#qwerty day trial

[canidaedreams64]

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[askcometcare]

[solarpawbs]

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[sparklecarehospital]

Wert.

[demonicbasterd]

Itz The Little Agender Mouse

[ladyinsertnamehere]

“I hate having flesh” bitch me too the fuck? /silly

[towost]

more of the epic brush!!

never drawn qwerty or brigh, so ta da! ^w^

[meatpresident]

qwerty is a mega man fan, do you see my vision…

[sparklecareheadcanons]

Qwerty and Carl would totally be friends if they knew each other.

.

[beclight]

the.

the qwert.

[daboyau]

Chapter seven of the Leave AU. You know the bandages and injuries we’ve seen on One and Two? We get an up close and personal look at what caused them this chapter, so be warned.

@boots-with-the-fur-club

@sharksandturtlesandspiders

@qwerty-keyboard-is-superior

When Draxum called him into his office, Four didn’t know what to expect. He’d thought that maybe this would be an impromptu medical exam or a punishment for his poor performance during the most recent joint training exercise. He tried not to think about what Two had told him, because if he thought about it then Draxum might notice that he was keeping secrets and then they’d all be in big big trouble. 

The sight of the rainbow eyed yokai perched in the armchair in the corner of the room made his heart sink as he suddenly realized what he had been summoned for. It watched him, head turning slowly to follow as he inched deeper into the room to stand before Draxum’s desk, wishing he was the only threat to be faced. He’d seen the incisions and the bruises and the haunted looks on his brothers’ faces; he had been dreading the day that it would be his turn, too.

“You are aware that the Counsel has been conducting an inquiry and performing their own experiments,” Draxum began in a carefully measured voice, his lip curling in poorly disguised disdain for the practice. He hated when others tried to butt in on his experiments. Two had been disciplined for it a lot when they were younger, before he learned to just focus on his own work, even if their creator’s project was more interesting. “The others’ trials have already begun, but I deemed you too young at the time. As you are now the same age as Two and Three were for their first exam, the Counsel has decided you are old enough as well.”

Four nodded, unable to speak around the little knot of anxiety that had curled itself tighter and tighter inside his chest. The yokai rose from its chair and glided over on silent feet, the rustling fabric of its robes and the crackle of the fire in the hearth the only sounds in the room. It felt like even Draxum was holding his breath. Four’s eyes lingered on the duffel bag it had left sitting innocently on the floor beside the chair, mind racing with thoughts of what sorts of things might be inside. His gaze snapped back to the yokai as it got close enough to pose an immediate danger. His heart was hammering inside his chest, and he just hoped that neither Draxum nor this yokai would be able to hear it.

“What is your designation?” the yokai asked, which Four thought was a silly question considering he knew they’d already met his brothers and could have figured out on their own what number came next. Still, he swallowed down his worries and his annoyance and made himself smile.

“I’m Four.”

“Hm, yes, of course you are. Your master’s creativity knows no bounds,” the yokai drawled, tone dripping with sarcasm, and Four had to stop himself from cringing when he saw Draxum go stiff from the corner of his eye. He was practically radiating fury.

“It’s practical,” he began, but the yokai waved him off before he could say anything more. 

“Yes, I’ve heard.” 

It took everything in him not to snap his head between the two as they spoke over him. He didn’t want Draxum to think he was judging him or anything like that! But…he was surprised at how unconcerned the Counsel yokai was. Didn’t it know that Draxum could hurt them if he wanted to?

Four shifted a bit, and the rainbows in five of its eyes began to whirl and change as they tracked his movement. He watched, entranced by the colors and patterns, and the yokai stared back with its other two eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Four swallowed down his nerves and offered another small smile.

“Tell me what you are thinking,” the yokai commanded in a low voice.

“You have pretty eyes,” Four answered before he could think better of it, and immediately flinched back at the soft snort of displeasure he heard from Draxum. The skin around the yokai’s many eyes crinkled as it smiled, and despite the prickling nerves that were climbing up and down his shell, Four felt himself relax just the tiniest bit. Maybe the counsel yokai wasn’t that bad after all? Maybe he’d been misunderstanding what was going on?

“It’s more simple than the others, isn’t it?” the yokai hummed, pulling out a file with a picture of Four’s face clipped to the top of it from beneath its robes. It flipped it open, papers inside rustling as it shifted through them. Then, it grabbed a pen and scribbled something on one of the papers inside. Four wished he could see what it was writing. “No attempts at manipulation or masking its thoughts. Still just a naive child. It would be prudent to have the next batch mature more quickly. Your so-called warriorswill be of little use to the Counsel of Heads otherwise.”

“Of course.” Draxum’s voice was tight. The taste of blood filled Four’s mouth as he bit down on his tongue, sharp fangs piercing through it easily as he did his best to keep his expression from faltering and his hands from trembling. Though the yokai’s voice was smooth and light with amusement, its words didn’t seem very nice. They felt dangerous. 

He tried not to think about white bandages and red blood and dark bruises and black stitches, but his eyes kept straying over towards the bag sitting innocently beside the chair. That was probably where the yokai kept all their medical supplies, right? What else did it carry around in that bag that could cause those wounds in the first place? The thought made him feel all jittery and sick.

“Where shall we begin our session today, Baron Draxum?” the yokai asked, its eyes narrowed as it smiled. It said his name like it was mocking him. 

“In the lab,” he replied through gritted teeth. Four could see Draxum’s hands clenching and unclenching at his side. “As usual.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Easier clean up.” 

Four locked his knees to hide the way those words made his legs shake. He didn’t complain or try to hide when Draxum turned and led them towards his lab. Neither of them seemed to mind that Four fell behind a little, toddling along on legs that felt more like jelly than anything else. All they cared about was that he didn’t protest when he was instructed to climb up onto the specimen table. 

He had to hop a little bit to reach. It felt embarrassing to have the yokai see him struggle to climb onto the slippery metal surface, doing his best not to use his claws for grip and risk damaging it. He hoped Draxum wouldn’t be angry at him.

Four settled himself onto the edge of the table, legs swinging to bleed off some of the nervous energy, and he looked between Draxum’s blank expression and the yokai’s face. It was not smiling anymore, but its many eyes were alight as it stared back. He waited, not sure what else to do until he was given an order. He felt small and out of his depths in a way he wasn’t used to. At least during training he knew what was expected of him; he could fight, and then he could win or lose. Sitting on the cold metal table with both Draxum and the counsel yokai watching him, he didn’t know what the next step was supposed to be.

The counsel yokai placed a hand on his knee, stilling the swing of his legs. Its sharp claws pricked at his scales, and beads of blood welled up around them. The red looked too bright against the dull green of his flesh. Four swallowed hard around the fear filling his chest and blocking his throat, and when the yokai met his gaze it was only that lump in his throat that kept him from whimpering.

“Lay down,” the yokai said softly, claws still digging into his knee. Four did as he was told, resisting the urge to wince as the movement tore those claws from his flesh. His heart pounded heavy in his chest, beating almost painfully against his plastron. “If you squirm or fight me in any way, I will have no choice but to tie you down. You will not like it if I have to do that. Do you understand?” 

Four nodded, unable to speak around the tightness in his throat. He took a deep breath, willing the burning in his eyes to go away, terrified that he would only make the yokai angry if he cried. His fingers curled at his sides and he did his best to focus on his breathing as the yokai’s hands prodded at his calves and ankles. He felt it pinch his Achilles tendon, tap at his knee, run curious fingers across his calf muscle, and dig its claws into the arch of his foot and the pads of his toes. It hummed thoughtfully, and then it withdrew. For one brief and foolish moment, Four hoped that maybe that would be it. Just a quick medical examination. (He already knew that was too good to be true.)

Then, he heard the rustling of fabric and the soft tinkling of metal against metal. The sound he made when the yokai appeared in his field of vision again with a scalpel would have been embarrassing in any other situation. It would have had One fussing over him with big sad eyes, and Three teasing him and trying to make him smile, and Two trying to distract him with long winded explanations about fear responses. All it did now was make the yokai tip its head, eyes narrowed and whirling, before it flashed him a small smile.

“No moving,” it reminded him. Four’s wide eyes darted towards Draxum, but his creator was turned away, head lowered and eyes shut.

There was the tickle of feather light touches over his calf again. They were almost gentle. He gritted his teeth, trying to be brave. Then, the scalpel replaced those careful touches, and all his tentative resolve was ripped away.

Four couldn’t stop the cry that ripped from his throat as he felt the blade trace a burning path up his leg. He knew that tensing up would only make it worse, but he couldn’t help it; it was all he could do to keep himself from thrashing and making the methodical cuts turn into jagged slashes.

He was no stranger to pain. He knew all about the blood soaked, adrenaline fueled sting of a fight, or the slow dull drain of a blood draw. He could endure hunger and thirst and exhaustion. He knew how to keep pushing through hour after hour of intense training, through bleeding and sores and trembling limbs. Draxum had taught him how to control his breathing and disappear into his own mind as he held his hands and carefully snapped the bones of each finger in quick, precise movements, and then set them right after so they would heal correctly. 

This was nothing at all like any of that. It was slow. Methodical. Torturous.

Four clutched the side of the table, fingers slipping in the hot, wet, red. He didn’t know how it got up here. Had he torn off a fingernail while scrabbling at the metal, or was it because of arterial spray? The yokai made a low sound, something that might have been meant to soothe in a different situation. He was pretty sure it was just mocking him now, though. 

Its hand was on his knee again, squeezing so tightly he was worried it might shatter his kneecap as it held him still. The scalpel traced another careful line from his ankle to where its hand rested, cutting through skin and muscle, scraping against bone. He could smell blood in the air. He could taste it on his tongue and in the back of his throat. He turned his head to the side, trying not to heave, afraid that if he did the blade would find the tendons and cut through those, too. 

He’d been hurt worse before. He’d lived through broken bones and a cracked shell and bites that ripped and maimed and the way his brothers looked at him after they’d all torn each other to shreds. He knew what it felt like to press his hands to a wound - both his own and the people he loves - to try to stem the bleeding. He knew how to be hurt. 

Somehow, this careful shredding and peeling of his leg was so much worse. The intent to cause him pain and the satisfaction the yokai was taking in it was new. He tried his hardest to think about his brothers as the scalpel brought wave after wave of agony. They had been strong, so that meant that he had to be, too. But the pain seemed like it was never going to end, and as tears clouded his vision, he squeezed his eyes shut and wondered how much more any of them could take. 

[foundedontouchtyping]

Just something in the works...

Qwerty is always hyperfocused on Ace Attorney. He has five characters operating "behind the scenes" that will eventually appear. While he writes the plot outline in the meantime...

Every good story should start with an interesting thing to grab your attention. Some use a fight, some use a murder, this one begins with a funeral:

The day had settled into a misty evening as we waited. Our sire's death was a shock to all of us. Relief washed over us when Charlie found evidence of neither murder nor suicide. Everything pointed to his illness anyways. "He coliced," Charlie had told us "I don't know what caused it, but he was obviously stressed about something. His organs were pretty messed up too, so I suppose shifting fatigue was also a factor."

"How was it doing an autopsy on someone you know?" I asked her,

"To be honest," Charlie replied as we walked to the pyre, "it was more like doing a necropsy."

"How so?"

"He was halfway into shifting up, so like, he looked like our father on the outside, but looked sort of like a horse on the inside" She gestured to her abdomen.

"He was equine," I said, "like me."

"Well yes," Charlie said doubtfully, "but you are more... horse-like. Remember, you showed me your MRIs. He had some notable differences as if he was a horse, but he wasn't..."

"Horse-like?" I laughed, "Do you forget I was born a colt? Dame raised me as..."

"That's what I mean" she interrupted, "even like this," she gestured towards me, "you are more horse-like. Besides, it wasn't the first time I'd had someone I know on my table. Remember Bruce?" I looked at her quizzically.

"Yes, I do. It's been a while since I heard about him. Was he...?"

"Murdered? Yes," She looked away, "The Good Detective Goodman was done in by his very own police chief."

"What a shame," I said, "He was always nice. I remember his murder trial."

"You were the stenographer for that trial?" Charlie asked.

"Yes, I was," I answered, "When the big orange man -- I mean Chief Gant -- admitted that he stabbed Bruce, he went nuts. He demanded conclusive proof, and when the defense attorney presented it, he screamed really loudly... There was also a lot of clapping and--" Charlie stood up.

"Thatcher?" I could feel my body go tense "Our father is here." Charlie took my elbow and helped me to stand. "It's time for his cremation." She led me to stand by the pyre as the funeral director brought his body. We were bid well wishes and sorry-for-your-losses as the flames were lit.

[askcometcare]

[this-is-fox-speaking]

im qwerty day trial

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[hamletteprinceofdenmark]

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