Bane is the Darkness of Humanity (the brute force, the inversion of light); the absence of faith. Although he does indeed have an inherent belief within his bones (and muscles reminiscent of mountains), Bane is still dependent on man-made ideologies & approaches (entirely based in the material world). The League of Shadows are attempting to summon the fires from hell in order to bring the dark prince into Heaven to seize the light (again, futility) to fulfill the devil’s ultimate lie (talk about a God-Complex..Oh me, Oh my) of Superiority (‘Can’t we all just get along?’).

When examining Talia al Ghul’s presence as a double-agent mastermind - her reveal is one of the most important plot twists of the series. Talia being a hidden “mole” within the resistance of Gotham City during The League of Shadows’ Hostile Takeover sets off Martial Law in Gotham - which sparks an uprising in the city that eventually saves Gotham (due to the efforts of a network of people who utilized adaptability & effective methods of coordination & action). Bane is to Batman as Talia is to Catwoman (just as Harvey is to Rachel; Duality; Gemini, Twins). What’s so incredible about Selina Kyle is her purpose in the story as a symbol that people CAN & DO redeem themselves despite having a checkered past (something a good amount of folks have in this day-and-age, myself included). Although the clandestine efforts of Gotham’s resistance had been futile due to the fact that Talia al Ghul was hiding in plain sight (a stroke of genius on the writing), Selina Kyle was the defining individual that tipped the scale in favor for Gotham City (and more importantly, Humanity as a Whole). She had an opportunity to leave Gotham and have a clean slate, but she had a personal moment-of-crisis... That’s because she has a soul, and in her soul, she knows, by faith & intuition, that humanity needed her help (one could speculate). She went back & risked her life (God bless her), which was a full circle nod, of which, echoed the sentiment originally planted within the first film: The moment when Rachel Dawes asked a younger Bruce Wayne, “..What chance does Gotham have if the good people do nothing?” (Edmund Burke; ‘Thoughts on the Cause of the Present Discontents’ [1770], regarding the nepotism of a monarchy).

Talia al Ghul is a highly-complex character (next to Bruce Wayne) in the series due to the potential life she may have lead as an orphan born in the pit of hell (shot in the jaw-dropping landscape of Jodhpur, Rajasthan, India). She is also the most tragic due to the fact that she literally has an opportunity to leave her life of pain & suffering behind to be with Bruce Wayne, but succumbs to the ‘Shadow Side.’ ...You know something is ‘rotten in the state of Denmark’ when she would rather destroy the world than have a ‘happily ever after’ with Bruce Wayne. Her spirit fell back into the proverbial pit of despair & darkness (without ‘The Light’) that she had escaped from (in a metaphoric sense). Bane, like Scarecrow before him, is merely a pawn in the worldwide game of Chess (‘all the world is a stage...’). The tragedy of Talia is that she is someone who was born into darkness and literally had to pay for the sins of her father (as her mother did, tragically).

Talia al Ghul is the most heart-breaking villain of the trilogy simply due to her life being a complete tragedy. One begins to ponder if she had a romantic evening with Bruce Wayne simply because she had felt the cold winter of loneliness for too long, or if she desperately (just for a moment) wanted to be one with God’s Light & a person’s gentle embrace (although I don’t know I might be wrong - she was probably like “Hey, it’s either Scary-Ass Bane or six-pack abs Bruce Wayne. HMMM. Let’s tip the scale on that one - HAhaHa, I digress). Regardless of reasoning - Talia al Ghul’s complexity is probably no match for the intense unhappiness she carries with her. It’s no surprise due to the fact that her mother’s absolutely unGodly demise (so sad) was the catalyst that sparked her mission from Hell (with her hound-of-hell on a leash, aka Bane). As much as I may condemn Talia al Ghul & Bane - I want to reason with them. I want to listen to them and I want to let them know that America is not a bad place, and we are not a bad people. I want to find a common ground, and extend the olive branch (as the saying goes) in order to help heal their pain & misconceptions of Americans and Humanity (as a whole), without having to give my (or anyone else’s) life in the process.

I have a belief that if Talia al Ghul was given a fair & ample opportunity to have a better life in America - she would have taken it (if she had not been so deeply-programmed with hate). I have the understanding & more concrete belief that it is due to her life-long journey of trauma-based-indoctrination as the main culprit as to why she simply won’t cease & desist from committing further acts of wrath upon Humanity. Talia al Ghul could have put just as much effort into the healing as the killing (but she fell back into that spiritual pit). I know why she hates. She hates because she weeps, deep down inside in her soul at night (when no one is around), for her trauma & her unbearable internal pain. She hates because she is repeating the pattern of trauma that may or may not have been applied to her mind, body, and worst of all - her soul. She hates because she had hatred put into her (since being a small, innocent child) and she put that hatred out into the world (a severe lack of comfort, love, care, family, and yes - Faith). Although symbols of lightness, darkness, duality, and representations of sins & faith are all spread across this monumental achievement in film (without having to shove a Cross in someone’s face) - at the very core of this film is, again, the importance of faith in humanity despite our individual & collective tragedies (and shared injustice). The importance of striving, no matter the odds, no matter the pain, no matter how dark the night.

I believe the BEST moment in the entire story was the moment Bruce Wayne climbed out of the pit to save his people. He could have easily died a painful & shameful death in that ancient prison (while watching his city & country being destroyed by an insane fringe cult; a militia of madness; a false liberation). A lot of people seem to overlook just how incredible & truly powerful that moment is in “The Dark Knight Rises.” Tom Conti (a perfect performance of an apathetic mentor-like figure; complimented brilliantly by one Uri Gavriel as the exiled Medical Doctor of a Monarch) & Christian Bale’s overall dynamic in the entire pit sequence was a masterful stroke of storytelling (tying back to the first film, putting Bruce Wayne back where he first began). It’s fascinating to find Bruce Wayne, with a severely-injured body, having to rebuild himself and strengthening his spirit to rise out of the pit of despair - the pit of personal hell, the unforgiving pit of Time (Capricorn; Saturn; Kronos; “The Task-Master”, “The Reaper”; Reward or Punishment; Karma; The Lord of The Rings). The moment of truth comes when Bruce Wayne discovers (through numerous attempts) that it is his spirit that must rise to seize the light - without vanity, without any fancy gadgets, technology, tricks up his sleeve, or any clever contraption (or vehicle) to assist him in the process. This was a moment for Bruce Wayne and Bruce Wayne alone. This is what we call our moment to “Shine” as an individual being... our independent spirit. Bruce Wayne had to learn what it meant to climb out of the pit of hell and abandon his fear (as the child in the legend had done; Talia al Ghul).

The pit can represent many things to many different people. The eye of the beholder truly does apply to this (as well as any) story. For the individual to think & feel for one’s self - and to also believe in one’s self. The pit can be a literal prison - or it could be a wealthy kingdom. I know (from personal experience) the feeling of being at the pit of one’s own existence. I know what it means to be a prisoner trapped in one’s own body (due to unwanted pain & suffering & hidden trauma). I’ve learned the plight of humanity and the experience of suffering in the night (I’m just like everybody else). I have been there. I have known the darkness. I have known what it means to “dance with the devil under the pale moonlight” (as the expression goes). I’ve known what it means to defend the innocent from evil, thrusting myself into danger to save family members from toxic masculinity & extreme violence (since being a little boy). I have known the darkness, which is why I kept searching for my own personal truths & answers (which ended the day I had a near-death experience & literally saw The Light of God; 100% Serious). I have known all of these things, but I also know that the people who put that hurt into me had that same hurt (if not worse) put into them... That’s the paradox of trauma. The original source goes so far back it’s pointless to trace - which is why I look FORWARD in Life. I no longer dwell in the weight of one’s misery & spiritual darkness - I seize the light by choosing a good life (to fulfill my own purpose).

At the risk of my own humiliation & embarrassment (and at the delight of those of whom feel actual glee out of my personal struggles & suffering; God knows who you are), I can acknowledge that I am someone who has lived “in the darkness” before. I have known what it means to suffer and toil without the light of God in my life. I have abandoned my own belief in God before, and my own personal Faith before... it’s not something I am particularly proud of, and although I have survived various life experiences that made me plunge into the pessimistic side of life (having been mentally, physically, and yes - Sexually-Abused in my early childhood) - I reach out (in spirit) to anyone who may be reading my words, who has possibly fallen from the good grace of God (especially due to what has happened in our country). I, too, know what it is to lose faith in God & The True Light (as opposed to the Man-Made light). I know what it’s like to suffer & hate “The Believers” (my trauma came from a so-called “believer”).

You know, stories are more powerful than one may ever think (as well as Family, Friendship, Fun, and Faith). I have lived in my own personal hell before - I have ‘had it all’ and then lost EVERYTHING the following year. I have rebuilt my life SO many times (too many damn times), and I’ve learned one ultimate truth that I MUST share with everyone who is (and will be) alive to read these words...

..There IS A GOD. THERE IS A LIGHT. It may not be visible because we cannot see what lies beyond the veil of existence, but I assure you - Everyone is Alive for a REASON (and Individual Purpose). Women may have the divine gift of giving Life (RESPECT!), but we ALL have the gift of giving LIGHT (each in our own unique way). We all have a way to help heal and put something good into the world, despite our shared pain & trauma, as a people. We all deserve to be happy and have a decent opportunity for a healthy & happy existence (ESPECIALLY with our modern-day world; unless if folks start committing crimes and harming others and whatnot). I believe we are all at our best when we cooperate & coexist with one another (despite our individual differences). The Light does not need to shine out The Darkness just as The Darkness shall never overthrow The Light. We can live in a spiritual Harmony. We do not have to walk the same path. We do not have to share the same spiritual beliefs. I just think we CAN share this world (as I believe we are truly alive in what is known as the Garden of Eden).

We do not have to destroy ourselves to prosper. We can live among one another (with dignity & respect & honor). I’m not always happy to see that people willingly practice certain principles & “values”, but who am I to judge? That’s why God is here... It’s a tough lesson to accept, but it’s true. I should not judge someone just because they worship darkness - because at the end of the day that’s between them and their purpose in life - not mine. I have walked the line, but I never learned from others shouting in my face - I learned from listening & civility & patience & yes - Faith. That’s the purpose of the light - not to drown out the dark, but to work together (as Santa Clause & Krampus do), as a balance of necessary elements that will always be present in our own reality. We, as a contemporary society, have lost touch with the natural way of the world (well, a good amount of folks anyhow). We, as a humanity, have become so vain that we do not even know which way is Up & Down anymore - which way is truly Left & Right. We, as the soul of humanity, have suffered in the darkness for far too long (due to those who wish to control our individual light). We, as a country, MUST help one another climb out of our collective pit of despair - our sociological prison (cultivated through the last aeon), our ‘darkness.’ It has happened before and it can happen again - and to all of my fellow beings of whom shall always carry within us, The Light of Goodness, the love of God, and the wisdom of The Light - I say to thee: RISE.

I give Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight Trilogy a PERFECT 10 out of 10! The most inspiring superhero franchise of all time (in my opinion). Bruce Wayne & Gotham City show us that Chivalry is NOT dead in The United States of America (despite our challenges). Christopher Nolan’s Cinematic Achievement is victorious in it’s final conclusion: Gotham City IS worth Saving, as our very own Humanity - and Yes - We can all have a better way of life without having to sacrifice our own lives in the process. We can rise to fulfill our individual & collective destiny (as decent human beings) and have, not the life we need, but the one we DESERVE.

*This is dedicated in loving memory to everyone who has lived & died in service of The Light..✝️

“I see a beautiful city... and a brilliant people, rising from this abyss... I see the lives, for which I lay down my life: peaceful, useful, prosperous, and happy... I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendents (generations hence)... It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known...”

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roll-for-world-building · 4 years

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bardic inspiration

Mothen shivered and re-wrapped the thick woolen scarf around his neck. It was not yet quite four hours past noon, but the sky was already dark enough that lamps were being lit across the marketplace, and the wind had picked up a bite. There was a certain feel in the air that told him there would likely be more snow on the way soon.

It had been a good day at the market. This close to the solstice, the marketplace was abuzz with the varied citizens of Lantern Point preparing for any one of the collection of winter holidays celebrated in the city, and consequently the cart full of family goods to sell that they had arrived with had emptied in remarkable time. Mothen had had both coin and time enough to fill the cart back up again with their own purchases while the stalls were still well-stocked. He’d even managed to secure two jars of the pickled fish he and Fhurl enjoyed, which usually got snapped up long before he could make it to the stall.

But it had also been a long day at the market, and though he was well-bundled against the cold, after so long outside in the chill it had begun to find its way through his warm woolen layers and settle under his skin. He was more than ready to be home with his feet warming before the hearth fire and a hot drink in his hands.

There was one more thing still to do before they could set off for home, however.

“Well, that seems to be the last thing on the list,” he said to his son Beah, who was standing in the cart and packing up the last few purchases with great care while an enormous shaggy black dog sat in the seat keeping a calm eye on the proceedings. Their stalwart pony Clara stood patiently in front of the cart, waiting to be hitched. “There’s not anything else we need to get, is there?”

The young halfling looked down over the side of the cart anxiously, wide brown eyes peeping out above the heavy scarf that concealed most of his face. “Da...”

Mothen put a hand to his chin as if he were thinking very hard. “Unless I’m forgetting something? But I can’t think what...”

“Da, you promised.”

“Did I make a promise? Hmm...” Beah was positively squirming by now. Mothen couldn’t hold his straight face any longer. “Ah yes, that’s right! I promised a certain little boy he would get a treat if he helped me out at the marketplace today.”

“I did help,” Beah said, a little uncertainly.

“You did indeed! You helped a great deal. And I always keep my promises.” Mothen reached up and lifted Beah down off the cart. “So, little merchant. Do you know what kind of reward you want for your hard work today?”

“Yes!” Beah took off the moment his boots touched the ground, making with absolute conviction back to the heart of the marketplace. Mothen paused long enough to murmur, “Stay, Clover,” to the dog before following Beah at a rather more sedate pace. He was not concerned about leaving the cart unattended; Clover would brook no interference with it as long as she was on guard, not that most thieves would have bothered in the first place once they saw a halfling-bred guard dog on duty.

He had been rather surprised when Beah had approached him the night before and, rather tremulously, asked if he could have something from the market in exchange for helping with the day’s selling and buying. Normally Beah needed no encouragement to help with the family chores, least of all market day. Getting to come along to the city and watch its motley collection of people as they passed among the stalls had previously been more than enough of a treat for Beah on its own. But now it seemed that his son had some particular mission in mind, and Mothen was curious to find out what it was.

He half expected to see Beah turn to the grocer’s section of the market, in search perhaps of the peppermint candy he was so partial to. But instead the little halfling made for the craftsmans’ stalls, and stopped in front of one where a tired but kindly-looking human woman was selling soft toys.

Mothen’s puzzlement only increased as he watched his son standing on tip toes to peruse the contents of the stall with all the seriousness of a seasoned merchant. Dolls were not something he ever would have suspected Beah to feel lacking in. As the son of a wool-worker, Beah had been gifted with dolls since before he could even walk. They were, admittedly, not exactly of elf-make quality, nor made of the very finest materials, but they were good enough to sell decently well at the market when Mothen was able to add a few to his usual stock of yarn and cloth. Mothen had never been given to pridefulness, but he found to his own surprise that he felt a slight pang of hurt at the thought that his creations were no longer good enough for his son. He wondered if perhaps Beah had begun to grow jealous of the other children he saw in the market, most of whom came from rather more prosperous families than their own.

Or—perhaps not. Beah’s face fell the longer he looked at the dolls until he finally turned away without selecting any of them, although they were all certainly of good quality. Mothen gave an apologetic smile to the stall owner and pulled his son to the side.

“You know,” he said hesitantly, “if it’s a doll you’re wanting...it’s not long now til Gracenight--” In fact he had been careful so far to keep Beah from suspecting anything of the doll Mothen was making for his Gracenight present. It was going to be—he hoped—his best yet. But Beah looked so disconsolate that Mothen couldn’t resist dropping a hint.

Yet Beah barely even seemed to register what his father was implying. “It’s not for me,” he said. “It’s for Thyrjka.”

This was so utterly not what Mothen had expected that for a moment he was completely speechless.

“For...your orc friend?” he managed after a moment.

“Yes!” Beah kicked at the ground in frustration. “She said she’d never ever had a doll, not even one. So I wanted to give her one for Gracenight...but I want to give her one that looks like her. And none of those do.”

Mothen glanced over at the stall. There was a good variety there, with human and halfling-shaped dolls as well as a number of brightly colored stuffed animals. There were even—rather optimistically, Mothen privately thought—a couple of dwarf dolls with braided yarn beards. There were certainly no orcs.

He looked down at his son.

“I’m not sure if orcs--” he began, then stopped. He’d never thought that orc children played with dolls much, but perhaps they did. He was hardly in a position to say, not knowing any personally himself.

“Tell you what,” he said instead, reaching down to clasp Beah’s mitten-clad hands in his own. “How about we go home, and I’ll pull out some of my spare cloth, and you can make her a doll yourself. One that looks just like her.”

For a moment Beah lit up at the suggestion. But then, just as quickly, his face crumpled again. “But I’m not good at making dolls,” he said.

Beah had seemed to be rather preoccupied lately with the idea of not being good at things. It troubled Mothen. “That’s rather a bold claim from someone who’s never made a doll before,” he said. “You might find that you’re in fact rather good at it.” When Beah did not seem cheered by this, he added, “I’ll help you with it. How does that sound?”

At that, Beah finally brightened. “Really?”

“Really. I did promise, didn’t I?”

Beah flung himself around Mothen’s legs in a hug that very nearly sent the older halfling tumbling. Mothen laughed and patted Beah on the head. “Alright then, steady on there. Let’s get on home, shall we? I don’t know about you but my toes are cold.”

“So,” Mothen said, “why don’t you tell me about your friend?”

It had been a cold drive back through the quickly falling dark, and by the time they had reached home the drifting flurries were turning to a proper snowfall. Now heavy flakes were swirling past the windows, promising to turn the little homestead white by morning. But inside it was warm and cozily lit, the air still lingering with the comforting aroma of mushroom stew and fresh bread from their recent dinner.

In truth, Mothen was still a little perplexed by his son’s new friendship. Beah had always been an especially quiet, shy lad and there had not been a great many opportunities for him to meet other children since the family had moved here. They were a little family, by halfling standards, only seven all told: Mothen and his wife Torli, her brother Fhurl, their parents Jay and Rosali, Fhurl’s husband Odah, and, of course, Beah. Theirs was one of a few homesteads that dotted the countryside outside Lantern Point, and although the neighbors were friendly enough in their way, none of them were close enough to allow for regular socializing. The local humans considered this a normal enough state of affairs, but to Mothen’s family, who had grown up among the close-knit homes of a halfling community, it couldn’t help but make for a rather lonely existence.

They did see other halfling families in Lantern Point sometimes, at the market or when they visited the Lady’s temple, and Mothen and Torli had had hopes that Beah would get on with the children there—but he seemed to spend most of those encounters hiding behind his parents or sitting alone in a quiet corner with a book. Mothen was enormously glad that Beah had finally made a friend whose company he clearly enjoyed, but he had to admit he certainly had not expected said friend to be a girl who was twice as tall as Beah and could hit a target with a throwing knife from twenty paces.

He knew that Thyrjka was an orc from the merchant clan that camped in the fields not far from their homestead every autumn, and that she and Beah had become friends since the clan had arrived this year three months or so ago--but that was about the limit of his knowledge. He’d meant to ask Beah more about her before now, but they’d all been so damnably busy all throughout the autumn and somehow he hadn’t managed it. But here they were now, sitting in Mothen’s workroom, Mothen at his work table and Beah sitting on his little stool kicking his legs against the rungs, and it was better late than never, he supposed.

Beah mulled over the question for a moment. “She’s very brave,” he said. “And very strong. And she—she knows a lot of things. A lot of stories. She’s going to be a bard and she says she has to practice a lot every day, to learn everything.”

“Oh, really?” That explained things somewhat. Beah had always loved stories—hearing them, reading them, writing them. No wonder they were friends, then. “That sounds very impressive.”

Beah nodded. “She’s been to so many places. She says, they traveled up here all the way from the Graywold. And in the spring, they’re going to sail all the way to the Wandering Isles!” He seemed both awed and concerned in equal measure. “That’s so far away!”

“Yes, it is,” Mothen said, trying not to smile. Beah had made a not inconsiderable voyage himself once, when they’d first traveled here, fleeing up the coast from one too many troubles back home. But he’d been too small at the time to remember it very well now, and since then he’d barely been any farther away from home than Lantern Point. The distances covered by the merchant clan on their travels, impressive enough on their own, must have seemed as good as traveling to another plane to Beah.

“She says...” Beah frowned in that way he always did when he was trying to figure out how to say something important. “She says she doesn’t mind traveling, and she loves her clan, but she still gets lonely sometimes. Because there aren’t so many other kids there, and she doesn’t know them so well because she used to be part of another clan. And she has to spend a lot of time on her own, with her lessons, so she doesn’t always do the same kinds of things they do together. So I thought—I thought if she had a doll—she’d have something to keep her company.”

Mothen couldn’t think of anything to say for a moment.

“Da?” Beah asked uncertainly.

By the Lady, Mothen thought, we’ve not done wrong raising this one here, and no mistake.

He got up and hugged Beah, who was rather surprised but readily returned the embrace. “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Mothen told him. “Shall we start looking at cloth?”

The first time Beah met Thyrjka was in the early autumn, on a bright clear day when the leaves were just starting to turn. He was on his way to the woods north of their homestead, walking out to his favorite secret reading spot. In one hand he held his favorite walking stick; the other rested on his satchel, which in addition to its regular sort of cargo—some interesting rocks, his toy tops, a still-warm cheesebread roll wrapped in a napkin, and of course, Sir Buckley—today contained a very important prize: a new book. He had gotten it only yesterday from the lending library in Lantern Point, and it promised to be an exceptionally good one: an adventure story set on the high seas, full of swashbuckling and treasure and sea serpents. He had been waiting impatiently to start it all throughout his morning tasks and lessons, which he usually enjoyed but had today seemed to last an unbearable age. Now it was finally almost time.

He walked eagerly up the road that wound all the way down the field-lands south of Lantern Point, while beside him one of their farm dogs trotted happily along. Unlike the other dogs, who were all of old halfling working breeds, Patches was a brown and gray mutt of distinctly uncertain parentage who had been found as a stray wandering puppy trying to dig into the chicken coop. She was deviously intelligent and as friendly as anyone could ask for, but distinctly lacking in both discipline and size compared to the other dogs. Uncle Odah, who trained all the dogs, had had to progressively admit that even when fully grown Patches would likely never be suited for herding, or guarding, or cart-pulling, although he hadn’t given up on the possibility that she might be a good rat-catcher. In the meantime, having thus far evaded a permanent occupation, Patches spent most of her time in the woods with Beah, chasing squirrels, rolling in creek beds, and generally endeavoring to get into various kinds of trouble.

The two of them were just about to turn off the main road toward the path that led into the woods when Beah saw a figure standing up ahead, looking into the trees. Beah stopped walking and bit his lip uncertainly. The woods were not his, not anyone’s. They were what his grandfather called greenscommon—land for anyone to forage from or graze their livestock on, although Grandda also usually followed that by grumbling that no one in these parts knew how to use it right. And indeed Beah had very rarely seen anyone besides himself and Patches in the woods, save for when Grandda came out foraging with him. But he knew he had no right to protest anyone else being there if they wanted.

Still, he did not much like talking to strangers at any time, and here was a stranger standing right in his path, where he would surely have to talk to them if he passed by. Nor did he like the idea that they might follow him into the woods and find his favorite special secret reading spot. He decided to leave the road early and cut across the field into the woods before they saw him.

But Patches had other ideas. As soon as she laid eyes upon the stranger she was off, galloping down the road and barking joyfully in anticipation of making a new friend. Beah had no choice but to chase after her, hoping the stranger would not be angry at her enthusiastic greeting.

As he got closer, he realized with some surprise that the stranger was an orc girl, so much shorter than any of the other orcs he had seen before that he had taken her for a human at a distance. He thought she must have been from the merchant clan that was camped up in the fields by the cliffs further down the road; she wore their colors, a blue and white pattern on the tops of her boots and on the band that tied back her thick black braids. There was a knapsack on her back and a couple of large knives strapped to her belt.

Beah slowed down nervously. He was well enough used to the orc merchants, who came every autumn and camped in the fields until spring, but he was still shy of them. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Da when he said that the merchants were friendly folk—it was just that they were all so very much bigger than he was, and they all seemed to have at least one weapon with them all the time. Da had said it was only because the roads were dangerous, but Beah still could not help but feel nervous. The girl up ahead was a lot closer to him in size, but she was still a good deal taller than him, and while she was not carrying a sword or ax or spear, her knives looked a lot bigger and more serious than the little utility knife Beah carried with him, or even than Ma’s biggest kitchen knife.

But Patches was evidently determined to make introductions regardless of whether Beah wanted to or not. Having reached the stranger, she began to jump up and down, endeavoring to lick the girl’s face and bark at the same time. The stranger, to Beah’s surprise and relief, laughed and ruffled Patches’s ears, not seeming to mind that she was getting slobbered all over.

A little emboldened by this, Beah jogged the rest of the way. “Patches, behave,” he panted as he got near. “Down. Get down.”

Patches paused briefly to consider this, and then promptly carried on jumping and barking.

“I’m sorry,” Beah said helplessly, trying to grab Patches by the collar and pull her away. “She’s not really trained all the way yet. She listens to Uncle Odah most of the time, but not me.”

“That’s alright.” The orc girl gently pushed Patches off of her. Patches sat on the path, wriggling in place. “I like dogs. What’s her name?”

“Er...Patches,” Beah said, thinking as he said it that orcs probably did not name their dogs things like Patches. Probably orc dogs were called things like—he struggled to think of something suitably ferocious—like Bloodtooth or Killer or Foe-Shredder or something like that. He wondered if she would laugh.

“Aw, you’re a good girl, Patches, eh?” Patches’s tail thumped hard against the dirt as the girl scratched her on the back. “For a moment there I thought you were coming to chase me off your land.”

“Oh, no, this isn’t our land,” Beah said. “We live away down the road. This isn’t anybody’s land, here. It’s greenscommon.”

She looked at him blankly. “Greenscommon?”

“Er—that’s what Grandda calls it. It means land that’s free for anyone to forage on. Although that’s really more because no one happens to own it, I think, because no one really does use it much, except me and Grandda sometimes.”

“Oh, forage land. That’s what I thought. It doesn’t look like farmland.” She looked up back into the woods. “That’s good, then. I’m out foraging right now. It’s been trail food the past couple of weeks—jerky, mostly. Not much time to prepare anything else. We’ve been in a hurry—the weather’s been chasing us all the way up the coast. Most everyone else is busy in camp right now, but Rosth—he does most of our cooking—he said if I could get him some nuts he’d make pasties tonight.” She looked at Beah hopefully. “Are there any good nut trees around here? I’d take just about anything at this point.”

Beah hesitated. He had spent enough time in the woods by now to know all the best places to find nuts, including what he was sure had to be the best hickory tree for miles and miles, maybe even in the whole world. But it was his spot, his tree that he discovered, one of his very favorite secret places in the wood. He was loathe to lead anyone else to it, let alone a total stranger, and a little selfish voice in his head whispered that if he just took her to one of the little runty trees on the border of the woodland, he could keep his spot to himself and she would never be the wiser anyway.

But that wouldn’t be right, and he knew it, really. If someone came to you asking for food, you didn’t give them scraps of stale bread so you could keep all the fresh loaves to yourself. You gave them the best you could give. That was hospitality. It was the sort of thing Alanya Lighthand taught people stern lessons about in the stories, usually by stealing all their fresh loaves in the night.

So he said, “I know a good hickory tree. I’ll show you. Come on.”

Her eyes lit up. “Great!”

They set off into the woods, with Patches running ahead, barking happily.

He took the girl to a place where the ground dipped just a little into a slight bowl bordered by an old outcropping of moss-grown rocks. Small white and blue flowers poked up from leaves dappled with early afternoon sunlight. In the middle of the depression the hickory tree stood tall and proud, great crooked branches stretching out in all directions, crowned all over in golden leaves. It had done particularly well for nuts this year, branches drooping with the promise of a good crop.

The orc girl stopped and looked up at the tree with a clear admiration. “Now that is a good tree, and no mistake.”

Beah felt oddly relieved, and a little proud. It would have been too terrible to bear if he’d had to give up one of his best secret spots only for it to not even be properly appreciated.

The girl took off her knapsack and began to search around the tree. Beah went to help her, but despite the richness of the crop above them, they did not find very many in the leaves below. Beah had to admit that he had already picked most of the good nuts from the lower branches. “I thought there would be more fallen by now,” he said gloomily. “But I guess animals have already eaten most of them.”

“Well, that’s not a problem.” The orc girl looked up at the tree, rubbing her chin thoughtfully with one hand. Then she unlaced and kicked off her boots and scrambled up the tree so quickly Beah was astonished.

“Come on,” the girl called down cheerfully from a high branch. “There’s plenty up here. You could get even higher than I could, I bet, you’re so small.”

Beah shook his head frantically. He had never had the courage to climb any higher than the tree’s very lowest branches. Just looking up at her so high above the ground made his mouth go dry.

He was sure she would make fun of him, but instead she looked at him for a moment, then shrugged and said, “Alright. You go get my knapsack and hold it open, then.”

Beah did so, and she began to pick off nuts and throw them down into the open knapsack. She was a good shot, and more of them hit the target than not, but a few went wide and Beah had to quickly step this way and that to catch them in the knapsack. Before long they were both laughing as she shook a rain of hickory nuts down from the branches and Beah ran about, catching as many as he could.

When the knapsack was full to overflowing, the girl climbed back down the tree, gingerly picking her way barefoot through the field of nuts that now littered the ground. “That was fun,” she said. “I didn’t expect to get done nearly so soon. Let’s eat a few—there’s plenty to spare.”

“I usually sit on those rocks over there,” Beah suggested. “They’re good for cracking nuts against.”

They both scooped up a few of the loose nuts on the ground and climbed up onto the rocks. Beah picked up the small flat rock he had set aside for cracking nuts and began attempting to break one open, without much success. The girl watched him for a moment, then shook her head and said, “Let me.”

She took the nut and in one quick movement simply bashed it against the rock, then pulled the cracked pieces of the husk away. Beah was in awe. It usually took him several minutes with a stone to get even one crack in a husk. “You’re really strong!”

She grinned, showing a great deal of very sharp teeth. “Tell you what, I’ll break the husks if you’ll get the meats out.”

Beah took his little knife from his satchel and began to pry the nutmeats out of the inner shells, while she broke the husks against the rock. Working together, it did not take long for them to shell the whole pile. Then they sat, legs swinging off the edge of the rock, enjoying the spoils of victory.

“My name’s Thyrjka,” the girl said after a little while.

“I’m Beah,” Beah said.

“Good to know you, Beah.” Thyrjka reached down for the knapsack and pulled a canteen from the outer pocket. She took a swig and offered it to Beah. “It’s just water,” she added, looking amused at his slightly dubious expression.

Beah took a relieved drink and handed the canteen back.

When they had eaten all the hickory nuts, Thyrjka picked up the knapsack again and, to Beah’s amazement, scooped out half the nuts and pushed them towards Beah.

“That’s your share,” she said.

“But—but I didn’t pick any,” he protested.

“You helped me gather them, though. Anyway, I wouldn’t have known this tree was here if you hadn’t shown me. You did some of the work, so you get some of the reward—that’s only fair.”

Beah considered this. Then he scooped up about half of the nuts Thyrjka had given him. “I’ve already gotten to pick some this year. I don’t need them as much,” he explained. “Besides, they wouldn’t all fit in my satchel.”

Thyrjka thought about that, then shrugged. “Alright. If you say so.”

She piled the leftover nuts back into her knapsack, then hopped off the rock and picked up her boots. While she laced them back up, Beah looked into the space at the top of the knapsack and thought about eating mostly jerky for two weeks.

“I know where to find mushrooms too,” he blurted out.

Thyrjka stopped with her lace half-tied and looked up at him wide-eyed. “Mushrooms?”

Beah nodded.

Thyrjka threw up her hands. “Well what are we standing around here for? Let’s go!”

Beah laughed and scrambled down the rock, and off they went.

Evening was beginning to fall by the time the two of them made their way back to the main road, knapsack and satchel now both comfortably full of the rewards of foraging. Beah was very thoughtful.

“Are you going to stay here long?” he asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer. The merchants always came in the fall and went away again in the spring.

Sure enough, Thyrjka said, “We’re staying for the winter. We’ll sell the rest of the goods we have in Lantern Point, and in the spring we take ship for the Wandering Isles to pick up more stock. Then we sail back to Rainharbor and travel up the coast all over again.”

Beah had never really thought about where the merchants went after they left—he only knew that they did leave, and eventually came back again. The Wandering Isles were a long, long way away. He couldn’t imagine making such an incredible journey every year.

“Well, I’m off back to camp,” Thyjrka said. She gave Patches one last scratch behind the ears. “Thanks for your help.”

“Wait!” Beah said. Thyrjka turned to look at him in surprise.“If—if you come back tomorrow, I could...I could show you some more good places. To forage, I mean. In the woods.”

Thyrjka thought for a moment. “I have to do camp chores and lessons in the morning,” she said. “But maybe in the afternoon?”

Beah nodded hopefully.

Thyrjka grinned. “It’s a deal then. See you tomorrow!”

She turned and headed off across the fields. Beah watched her go, then turned down the road back home. He hadn’t read a single page of his new book, and somehow he didn’t mind at all.

Thyrjka came back the next day, and the day after that, too.

It was a rich fall that year, and the foraging in the woods was plentiful. They gathered hickory nuts, and walnuts, and chestnuts; dug up mushrooms and wild herbs and roots; shook small sour apples down from wild apple trees and picked seathorn berries from the edges of the forest where the trees gave way to scrubby grass and the smell of salt on the breeze. Beah’s family had never seen him come back from the woods so heavily laden or so beaming with happiness.

“Now what’s gotten into you?” Ma asked as Beah carefully unpacked a full bag onto the kitchen counter for the third day in a row. “You’ve been especially productive lately.”

“I made a friend,” Beah said.

Ma stopped and stared. So did Da and Grandda and Uncle Fhurl, who had been talking over tea at the table.

“A friend?” Ma said.

“Her name’s Thyrjka,” Beah said. “She’s from the merchant camp. She’s really good at climbing trees.”

The adults all glanced at each other.

“Well that’s unexpected,” Grandda said.

“It’s excellent news,” Ma said firmly. “Tell Thyrjka she’s welcome to come for tea any time.”

But Beah and Thyrjka were too busy most days to come back home for tea. In-between gathering one thing or another they spent a good amount of time simply wandering the woods, tossing sticks for Patches, splashing in the stream, or throwing stones to knock pinecones off trees. Other times they would simply sit for a while, on a fallen log or a sunny patch of rocks, and enjoy the quiet.

“I’m going to be a bard,” Thyrjka told Beah one day as they sat skipping stones over a small pond. “My uncle Kvast is teaching me.”

Beah knew a little about bards, or thought he did. Many of the stories in his books were attributed to bards who had gone adventuring and come back with amazing tales and songs about their travels. He was in awe of the idea of bards, but he had never had a clear idea of how you went about becoming one. He had assumed it was something that just happened to particularly extraordinary people if they traveled far enough and did enough interesting things. The idea that you could simply decide to be one when you grew up had never occurred to him.

But he came to learn from Thyrjka that being a bard was not very much at all like he had imagined it—or at least, it wasn’t for orcs. Orcs took the business of being a bard as seriously as Beah’s family took the business of their crafting and farming. It was a lot of work, and a lot of practice. He was stunned to hear how much time Thyrjka had to spend memorizing songs and stories and learning history and all kinds of other things.

It was a lot of work, but it was important work. A good bard, Thyrjka told him proudly, was every bit as vital to the clan as a good hunter or horsemaster or haggler. You could keep the clan healthy and fed and safe, you could keep the carts rolling and the animals happy and bring the money in, but without a good bard the soul of the clan would start to die. Bards kept the history of the clan, remembered all the important things that had happened, and sang songs of good times and great deeds to raise spirits when times were difficult. Even more than that, they kept alive the stories of the old great heroes of legend, who never really died as long as their tales were still told.

Beah had never heard anyone talk about stories the way Thyrjka did.

He had always loved stories, loved reading them in his books or sitting at the fire while Grandma told a wild yarn that was more lie than true. But he had had for some time a creeping, guilty suspicion that as he got older he would have to stop loving stories quite so much and think about other things instead.

It was a troubling thought. Beah took turns helping out everyone in the family with their work, and he enjoyed all of his own little jobs: digging in the garden with Grandma, helping Uncle Odah feed the chickens and sheep and the two goats, baking bread and making preserves in the kitchen with Ma. He liked the softness and colors of the wool and cloth when he helped Da with the weaving and sewing, liked the smell of fresh wood and the gentle sounds of Uncle Fhurl’s tools when he helped in the woodshop. But he could not seem to find in any of these things what Uncle Fhurl called a spark, a deep-down love for something such that you could happily do it for the rest of your life.

The only thing Beah had been able to find anything that he might call a spark for was writing his stories, and it worried him. No one talked about it much, at least not when they thought he could hear, but he knew times had been hard for the family when they had first come to Lantern Point. They had had very little money to begin with. Things were better now, but he still wanted badly to be able to do something that would help his family, something important. Stories were a nice thing to have, and they could teach you things sometimes, like the stories about the Lady Goddess the priests told at the temple or the tales of Alanya Lighthand in the book Grandma had given him. But stories weren’t important like working in the garden or raising the animals or making food was important. Stories wouldn’t keep the household running, nor could they be sold at the market like Da sold his cloth and Uncle Fhurl sold his woodwork.

But Thyrjka spoke of stories as if they were not just important, but one of the most important things that there ever was. “Stories are history,” she told him. “Everything everyone’s ever done is a story. If someone doesn’t learn them, and tell them, we’d lose it all—all the great deeds, all the important discoveries, it’d be like they never happened, never meant anything.”

Beah had never thought about it like that. It was hard to argue with her unshakable convictions. But he still had an uneasy sense of doubt that his kind of stories were not that important, maybe not important at all. He was quiet at dinner that night, mulling over the matter.

The next day they were gathering firewood. They’d found a tree downed by a storm and Thyrjka had brought a hatchet and a wood-cart pulled by the biggest pony Beah had ever seen. In fact he was not entirely convinced that it was a pony, despite Thyrjka’s insistence; it was twice the size of Clara, and made him worry a little to think what orcish horses might be like.

Thyrjka was chopping up the tree, while Beah gathered up the logs and piled them into the cart. While they worked Thyrjka sang. Beah didn’t understand the words—it was all in Orcish—but he liked to hear it. The song went back and forth, steady and repetitive, making a rhythm that Thyrjka swung her hatchet to, and was so catchy that before long Beah was humming along to it.

When the tree was half gone they stopped to take a break, sitting with their backs against the cart, and Beah asked, “Do you only tell stories about important things?”

Thyjrka took a long drink from her canteen and gave him a thoughtful look. “Kvast says we don’t always know what’s important,” she said. “Not until much later, or sometimes not at all. You know that song I was just singing?”

Beah nodded.

“It’s a work song. I know a lot of them. That one’s for chopping wood. It doesn’t mean anything, not really, but it helps you keep the right rhythm, and that makes chopping easier.” She took another drink, and splashed some of the water on her face. “That was the first song Kvast ever taught me. I was disappointed, ‘cause I wanted to learn something big and grand, like a saga song. But he said the first thing I had to learn was that that song was just as important as any other song I was ever going to learn, even though the words don’t really mean anything. Because a saga song, it might be about something big, something important to remember, but it’s not important at all when you’re chopping wood. When you’re chopping wood, the most important song you can know is a song that helps you chop wood.”

Beah thought about this.

“So,” he said after a while. “So...there might be stories about things that don’t seem very important...but they could be really important, if you told them at the right time?”

Thyjrka nodded. “Exactly.”

“What if it’s…” Beah screwed up all his courage and blurted out, “What if it’s a story that’s not something that ever really happened at all? If it’s all made up? Could that be important too?”

“Of course,” Thyrjka said, so casually that Beah felt a little disoriented. “Saga songs are important because they tell us about something that happened, something we need to keep alive, something that needs to be told. But there are other songs that aren’t true at all or we don’t know if they’re true, and it doesn’t matter, because they’re good to listen to, or they teach you important things. A story can have something true to say even if the story itself isn’t true.”

“Oh,” Beah said.

And then, because he was not sure if he would be able to gather up his courage like this again, he said, “Can I tell you something?”

Thyjrka nodded. Beah reached up to the seat of the cart, where he had laid his satchel, and pulled out his oldest and most favorite doll.

“This is Sir Buckley,” he said nervously. He had never felt embarrassed of his toys before, but in front of Thyrjka, who carried knives and could climb tall trees and had been all over the continent and seemed to him to be mostly grown up already, he found himself feeling considerable trepidation. He was not sure if Thyrjka had any toys at all. She might think Sir Buckley was silly and babyish. But she had told him a lot about herself, and he had not said very much at all about himself, and besides he desperately wanted to tell someone his secret, small and quiet though it may be. “I make up stories about him. Um. About his adventures. I wrote some of them down, even. But they’re not...they’re not anything like your stories.”

Thyrjka did not laugh or sneer. She took Sir Buckley very carefully and looked at him. He was a halfling-shaped doll, with curly brown hair and button eyes and a green hooded cloak. Age and many adventures were beginning to show on him: his cloth skin and clothing were stained and discolored in places, several popped seams and tears had been repaired with discreet stitches, and his eyes were slightly different in size and color, one of the original buttons having been lost somewhere across the sea.

“He looks very daring.” Thyrjka traced a finger along the line of stitching that made up Sir Buckley’s confident smile. “What kind of stories?”

Beah told her, shyly at first and then, when she still did not laugh, more and more eagerly, about Sir Buckley’s many heroic exploits: climbing to the top of the world’s tallest mountain to pick the legendary sky fruit; swimming to the bottom of a great whirlpool to rescue a lost pearl for a mer-rabbit; meeting the Prince of All Dogs, who was so impressed by Sir Buckley’s heroism that they became constant companions.

Thyrjka listened raptly. When Beah trailed off during the story of Sir Buckley and the Dog Prince’s quest to retrieve a falling star and return it to the moon, she insisted he tell her what happened next.

“I can’t,” he admitted. “I haven’t, um, finished it yet.”

“Well you have to finish it!” she told him. “I want to know how it ends. Do they ever make it to the moon?”

“I think they do,” Beah said. “But I’m not sure what happens after that.”

“If you find out,” Thyrjka said, “You have to tell me. Deal?”

Beah smiled. “Deal.”

Thyrjka looked down at Sir Buckley again, an odd expression on her face. “Where did you get him?”

“Da made him for me,” Beah said. “He’s made me a lot of dolls, but Sir Buckley’s the oldest. He’s the only thing I brought from our old home. He came across the sea with me.”

Thyrjka looked up then. “You’ve been across the sea?”

Beah nodded. “We used to live in Kellsdowne, but we had to leave. I was really small, so I don’t remember it much. Grandda says things went bad there, but no one talks about it much. We had to come here on a ship, and we couldn’t take much with us. I don’t remember it very well now, but I was...well, scared, a lot. I didn’t know where we were going, and I was scared of the water, and all the noise...so I held onto Sir Buckley all the time, so he could keep me safe. I still keep him with me, just...just in case I get scared.”

He said this last without thinking, and was immediately embarrassed to have said it. But Thyrjka only looked wistfully at Sir Buckley.

“I get scared too sometimes,” she said.

Beah stared. Thyrjka could climb the tallest trees in the woods while laughing, had traveled all the way across the coast, could tell bloodcurdling ghost stories with a grin on her face. She could throw a knife and shoot a bow and fight with an ax. She had a scar on her nose from falling off a horse and one on her arm from a wild dog and one on her hand from a fire that had taken one of their wagons. It had never, ever occurred to him that she could be afraid of anything.

“What do you get scared of?” he asked.

“Sometimes...” she said, “People ask me to give them a song, or a story, that I’ve learned, just around the fire, like. And I say no, because I don’t have it right yet. But it’s not that really. It’s—I do have it right, I know I’ve learned it right, I can recite it to myself, but when people are looking at me—even if I just think about people looking at me—I can’t do it. It scares me so much it makes my stomach hurt. And that’s an awful thing for a bard, you know.” She smiled shakily at him. “I’ve worked so hard but I’m starting to think—maybe I just can’t do it.”

“But...you sing in front of me,” Beah said, still feeling thrown. “You were singing just now. And, and you’ve told me stories. You told me all those ghost stories, and the story about the bandits, and...”

Thyrjka pulled her legs to her chest and rested her chin on top of her knees. “I don’t know. Somehow I don’t mind around you. It doesn’t feel like it would be so bad, if I didn’t do it perfectly. When I’m in front of my clan...I feel like it has to be perfect, or else...” She sighed and shrugged. “I just want them to think well of me. I haven’t been with this clan too long, you know.”

“You haven’t?” Beah said in surprise. He’d assumed that Thyrjka had always been with the clan, just as he had always been with his family.

“No. See, when I was born we were with my grandmother’s clan. It was her and my mam and my uncle and me, and some others. We used to trade horses. But it wasn’t...great. There was a lot of trouble. We never had much money, and we were traveling in the wilderlands in Ulstver. It’s mostly wild down there. Lots of dangers on the road, and not a lot of people to sell to even if you made it to a town. Then Grandmother died, and I guess she was really the one holding it all together, because most everyone else up and left after that. Aside from the three of us, the only one that stayed with us was Basthyn, our horsemaster. Good old Basthyn, she said she wasn’t going anywhere...” She smiled a little. “But we couldn’t make it any more with so few of us, so we had to set off north. It was hard. We didn’t make it out before the snows came, and we lost most of the horses. But eventually we found Clan Szaghrail, and they took us in. And it’s been better. A lot better. They treat us in just like we always belonged there. I’ve got no right to complain, I know. But I just...I feel alone a lot of the time, still. I want to prove myself. I want to make them proud. But I’m scared.”

She rubbed a hand across her eyes. Beah had absolutely no idea what to do, but he felt he had to do something, so he scooted closer and tentatively put his hand on hers. She gripped it back, tight.

“I’m supposed to sing for everyone, on Ravensfall,” Thyrjka went on after a little while. “Not anything big. Just a little song. But it’s important. And I have to get it right, and I’m—I’m not sure I can do it.”

“What’s Ravensfall?” Beah asked quietly.

“You don’t know?--no, I guess you wouldn’t. It’s on the solstice. There’s a legend, see...well, it’s a long one, but it’s about the first winter, a long long time ago, and how it went on so long the world got too cold and dark to live in, until Kyanygach saved everyone. He’s one of the old heroes,” she added, seeing his confused expression. “It’s a great story. And every year we tell it again, in honor of Kyanygach. Kvast’s going to be telling the story. It’s one of the most important things a bard can do, telling one of the great old stories like that. Someday, if I really do become a bard, I’ll have to tell the story on Ravensfall. But right now I can’t even do one song.” She thumped her fist against the ground in helpless frustration.

They sat there for a while, Thyrjka staring gloomily at her knees, Beah thinking hard.

“Well,” he said eventually, “you could—you could practice with me.”

Thyrjka lifted her head slowly. “I could?”

“Sure. You said you don’t mind singing when it’s just me, so you could sing it to me and—and to Patches and Sir Buckley and, and if that’s not enough I’ll bring all my dolls and you can sing to them too. Would that help?”

Thyrjka smiled tremulously at him. “You know, I think it might be worth a shot.”

The weather was turning from crisp and cool to properly cold. The trees were mostly bare, and there was less to forage every day. Beah and Thyrjka spent little time gathering now, and more time sitting around a little fire by the hickory tree, toasting bread and talking. Thyrjka would climb up on the rocks and practice her song while Beah and Patches listened and applauded, or barked, as the situation called for it.

“Do you want to borrow Sir Buckley?” Beah asked her one afternoon when she was feeling particularly glum. “For when you have to perform, I mean.”

It was a hard thing to offer. He’d never been parted from Sir Buckley before. But it was the best comfort he could think to give, and after all he did have other dolls, while Thyrjka did not.

Thyrjka looked sorely tempted, but she shook her head. “He belongs with you,” she said. “What if you needed him?”

Beah was secretly glad she had said no, and guilty for feeling glad. He thought about it all the way home that evening. After supper he took out all his dolls and lined them up on his bed. He would pick one, he had decided, to loan to Thyrjka.

But looking at his dolls—all seven of them!--somehow only made him feel worse. He had so many dolls. Was it really right to give her one only to demand she give it back? What if she needed it again later? She was going so far away, all the way to the Wandering Isles. Who knew how many scary things she might encounter on the way?

No, there was nothing for it. He would have to give Thyrjka one of his dolls, to keep. That was what Alanya Lighthand would say to do, he was sure.

Only...when he looked at the dolls, trying to decide which one she would like best, none of them seemed right. There was Sir Buckley, and the Prince of Dogs, and two more halfling dolls, a rabbit, a fox, and a cat. They were all dolls made for a halfling. Not only that, they were dolls made for him, and only for him. Thyrjka needed a doll that was hers.

And just like that, he knew what to do.

Mothen had sold or used most of his wool and cloth for the season, but he laid what he had left out onto his work table and hummed to himself as he made some measurements.

“We can make it work,” he said. “But first, we need to plan out exactly what we’re going to make. Do you want the doll to look exactly like her?”

Beah hesitated, not sure how to word what was on his mind. “Not exactly exactly,” he said slowly. “I want it to look like her the way Sir Buckley looks like me.”

“Ah...” Mothen nodded. “I see. Yes. I think we can do that.”

Beah helped him dye the cloth, carefully directing his father on the exact right shade, dunking it in the dye basin and giggling when his hands came out stained green. While Mothen cut and sewed the doll’s body, Beah picked out the right buttons for the eyes and the right yarn for the hair.

“She should have scars,” he said, watching closely as Mothen sewed the hair in.

Mothen paused, needle in midair. “Scars?”

Beah nodded. “Thyrjka has scars. Her doll should have scars too.”

Mothen blinked. Then he shrugged. “Alright. Where do you want the scars?”

They settled on one scar on the face and another on the arm, stitched in neatly with white thread. “You know,” Mothen said as he finished the second scar, “If you asked very nicely, I imagine your uncle might just be willing to help you make a sword for her.”

Beah’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Well, go ask and see. I don’t think he’s too busy right now--”Mothen had barely finished speaking before Beah had bolted out of the room.

“Goodness,” Mothen said to the doll in his hand. “You must be something special.”

Fhurl was a little confused by Beah’s request at first. “Slow down there,” he said, putting down his whittling knife. “You’re making what now?”

“An orc doll. For my friend.” Beah was trying desperately to be calm and polite, and nearly dancing on the spot from the effort of it. “Da said maybe you could make a sword to go with it. Um. Please.”

Fhurl cupped his chin in one hand and looked at Beah for a long moment. Beah tried not to squirm. He could never tell what Fhurl was thinking when he had that look on his face.

“A sword for a doll? I’ve never done that before. But I shouldn’t think it would be too hard.” He pushed his wheelchair over to the box of wood scraps and began to look through it. “I think I have...ah, yes. Here we are.” He held up a block of wood that had been cut off the end of a larger project. “Would this be about the right size?”

“Yes!” Beah said eagerly.

“Is the doll sewn yet? Alright. Go bring it to me and I’ll make some measurements.”

Once Beah had retrieved the doll, Fhurl looked at it for a few moments, turning it around in his hands. “Hm,” he said. “Interesting.” He drew some lines on the wood with a piece of marking crayon. “If your father can supply a piece of cord, about so big?” he said, pointing to a small circle he had sketched where the sword’s hilt would be. “I’ll make a hole here to tie it through. Then she can tie the sword to the doll’s hand if she likes, and it won’t get lost.”

He smiled at Beah’s excitement. “Alright. I’ll get to work. You’d best go take this back to your da so he can finish it.”

Mothen dug into his scraps box to put together a tunic and trousers for the doll. Some leftover leather trimmings made a pair of boots and a belt. From an old blanket in the rag basket he made a soft gray cloak and hood and, at Beah’s insistence, trimmed it in blue and white. The sword, as promised, had a hole for a cord, and fit neatly into the doll’s hand.

“She’s perfect,” Beah said, looking at the doll with something like awe.

Beah had often been too excited to sleep the night before Gracenight, but this was the first time he was more consumed with the anticipation of giving a gift than receiving one. He laid awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to imagine Thyrjka’s reaction. She would like it, wouldn’t she? She had to like it. But what if she didn’t? He tossed and turned for what seemed like years before finally, having exhausted himself, drifting to sleep.

Beah was so excited to deliver his present to Thyrjka that he did not think very much about the fact that he would have to visit the merchant camp to find her. It was only when he got close enough to see the patterns on the carts and wagons that his heart began to sink a little. The camp was big, even bigger somehow than he had imagined, a seemingly endless field of carts and wagons, full of animals and people all bustling about with a great deal of noise, the air thick with the smell of campfires and cooking.

He crept closer, nervously clutching the wrapped package to his chest, looking for any sign of Thyrjka. Everything in the camp seemed to be gigantic. Even the cart wheels towered over him. There were orcs everywhere—talking, laughing, singing, sitting on the steps of wagons or around campfires, carrying things here and there—but every one of them that he could see was terribly tall. He could not see Thyrjka or any other child his own age anywhere among them.

Beah stood by one of the outer wagons, so far unnoticed, trying to work up his courage. Everywhere around him was noise and movement. The people walking past him were so tall he barely came up to their knees. He did not even know where to begin looking for Thyrjka, and though he managed to whisper out a faint, “Excuse me--” a few times, the sound was immediately swallowed up by the cacophony of the camp.

And then, just as he was beginning to feel totally hopeless and more than a little afraid someone would step on him, an orc man holding a lit pipe walked over to the very wagon Beah was standing next to. He settled himself into a comfortable lean against the side of the wagon, took a deep draw on his pipe, looked around lazily as he puffed out a smoke ring—and saw Beah.

Beah opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“Well, hello there.” The orc crouched down and looked at Beah curiously. He had thick black sideburns and heavy-lidded eyes that made him look almost sleepy. “What’s a little thing like you doing here?”

“I’m. I’m. I’m--” Beah took a few frantic breaths. “I’m—looking for Thyrjka.”

“Thyrjka?” The orc cocked his head and looked at him strangely. For a terrible moment Beah feared desperately and irrationally that he was about to say that Beah had the wrong camp entirely, there was no Thyrjka here and never had been.

But instead he said, “Now there’s a thing. What’dya want Thyrjka for? I didn’t know she was expecting callers.”

“She’s not. Er, I mean, I didn’t tell her I was coming.” It occurred to Beah then that he really should have, in fact, told her he was coming. “But I-I’m her friend. I brought her a present.” He held up the package desperately to prove this.

The orc looked at the package and slowly lifted his eyebrows. “A present? Well now, don’t that beat all. We’d better make sure she gets it, then.”

Abruptly he stood up and, before Beah even knew what was happening, the orc was swinging him up into the air and onto his shoulders. Beah had been picked up plenty of times by Mothen, but this was something else entirely. He was so high up the ground seemed to yawn away from him.

“Wouldn’t want you to get trampled down there,” the orc said cheerfully. “Now, you just hold on tight and we’ll go find Thyrjka.”

He set off across the camp with Beah clinging to his shoulders, torn between terror and exhilaration. He was so high up he felt light-headed, but he couldn’t help but marvel at how different the camp looked from his new vantage point. From there he could see it was not the chaotic labyrinth it had seemed to him, but laid out neatly and precisely, with the wagons arranged so that they protected the inner camp from the weather.

It did not take long for the orc to find Thyrjka. She was sitting on the steps of a wagon, frowning down at a hefty book on her knees.

“Oi, Thyrjka!” Beah’s new friend called to her. “Stop studying for half a minute. You’ve got a guest.”

Thyrjka glanced up, looking distracted and irritable. Then she saw Beah, and her mouth fell open in shock.

“Beah!” She slammed the book shut and ran forward as the orc lowered Beah to the ground. “I didn’t expect—aren’t you busy today?”

“Yes, but I had to come here first,” Beah said. He took a deep breath and held out the package. “I brought you a present.”

Thyrjka took the package slowly, confused. “A present? Why?”

“It’s Gracenight! You give presents on Gracenight.”

She looked down at the package uncertainly. “I don’t have a present for you.”

“That’s okay. I know you have other things to do today. But I wanted to give this to you.” He shuffled his feet nervously. “I...hope you like it.”

Thyrjka untied the ribbon and slowly, carefully, unwrapped the cloth. Beah watched on tenterhooks, almost vibrating with anxiety as Thyrjka looked at the doll. What if she didn’t like it?

“It’s beautiful,” Thyrjka whispered. “For me? Really?”

Beah nodded, heart singing with relief. “Da helped me make her, just for you.” Then, immediately struck with a nudge of guilt, he said, “Well, really, Da mostly did it. And my uncle Fhurl, he made the sword. I’m not so good at making dolls. But I told them what it should look like. And—um—well, I thought maybe—you could take her, when you go on the ships, and—you’d have someone to hold onto, like I had Sir Buckley.”

He was cut off by Thyrjka lifting him up into a hug so tight he squeaked a little in surprise.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The fires were lit and the clan assembled, murmuring and chattering, children playing with noisemakers, all waiting eagerly for the festivities to begin. Thyrjka walked, knees shaking, to the front of the crowd, where the drummer and the string player were warming up. Kvast walked beside her, his hand firm and reassuring on her shoulder.

“You’ll do just fine,” he murmured.

Thyrjka nodded. Her stomach seemed to be trying to crawl up her throat.

Kvast walked over to speak with the musicians, leaving Thyrjka to take her position in front of the crowd. The noise began to settle down, dropping into silence as everyone turned their eyes to the performers. In a few seconds, the only sounds were from the crackling of the fires and the occasional very small child fussing slightly.

Then the drummer began to a low, steady rhythm. That was her cue. The song that would begin the story, that called everyone gathered there to attend and listen to the tale…

Everyone was watching her.

Her hand went to the doll hanging at her belt, fingers brushing against the soft yarn hair. She thought about Beah, sitting by the hickory tree, clapping and cheering for her.

Thyrjka took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began to sing.

#d&d #dungeons and dragons #dnd #short story tag #short story: bardic inspiration #pl: lantern point #ch: lantern point halflings #ch: clan szaghrail

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