#power the more it drains you and fills up the patron untill you die) so i could link the two things together

[vvanessaives]

can't stop thinking of violante's appearance changing as the game goes on. thinking of like her left eye turning completely black, sclera and iris, the skin of her left cheek turning black like a poison is spreading through it and black veins running visibly all around that side of her face and maybe there's signs of that spreading to the rest of her face etc etc. i have no specific plot point for this i just love imagining her rotting from the outside (since she's rotten inside already)

[valdemarismynonbinarylove]

Nighthawk

Chapter 2 -Intoxicated Interrogations

Beta Reader/Co-Writer: @actuallynonsense

——————————————————————————

Diluc rarely worked shifts at the tavern; he was too busy to ignore his duties as the winery owner. He came in once a week at most, sometimes once every two weeks. When he came in for his second shift that month, Charles pulled him aside. “There’s been a woman asking for you.”

“A woman?” He sighed, “Charles, there are many women who ask for me.”

“She’s been coming in every night; she asks if you work that night. When I tell her you don’t, she just leaves. She’s over by the front counter, I told her you were coming in today, so I don’t know how you want to handle it.”

Diluc nods, “I’ll take care of it, thank you for telling me.” He walked into the back room and put his coat up. Did she know him? Did she think that he was the type to go for older married women?

He tied his hair up and walked out to the bar, he noted that the woman had the same gold chain on, a hefty ring on her finger and the same half empty drink beside her. But the seat next to her was filled by a certain cavalry captain. He was on his first glass of Death After Noon, he had just gotten here then.

Diluc moved to him, “Before I let you have another one you need to pay your tab, it’s been growing.”

The cryo-user drained his glass and sighed heavily, a look of feigned sorrow painted over his features. “You won’t even cover your dear brother’s tab?”

Before Diluc could refute his statement, the woman spoke up.

“Master Crepus had two sons?”

“You didn’t know?” Kaeya tilted his head.

“I was only aware of Master Diluc, did Master Crepus remarry?”

Diluc and Kaeya stared at her in confusion, “My father was never married, Kaeya was adopted.”

“Ah, my mistake.” Silence hung over them, they both stared at the woman as she tried to change the subject. “Forget I said anything, I must be thinking of someone else.” She laughed nervously.

-

Diluc let it go, the talk about his father wasn’t something he enjoyed. The hardest part of losing someone is the amount of times someone brings it back up. He didn’t want to remember the pain of holding his dying father in his arms, crying out to him to stay alive.

He knew he would never escape the small traces of pity in people’s eyes when they looked at him — the commiserative look made him want to yell. He was left an orphan by fate’s cruel design, alone to cover his pain with work and money. Was that all he needed to do to forget the pain, to live the life of a King?

But can wealth and power truly banish those painful memories?

The pain of his life has sparked thoughts in the back of his head, they intrude his day and scream at him to hurt something, anything.

He gripped the spotless glass tightly in his hands, wanting to crush it between his gloved fingers. He wanted to yell at everyone to leave his bar, the noise was getting too loud. The noise in his head was screaming.

It was all too loud.

Yell at them.

Shut up, please.

Crush the glass.

Leave me alone.

It’s your fault.

Please.

You’re the reason he’s dead.

“Hang on,” Kaeya turned, “Why don’t you know anything about Master Crepus? You claim to be aware that Diluc is his son, but how would you know that if you don’t know anything else about Crepus?”

“I knew Crepus back in the day, we were both very young, naive. Diluc wasn’t alive then.”

“And yet you know nothing about him? That doesn’t seem true.”

Diluc stopped, letting his grip loosen on the glass as he placed it under the counter amongst the dozen others, he listened in on their conversation.

“Well,” She refrained from looking at either of the brothers, “I’m getting old, and I haven’t seen Crepus in years. It’s not like he’s all I think about.”

“I never said he was all you think about.” He argued.

“And I just said he wasn’t.” She raised brows.

He smirked, “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Just one, maybe two at most.”

He ordered her a Death After Noon, she took a sip and grimaced at the amount of alcohol in it; it burned down her throat and left a bitter finish on her tongue. Kaeya drank his glass like he had just been poured water.

“Tell me more about how you know Crepus.” He said, propping his head in his hand as Diluc poured him a new drink.

“I’ve known him since I was a child, we grew up together.” She sipped her drink, “He was a nice boy, very sweet. He used to buy me flowers on my birthday.” She sighed at the memory and took a longer sip of her bitter drink. “I do miss him; we grew into adults together.”

“Sounds romantic.”

She flushed red, “No, no we weren’t romantic.” She waved her hands in front of her face.

“So, you knew Crepus well? Why act like you don’t know him?”

“No reason.” She finished her drink, placing the empty glass next to her. “I’ve just begun to forget things about him.”

“Refill her drink.” He told Diluc, leaning closer to the woman in front of him.

“I haven’t spoken about him in years. When I found out he was dead, I just…what could I do? I wasn’t in Mondstadt. I was in Inazuma, trying to live a normal life.” She sighed, “I really do miss him, he was a wonderful man.”

She watched Diluc place another glass of wine in front of her, she grabbed it and eagerly began to try and drink the memory of Crepus away.

“Slow down,” Kaeya warned, “That’s not going to feel good tomorrow.”

“I don’t care anymore.” She mumbled, becoming increasingly more intoxicated as minutes passed, her eyes half-lidded and her hands slightly shaky.

After a few minutes of silence, she slurred slightly, “I hate thinking what could have been if I never left.” She groaned, “He must have truly hated me for leaving.”

Kaeya smirked slightly, he was getting her to crack open. “What could have been? I thought you weren’t romantic?”

“I meant friend wise, I did say we weren’t romantic. What are you trying to get out of me?”

“I’m not trying to get anything out of you, we’re just having a friendly conversation.”

“It feels like you’re trying to get something out of me.”

“What do you have to hide that you can’t let out?”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“You haven’t looked Diluc in the eyes ever since we’ve been here, you keep fidgeting in your seat, and you’re getting awfully defensive over an offhanded question. Obviously, you’re anxious — so, that begs the question: why?” The Cavalry Captain folded his hands, leveling a sly gaze at her over his emptied glass. “What is it that you’re not saying?”

Her green eyes widened. “I’m not—”

Kaeya moved his seat closer and leaned in, “How did you really know Crepus?”

“Kaeya—”

“—Enough.” Diluc interrupted, sending a sharp glare at the cryo-user. “Leave my patrons alone, stop interrogating her like she’s a criminal. Get out of my tavern.”

“Don’t start to get harsh on me just because we’re talking about your dear old daddy.”

“Get out.” He repeated.

“Am I not a paying customer? It’s bad for business to kick me out.”

“I won’t ask again.”

“What is it about your father that you can’t handle? Are you really still in grieving? It’s been ten years, Diluc, how much time do you need? Are you that much of a daddy’s boy?”

“You grew up with him as well, you act like he didn’t raise you. Thought I guess maybe somewhere along the line you had failed to mention your true motive.”

“He was a fool who took in a child that wasn’t his.”

“Was he supposed to leave you there? If I had known what you were going to turn into I would have begged him to leave you there to die.”

“You’re awfully feisty tonight, Crepus does bring up bad memories for you doesn’t he? Remember the day you two were walking back to the Winery? You were so young back then, so naive.”

“Yet you’re the same idiot you were then as you are now.”

“Don't be so harsh, Diluc.”

“I won’t ask again, get out or I’ll throw you out.”

“I’d like to see you tr—“

He was interrupted as Diluc walked over from behind the counter and grabbed his collar harshly, dragging the Cavalry Captain to the door. The redhead tossed him out of the tavern and turned to the man standing outside, Patton.

“Don’t let him back in.”

“Understood, Master Diluc.”

Diluc didn’t even bother to give Kaeya a second glance before he turned and went back inside to finish off his shift. The woman was beginning to stand up to leave. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re drunk. Stay here until closing so I can make sure you’re home safe.” He offered, almost as an apology. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“Thank you, Master Diluc.” She sat back down.

“Just Diluc is fine.” He grabbed a glass and filled it with cold water, placing it in front of her.

She nods, gratefully drinking it down. “I’ve never drank this much before, I don’t know what happened.”

“He distracted you, that’s how. He does it often, this isn’t the first time I’ve kicked him out.”

“It seems to be the first time you’ve truly lost your cool on him.”

He didn’t say anything, he just gave her a glance and took her empty glass, filling it up again.

They sat in silence for the rest of the night, Diluc served his final customers and cleared off numerous tables as the tavern began to close. The sky had fallen black by the time the woman had begun to sober up.

She had begun to dose off on the bar, her head resting on her hand as she tried to keep her eyes open, waiting for Diluc to take her home. The fifth glass of water she drank was left half full, the sweat of the cold liquid beginning to leave a white ring below it. She sighed and rubbed her eyes vigorously, hoping to wake herself up even just a little.

Diluc cleared his throat next to her, she threw her head back and looked up at him with half lidded eyes. “Time to go?” He gave her a nod and slipped on his coat. She looked and saw that her glass was gone, when did he clean that? Wasn’t it just there?

She let out a tired sigh and got up from her seat, making sure she wasn’t going to leave without anything. Diluc led her to the door and held it open for her, she gave a small nod in thanks and closed her eyes tightly as the harsh cold wind nipped against her exposed skin. She shook her head, her body letting out a shiver of discomfort.

Diluc closed the door and locked it up, placing the key back in his pocket as he turned to look at the woman. The tip of her nose was a light shade of pink, her hair gently whipping around from the small gusts of wind that blew past them. He noticed her slightly shaking, quickly taking off his coat he held it out to her.

“Here.”

“No, I couldn’t possibly—“

“You need it more than I do, just take it while I walk you home.”

“Thank you, Diluc.” She smiled and placed his coat on, the warmth of the fabric radiated onto her skin as she buttoned it up.

He just offered a nod.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I never told you my name.” She apologized, “I’m Aurelius.”

“Well then, lead the way.”

“Of course, follow me. I’m in Springvale.”

The petite blonde took him down the pathway she used to walk down every night with Crepus. The stars were never this bright in Inazuma, when she took late night strolls down the island harbor. She looked up at Diluc, and when his eyes met hers, she felt like she was sixteen, the man next to her, her best friend.

Diluc didn’t have a beard, but if he did ever grow one out, she would have believed he was Crepus. They were almost identical, yet Diluc was older than the last time she ever saw Crepus.

When the woman spoke again, her tone was wistful, tinged slightly bittersweet. “You dress just like your father, you know? He dressed the same from his youth up into his early twenties.”

“I styled my clothing after his," Diluc replied with a short sigh, before adding absently, "I thought maybe I could submit myself into his role easier.”

“It must have been hard, taking his spot so abruptly.”

His expression darkened, lips thinning into a tight line. The sympathy overflowing in her voice had the same cadence as the citizens who stopped by to console him after his father had died, those empty, thoughtless words which could accomplish nothing but garner pity. “I apologize, Aurelius, but I don’t wish to speak about this.”

“Of course," she hastily retracts. "It was ill-mannered of me to bring this up, apologies.”

He was grateful that she easily dropped the topic, he wasn’t one for idle conversation anyway.

The Springvale sign reached her gaze, she made her way up to it and took off Diluc’s coat.

“I’ll be alright now, thank you.”

“Goodnight, Aurelius.” He turned, placing his coat on.

“Ah, wait!” She grabbed his arm. “If I need to contact you, how would I be able to do that?”

“You can set up an appointment through the winery, though I cannot promise that a spot will be available. My schedule has been rather busy recently.”

“I will try my luck.” She smiles, “There are just a few things I wish to say.”

“Is now not a good time? You have my attention.”

“No, now truly is not a good time, I still feel a little ill. Better for me to come to my mind before I start spewing nonsense.” She bowed gently in apology, grasping her hands together tightly.

“Suit yourself.” He gives a single, short nod before adding, “Try to stay away from Kaeya for a while.”

“Trust me, I will.” She laughed. “Goodnight, Diluc.”

“Goodnight, Aurelius.” He said once more, making his way to the winery.

Aurelius stood and watched his figure disappear down the small dirt road, she let out a sigh, turning and walking up into her house.

——————————————————————————

@qiqiscocogoatmilk @zeyyackerman

Thanks for Reading!

[chalmogsico-college]

The witch Mint, the wizard Tortoise, and Luara who hadn't found her style quite yet, carefully made their way through the dark pine forest just outside of the school grounds. The perpetual frost that clung to the cold soil crinkled under foot as a sharp wind rattled the branches above them. The three mages were warm in their enchanted robes even as their breath fogged the air infront of them.

"I'm sure he's fine," Mint said, his arms crossed tight across his chest and his voice shaking just so slightly, "Hell, he was probably just running late. I bet he's already at the class room and we're going to be in trouble for not being there."

"No way," Luara replied, as she pushed onward towards the small cabin they knew was somewhere around here, "Professor Van Shamanov is never late, and you know how weird hes been acting over the last few weeks,"

"He's been acting weird because you keep trying to talk him into summoning a new familiar," Tortoise rolled their eyes, "Let the old bastard grieve,"

"Grieving is one thing, but his familiar has been dead for like a hundred years? He needs to move on, and like, its obvious he's capital L Lonely," Luara turns on her heel to follow a different path through the woods, hopeful that This would be the right one. She doesn't worry about getting lost, worst case scenario Mint's insane sense of direction would save them.

"Yeah, I'm going to side with Luara on this one, Tort," Mint nodded as Tortoise gasped in mock offense, "You heard what Headmistress said, the man's getting to the edge of what The Viper will allow. He shouldn't be all alone in the end, and you know he won't just make a friend or something. Too much of a loner,"

"Nope! He won't make new friends because his trio is broken," Luara said,

"And how would you know that?" Tortoise quirked a brow, "Been snooping on our favorite GILF?"

Luara stopped and turned to glare at them, and to their credit, Tortoise managed to not flinch or look away for an entire ten seconds, "He isn't a GILF because that would imply one of us wants to fuck him," Tortoise intoned like a scolded child as they dropped their gaze.

"Good neither." Luara turned to set back on their way as Mint snickered.

Eventually they did find their way to the rotting cabin, a full two hours after class was supposed to have started. Luara took the old brass knocker in hand and thunked it down hard against its strike plate three times.

A moment passed with no response.

Luara raised her hand to knock again as the door swung open on screeching hinges.

Professor Van Shamanov's impressive bulk filled the doorway as he stooped down to glare at his visitors from below the head jamb.

His eyes softened as he saw his startled students, bending to step out of his home and closing the door behind himself as he spoke, "Hello," his voice was rough with too many years spent in fire warmed rooms, "I suppose I'm a bit late for class aren't I?" He untied his robe from around his waist to put it on properly as he started back towards the college.

"Yes sir," Luara never thought of herself as short until she was having to jog to keep pace with their frankly giant teacher's strides, "We were worried about you, its not like you to be late,"

"Yes, I know I've been out of it lately," He nods before changing the topic, "Did you three complete your assignment? Gathered all of your components for today?" he holds out a hand and whistls to call his staff to him, the gnarled thing shot out of the woods like a torpedo but he caught it with practiced ease before it could splinter itself against the trunks of one of the trees, "And are you positive the components you chose are the ones you want to use? The difference could very well change the course of you lives."

Mint fussed with the bundle in his pocket before nodding. Tortoise pulled theirs from under their hat and smiled as they held it up proudly. Luara pulled two from her coat, one wrapped in the yellow she preferred for her spell work, one in the soft lavender Van Shamanov did.

"Yeah, and I brought one for you two," Luara chirped as non chalantly as she could.

To all three students surprise the professor actually held out a hand for it, "I'm curious what you think I'd put in that circle," he huffed good naturedly.

Luara handed it over and giddily tossed a smirk over her shoulder at the others as Van Shamanov undid the bindings to open it up.

A moment later she crashed into him as he stopped dead in his tracks to turn towards her. Luara staggered a step back, "Everything okay professor?" She asked nervously.

"Who told you? I assume Katy, but Headmistress might have known as well," his gaze was focused on the items in his palm, a dried orchid bloom, a nickel ring, and a wishbone.

"Dean Deane ," Luara said with an averted gaze, it wasn't like the professor to show such open anger, "She thinks you need to summon a new familiar, and that if you had the same components you did for your first it might be easier for you,"

"Please do not snoop like this again." Van Shamanov said firmly before turning back on his path, "We will be quiet until we get to class," he commands.

---

The other two trios that made up their summoning 833 class perked up as Van Shamanov entered.

"My apologies for being late. Is everyone ready to begin?" He pulled a tarp from his desk drawer and tossed it into the air. It straightened itself out and settled ready for use in the clear spot in the center of the room.

He waits for the murmurs of agreement to die down before starting on his spiel, "I trust that every last one of you has put the necessary time and thought into what will be happening today. A familiar is a life partner, they will be at your side through thick and thin and will be entirely reliant on you for the magical energy that sustains their like. They will aid you in every way they can and do whatever it takes to help you as long as you return that favor. They are powerful and temperamental creatures of contract, harming or betraying them will be the last thing you do. If any one of you has any hesitations about this, any second thoughts, anything other than Full confidence in what you are about to do, what components you have chosen, or what you will say to them once they are listening, leave. You are not ready yet, and I say that without judgment, I'd rather see you leave today than with a disloyal familiar tomorrow."

He stood infront of his class, head held high as he finished his final warning and reminder and waited to see if any of his students would flinch. When he was met with only eager eyes and nervous smiles he grinned from beneath his beard, "Very good," he turned to who he has decided will go first, "Tortoise, you're up," he finishes firmly as he steps back towards his desk

"Wait, Why?" Tortoise hesitated to get out of their seat.

"Because I'm upset with Luara and I know she wants to go first. By asking you to go first I am acknowledging that as directly as I am ethically allowed to." He takes his seat at his desk as Luara pouts.

"Why not Mint?" Tortoise looked to his friend who blanched at the suggestion, "Never mind, I forgot he was a coward," they sighed and pulled their bundle of components and their wand from beneath their hat as they stood to go to the edge of the circle.

The bundle was dropped in the center of the interlaced runes. The room was near silent beside the soft crackle of the torches. With everyone's attention on them Tortoise knelt in one of the smaller warded circles that surrounded the larger summoning circle.

Their instincts told them to just start pouring magic into it, a show of power to attract an equally powerful familiar, but Professor Van Shamanov had warned them against doing that. Power and Impulsiveness were not a good mix. Besides, they were a wizard, without structure their magic would fizzle and drain too quickly for them to really get anything going.

So, they took a deep breath and reached out to the warding line, pouring magic into it to set it glowing and active. Familiars didn't tend to turn violent with their summoners even if they declined the offer, but it never hurt to be cautious. Then they found the connecting line, the one that wrapped around and around and around the circle, that conected it to the other they'd be reaching into to try and coax a familiar across the boundary from one universe to another. Finally, they found the call line and pushed a surge of power through it, along with the promise of their favorite dice set, a bell they found in the sand outside their childhood home, and a bracelet their little brother had made for them before he passed away.

Speaking the meaning of the offerings was not a necessity, but Tortoise always struggled with the ephemeral and passing concepts along a line like this was definitely more a witch's skill than a wizard's.

"I offer you a dice set with the blessing of The Raven, she's my patron and she could be yours as well. A bell I found when I was young, I carried it with me on a chain around my neck for many years, it doesn't ring anymore but it holds more memories than I could speak, and a gift from my little brother, he didn't know about magic, but he told me that it would protect me. And well… I haven't died yet? So, I assume it works," they take a breath to find their center, "I am called Tortoise and I ask for…" They paused, this was the part that even with the years they had had to think about it, he could never decide on, "I ask for a friend. Someone who's sturdy and who I can rely on."

A hushed moment passed as the candles flickered and the smell of ozone filled the room. At first a fine mist formed within the summoning circle, it glittered like a frozen fog as it passed from its world and into ours, though soon it was thickening around the offered items and taking a solid form.

Tortoise couldn't help but choke out a laugh as a galapagos tortoise took shape before him. Its dull grey shell alone was bigger around than the circle Tortoise knelt in,

"What am I called?" the tortoise asked with a smooth water thin voice,

"Wizard," Tortoise responded with the name that formed heavy in their mind as soon as the tortoise had taken shap. They grinned and stood and let the magic fade from the circle, to set Wizard free of the bindings on it that trapped her within it.

"I look forward to being your friend, Tortoise," Wizard said as she made her way out of the circle with the slow elegant confidence only a fey shaped like a tortoise could muster.

The rest of the class clapped and jeered, Mint shook their shoulder as they took their seat, and Luara clapped and half jumped out of her seat to take her turn before Professor Van Shamanov could call on someone elsee.

Tortoise couldn't stop smiling after Wizard got comfortable next to them, nor could they focus on their friend's turn. They had a familiar and they looked forward to being her friend.

[pidayforpi]

Alistair Boorswan walked down the street, past the lamp posts, avoiding illuminated areas.

Beak’s down. Hands in pockets.

Everyone knew him. Everyone knew he’s having a bad day. Everyone knew why he’s having a bad day.

It’s all on the news: The famous film director experienced his first project cancellation.

He who once walked proudly under the limelight, he who once strode with his head up...Gone in a single day, in a single fire.

He’s the first to make a reboot of the legendary Darkwing Duck. Now he’s the first to have the egg broken before it hatched.

To make it worse, he’s the first to ever seek funding from McDuck Enterprises. Now he’s the first to be refused sequential funding from Scrooge McDuck himself.

To make it even worse, he’s the first to allow a child to lead a film production. Now he’s the first to have his film production destroyed by a child.

Once the reigning king in the sector, now a joke in the industry.

If it wasn’t for the “mask” around his eyes, everyone could see the swan had been crying himself to sleep every night since.

Alistair pushed open the café door, the motion ringing the bell hanging from the door frame. It was awfully quiet in the café. Nice. Alistair didn’t want more attention. He’d had enough fun talking to the paparazzis.

“The usual?” Asked the barista. The owl behind the counters questioned his patron as he put away his book.

Alistair nodded. “No decaf this time, Franklin.”

The owl barista signed. “You ain’t gonna be up next morning, sonny. Don’t be a night owl like me.”

“Day and night seem the same to me, anyway.” Alistair said as he picked his usual seat: Next to the glass wall, observing the streets. “I would rather stay up all night and sleep all day. I don’t have to deal with anyone this way.”

Even without looking at his face, Franklin could see his customer’s devastated expression. Shrugging, the barista started brewing Alistair’s favourite espresso.

“Whatever suits you, buddy.”

———————————————————————————————

The bell rang again as the coffee machine rumbled.

Franklin raised an eyebrow as he fixed the beverage, but didn’t look back. If someone wanted him dead, he would be dead no matter he noticed or not.

Alistair also didn’t notice. His eyes were so fixated on the street at night, his ears so focused on the sounds of the city, he didn’t realise he was no longer the only customer in the shop.

Let alone that customer was someone he didn’t want to meet.

“Good evening. How may I help you?”

No response. Except for the sound of something metallic being dragged against the wooden floor.

It wasn’t the first time someone weird entered the shop. The shopkeeper had seen it all. But from the reflection on the silver coffee machine, the late night customer was someone he knew. Someone everybody knew. 
The duck sat in front of Alistair, dropping his huge chainsaw onto the floor with a thud. It was half the height of the duck, not to mention its spiked tip was stained with blood. The intruder took off his oversized fedora, and tossed it to his side. His feathers were ruffled and unkempt, as if he had just been in a fight. An odour of pungent sewage water could be smelled from his body. A crazed, blue-green colour could be seen from his double-layered irises. If it wasn’t late at night (and the blood-stained chainsaw), Franklin would had kindly asked him to leave the shop.

It wasn’t until the duck placed his order that Alistair noticed his new, unwanted coffee mate.

“A cup of cappuccino, boss.” Ordered the customer in his hoarse, sickly voice.

Franklin replied with a nod, hands still focused on fixing his last order.

“Roger, Mister Starling.”

Alistair snapped out of his ponder when he heard the name he had feared for a month.

He shifted his focused from the streets to the pale reflection on the glass window.

He’s right there.

Just when he thought fate had taken everything away from him, someone’s there to take his life as well.

Alistair felt his body move on its own, standing up and reaching for the exit. It was almost like a reflex arc. He didn’t have to know for sure the danger in front of him. He’s making a run subconsciously.

Of course, his unwanted guest wouldn’t let the host leave before being at least greeted.

“Sit down, swan.”

With just a command, Alistair was frozen in place. The chainsaw was not even touched, yet he obeyed the order as if his legs were being amputated.

He instinctively looked at his opponent, and he regretted that very moment. When his frightened eyes met the killer’s powerful gaze, the calendar on the wall shifted back to a month ago.

In a burning studio, a wide-eyed Alistair stared at the charged cannon. When it fired, he would be a goner. He knew the “props” cannons were real - He saw the kid ordered them, directly from the laboratory. Those particles weren’t just special effects. They were real, lethal electricity. One shot, and his fast beating heart would stop. It truly was a miracle Drake Mallard survived the attacks.

Alistair had never been more scared in his life. Nowhere to escape in the fire. Nowhere to hide in the rubbles. Running away was futile: There’s no way he could outrun a lightning bolt. He ruined Jim’s career, and Jim was going to ruin his life.

“Jim Starling never cuts!” was what Alistair heard when he rushed to the recording camera. Yes. The legendary actor never allowed any failure. Not by himself. Not by others.

Jim failed to eliminate him the first time, he’s probably finishing the job now.

Franklin took a peek at his back to ensure his patron’s head was still on his neck, and hurried with both orders. The only thing he could do to avoid a murder was to facilitate the conversation between the two artists.

On the other hand, Alistair sat down meekly, hands on his laps, legs hanging straight down. Opposite of him, Jim got himself comfortable on the chair as if on a throne: One hand on the table, another supporting his tilted head. He sat cross-legged, his right leg hanging lazily on his left one.  The only thing left to complete his criminal mastermind persona was his signature grin, which showed his sharp, menacing fangs.

But Jim right now was wearing a frown instead.

Alistair wasn’t more comfortable, though. He started fidgeting his fingers, his hand movements speeding up for each second Jim remained silent.

It didn’t take long for the awkward silence to break, thankfully.

“An espresso for you, and a cappuccino for you, good sirs. Enjoy.”

Franklin emerged from behind his counter, delivering the beverages to the two fowls. After his last orders for the night were complete, he returned to his reading, yet keeping an eye on his clients.

Rich aroma soon filled the seats. Jim was the first to take a sip at his cappuccino. Foam covered the tip of his beak when he put down the cup. Alistair dared not to mention it, let alone laugh at it, no matter how silly it looked. He used to be a smug person, saying out what was in his heart without filter. But not when his life was at stake.

Alistair didn’t touch his beverage for half a minute. His hands were still holding themselves tight, his eyes fixated on the duck in front of him.

“Drink it, don’t be shy.” Jim reminded (or ordered, in Alistair’s ears). “I ain’t paying for your cup.” Followed by another sip of his cappuccino.

Alistair slowly held out his shaking hand, putting a finger through the middle of the cup handle, pulled his drink closer to himself and paused. However fragrant the coffee was, Alistair couldn’t afford to let himself get blinded. God knows if he put down the mug after a sip, a chainsaw wouldn’t appear at his neck?

He predicted Jim would be impatient with his hesitation and yell at him. But he was just taking his time, waiting for his partner to get comfortable.

Eventually, Alistair pulled the mug close to his beak, and drank. A rather large portion of his espresso, mainly because he didn’t want to put down the mug. He wouldn’t want to know how he would die.

But he felt no pain. No sensation at all, except for the scalding hotness in his throat...

Alistair literally spat out the liquid back into the mug, choking and holding his burnt throat in pain. Jim, on the other hand, burst into laughter, holding his abdomen while laughing loudly in his dry voice. Hearing his mockery, another hot feeling emerged from his cheeks and ears, which were red with embarrassment.

If a passerby saw that scene, they would probably think it was a carefree reunion of two old friends.

Jim grabbed a glass of iced water from the counter, which Franklin had already prepared after seeing Alistair about to drain the freshly-brewed, steaming hot coffee. Jim pushed the glass of water towards Alistair, who immediately gulped down the whole glass and laid back in relief.

Alistair really did let his guard down for a moment, before again realising who was in front of him when the person spoke.

“Feeling better, Alistair?” Jim tried to comfort, showing a kind smile. No one called Alistair by his first name, not even Jim when they first met. Always “Mr Boorswan” or “Director Boorswan”. Alistair looked up and into those eyes, this time in confusion instead of fear.

“W-what do you...want from me?” Alistair finally spoke. “If you want my life, just...d-drag me out into a dark alley and chop off my head. No need for crocodile tears.”

Alistair lowered his voice, visibly sulking. “You know I can’t defend myself...I won’t defend myself.”

It was Jim’s turn to stay silent.

“I know why you are here. I ruined your only comeback chance. I let that brat destroy the movie. I couldn’t get that geezer to support the production. I...didn’t cast you as the main character. Your main character.” Alistair continued, each sentence making him remember what happened just a month ago.

“So you are here to take revenge on me. This classy British director who knows nothing about children’s TV shows. Who only loves disgusting, gritty psychological thrillers. Who...”

Alistair paused. Then again, Jim probably already knew the truth.

“...who broke his own neck, ruining his own career, dethroning himself from his own industry.”

He felt his heart getting sour. He was just a centimetre from crying.

“I have nothing more to lose.”

“If you want me dead, just do it. No one will be sad for me. I’m just everyone’s laughing stock now.”

He could feel the black feathers around his eyes got wet. The street lights outside the window blurred.

Jim let go of his cup, looking down at his feet. If it wasn’t for the tears, Alistair could see Jim’s eyes were filled with sadness as well.

“Forgiveness.”

Jim uttered.

“I want your forgiveness.”

——————————————————————————————

The store returned to silence, the rumbling of vehicles could be faintly heard across the window.

Franklin took advantage of the silence to interrupt.

“Want me to leave, misters?”

“No, it’s fine. Just don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” Jim replied to the barista. If Franklin left, Alistair probably wouldn’t want to be alone with Jim.

Franklin nodded, before focusing himself into reading again, silently listening to the conversation of the two.

Jim turned to face the surprised swan.

“I’m here to apologise, Alistair.”

Of all things, apologising was not one of the reasons Alistair thought Jim was here for him.

“You aren’t the one to ruin the movie. I am.”

Jim put down his originally crossed legs, both hands on the table.

“I was selfish, arrogant, rude...I thought I was and would be the only Darkwing in the world. The one and only Darkwing...the hero on the TV screen in the past, the memory in the heart of those then children in the present.”

“When I knew Darkwing was about to return - from a child, no less - I was excited. Too excited. I was blinded by past fame and former glory, that the excitement channelled into wrath when I knew I was being ‘replaced’. In fact, there wasn’t a thing called ‘replaced’. Darkwing Duck is a character. Anyone can play him. Just because I was the first to have the honour doesn’t mean I have to be the only one. I was just being a grumpy old man on the outside, a spoiled brat in the inside.”

Jim looked up from the table to  meet Alistair’s blue eyes, making a sad, regretful smile.

“Not to mention that was your movie in the first place. Your artwork. You have the choice to let anyone past on and receive the torch. You have the right to make Darkwing the person you imagine to be. I should have just stayed in the auditorium and cheered for you.”

“An artist’s integrity really is sacred and inviolable, eh?”

Jim quoted the motto Alistair had lived by, the motto that had brought him to the top of the industry, that had given him the fame he once had.

“I shouldn’t have acted on my own. I shouldn’t have barged into the studio. Hell, I shouldn’t even have met you in the office the first day. You would have done better if you didn’t have me in your life.”

Alistair had been blinking rapidly to hold back tears, but  now it was too much for him to bear. Alistair never thought that Jim would say sorry to him. Alistair never expected anyone would say sorry to him. But now, it’s as if someone was there to take the blame with him, standing up for him in front of the crowd. Someone was there to share the pain. Someone was there to be with him.

“I’m sorry, Alistair.”

Jim could see the swan sniffing and whimpering, his eyes twinkling with tears. Just after he said his apology, Alistair burst into tears. Teardrops ran from his mask to his cheeks, dropping onto the now warm espresso. Wails echoed throughout the coffee shop, cries filled the café. Alistair wiped the tears with his purple scarf, but a long accumulated cumulus would had to rain for a while.

Jim moved to the opposite bench, and gave the weeping swan a hug. Jim never knew how to comfort someone - He never would nor had to. Awkward it might be, he really wanted to do something for Alistair.

Surprisingly, Alistair hugged back. He couldn’t care more, whether the duck had any plans in mind, or just wanted to literally stab him in the back. He had been crying alone for so many nights, it felt like a blessing to have someone willing to lend a hand.

At least for one night, Alistair wouldn’t have to cry himself to sleep.

———————————————————————————————

“Okay, I’m good now.”

Alistair sniffed and rubbed his eyes one last time, before gently pushing Jim away. Jim pulled his cup from across the table, and pushed Alistair’s mug towards him. He emptied half of the cup in a single gulp, before returning to his rude self.

Alistair looked at the his mug, seeing his reflection on the liquid surface. He looked even more pathetic after crying, but his heart felt lighter.

Just when he was about to finish his drink, a strong, choking smell replaced the coffee aroma, making Alistair scrunched his face up.

Jim put down his cup to see Alistair staring at him while holding his nose. He stared back with a puzzled expression. “What? Coffee’s gone sour?”

Alistair shook his head, still holding his nose and breath. He pointed at the filthy duck in front of him with his other hand, and managed to whisper without using up much air. “You...stink.”

Jim blinked for a few seconds, and sniffed his body like a stray dog. He then retaliated, shrugging. “Then are you lending me your cologne, pretty boy? It doesn’t seem like you have used it for a month, anyway.”

“And your hair.” Jim continued, pointing at the swan’s supposedly groomed hair. “You look even worse than that Dorkwing boy. Don’t tell me the greatest director of all time can’t even afford a comb?”

“You were saying?” Alistair pointed back at the duck’s feathered whiskers. “You look like you haven’t taken a shower in a month. Don’t tell me the mightiest crime lord of all time can’t even afford a bath?”

Jim sat back, arms crossed. “Yes, I haven’t. Deal with it. It doesn’t seem like you have, either.”

“I...” Alistair paused mid-sentence, not wanting to admit the fact that he hadn’t been taking care of himself. It had been a month, and he already looked as though he was stranded on a deserted island for a year.

Jim sighed, putting a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “Listen, you are one of the most talented persons I have met. From the papers to the TV, I have learnt a lot about you. Even my team knows you, Alistair! Some people may mock you for your failure, but many more are sad about it.”

Alistair looked up from the ground, turning to face Jim’s warm smile.

“A lot of people desperately waited for ‘Darkwing: First Darkness’, and despaired when it got cancelled. After all, who wouldn’t like a childhood reminiscence, brought to them by the one and only Alistair Boorswan? You don’t know how many people are sorry for you, how many people are cheering you on, waiting for you to come back.”

“McDuck won’t fund the movie? Glomgold and Waddles will! One wants to beat McDuck, while the other wants to get onto the red carpet. Find that Mallard kid - He is more than willing to cosplay. You’ve got the script done, the movie will be done in a jiffy. Make Darkwing a thing. Make your dream a thing. We are all artists, and artists got to do what they think is art.”

Jim picked up his fedora, rubbing its scratched brim edges. “I won’t be able to join you on set this time, but reserve a seat for me at the premiere. Five seats, to be exact. I’m sure my boys would beg to see it.”

The duck suddenly put his oversized hat onto Alistair’s head, covering his eyes. Alistair protested a bit, before struggling to get the accessory off. He held the worn-out fedora tightly with both hands, about to return it to its owner before being declined.

“Keep it. Consider it a parting gift. For now, at least. We will surely meet again, Alistair.” Jim winked at the swan, who put on the hat after a nod.

“Before then, don’t go dying, m’kay? I’m waiting to kidnap you at the prize-giving ceremony, so don’t prepare too long a speech. Alright?” Jim held out his cup towards Alistair, signalling a “cheers”.

Alistair took a silent deep breath to suppress his surging emotions, and held out his own mug, bumping the duck’s cup.

“Alright. I promise.”

———————————————————————————————

“They’re on the house, celebs.”

Franklin confirmed when Alistair was about to take out his wallet.

“That’s for your patronage.” The owl barista motioned to Alistair with his book, and then shifted to Jim. “And that’s for not making my shop a crime scene.”

Jim snickered, and picked up his chainsaw from the floor. “Thanks, boss.”

“Thank you, pal.” Alistair smiled at Franklin, waving goodbye with his new red fedora before being stopped.

“One thing in return, director.” Alistair looked over his shoulder to face his old friend.

“Make that six seats, capiche?”

———————————————————

(I don’t really have much to say but I want to say something)

-I lost track of when I started writing this. I finished it on July 7, and coincidentally, the local TV broadcasted “The Duck Knight Returns!” (DT17 S02E16) on July 5.

-Also I couldn’t think of an interesting title.

-I really want to see more of Alistair Boorswan (or at least, Jim Starling, please?) in Season 3. I really like Alistair he’s so cute okay?

-sorry edgar wright

(I blame @sheepmouse for my sudden surge of interest in Alistair Boorswan/Jim Starling.)

[syntaxeme]

Giardino Segreto ch. 1

[Read on AO3] | [Next Chapter] [Support me on Ko-fi] Rating: T Summary: Alastor finds himself in a bit of a pickle. He’s fallen in love with a human--a frustrated young man named Angel--and now needs to win his love in return before he chokes on pent-up affection (Hanahaki Disease). What’s a demon to do?

— — –

Another night in New York City, and Alastor sat cross-legged on one of the Dellarosa home’s many balconies, observing, listening. The room he was peering into was on the third floor, one of few still lit so late at night. Inside, two very similar young people—easily recognizable as twins—sat on the edge of a nicely-made bed. Both had bleach-blond hair with dark roots starting to show, both were a little thin in some place, a little curvy in others. The young woman was tending to a cut on her brother’s cheek, dabbing an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against the gash.

“Ow,” he said softly.

“Sorry.” She quickly drew away, biting her lip, visibly agonized over his pain.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it by now.” Alastor could’ve recognized that voice even without seeing its source, that soft tenor currently tinged with bitterness. Angel. His heart quickened slightly at the sound. “His fault, not yours.”

“I don’t know why he gets so steamed about it. Even if you two can’t agree—”

“Agree? It’s my fuckin’ life; he shouldn’t get a say!” Angel growled. His sister (Molly, if Alastor recalled correctly) cowered slightly, and he sighed. “Sorry. You know it’s not you I’m pissed at.”

“I know.”

“And Criss ain’t helpin’! He acts like he gives a shit when it’s just us, then when Dad’s around, it’s ‘Antonia’ this and ‘sorellina’ that.” The anger in Angel’s voice was drawn down with pain, and he gripped tightly at the covers beneath him. Molly wiped blood away from the cut on his forehead, and he winced slightly. There was nothing she could do for the bruise under his left eye. “Thanks. Sorry I keep buggin’ you with this shit.”

“He’ll come around eventually, Angelino.” She leaned in and planted a kiss on his forehead, then left for her own room. Angel sat very sit for a few seconds, dark eyes staring at the floor with a kind of helpless fury and sorrow that Alastor couldn’t help but find fascinating. He glanced toward the window, and the demon froze. But of course, Angel couldn’t see him. The boy—a young man, really, somewhere around the age of 25—let out a sigh and turned out the lights, then crawled into bed and buried himself under the covers. It wasn’t until Alastor heard his breathing turn slow and deep that he finally left, strolling away from the house and twirling his staff idly through his fingers.

Was there something a bit voyeuristic, a bit ‘creepy’ about this? Certainly. But could he help himself? Absolutely not. This wasn’t the first time he’d observed Angel Dellarosa and been utterly captivated by every word from his mouth, every toss of his hair. Angel, who had been given a different name at birth but had since chosen a new one for himself. Angel, whose family—excluding his sister—refused to acknowledge who he was and how he felt. Stubborn, passionate, beautiful Angel, who had caught Alastor’s attention on his first night in the Big Apple and held it firmly ever since.

It was odd. He didn’t typically take such a fixed interest in any particular human. Most of them, he would’ve said, were more or less interchangeable. Predictable. Boring. But Angel had surprised him and continued to do so. If only there were something he could do to make the boy’s life easier, he would, without a moment’s hesitation. To see him comfortable, to see him at ease, to see him fulfilled and smiling…

When Alastor’s chest inexplicably tightened, his stride faltered. Further tightness, an itch in his throat, and he coughed. Instead of fading, the sensation of his chest constricting got worse, forcing him to cough harder and cover his mouth by reflex. He was familiar enough with the idea of consumption that he expected to see blood when he pulled his hand back.

The flower petals, however, came as a surprise.

Rose petals, to be specific. Powder pink roses, pink like Angel’s lips when he smiled, like his fingertips when they ran through his hair. Funny. Knowing himself, Alastor would’ve expected red, but although they were stained with the same blood still marking his lips, there was no denying the petals were soft and pale. Another unexpected turn, and once again, it was Angel’s doing.

The concept wasn’t entirely foreign, though he never would’ve expected it to apply to him of all people. He’d always thought of this as more of a Heavenly affliction. Was it a Biblical story? He couldn’t recall.

The tale went that love was a gift, a thing of beauty, and one should never keep such a gift hidden. If kept trapped inside and unshared, the blossoming emotions would fill the space they were given: the space in one’s chest, one’s heart, one’s lungs. The only cure was to confess and to have the feelings reciprocated. Otherwise, the ‘beautiful’ sickness that was love would consume the victim from the inside out. Oh, it was all very symbolic. Very artful. Very poetic.

It made Alastor want to vomit. More petals. Ugh. And the implications! Love. For crying out loud. He’d never felt any such thing in his life. Never mind that he’d gotten a little sidetracked on his recent visit to New York City and stayed a few days…weeks…all right, months longer than intended without forming a single contract. He had been berating himself for it every day. Yet there he stayed. Idiot. And now he was ‘lovesick’ in every possible sense of the word. Fool!

There weren’t many he could rightfully call friends, but there were some who tolerated his presence more than others. One such beast was a fellow demon named Husk, one who also spent much of his time lingering on Earth and enjoying the darker sides of human society. Unsure of what to do or how to approach this issue, Alastor sought him out in one of the seedy speakeasies he was known to frequent.

Husk was the sort of demon who adopted an entirely human appearance when mingling with humans so as to not give away his nature, but he was still easy enough to pick out of a crowd. After all, he was the only one who could see Alastor even while his magic was concealing him from mortal eyes.

“Bullshit! No way is that the hand you got dealt,” Alastor heard as he entered the darkened, smoke-hazed room and headed for the poker tables, where he knew he was likely to find his ‘friend.’

“You callin’ me a liar?” That was Husker’s voice, easily recognizable by its rough and perpetually-irritated tone. When Alastor reached the tables, he found Husk on his feet, in a shouting match with another patron over their game.

“Making friends as always, I see,” he remarked mildly, and Husk glanced briefly in his direction without answering.

“You know what? Fuck it. This bet ain’t even worth arguing about.” Throwing his cards down on the table, he turned to walk away, giving Alastor a subtle nod that said he should follow. So he did, wandering over to the bar, where Husk ordered a rye whiskey.

“You could have finished your game,” Alastor said, leaning against the bar and scanning the room for anything of interest. Not likely, since he knew what to expect here. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Doesn’t matter. I was cheating anyway,” Husk said flatly. “What’re you doing here? Lookin’ for some poor sap to dupe into a deal?”

“As phonetically pleasing as that is, no. I was hoping to catch you for a chat, actually. I, er, have a problem I’m not quite sure how to solve.”

“What, you’re lookin’ for advice? From me?” After receiving his drink, he gave the bartender a nod and led the way to a table in one quiet corner of the room. “I ain’t promising I’m gonna be helpful, but go ahead and lay it on me.”

Sitting very still and very straight in his chair, hands folded on the table, Alastor explained his situation as dispassionately as possible while Husk sipped his liquor. The more he talked, the more he was forced to realize exactly how complex a position he was in and how few options he had left himself. Predictably, when he got to the part about the rose petals, Husk laughed at him.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You got the fairy tale flower-puke disease?” he choked out, and Alastor remained silent, placid, ignoring his irritation. Yes, yes, it was all very funny until one was forced to deal with it personally. With no choice in the matter and no easy way out, it became significantly less amusing.

“I didn’t ask for it, mind you. None of this has been planned by any means.”

“But you let it happen.” Husk’s tone made it clear how strongly he disapproved, that he saw the predicament as Alastor’s own fault. And Alastor was forced to agree, to a point. “You’ve never even talked to the kid and you got it this bad? I woulda figured that wasn’t possible.”

Before I saw him, I would have too. Of course, he didn’t dare say that out loud for fear of his friend ruthlessly criticizing his—very uncharacteristic—romanticism. “However it happened,” he said instead, “I don’t have much choice but to address it at this point. The question is how to go about doing that.”

“What question? You got two options, right? Either you win him over or you eventually choke to death on your fucking feelings. Unless you just wanna give up and die—”

“You know, my friend, you have been every bit as helpful as I expected when I came here,” Alastor said pleasantly. “I truly appreciate your tact and understanding on this sensitive subject.”

Husk rolled his eyes and drained the last of his whiskey. “Look, if you wanted ‘tact and understanding,’ you came to the wrong guy. But I don’t think that is what you wanted. I think you wanted to be told exactly what you have to do, so you couldn’t keep beatin’ around the bush about it. Am I right?”

Unfortunately. The Radio Demon—funny to think how utterly inapplicable his power and reputation in Hell were to this situation—let out a defeated sigh and turned his eyes down toward the tabletop. Stained. Messy. Not his cup of tea. But his friend was right, and he’d gotten what he had come for: confirmation that there was only one thing he could do now.

He had no idea how to go about wooing anyone; he’d never had any need to in the past. How he might persuade Angel to love him and to admit it…he couldn’t begin to imagine. But at the thought of succeeding, of coming to occupy the most important and valued position in the boy’s life, his chest tightened again with desperate longing, and he quickly covered his mouth, trying to keep his cough as silent and subtle at possible. Since the first time, there had been an almost constant tension vaguely lingering around his respiratory system, but it only became unignorable at moments like this.

“Huh. Y’know, I almost figured you were bullshittin’ me,” Husk observed with vague interest as petals collected in Alastor’s palm. “Guess it’s for real. Good luck with that.”

Alastor’s fist clenched, delicate petals crushed, blood dripping down his wrist. Luck was the very least he needed.

[dungeons-and-hermits]

Victorious Return

Genre: Angst/Fluff Characters: Doc, Beef, BDubs, Etho Summary: The nHo are gone, but never forgotten... and not quite gone Word Count: 4178 (yeah. I might have gone ham) Author: Mod Lori

In time, Doc came to refer to the event as the Incident.

The Incident that had taken the lives of his closest companions, the Incident that had left him alone and lost, the Incident that had sent him into a life of isolation. It had been a year since the Incident—in fact tomorrow would be the exact anniversary. They were dead, and to the world, he was dead along with them.

He wished that were true.

In the back corner of a dingy, dank tavern, he sat at a table with a mug of ale in his hand and three empty chairs before him. It was far later than he should have been staying out, so late that he was one of only three remaining patrons.

Hee downed his drink and then rose to his feet, body heavy. He wanted nothing more than to stay here and continue to drown his sorrows, but, if he remained in one place for too long, he risked being recognized. So, he lifted his hood and exited the dim light of the tavern, stepping into the night and keeping his head down—though that did little to hide just how much space his half-orc body took up.

He couldn’t be recognized. If he was, he didn’t have it in him to explain, hadn’t had it in him since his friends had been killed, and he thought that maybe he would never have it in him to do anything ever again except carry on as he had been, wandering from town to town.

His friends were dead, and yet, he was still here. Why? Why was he still here when the others were gone, wrenched from his life unceremoniously like they were nothing?

They weren’t nothing, and they never had been. They were his companions, his best friends, his family, and for the longest time he couldn’t have imagined his life without them.

He wished that were still true.

He was out of the town and along the beaten forest path within minutes. A lesser man might be nervous walking through a forest at night with all that he owned on his back, but it was a rare and impressive feat to find someone who could pose him any true threat.

Besides, even if he stumbled across someone like that, it wasn’t as if he had much to live for.

Now that he wished wasn’t true.

It was a dangerous thing to be alone with his thoughts, but he couldn’t stay anywhere for very long, and especially not in such a small town that would immediately know about a half-orc stranger come morning.

Because of that, he had to leave. Maybe someday he would build himself a house in the middle of a thick forest and live there, where nobody would find him. The hermit life sounded good. It was alone, unbothered.

He walked for the entire night, not bothering to stop to rest. By the time dawn broke, he was in the middle of the forest, still trekking along the winding path. He’d seen a few people as morning approached, mostly lone riders or merchants with carts.

He’d paid them little mind until he came upon an upturned wagon. It was blocking the path entirely, and a good ten or so people were surrounding it. Once, he would have stopped to help. Even now, had he been in a better mood, he might have still done it.

Instead, his heart hung heavy within his chest, and the last thing that he wanted to do today was help turn a cart right-side up. Ignoring them, he turned, venturing off the path and into the forest proper before any of them saw him.

He’d only just lost sight of the cart when his foot slipped.

It was stupid, really; a misstep on a loose stone, but sure enough, the stone fell out from under him, and then he was slipping uncontrolably down a hill that started gentle but, as he soon found out, eventually became steep and then dropped off to a vertical cliff.

He scrambled for purchase, mind blank with panic and limbs flailing wildly for a branch or a root or something to stop his fall. Unfortunately, he found nothing, and then he was free-falling off a cliff so high that he couldn’t see the bottom. It would come eventually, though, and so he closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate and bracing for impact.

But, before he hit the ground, his arm—the one made of wood, not flesh—was yanked upward. A hand grasped it and lifted.

There was light; searing, blinding, brilliant light that burned into his mind even through his closed eyes, and as the light surged and then faded, he was surrounded by a familiar feeling.

He’d recognize Beef’s spell to reduce fall damage anywhere. Even a year later, even in the last place and time he would expect it, even with Beef dead and gone. The magic coated him like a warm hug, undeniably Beef; it was the immense, overwhelming power of a fireball and the soft, reassuring touch of a heal. It felt like companionship and inside jokes, cozy and safe and there to catch you when you fall.

As his feet slammed into the ground below he felt tears spring to his eyes not from pain—no, the spell negated any pain—but from sheer, unbridled emotion, emotion that increased infinitely as Doc looked up. Beef was there, right before him, face awash in terror and confusion and excitement all wrapped up in one, hand still grasping Doc’s wooden wrist.

“How-“

“You’re dead,” Doc said.

Beef blinked. It was at that moment that Doc realized he wasn’t… whole. Beef was a ghost; there was no other way to put it. He was translucent and pale, with the slightest tinge of washed-out blue. His torso could be seen but his legs faded into nothing, and he was just hovering there, dressed in the very clothes Doc had witnessed him die in.

“I don’t think I am.”

“Well, you’re not alive.”

“That’s true,” Beef conceded.

Doc’s heart was pounding in his chest, his ears ringing and mind whirling with a cocktail of emotions that dashed through his conscious far too fast for him to grasp or comprehend.

Impossible. It was impossible. Beef couldn’t be here, and yet, and yet, the feeling of the spell that had saved Doc’s life was fresh and full in his memory. There was no way of faking that; it was uniquely Beef, his magic a fingerprint that left no room for doubt. It was him, there was no way around it.

But it was impossible.

Doc told him as much. Before him, Beef shrugged transparent shoulders. The smile that the human gave was some odd conglomeration of sheepishness, confusion, and relief.

“I can’t tell you anything except that I am very glad to be back here. Well,” he glanced down at his body, briefly inspecting it, “mostly here, anyway.”

It hit him then, so sudden and elating; it was no wonder that it took so long to sink in. Beef was here, with him, somehow, by the hand of some benevolent god or fortunate magic. The realization forced tears to his eyes once again, and he named a few of the emotions that eddied within him: elation, sheer joy, overwhelming relief and excitement because Beef, his friend and longtime companion, a man he thought dead and long gone, was back, returned to him from beyond the grave.

Beef didn’t leave, mostly because--as they soon found out--he couldn’t; he was present, but he wasn’t corporeal, and he was unable to go much further than Doc could see. Doc was also the only person who could see or hear him, a fact they learned quickly when they came across a town, and one which Beef just as quickly used to his advantage, loudly interrupting Doc or talking smack about the people they interacted with at every opportunity. They fell into an easy dynamic within days; they’d spent too much time together for that to be difficult.

Beef couldn’t touch anything, either, save for Doc’s wooden arm. They weren’t sure why that was, exactly, but Beef had a few theories. Strangest of all, though, through some connection they shared, Beef could somehow cast spells through Doc. They were limited, of course, and immensely draining, but the power that rushed through him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

The month following Beef’s return was filled with experimentation. They tested the limits of his capabilities together, and Doc was happy beyond belief that, not only had his friend returned, but that he had a purpose once more.

Most troubling of all, though, was that they still didn’t know where Beef had been.

Beef’s running theory was that the artifact a year earlier had banished him to another plane. He didn’t like talking about it; whenever Doc mentioned it, even in passing, the man grew distant and quiet. On the rare occasions when Beef mentioned it, Doc got the feeling that it wasn’t entirely in the past tense.

There were times when Beef faded, times when he wasn’t quite there. It was terrifying. Every time it happened, Doc could only watch as the man’s form grew thinner, as his eyes began to focus on things unseen, as he ceased responding to Doc as if he weren’t really there. And every time it happened, Doc was convinced that that was it—that Beef would fade away entirely, and that this strange sort of being had been temporary, fated to be whisked off within months.

But Beef would return, and all would be well, and Doc didn’t ask where he’d gone. Maybe they would get to that point some time in the future, but he didn’t want to push anything. He was all Beef had at the moment; he didn’t want to make the man uncomfortable.

So they settled into a routine, and it wasn’t long before it felt like it had a year prior, even though they were still missing half of their group.

It was about three months after Beef’s appearance that that changed.

Doc was well used to getting in trouble. He was half-orc; there were few races that faced more vitriol than him, and he was well used to the prejudice that came along with it. Because of this, he wasn’t particularly surprised when he found himself arrested one day.

It was a small town, the kind which tended to be insular and not particularly welcoming to outsiders. Beef had been particularly brutal in his commentary that afternoon, and that hadn’t helped Doc with any attempts to remain inconspicuous.

They hadn’t intended to remain very long, but they did stop by the tavern for a drink (one drink, for Doc, seated at an empty table because Beef could sit but could not drink with his friend). He’d been getting up to leave when he had passed by another table and had overheard a human man saying something downright foul to the (extremely uncomfortable) tavern maid giving him his ale.

He’d grabbed the man by the shirt, lifting him from his seat and then throwing him to the ground. Beef had cheered him on, but he would have done it even if he hadn’t had someone encouraging him to.

The fight that ensued was completely one-sided. The man had three friends, but all four were dispatched and running off with their tails between their legs within minutes.

Doc had stayed longer than he should have, making sure that the woman was okay and apologizing for reacting on impulse (he should have made sure she wanted his help from the start, but Beef had egged him on and the man’s actions had left him in such a rage that he hadn’t thought that part through). She was fine, fairly thankful, and the owner of the tavern had come out to assure Doc that the men wouldn’t be welcome back.

He left the tavern and intended to go on his way, Beef floating along beside him pantomiming the fight and describing it in hilariously excited detail. He was met by guards before he even neared the edge of the city.

As it turned out, one of the disgusting men had been the brother of the captain of the guard, and so, with little ceremony, Doc was thrown into a small cell and abandoned to await his punishment

Beef found the whole thing hilarious, and if Doc could float through walls and didn’t have to touch anything in the cell, he’d probably have found it amusing too. As it was, he was less than enthused. Still, he had no regrets. He was just waiting for the right moment to activate his barbarian rage and get out.

The sun was beginning to set when the captain of the guard came up to his cell.

“I don’t suppose you know what you did wrong.”

“Enlighten me,” Doc drawled.

The man huffed, speaking slowly as if Doc didn’t speak Common. “You assaulted four men completely unwarranted in a tavern.”

“Wouldn’t call it unwarranted.” Doc rose to his feet. “They were harassing a tavern maid.”

“It wasn’t your place to intervene.”

Doc’s hand clenched into a fist. He was beyond tired of this. “Man, I don’t know who raised you, but I was raised to respect women, which includes not making lewd comments at them when they’re just doing their jobs.”

“She was a tavern maid, they’re there for-“

Doc’s fist was already in the man’s face. The noise that resulted was undoubtedly the sound of his nose breaking, and he toppled to the floor, blood gushing down his face and completely unconscious.

“Damn,” Beef said, drawing out the word as he hovered over the body. “One hit. What a punch!”

Doc stepped out from his cell, over the man’s body and into the hallway. Then he heard a gasp.

His head snapped towards the source. At the end of the hallway, a young woman stood with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth.

“Uh.” Doc looked down at the unconscious man next to him, then at the cell behind him, and then finally at the blood on the floor and his fist, which certainly didn’t look good. He returned his gaze to the woman, lifting his hands immediately and opening them to show that he held nothing in them. “It was self defense?”

The words had just left his mouth before a luminous light shone through the room. It was white-hot and familiar, and he recognized it as the very same that had heralded Beef’s return.

The magic that flowed through him this time was boisterous and jovial. It was the smell of a summer rainfall and the sound of a wild wind through trees; the feeling of family, of home, of belonging.

When it faded, the woman made no acknowledgement that it had occurred. She blinked once, eyes glazed over, and then murmured “self defense” before nodding absentmindedly and then turning around to walk off.

Doc’s jaw was on the floor. “That worked?”

“Not at all!”

Doc whipped about to see the source of the voice. He’d recognize it anywhere. BDubs. There he was, floating next to a wide-eyed and grinning Beef, with an endearingly arrogant half-smile plastered on his face and hands raised in a fashion that resembled a performer having done some impressive trick.

“I, however, worked beautifully.” A charisma buff. The kind that BDubs would give back when they were alive and getting into the same shenanigans Doc had gotten into now.

Beef, suddenly free of his shock, let out a whoop of excitement. He was laughing, all but manic, joy and surprise evident on his face and in his laughter.

BDubs was grinning, more genuine and relieved this time. He was laughing with Beef and his eyes were shining with tears and it wasn’t long before translucent drops were falling to the floor, dissipating rather than remaining.

Doc ran out of town with his companions flying behind him, the duo even louder and more chaotic than Beef was on his own.

The routine they’d fallen into picked BDubs up without issue, and now even more experimentation could be done thanks to the inclusion of another ghostly planar-stuck mage.

BDubs’ presence brought the group’s morale up even higher. He’d always had a way of doing that, as if his simply being there lifted spirits and created happiness. Doc had thought he’d never feel it again, and yet here they were, Doc and Beef and BDubs adventuring again.

But there was one part missing.

He felt guilty for it, selfish, as if two friends miraculously returning from the dead (or whatever plane they had been imprisoned) wasn’t enough for him. Why couldn’t that be enough? Why couldn’t he be happy with that?

But it was impossible to deny the palpable hole in their group. They were three-fourths of a quartet, not a trio. It felt wrong. They all missed Etho, he knew it. There was a part of him holding out hope that Etho would show up, just as Beef and BDubs had.

Days had gone by; days which became weeks, weeks which became months. Still no Etho. Still some glimmer of hope remaining in Doc’s chest, every breeze and odd occurrence sending him into a bittersweet whirlwind of emotion.

It was times like these when the disparity was most felt: Doc was in the middle of a battle to enter an ancient temple, one which he, Beef, and BDubs had hoped might help them on their quest to return to their home plane. It was the kind of fight Etho would have reveled in, but despite Beef and BDubs at his side, Doc was not winning.

His chest heaved with the heavy breaths he was taking, and he was practically using his battle axe as a crutch. Blood was gushing from wounds all over his body. His energy was giving out, he could feel it.

BDubs and Beef were doing their best, and Doc was eternally thankful for it; the magic that flowed through him could never replace what it had been like to fight with them by his side, but their familiar and combined presence made him feel more calm and capable.

Before him, two frost giants approached. He’d used his battle rage to take down their three companions, and he’d thought he could finish them off.

He’d gotten far too comfortable. Back before the Incident, he and the nHo could have taken these buffoons without any trouble, but BDubs and Beef weren’t really there, not physically, anyway, and Etho was still…

There was no time to think about that now. The frost giants were fast approaching, and Doc knew that he wouldn’t survive the encounter.

He looked up, and saw Beef and BDubs hovering above him, watching over him with magic at the ready. He couldn’t bring it in himself to say anything—he wanted to apologize, to thank them, to say something, and yet nothing came.

His heart ached. After everything, after all that they had done, this would be the end. At least, he thought, he’d been able to spend these last few months with Beef and BDubs.

He only wished Etho had been there, too.

He hefted his axe and strode forward to meet his enemies. The familiar, comforting feeling of Beef and BDubs’ magic surged through him, and he turned and faced the giants head-on.

The first swing of his axe hit home in a giant’s ankle; frost began to creep outward from the connection, spreading quickly towards the handle and Doc’s hands. He pulled it out before the cold reached leather, leaping backward and ignoring the screaming pain in his knee as he narrowly avoiding the swing of a huge club.

He wasn’t so lucky with the second one. A wooden cudgel the size of a large tree met its mark in the middle of his chest, sending him flying. One of Beef’s spells cushioned the resulting collision he had with a pillar behind him, but the sickening crack of his head slamming into it wasn’t dampened, and he fell to the ground in an unshakable daze.

Still, he scrambled to his feet, determined to fight for as long as possible, and ducked blindly downwards and to his left with his vision still blurry. The deafening sound of one of the giants’ clubs smashing the enormous pillar to dust made him immediately thankful that he did so.

In his peripheral vision, he could see BDubs’ spectral form beginning to materialize and brighten. Beneath Doc’s feet, the grass became greener; the trees around the clearing rustled in nonexistent wind. Knowing that it was the work of his friend, Doc allowed his wooden arm to raise and point, palm open, towards the giants approaching.

There was a scorching heat; fire erupted from the very air around him, surrounding the giant that had thrown Doc into the pillar and closing in, whipping about in enormous flames to envelop the creature. It was gone within moments, reduced to steaming ash.

Doc had no sympathy, and unfortunately, he also had no strength. The spell, cast by BDubs and channeled through the arm Doc had been gifted by all three of his friends, had drained what little energy that had remained in the half-orc.

He fell to his knees, grasping his battle axe desperately, only barely able to keep himself from collapsing to the ground entirely. The sole remaining frost giant advanced. Beef and BDubs hovered above him.

Doc blinked once, twice, eyes burning with tears that would never fall. He’d shed them all months ago, anyway.

I’m sorry. He didn’t even have the strength to say it; could only mouth it. He’d failed. They wouldn’t come back. They wouldn’t even know if it had been possible.

If there were one consolation, at least they would be together again, really together, at last.

Doc wondered what he would say to Etho.

He dropped his head, unwilling to watch as the giant lifted its club to drop upon his weak, broken body. He could feel the air displaced as it swung.

What happened afterwards was a confusing blur of broken memory and pain. He knew that the club met its mark; he remembered feeling it, remembered hearing the sound, but he couldn’t recall what it had actually felt or sounded like, even if he wanted to. The gap in his memory was a small gift for which he would always be thankful.

He hadn’t died, that much he knew, though he had been well on the way. There had been mere seconds of time between life and death, moving quickly closer to the wrong direction; he was fleeting and unconscious, but he saw the light.

There was a white light, warm and radiant, the kind he’d seen only twice before, only this time it was brighter and stronger and accompanied by an unknown and otherworldly but comforting feeling that sank into his very bones. He felt his body heal, felt wounds seal up, felt a spectral hand pull him firmly and briskly—though not without affection—from his place between life and death. He was back within his body, which was whole and strong once again, healthy like he hadn’t been in years; even scars as old as his time as an adventurer were smooth and clean.

He opened his eyes, still kneeling, to find a hand in his face.

“Stand up, Sir Doc.”

Doc looked up into Etho’s phantasmal face, the scar over his eye stretched white as his eyes crinkled in a grin that was covered by his mask, and took his hand.

His hand, Etho’s hand, there and outstretched for Doc’s wooden one to grasp, covered in the gloves he always wore but firm on his prosthetic despite the fact that he could see through it. After all these months of hoping, after two years of mourning, his best friend had returned.

He should have known. The magic was the rattling of glass bottles, the ring of dulcet laughter, the sight of mischief dancing in mismatched eyes. It was soft and proud, a quiet kind of power that left ripples of enchantment in its wake—it was Etho.

He didn’t even care about the dig. Etho was back, they were all back, everyone was together again and they were here and he wasn’t alone—and Doc was alive, he realized at the end of it all, alive and healed despite best efforts otherwise.

“Etho!” Beef shouted, voice positively jubilant. He sped over to the man only to fly straight through him, and Etho began laughing, and BDubs shouted something of a celebratory expletive. The three had already fallen into boisterous conversation, and Doc had no choice but to join in loud, raucous chortling, eyes filling up with tears of pure joy.

They were together again; not realized, not safe, not nearly whole, but together, and he had them back. He’d bring them back for real, he swore. He wouldn’t stop until he managed it.

[persona-girls]

P3 Girls + Minako with their non-persona user S/O severely wounded from a shadow, whether they die or survive is up to you

This is long so i’m putting it under a readmore. enjoy!

Minako

At first, Minako was slightly annoyed to be awoken from her sleep. When she saw that you were calling, she was afraid. The dark hour was upon the world, and nothing would be worse than her s/o having the potential. She couldn’t stand for someone so close to her to be in danger. The moment she heard your terrified voice, she was out of bed in a moment.

She had no time to change out of her night clothes, only time enough to grab her evoker and shortsword. Her s/o was at the shrine, only a short walk away. Her heart raced with each step she took, and she didn’t dare breathe till she saw you.

The air she took in would’ve been a godsend, if it had not been for the killer twins approaching your hiding place. The sheer look of fear on your face would’ve been horrible enough, but this level of danger made Minako feel fear she hadn’t felt in quite some time. She yelled at the shadow, before summoning Orpheus and hoping that this would be an easy kill.

Like everything else, it wasn’t easy. She urged her s/o to run away as she held the shadow off. Her s/o surprised her, which wasn’t a good thing. They jumped in front of an attack meant for her, taking the life-threatening blow. As she watched her favorite person crumple to the ground, she felt the same rage she felt on the night she awakened, and she watched as Thanatos appeared yet again and decimated the twins.

Her s/o was in bad shape, eyes glossed over and their heart slowing. She could feel their life leaving them, but they could only carry them back to the dorm and force Fuuka or Mitsuru or Junpei or anyone at all to help her s/o, to save them of the fate they didn’t deserve. As they tried to work their healing magic, she could only hope and pray.

Yukari

There are no windows or clocks in malls to make patrons lose track of time, and therefore spend more time shopping. This wouldn’t usually be a problem, if it wasn’t for the Dark Hour. Instead, Yukari was forced to realize the time as she watched all the patrons in Chagall cafe turn to coffins, before her very eyes. It wouldn’t be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that her s/o was still fully conscious.

Instead, she was trying her absolute best to keep calm as she ushered her crying mess of an s/o back to her dorm. She knew it was still early in the month, and she prayed that she wouldn’t encounter a single shadow on their way back. The two of them didn’t last two full blocks outside of the mall, before they encountered a shadow.

It was a weak one, and it wouldn’t pose a threat if Yukari had her evoker, or even her bow. The stupid tiara thing was weak, and if it had only targeted Yukari instead of her s/o, nothing would happen.

Yukari told her s/o to run. Run around and try to dodge it’s attacks, while Yukari distracts it. It would’ve worked, if the shadow was even remotely interested in Yukari. The good news was that you were pretty good at dodging things, until one ice shard hit you right in your ankle. You crumpled to the ground, and Yukari froze as the shadow loomed overhead. Yukari threw a stone right at it as it attacked you. The shadow disappeared, but there was a gash in your side and your ankle was broken.

Yukari carried you back to the dorm, where she ran for an evoker and summoned Io and casted Dia. It eased your pain, and your injuries faded, until they were merely a rolled ankle and a few light cuts on your side. Yukari never felt more relieved to be in the dorm, never felt more relieved to see you safe and sound.

Fuuka

Fuuka’s s/o was very clever. They were able to find out that Natsuki had shoved Fuuka in the closet, and that's why Fuuka wasn’t found. When she opened the closet, and found no Fuuka - they were confused. They decided to spend the night in the closet, just out of curiosity. What they found was something she could never hope to understand, a world where things didn’t make sense.

After a while of aimlessly wondering, they found Fuuka. She was perfectly unscathed, and relieved to see you. The two of you navigated the dark place with little trouble, and the monster-creature things that roamed the hallways almost never bothered the two of you.

That was the case, until the monsters seemed rowdier than they usually were. Fuuka had successfully navigated the two of you around them, with minimal altercations. You two would’ve been fine, you would’ve ran into Minako and the others, perfectly fine, if Fuuka had noticed the shadow only a moment earlier.

It wasted no time attacking, taking the two of you by surprise and leaving you with a nasty burn up the side of your leg. The two of you could only run away, and when you fell to the ground, the shadow pounced again. Leaving you with a spear stuck through your abdomen. It was the most excruciating pain you’ve ever felt, as Fuuka carried you away running from the shadow.

When the two of you ran into Minako and the others, there was no time for introductions. The boxer you recognized from school summoned something odd, and your pain was only somewhat relieved. The burning up your leg subsided, but there was nothing you could do about the spear in your stomach. You could hear Fuuka crying as you ran from the horrible, monster-filled place. Your consciousness was fading in and out, and you could only vaguely make out what was happening around you as you felt yourself slip into unconsciousness.

Mitsuru

Mitsuru expected you to leave the dorm far earlier than you should’ve. It was almost eleven o’clock when Mitsuru reminded herself of the dark hour, and at the same time, realized she couldn’t just kick you out. It turned out to be a horrible day for a mistake like this, she was expected to monitor Minato’s condition, and Ikutsuki was supposed to visit, and all she could worry about was getting you home safe.

By the time the dark hour had come around, you were still - surprisingly - conscious. Mitsuru had resolved to walk you home, but by that time Akihiko had already called about the shadow heading towards the dorm, and Mitsuru was already beyond the point of mental breakdown. She had reached some sort of resolve, and her mental state was put into some sort of stasis.

She was rushing you, who was already terrified, back to your own dorm. You could tell Mitsuru was already on edge, and the warped state of your familiar town was only making you more afraid. You could only cling to Mitsuru, and hope your horrible night would end much quicker than it was taking.

When you were only a half-block away from your dorm, you encountered it. You had no idea what it was - but it was a dark, black inky blob with some sort of mask on it. You couldn’t help but gasp when you saw it - and it took no time to pounce on you two. Mitsuru reacted quickly, pulling the gun from her belt - and shooting herself in the head. You were terrified. You couldn’t believe Mitsuru had killed herself, and then something appeared.

It was otherworldly, a beautiful creature that carried itself much like Mitsuru. It appeared only for a moment, and casted? something? towards the inky creature. You thought that would be the end of it, but whatever she used to fight it with, was only being repelled back.

You didn’t think, you only jumped in front of Mitsuru. She was, honestly, terrified. She panicked, and didn’t check for weaknesses and just immediately rushed into battle. It was so unlike her, and it ended with her favorite person crumpled in a heap on the floor. In that moment, Mitsuru felt a surge of power and the shadow was decimated in an instant. She fell to the floor, trying her hardest to summon Penthesilea, but she couldn’t manage the energy.

She carried you to the closest clinic, and by some luck, the dark hour ended as she rushed through the doors. You would survive your injury, but it would take months of recovery. Mitsuru crumpled to the floor, exhausted and mentally drained the moment she knew you’d be safe. She would never forgive herself for putting you in danger like that, ever.

Aigis

Aigis was built for protection. She lived to protect Minako, and when she fell in love, she wanted to protect you, too. When you invited her out to a movie, at midnight, Aigis wanted to tell you how dangerous that was, but she wanted to see you happy and excited.

The two of you left for the movie twenty minutes before midnight, and Aigis was prepared to stand by your coffin and protect you, for the entire hour. It complicated things when you didn’t transmogrify. She managed to remain calm as she explained the situation, and dragged you off towards the dorm. She didn’t like the fact that you had the potential, and the only way to protect you would be at the dorm.

Aigis managed to keep you safe, until you reached the front of the dorm. It seemed as though the shadow was waiting for the two of you, as Aigis prepared for combat. It was one of the odd dice-type shadows, and when Aigis managed to beat it into an inch of it’s life, it activated it’s last resort. It killed itself, while casting a strong attack.

Aigis, who was used to this kind of violence, only left a small scratch on her humanoid body. You, however, were not used to violence and the attack left you on the ground, with shallow breaths and a dangerously low pulse. Aigis administered first-aid on you in the dorm, as well as receiving help from the dorm members. You would be scarred, maybe a little bit upset, but you would make a full recovery.

[purify-orre-blog]

CH 4: Trial Bloopers - Part 1: The Start, Yori/Yogi, Caelum, and Saturday

...Starting specific

> He’s wearing a calm, patient smile, like one would reserve for a puppy that wasn’t quite housebroken yet. His voice is equally calm as he looks around, making eye contact with everyone but Yori. “Who’s stupid enough to fall for a motive like that, anyways? People die all the time and there’s *nothing you can do* to stop it.” Michael puts a hand under his chin, still smiling, and mimes giving it a good long think.

>Then, his expression becomes sly, and sharp. “Other than you lot, who I baited into action earlier this week.” And the calmness makes way for something more patronizing. “It’s obviously more likely that Hiroki, Rei, and Robin fell for my latest ploy. At that accursed *water park*, no doubt.” Michael moves to stand at his full height and tilts his chin up so he’s looking down on everyone. “I have the means, you know. That first bomb? Wasn’t the only one.”

(they call him out on his nonsense

> Michael’s smile thins. “The power drill and screws were a ploy. If you’re all too stupid to spot a controlled detonation when you see it, that’s on you.”

...Yori/ Yogi specific

> Michael immediately deflates, goes back to slouching, and he looks off away from Yori towards the ground. “I’m sorry, that was a lie,” He mutters. “I don’t have anymore bombs. I don’t know how to make them.”

(if yori tells him to stop lying

> The smile drops and he flinches, hard at the sound of his name. **“Yori! I- I- I-”** He goes back to slouching and hugs himself and looks ashamed. **“You have to understand, if I didn’t say any of that, they’d never start thinking for themselves!”** He starts tearing up. **“They don’t understand that time is running out.”** He rakes his hands through his hair. **“They don’t understand that it’s only a matter of time before Oswald just kills us all.”**

(if oswald is like ‘bruh i’m not that heartless, u gotta kill eachother’,, michael just like, doesn’t listen??? :)

(yori treats Michael with any sort of confusion or apprehension

> Michael looked to Yori tiredly. He looked drained. Like he was about to faint.

(If yori tries to comfort him

> Michael let out a horrible wheezing laugh. Clutching at his sides and doubling over, Michael laughed. His face hidden from view, he couldn’t stop laughing. And when the wheezing finally stopped, he looked back up at Yori, and was crying. “Why are you being so nice to me?” The tears kept falling. “I don’t understand.” And he takes a step back, and looks scared. “I can’t understand.” And another, his face pales. “You already own my heart and soul, I can’t give you anything else.”

(If yori says he needs some time to think, or turns from Michael, continues to show unease, etc.

> Michael looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so bad. I’ll stop for you.” And he brings his hands over his eyes. “I promised I’d stop, but I didn’t because I got scared for you.” And he chokes back a sob. “You had the drill last trial and I panicked, I’m sorry.”

(if yori is nice to him now

> Michael’s crying, now. “Please stop.” And he takes a shaky breath. “I already owe you my life, I love you more than anything. If you keep being nice to me, I’ll never ever leave either of you alone.”

(if yori was still disappointed, instead

> Michael looks like he’s going to be sick. “Please give me another chance, I know I’ve only betrayed your trust.“ His face is pale and he looks sweaty. “I’m sorry for making this public, I’m sorry I’m being a burden, I’ll stop.” He starts to cry. “I’ll listen to you and only you, I’ll do whatever you want me to, I’ll stop acting out of line, please, please let me be of use.”

(if yori did it

[Redacted!!] :)

... Caelum specific

> Michael’s cool smile flickers into something ugly and unnatural for less than a second, his eyes burning with something almost deadly. Then that cool smile is back. And he sounds downright chipper as he looks Caelum right in the eyes. “You think so? Another avoidable murder out of desperation, just like Rocky’s?”

> Michael shows a toothy grin, and his eyes crackle with something akin to electricity. ”Temper, temper.” He points his left hand lazily at Caelum, and the spotlight necklace. “Wouldn’t want to dishonor your old sig fig’s memory, would you?” Then he brings his left pointer finger up to his chin and taps thoughtfully. “Maybe your anger is the righteous hope that lies within the spirit of a true hero?” He brings his hands over his heart, closing his eyes and tilting his head off to left, smiling in relief. “I’d be honored to see what grief has done to temper the already mighty soul of a Midnight Lycanroc such as yourself!”

(if caelum does a hit, caelum,, michael really expected you to do a hit

> Fast, faster than you’ve come to expect, Michael rolls into the punch. He adjusts so it connects with his shoulder, but it’s almost like he can’t feel it. Like it doesn’t register. At the same time he curves around to knee Caelum in the shin , only hard enough to catch the shorter off balance. “Your half-baked *hope* will have to do better than that.” He steps back some.

(this one is if caelum like, calls him a butt or says he regrets ever helping michael

> His manic grin flickers into something sad and regretful for just a second, before coming back full force. “Do you see now what isolation and pity get you? They make you weak. The only way to come back is to fight against a common enemy. Like me.” And he tilts his head so he’s looking down at Caelum. “Or are you too restrained in your feelings to act on your righteous fury?”

(if caelum did it

> Anything Michael was going to say is stuck in his throat. He can’t believe it.

... Saturday specific

(if she tries reasoning with him at all

> Michael throws back his head and lets a horrid cackle peel out. “Do you honestly think caring about others will get them to give a half-second of thought towards you?” He takes a step into the center of the trial room, nearing Saturday. He’s not slouching anymore. “You’re supposed to be the Ultimate Judge of souls, as a Reaper.” And another. “Not some makeshift therapist.” And another. “Do yourself a favor, and focus on fixing your own problems before you try to take on someone else’s.”

(if saturday brought out her scythe, another thing michael expected to happen

> Michael positively beams at Saturday, eyes glazed over in some sort of manic delight, as the scythe nears his throat. “Go ahead, I dare you. They’ll only execute you next, little Absol.”

(this is if she backs down sadly and/or gets mad at him

> His eyes fill with pity. Somehow, this time, it actually seems real. “Your trust will get betrayed time and time again unless you make sure to forge real bonds. You can’t trust everyone who gives you any sort of interaction.” He shakes his head, sadly. “It seemed like you knew that, too. Until you started talking to me.”

(this is if someone else gets her to stop

> His grin falls, and he looks tired. “Whatever it’s worth, I think you’ll be one of the few to survive this mess.”

(if saturday did it

> He looks like he’s going to be sick. “Saturday... I don’t understand.” He brings a hand to his forehead, as if checking for a temperature. “Your hope shone the brightest out of everyone here...” And his expression changes to one of understanding. “Was it I who poisoned you? I’m sorry if that was the case.”

[planarchaosproject]

Planar Chaos: One Shots

The Touch of Destiny

Lisandra slunk through the shadows of the Setessan woods. All around her slumbering dryads rustled their leaves while lost in dreams, unaware of the foreigner in their midst. As she'd soon found out there were no vampires on Theros, nor any mention of them in historical texts, Lisandra resolved to keep her variety of undead-ness under wraps. Besides, these sleeping tree spirits weren't what she was after. That was something far rarer than a tree or rock given human form. A Meletian scholar had told the strangely dressed traveler before him that there existed a secret pool concealed in the woods outside of Setessa, the matriarchal city-state that worshipped Karametra. This pool, it was said, granted untold knowledge to all who gazed into it.

It was Lisandra's deepest wish to gaze into those waters and see what secrets she could find.

She didn't appear to be the only one intent on reaching the pool. After turning a corner she stumbled upon a creature that filled her with shock and terror. The torso was humanoid, with strong muscles and long flowing hair, but from the waist down the creature possessed the body of a strong horse, with rippling flanks and hooves powerful enough to crack stone. Memories of the Selesnya zealots who pursued her through the streets of Ravnica flooded Lisandra's mind. She hadn't felt physical fear since her transformation, but she felt psychological fear. In place of a tightness in her chest there was a cloudiness of her mind. She didn't sweat, but felt her logic drain away. Her hands were still as stone, but her thoughts were shaken to her very core. It took everything Lisandra had to not turn and run, crashing through the bushes like some deranged animal.

"Out for a little walk in the moonlight?" the centaur asked, tossing her white hair and looking at the young woman with curiosity.

"Something like that," Lisandra stammered.

"If you seek the Pool of Stars, simply continue on this path until you reach its end," the centaur said, smiling calmly. Lisandra looked around in confusion. There was no path.

"H-how do you know that's what I'm looking for?" Lisandra demanded.

"The Nyx, and the gods within it, work in mysterious ways," the centaur said, turning to leave.

Lisandra rolled her eyes. The gods had been a nonstop topic of conversation in Meletis. Karametra, the patron god of Setessa, was the god of harvests. Lisandra had been required to offer prayers not only to Karametra, but to Erebos, the god of death, and Ephara, the god of Poleis as well. The prayers were hollow and tasted like ash in her mouth. One god, however, intrigued her. There was a depiction of a thin man with a golden mask tucked away in a less than savory corner of Meletis. Lisandra had the feeling she'd seen him before. After some short inquiries, she'd discovered his name was Phenax and that he was the god of deception, a deity for thieves and those who loved secrets and wished to cheat their destinies.

Lisandra continued along the nonexistent path, searching for the supposedly telltale sparkle of the Pool of Stars. She thought she caught something out of the corner of her eye and immediately turned to the left, excitement starting to get the better of her. She wasn't as careful, snapping twigs here and there while her breath, now more of a habit than a necessity, came in short gasps.

I'm almost there, she told herself, and soon I'll see what this is all about.

Lisandra's foot caught on a rock, sending her face first into the Pool of Stars. The still water reflected the stars above. There weren't any stars on this cloudy night but still they glittered and twinkled. Some even appeared to move, dancing around one another. A red star relentlessly pursued a green star, leaving many smaller silver stars in its wake. They dotted the shifting, blue-purple-black velvet of the night, forming their own shapes as they roamed through the starfield. In the instant before Lisandra's entry broke the surface and sent the complicated dance rippling away, she thought it was beautiful.

Thin, bony hands seemed to grip her shoulders and pull her deeper.

"Hey!" Lisandra protested. Her eyes widened, surprised that she could even speak underwater.

The hands removed themselves as Lisandra attempted to stand up straight. She was still floating, her dark hair drifting around her like she was still underwater, but this water felt like air.

The bony hands were attached to a thin man, impossibly thin around the middle, with long, curving horns and cloven feet. A whip with a golden handle hung at his side. Lisandra had seen this god before, it was Erebos, the god of death.

"Before you ask if you are dead," Erebos said, "allow me to remind you that you would be seeing Athreos, not me, so soon after dying."

"So if I'm not dead, then what is this place?"

"An intermediary, so to speak, between the gods and mortals. It allows us to communicate with you more effectively than, say, writing prophecies on the backs of starfish and hiding them in the ocean."

"I did that one time." A conglomeration of stars that had taken the shape of a four-armed man produced this rebuttal.

"Nevertheless," Erebos continued, "you're here. What is it that you seek?"

"I seek knowledge in all its forms," Lisandra said automatically.

"No," Erebos said, furrowing his brow. "You seek something greater. To escape fate, to free yourself of the bonds of destiny. I'm sorry to tell you that is impossible. Everyone is bound to their fate, Lisandra Tandriss, including the gods."

"How do you know my name?"

"I heard your prayers, however tinged with skepticism they might have been." Erebos smirked, and then grew serious. "Since you first attempted to escape your fate, what has happened?"

"I've discovered secrets long thought lost. I've collected and preserved histories of forgotten worlds. I've gained mastery over my power. I've become me."

"You've searched for something bigger than yourself. These secrets and histories are your god, one whom you worship with your entire being in a way you couldn't worship true divinity," Erebos fired back. "You're still chasing that god you abandoned when you were small. Go back. Embrace your fate and you will feel the presence you so desire."

"I desire nothing you nor any other god can give me," Lisandra spat.

"Then you abandon yourself," Erebos faded away, leaving Lisandra by herself in the space in between the mortal realm and Nyx.

A glint of gold caught her eye. Something in the distance was moving towards her at roughly eye level. Two black eyes were framed by an approximation of a face, more stylistically pleasing than accurate. Lisandra had seen similar masks on the Returned, undead who wandered Theros without any clue to their past or their own name. There were some that said the Returned gave their souls to Phenax in exchange for never having to die, only to be deceived and live on as a husk of their former selves.

"I think I have something to offer you," Phenax said. He held out a simple book. Lisandra instinctively reached for it, but stopped herself.

"What do you want from me in return?"

"Clever girl," Phenax purred. "I, too, believe the only true power lies in knowledge and those who attain it. A thief attains the knowledge to pick a lock and thus lives another day outsmarting the locksmiths and striking fear into the general populace. That's a kind of power I can support. I would like you, Lisandra, to best every locksmith, and maybe let me see how things go along the way."

Phenax pressed the book into Lisandra's hands. He passed his palms over her knuckles, fingers delicately bushing her wrists. When he pulled his hands away, there was a pair of eyes emblazoned into the back of Lisandra's hands.

"Simply press your palms to your eyes and I can see what you see," Phenax said. Lisandra couldn't tell if he was smiling under the mask, but believed he was. "Now run along and prove Erebos wrong. You make your own fate."

"Where did you get this book?" Lisandra said, flipping through the pages. The author was a woman named Ashnod the Uncaring.

"Someone dropped it somewhere. I couldn't just let it get into the wrong hands once I realized what it was. We gods felt the Great Change on Theros as well. It's made Heliod paranoid in the centuries since. I knew that knowledge obtained from the time before must only go to the right person, and I believe that person is you," Phenax said. "Don't let me down, dear, or you'll wind up just like everyone else who has."

Lisandra found herself on the shore of the Pool of Stars at sunrise, completely dry and with no indication of what happened the previous night except the book cradled in her arms and the eyes of Phenax tattooed on her hands. She lifted her palms to her eyes experimentally.

"Excellent," Phenax said. "I'm pleased to see that it works."