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anchanted-one · 2 years

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Legend of Vajra 27 - Stopover on Ord Mantel

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/110326750

Fort Garnik, Ord Mantell

Vajra left Kira to watch over the ship—and perhaps listen to any interesting gossip—and went down to the surface with just T7.

“Ever been here before, T7?”

<Negative.>

“We need to find Var Suthra’s man, this… Agent Ottau.”

“All I know, is we’re supposed to meet him at Fort Garnik,” Vajra sighed. “I think we should ask around at the barracks. Maybe the cantina—”

“Of course.”

The Droid led him to the Barracks, but no one there knew about Agent Ottau, or an SIS base. Eventually, a Private pointed him in the direction of one General Vander.

The old soldier looked surprised when he was shown into his office. “Well, well! It’s rare to see a Jedi on Ord Mantell, these days!” He knocked a rodent off his table and said, “Please, sit down. Sorry about the Mantellian Rats. There’s an infestation, and we’re having trouble coping with it. So what can I do for you?”

“I’m here looking for Agent Ottau, of the SIS,” Vajra said. “I was hoping you could point me in his direction.”

“Is that all?” he chuckled. “I was hoping you’d come to help us stamp out the last pockets of war on this planet.”

“I might be after a few Imperial bases down here on Ord Mantell.”

“Ahhh, I see! Good for you, Padawan. Err, say? Are you alone? It’s rare to see a Padawan without his Master.”

Vajra was pleased to know that he wasn’t famous because of one live broadcast. Even people on Coruscant hadn’t recognized him. “I’m a Knight, Sir. I understand how you feel. I still have difficulty believing too!”

“Pardon my ignorance,” the General said.

“No problem.”

“So… Ottau… Ottau…” he searched through his datapad. “Yes, found it! He’s in Talloran Village. It was overrun with Separatists until recently, but they’ve finally been talked down. The situation on Coruscant made a lot of people rethink their alliances with the Empire.” A shadow passed his face for a second. “Here’s the coordinates.” He handed Vajra a datapad. “It’s a short walk. You can take a speeder, if you like.”

“Two kilometers… I’d love to walk, but time is of the essence.”

“Right. I’ll see that you have clearance for that speeder. And anything else that you might need.”

Vajra thanked him and left.

Shortly after Dawn the next day

Agent Ottau wasn’t surprised when he opened the door to find the Jedi had returned. “Welcome back, Master Jedi.”

“We got back to Fort Garnick around midnight, but didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Appreciate it. The Coruscant thing had many of us pulling all-nighters. Not as bad as you, I’m sure, but still…”

“It’s going to get a lot more hectic, that’s for sure,” the Jedi said unhappily. “Especially given what we found.”

Ottau took the list and looked it down. His alarm grew with every word, but years of instilled professionalism maintained his outward calm. “This… wow. Did you get any sleep after reading this?”

“No.”

“The ‘Desolator’ project. Planet-killer. Fuck…”

“I was hoping you could send it to Var Suthra and the Jedi Council for me. SIS transceivers are bound to be more secure than mine.”

“Copy that.” He handed the datacube to a droid, and asked his secretary for some refreshments. “A little rest while we wait?”

“Sure, why not?”

“In the meantime, I wonder if we can talk for a while? I went through the files of your time on Coruscant. There were several names in there which interested me.”

“Oh?”

“The soldier, Lieutenant Queens; and the spacers, Stede and Kraot. They were here a while back, and they made quite an impression. The streets outside my home were a battlefield until they cleared it all up.”

“They did? Just the three of them?”

“Well, Queens only worked with Stede and Kraot while storming the volcano.”

“They stormed a volcano?”

“Yeah. Interesting bunch. I thought I’d tell you about them.”

“A good friend of mine gave me a love for stories.”

“Good, coz this one is kinda long. So, let’s start with Captain Stede and First Mate Kraot. According to the reports, the spacers introduced themselves as traders, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, they were stretching the truth a little. They’re smugglers.”

“Smugglers?”

Ottau was amused by the Jedi’s shock. “Yeah. Ethical, most of the time. They almost always try to pick their clients. But they aren’t spotless, and their background checks are shaky. They were hired to bring crates of weapons to Ord Mantell, by a man working at Fort Garnik. The one Corso worked for.”

“I think… Corso said his name was… Bado?”

“Vidu. He was a low-level criminal whose ‘misdemeanours’ the soldiers overlooked because he was useful to them. He brought in their supplies, had a network of informants… that kind of thing.”

“I see.” Ottau could see the boy struggling to come to terms with the revelation.

“You really liked them, didn’t you? For what it’s worth, they’re good people. They don’t run supplies for people known to prey on innocents. And they hate the Empire. Would never work for them unless it involves a dying population. They’ve run supplies to starving villages and towns basically for free. And Stede is particularly vicious to slavers.”

“Well… that’s good at least. I… I’ll try not to let it color my opinion of them, if I ever meet them again.”

“Good. Sadly, the real world isn’t all light and dark. There’s shades of grey there.”

“Right.”

“So anyway, they weren’t supposed to stick long on Ord Mantell, but one of Viidu’s men, a rat called Skaavak, tricked them into running a dangerous mission in a nearby village. And while they were out, he made off with their ship, and all their cargo.”

“I doubt he knew what he was getting into. Those two are fearless. I saw them fighting on Coruscant. Skaavak would need an army to stay safe from them.”

“As it happened, an army was exactly what Skaavak had. He donated the supplies to the Separatists, so that he could ingratiate himself with them. And steal something they had. And as a bonus, the man who requisitioned those supplies from Viidu would have taken care of the pilots for him. But that last part didn’t go so well.

“Before getting into that, I think I’ll mention your other friend. Queens. A Straight-A’s student in the Phalanx Academy. Stellar performances in his maiden missions. Responsible for single-handedly saving a train from terrorists on Corellia.”

“Whoa!”

“It’s no wonder he got chosen for Havoc Squad along with his best friend, Tatiana Horakova, who was an A-grade sniper. They got assigned right in time to help Havoc locate a stolen warhead.”

“A stolen warhead?”

“Right. The Seps got their hands on it somehow. Special Forces is conducting all investigations, so I don’t know much. Anyway, their searches—the pilots for their ship, the soldiers for the bomb—they kept leading them from one Separatist held town to the next. I sat here and listened to the frightened comms chatter. Even saw them, when they swept through this town. Havoc broke up a meeting between different terrorist groups from across the Republic, and killed all fifteen of them. On their end, the gunslingers raided a Separatist archive, killing dozens of guards, and handing over copies of the data to Republic Command. They gave us everything; sympathizers, traitors, Imperial connections and more. The two groups crossed paths a couple of times, but where they really got together was the volcano. Thanks to Imperial backing, the Seps built up a strong base inside the crater. They had hundreds of their elites there, as well as a lot of their truly dirty secrets. The veterans of Havoc went in without their newcomers, but got trapped in an ambush. Queens and Horakova went in after them, and joined up with the gunslingers, who had tracked Skaavak there. I have no idea how they managed it, but they made it to several landing platforms inside and cleared all AA turrets, which allowed soldiers to land. In just three hours, they had the base.”

“I know Skaavak escaped… but what about the bomb?”

“Right. I believe retrieval became impossible, since they found Imp Special Forces inside. But they were able to defuse it, even under fire. You should have heard the Imps throwing a temper tantrum!”

“Then they still achieved their mission; to save the lives that bomb could have taken.”

“Right. And that’s how the brass took it too! Queens got a promotion!”

“What happened to Horakova?”

“I… don’t know. Normally when a soldier is KIA during such a high-stakes mission, there’s a large service. But since there wasn’t… I really hate to say it, but I suspect she was a traitor.”

“A traitor?”

“Yes. It’s odd; she didn’t have any connection to the Seps, or Ord Mantell. And not to the Empire. But all investigations are being handled by Special Forces. General Garza tends to keep things wrapped up. Anyway, that’s the story. If ever you meet Queens, or Stede, or Kraot again, just know that they’re heroes here on Ord Mantell. Especially Stede; that woman entered the range one day, and beat the blaster-pistol high score. She’s got an eagle’s eye.”

“Thanks, Agent. It was good to know. I wonder if Captain Stede got her ship back.”

Ottau frowned and sent a message to a buddy of his. He was lucky to have a quick response. “Yes, actually. And she somehow managed to put Skavaak on multiple watch lists, including one for infectious, incurable STDs.”

The Jedi and Astromech both laughed.

“Okay, we’re getting a message from Var Suthra. Looks like he got everything. Head on back to your ship, he’s ready to discuss it with you.”

“Thanks for everything, Agent Ottau. I hope we work together again, sometime.”

“Me too, Master Jedi. Me too.”

Once the Jedi left, he sat back for a moment to process the news of this superweapon. The idea that the maniac, Darth Angral, was about to get his hands on a planet-killer… no world in the Republic would be safe. He liked the kid, but he hoped that the Council could spare Jedi with real experience. It was true that he’d saved Coruscant, but this was a different game altogether.

This ‘Vajra’ was in over his head. Even on the modest chance he succeeded, he would be left damaged. After giving it good thought, he wrote a follow-up message to the Jedi Council with his personal request.

Kira Sensed the moment her Master arrived on the orbital station, and of course he started coming right for her. Perhaps he thought she’d made a friend, or perhaps he had Sensed her distress. His presence made her feel better though. She wasn’t going back to her birthplace, after all.

There was a panic among her captors, who had been making shuttle arrangements back to Dromund Kaas. There was some discussion, then the one called Inquisitor Ferav decided to hold her hostage.

Kira almost snickered.

All seven of Ferav’s cronies arrayed themselves in a semicircle behind them, facing the only door into their lounge.

When the door chimed, the good Inquisitor drew his blade and placed it near her neck. “Play along, now!” he whispered.

When Vajra entered, he gasped. “YOU?!”

Vajra gave her a confused look. “Kira, is this a strange party or something?”

“I wish,” Kira sighed. “But I’m not worried. You see—”

But charming, charming Ferav interrupted her. “So this boy Jedi was here all along? Well played, Padawan! Your lies convinced even Darth Angral!”

“Wait, so you’re really Sith?” he shook his head disbelievingly. “But your Force Strength is even weaker than mine!”

“Shut up, dog! Imperial Intelligence noticed her poking her pretty little nose around, and my Master came from twenty parsecs away to personally interrogate her! Unfortunately, we were led to believe you weren’t here.”

Kira snorted. “I told them you were on Corellia. Suckers!”

Vajra looked at her with a pained look. “I kinda wish you’d not done that. I could have just killed him.”

Kira snorted again, imagining her captors’ expressions.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY!?” Ferav roared. “Our Master would tear you apa—”

“By the way, Angral wanted me for more interrogation or something,” Kira said brightly. “He said I was not to be touched. You can attack whenever you want.”

Vajra did as she suggested. In a jiffy, he had closed the distance and knocked the Sith off Kira. Thrills rolling down her spine, Kira allowed her Master to pick her up and leap backwards.

“Thanks!” she said brightly.

“Take them!” Ferav screamed. “Alive! The great lord wants them both alive!”

Vajra removed her handcuffs and gave her two of his Lightsabers. “This is a good time to see what you’re made of.”

Kira blinked. “Eh?”

“You heard me. They can’t hurt you, right? Don’t worry. I’ll bail you out if anything happens. The Lightsabers connect, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Kira said. She moved quickly, and Pushed her attackers back. Ferav and one other man managed to stay vertical, but the others were knocked off their feet. Kira attacked Ferav first, striking at his midsection and neck. He fended off her blows, but wasn’t good enough to take her on one-on-one.

His upright lackey reached her after her first attack, and attempted to knock aside her blade with a heavy attack. Luckily, he wasn’t particularly fast; Kira disengaged to allow the blow to miss its mark, then stabbed him in the chest.

The others were back on their feet now, ready to rejoin the fray. Feeling the pressure of facing Ferav and his remaining cronies at once, Kira attacked him recklessly. She managed to cleave his Lightsaber and the hand it was in, but he fell onto his worthless bum, and crawled back, cradling his maimed hand and crying from the pain.

The remaining six finally reached her. They managed to shake off her Force Push this time, but were staggered enough for Kira to retain the momentum. She attacked the runt of the pack, hoping to finish him off too in the second before their comrades were upon her.

But one second wasn’t enough. They were on her, and suddenly she was pushed into the defensive. This barely-Sith comedy band had clearly trained together, and were greater than the sum of their parts. She felt quite pressed by the onslaught of blades from all sides.

She slipped, rolled, and dodged to avoid getting encircled, but knew that it was only a matter of time.

Finally a Sith managed to get under her defenses, and kicked her in the stomach. A different one drew back his hand to slap her, but she felt herself being Picked up and Pulled out once again.

“Thanks for the show, Kira,” Vajra said, letting her down next to him. “I know what to teach you now.”

He pounced; there was a loud whoosh, and the sound of a Lightsaber spinning in the air. Vajra came to a halt in front of Inquisitor Ferav, and six pairs of heads dropped down behind him, the bodies falling after.

Ferav screamed like a plucked rooster. “I SURRENDER!” he screamed so loud that the garrison in Fort Garnik would have heard him.

“Good. There’s much you can tell us.”

Ferav nodded furiously. “Anything. Anything! Just please, don’t send me back to my Master! I don’t want a punishment! I don’t want one!”

T7, who had hitherto just sat back and watched, rolled up to the Inquisitor and stunned him. Vajra locked the man in his own stun-cuffs and left T7 to keep watch before racing over to Kira.

“You alright?”

Kira glowered. “I can’t believe you made me fight those jerks on my own!”

He gave her a wide smile. “Did you notice what you didn’t do?” When she refused to answer, he sighed and went on. “You didn’t lose control. Not even close. You fought these Sith you hate like a true Jedi.”

“Oh!” Kira’s heart leapt. “So, you pulled this stunt to prove a point?”

“In part,” he said. “I also wanted to see how you fought. You’re probably aware of this, but there’s few Jedi things I’m better than you at. It’s only in Lightsabers that I’ve got you beat. Everywhere else, we’re close. You’re even better in most ways.”

“Yeah? I don’t believe that.”

“But I do. Anyway, even if I’m to be your Master for a week, I want to teach you what I can. You’re not bad with that thing, but there’s definitely room for improvement. Once we make the jump into hyperspace, we’re going to work on your swordplay together.”

She took his proffered hand and stood, dusting off her bottom. Reaching out, she summoned her own Lightsaber back into her hand, and returned the one Vajra had lent her. “Wasn’t this the same one that Master Satele loaned you? Why haven’t you built your own yet?” His blush made her chuckle. “Ahhh, have a crush on our ethereal Grand Master, do we?”

“No,” he sighed. “It’s a secret.”

“Huh?” Kira thought about it for a second before clapping her hands. “Ohhh! So it’s true then!”

“What?” Vajra looked nervous.

“Don’t play dumb with me! I’ve seen her stand next to Jasme enough times to see the resemblance.”

He didn’t say anything, but his averted gaze was all it took her to know she’d scored.

“And here I thought they were aunt and niece, maybe.” Kira guffawed.

“Kira? This isn’t a safe place to talk about it,” Vajra said, looking deeply guilty for breaking Jasme’s trust.

“Oops!” Kira felt stupid. At least the Sith was still unconscious. “Hey, T7? Be a dear and scrub a minute or two off the feed?”

<Affirmative.>

“Kira… please don’t do this to me again. I feel like…” he trailed off, and looked so guilty that Kira felt the need to pat his shoulders.

“Hey, don’t worry! It’s just Miss Motor-mouth being motory as usual.”

“Right.”

“Now, come on. Var Suthra will probably be wondering what’s keeping you.”

“Sure.”

“Just… tell me one thing. This thing about Master Satele’s ‘gifts’. It’s obvious now, that they’re special because of Jasme, not Satele.”

“Right.”

“Vajra… tell me you’re not in love with Jazz.”

His response was simple and direct. “I’m not in love with her. I see her as an actual sister.” She was satisfied with the honesty in his voice.

“Good. It’s kinda weird, like you’re using these sabers to tell yourself you’re Jasme’s little brother.”

He blushed even deeper. “It’s silly, I know.”

“Hey, I’m not judging! In fact, now that I think about it, it’s actually kind of sweet. I envy the friendship you have. Now, come on! I need some more grub. I, er… lost my breakfast earlier. Threw up on Angral’s tailored boots.”

Kira meditated as Vajra handled the now-Major Var Suthra, and turned over the prisoner. She could hear her crystal’s song, no problem. Any Force user could, after a few days’ training at most.

But Vajra had told her to really focus on it, to let it fill her head, heart, and soul. And so she did. It was kinda relaxing, actually; a million times more soothing than any mundane song she’d ever heard. A part of her started to wonder why she hadn’t done this before; why it had taken her more than three years to begin this kind of meditation.

Unbidden, her mind went back to her first meeting with Vajra. She recalled what he said about dancing to the crystal’s song. She finally understood what he’d meant; why he’d dedicated his entire childhood to learning how to dance to it.

“Ah, I see you like it!”

She opened her eyes to see Vajra entering with several training remotes.

“Hey, Master. You were right; it gets better every second.”

“Good. How’s your dancing? Regular dancing, I mean.”

“Master Kiwiiks… didn’t let me go out for clubbing and the like,” Kira said unwillingly. This was at least the fifth time she’d said anything about her Master, and she didn’t like it. “But I did do some ballroom dancing. The elegant stuff.”

“That’s enough to start with,” Vajra grinned. “You know how to move with a rhythm.”

“I guess so.”

“And you have a good grasp on the basics of Form VI. You don’t have to say anything more about Master Kiwiiks’ focus. I understand.”

She felt grateful.

“But… well. Master WenSuul was bedridden for most of my apprenticeship. What stopped you from requesting a Holocron to learn from? Or ordinary data cubes? Oh, or did your ‘only read erotica’ rule get in the way.”

“I—” She laughed self-deprecatingly.

“There’s only so much our Masters can teach us. For everything else, hit the library. Ours is rather good, you know!”

She felt rather annoyed, but got his point. “Actually… Jazz banned me from the library when she walked in on me… errr… watching a porno.”

“Kira!”

“Oh, your face!” She laughed hysterically. “I’m only kidding!”

“Don’t,” he said seriously. “Especially somewhere Jasme could hear you. She becomes a different person when the library is involved.”

“Okay, then. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Now that you are really listening to the song, start dancing to it. However you want. Ignite the blade if you need to.”

“Should I close my eyes?”

“If you want. You are in complete control of everything here. The only rule; no staying still.”

“Got it, boss!”

Kira began dancing like the cantina dancers she’d once seen, back when she’d snuck into a bar on Nar Shaddaa. There had been a Twi’lek named Ilea’naschae dancing then, one of the most famous in Hutt Space. Her movements had been so, incredibly sensual… almost rapturous! It had been that sight which had awakened Kira to desire… and it had been that dance which had given her a love for artful eros.

Kira didn’t want to become that kind of dancer, nor incorporate that into her fighting style—the two needed to be separate. But to start off this dance, it was a good place.

Kira began by spreading out one leg, toes pointed, then attempted a balletic spin. But her anchoring foot slipped and she stumbled.

“Dammit!”

“It’s alright. If you fall, just stand back up. The way you would in a fight.”

“You got it, boss.”

She tried again, and this time when she slipped, she just stood back up and did a reverse pirouette. For about a minute, that was all she did. But afterwards, her body really began to get into the rhythm. She began to move her arms and shoulders; her hips started to swing to the beat. She turned her head, and arched her back. And a larger variety of steps became part of her act. She stepped, sideslipped, tap-danced, turned, and hopped.

She looked at herself in the mirrors her Master had placed before his own practice, and thought that she wasn’t as inelegant as she’d feared.

“The Lightsaber training did help in this, believe it or not,” Vajra explained, when he saw her look of surprised satisfaction.

“I like it!” Kira began to dance more energetically, tossing her hair and picking up her arms. She added in full squats and lunges. Her style eventually moved on to a peppy break dance.

“Yeaaaaaah!” She’d really gotten into the swing of it now! Unbidden, her green blade sprang to life, and she added in attack and defense moves.

Vajra clapped. “That’s good! Really good!”

“Thanks, Master!”

“Now that you’re dancing to the music, start fighting with it. Let the song dictate your step. Do you need a break, first?”

“Not really, boss. Bring it on!”

He released the remotes and ordered them to begin firing in fifteen seconds.

“Ummm. Master? There are nine remotes in there! I can only keep up with six!”

He grinned. “Be prepared to surprise yourself. Again.”

The droids began firing when their countdown ended. They spewed a hail of low-powered blaster bolts at her. And they were set to hard mode, which got Kira nicely panicked. Her attempt to deflect them were, at best, desperate. Her swings were wild, and her movements exhausting.

She wasn’t used to this! In the few scraps she’d gotten into, she’d always relied on cover and running. And a lot of Force attacks. This, getting caught out in the open and unable to Force her way through, was something she’d hoped she’d never have to face. She felt stings on her arms and face after about this session started, and started to lose her confidence in herself.

“Relax, Kira. Don’t be afraid. Listen to the song.”

She tried, in which time she got clipped five more times. She yelped and jumped, her concentration breaking. But after three failed attempts, she was able to listen again. The next second, her body was able to move to the song’s rhythm as it had before. It wasn’t easy at first, but as time went on, she found herself getting back into the zone.

And suddenly, she was there. Her blades intercepted every bolt, and her movements held an economy now. Her rate of exhaustion dropped off, and she felt confident she could keep this up for another hour, at least.

She’d been worried that she would have to face off against Vajra later, but he let her have her confidence boost, not moving on to sparring.

Forty minutes later, he called for a break. “Alright. I think we should be arriving at Carrick station soon. I can drop off our prisoner. I think we’ll stay here for an hour or two, so you can go look for your choice of clothes too, once you’ve caught your breath.”

“Really? Thank you, Master!”

“Don’t discard your old clothes. We’re headed to Taris next, and you know what that means.”

“Damn. Got it!”

She collapsed against a crate as Vajra gathered up the remotes. She took a large drink from the bottle he’d left for her, and toweled the sweat off her face and shoulders.

She felt a victorious glow engulf her chest. She’d thought she would never rise above a D-tier ranking as a saberist, but in less than an hour, she’d started to believe in herself. With Vajra as her Master, she was sure she could be in the Orders top fifty within the next couple of years. In five, she might be good enough to fight Vajra himself.

“Look out, Sith! You won’t take me in this easily next time!”

#star wars #swtor #the old republic #star wars the old republic #fanfic #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #jedi knight #jedi #hero of tython #kira carsen

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madllamamomma · 3 years

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The Visitor~ Part 4

Rhemi x Muriel fanfic. [Warning: the following contains graphic language and mentions blood.]

Part 4~

Père~

Nearly fully sprinting at this point, Rhemi tries her best to make it on time to the palace gates to meet her father. The time really got away from her this morning, despite her waking up before the crack of dawn. Luckily, it’s not raining today, the sky is nice and clear and there’s even a light breeze, but it’s still rather chilly. At least the sun is there to keep her warm today, a good day for walking around.

As she hurries through the busy streets inching closer and closer to the palace, she can’t help but feel so nervous, yet rather excited at the same time. An entire morning with her father! Oh how excited she was to have someone else to talk to about advance spells, incantations, and all other sorts of magic! Her friends were always there to talk to her, but she doesn’t remember having someone this groomed and experienced before.

Not to mention, she couldn’t wait to show him around the city that she is so proud of and loved. Countess Nadia, Consul Valerius, Portia (who is now a chamberlain) and the citizens have been so busy building and improving the city in the last year. Where there were once slums, sinking, underwater neighborhoods, or rough and sketchy places are now where new homes, restaurants, and shops are thriving. Vesuvia has honestly never been better. It seems like everyday Nadia and the citizens have been improving it more and more each and every day.

Turning the final corner to the central part of the city reveals the palace and all its marvelous splendor. Rhemi can feel her heart fluttering in her chest as she sees Martin just exiting the gates by two guards. Dressed in fancy foreign clothes like the day before but different colors and the same silk blue cape and jeweled cane… Except there was no hat on his head, and no badger draped across his shoulders. Martin peers down at his pocket watch with a sore expression, before he notices his daughter jogging towards him. A bright smile takes over his lips, that icy exterior partially melts away yet again.

Nearly out of breath, slowing down her stride as she prances towards him giddily. “Good morning!” She huffs with a tired grin and a little sweat on her brow.

“Well, good morning to you too, Rhemielia.” Martin replies, blindly putting away his pocket watch. “Running a wee bit behind are we?”

With a nervous smile, she scratches the back of her head. “Sorry, I was practicing a new spell. Lost track of time—You know how it is…. I-I hope? Or maybe it’s just me.”

Thinking he’d be interested, and ask what kind of spell she’s working on, she prepares herself to gush about it. But instead, he offers her arm not seeming to have really listened to what she had just said. “Mmm—Shall we?”

Rhemi shakes herself out of her mindset, her grin wide, happily taking his arm. “Oh—We shall.” There are plenty of other things to talk about other than magic.

As soon as the two start walking down the street an awkward dead quiet suddenly takes over. Never has silence been so loud, even when Rhemi started getting to know Muriel, it wouldn’t feel this awkward. After a couple of minutes, it becomes unbearable for both of them as they continue to walk aimlessly down the street.

“...So—”

“Did you—”

Both of them try to break the silence at the same time. But as soon as the other one started to speak, they hushed up quickly again thinking one of them would continue.

“... My apolo—”

“... Sorry—”

Blush starts to take over both of their cheekbones as they both fumble terribly for a proper foot hole to start a conversation.

“After you—”

“Go aheaaa—Ahhhhh.”

Finally the two stop in their tracks and look at one another a bit embarrassed. Unable to contain herself anymore, Rhemi snorts through her nose at this complete ridiculous awkwardness, breaking all the exhausting tension. After breaking down this unneeded discomfort, Martin then lets out a soft startled chuckle along with her, making his laughter lines next to his temples come out for once.

“Go ahead.” Rhemi says with a cheery smile, giving him a small nudge with her elbow.

But he shakes his head, patting her hand still loop through his other arm, a smile remaining on his face. “No, No—Please, ladies first.”

“Alrighty then…” She replies and they both proceed to stroll down the street again. “Did you sleep well?”

He sighs and thinks about that question with a shrug rolling off his shoulders. “Well enough, I suppose. However, I discovered it difficult to fall asleep after finding out your long lost daughter is still alive and well after all these years”

She laughs through her nose giving him a knowing look. “Yeah—I can relate to that… Except finding out about having a father.”

A fond grin faintly spreads on his lips as they stand there for a moment. Finally, Rhemi had to ask. “So where’s Beatrix today?”

“Oh—I left her behind today so she could get some rest. The damn badger never sleeps on the ship… She’s always hunting for filthy rodents on the deck at night.”

“I hope she’s get some rest then….. Is your hat resting too?”

“.... Beg your pardon??” He quickly replies, tilting his head rather confused.

“You’re not wearing your hat today. So is it resting too?” She kids.

“Oh….” Realizing what she is asking, Martin grins a little wider making the wrinkles in his cheeks visible, and a faint flash of cold in his glance. “... You can say that…”

“I think you look better without it anyways.”

Warmth in his eyes returns, and he looks at her rather flattered. “..... Really?”

“Tee-hee~ I like your hair… I wish I inherited your color. It’s different.” Rhemi says with a smile.

“Ha! I don’t remember the last time someone complimented this overly ripe hair of mine.” Her father instinctinky slicks his thick plum and gray mane back with the other hand. “Thank you….”

“You’re welcome.”

“.... So, my Pigeon—” He says taking back his cane with his free hand. “What part of this…. lovely…. quaint little city… are you going to show me?” He sounds half sarcastic when he says lovely and quaint, but Rhemi doesn’t seem to even pay any attention to that, too distracted with her own thoughts.

Ooooooh no—I haven’t thought that far… she thinks to herself, tapping her pointer finger on her chin, pondering hard.

She looks left and right still thinking of the best place to start. Then she finally has an idea. “Hmmmm…. Well, have you had breakfast yet?”

“As a matter of fact, no, I have not.”

“Perfect. I know just the place!” She says excitedly as she tugs him along with a wide silly smile on her face. “Hope you're hungry!”

“We’ll see…” He mumbles to himself not convinced in the slightest.

It isn’t too long before the two come across the heart district where the marketplace is. Even though it’s early on a weekend day, the market is still bustling with people, buying, selling, haggling and negotiating goods.

Of course the apprentice first took her father to one of her favorite bakers named Selasi in town to get some fresh pumpkin bread to start the day.

The poor Selasi’s stall was left in ruin just like everything else in the market after Lucio’s and his army of mercenaries took over the city after the Masquerade. But every since then, he had gotten recognized by the countess when everyone was refugees in the forest next to the hut. All the Parkain royals along with Nadia were impressed with the baker's delicious food, even with what little he had, it was amazing. After everyone returned and started rebuilding, he turned his simple stall into a full on shop and cafe and named it, ‘Selasi’s Bakery’.

He even picked up an apprentice of his own named Agrippa. A very tall and handsome person with powdery white skin, long light-grayish hair styled in pigtails tied and a loop at the ends, blue eyes and a smooth mid-ranged voice. They made Rhemi’s favorite cakes and sweets, and even somehow improved the baker’s pumpkin bread recipe. They even recently started dating Portia after she finally asked them out and the two have been going steady since the fall.

“Well—This is the market!” Rhemi introduces to her father, still leading him towards the bakers.

Her father scans the bustling market with an unimpressed look on his face. “Doesn’t seem like this part has changed.” He mutters to himself forcing himself not to sneer.

“What was that?” Rhemi asks, unable to catch his muttering with all the loud noises from the market goers.

“I asked, ‘where are you taking me to’, Pigeon? ”

“Oh! To one of my very favorite places to get pumpkin bread~” She says as they arrive at the baker’s shop, the air is filled with sweet, buttery and savory aromas and Rhemi opens the door making the bell chime.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t trouble~” Agrippa teases with their charming smirk.

“Oh yeah, you should talk!” Rhemi giggles back, coaxing her father inside with her hand. He enters unenthusiastically looking at all of the food as Rhemi continues with their small talk. “How are you, Ippa?”

“Good, thank you, Bean! Business has been steady like always.”

“Where’s Selasi today?”

“Getting some more flour. I told him I’d go, but he insists that he has to ‘let the flour speak to him’ or whatever. How’s the wedding planning going? Portia told me you’ve been stressed out a little.” They say as they lean into the counter that they normally tower over.

“Things are coming together finally.” She says with an exhausted, but relieved sigh. “With Julian and Portia taking care of the little things, I could focus on the bigger things. All that is left is my last fitting for my dress now. So I think it’s safe to say it’ll be all smooth sailing from here!”

“Muriel dropped off the toppers yesterday. They look amazing! Your bow has some amazing talent. I can’t wait for everyone to see it.”

Rhemi’s eyes brighten up and her lips twist up even more. “Oooo! Let me see!”

“Nooooope~ I have very specific instructions to not let the bride see. It is supposed to be a surprise.” Agrippa says while straightening up their long trunk and folding their arms across their chest. “Sorry~”

Rhemi gives them a smile, pouts, then gives them a quick raspberry like a ten year old. She then rolls her eyes knowing they wouldn’t let her see them, and turns to her father and walks over to him.“OH! There is someone I’d like you to meet!”

“Oh? Who?”

Taking his arm once again, she leads her father to the counter. “Père, this is Agrippa, the baker’s apprentice.”

With one look at the nobleman, Agrippa's eyes widened. “Père? Doesn’t that mean…?” They trail off slowly connecting the dots. “I didn’t know you had a father!”

“Well neither did I!” She says with a giddy smile. “Not till yesterday.”

“Well… How do you do? I’m Agri—”

“Agrippa… yes I heard.” Martin replies a bit snootily. “I am Sir Remington Martin Alarie III, the Archmagister and head chamberlain of his Royal majesty of the Great Charlès.”

Realizing rather quickly what kind of man Martin was, Agrippa puts on a smirk and stops themself from sputtering. “Well, ‘Sir Remington Martin Alarie III, the Archmagister and head chamberlain of his Royal majesty of the Great Charlès’.” They double over the counter in a long bow deepening their voice playfully to mimic him. “I am but a humble baker who is blessed to be a friend of your lovely daughter.” They say bringing their body back up. “How do you do, Sir? ”

“I was told by my daughter that this was where her favorite pumpkin bread was made.”

“You’ve come to the right place! In fact—” Agrippa replies with a smile dashing off to the brick ovens for a moment donning oven mitts on their hands. “Got a fresh batch right here!”

Rhemi eyes light up with joy and hunger and she wiggles her hips in sheer happiness. “You are going to love it!” She sings to her father and he gives her a half smile.

The baker’s apprentice cuts them both a generous piece wrapped up in a bit of parchment paper. “Here ya’ go!”

Just as Rhemi digs into her coin purse, her father stops her. “No, no. Do keep your money.” And digs into his vest. “A gentleman should always pay for a lady.”

But Agrippa stops him sticking out their hand and waving. “It’s on the house.”

“Really? You won’t get into trouble will you, Ippa?”

“Nahhhh~ Besides, gods know you and your friends keep this place in business!” They laugh.

“Thank you so much!” She says with a big happy smile then looks to her father expecting him to say thank you as well.

He blinks blankly, for a moment then opens his mouth with a click of his tongue. “Oh—Yes… ah, thank you, Agrippa… Although if you're giving this away for free... I’m not sure if I should be concerned or not.... could this be a poorer batch you messed up on?”

Rhemi laughs thinking he’s joking, and Agrippa joins in to not make things awkward, but knowing that he wasn’t kidding.

“Well we’ll get out of your hair before the weekend rush comes! See ya later, Ippa! Tell Selasi I said hello!”

“See ya!” Agrippa says with a smile as the two head out the door hiding a middle finger behind their back as they glare at the Archmagister and his unnecessary dickish comment.

As soon as they leave the bakery and walk around the market, Rhemi digs into her hot pumpkin bread. “Mmmmm! Sooooo goood.” She happily moans, tearing up the moist and tasty bread; but as she looks over to her father, he hasn’t even touched his food.

“Smmthin’ woong?” She asks covering her mouth, her voice muffled with bread still in her mouth.

The Archmagister just shrugs, taking a very small piece and forcing it down his throat. “....Hmmmm.”

“I’m sorry, do you not like pumpkin bread? I should have asked—”

“Oh no, it’s just…. I don’t take handouts.” Martin replies, his face stone cold and serious.

“Hand out?” She blurts out. “It’s a gift! Ippa was being nice.”

“Well… whatever you call it. I don’t take gifts unless I know what people want…” He says with a sneer. Rhemi’s happy smile then drops into a frown and Martin starts to feel an unfamiliar pull in his heart as he nearly tosses the bread to the ground for the birds to eat. “...I ah…. I also don’t care for pastries for breakfast.” He says adjusting his tone while wrapping up the pumpkin bread into the parchment paper and handing it to his daughter. “... Nor do I typically have breakfast now that I mention it. Perhaps you’ll save it for later.”

“O—Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry you don’t like it.”

“Not your fault, Pigeon. I don’t expect you to know everything.” He reassures her. “Well where else in this pathe—I mean… petite city of yours are you going to show me?”

With a determined grin, Rhemi takes a deep breath knowing another place to go to.

“Follow me!”

——————————

As Rhemi shows Sir Martin around the city, the Temple district, the Heart, South end, and even the now newly rebuilt shopping district (previously known as the flooded district). But still, Rhemi couldn’t shake the agonizing feeling like the Archmagister was rather unimpressed with everything she threw at him. Even after all the renovations completed in the past year—Even when Rhemi told her father the story about the Devil converging with the ex-count—The battles with Lucio and his mercenary-ghost army— The competition to keep the world out of chaos.

Nothing—truly, nothing seems to impress him at all.

He still sneered, and scowled at the city, like he made up his own mind about it long long ago. Strangely, when the two were traveling around, it seemed like her father was familiar with the streets. He even knew many of the alleyways and short cuts that she didn’t even know about. But that hardly seemed to matter to Rhemi— the man wasn’t impressed with her beloved home… and she wanted to change that.

Persistently, she continued to show him Vesuvia, gushing her heart out, and even showed him the best places to eat and shop. Yet still, all her attempts to impress himself still left him with a sour expression on his face or a yawn.

As noon slowly approaches, Rhemi works back their way back to the palace. Feeling the morning wearing her down they approach the city center next to the large fountain where an old tacky statue of Lucio on a horse used to be. Now it’s only a lone cheetah holding a spear. For once. the Archmagistor seemed to have noticed it and stopped staring at this slightly perplexed.

“Say, Mileia…” (Another pet name for her apparently.) “...... Didn’t that used to be a gold statue of the Count riding a horse?”

Rhemi peers over to the top of the roaring fountain. “Oh yeah…. that was destroyed when Lucio attacked the city a year ago.”

Suddenly, the tangy scent of freshly smoked eel engulfs the plaza. She wasn't the only one who noticed either. Martin's teal eyes light up as if he sees an old long lost friend.

“Fresh eel!! Come and get your fresh eel heeeerreeeee!!!” The stand keeper shouts waving the delicious food in the air for everyone to see and smell.

Without another word, Rhemi hurries over with her coin purse before her father could stop her. “I’ll take two, please.”

The cheery venter takes her coins and gives her two kabobs. With food in hand, she runs back over to her father, she gives him one eel with a joyful smile. “This is a gift from your daughter. Not a hand out.” Half expecting him to refuse it, he surprisingly takes the food then stares at it almost nostalgically sniffing the tasty treat.

“What’s the matter?” She finally asks, stopping herself from shoving the food down her throat.

“Hmm??” Martin shakes his head, but still stares at the kabob oddly. “Oh, nothing… I just haven't had a smoked eel in a very long time.”

“Oh! I didn’t know you had it in Charles too.”

He gives her a small annoyed glance from her mispronunciation. “It’s Charlès, darling…. And we don’t. The capital doesn’t have any seas or ocean around it. It’s surrounded by treacherous mountains. The only fish we have is salmon, bass, and trout from the icy rivers...”

“O.. oh… So… where have you had it before?”

“I….—” Martin sharply stops himself and his eyes grow colder again and he seems to shake himself out of his nostalgic trace. “... M-my father, your grandfather, Remington II used to bring me and my siblings some when he traveled to the coast. He placed a spell on them so they wouldn’t spoil.”

“Oh… Neat!” Rhemi says with a smile. So far he’s mentioned her grandparents once the day before. Apparently that's where she gets her dark reddish-brown hair from her grandmother.

Unable to resist the sweet, salty smoky flavor, he actually takes a bite out of the eel and seems to rather enjoy it. “Still even tastes the same…” He chuckles before scarfing the eel down.

Finally. Something he likes. Feeling a bit accomplished she feels the tension in her shoulders relax. This man wasn’t like any of her friends. Gods know he was much harder to read as well. It’s like he has this invisible wall around himself. Trying to get to know him was proving to be difficult. But Rhemi liked a challenge and wasn’t one to give up easily.

“So, I suppose they had a reason why did they replace Luico with this… cheetah?” Her father asks after making it half through his eel looking at the piece of art of the new fountain.

“Lucio nearly tore this city and the world apart… He killed a lot of people to gain power. People that Muriel and I really cared about… He even killed his father years ago. Then killed his own mother in the Scourge Lands… Her name was Morga…” With sad somber expression, she stares up at the bronze sculpture and all its power and beauty. “If it wasn’t for Morga… I don’t think we’d be here right now… Muriel and I probably wouldn’t have gone to the south together… Lucio might have even won.”

“.... So I presume that cheetah is supposed to represent her?”

Sadly, Rhemi slowly nods her head, still gazing at the fountain statue.

“Interesting…. Excuse me for slightly changing the subject… but you mentioned that Lucio became merged with the…. devil? From the Arcana realm?”

Taken a little by surprise, she glances over to her father realizing that he did in fact listen to her earlier while she was showing him the other parts of the city. “Yeah… I’m not sure exactly how. But I think he made a lot of deals with various demons— I mean that literally…. And like I said… kill a lot of people... including his own mother.”

“... Just so he could live forever?”

“.... I think it was for power and to live forever??... Or it was so he could regain a physical form…. or maybe he wanted to dominate the world too—Or that was the devil influencing him? I honestly have no idea. And if you ask me, it was too heavy of a price to pay. The Arcana realms must be occupied by someone… if not, our world is thrown into chaos and ruin. In the end, he was forced back.”

“Hmmm…”

After making quick work of his eel, Martin throws the bare stick into the water of the fountain. Poor Rhemi’s eyes widen in silent dismay and hastily fishes it out with her magic when he isn’t looking. She’d have half a mind to tell him not to litter… But it didn’t feel like the time or place to lecture her own father.

“It is strange to hear about a dead man coming back to life… When rumors came that Count Lucio of Vesuvia was murder in his own bed, it came to many courtiers a shock. Even the king was appalled….Personally, I always saw him as a bumbling fool.”

“So you've been here before?”

“A handful of times, yes.”

“And you knew the ex-Count?”

“Unfortunately. King Francis rather enjoyed his company much to my dismay….. His Majesty thought he was and I quote, ‘The best kind of host, charmingly idiotic and stupidly generous’.... He did know how to throw some entertaining parties, I suppose. So the King seemed to have taken a liking to him… but I never cared for him.”

“Good!! He was a freakin’ asshole is what he was.” Rhemi snarly adds before taking the last bite of her smoked eel, stewing on all the things he’s done to everyone, especially Muriel. “That stupid humanoid-goat could go fuck himself in the devil’s realm for all of eternity for all I care! Good riddance!” She sneers under her breath.

With an shocked and appalled expression, Martin glances at her mildly scolding. “Well, that’s some colorful language for a lady such as yourself.”

Pssssh! I’m no lady… She laughs to herself and she pulls on her lips to stop from spilling them out. “... So you disagree with me?” She asks with a smirk and an eyebrow raised, throwing the two bare sticks into a nearby rubbish bin, still chewing a half mouth full of eel.

Despite his distaste for her language, he’s unable to control his snickering. For now he lets it go and he shrugs. “I never said that.” Martin chuckles. “.. You are right in that regard... that man was an encompident ass.”

“—Miss Rhemi!!!” A childish voice all of a sudden calls from a far.

Rhemi and Sir Martin whip their heads around to where the young voice was calling from. Low and behold, they see three children all under the ages of twelve barreling towards them, the youngest in full sprint. Really at second look, it looks like the other two were chasing after the younger one.

“Hold onto your coin purse, Rhemielia.” Martin whispers with a vicious sneer, standing in front of her with his cane at the ready.

“Huh?” She mumbles looking over his shoulder, not getting a few view of the children.

As soon as her voice escapes from her lips, Rhemi can sense her father conjuring his magic into the jeweled handle of his cane. The gem starts to glow brightly giving off a sort of metallic smelling aura... He is conjuring a spell?? To use on these kids???

Now getting a full glimpse over her father’s shoulder, she realizes she knows the children running up to them both and a large bead of sweat forms on her brow unsure what her father was intending to do.As soon as Martin brings up his cane to let loose the spell, she gently places her hand on the top of his jeweled handle, scooting him out of the way and forcing him to set down his weapon.

“—Ohhh! Lilly! Zachary! Nathan! How are you silly kids??” She says with a ginger smile. Martin face twists as he realizes that she knows these little peasants, but he keeps quiet, observing her as the three snot nosed brats approach them, two boys and one girl.

Rhemi kneels down and the children all embrace her with a tight hug nearly knocking her over to the cobble street. “Rhemiiiiii!!!”

“Sorry! I couldn’t stop him.” The girl apologized.

“That’s alright! Well—Hello, hello, and hello! What are you three rascals doing here?” Rhemi greets cheerily.

“Getting some eggs.” The young girl says lifting up an empty basket. She was the tallest and the oldest. If you couldn’t immediately, she was the responsible one in the trio, the ‘mother hen’ of the group. Her hair was a bright blonde with tight curls styled in two puffy pigtails. Her skin is a beautiful dark black, like a fresh brewed coffee, and eyes a bright hazel.

“Where’s Mr. Tall Man today?” The youngest boy asks looking all around making his wild and curly brown toffee colored hair, bounce all around. He has pale ivory skin with flecks everywhere, and dark brown eyes, and couldn’t be no older than six or seven, about one of Muriel’s cousins named Ida’s age, and just as cute. However he wasn’t the faintest bit shy like Ida is.

“Oh—I’m sorry, Nathan. Muriel isn’t with me today. He’s busy doing other errands.” Rhemi answers him tilting her head feeling rather guilty.

“Awwww.” The little boy whines looking at the ground disappointedly, holding the eldest child and the girl's hand and pouts. “I wanted to show him my newt. I found him in a pond.” He opens his pocket and out comes a little sticking looking bright orange creature with various sized brown and gray spots covering his head to his tail (freckles, just like Nathan).

Martin makes a revolted little noise and looks away for a moment, a hard sneer twisting his features, Rhemi doesn’t see him cringing behind. To his surprise, his daughter isn’t disgusted or afraid at all, she actually seems to think it’s cute, and pets his little head with her pointer finger. “Ooooh~ What’s their name, Nathan?”

“Wart! He’s a boy newt.” He says as he turns his neck and sticks his tongue out at Lillian and she just shakes her head, with a long-suffering look on her face.

“Well isn’t he just lovely. He has a wonderful color, orange is one of my favorite colors. I’ll be sure to tell Mr. Muriel about him! I’m sure he’d love to see him.” Her eyes glance behind to her father, still looking rather prudish and she smiles realizing she hadn’t introduced anyone yet. “OH! Right!…. Sooo, everyone, this is my father, his name is Sir Remington Martin Alarie III. He’s a King’s magician.”

The young girl lets out a shallow quick gasp as she looks up at Martin and he half turns his nose up at her. “I didn’t know you had a father.” She whispers to Rhemim shielding her mouth with her hand.

Rhemi plays along and whispers back the same way, “Neither did I… We just met yesterday.”

Little Nathan clings onto the Archmagister’s pant leg and Martin furrows his brow and somehow manages to frown even more. “You’re a neat magician too, like Miss Rhemi, Mister??”

Martin rolls his eyes scoffs. “....What gave that away? The cape or the cane, Oh-Child with a newt named ‘Wart’ ?” He sassily remarks, slowly unhinged the child’s arms off his leg.

Realizing that her father was confused about how she knew these children, she stands up and loops her arm around his. “Père, these are some children that were on the streets before the battle with Lucio…” Rhemi then points to each of the kids one at a time. “This is Lillian, Lilly for short. That strapping young lad is Zachary. And last but not least, little Nathan.”

The youngest child excitedly waves his hand at the old grumpy magician adorably despite Martin's lack of caring. “You look like a fancy magician!!” Nathan giggles cutely, finally letting go of the Archmagister’s leg.

“..... Mmmmm hmmmm….” The old gentleman grumbles. “... Nathan… was it??” The boy nods his head not noticing the nobleman’s disgust as he continues to sluggishly push him away, now gently using the butt end of his cane. “Pleasure to make your…. acquaintance…” He mutters trying to sound kind as he quickly brushes off his pant leg he touched.

Zachary, the older boy, notices the man’s dislike for Nathan touching him and stares at him shamelessly and the two start to have a silent scowling staring contest all unbeknownst to Rhemi who is still looking away. But Lilly catches and just stands there shaking her head unimpressed with either of them.

But then Nathan just rambled on adorably blabbing and now clinging onto Rhemi’s right leg and she ruffles his messy hair untamed hair that she admired. “Miss Rhemi and Mr. Muriel and Ms. Countess lady and—*achoo*—and all of her other friends helped made us all a home.”

A little bit of pink quickly stains Rhemi’s face as her father's eyes fall on her. “Well it was all Muriel, Asra, and Nadia’s idea to build an orphanage. All I did was help.”

“The Countess lady comes and reads to us eeeevery Wednesdays.” Nathan continues to rant. “And—And Miss Rhemi and Mr. Muriel comes by and sometimes they bring us arts n’ crafts and-and-and teach us magic!!”

“Is that so?” Marin fakely smiles. “Magic is so freely taught here I see…”

“Yeah! We each have our own beds! Mr. Muriel helped make them for us!”

“—And get three square meals a day. We don’t have to fight or steal food anymore….” Zachary finally chims in, scratching the back of his head. “Which is…. okay I guess…” His skin is olive-ish brown and his hair is a dark umber color, but has bright crystal blueish gray eyes that stand out.

Zachary was always normally very quiet. He used to be a part of a group of kids that were terrible bullies and even thugs. But ever since he saw Muriel, a hero and champion to the city, who was an orphan who grew up on the docks just like him, something changed in him. Perhaps knowing that someone like him could be a hero someday, strong and brave, he left that life behind and started a fresh path at the orphanage. He was still very young, no older than eleven, but really looked up to Muriel and Rhemi and saw them both as his role models. Even now, he tries to act all tough and aloof, but he’s really a little sweetheart and cared about the orphanage as much as the other two did.

“Well isn’t that ….nice.” Martin says with a bit of surprise in his face glancing at Rhemi. “Very appropriate for a young lady such as yourself to get involved in.”

“How’s Mrs. Edilen doing??” Rhemi asks, turning her attention back to the children.

“Old…” Zachary mutters blankly. Without warning, Lilly smacks him across the back of his head with such a scoldingly look on her face. “—OW! WHAAAAT??” He grumbles just above a whisper, his bright eyes angrily beaming at her as he holds his head.

“Shut your mouth, Zach!!! That woman is good to us and you know it!” Lilly snaps before answering Rhemi. “She’s fine, but her back has been bothering her lately.”

Lillian has been the little mother figure for these kids at the orphanage. She was always scolding and ensuring everyone minded their manners even though she was half their strength. You could tell she was in charge, but she was a very good kid with a heart of gold. She reminds Rhemi of herself in a way.

Rhemi stifles a laugh to spare poor Zachary’s pride and just continues with the conversation. “She’s actually coming by later for her potion, I hope that’ll help her.”

“Me too, I guess….” Zachary grumbles with his arms folded. “I’m sick of reading bedtime stories to the younger kids...”

“Oh stop acting like you don’t like it! You’re the one who does it without anyone asking you too!” Lilly rolls her eyes.

“...T—They whine if I don’t!” He quickly retaliates, blushing crazily.

Lilly just stares at him with a knowing smirk. “Oh yeah, I’m sure they whine when you don’t do the voices either!” She teases.

Poor Zachary’s face looks like it's going to explode and he gently shoves her, covering his burning face with the neck of his shirt like a turtle. “Shut. Up. LILLIAN!!” He grouches, words muffled by his shirt.

Kneeling back down with a giggle, Rhemi can’t help but love to see these two banter like they do. I can see these two getting married in ten years. She thinks to herself. “Well, I better get going, kiddos. I’m showing my father around the city and are expected for tea.”

In unison all of the kids sink their shoulders disappointedly.

“Are you both gonna come to see us soon?” Nathan asks with the biggest puppy dog eyes, holding onto her shaw.

“Awwwww!! Of course we will! It’s just all this wedding has just been keeping us busy. But I promise Muriel and I will come soon. Ok?”

All three kids excitedly say, hooray in unison and give her one last group hug before they all head on their merry way, waving her goodbye as they’d end towards the market.

“Bye, Fancy Mister Magician Man!” Nathan calls with a big goofy smile while holding onto Lilly’s hand.

As the kids wander off, Martin just looks at Rhemi with such fondness as he takes a seat next to the water fountain ledge.

“What?” Rhemi asks with a grin.

Martin just shakes his head with a chuckle. “You’re just like your mother….. even just now… you are just the spit of her… She loved working with children. She wanted to become a governess before she met me.”

Rhemi smiles a little wider and sits next to her father on the fountain’s edge. “.... I wish I could remember her face….”

The water fountain behind the two keeps endlessly roaring with the water and the two sit then content for a moment, watching as people go by, happy to take a seat for the time being. As they both sit there enjoying the warmth of the sun, Rhemi’s mind wanders to yesterday to her unanswered questions the other day. It kills her to want to know, but it’s terrifying to ask.

Finally, she swallows her fears, and tightens her fists as she summons the courage. “....Père?”

“Yes, my Pigeon?”

“I… I wanted to ask you this yesterday, but it didn’t necessarily come up in the conversation… But…. ummm… What exactly….. happened?....” Her father's smile fades as soon as she utters that question, and he turns his head away from her. His reaction just makes her want to know even more. “...W-Why hadn’t I seen you for so many years?”

Martin’s cold eyes shimmer with a glimpse of pain with that question and swallows hard. “..... I…. I think that's for another day, dear child…”

She sits there for a moment, considering to let it go, but her mouth moves before she can really stop herself. “…. Could… could you at least tell me something? P-Perhaps? It’s been killing me to know what happened….”

Martin still keeps his eyes averts from hers, hoping she’d stop being so persistent.

“... If I could remember any of it myself, I wouldn’t have asked.” She adds sheepishly twiddling with thumbs in her lap.

The old magician stews on her words for a while, still very hesitant to speak of what happened and she thinks he’ll just ignore her plea. But then he sighs very deeply before muttering unenthusiastically, “.... Very well….”

Taking out a pipe out of his vest pocket along with a little tobacco from a fancy tiny metal tin. Conjuring his magic to his finger, he lights up the pipe, and takes in three short puffs followed by one big one. Pondering his words, he holds it in his mouth peering at the crowd, then finally blows out all the smelly smoke slowly. “...You and your mother…. were stolen from me around fifteen years ago.”

Rhemi quickly whips her head towards him with her eyes wide, staring at her father completely dumbfounded.

S-Stolen? She shouts to herself in her mind, her poor heart starting to beat a little faster by the second. By—by who?? What does this all mean??

He draws in another larger puff before continuing this obviously painful story, apparently being soothed by the tobacco. “You both were kidnapped.... By a terrible evil witch named Phara….”

Phara… he mentioned her before the other day. Why doesn’t that name sound familiar to me?? Why can’t I remember that name???

Squinting her eyes as if that would somehow help her remember as she follows with another question. “...W-Who was Phara? I don’t remember that name at all.”

“I was afraid of that. But I also could only assume that was the case as well.” He takes in a quick puff and nods solemnly before beginning again, bellowing out the smoke as he spoke.. “.....I ….I hired her to be your tutor. You were about…. ohhhh I believe it was seven or eight at the time?—It was shortly after I was promoted to head chamberlain to his Majesty's court and I became increasingly busy with my new duties. Anyways…. One day, you scared your governess half to death… She was teaching you handwriting. You apparently threw a tantrum and lit your parchment paper ablaze with your magic. According to some servants, she came out of the library screaming.”

Rhemi’s cheeks start to feel like they are burning, that sounds about right knowing herself and how angry she can get even now. Sometimes she still wants to destroy things now when she is pissed off…. Apparently some things never change.

“... And so...You needed to learn how to control your magic.” He continues, “... And mother suggested someone she grew up with.”

“.... Phara?” Rhemi knowingly asks, placing her hands on the cold marble stone she’s sitting on.

Martin nods slowly, waving his pipe around as he spoke. “Yes…. Phara….. She was a Throthian woman, a professor for some intellectuals. For a time, she taught foreign dukes, duchesses, and even a few princesses in Parka and she was highly regarded, even for a woman.”

Throthian… Now that sounds familiar… Where do I know that word from?

“... She even taught many commoners and the poor to read and write so they can make better lives for themselves… which didn’t make the king very happy…. But most importantly, she was also a witch. Apparently a skilled one at that, which is what you needed at the time. Your mother swore that she trusted this woman with her life, and that Phara was bound to secrecy and confidentiality.”

…. Wait—Secrecy??....Why secrecy??

He pauses for a second, and draws in another deep puff on his pipe, then lets it out. Quietly Rhemi covers her mouth and lightly coughs, the smell of the tobacco burning her lungs. “....Despite my better judgement—I felt at the time that we had no better alternative. So, I hired her to be your tutor. She didn’t know the basics of aristocratic life, such as playing classical music on the piano, needle point, edict, or anything like your previous governess, but she was what we desperately needed at the time… And I’ll admit she was much more intelligent. Years went by, your magic was under control and you were being properly educated…. or so I thought.”

“.... So you thought? What do you mean??”

“.... Well… it came to my attention that she was teaching you things no young girl of nobility should know.” He pauses once again and looks his daughter in the eyes very seriously and sincerely and Rhemi feels her heart tug down. “...Phara was teaching you terrible things... evil things, Rhemielia.”

Rhemi’s eyes fall down to the cobblestone street as she tries to swallow all of this information. ….I… I was taught… evil things?... Perhaps that’s why I didn’t bat an eyelash at the blood magic, yet Muriel was so bothered by it…. am I… evil at heart?? Rhemi wonders to herself, her heart tugging even more. Is that why I was such a jerk before I died?

“.... One night about a week after your twelfth birthday.... I came home a day early after going on a diplomatic trip with the king. I was bringing you a late birthday present… But to my surprise, no one greeted me at the gates, nor the door. Soon I realized that all the servants were gone, the chateau was dark and empty and something sinister was afoot.” Rhemi’s nails started to dig into her thighs unconsciously as she hung onto every word… This part was starting to sound almost familiar. “.... I made my way to the parlor, and I saw Phara shoving you and your poor mother out the veranda and was planning on throwing you both out off the balcony for god knows what reason.”

Rhemi swallows the lump in her throat hearing all of this for some reason its starting to feel a little more familiar. “.... We fought. It was her magic against mine…. Soon, the fourier was in shambles, the furniture and decor littered the floor, and I had her nearly beat… Then the next thing I see out of the corner of my eye that your poor little head was cracked open…. You were bleeding everywhere, barely standing straight in the corner of the room...”

Vision starts to become dizzy, Rhemi closes her eyes to stop her head from spinning. But as soon as Rhemi closes her eyes, the short glimpse of her small childish hands trembling and covered in blood come into her mind. It’s too vivid to have been her imagination. Her right hand instinctively goes to her forehead to the right side of her frontal skull where there are two stubborn cowlicks that never grew much hair. She couldn’t part her hair any other way because of them. It’s only at this very moment she can feel a slight dip in her bone that she realizes why that hair never grew past an inch or two… it was a hidden scar, it was small, no bigger than an inch now, however it felt like it went rather deep.

A quick twinge of pain returns to Rhemi’s temples for a split second and she shuts her eyes yet again and stifles her groan. Flames of the burning mansion in her dreams illuminates behind her eyelids—the other Rhemi, the dying phoenix, faint muffled screams and yells they all start to rush into her mind and ears, making her almost sick to her stomach. Focusing on her breathing, she diverts her thought away from her nausea not wanting to see the eel or pumpkin bread a second time. She dare not make a scene in the middle of the city and she stays silent, quietly suffering as her father continues on.

“I… I underestimated that witch, she was more craftier than I had originally thought. Somehow I found myself with a knife in my back. You were just standing there, looking paler by the second… So I ignored my pain and staggered straight over to you. I knew you needed a healer immediately with the amount of blood you were losing and—” Martin stops mid word, you can hear him choking back some tears with his voice cracking. “... I reached out to save you…. to pull you into my arms—but….” He softly trails off.

Rhemi closes her eyes again, and for a moment, she sees a large eerie hand slowly coming at her from the dark—As she opens her eyes it disappears once again.

In the corner of eyes, she can see as Martin pulls off his right leather glove for the first time, and she notices that he pulls up part of his long sleeve of his fancy shirt. Underneath them both hid a terrible looking old burn that started from the top of this hand, ran up his forearm, and wrapped all around his bicep. It was awful to look at, it must have been so incredibly painful. “... Phara proved to be craftier than I expected… she always was… I just wish I saw it sooner… That damn witch used the last bit of her magic to start a terrible fire, even put you in harm's way to do it.”

The fire…. Is that what the other me was trying to tell me about? The fire?? Is Phara that monster?.... I don’t know if I still want to know...

The nausea and dizziness subsiding as quickly as it came, she stared at her poor father’s arm a burning in her nose. “I’m…. I’m so sorry, Père.” She softly says with tears in her eyes as she gazes at the terrible scar seared into her father’s flesh. “Does it still hurt?”

“You mean…. This old scar?” He scowls with an eyebrow raised, appearing a bit puzzled.

Rhemi nods sheepishly, her large eyes beaming with such a somber empathetic expression.

Seeing this sincere look, he’s face softens and he even gives her a reassuring grin and shakes his head. “No… Not anymore, Pigeon.”

Gently she touches it with the tips of her fingers inspecting the shriveled tough pinkish skin. “Did you have a doctor's help? It looks like it healed rather well.”

“I did actually…” The Archmagister holds up his arm, opening and closing his fist, wiggles his fingers, and flexes his elbow to show that his range of motion was at least spared “... The doctors and healers had to use some unconventional methods to salvage all of my fingers and I regained feeling in my forearm… And it took quite a while to recover from all of it—I even had to learn how to write with my left hand... But honestly, I hardly remember it.”

He stops flexing his arm and hand and gently rests it back on top of his leg with the palm up. “... All the while I was healing, I was focused on finding you and your mother. I put a very high bounty on Phara’s head along with countless posters, fliers, and I sent letters to neighboring kingdoms everywhere. I hired men and the best bounty hunters all over the country to comb cities to the countryside in Charlès for you and your mother… But then, weeks turned into months, months into years, years into over a decade. Everyone all but gave up, the story of the Archmagister’s kidnapped wife and daughter became all but a tragic distant memory.... To some, it twisted into a bedtime story. About a demon witch who came in the night who lured beautiful mothers and their poor children out of their homes in the dead of night during the witching hour. The witch would kill them and drain all of their blood so she could bathe in it to restore her youth and power. Then she’d chopped the bodies all up into tiny pieces and cooked their flesh into a stew, serving it to the unsuspecting poor.”

Martin draws back his arm, rolling down his sleeve, donning his leather glove yet again. “But only few knew the truth.”

“That must have been just terrible for you…. You must have been so lonely.” Rhemi finally utters after sitting there quietly.

“... I never released how empty a house felt without you both in it.” He mumbles looking away into the crowd. He shrinks into himself as soon as those words leave his mouth as if he didn’t mean to admit that. But Rhemi could tell, that came directly from his heart.

Martin suddenly clears his throat quickly slicking back his hair, shaking himself out his thoughts and glances at his pocket watch. “Oh would you look at that. It’s nearly time for tea.” He straightens up and lightly pats her head and she tries her best to stop herself from sneering to be polite. “Come on then. Let’s get a move on, don’t want to be tardy now, do we?” He says standing to his feet and shaking out his cape.

“N-no… No we don’t.” Rhemi answers, sluggishly standing her feet as well brushing out the wrinkles in her shirt.

———————

The walk back to the palace was a bit more quiet, but Rhemi and Martin now seem to be comfortable with it and just enjoy each other’s company in comfortable silence. She’s somewhat used to it being with Muriel.

As the two made it back to the Palace, they were greeted by a handful of Nadia’s servants and an older man in dark green and blue that her father called Bartholomew. He must have been his servant; his uniform and disposition was very different from anyone else.

Judging from the lack of people around, Rhemi and Martin apparently had arrived a bit early and were both left in the common room for the Countess’ arrival. Bartholomew whispered a few things to Martin’s ear before very elegantly leaving the room.

Suddenly, Beatrix comes scurrying around the corner making a few of Nadia’s servants comically shriek in surprise. The grumpy badger quickly prances over to Martin and climbs up her over the armchair close by, then on to his shoulders.

“Making yourself a nuisance yet again I see, Beatrix.” Martin teases her and she chatters back.

“Good afternoon, Bea~.” Rhemi says with a smile as she puts her hand up to her to sniff. Surprisingly, the animal lets her scratch under her chin after giving her a few pumpkin seeds from her pocket. It’s unclear if she likes Rhemi or if she just likes the food she gives her. Either way, Rhemi likes her. She’s cute in a scruffy kind of way.

“Pardon me.” Says Pascal, a servant who took over Portia’s position after she was appointed to Chamberlain comes in with a bow. “The Countess wanted me to inform you both that she will be arriving shortly. In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable.”

A sharp scoff ejects out of Martin’s mouth. “Of course she’s going to make us wait….” He grumbles, and Beatrix growls a little at the poor servant showing her teeth. “I was invited into her own palace, haven’t seen the damn woman since I arrived and now she’s gonna make us wait?”

“My apologies, Sir Martin… She’s just returning from a Heart District reconstruction meeting.”

Rhemi steps in front of her father and before he could mutter another word and feeds his badger another pumpkin seed and she ceases her aggressive noises. “Thank you, Pascal. How’s your father doing?”

The servant smiles sincerely and cups his hands together. “Oh, great after that sleeping remedy you gave him!”

“Good! Any more chronic night terrors about jellyfish?”

Pascal laughs as she mentions that and Martin has a perplexed scowl on his face looking towards his familiar as if she knew the answer to that. “No! None since Muriel gave him that dream catcher over his bed. My family can’t thank you both enough for that.”

“Ooooh please, it was nothing! I’m just glad to hear he’s doing better—”

Martin stands in front of his daughter before she can finish her sentence. “—Yes, yes. That’s very nice indeed. Now if you wouldn’t mind...” The Archmagister says, shamelessly shooing the poor thing away, waving his cane guestering towards the door. “I’m sure your Countess would like you to return to her without dallying.”

Rather taken off guard by his rudeness, Pascal blinks blankly for a moment before bowing out and leaving the room. “Y-yes, your Excellency.”

Just as shocked as Pascal, Rhemi shakes her head staring at the back of her father’s head. Finally she taps on his back and her father turns to face her. “... You could have been nicer…” She mumbles to him a bit pouting.

He sighs, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “You really shouldn’t make chummy conversation with the servants, Rhemielia… It’s distasteful.”

The Archmagister walks around Rhemi towards the other side of the room to a small table by the fireplace, Rhemi’s eyes following him. “..... But I like Pascal—”

“—Well, Rhemielia, how about we play a game of chess to pass the time?” He says rather jollily (for him) gesturing towards the small table where the game is set up.

“Chess?..” She repeats him tilting her head. She can’t remember the last time she ever played the damn game and she sheepishly scratches the back of her head. “...Oh… I don’t really like playing. I don’t think I remember all the rules anyw—”

“Very well. I’ll teach you the rules again.” He replied, taking a seat next to the white pieces and setting his cane on the outside of the chair. “... We used to play when you were younger. If I remember correctly, you were getting quite good too, but never could quite beat me.”

“S-... Sure… why not?..” Rhemi reluctantly gives in, taking a seat behind the black pieces in the armchair.

Quickly, but thoroughly, her father explains the basic rules, and part of it is starting to come back to her as she stares at the pieces a bit longer.

“Any questions?” He finally asks as he pets Beatrix and she leans into his touch.

The apprentice gazes at all the pieces studying them carefully. Rook, king, queen, bishop, knight and….. and…. hhhhmmm…

Forgetfully, she points to the smaller pieces in the front. “These small ones… they're called, pawns or fawns?”

“Pawns. You were right the first time….. Are you starting to remember the rules, my little Pigeon?”

“Maybe?... It all sounds rather familiar.” Her finger gently grazes the top of the small cold piece and she has a sad frown. “I think I remember how.... I didn’t like how people treat these little pieces.”

“What?” He softly scoffs, an entertained grin growing on his lips. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well….. T-These pieces represent people don’t they? This is a strategy game…. To represent a war or battle.”

Baffled at that assessment, Martin gazes back at the marble pieces and shrugs. “I…. I suppose you are correct in that regard… what is your point, child?”

Rhemi looks back down finding the right words to explain how she felt. “In this game… pawns are dispensable, their movements are limited, unlike the other pieces behind them. But because there are more of them, they are more expendable than the other taller pieces.” She pauses as she looks as she picks up one of the pawns with a few chips and cracks in it, reminding her of her poor Muriel for some reason and the way Lucio used him for so many years for his own entertainment. “People really shouldn’t treat others like that. Some…. object that can be used and taken out with little to no consequences. They are just some game piece to them, not another person…”

Martin stops himself from mid sputter trying his best not to laugh out loud. “Well…. now your spouting off nonsense.” He mumbles as he leans his back into the lounge chair, crossing his legs and resting his hand on his temple. “... This is just a game after all—”

“—I would happily agree with you, Rhemi.” Nadia’s silky smoothe voice interrupts and Martin and Rhemi stand quickly to their feet slightly taken by surprise. Stunning and beautiful as always, she strolls into the room, her heels clicking the floor, dressed in her white and green outfit and her hair half up and half down. Pascal trailing behind her with a grin on his face. “... If you think about it that way, the game is rather horrible that some pieces are labeled as not being as important as others. But in reality, the good leader should acknowledge that all of the pieces are important, no matter how small or limited they are.”

Martin bows very traditionally and elegantly, Beatrix hanging off his shoulders looking lifeless. “... Countess.”

However Rhemi just casually rushes to Nadia and wraps her arms around her and he raises an eyebrow at her informalness and lack of edict or manners.

“It’s so good to see you! Thank you so much for lending me your tailor again!” Martin’s child so boldly and informally converses making him stunned for words.

The Countess just smiles and hugs her back with a bright smile. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine. I hope you don’t mind, but Pierre let me get a sneak peak of it.”

“Ohh! Really???” Rhemi’s cheeks get all flushed and hot once again and she cups her face with her hands. “W-What do you think of it??”

“Oh, it’s just lovely, Rhemi. Just perfect for you. I can not wait to see you in it—Or Muriel seeing you in it for that matter.”

“Ooooo!! Realllly???? Thank you, Nadia!”

Suddenly, Martin clears his throat rather loudly, cutting through the two’s giddy laughter. “Countess Satrinava.”

The countess's eyes suddenly darken hearing the Archmagister’s voice and she forced back on a smile. “Ah yes… Monsieur Martin.” He approaches her with his chest puff out and she returns a polite curtsy. She then extends her hand out and he kisses to top of her knuckles, very diplomatic and traditional like. “...It has been ages, I haven't seen you since King Francis’ Spring ball six years ago… How have you been?” The Countess asks, fakely attempting to be interested.

“Quiet fine, thank you for asking.” Martin smirks back with a devious look. “... However I do fear that you haven’t been receiving my letters because I haven't gotten any back over the years. In fact, I have been around your city this morning, no flyers have been posted either.”

Nadia’s shoulder slightly tenses as if she knew and dreaded what he was about to say. Yet, she keeps a calm and composed face. “I do owe you my apologies. I have had other obligations this past year….. just a small war to save the world and clean up my city after pure evil attempted to rule our realm….”

“Ahhh…. yes… so I’ve heard... Most understandable. Things such as that are to be expected when a woman is in a position such as yourself… You really shouldn’t be so harsh on yourself, Nadia.”

“And what position would that be, Sir Martin?” Nadia remains poised and collected, but Rhemi could tell, she was getting irritated.

Martin smirks while placing both hands on his cane out in front of him. “One with great responsibility and little power, of course, Countess…. Ruling a city is a man’s job after all.”

An awkward tense silence takes hold for a moment and Nadia just flutters her eyes and fakely smiles a bit wider at his blunt rudeness. “... So nice to see you again, Archmagister. Do enjoy your stay.”

Eloquently, she turns her back to Martin tugging Rhemi along, giving her attention back to her champion, ignoring that rude and very sexist comment. “So, my dear champion. What brings you here? I do apologize for my tardiness. Especially when you had such ‘lovely’ company that also failed to show up for tea time yesterday.” She says that last part loud enough for him to hear.

“Well… ahhhhhh, we had tea scheduled for this afternoon—” Rhemi replies awkwardly.

The Countess shakes her head, instantly remembering. “Oh! Yes of course! How could I forget, I have sandwiches, biscuits, and tea being made as we speak—Oh, and your favorite~”

“Oooo—Agrippa’s strawberry lemon cake???” Rhemi says wiggling her hips excitedly.

Nadia nods with a bright smile, laughing at Rhemi’s pure overjoyed expression. “Portia was so kind to pick it up. Her and her brother should be here any minute, won’t they? Shall we have it on the balcony? It’s a lovely day.” She says looping her arm around Rhemi’s.

“Yes, but, ahhhh….” Suddenly, the apprentice stops her feet and politely pulls away. “Actually, I, ah, wanted to introduce someone to you, but I gather you’ve already met.”

Nadia interlaces her fingers together and rests her hands in front of her, wearing a rather confused expression. “...Oh?”

Her eyes follow Rhemi as she walks back over to Martin and loops her arm through his. “Nadia…. Sir Martin is my father….”

Nadia’s eyes widen, completely shocked. “Your…. father…?”

The Archmagister smiles at her with his nose high and stares at her condescendingly. “Ah yes…. Without any of your help I ended up finding my daughter myself—-But to my pleasant surprise she was alive. And in your city no doubt. What are the odds of the place that refused to comply with posting my wanted posters was the exact place where I found her.”

“Your…. His daughter?? The child who was stolen by an evil witch?”

Rhemi’s face suddenly flushes. Even Nadia knew about me?

“I…. I guess so.” She shrugs slightly embarrassed.

Nadia can’t help but flutter her eyelashes, gazing speechlessly to her champion. Finally she opens her mouth and looks toward Martin with a bit of guilt. “But…. you’ve been looking for her for—”

“—For fifteen years, seven months, a week, two days, and seven hours…. Yes…” Martin interjects with a sour and slightly angry, yet smug expression. “... But who’s counting?”

With Nadia completely gobsmacked and silent, Rhemi mutters. “I was hoping it would be alright if I invited him for tea time with Julian and Portia, so he could get to know my friends….. U-Unless of course that’s rude—”

“—No! No. It’s quite alright.” Nadia says shaking out of her stupor. “... Besides this afternoon was for you anyways, this may be the last tea you have as a single woman.”

“Oh you’re right. Didn’t think about that!... But it's better to ask right?”

“Of course.” Nadia looks towards Pascal as nods to cue him to lead them all towards the balcony.

“If you would follow me…” Pascal quickly says before whipping around to escort them all to the balcony.

Nadia hangs back staring at Rhemi and Sir Martin as they link arms having a terrible feeling about all of this and her temples start to twinge with slight pain.

—————————————

As soon as Portia and Julian arrive Rhemi greets them with a loving hug, but they immediately notice Sir Martin and a look of horror and confusion strikes their face. They only remember this man from the other day. But Rhemi explains the situation and they change their attitude quickly, happy for their friend for being reunited with her long lost father.

The Devoraks do their very best to be kind and friendly to the Archmagister, evening apologizing for their behavior (even though they did nothing wrong). Julian introduces himself with a small bow as he reaches his hand to offer to shake it. But Sir Martin slightly turns his nose up at the commoner and waits a grueling amount of seconds before finally taking his hand with only saying almost sarcastically, “Charmed…”.

Portia bows as well, and even puts donns her diplomatic hat being a chamberlain herself now, in attempts to easily converse with him on a relatable level. But the old magician just smirks and quietly chuckles at her attempt to presume that her position, a chamberlain to a mere Countess was anything like being a head chamberlain and Archmagister to a very wealthy and powerful monarch. Nevertheless Martin does at least take her hand and kisses the top of her knuckles and even says, “How do you do.”

As all four sit down and get settled and the tea is being brought out and being poured. The inescapable tension was relentlessly building with the silence. A servant pours the Archmagister’s tea and sets down a plate of biscuits in front of him and he mutters in an irritated manner, “Please, do wear gloves, girl. I don’t want to see your revolting cracked hands when you're handling my food.”

The poor servant’s face turns red with humiliation and she hasilty hides them behind her back. “Y-yes Sir… My apologies, Sir Alarie.”

Baffled at his rudeness, Rhemi, Julain and Portia stay quiet and glance over to Nadia, who stares at the old foreign diplomat with her head gracefully tilted with a fake, yet amused grin. “Oh, and how do you suppose her hands became cracked in the first place, Sir Martin? My servants shouldn’t have to be ashamed that they work diligently for a living. For you to judge her for it all the while you have a silver spoon in your mouth… Well… Should I just say that is rather ignorant of you.”

It appears that Martin was about to retaliate with a snide comment back to her but Rhemi awkwardly fake coughs. “Thank you Claudia. It looks amazing. Please tell the chef thank you.”

Her interjection to smooth things over seemed to have shut her father up for now and the terrible silence takes hold yet again. Rhemi stirs her tea, making it the way she likes and tries her best to fight the flush warming up her face from her father’s behavior. A wave of dread washes over her as she takes a small sip and thinking perhaps she made a mistake introducing everyone to him like this today. It was rather sudden and last minute after all, and she didn’t expect him to act this way. In her mind, this would have been more like a fairy tale or a book, a long lost father reuniting with the heroine’s life at the end of the story and they all lived happily ever after… But then again…. this is reality, and fairy tales and books are in the end, just that. A story. Things don’t anyway go the way you want them to….

Finally, the Countess decides to make some small talk asking Portia about the reconstruction progress of the Temple district and the tension starts to finally subside a bit. Martin even engaged in the conversation at least with the parts about Charlès’ part in supplying raw materials such as iron, bronze, and steel. The conversation then went to Rhemi with the wedding planning, then to Julian and how his clinic was going…

“Things have been keeping me busy, that’s for sure! Lately it's been a lot of springtime cold, but nothing too serious…” Julian goes on taking a long sip of his tea.

“Mmmm. Interesting.” Martin attempts to engage in the conversation for his daughter’s sake. “Tell me Doctor, are you married?”

“No, actually…” But perhaps one day I’ll marry the person I love.”

“Hmmm I’m sure she’s just lovely…. Hope she doesn’t mind having many late nights by the sound of your business.”

“...Err... ’He’ actually.” Julian corrects him with a faint bit of red on his face with a love stuck expression.

But the old nobleman really chokes on his sip of tea and he bats his eyelashes, perplexed. “....Sorry?”

Julian’s left eye darts back and forth to him and Rhemi, shrugging his shoulders. “Ummm- Errr…. About-?”

“You correct me… And said...?”

“Yes….” Rhemi jumps in thinking her father just didn’t hear him right. “Ilya said ‘he’. Asra, the one you met yesterday. White-ish hair, also a magician. That’s Julian’s partner.”

A snide and almost vicious scowl contorts the man’s face. “.....So….. You are having relations…. withhhhhhhh….. another man?” Martin inquires further as he gives Beatrix a few berries.

“Yeeeeeeeeeeesss.” Julian replies, not understanding the issue here starting to furrow his brow as well.

“So you have a….. male… bbbbooooyfriend?”

Nadia whispers to her servant rather quietly, helpless to watch as this all unfolds in front of her. “... Pascal, do bring us a bottle of wine.”

“....Asra actually prefers to use the term partner.” Rhemi adds bring her tea to her lips. “He doesn’t identify with gender specific roles. He’s male leaning, but he’s non-binary.”

“Oh, good god…” Martin grumbles rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Before Pascal gets too far, Nadia tugs his sleeve, and whispers again with her nostrils flared. “Better make that two….”

The Archmagister catches a glimpse of his daughter's saddened face. He adjusts his sitting and swallows his opinions… badly. “I ah, see….” He takes a sip of his tea slowly swallowing it. “So….. Which, ah, which one of you takes it in the ass then?” He quickly adds, unable to help himself.

“PPPPPPFFFFT—” Rhemi slightly sputters in her cup at that, her eyes wide.

Portia nearly drops her teacup speechless at this comment. If this was in a tavern she’d have thrown his ass down by now. But her brother just smiles, calmly placing his tea cup down with a hard clank and leans in closer to the Archmagister. Despite his smug smile, it’s clear that he’s deeply offended. “Well…. I guess that depends on the night. Because we use a schedule. At least we don’t have something constantly shoved up our—”

BOOM!! CHATTER CHATTER!--

“—Ooooooookayyyyyy!!” Rhemi loudly interjects slamming down both of her hands on the table making everything rumble and shake as she nearly jumps to a stand.

“—Well, Nadia, it has been loads of fun, thank you so much for having us—but would you look at the time!” She quickly rants, pulling her father’s chair out then tugging his arm and pulling him out of his chair. “My father and I wanted to check out the library for a few things together, isn’t that right?” She says slightly gritting her teeth. “Didn’t we??”

“Oh… yes of course… If you would excuse us.” He begrudgingly complies with her lie and he bows to Nadia. “Countess…”

Nadia nods her head with a forced grin. “Archmagister….”

With that, Rhemi waves her friends ta-ta for now and nearly drags her father into the palace and straight to the library feeling so terrible for her friend right now.

As soon as they approach their destination silently, Rhemi opens the doors with a wave of her magic and nearly sprints in and shuts the doors behind her. For a moment, she presses her back against the double doors and sighs feeling relieved that she managed to escape that terrible scenario with one of her best friends and her father. A stone cold silence washes over the large room while Martin casually strolls about talking in the splendor of the stained glass windows. Unable to think of a way to tell her father what he had said was unacceptable, she continues to stay silently and decides to walk over to a mountain of books she was actually borrowing about Parka.

“So… that went well—” Martin murmurs and Beatrix jumps off his shoulders and sniffs the couches scouring for some old crumbs. “Well, I am sure you had a reason to carry me away from good tea—”

Martin turns to look at his daughter, but he realizes she's no longer behind him. “R-....Rhemielia?”

Rhemi awkwardly rushes up a ladder, rummages through some more books in the section she was in before, trying not to look at her father. She doesn’t mean to give him a cold shoulder, but she really thought tea would have gone better. How could he have asked such a rude and homophobic question to one of her dearest friends? She loves that Julian and Asra are together, they just make sense in an odd way. Now that she thought about it, Rhemi didn't remember the last time she heard anyone mock someone else’s sexuality. Here in Vesuvia, and in most places of the world for that matter, people are incredibly open-minded and don’t bat an eyelash when someone is attracted to the same sex or both—No one really cares! And neither should they. It’s no one else’s business honestly.

Martin notices her silence and he walks over to where she is. “Well, Pigeon. Your er-ummm.….choices in friends are…. well… rather curious—”

“—Heads-up.” Rhemi knowingly interrupts, throwing down a book and Martin catches after a little fumble with a bit of shock.

With the room quiet yet again, he stares at her as she tries to ignore him for a while. The only sound being made is Beatrix’s sniffing and his daughter flipping through the pages then places a book back on the shelf.

Martin lets out a sigh, as he conjures his magic into his hand, making the book levitate in the air so he didn’t have to hold it. Feeling a little annoyed at the moment, he straightens his cravat on his neck and begrudgingly asks. “.... Something on your mind, Rhemielia?”

Rhemi then kicks the ladder making the wheels roll a few feet away to hunt for a few books in a different section.

Her father following her at the end of the ladder. “Rhemielia?” He repeats.

Finally she huffs heavily heartedly and replies. “... Père, you don’t ask those questions to people.”

Martin just looks up at his child and scoffs with a half grin. “.... And why not?”

“W-Well…. It’s just… ahhh— well....” Rhemi fumbles over her words as she continues to skim through the books looking for that particular subject about genetics. “...Despite his openness, Ilya might not want to converse to a stranger about his intimacy… No one ask you about your sex life. You shouldn’t just make assumptions about his—or any of my friends for that matter.”

Martin fidgets in his spot, unable to remember the last time someone talked to him like this. “Perhaps not, but my sex life didn’t involve another man, Rhemielia…. Forgive me for being intolerant, but it’s just not natural and disgusting-.”

“Disgusting to you perhaps! And how is it not natural?” Rhemi quickly responds with her nose in another book. “... Most herd animals spend their time with other males except for breeding season and engage in sexual activities. Nope… already read this one.” She quietly mutters that last part to herself as she returns the dud book back.

Martin’s brow starts to furrow as he stifles the rage in the pit of his stomach with the thought of that. He can’t believe his only child is defending such behaviors. But he keeps his feelings buried, but just barely. “Humans aren’t filthy animals, Rhemielia…. at least most aren’t... And I really don’t believe a conversation about copulation with my long lost daughter is appropriate—”

“Too late—” She adds, handing him another heavy book, and he makes it float in the air as she slides down the ladder and faces him very boldly. “If that's the case, then isn’t wearing shoes, or undergarments, or overly fancy capes made from dead worm cocoons also deemed ‘unnatural’?.”

“Rhemielia, I really do think this highly distasteful topi—” Martin suddenly stops, eyes wide in bewilderment realizing what she had just said. “I-.... I’m sorry, did you just say, ‘dead worm…. cocoons’?”

“Yes.” She says with a very as-matter-of-fact look on her face.

Martin just stares at her, completely confused and looks down at his expensive garment. “Wha—??”

Instantly, Rhemi grabs one of her books her father is floating in the air and quickly flips through the pages. “Do-too-doo…. Silkworms, silkwoooorms… Ah! Yes—Right here.” Rhemi then takes a hold of her father’s fancy cape and shakes it with one hand while handing her father an open book with the other. “... ‘Silk is made from inorganic fibers that are made from creatures called ‘silkworms’. They’re found in places such as Parka and Nopal and other northern places. Silk is harvested by the cocoon that the silkworm makes. The worms are boiled alive while incubating in a said cocoon, then the thread is extracted so it can be woven into fabric.’..” She points to the left page as she turns around. “It’s all on page 194, paragraph eight.”

Rhemi then pulls out a spare biscuit and gives it to the poor hungry badger. The happy little animal takes it and scarfs it down, she even allows Rhemi to pet her gently on the head some more, no hint of aggression or mistrust.

Bewildered and with squinting eyes, Martin hastily skims the paragraph then tilts his head. “Hmmm… Well… that’s ah, fascinating?... I…. I suppose—However…. I believe I fail to understand what this has to do with anything, my little Pigeon...”

His daughter turns back around dropping her shoulders, the look in her eyes are almost hurt. He can’t help but admire how much she looks like her mother right now. “....Those people you meet today are my friends, Père. Really good ones in fact. I see now that Charlès must not be as…open minded?—Like the rest of the world. But these are my friends. Asra and Julian are in love and I really do think they belong together. So, please, at least for my sake, be nice to them...”

“A rather steep request to ask when your friends have such terrible lifestyle choices. I don’t agree with, I don’t understand how you—”

“—That isn’t a choice, Father.” She interrupts, collecting the books out of the air and placing them onto the table next to Beatrix still licking her little claws clean. “... And you don’t have to understand it in order to respect it.”

“..... Rrrrrrrrrespect it?” He snootily sneer, both eyes half closed.

For one reason or another this expression on his face makes her uncomfortable. “Well… Yes… At least for me. They are all a huge part of my life.” She says. Then, rather dramatic and ominous pause starts to take residence in this tense conversation.

“.... Hmpf… My god what has that witch done to you?” Her father says as he shakes his head slowly.

The man’s icy teal eyes pierce Rhemi like a freshly sharpened blade and she feels it cut her to her core. Obviously what she said has upset him. The longer he stares the smaller and smaller she feels under his gaze. But this is about her friends after all. They are practically a part of her family and they have fought by her and Muriel’s side, the least thing she can do is stick up for them.

She pushes down her uneasiness and puffs out her chest like she always does when she needs the confidence. “I…. I think I’ve always been this way. Perhaps you just didn’t notice.”

Beatrix suddenly jumps off the table and hides underneath it abandoning her precious biscuit. And a strange, yet powerful tense energy fills the room. It feels like a low rumble almost like an earthquake, yet nothing in the room is shaking or rattling. But Martin’s cold eyes are fixed on his daughter, increasingly becoming more intimidating as he just glares, visually trying his best to keep himself from contorting his face in disgust.

At last his eyes leave his poor daughter and she can feel her body start to unclench as he glances to his gloved hands, clicking his tongue before speaking. “I fear that the sinful place has tainted you, my dear….” His face softens when his head lifts back up to look at her once again, a half fake smile on his face. “But, fear not, we’ll correct that in due time.”

Rhemi’s eyes flutter with that last comment almost afraid to ask. “....What do you—”

“—Oi! Rhemiiiiii!!” The large double doors creak open and Portia calls from the library entrance. “It’s four o’clock!”

“—OH! CRAP! I’m late again!” Suddenly Rhemi runs up to her father a quick hug and gives him a peck on the left cheek. She can feel his shoulder stiffen as she embraces him, taken back with her rather loving affection despite the tense conversation that was just had. But his face softens, icy glare deteriorates like snow melting away on a warm spring day as he hugs her back. “Sorry, I have to get back to the shop before five. I have a rheumatism potion I have to finish before a customer comes for it this afternoon.”

“Oh. I see. You’re a busy one I see...”

“Yeah. Guess so.”

“.... Could I see you tomorrow then, perhaps for tea? I must attend a trading meeting after that, and I believe Portia… I believe it was?... She will be there too.”

“Oh…. umm, Y-yeah… Sure! That’s fine. That’ll be great.” Oddly, she’s unable to stop the feeling like she’s fibbing when she says that, her eyes avert towards the large stained glass windows.

Perhaps, tomorrow won’t be as bad as this afternoon… She thinks to herself. Yeah—He’s just not used to people who are different from him, that's all—Yeah!.... He just might need some more time, get to know them all. I’m sure he’ll come around... Realize that he’s wrong about them.

“See you tomorrow then.” As she turns to leave, Martin keeps a hold of her left wrist. She pulls it back instinctively, but her father squeezes even harder, almost too tightly.

“Rhemielia, my child?”

She cranks her head back around, that sincere and pleading expression returning to her father’s face. “...Aren’t you tired of brewing potions for mere pocket change?”

What? What kind of question is that? Puzzled at this question she tilts her head and asks, “.... I’m sorry?”

“Do you really want to be working all your life in that dusty little shop?”

For a moment she ponders on this thought. She never thought about it to be honest.

As Rhemi tugs her hand once again to take it back, thinking a little harder on what he asked. Yet, he doesn’t let go. In fact, his grip actually tightens around her wrist, and it starts to hurt her. Her face starts to bead sweat, her temples pulsate with twinges of pain yet again and she feels her stomach drop. “P-Père, you’re—you're hurting me.” She whimpers.

Blankly he slowly blinks, as if he didn’t hear her.

“P-Père?.... My wrist… You’re hurting it.”

Finally he glances to her small wrist before finally letting it go. “Ah… Ahem—My apologies, my sweet Pigeon.”

Once Rhemi's wrist is finally released, she stands there rubbing it a bit with her opposite hand. Her skin slightly stinging from his firm grip and the friction of the leather gloves. She didn’t like it when people held her too hard like that, it made her feel so uncomfortable, like she was vulnerable and weak. But she never felt her head ache like that before.

After the stinging dissipates, she places her hands to her side and she sheepishly replies, “.... Well… the shop me and Muriel’s livelihood. How else am I supposed to live?”

An entertained chuckle erupts from the Archmagister’s lips and Beatrix climbs his arm and rests across his shoulders. “Why, back home with me in Charlès of course. You’ll live much more comfortably there. I want you to rejoin the court… back with me.”

Lost for any words, Rhemi stands there feeling like an explosion had just gone off in her head. “Back home… to Charlès?” She repeats.

Her father adjusts his cane, making a faint clank while he straightens back up, puffing his chest out and nodding. “You’re conflicted I see. I half expected you would be. It is a rather bold question for me to ask when we’ve only been reunited for two short days….. Don’t worry, you don’t have to answer me now… just think about it, Rhemielia.”

“O-.... okay. I will.” Uncomfortably she replies, her head now spinning. Finally she shakes out of her own thoughts and smiles awkwardly. “Goodnight, Père… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, my little Pigeon…. Think about what I said.”

“I… I will….” She mumbles as she shuts the door leaving the Archmagister alone in the library with his familiar.

Beatrix sniffs the air cautiously. “Master angry at Pigeon?”

Martin takes a deep breath as he tries to stop his anger and magic from overflowing. “This is all Phara’s doing, Beatrix... That fucking cunt of a witch… Teaching my child such disgusting tolerance for filthy homosexual deviants. That’s precisely why the rest of the world is behind Charlès, Bea. They let perverted cock-sucking fools muck about and run things… this city was nearly all in ruins just a year ago. And that is all because of these fucking liberal fools...”

Trying to calm his anger he takes one of the books Rhemi was reading through in his hands and it bursts into purple and green flames with his magic and he watches with gratification as it burns into dust.

“The world outside of Charlès is disgusting…..” He says picking up one of the books she was reading in disgust. “...It isn’t Rhemielia’s fault she doesn’t remember better… Surrounded by such books, people… and ideals about a backwards way of living. Deprived of morals or sensibility. I will just have to…. remind her of what the correct morals are.”

✨To be continued...

**April fools =P Sorry I had too! XD

Anyways! Thanks so much for reading my hot garbage! I hope you guys didn't mind the very very long chapter!

For all you thirsty trash pandas, the smut will be next chapter *wink wink*

**Agrippa (the baker’s apprentice) belongs to @victorscribbles

#the arcana #the arcana game #muriel fanfic #the arcana fanfic #muriel x mc #muriel x apprentice #muriel x rhemi #the visitor~#part 4~#enjoy my hot trash #enjoy my garbage #for my hungry trash pandas #sorry for the long ass wait #april fools #arcana fandom #non smut

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years

Note

You were too kind to that jonarya anon. Well this is nice of you. But why didn’t you just mention that Grrm has already very openly denied Jonarya? He said Jon seeing Arya in Ygritte was not a romantic hint. This is Grrm we are talking about... He would say keep reading or no comment if he took them serious... That boat (not even gonna call ship) is dead but jonaryas still lurking under our posts like stalking us is going to change the reality. Sad.

Hi Anon,

I didn’t mention the Balticon 2016 Report because that’s what GRRM has said, and they only asked about “my opinion”, so that’s what I said, my opinion.

Now, if you are asking for the author’s own voice, I will answer citing GRRM words.

This is not a shipper or anti shipper opinion, this is citing the author’s own words, and this is something that even in a platform like asoiaf reddit, is taken as “denial of the romance between Jon & Arya” [Source]:

MAY 2016 - BALTICON

After the Coffee Talk just outside the room:

My Con Friend asked about Arya and Jon again. This time GRRM gave some very pointed replies:

GRRM finished (in the hallway now) by saying that he “wished some past things weren’t such strong foreshadowing,” and that he, “wished some new things had stronger foreshadowing then.”

Friend: Ok, if you foreshadowed something in the first book, like, really cleverly hidden, would you then follow through on that hint? For sure?..

GRRM: “Well, this goes with what I said before, the story changes and expands as I write. I wish I was able to go back and make revised drafts, but that’s not going to happen.”

Here is a transcript of the outline discussion and Jon/Arya portion of the coffee talk:

[question about Jon/Arya]

GRRM: “Alright, you’ve thought about this more than I have. I mean it’s simple, Jon is very fond of Arya. They were the two odd birds in the Stark family nest, here. They didn’t quite fit in with the others, they look like each other, they both had the brown hair, you know, as opposed to the auburn hair of Sansa and Bran and Rickon and Robb. So there was always that closeness between them. And, you know, Arya didn’t mind that Jon was a bastard, and Jon didn’t mind that Arya was a tomboy, so there is that closeness there.”

[question about Jon comparing his lover to his sister]

GRRM: “If he did it, uhm… I began writing these books in 1991, and, uhm, I worked on it in 91 and then I got a tv play, so I put it aside to really work on ‘Doorways’ tv pilot and did a tv show in 92-93. In 94 I returned to it [the books] and worked on it. You know, up till then, in my career as a writer, I’d always written the entire book before I opted for sale. That’s unusual. Most writers do chapters and an outline. They write a few chapters, they outline the rest of the book, give that to the publisher and the publisher says ‘oh okay, I’ll take that’.

“As some of you may have noticed, those who have been paying very, very carefully attention, I’m not good with deadlines. And, uh, and I’m not good with outlines, either. I always hated outlines. So with Fevre Dream and with Armageddon Rag and with Dying of the Light and all my novels, I wrote the entire book. I didn’t do chapters and outline. I sat down, I wrote a whole book, and I sent it to my agent and said ‘Look, here’s a whole book, and it’s finished’. That way I ran into no deadline, it was finished before it even went on the market. And it worked well for me. And my initial thought was to do this the same way, but what happened, you know, was in 1994, uhm, when I returned to it and I’m working on it and I’m very enthused about it and I say ‘I really wanna write these Game of Thrones books as the next part’. But I was still in Hollywood and I’d just lost all this groundwork on ‘Doorways’, I was still in… The studios and networks still wanna work with me, so I’m getting other offers, like ‘We want you to write this movie’, ‘we want you to do another tv pilot’. And, you know, I took a couple of them and was ‘Oh god, I gotta have to put the book away again’. Cause I have no deadline [for the book]. You know, when you think Hollywood, they will give you a deadline, you know, they say ‘here, son, write this movie, we want it in three months’.

“So, I said ‘look, if I wanna get back to being a novelist, I’m gonna have to sell this even though it’s not finished’. So I had my 200 pages of Game of Thrones at that point, but they wanted outline. I said ‘I don’t do outlines. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, I figure it out as I go. And that’s how I always did it.’ No, we had to have an outline. So I wrote two pages, a two-page thing about what I thought would happen. It’ll be a trilogy, it’ll be three books, Game of Thrones, the Dance with Dragons, and Winds of Winter. Those were the three window titles. And, uh, it’ll be three books and this’ll happen, and this’ll happen, and this’ll happen. And I was making up shit.

“And I had thought that those two pages were long forgotten, because, of course, the books did sell. They sold in the United States and in Great Britain, both. They sold for enough money that I didn’t have to take any more Hollywood games. So I was able to say ‘no’ around. I had a few less [?] to wind up in in 94 and 95. Once I had, I said ‘no, I don’t want any more movies or tv shows, I’m going to write these books now’. And I started writing the books. And in the process, I pretty much disregarded the outline. The characters took me off in entirely different directions. So, for 20 years I had forgotten that that two-page thing even existed. And then someone in my British publisher, HarperCollins, they got a new office building, uh, brand new offices, and new conference rooms, big conference rooms that they decorated with books and stuff like that. And they named the conference rooms after the writers, so one of the conference rooms [?], and they put up these plastic display cases, including the outline. The two-page outline, yes. [?], they didn’t ask my permission, they just put it up. And in that two-page outline, Jon and Arya become a romantic item.”

“You know, I don’t think it’s a reference for that [for romance]. It’s a reference to a certain physical type, and a certain indication of what Jon finds admirable. It’s like someone who reminds you of, you know… Other people might be put off by this, you know, hair that looks like small rodents have been living in there. It doesn’t put him off because he is used to that.””

[someone says they have 5 minutes left]

“You know, I was pretty pissed that that outline got out there. It should not have happened. Outlines and letters like that are meant only for the eyes of the editor. They shouldn’t go on public display. And, uh, they also [?] my papers on [?], all my papers and correspondence. You know, I’ve been sending that stuff there for years, and it’d be, you know, available for future scholars or whatever, just like the papers of many other writers. Somehow, in the back of my head I was like ‘yeah, 20 years after I’m dead some scholar will go in and find them’. They’re going in right now!” ”

[question if he is still going with the 1991 ending]

“It was actually Bronn and Chiggen, and then one of them dies, I flipped a coin ‘okay, who dies? Chiggen dies, cause his name is stupid. Bronn is a better name, so I’ll keep Bronn’. And then Bronn became quite an interesting character and plenty of these characters take on minds of their own. They push to the front till you [?] speech and you think of a cool line and you give it to Bronn because he’s trying to talk, and now Bronn is somebody who says something cool. [?]. That’s how characters grow on you. “So a lot of the minor characters I’m still discovering along the way. But the mains-”

[question if he knows Arya’s and Jon’s fates]

“Tyrion, Arya, Jon, Sansa, you know, all of the Stark kids, and the major Lannisters, yeah.”

This report appears in the following sources:

fattest leech of ice and fire blog [Source 1]

asoiaf.westeros.org [Source 2]

westeros.org [Source 3]

Thanks for the question.

#anon ask #grrm #jon and arya

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bobasheebaby · 4 years

Text

125 Golden Girls Prompts

This time I have some hilarious prompts from some hilarious women. These help keep me sane, send in prompts or request a specific show. Long as hell, breaking at 15.

1 “Go to sleep, sweetheart. Pray for brains.” – Dorothy

2 “Crying is for plain women. Pretty women go shopping.” -Blanche

3 “They were all buying T-shirts, you know, the ones that say, ��Today is the first day of the end of your life.’” — Dorothy

4 “People waste their time pondering whether a glass is half empty or half full. Me, I just drink whatever’s in the glass.” – Sophia

5 “Nobody ever believes me when I’m telling the truth. I guess it’s the curse of being a devastatingly beautiful woman.” – Blanche

6 “No! No, I will not have a nice day!” -Dorothy

7 “Excuse me NAME, have I given any indication at all that I care?” – Sophia

8 “No one in my family has ever seen a psychiatrist ... except of course, when they were institutionalized!” – Blanche

9 “Isn’t it amazing how I can feel so bad, and still look so good?” -Blanche

10 “Condoms, NAME! Condoms, condoms, condoms!” – Dorothy

11 “It’s like life is a giant weenie roast, and I’m the biggest weenie!” – Rose

12 “He’s/She’s really a very sweet man/woman. He/She just doesn’t like to show it.” — Dorothy

13 “I eat raw cookie dough. And occasionally, I run through the sprinklers and don’t wear a bathing cap. And at Christmas, I’ve been known to put away more than one eggnog.” – Rose

14 “I could get herpes listening to this story!” – Dorothy

15 “I’ve been having a good time, and there wasn’t even a man/woman in the room.” -Blanche

16 “Why don’t I just wear a sign, ‘too ugly to live’?” – Dorothy

17 “I though I was gonna die. I swear I have never felt such agony. I saw my entire life flash before my eyes and I thought, ‘What a shame if I die now, I’m too young…and I’m wearing the wrong underwear.’” — Blanche

18 “You’ll have to excuse NAME. HE/She suffered a slight stroke a few years ago which rendered him/her totally annoying.” – Dorothy

19 “Eat dirt and die, trash.” – Blanche

20 “[to NAME] You’re a furry little gnome and we feed you too much.” – Dorothy

21 When I was a child, I used to get overexcited and pet the cat too much.” – Rose

22 “I feel that you have backed me into a corner, and when I am backed into a corner, I come out fightin’ like a wildcat. Unless I’ve had too much to drink, in which case I slide down the wall and make mad passionate love on the carpet.” – Blanche

23 “NAME, you’re one chromosome away from being a potato.” – Dorothy

24 “If this sauce was a person, I’d get naked and make love to it.” – Sophia

25 “I hate to admit it but he/she melts my Haagen-Dazs.” – Rose

26 “Want a glass of water to wash down your foot?” – Sophia

27 “Like I’m the only person who ever mixed a margarita in a sailor’s mouth?” – Blanche

28 “I feel like crawling under the covers and eating a box of Velveeta.” – Rose

29 “When I say jump, you say ‘on who?'” – Blanche

30 “I’m jumpier than a virgin at a prison rodeo.” – Blanche

31 “How come whenever my ship comes in it’s leaking?” – Dorothy

32 “Tell me the truth: do these glasses make me look stupid?” – Rose

33 “If I had that money I could have moved into a swinging condo instead of living with—I better not say anything until I’ve had my coffee [sips coffee]—a slut and a moron!” – Dorothy

34 “Go hug a landmine!” – Dorothy

35 “Fasten your seatbelt, slut puppy. This ain’t gonna be no cakewalk!” – Sophia

36 “NAME? Hubba hubba zing zing, baby, he’s /she’s got everything.” – Rose

37 “I could vomit just looking at you!” – Dorothy

38 “There is a fine line between having a good time and being a wanton slut. I know. My toe has been on that line.” – Blanche

39 “It’s like you people don’t pay any attention to me whatsoever.” – Rose

40 “Why do blessings wear disguises? If I were a blessing, I’d run around naked.” – Sophia

41 “I hate Jell-O. If God wanted peaches suspended in midair, he would have filled them with helium.” – Sophia

42 “Oh, don’t give up, NAME. If the ancient Egyptians could move 20-ton stone blocks to build the pyramids, we can move a toilet.” – Rose

43 “NAME, honey… have you been washing the fruit off before you eat it?” – Dorothy

44 “Tell me, is it possible to love two men/women/people at the same time.” “Set the scene, have we been drinking?” — Rose & Blanche

45 “NAME, what are you listening to?” “A relaxation tape. The rain is supposed to relax me.” “Is it working?” “Not really. I keep worrying that I left my car windows down.” — Dorothy & Rose

46 “NAME, I have a feeling you’re lying.” “NAME, be positive.” “Okay, I’m positive you’re lying.” — Dorothy & Rose

47 “You are undoubtedly the meanest, sickest person I’ve ever met! Not to mention the most unattractive.” — Blanche

48 “Where are you going?” “To either get ice cream or commit a felony. I’ll decide in the car.” — Rose & Dorothy

49 “Let me tell you a story. Picture it, PLACE …” —Sophia

50 “NAME, wake up. My husband/wife/partner will be home any minute.” — Dorothy

51 “I’m NAME and I know it isn’t pertinent at the moment, but I’m double jointed.” — Blanche

52 “He’s/She's really a very sweet man/woman. He/She just doesn't like to show it.” — Dorothy

53 “You know, sometimes when people are under pressure, they sleep to escape.” — Rose

54 “Have you noticed that NAME has been acting peculiar?” “Yes, NAME, from the first day that I met him/her!” — Blanche & Dorothy

55 “Oh, NAME, how do you feel about performing in front of a video camera?” “I think it's okay as long as you've already had at least three dates.” — Rose & Blanche

56 “I never grew a beard!” “You never grew brains, either!” — Rose & Sophia

57 “It wasn't a rat! It was a cute little mouse.” “NAME, it doesn't wear white gloves and work at Disneyland! We're talking about a rodent!” — Rose & Dorothy

58 “My whole life is an open book.” “Your whole life is an open shirt/blouse!” — Blanche & Sophia

59 “Oh, you don't have to worry about me, honey. I never get sick. I take very good care of myself. I treat my body like a temple.” “Yeah, open to everyone, day or night.” — Blanche & Sophia

60 “Oh, NAME. Can I make a little suggestion when you go for your makeover?” “Sure. What is it?” “Don't expect a miracle.” — Sophia & Dorothy

61 “Why am I even discussing this with you?” “Beats the hell out of me!” — Dorothy & Sophia

62 “Well, what do you know? NAME has a past!” “That's right! But unlike yours, I didn't need penicillin to get through it.” — Blanche & Sophia

63 “I'm going to have to meet men/women lying down.” “I thought you did.” — Blanche & Sophia

64 “Here we are in the middle of a crisis and there’s no cheesecake.” — Blanche

65 “Can I ask a dumb question?” “Better than anyone I know.” — Rose & Dorothy

66 “NAME, ‘disdam’ is not a word. You made it up.” “It’s a word.” “Fine. Use it in a sentence.” “You’re no good at disdam game.” — Dorothy & Sophia

67 “He’s/She’s undressing me with his/her eyes.” “Do you wanna move tables?” “Not yet, he’s/she’s only half done.” — Blanche & Rose

68 “You know, there is nothing worse than being wide awake and scared and by yourself!” “Oh yea there is: being wide awake and scared and by yourself without a double-fudge chocolate cheesecake in the freezer.” — Dorothy & Rose

69 “You know what would go so good on this cheesecake is those chocolate sprinkles.” “We finished those an hour ago.” “We could crush some Oreos on top.” “We ran out of those two hours ago.” “How about some whipped cream?” “Mmm!” — Dorothy & Rose

70 “You bought a chocolate cheesecake?” “Just for an emergency.” — Dorothy & Rose

71 “I just need some cucumbers to put on my eyes. It’s very good. It reduces puffiness.” “Does it work on thighs?” — Blanche & Rose

72 “I have a date.” “With a man/woman?” “No, NAME. With a Venus fly trap.” — Dorothy & Blanche

73 “Do you know what your trouble is?” “Of course not.” — Dorothy & Blanche

74 “I think there’s a connection between your brain and wallpaper paste.” — Sophia

75 ““Forgive me, NAME, but I haven’t had sex in AMOUNT OF TIME and it’s starting to get on my nerves.” – Sophia

76 “Do you know what I hate doing most after a big party?” “Trying to find your underwear in the big pile?” — Blanche & Rose

77 “I've never been so humiliated in my life.” “What about the time you lost the key to your handcuffs and had to go with that guy/girl on his/her mail route?” — Blanche & Dorothy

78 “You are not gonna believe this. NAME, just called me.” “I didn't think the two of you were speaking.” “Well, we're not.” “Then how'd you know it was him/her on the other end of the line?” “NAME, you're bringing down the curve for the whole country.” — Blanche, Dorothy & Rose

79 “Oh, my goodness. Look what I found. Double-fudge cookies. I thought we agreed not to keep cookies in the house.” “Right, after this last box.” “You're not going to eat them, are you?” “No, NAME. We're going to go to some dumb country and try to use them as money.” — Rose, Blanche & Dorothy

80 “I can't believe you said that! Oh, if I weren't a lady I'd deck you.” “You try and I'll have you on your back so fast you'll think you're out on a date.” — Blanche & Dorothy

81 [NAME running after a dog] “Ha! Would you look at that: man's best friend, chasing man's best friend!” — Dorothy

82 “I won't stand for this!“[gets up and starts to walk out] “Take it, NAME!” “But I bet you'll lie down for it.” — Blanche, Sophia & Dorothy

83 “NAME, you should make us eat dirt, make us grovel, give us the silent treatment...” “NAME, if you give us the silent treatment, I will eat dirt.” — Rose & Dorothy

84 “Cooking, NAME?” “No, NAME, I'm developing pictures for the Magellan Space Program.” — Rose & Dorothy

85 “Do we have any orange juice left?” [person two pours the rest in their glass] “No, we’re all out.” — Rose & Dorothy

86 “Go hug a landmine.” — Dorothy

87 “Now, what’s wrong?” “I lost it, NAME!” “You never had it, NAME.” — Dorothy & Stanley

88 “You knew I wanted to spend tonight alone.” — Rose

89 “Darn it. I gotta kiss somebody at midnight.” — Blanche

90 “Pizza, dammit! Get pizza!” — Dorothy

91 “What the hell goes on at night in this house?!” — Dorothy

92 “Just drives you nuts, doesn’t it, NAME?” — Rose

93 “Can you believe that backstabbing slut?” — Rose

94 “I’m here if you wanna pick my brain.” “NAME, I think we should leave it alone and let it heal.” — Rose & Dorothy

95 “And the world heaves a collective sigh of relief.” — Sophia

96 "Must you always be so cheerful, you empty headed Mary Poppins knockoff?'—Blanche

97 "What? Are you out of what is left of your mind?!"—Blanche

98 “All I do is listen to your sexual problems. How about my sexual problems?” — Sophia

99 “Blow it out your ditty bag.” — Sophia

100 “Your heart's in the right place, but I don't know where the hell your brain is." — Sophia

101 “Think about it. You live alone. No one likes you." — Sophia

102 “You're moving. Too bad. This would be touching if I liked you more." — Sophia

103 “Go ahead. Stand up and say it. My name is NAME, and I am an idiot." — Sophia

104 “You're here because the rhythm method was very popular in the [insert decade of birth]." — Sophia

105 “Get to the part where they steal the brain out of the dead body and sew it into your head." — Sophia

106 "Exactly how close to the television are you sitting when you're watching TV SHOW.” — Sophia

107 “Boom! You've got a social life." — Sophia

108 “You drink out of a brown paper bag and suddenly everybody’s your friend.” — Sophia

109 “Remember NAME, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” “I think I crossed that line when I got a date!” — Dorothy & Sophia

110 “If you can’t count on family, who the hell can you count on?” — Sophia

111 “In this life, that’s all we have, is hope.” — Sophia

112 “Here’s a newsflash, witches can fly.” — Sophia

113 “It’s great bringing two idiots closer together.” — Sophia

114 “NAME, a man/woman called for you while you were out.” “Finally, now we can break out that bottle of champagne we’ve been saving.” — Rose & Sophia

115 “Gee, with only three hours sleep, I can be just as bitchy as you.” — Rose

116 “Gee, Sophia! You’re awfully cranky today.” — Rose

117 “The doctor says it’s the first time he’s ever been called because a baby was sleeping in the day. And then I think he called me an idiot.” — Rose

118 [astonished] “You paying for something?” “What are you saying, I'm cheap?” “Well, of course he’s/she's saying you're cheap. You're the only man I know who owns a time-share dog!” — Rose, Stanley & Dorothy

119 “Hey, what is this? You're talking about me like I'm an animal. [sniffing NAME] You've been with a man, haven't you?” — Sophia

120 “I do love the rain so. It reminds me of my first kiss.” “Ah, your first kiss was in the rain?” “No, it was in the shower.” — Blanche & Dorothy

121 “You know, I've been thinking ...” “Oh, that would explain the beads of sweat.” — Rose & Blanche

122 “God, I hate morning people.” — Blanche

123 “He’s/She’s a lewd, horny, oversexed beast with five hands.” “You don’t have to build him/her up to me, honey. I like him/her just fine already.” — Rose & Blanche

124 “You ... you ... you rude person!” “Go easy on him/her, NAME.” — Rose & Dorothy

125 “This would be touching if I liked you more.” — Sophia

#golden girls prompts #golden girls quotes #dialogue prompts #writing prompts #drabble prompts #sophia petrillo #dorothy zbornak #rose nylund #blanche devereaux #long post #read more #quaratine sucks and making these keeps my mind busy

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alarawriting · 4 years

Text

Inktober 2020 #6: Rodent

The Mouse was only an inch or two shorter than she was. Granted, Natalie was only a ten-year-old kitten, but most Mice were half her size, two-thirds at most. Of course, Miracle Mouse had no way of knowing how short Natalie actually was; her Superkitty disguise made her look like a full-grown adult, so she looked a good bit taller than him.

“Why should I believe you?” he sneered at her. “Every Cat I’ve ever met has been an enemy of all Mousekind!”

“It’s true, though,” Joey said, trembling. Joey was usually trembling at something or other, but Natalie knew that it was because he was scared of standing up to his hero. Everyone knew that Miracle Mouse was the hero for all Mice… and he sometimes protected Humans, too. Not Dogs, so much, and never Cats. “She, she saved a whole lot of Mice who were being taken by Humans on a ship to be hunted by Cats.”

Miracle Mouse glared at Natalie. “Really? I’ll bet you were in cahoots with the kidnappers, so you could lull Mice into trusting you, and then blam!”

“Blam?” Natalie asked disbelievingly. “Look, I don’t need to lure Mice into trusting me. If I was an evil Cat and I hunted people, any kind of people, I could just do it. I’m super-strong and I can fly. As far as I know, you’re the only Mouse who can do those things.”

“And that’s why we’re destined to be nemeses!” Miracle Mouse snarled. “The Super-Cat and—”

“It’s Superkitty. Not Supercat.”

He ignored her. “—the champion of Mousekind, Miracle Mouse! We were destined to battle each other!”

Natalie shook her head. “I really don’t want to battle you. We’re heroes! We’re both on the same side!”

“Have you ever turned a Mouse over to the police?” Miracle Mouse demanded.

“Sometimes, yeah—”

She was going to point out that the Mice she had last turned over to the police had been kidnapping a Human baby after stealing a car, but Miracle Mouse interrupted her. “The police are all Dogs, Cats and Humans! There are no Mice on the police force, and they have no respect for Mice! Mice die in police custody!”

“I didn’t know that,” Natalie said, shocked. “Really? How can the police get away with that?”

“Because they’re the police! All of Kookilariland sees them as the champions of justice. No matter what kind of harm they do, they’re allowed to get away with it! The prosecutors? The judges? They’re all friends with the police! They let them get away with murder!”

“Then we need to stop it!” Natalie said passionately. “You and me, together! We’re superheroes! And if no one wants to listen to you because you’re a Mouse, then they’ll listen to me because I’m a Cat!”

Miracle Mouse was no longer making a heroic pose while ranting; he was actually looking at Natalie as she was, not as he expected her to be – she assumed, anyway, because he was looking at her like he was very puzzled. “You’re… not as old as you look, are you,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Unlike Humans, who sweated when they got nervous, and Dogs, who panted, Cats generally showed no sign of nervousness as long as they could resist the desire to groom themselves. “No! Haha, why would you think a thing like that?” Natalie said, laughing. “I’m definitely an adult!”

“Look. Kid. I don’t know how you got powers or why you’re trying to get into the superhero business, but you need to go home. I am pretty sure you’re just a kitten.”

“What, because I believe that it’s wrong for the police to hurt Mice? I’ll have you know that every Cat I know, including some definitely adult Cats, would agree that that’s wrong!”

“Yeah, well, why haven’t they done anything about it, then? I’ve never seen Cats marching in protest of harm done to Mice!”

Natalie blinked at him. “Cats don’t march. Like, ever. It’s not a thing we do. But my d—Some older Cats I know do write letters to the mayor, and make phone calls. I mean, I don’t know if they do it about police hurting Mice because I didn’t even know that was a thing that happens, but I do know they do it when people talk about knocking down apartment buildings in Mouse neighborhoods so they can build apartments for rich Humans and Dogs.”

“But not Cats?”

“Cats in Kookalariland are mostly refugees from Kittyland. We don’t have enough rich Cats that they want to build apartments for us. And if a Cat is rich, she wants land, lots of it, so she doesn’t have to run into anybody by accident and so she has small-creatures she can hunt. Rich Cats don’t live in apartments. They don’t live in the city at all.”

“There are rich Cats. The mob boss Uberkatz. Have you never heard of him?”

Natalie rolled her eyes. “Okay, one, and he has to live in the city because he’s a mob boss and the city is where most of the organized crime is. And I’ve only heard of him because I’m a superhero and also he’s stepping on my name.” Her best friend Arthur Boy, who was a Dog, had told her that “Uberkatz” meant “Supercat” in another language, which was much too close to “Superkitty” for Natalie’s comfort, and she was going to have to kick Uberkatz’s butt just for that one of these days. “Anyway, that’s not the point! Cats do try to make the government do the right things for Mice. It’s just… the government is very big, and the number of Cats is, well, not super small, not like Parrots, but there aren’t nearly as many of us around as there are Humans and Dogs and Mice.”

Miracle Mouse’s whole posture had relaxed, no longer as if he was on the verge of trying to punch Natalie. “Well. Maybe there are a few good Cats. Or maybe you’re lying to me to make me think you’re friendly to Mice so I don’t try to stop your nefarious anti-Mouse schemes!”

Natalie burst out laughing. “I’m gonna tell my friends that you think I have schemes. They’re always yelling at me for charging into things without a plan. Seriously, if I had a nefarious anti-Mouse scheme, I would probably forget about it the moment I saw a kitten crying about not being able to get down from a tree. I don’t, um, stick to plans very well.”

“It’s true,” Joey said, slightly more relaxed now that it looked like maybe his friend and his hero were not going to fight. “Superkitty doesn’t really have schemes. That’s more her friends’ style, and they don’t have anti-Mouse schemes either.”

“And how would you know that, young citizen? Do you think they’d share their plots against Mice with you? Hmm?” Miracle Mouse loomed intimidatingly over Joey, leaning down into his face for emphasis at the end.

“Hey, knock it off! Joey really respects you, he thinks you’re a big hero! The least you could do is be nice to him and respect his opinion even if you don’t agree with it!” Natalie snapped.

“Oh?” Miracle Mouse was back to sneering. “And if I make it clear to this young Mouse kit what an idiot he’s being in trusting a Cat, any Cat… what are you going to do about it?”

Natalie narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want to fight you. But Joey is my friend, and I won’t let you hurt my friend or call him an idiot. You be the hero he believes you to be… or I will kick your butt for being a bad superhero and letting my friend down.” She made fists of her paws.

“Superkitty, don’t…” Joey pleaded.

“He doesn’t have the right to treat you like that!”

“Yeah, but he’s a hero for all Mice! Even if he’s being kind of a jerk, he’s still our hero! I don’t want you to fight him!”

Natalie sighed. “All right, but only because you asked.” She turned to Miracle Mouse. “You hear that? My friend doesn’t want me to fight you to defend him… so I won’t. But I will tell everyone I know what a lousy excuse for a hero you are.”

And then Miracle Mouse laughed.

“Are you laughing at me?” Natalie demanded.

“No… well, yes, somewhat. I was testing you, young Superkitty. I was cruel to this Mouse kit only to see what your reaction would be.” He put a paw out to shake. “Perhaps you are a hero I can work with after all.”

Natalie took his paw and shook it. “Well, I’d much rather work with you than not. I admit, I don’t know a lot about what goes on for Mice in this city. I know a lot of bad things, and Joey here tells me other things, but I’m sure you know more than both of us. And I want to be a hero to every person in this city, not just Cats. You have your own city to defend, and I know you’ll come here if there are Mice in trouble, but I want you to know that if you do come here to save Mice, I’ll help you out.”

“All right, Superkitty. I don’t know if a Mouse and a Cat can ever be friends, but we can at least be allies.”

“I guess that’s good enough for now,” Natalie said.

#inktober 2020 #alara's october 2020 prompt fics #superkitty

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kellyvela · 5 years

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i love the deranged dany/jon shippers trying to position themselves as some kind of authority on what grrm would and wouldnt do and insist that grrm would! never! hook jon up with his cousin when he actually intended to do that with jon and arya (in a love triangle with tyrion).

Hello Anon,

Are you serious? There are people who believe GRRM would never hook up cousins?? And the same people ship aunt and nephew???

GRRM has no problem at all with incest, in ASOIAF we have siblings incest in Jaime and Cersei; and father daughters incest with Craster an his daughters. And we also have all the Targaryens ffs.

He also has no problem with cousins getting involved in marriage alliances and romance, no matter if they aren’t Targaryens. About cousins, we have Tywin and Joanna Lannister, and Rickard and Lyarra Stark. And about uncles and nieces, we have Jonnel and Sansa Stark, and the frustrated union of Cregan and Alys Karstark. All these unions weren’t considered incest tho…

But GRRM does have a problem with “outlines”. Let’s talk about “outlines” then:

FEBRUARY 2015

A reddit user spotted a tweet from UK bookseller Waterstones which contained three photos of a 1993 letter GRRM wrote outlining the entire ASOIAF series.

The tweet has since been deleted, but not before the images made it to the internet.

Here is the reddit post.

And here is an article with the three photos of the letter and the transcription.

As you said, GRRM “originally” planned for a Stark cousins romance between Jon Snow and Arya Stark:

Jon Snow, the bastard, will remain in the far north. He will mature into a ranger of great daring, and ultimately will succeed his uncle as the commander of the Night’s Watch. When Winterfell burns, Catelyn Stark will be forced to flee north with her son Bran and her daughter Arya. Wounded by Lannister riders, they will seek refuge at the Wall, but the men of the Night’s Watch give up their families when they take the black, and Jon and Benjen will not be able to help, to Jon’s anguish. It will lead to a bitter estrangement between Jon and Bran. Arya will be more forgiving … until she realizes, with terror, that she has fallen in love with Jon, who is not only her half-brother but a man of the Night’s Watch, sworn to celibacy. Their passion will continue to torment Jon and Arya throughout the trilogy, until the secret of Jon’s true parentage is finally revealed in the last book.

And a love triangle with Tyrion Lannister:

Tyrion Lannister will continue to travel, to plot, and to play the game of thrones, finally removing his nephew Joffrey in disgust at the boy king’s brutality. Jaime Lannister will follow Joffrey on the throne of the Seven Kingdoms, by the simple expedient of killing everyone ahead of him in the line of succession and blaming his brother Tyrion for the murders. Exiled, Tyrion will change sides, making common cause with the surviving Starks to bring his brother down, and falling helplessly in love with Arya Stark while he’s at it. His passion is, alas, unreciprocated, but no less intense for that, and it will lead to a deadly rivalry between Tyrion and Jon Snow.

So yeah, GRRM planned for a pseudo incest romance between two major characters of the same House, and a love triangle with a main character of a rival House.

MAY 2016 - BALTICON

A bit more than a year after that tweet from Waterstones, GRRM attended the The Maryland Regional Science Fiction and Fantasy Convention - BALTICON. There he was questioned by fans about the Jon and Arya romance:

After the Coffee Talk just outside the room:

My Con Friend asked about Arya and Jon again. This time GRRM gave some very pointed replies:

GRRM finished (in the hallway now) by saying that he “wished some past things weren’t such strong foreshadowing,” and that he, “wished some new things had stronger foreshadowing then.”

Friend: Ok, if you foreshadowed something in the first book, like, really cleverly hidden, would you then follow through on that hint? For sure?..

GRRM: “Well, this goes with what I said before, the story changes and expands as I write. I wish I was able to go back and make revised drafts, but that’s not going to happen.”

Here is a transcript of the outline discussion and Jon/Arya portion of the coffee talk:

[question about Jon/Arya]

[question about Jon comparing his lover to his sister]

[someone says they have 5 minutes left]

[question if he is still going with the 1991 ending]

“Yes, I mean, I did partly joke when I said I don’t know where I was going. I know the broad strokes, and I’ve known the broad strokes since 1991. I know who’s going to be on the Iron Throne. I know who’s gonna win some of the battles, I know the major characters, who’s gonna die and how they’re gonna die, and who’s gonna get married and all that. The major characters. Of course along the way I made up a lot of minor characters, you know, I, uhm…Did I know in 1991 how Bronn, what was gonna happen to Bronn? No, I didn’t even know there’d be a guy named Bronn. I was inventing him along the way when I was writing, ‘Okay, he gets kidnapped. Let’s see, there are a couple sellswords there, their names are Fred and Bronn’.“It was actually Bronn and Chiggen, and then one of them dies, I flipped a coin ‘okay, who dies? Chiggen dies, cause his name is stupid. Bronn is a better name, so I’ll keep Bronn’. And then Bronn became quite an interesting character and plenty of these characters take on minds of their own. They push to the front till you [?] speech and you think of a cool line and you give it to Bronn because he’s trying to talk, and now Bronn is somebody who says something cool. [?]. That’s how characters grow on you.“So a lot of the minor characters I’m still discovering along the way. But the mains-”

[question if he knows Arya’s and Jon’s fates]

“Tyrion, Arya, Jon, Sansa, you know, all of the Stark kids, and the major Lannisters, yeah.”

This report appears in the following sources:

fattest leech of ice and fire blog [Source 1]

asoiaf.westeros.org [Source 2]

westeros.org [Source 3]

As you can see Anon, according GRRM the “original outline” was “a two-page thing about what [he] thought would happen”… “And [he] was making up shit.”

He also said that: “[he] pretty much disregarded the outline. The characters took [him] off in entirely different directions. So, for 20 years [he] had forgotten that that two-page thing even existed”.

But then he clarified that:

“I did partly joke when I said I don’t know where I was going. I know the broad strokes, and I’ve known the broad strokes since 1991. I know who’s going to be on the Iron Throne. I know who’s gonna win some of the battles, I know the major characters, who’s gonna die and how they’re gonna die, and who’s gonna get married and all that. The major characters”.

From all this information, I think that the romance between Jon and Arya was discarded:

[He] “wished some past things weren’t such strong foreshadowing,” and that he, “wished some new things had stronger foreshadowing then.”

The story changes and expands as I write. I wish I was able to go back and make revised drafts, but that’s not going to happen.”

But the romance between two major characters of the same House (Stark cousins) is still there.

But a romance between two major characters of the same House could also happen between aunt and nephew, and if we follow the Show, this was the new route GRRM took.

We just have to wait to certainly know if GRRM will give us the Stark cousins romance that was promised or if he has already changed his original plan.

#grrm #asoiaf #jon snow #arya stark #tyrion lannister

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jadelotusflower · 5 years

Text

Fic: He Will Not Encumber Me (Han, Luke, OT era)

Luke gets drunk - Han cleans up the mess.

On A03 or under the cut

There were two things the Rebels did well, in Han Solo’s opinion. The first was hail a loss as a victory simply because it was not annihilation, and the second was to keep a well stocked bar in every officer’s mess. There was of course an obvious correlation between the two.

It had been another brutal, demoralising loss for the Alliance, and Han wasn’t sure how many of those they had left in them. Yet what was left of the rebels celebrated because there was still a rebellion to be fought and therefore, still hope.

The embodiment of that hope was surrounded by a throng of fellow pilots, being hailed and toasted, fresh drinks being pressed into his hand the moment he finished the last one. Han had arrived late and took up his usual spot at the bar sipping a glass of Corellian whiskey, not quite ready to celebrate yet another brush with death.

Of course, he didn’t blame the kid; he’d been promoted after all, and deserved at least one night to enjoy it with a drink - or fifteen. Han noted with amusement the wide grin that didn’t once falter, the blearly, unfocused look to the eyes, the slightly delayed reactions, and every now and then, distinct giggling.

The newly minted Commander Skywalker was drunk.

That in and of itself should not seem unusual, but it was rare to see Luke in such a state. Han remembered the first time he’d seen Luke drink alcohol, in those heady few hours after the medal ceremony on Yavin but before the evacuation. The ale had been flowing free then too, but while Luke had consumed as much as any of them, it hadn’t seemed to affect him in the same way, or at least not as quickly.

He’d expected to be entertained by a fresh-off-the-farm boy scout giddy on victory and his first taste of real whiskey. But while his new friend and fellow survivor Antilles had slumped down onto the bar, laughing softly to himself and still clutching his glass, Luke had been perched happily on the stool beside him ordering another.

“You drank in the Mos Eisley Cantina right?” Luke had said when Han had questioned him.

“Yeah,” he’d confirmed, and made a face. “I didn’t think it was legal to sell distilled engine grease.”

“It’s Tatooine,” Luke had laughed darkly. “It’s only illegal if the Hutts don’t like it. But we have a saying too - if you can ferment it or distill it, you can drink it.”

“Whether you live to drink it again is not the barkeep’s problem I guess.”

“In Mos Eisley, sure - in Anchorhead they relied on repeat business,” Luke told him with a shrug. “But it was no less potent, there was a sill out the back using whatever desert plants we could get our hands on.”

“Tatooine moonshine, huh?” Han had lifted his glass in salute. “I’m impressed kid.”

But Luke’s tolerance for alcohol seemed to go beyond a familiarity with the strong stuff - of course there was also his metabolism that Han liked to joke was faster than the Falcon on the Kessel Run. He’d once seen the kid put away three dozen spiced ribenes (with a side order of tomo-slaw), chase them with a basket of deep fried tubers and still have room for half a sic-six layer cake.

He won every drinking game he was challenged to for a year after joining the Rebellion, which always ended up with his opponent either slumped on the floor, vomiting into a trash can, or on one ignoble occasion, in the medward getting their stomach pumped. They’d all been given a week’s latrine duty after that, and drinking games expressly banned.

Of course, the Alliance couldn’t police what happened planetside, and more than once when they’d been in need of some quick funds Han had tried to persuade him to invite challenge in the local bar. Luke had always refused, but had eventually told him the reason in that way of his - half pride, half humility.

“It’s the Force Han,” he’d said. “If I concentrate, I can feel the alcohol in my bloodstream, push it along and make it metabolise quickly.”

“The Force.” Han had been unconvinced. “Okay then.”

“I’m serious, Han. I think I’ve been doing it unconsciously all my life, but now I can control it.”

“Well kid,” Han had slapped his shoulder, and grinned. “Finally an upside to this Jedi business! So let’s pick a mark and we’ll have the credits for the parts we need by morning.”

Luke had shaken his head and sighed in exasperation. “Don’t you see, it gives me an advantage. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Fair would be me enjoying a Corellian sunset with a beautiful woman and surrounded by piles of credits, not on this junk planet with you scrounging for spare parts.” Han threw up his hands. “No one in this joint is playing fair - the barkeep’s watering down the whiskey, the sabacc dealer’s got cards up his sleeve, even that slot machine on the wall is rigged. Everyone’s a cheat, you just gotta be the best one.”

“Not me.” Luke was resolute, and while Han secretly admired his firm moral stance, in reality it just made things that much harder for them.

They’d made it off the planet eventually, but Han had never questioned Luke’s alcohol tolerance again.

Which was why the scene before him was so strange. Han watched Luke closely for a few more minutes, trying to determine if it was artifice. But when Luke knocked over a decanter and began apologising profusely to a potted plant rather than the bartender, he decided it couldn’t be.

There was only one explanation left - that Luke was drunk because he wanted to be.

Han wasn’t sure if he was relieved the kid was giving himself a much needed release, or deeply concerned that he was seeking a desperate escape. He sidled his way over to the throng surrounding Luke, hovering on the outskirts of the pilot pack.

Wedge Antilles clinked a fork against the side of his glass and announced he was going to make a speech. Oddly, the young pilot always kept a fork on his person, and when Han had once called it weird, Wedge had given him a wry look.

“What’s weird is putting something in your mouth that’s had a thousand other tongues on it,” he’d said, and pointed his fork at him. “Think about it.”

“No thanks,” Han had said politely, avoiding the low hanging fruit of the unintended double entendre. Others hadn’t his restraint, and since then the fork in question, and Wedge’s penchant for a clean utensil (double entendre absolutely intended) had been the source of much fun.

“Alright Antilles,” called another pilot Han couldn’t remember the name of. “Stop banging it about!”

“Yeah, keep that thing sheathed,” yet another rejoined. “There are minors present!” He put his arm around a colleague who Han knew was of age, but had a boyish face that had earned him the nickname Baby. They all had little names for each other outside their call signs, which could change from mission to mission and through movement between squadrons. Luke had, for obvious reasons after Yavin, been given the name Starkiller.

“Oh kriff off the lot of you,” Wedge made a rude gesture, but was smiling, unoffended. “I’m going to make my speech.”

He made quite a show of clearing his throat until they were all listening. “To Luke,” he raised his glass, “or should I say, Sir.” He gave a little mock curtsy and no one laughed harder than the man himself.

“I remember the first time I met Luke,” he reminisced. “When he told me quite nonchalantly that his favourite pastime on Tatooine was shooting at desert rats, and I thought this guy is in for a rude awakening once he actually gets in a proper ship. Seriously, Luke,” Wedge wagged a finger at him. “There’s no rats in space.”

“Says you,” Luke laughed. “The Executor’s full of them!”

“But much to my surprise,” Wedge continued, “the Empire’s most dangerous weapon blew up like many a mangry rodent before it, thanks to my friend the Starkiller. Since then there’s no one else I’d rather fly alongside, even if I now have to call him Sir for the privilege.”

Wedge gave him a lazy salute and raised his glass. “To Commander Skywalker!”

“Commander Skywalker!” the cheer went through the room, and Wedge clapped Luke on the shoulder as they downed their ales at a rapid pace. The former finished first, wiping his mouth and banging his empty glass down on the bar.

“Okay, enough speeches,” he threw his hands up in the air. “Let’s dance!”

Han was content to leave them to it, leaning against the bar and savoring his whiskey. It was good to see Luke let loose a bit - the poor kid rarely got the chance since between his obligations to the Rebellion and trying to train himself to be a Jedi, Han didn’t know when Luke had time to sleep, let alone have fun. Now he’d been promoted to command, another burden he seemed happy to take upon himself without thought of the consequences.

He’d had seen it too many times among pilots and revolutionaries - they shone bright and burned out quickly, taking on more responsibility, more risk, until their luck ran out. But there was no reasoning with the kid - Han had tried, and Leia was no help, she was exactly the same way. So he had to content himself with keeping close, watching over Luke, ready to pull him back from the brink when he strayed too close.

Han sighed as he signalled to the barkeep for another drink. How he’d become mother hen to these rag-tag rebels, he didn’t know. But there is was.

Aggressive rock music blared over the speakers, and Han watched in amusement Luke banging his head along in time with the heavy drum beats, mouthing the words and moving his feet with surprising rhythm. It was one of those anti-Imperial anthems, played in many an underground club to whip people into a rebellious frenzy, and a popular choice among the young pilots looking to offload some post-battle energy.

Well, the other popular choice, Han smirked as he saw a few pilots pair up and scoot off to celebrate surviving another day. A few hopefuls sidled up to Luke, and while he danced and laughed and shared a drink with them, one by one they gave up as they realised he wasn’t the one-night stand type. He'd learned the hard way early on; his mission with Nakari Kalen had been the beginnings of a sweet romance until it had ended in tragedy, and the other brief relationships he'd observed Luke have had seemed to have made him battle-shy. After the losses that day, Han didn't blame him.

Eventually the revelry died down - Wedge passed out on the lounge snoring loudly, and a few others sprawled out less comfortably on the floor. But Luke had held out, and stumbled over to Han at the bar with a boozy grin.

“What’re drinking?” Luke asked, reaching for the still mostly full bottle Han had slowly been working on.

“Something too expensive to waste on someone already drunk.” Han pulled the bottle out of his reach.

Luke laughed. “Aw, come on Han.”

“I think you’ve had enough anyway,” Han stowed the whiskey behind the bar, counting that Luke no longer had the physical dexterity to reach over it. “I’m cutting you off.”

“You can’t boss me around anymore, Han.” Luke leaned heavily on the bar. “I’m a Commander now - I outrank you.”

“Is that so?” Han was about to remind him that his title of Captain was because of his ship, not a rank in the Alliance military, but it there was little point.

“Yeah, it’s so.” Luke poked him in the chest. “I can just say, Captain Solo, fetch me a hydrospanner, or Captain Solo, stop flirting so outrageously with Leia, and you have to comply.”

Han chuckled to himself and patted Luke on the shoulder. “I don’t think that’s how it works, kid.”

“And you don’t get to call me kid anymore.” Luke brushed him away.

“Alright, Commander,” Han humoured him. “Tell you what. You walk from one side of this room to the other unaided and you can have as many more drinks as you want."

Luke stared at him for a few long moments, glanced at the large transparisteel window that made up one wall, and the exit located at the other. He straightened and cleared his throat, but then closed his eyes as if the room was spinning.

“Fine.” He pouted and leaned back against the bar. “Spoilspot.”

“Hey, you’re the Starkiller,” Han joked, “I’m the Fun Killer.”

Luke laughed more than even Han felt the remark warranted. “You’re funny,” he slurred, and laughed again. “Do you know you’re funny?”

“Yeah, I know.” He surveyed the room, not for the first time noting a significant absence. “Leia wasn’t here tonight.”

Luke shrugged. “Strategy meetings. After today, I guess they have a lot to talk about.”

“What, and leaving out the exalted Commander Skywalker?”

“I’m excepted...expected tomorrow.”

Han eyed him, thinking it would take a miracle for Luke to have sobered up by then. He leaned over the bar and poured a glass of water from the tap, forcing it into the kid’s hand.

“She did come by and congratulate me,” Luke said as he took a sip. “Kissed me too.”

“What?” Han felt a traitorous tug in his heart.

“Here.” Luke pointed to his cheek, and Han was disturbed by how much he was relieved. Their shared affection for Leia was something they never talked about, and Han could barely acknowledge he had affection for Leia, even to himself. But Luke was drunk, and therefore more likely to be more forthcoming than he usually was, and less likely to remember it.

“So, a kiss huh?” Han knew it was unscrupulous, but had to know. “And did you reciprocate?”

Luke blinked at him. “She didn’t get promoted.”

Han ran a hand over his face and laughed. “Okay, kid. But you like her right?”

“Of course, she’s my friend.”

It was like talking to a toddler. “No, I mean more than that,” he pressed, rethinking his approach. “For example, what do you feel, when you look at her?”

Luke furrowed his brow and it took him several moments to respond, as if he’d never had to put his feelings into words before.

“I feel...kinship.”

Han thought it was an odd word to describe attraction, and for the first time wondered whether Luke’s feelings for Leia were more platonic than he’d assumed. He’d certainly never pursued her, or made any kind of romantic overture, seemingly content with their friendship as it was. On the other hand, Han had never made any overtures either, although that was because he didn’t think he’d get the response he wanted, and then what he did have with her would be soured.

“Why?” Luke asked him. “What do you feel when you look at her?”

Han cleared his throat. “Yeah, same as you. Kinship and all that.”

Luke narrowed his eyes and gave him one of those appraising stares that when sober made Han feel as if the kid was reading his thoughts, but didn’t have the same effect when Luke could barely stand upright. He just looked like he was squinting.

“So Rogue Squadron huh?” Han changed to subject. “Good name.”

“Yeah,” Luke nodded, thankfully distracted. “It seemed right.”

“From what they say around here that Jyn Erso was quite the dame.”

Luke nodded again, staring off into the middle distance. “I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately. Do you think it’s possible to miss people you never even met?”

“Never gave it much thought.”

“There was so much I wanted to ask them,” Luke sighed. “She wore a kyber crystal on a necklace, did you know that? I wonder if there was a Jedi in her family, something she could have told me about them. And they say Chirrut Imwe was a monk, guarding knowledge of the Force at the temple on Jedha. I wish…”

“Yeah, but Luke.” Han touched his arm. “If they were still here, we wouldn’t be.”

“I know.” Luke blinked, his eyes wet. “They died so we could continue the fight. Like half the fleet today.”

“It’s what our lives have become,” Han sighed. “You know it was halfway through this little shindig I realised that other than you and Antilles, I didn’t know anyone’s real name.”

Luke looked at him ruefully. “You actually have to talk to people to learn their names you know.”

“Hmn.” Han swirled the whiskey in his glass. “You ever hear of Lernaean, kid?”

Luke shook his head.

“Vile water planet,” Han shuddered, thinking of his one and only visit, since no bounty could ever convince him to return. “They have some kind of ocean serpent there, living in the depths. You have the misfortune to come across one of ‘em, turn and run.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it can’t be killed,” Han told him putting down his glass. “Cut off its head, and two grow in its place. Cut off those two, you got four to deal with, you get it?”

“Like us,” Luke nodded. “They can take out a cell of rebels, they can destroy half our fleet, but there will always be more of us.”

“No, kid,” Han said, taking him by the shoulders. “It’s not like you at all, that’s the point! Because the Empire kills a rebel, and there aren’t two to take his place. There’s just one less rebel to worry about, and one day there won’t be any.”

“How can you say that?” Luke shook him off. “More are joining our cause all the time!”

Han shook his head - he really was just a kid. “What do you think the casualties were today - five hundred maybe? You got a thousand new recruits lined up?”

Luke’s lower lip trembled, and he took a shaky breath. “Why are you saying this Han?”

“I just want to know what your endgame is Luke,” Han pressed. “At what point do you pack it in, and say enough is enough?”

Luke raised his chin, looking up at Han with that zealous fire he had. “We don’t. We fight until we either win, or we die.”

“Simple as that?”

“Yeah.”

Han sighed again, and drowned the last of his whiskey. “And you wonder why I don’t bother to learn anyone’s name.”

“Well leave, if you think we’re such a lost cause.” Luke pushed at Han’s chest. “Go pay off Jabba and go back to whatever life you had before this. I don’t need you looking out for me.”

He pushed off the bar and clearly attempted to stride off to punctuate his point, but instead tripped over his own feet and went careering towards the floor.

“It’s alright kid,” Han caught him by the arms and lifted him upright. “I got you.”

“Commander,” Luke murmured, and was then promptly sick in a potted plant.

“Get command of your digestive system, and we’ll talk.” Han grasped a napkin off the bar and crouched down to hand it to Luke.

“This is disgusting,” he moaned pitifully and wiped his mouth.

“Welcome to the world of mere mortals.” Han gave him water so he could rinse out his mouth. “Come on.” He hauled Luke to his feet and lopped the kid’s arm around his shoulders to steady him.

“I’m never drinking again,” Luke groaned as Han helped him back his quarters and lay him on the bunk.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” Spying Luke’s lightsaber on the side table, Han moved it to a high shelf just in case. Seeing nothing else that could pose a danger - Luke kept his room depressingly clean - Han sat down on the bunk to unlace his boots.

“Maybe you’re right Han,” Luke said despondently. “Maybe this is a lost cause.”

“Ah, don’t listen to me.” Han decided to leave Luke’s socks on, and swung his feet up onto the bunk.

“I still have to fight,” Luke continued, staring at the ceiling. “Even if there’s only a fool’s hope.”

That’s exactly what it was, but Han held his tongue and patted Luke’s leg in acknowledgement.

“But you don’t have to,” Luke murmured, eyes fluttering closed. “I know this isn’t a comfortable life.”

“Yeah, well neither’s smuggling,” Han conceded. “Although the pay is better.”

Luke opened one eye. “When we met you were up to your eyes in debt to Jabba.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah but when I met an Imperial cruiser, I could drop the sprice shipment. Can’t shoot the Empire’s Most Wanted out the airlock,” he gave him a wink, “as much as I’d like to sometimes.”

Luke chuckled, eye closing again and head lolling to one side on the pillow.

“I have to leave eventually though,” Han said softly. After all, he was still in hock to Jabba up to his eyeballs, and who knew how much longer it would be before the slug sent some goon looking to take payment in blood.

“Hnm.” Luke seemed to be drifting off, so Han pulled the blanket up over him and patted his shoulder. He located an empty rubbish bin and moved it to the side of the bunk for easy access should Luke wake up and need to be sick again, which based on the kids complexion was highly likely. A quick sweep of the room left him satisfied, and he made his way to the door.

“Han?” Luke muttered, and when Han turned back he seemed asleep, but must have been only nearly so.

“Yeah?”

“That water snake - anyone ever kill it?”

Han smiled, tapping his fingers against the doorframe. “Not yet,” he said. “Who knows, maybe you will.”

The door slid closed behind him, and Han headed down the corridor to his own quarters, thinking that if anyone could slay a monster like that, he’d bet on it being Luke. And maybe - just maybe - he'd be there to see it.

#star wars fic #ot era fanfic #han solo #luke skywalker #jadelotusflower: fic #star wars original trilogy #references to rogue one #reference to heir to the jedi #minor appearance by wedge antilles #wholesome content #he ain't heavy #he's my brother

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stormhawksplanb · 4 years

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Storm Hawks Fanfic: Plan “B”

Chapter 4

I was so focused on Gyro. I was so worried about gear and whether or not she'd find help that I didn't even hear, and just barely felt, the effects of a sleep crystal arrow digging its way into my back. The explosive impact sent me forward as I saw more and more of the back of my eyelids. I was knocked out cold. I didn't even get to say goodbye. I didn't get the chance to save my Terra.

-Out of Nova's POV-

The sun had started to set by the time the storm hawk's had gathered back up at the condor. Stork had been the one to call the search off, and told everyone there was an emergency meeting in the lower docks. Aerrow with, Radarr on his shoulder, had walked aboard the ship followed by Piper, Finn, Junko, and a white fuzzy stowaway that no one seemed to notice even sneak onto the ship.

"Alright Stork. What's the big emergency? You sounded pretty stressed out over it." Aerrow had his arms crossed his chest. Aerrow himself was concerned about stork, and was hoping nothing happened to Nova on their search. His intentions of pairing them up together was so Nova could track down her friend quicker without the distractions of others. And the fact it would give stork a chance to get off the Condor.

"I sounded distraught because I AM!"

Everyone in the room jumped at the raise in his voice, not fully expecting it.

"Nova and I found her friend, which was a ferret by the way, not even an actual person, and you want to know who~ else~ we found?"

Finn took this opportunity to take a crack at making a joke.

"Let me guess, a Cyclonian?"

The others chuckled at him. But they soon stopped when they realized the serious nature of storks lack of amusement. Or his lack of any response.

"Wait- seriously?"

Piper pushed herself front and center of the group.

"Are you sure Stork? Did you hit-"

"I DIDN'T HIT MY HEAD! It was Ravess, she was working with Gyro, and they had a load of illegally captured animals. All rare breeds, and bog howlers. Something is wrong, very wrong..."

A crash was heard coming from inside another part of the ship. Everyone, already a bit shaken up due to storks outburst, was already on guard and a weary quiet fell over them as they followed the noises. The closer they got the more it sounded like rattling pots, and a few broken plates. Whatever was on the ship sounded quick.

Aerrow had peeked his head around the corner first and then gave the signal for everyone to jump out into the kitchen.

"Whoever you are, come out where we can see you!"

A small moment passed of more silence before a tiny, albino ferret head popped out of a bowl of fruit, sitting on the island counter. A small chirp of urgency followed.

"Isn't that the ferret you told us about?"

Aerrow looked at stork, watching as Stork's eyes widened at the little furry 'rodent' from earlier.

"I-it is. That's gear..."

And on cue it clicked to everyone what was happening, and Junko was the one to outwardly acknowledge everyone's thought.

"But where's Nova?"

-Back to Nova's POV-

This is the most deviating I've ever felt. I was captured after being knocked out. I was stuck in a cage with the other creatures and they all cried out for the desire of freedom. To roam on their home terras. There were all sorts of Species. Bog Howlers, Four toed spotted Bats, Vapor Iguanas, they even had rare species like the illusive Spear Headed Gator. It was highly illegal to hunt and capture these animals due to their toxic, or chaotic attributes. If you wanted to hunt one down there was a grueling wait period and paperwork you needed to fill out. But something tells me there was no process involved.

Time ticked by as I realized we were taking off, and flying away from the Terra. My heart sank as no one came for me. I'm glad Gear got out and escaped, but now I'm a prisoner. And there's no telling what Gyro was going to do to me. I just hoped it was mostly painless. I felt the tears boil up and fall. My positive nature was completely swept away by despair.

I must have passed out again after crying because I woke up to the sound of something in the vents above the supply room I was kept in. The next thing I knew Aerrow had dropped down.

"Hey there Nova. A little Birdy told us that you needed a hand with your mission."

He winked at me and cut open the bars with his crystal powered dual swords. The bars fell away and I quickly stepped out, making sure to wipe my eyes, and I felt a gazillion times better.

"She found you! Oh thank Atmosia, I was about to really lose it for a second!"

He nods at me, and hushes me.

"Come on, we need to get you out of here."

"But what about all these creatures?"

"Oh I wouldn't worry about that. We pulled some strings and when Ravess lands, she's gonna have a little welcoming party waiting for her."

He smiled at me from behind, and I smiled back. Making our way to one of the emergency exit doors that lead off the ship.

"So, skyknight, what's the next move?"

He opens the door and steps back, ushering me to... Jump!?

"What!? No way! I know you lot are crazy, but not insane-"

Then I heard the familiar sound of a skimmer floating near the door. Looking back and it was Junko, giving me a goofy grin.

"Where to miss?"

I chuckled at him, and jumped aboard. Aerrow grabbing our attention.

"I have a few things I have to check out. Junko is going to drop you off on the condor with stork and gear. Junko I need to meet me at rendezvous mock B."

And as soon as Junko nodded we flew off under the clouds below where the condor was hanging from some spiked ledges from a rocky mountain. We hand a bit of a bumpy landing, and a slide into the Hanger Bay, before he let me off, waved, and flew away. It didn't take long before the doors behind me opened and I saw stork and gear appear behind it.

"GEAR!"

I shouted and knelt down on one knee for her to climb into my soft embrace. Letting her, once again, claim the space on my shoulder after a few victory laps around my hopped arms.

"Oh isn't that just nice."

The poisoning tone stork used put me back into that negative mood from earlier. He was staring me down and shook his head at me. Part of me wishes I fought to stay with Aerrow on the other half of their mission.

I followed Stork further onto the condor, all the way admiring the vintage carrier ship. It was nice. Everything looked almost new. The Raptor Scientist or Terra Bogaton really did recreate the Condor. I thought the rumors of the condor being blown up were false.

Even though I know what the ship looked like from beforehand, I never got to look at it, and actually appreciate the workmanship. The pipes were all aligned with as few dents as possible. The muted red and metallic patterns on the door were old fashioned, but not out of style for a carrier ship. Everything was beautiful.

"This is a nice ship. I never noticed how much care went into until now..."

I got almost no response. Not until we hit the Cockpit section of the ship.

"Well I was the one who oversaw all the details, and blueprints. Not that you'd understand that."

I bit my tongue hoping this whole 'Ravess is back and causing trouble for everyone' thing was the only reason why he was so grouchy. Especially towards me. I mean, it's not like I'm a fan of the storm hawks or anything. Ok, yeah no. This sucked.

Thankfully it took Aerrow and the others almost no time to get back, and we headed back to Terra Atmosia, the Terra I wanted to be at anyway. I was a contestant on an art show. The others were relatively excited when I told them what I do for a living.

"Wow- you're really talented!" Piper said, which made me blush at the compliment

"you should draw the Finnster- I bet I'd make the most profitable painting." Cue finger guns, and me having to explain that I go by Commissions, and not prints.

"That's fine, that's cool."

As we landed Piper had pulled me aside, out in the hallway.

"So while the boys were messing around with Ravess and Gyro, I happened to come across something more worthwhile."

She pulled out of her satchel a colorful crystal.

"MY NOVA CRYSTAL!"

I went to snatch it from her, and immediately put it back into it's metal box. I had already explained to Piper what would happen if someone activated my crystal without taking the proper precautions. One of those dangers being you'd probably melt the skin of your hand off.

"Oh thank Atmos! I owe you one Piper!"

She chuckled at me and we went off for me to sign into the contest.

Walking up to the sign up stand, I looked around to all the other artists and smiled widely. They have no idea what they're all in for. But just before I could write my name on the board, an elderly gentleman snatched the pencil.

"Sorry miss, but you missed the deadline by 20 minutes. Try again next year..."

He turned away, and it only then dawned on me that the whole stand was pretty much packed up.

"Oh... Right..." Taking a deep sigh I turned around, facing the storm hawks.

Aerrow walked up to me, and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry that happened to you. But like he said, maybe next year."

"But the headmaster of the COGA won't be judging. That was my only chance to make an impression.

"Coga?" Finn pressed his eyebrows together in curiosity.

"What's a Coga?"

(A/N: For those on mobile, if you haven’t read the first handfull of chapters you’re missing out! Here’s a link to the masterlist!)

https://myhushhushdarling.tumblr.com/PlanB

#storm hawks #stormhawks #nova #planb

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trashpandaorigins · 5 years

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Things I Noticed About Gamora & Rocket in GOTG:

Rewatched parts of gotg last night in the name of research for my current WIP The Body Keeps the Score, a fic exploring Gamora and Rocket’s friendship. I noticed a couple of things that were really heartfelt. The thing is these two don’t interact much, but when they do it’s telling. The thing I love the most is that their dynamic says a lot while saying very little. It’s subtle. Here are some of my observations:

1) Rocket just flings himself at Gamora during their Xandar chase/fight scene?? Like he doesn’t even use his stun gun or anything he just runs and jumps, or leaps off of Groot’s shoulders and launches himself at her, hoping his arms are long enough to catch around her torso and throw her to the ground? It’s really funny, he just charges at her.

2) A few moments later Gamora chucks him into a glass wall like he’s made of paper and subsequently easily shoves him to the ground. Trying to loose him rather then actually attack him.

3) Rocket has clearly heard of Gamora before the movie begins w/ his “Yeah, I know who you are. Anyone’s who’s anyone knows you are.”

4) Gamora is the ONLY Guardian to actually call Rocket by his name after meeting him. Peter calls him a raccoon and Drax calls him a creepy little beast but Gamora shouts to him during the prison escape scene by his actual name.

5) Gamora reaches out w hand to help Rocket up as he climbed over Groot to get to the main tower in the Klyn. Rocket takes her hand without comment or some smart retort.

5) When Rocket turns off the anti-gravity it’s Gamora who is impressed w/ his plan. I love the little smile she gives him, looking over his shoulder down at the computer. It’s very validating of Rocket’s genius that he’s more then a strange augmented animal.

6) During the bar scene where Rocket breaks down and yells, “he called me vermin...she called me rodent!” You get w shot of Gamora turning from Drax to Rocket. She looks surprised to be called out but then immediately feels bad, even ashamed that she called him that. From this point on throughout Vol2 IW and EG Gamora is AGAIN the ONLY Guardian who never ever calls Rocket any names after that. In fact when Nebula calls him a fox in Vol2 it’s her who vehemently defends him with, “he’s NOT a fox!” Despite the fact that they were still mad at him for the batteries.

7) “I didn’t ask to get made...” the shot goes again to all of them and Gamora’s face is something I never got a good look at until now. But boy, does she look empathetic and like she understands.

8) You can also see Gamora between Groot and Rocket during the “We are Groot,” scene. It’s blurry but she’s there. She’s closer to the two of them then Peter or Drax and thus she had to witness that exchange of Rocket pleading w/ Groot not to do this.

9) When they all reunite at the Nova Corps there’s a brief shot of Gamora looking down, smiling so sweetly at Rocket holding Groot’s twig in the pot. She just looks so loving and admiring at them.

10) Rocket tries to reason w/ Dey about stealing Gamora smirks and actually reaches around to gently press Rocket towards the ship. Not only goes he let her do this but he goes w/ her and continues to laugh and joke w her.

11) Gamora’s hand pating Drax’s shoulder as she walks by is so brief but so wonderful as those two have come the farthest from hating each other to now being friends.

12) Gamora also watches as Baby Groot wakes up. Again I’m just the way she conveys so much w/ a smile is so touching and you can literally see Rocket’s chest inflate w surprise and shock when Baby Groot wakes.

Suffice to say Rocket and Gamora have a really interesting dynamic and friendship. Both have been abused and raised by people who turned them into living weapons. Both are running from their past, both have cybernetic enhancements and both of them put on a harsh front to mask their emotions. While the same could be said for Nebula, Gamora’s empathy and compassion balances Rocket out and encourages him to also be more empathetic. I really love the two of them and hope to see more fics exploring their friendship!!

Read The Body Keeps the Score on AO3 or on my blog! #thebodykeepstheacorefic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19786900/chapters/46843990

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worddevdealswithml · 5 years

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The Prince’s Bride

Chapter 10:

Okay, okay, so we’re skipping forward to the fire swamp…

Yeah, yeah, she leans in, they kiss like they haven’t seen each other for years, because they haven’t.

Blah blah…

Adrien starts crying…

Both of them are basically burning up because of the strength of their emotion…

Adrien manages to kiss her back…

Marinette starts crying…

Marinette says something about how they need to get moving…

Adrien wishes he could stay there forever…

And…

And?

I forgot how long this scene was, but, okay, there we go. They finally stand up, and…

Adrien and Marinette raced along the ravine floor. Adrien hurriedly wiped his face dry.

At some prompting that was beyond Adrien, Marinette looked up.

“Your father’s too late. A few more steps, and we’ll be safely in the fire swamp.”

Adrien spun to her, stumbling to keep up.

“Wait! Why are we still running? Surely if Father’s coming here to rescue me…”

She shook her head. “There’s too much to explain before he gets here. We only need a few minutes.”

“But… We’d never survive!”

She grinned, with only a trace of nerves, and the suit rematerialized.

“You’re just saying that because no one ever has.”

And she walked in, pulling Adrien behind her, leaving Gabriel and his entourage in the distance, barely a cloud of dust.

Really, it didn’t look any worse than any other infernal horror you might run across.

The trees blocked out the sun, but…

“It’s not that bad,” said Marinette, lightly twirling her baton. “Not that I’d like to live here, but we only need to get a few minutes distance before your father won’t risk following us, and if that’s all it takes, then it’s not too bad to take a stroll in.”

Adrien, trying and failing to suppress his nerves, followed as closely as he could, holding onto her arm for what comfort it could give.

“Now,” she said, “this should be far enough, so—”

There was a popping noise, and then, from where it had come-

Marinette recoiled from a blast of fire, getting away unscathed.

Adrien, meanwhile…

Her eyes twitched to his left leg, which had gotten caught in the blast.

In an instant, even before he’d realized what had happened, she had Adrien sitting down on a log that protruded from a nearby tree, and was furiously extinguishing the fire.

An instant of frenzied motion, and…

He was put out.

Marinette, after a second, let her head rest against his shin.

“Well,” said Adrien. “That was… An adventure. I’m okay. You?”

She took a deep breath, and looked up at him, smiling.

“Fine. Just a bit of singeing that barely got through my gloves.”

She stood up, and there was another popping sound.

One quick step forward, and the flame missed her entirely.

“This place certainly keep you on your toes,” she said, leaning up against the same tree that was supporting Adrien.

A long second passed.

Marinette sighed.

“I think this whole thing is almost over. An arranged marriage is a hard thing to undo, but if you have a new prospective suitor, and a suitably strong reason not to refuse them, I believe it’s possible, and I’m rich, have a powerful miraculous, and I’m the captain of the Revenge, which is the most feared pirate ship currently at large.”

“Oh, right, about that,” said Adrien, “I’ve always heard that that Miraculous takes control of its wearer.”

“So did I, but life’s strange like that,” said Marinette, sliding horizontally so that her shoulder pressed lightly against his head. “You see, what I told you about saying please was true. It intrigued Nine- Ah, the Nine-Lived One.” She shrugged. “Saying the whole title gets tedious after a while.”

She reached up a hand, and started absently disintegrating some flies that were buzzing a bit too close.

“Eventually, Nine decided something. He said, ‘Alright, Marinette, I’ve never had a valet. You can try it for tonight. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’ He spent three years saying that. ‘Good work, Marinette, sleep well, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’” She laughed. “Except for the fact that I wasn’t with you, it would have been a great time for me; Nine taught me how to fight with a staff or a baton, and I was learning… All sorts of things, really. Anything anyone would teach me. I even sewed a few of the crew members hats.”

“It took me a while to realize that I was actually kind of friends with Nine. And it wasn’t long after…”

“What?”

“Nine took me to his cabin, and shut the doors. Then… He did something that shouldn’t have been possible. He detransformed, and laid the ring on the table. Then, he told me his secret. ‘This miraculous doesn’t control its wearer,’ he said.”

“Then he explained that the lie was a gift to the person he gave the ring to; the name was the important thing. Nobody would surrender so easily to some random woman named Marinette, for all she had a powerful Miraculous, nor, for that matter, to him. His name was Ryan, and he’d inherited it, like I was about to, from a man named Cummerbund.”

“The original ‘Nine-Lived One’ was named Roberts, and he had, of course, been retired for almost 15 years, and was living like a king in Patagonia.”

She shrugged. “So, we staged a ‘dark ritual,’ that made it look like I’d been unwillingly made into the new host, let him live for having been a good servant, and sent him away in a rowboat with ample provisions to reach a nearby island, where, of course, there was plenty of stockpiled treasure and a small ship of his own, with a new crew that didn’t know his history. From that day on, I was the new Nine.”

She looked over at him. “Except, of course, that for all my piracy, I couldn’t stop my heart being stolen.” She winked. “So now, you’ll be known as the man who ended the Nine-Lived One’s reign of terror over the seas, and kept the world safe from her forever…” A long second passed, and as he looked back up at her, she slowly turned red.

“I… I- I- I mean… If you… Want to be.”

Adrien didn’t say anything, his eyes slowly widening as he realized he’d basically just received a proposal.

Then, words failing him, he reached out again, and wrapped her in a hug.

She swallowed, heavily, and gently returned the gesture, wrapping her arms around his head.

“Yes.” He managed.

For a minute, maybe more, they didn’t move. The only sound was the popping and flaring of the flame geyser a few feet away.

Then, Marinette straightened up, wincing as she did so; love did many things, as did her Miraculous, but neither of them entirely covered the combination of damages she’d taken today, nor the fatigue of the whole thing, and Adrien couldn’t be much better.

Still, the sooner they made it out of here, the lower the odds of something coming after them; there were rumors about this swamp.

“Let’s get moving.”

Adrien stood up, with an effort, and followed her.

The path back out was much more… Strenuous, than the path in, but after Adrien almost drowned in lightning sand, and Marinette took a nasty bite from an unusually sized rodent before she could obliterate it, they finally managed to make it back to the edge of the swamp, to the sight of…

“I knew you would return from—” Gabriel froze, staring at Marinette. “You.”

Marinette looked up at him. “Me? I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

Gabriel didn’t introduce himself, his expression going dark.

“Surrender.”

“You mean you want to surrender to me? Well, I didn’t expect there to be a need for any surrender, but, I certainly won’t decline.”

The bleeding at her shoulder was a bit more than she would have liked, and her legs were finally beginning to give out, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I give you full credit for nerve. I recommend you stop before you mark yourself a fool.”

“Father, please, before you—”

“Silence, Adrien.”

Marinette’s fingers twitched at the way he said it.

“I think you don’t understand the situation here,” said Marinette.

“I think I understand perfectly well,” said Gabriel, coldly. “Adrien is running from his responsibilities, and has mistakenly enlisted the help of a woman would has spent the last two years sabotaging my every move.”

Adrien turned. “What?”

Marinette glanced back at him, and he saw… Uncertainty.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”

He waved a hand, and glittering butterflies flapped forth.

Marinette’s eyes narrowed, and at the apparent threat, she easily pulled her baton out. “Actually, I might have some idea.”

“I tell you again. Surrender.”

“It will not happen!”

Adrien, uncertain looked back and forth between the two, before…

His eyes caught on figures in the trees nearby, gleaming with the faint light of his father’s power.

There were crossbows, trained carefully on Marinette.

“One last time,” said Gabriel, and it was clear that by now they all knew about the crossbows. “Surrender!”

“Your servants show no mercy, and neither would you!”

“Will you promise not to hurt her!?”

At the outburst, the entire scene seemed to freeze.

All eyes turned to Adrien.

“What?’ said Marinette and Gabriel in unison.

“If we surrender, and I return with you, will you promise not to hurt her?”

Gabriel stared down his son, his mind visibly buzzing with thought.

Eventually, he nodded. “Nathalie will see it done.”

Nathalie nodded, almost smiling.

“She’s… A sailor, on the pirate ship Revenge. Promise to return her to it.”

This time, he didn’t have to think about it.

“Of course.”

Marinette, bending as if she’d taken a kick to the stomach, locked eyes with Adrien.

“I thought you were dead once,” he whispered, “I couldn’t bear it if you died again, when I had a chance to save you.”

Marinette seemed at a loss for words.

So was Adrien, as he was rapidly pulled away, and placed on his father’s horse.

And then, they were riding away, leaving behind…

Marinette looked around at the soldiers that surrounded her.

The crossbows had come back up almost the instant that Adrien had been pulled away.

There was a long silence.

“I think I’ve found orders with your name on them,” said Marinette, with more confidence than she felt. “Usually bloody ones.”

“And Gabriel’s told me of a woman in black with a penchant for abruptly severing his link with his servants.”

There was another silence, this one longer, more uncomfortable uncomfortable.

“Where is your ship.”

Marinette looked up at her.

“I don’t think either of us were born to lie.”

There was the sound of footsteps behind her.

Nathalie shrugged.

“Agreed.”

Marinette’s head cocked, and at that, Nathalie held up a finger. There was the sense of a blow not yet delivered.

“What?”

“You know, that brooch, the one in the shape of a fan… It wouldn’t happen to be a Miraculous, would it?”

Nathalie managed to suggest through complete inaction that it was.

“Someone is looking for you.”

The finger fell. The blow fell.

And Marinette fell to the ground, unconscious.

#ML #Miraculous Ladybug #ML Fanfic #Miraculous Fanfic #The Prince's Bride #The Princess Bride #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Gabriel Agreste #nathalie sancoeur

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a-copper-butterfly · 5 years

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Title Suggestions Needed!

OK so i posted this before but i have edited it a bit and added a new intro. im still not sure if i should continue this but what the hay, have a look and give us some feed back. :)

here is my re-write of good omens where the ineffable husbands raise Adam.

Monday, five days before the end of the world.

It was sunny, well, as sunny as it every was in the centre of London.

For those you don’t know, London is a vaguely potato shaped blob about ten miles across, with its own weather system which is almost entirely different to that of the rest of the UK.

Warlock was moping along his nose glued to his phone (not literally, thought Crowley sometimes wished he could get close enough with some glue without the little nuisance noticing.) Warlock had perfected the art of nearly completely ignoring the world around him, but remining just aware enough that he could complain at anyone who might distract him. His mother was walking along admiring the sculptures, pausing now and then to read an information sign. She did this much in the same manner as most people the world over when they want to look more intelligent than they are. They don’t actually read what is written on the information board, just frown and nod like you agree with what ever had been said then point to it and repeat a few lines when a friend or family member joins you. Thus, the whole cycle repeats itself.

A little way from the stroppy pre-teen, representatives of both heaven and hell discussed the fate of the world.

“I mean, he could just disappear,” suggested the Demon. He was slouched on the wooden bench. This was a master level slouch of someone who had trained for years to hold his body in such a position. A normal person if attempting this would pull a muscle if not worse.

The Angel that sat prim and proper next to him frowned,

“I don’t see how hiding him would help?” he said, which earned a glare form his companion. The thick sunglasses that covered the Demons yellow eyes obscure the fond irritation directed at the angel.

“I mean kill him Angel,” he clarified.

The Angel shuffles in his seat uncomfortable about this conversation. He tried to change the subject, but not too much avail.

“Are you going to get him a dog?” Azriaphale looks over at Crowley, know full well that he had been asked to provide the hound and that this was purely a diversion.

“I thought you were going to sort that out.” Crowley responded, rolling his concealed eyes.

“Why are we getting him a dog anyway.”

Crowley gave a side glances at his companion, silently noting the use of “we”.

Azriaphale wasn’t done with his grumbling, “Do remember the hamster?” he continued.

“Sir hamserlot? Yeah.” Crowley cringed at the memory of the tan and white little rodent. The poor thing when through so meant names it was a wonder it didn't have identity issues.

“How meant times did we have to pull that poor creature back from the jaws of death?” Aziraphale says shaking his head. The poor thing had eventual snuffed it permanently when the boy had gotten it into his head that hamsters could swim. They can, much like rats, but being put in a crudely made ship and pushed out on a duck pond in the middle of winter would be terminal for most rodents or any other small mammal.

A dog is a bit bigger. This was the only argument Crowley could come up with at the time.

“Well” Azriaphale relented “he is a bit older now.”

Crowley shuffled further into his slouch.

“It's the end if the world Angel.” He muttered gloomily, “Just give the kid what he wants. And he wants a dog.”

Aziraphale flinched at this painful truth.

“Well you have a point dear. Fine, he can have a dog.”

There was a pause as they watched Warlock ignore the world around him and play on his phone. The cartoonish sounds of games annoying the people around him. Crowley smirked; apps had been one of his ideas. Well, according to hell they were. Humans were always doing his job for him; he just took the credit when the higher ups asked about it. He sighs and slips back into the conversation about the end of the world.

“We’d better be there when the dog arrives” Crowley said darkly.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. I think he can look after himself and a dog for a few hours. He is old enough now, don’t you think?” Aziraphale smiles nodding in agreement with himself.

Crowley shot the angel a withering look.

“I meant the hellhound and Warlock, not some overly excited puppy with a bladder size of a spoon. This is going to a monster. The biggest they have got, according to downstairs.”

Aziraphale lip touched in a pout. “Oh” was all he said.

“I'm going as waiting staff don't want people recognizing me.” Crowley continued. “Can you bring him?”

“He said he doesn’t want to go. Said warlock isn't fun to hang out with anymore.” Aziraphale said, fumbling with a button on his sleeve cuff.

“Too bad. He is going to seeing a lot more of him whether he likes it or not. That is if there is anything after.” Crowley responded darkly. He still hadn’t figure how they were going to make it through the next few days.

A sudden though shot through Aziraphale mind.

“I could be the entertainment! I’ll brush up on my magic!” he said excitedly, beaming at the idea.

“Oh no, angel, please don’t. Really, it’s humiliating.” Crowley protested, “You can do miracles, why bother doing sleight of hand when you’re not good at it?” Aziraphale bounced in his seat. This was going to be fun.

One late august night just outside the small village of Tadfield,

When a snake regurgitates its food, its normally because it had been grabbed or handle soon after eating or is otherwise subjected to stress.

As Crowley knelt in damp grass on the bank beside the road, he wiped his mouth. The light from the Bentley’s open door revealing the grey sludge that was even now burning the grass. The small part of Crowley’s mind that wasn’t screaming in panic wondered when the last time he had eaten was. Without the help of the rest of his brain, he guessed around six years ago.

Pushing himself up onto wobbly legs, Crowley slid back into the driving seat, switched on the radio as he did so. As he pulled the car back onto the road, Crowley checked the rear-view mirror. The carry cot was still there. This was real.

“Shit, shit, shit, why me, why me?” he muttered to himself. The radio crackle,

“BECAUSE YOU EARNED IT CROWLEY” came the voice of Freddy Mercury.

“Fuck…” though Crowley.

Sister Annabelle Houghton was totally normal, much to the annoyances of her parents. They were traditional occultists who gave her supposedly cursed china dolls and pretty, frilly dresses in attempts to get her possessed. They had even moved at an old house which the nice estate agent had made very clear was the site of quite a few murders and ghost stories. It even had its own graveyard in the garden. Her swing was hung in an old knarred oak tree which legend had it was used as a hangman’s gibbet, but she never used it. When Annabelle eventually grew up, her parents had lamented and had sent her off to the Sisterhood of Chattering Nuns of St Beryl. Not too worried about this, Annabelle went along as she thought it might be interesting.

Now she sat looking out of one of the convent’s window keeping watch for the arrive of Master Crowley and the baby boy he carried with him. The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. She was very excited; this was a big day and she, Sister Annabelle, would be part of it. A cup of tea sat on the windowsill beside her. It had gone cold hours ago, No matter.

A car came screaming through the gates of the convert an excitement jolting up her spine. Sister Annabelle leapt from her seat and began to quickly click her way down the hall towards the foyer. She turned the corner expecting to see one of her sisters talking to Master Crowley but broke into a run when she saw which sister it was. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Sister Mary Loquacious, she was a lovely person when you were sat having a chat, it was just that things, important things, tended to go wrong when she was involved.

“Mother Superior! Mater Crowley is here!” she half-yelled, her fists full of her skirt as she leaped down the three little steps leading up to the corridor. Crowley quickly ducked behind a column in responses to the shouting. Shouting mostly lead to pitchforks, torches and a bad time for him.

“Greeting Master Crowley” she said, tried to smile and make her voice sound cheerful but her eyes were screaming at Sister Mary Loquacious. If she wasn’t holding The Anti-Christ, she may have shoved her out of harm’s way (harm’s way meaning any damage Sister Loquacious could cause to others, not the other way around). Sister Annabelle stopped next to her sister, peering at the bundle in her arms. The baby gurgled quietly. She quickly curtsied to Master Crowley who was still looking between the nuns wondering if he could slip out before anyone noticed.

The double doors leading to the hospital rooms flew open and a furious old nun stormed through. This was not part of the plan. She ran her icy gaze over the two nuns, who both know the consequences of that stare. Her eyes found Crowley who was trying not to look like a rabbit in the headlights, he was a demon after all. There was no escape now.

Long hair, sunglasses, modern suit, snakeskin shoes? Not what she though one of hell’s best demons would look like. She raised an eyebrow and forced a smile.

“Master Crowley, you’re just in time.” she walked slowly with an air of control. Crowley drew himself up to his full height. The Mother Superior had the eyes of a school master and they are well known for making even the naughtiest individuals squirm.

“Sister Annabelle, please go and retrieve the child of the ambassador and inform the other sisters that the switch will be taking places presently.” she smiled at the terrified nun who swallowed and nodded, turning to hurrying down the hall. Crowley tried to sidle towards the door. He stopped dead when the older nun eyes dropped on him. He tried to give her a confident smile.

“Master Crowley, if you would just pop over to the desk, we have a few papers for you to sign just to keep everything in order.” she turned and glided over to the foyer desk and began to draw papers out of a file. Crowley reluctantly followed her, dumping the now empty carry cot on the desk before propping himself up on it.

Sister Mary Loquacious frowned. She rocked the Anti-Christ in her arms. He was chewing on his hand. She had checked, it didn’t have claws. She looked up at Master Crowley and frowned again. She walked over to the desk,

“Umm Master Crowley?” she asked and terrifying yellow eyes looked at her over dark sunglasses. Something in the very pit of her soul screamed and told her to run. It was the same part that makes skulls scary, even though they are always smiling. She took a step back,

“Yeah?” he grunted. Mother Superiors levelled her glare at the Sister. She didn’t notice, now over the shock of yellow eyes she felt bolder,

“What is going to happen to the spare baby?” she asked. Crowley rolled his eyes to the Mother superior who was trying to set the younger nun on fire via sheer force of will. Without taking her eyes of her pray the Mother Superior said,

“Yes, that was something I was going to ask you as well Master Crowley. We are willing to go through with the switch, but we want nothing to do with disposing of the baby,” her eyes now turned on Crowley “We may be satanic Nuns, but we are not monsters.” Crowley paused at this juxtaposition. He huffed and turned back to the paperwork, one of hells better inventions,

“Put it in the carry cot, I will deal with it,” Crowley replied absentmindedly. “Sure, why not?” Crowley thought “Not like it will matter in a few years anyway”. Sister Mary Loquacious ginned the kind of grin that would suggest she didn’t quite understand what was going on.

“Sister Mary, please take The Young Lord down to Sister Annabelle.” Mother Superior said as she started pulling out more official looking papers. Crowley slouched at the prospect of more paperwork. Sister Mary Loquacious nodded happily and pushed through the double doors leading to the hospital rooms. Now that The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness was out of eyesight, Crowley felt a weight off his back. He no longer wanted to vomit.

Sister Mary Loquacious had found a potable cot for the anti-Christ, in which he now rested. his red blanket tucked around him. She pushed him down the hall spotting sister Annabelle pushing a similar cot out of room 4. Sister Mary paused outside room 3 ready to make the swap. A putrid smell began to waft up the hall. Both sisters gaged. A similar smell began to rise form the baby in the cot in front of Sister Mary and the babies began to cry in unison. Sister Annabelle reached Sister Mary, her face pushed into her shoulder and her eyes watering.

“I think our lord has made us an offering,” she gaged as she spoke, “and this little man has also given us a gift too”. She pushed open the door to delivery room 3 and hurriedly pushed the cot in. Sister Mary followed with her own charge.

“You change the babies and I will fetch the carry cot from Master Crowley.”. It was clearly just a excuse to getting out of having to be in same room as the stench for any longer but Sister Mary didn’t want to argue. The smell was truly awful.

In the bed, Mrs Young turned over a frown wrinkling her brow, some internal mothering instinct told her that a baby needed changing but something else told her it wasn’t hers so sleep on.

Sister Mary hesitated as she plucked the Anti-Christ from his cot and laid him on the changing table beside the door. She unwrapped the blanket and dropped it back in the cot. The baby whimpered as she removed the dirty nappy and cleaned him. She cooed at him. “Imagine little me changing the Destroyer of worlds’ nappy and powdering his little tush.” Sister Mary thought to herself. The baby in the other cot began to cry.

The mother in the bed yawned but stayed asleep. In an attempted sooth the baby, Sister Mary picked the ambassadors baby up. He was a chunky baby and quite heavy. Sister Mary had to shift him about a bit before they were both comfortable. The white blanket was lost in this juggling. As she bounced the baby the door to the room opened. Expecting sister Annabelle, Sister Mary turned to face the door where a man peering around the door.

“Err Hello. I’m the father, the husband, whatever.” He stammered, walking over to stand by his wife. Looking up he wondered over to the babies looking down at the baby on the changing table.

“Is this him?” he asked in awe. The baby looked up at him and immediately began to cry. Terrified about what he had done he scooped up the baby and began to pat his back.

“Umm no, these two not yours. Your baby is with your wife over there.” She nodded towards Mrs Young and the cot next to her.

Sister Mary was beginning to gag over the smell coming from the baby in her arms, she laid him on the changing table and began to clean him up.

After soothing the baby in his arms, Mr Young laid the baby down in the empty crib. He picked up the white blanket and tucked it around the baby. He walked over to the cot next to his wife and looked down at the baby. A small part of him was hopeful that he would look upon the face of his child and instantly recognized it as his own. But when he looked down at the sleeping baby, he looked identical to the two with the nun. This one was a little smaller but there wasn’t a moment of recognition. Of course, he didn’t say that. He smiled and looked back at the nun who was disposing of the nappy in a small bin next to the table.

“You know he looks like me.” He said proudly. The Nun smiled at him, rewrapping the baby,

“Have you thought of a name?” she asked. There was a nervous air about her. That probably came with having to look after two babies at once. He had new respect for people with twins and triplets.

They had discussed names but not come to any solid concoctions, they had a name if it had been a girl and after twitching the blanket back it couldn’t be used anymore. The baby snuffled in its sleep; Mr. Young jumped back afraid that he would make it cry like he had the other child.

“We haven though of any names for a boy,” he explained as the nun had finished changing the baby in front of her. Then, looking down at the second with a frown, she looked at the baby in her arms. After a moment hesitant, she seemed to come to a conclusion and plopped it in the second cot wrapping it in the red blanket.

“Well, what about the classic like Luke, John, Adam. Bible names and the like?” She rocked the babies in the cots. Mr. Young though about this for a second as he looked back at his son. He didn’t really look like any of those names, but they were good honest names. Suddenly a nun scuttled into the room. She looked a little out of breath. She looked at Mr. Young the way one would look at a velociraptor. She managed to school her features and smile at him.

Sister Annabelle had returned to the front desk and immediate run into Mr. Young who had asked what room his wife was in. Directing the man to the room without a though until she had picked up the carry cot. She had just sent an imposter into the same room as The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. Picking up her heels again, she took off down the hall and was now stood with Sister Mary, two babies and the carry cot. She turned her slightly manic smile on Sister Mary. She winked. Sister Mary Winked back. They smiled at each other.

“Baby removal services,” she laughed pushing the baby with the red blanket out of the room. She pointed at the carry cot next to the remaining baby and nodded down the hall. Sister Mary nodded back. She placed the carry cot on the changing surfaces and placed the remaining baby in the white blanket in it. Scooping up baby and carry cot she moved to leave the room,

“Umm,” said Mr. Young using the tone of someone who doesn’t want to be a bother but is no doubts going to be a problem.

“Is there any paperwork I need to fill in,” he asked nervously. Always ready to be helpful, Sister Mary nodded and beckoned for him to follow her. It wasn’t until they entered the hall that she realized this might have been a bad decision. She could see Master Crowley’s back to her when Mr. Young held the door open. Trying to think fast she walked up to him putting the now full carry cot next to him on the desk.

“Here is you son Master Crowley,” she said as way of explanation. The yellow eyes turned on her and the primal urge to run shot up her spine. Mr. Young was too distracted to notice, walking up next to her and leaned against the desk.

“Umm, does the birth certificate need signing?” he asked looking over the desk at all the papers. The Mother Superior who had been overseeing Crowley filling out all the correct papers in the right places. It wouldn’t do to have buggered up the paperwork on such a big job. She pulled a file over the papers and put on her best plastic smile. She flicked through the relevant files and produced a birth certificate for Mr. Young. She also pulled one out and handed it to Crowley. Conscious of the presents of Mr. Young, Crowley took the offered page. Mr. Young peeked into cot at the baby.

“He’s a cute one,” he says trying to rope Crowley into a conversation so he can talk about his own kid. Crowley doesn’t acknowledge him. Not deterred, Mr. Young filled in the birth certificate leaving the name till last. He still needed to talk to his wife about it.

“Though of a name yet?” he asked. Again, this was met by silenced. Mr. Young looked over at Crowley, he was well dressed and very out of places here. He didn’t have the look of expectant father. He looked worried.

“We were thinking about Adam,” he continued. This conversation was going to happen even if he had to do it himself. However, this got a reaction out of the other man. He laughed. He snorted then laughed out loud.

“Something wrong with Adam?” Mr. Young questioned, getting slightly defensive over a possible name for his son. The man pushed his long hair back away from his face. He was handsome, even Mr. Young had to admit that.

“No, it’s a fine name. But I knew an Adam once, he was a complete bastard,”.

Sister Mary giggled under her breath. But then frowned at the thought of how a demon knew the original Adam. She puzzled over this for the rest of the conversation.

Mr. Young let his shoulders drop,

“What would you suggest then?” he asked sheepishly. Crowley turned on him and Mr. Young had to squash a sudden urge to back away and make himself small. Crowley looks him up and down before speaking. His emotionless sunglasses making it feel like he wasn’t blinking. He wasn’t but behind the glasses no one could tell.

“Something royal may be. Henry, James, William?” he suggested. Mr. Young felt better about these names.

Crowley looked back at the almost complete page in front of him.

“It doesn’t matter, it will all be over in eleven years anyway.” Crowley mumbled glumly as he looked at the last section of the certificate

FIRST NAME:

It was blank. He stared at it. Did he have to name it?

“Oh,” Mr. Young said confused. In an effort to change the typic he looked into the cot again, “You know, he looks like an Adam.” he added.

Crowley huffed but he couldn’t think of anything better. Plus, it made sense in an ironic way. Crowley scribbled the name down on the final dotted line on the page pushing it towards the nun. He snatched the carry cot of the desk and strode out the lobby. Mr. Young tried to wave goodbye, but Crowley was long gone.

Sister Annabelle handed the baby to the ambassador’s wife who looked down at him with the love of a first-time mother,

“Sorry that took so long Your Ladyship, he is such a scrumptious little man. Every nun in the convent had to coo at him,” Sister Annabelle sighed as she stood back, her job was done. She really needs a cup of tea now.

Mother Superior quietly pushed open the door and came in.

“Oh what a little lord,” she said causing all nuns in the room to smile. “Have you thought of a name?”

The convent burnt down that night. However, the only paperwork that was destroyed was form that night. Apart from the birth certificate of one James Henry Young

Crowley pulled the Bentley into a short dead-end road that was the entrances to a farmer’s field. He cut the engine and the lights of the snarling beast of a car disappeared, leaving only the dark hedgerow in front of him.

The silence enveloped the car, seeming to seep in through all the gaps in the doors and poured out of the vents. Soon Crowley was engulfed in it. He paused, appreciating the moment. The sound of the engine cooling was the only noise that could be heard inside the car. The carry cot next to him cooed. He looked over at his new acquisition and pulled it closer to him. He carefully pulled the small and oh so delicate baby out and laid him across his knees looking up at him. The baby yawned but seemed very much awake. The white blanket that was bundled around him stopping his arms from moving.

Crowley huffed and rubbed his faces pushing his glasses off slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut and began to mutter at the baby,

“Okay first test,”

He pulled his glasses off completely and crouched over the baby sticking his tough out. Letting the glamor over it drop so the tips flicked over the babies scrunched up little nose. His eyes almost glowed yellow in the darkness he didn’t show his true, true form just these small parts. The Baby screeched and Crowley jerked back worried, but unsurprised, that he had terrified the poor thing. When the screech turned into a gurgling laugh, he looked back at the baby who had wiggled free an arm and was grabbing at Crowley with a gummy grin. Slight confused Crowley rewrapped the baby in his white blanket and shifted it to be cradled in his arms,

“Okay so you passed the first test. Now we need to go other some ground rules if this arrangement is going to work out.”.

The baby babbled at him trying to wiggle free of his confines. He seemed fine with the whole yellow eyes and snake toung though. Probably knew no different, Crowley wondered leaning back in the driver’s seat.

“So I will house you, feed you and take care of you until you have worked out how to use a toilet after that we can look into the walking, talking, reading, writing business but there are some conditions that you have to uphold,”.

The baby sneezed, looked shocked at this strange turn of events, blinked a few times before looking back up at the demon. Now that he had the baby’s attention again Crowley continued,

“Firstly, the family you came from, the one that has the antichrist.” The baby watched him with uncanny eyes that seemed to understand what he was saying. That or more worryingly for Crowley he was ranting at a newborn infant that had no idea what was going on and was just watching him make noises in the dark car.

“Warlock, they called him Warlock.”

The baby gave him a half smile, hoping that the smile was from recognizing the name.

“You’re gonna have to be friends with that brat. secondly you will not get in my way or interfere with my work.”

The baby yawned at him. It seemed that all the excitement was getting the better of him its eyes began to slip closed. Crowley rocked him slightly trying not to enjoy holding the child, a small part of him that was thought to be long dead, started to thaw. He placed the baby back in the carry cot in the passenger’s seat. The baby whimpered at the movement but settled back in the crib snuggling into the blanket.

Crowley backed out and onto the road, where was the nearest mother care?

Azriaphale had just got back to the book shop when the phone rang. He paused hanging his coat up on its peg, before picking it up, he suspected who it might be but wasn’t sure. He plucked the phone from the handle and held it daintily to his ear,

“I’m dreadfully sorry but I’m afraid we are closed at the...,” his polite but discouraging scripted was cut by a very familiar voice,

“It’s me Angel.”

It sounded although Crowley was making this call from a phone box. Oh dear, what trouble had he gotten himself into now.

“Crowley? Is that you?” he asked anyway knowing the answer,

“Yes. We need to talk.” He said matter of factly.

“Yes, I rather think we do.” Azriaphale thought of the conversation he had had with Gabriel earlier that day.

Crowley looked through the window of the Bentley at the sleeping baby inside. He hung up the phone and got back into the car. He looked over at the child. He was so small. Crowley stroked his cheek with a black nailed finger.

“You have no idea what is going on. I envy you Adam,” the baby sighed in his sleep.

#good omens #good omens fic #Ineffable Husbands #crowley x aziraphale #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #adam young good omens #fanfic

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lj-todd · 6 years

Note

I see your Ivar/Lagertha and raise you Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill!

(YES! MY FAVE CRACK PAIRING FOR GUARDIANS! w00t w00t!)When Peter had started dancing, to distract Ronan and give Rocket time to get the damn gun working again, he had had no idea that highborn Kree did mating dances. How was he supposed to have known that?! The most he’d ever done was have sex with a Kree girl or two. It wasn’t like they’d discussed anything important like “Oh, hey, Quill, if you dance a certain way it’s the equivalent of proposing marriage.”So, he’d been just as surprised as anyone, perhaps more so, when Ronan had fallen still, looking at him curiously for a moment before declaring, quite loudly, “I accept.”Peter stopped mid-dance, slack-jawed and wide eyed.“You what?”“Your mating proposal,” Ronan explained in that deep rumbling timber. “I accept it.”“You accept my what?!”

Everything after that was a bit of a blur and all Peter was really aware of was Ronan surrendering and Peter taking the stone from his war hammer, which of course triggered a whole different set of problems that, thanks to his new…friends was a shaky term but good enough…was solved without anyone dying.Unfortunately, solving the issue of the stone, handing it over to the authorities of Xandar for safe keeping, did not solve Peter’s new issue of, apparently, having a new Kree fiance that he had no idea what to actually do with because, according to Irani Rael, by even Xandarian laws, as Peter’s fiance Ronan was to be given the same pardon as the Guardians of the Galaxy.The news had not sat well with Drax, who still wanted vengeance for his family, but he had, for now at least, shelved the matter, claiming betrothals to be an important and sacred thing among his people but, and this he directed at Ronan, the moment the Kree warlord was no long bound to Quill, which he suspected would be soon because Quill was the equivalent of a female rodent in heat, then he would finish his sworn mission and avenge his family.Now, officially declared the Guardians of the Galaxy, Peter had to deal not only with having his friends on board his ship but also with Ronan who, it seemed, intended to take their betrothal quite seriously.The Kree warlord was hard to get a read on and Peter, not certain how to handle things like a real adult, avoided Ronan as much as he could. At least until Ronan seemed to grow tired of his behavior and, Peter suspected with help from Gamora, cornered him in the cargo hold, the door locked and Peter unable to override it.“We must speak, Lord of Stars,” Ronan said firmly, arms crossed over his chest, watching Peter fumble with the lock again.“It’s not…” Peter let out a disbelieving whine. Why could no one get his codename right? Why? It wasn’t that hard. It really wasn’t. “Okay, okay, first of all my name is Peter.” He turned to face Ronan, giving up on the lock. “Peter Quill or…or Star-Lord.”Ronan blinked, his dark eyes studying Peter for such an intensity that he nearly squirmed where he stood. When the Kree moved, taking a step forward, Peter couldn’t help but flinch back but he was surprised when Ronan fell immediately still.“You are frightened of me.”Peter blinked.“Well…yeah…I mean…you did try to destroy an entire planet, Big Blue.”Ronan blinked, likely not understanding Peter’s nickname for him, and really Peter had to get a grip on himself because giving a nickname to Ronan was not the best idea because it showed caring, showed connection, and Peter wasn’t ever sure how their betrothal was supposed to work given they were different races and both men.“But you danced,” Ronan spoke as though confused. “You danced and I accepted.”“I wasn’t…I mean…yeah, okay, I danced but it wasn’t…I didn’t…I…I didn’t know that dancing…that’s not how humans propose…or I don’t think it is but I was a kid when I left Earth so what do I really know about it.” Peter shook his head, trying to gather all his stray thoughts back into place. “Look, the point is…I didn’t know what I was doing was…well…that you would take it as a proposal. I was just…I was trying to distract you. To buy time to…to figure out a move or a plan or something to…to keep you from nuking a planet.”Ronan considered him for a long moment.“Gamora said you did not intend to offer yourself as you did.” And oh wasn’t that just nice, Ronan and Gamora talking about him. “And though you yourself confirm it I must say, of all the mating dances I have seen, and there have been many, yours was the most pleasing of them.”“Yeah, well I…” Peter blinked, Ronan’s words actually sinking in. “Wait…you…you actually liked it? For real?”“Had I not I would not have accepted.” Ronan took a small, daring step forward. “You may be Terran but you have courage.” Another step. “Both in challenging a foe many times your strength and in taking hold of the stone.” Another step. “You were fearless in the face of death and dared it to try and take you before your time.” And another step. “Your dancing was meant to catch my eye.” Another step and another. “And you succeeded. Where so many others have failed.” Ronan was now directly in front of Peter, who looked up at Kree almost curiously rather than fearfully. “You danced. I accepted. Is there not some Terran gesture I can give that shows I wish to be worthy of you?”Peter blinked.He had not expected this.At all.What the hell was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? He didn’t…His gaze swung, landing on the speakers he’d insisted be put throughout the ship so, no matter where he was, he’d always be able to listen to his mixtape. Drawing a deep breath, knowing it was foolish to even consider perusing a relationship with Ronan, he reached out, pressing a button on the control panel and the opening bars of “O-O-H Child” drifted through the air. He turned back to Ronan and held his hand out.“Dance with me,” he said softly, remembering how his mother had once told him that she’d known she loved his father the first time she’d danced with him.Ronan regarded him for a moment, just a moment, before taking his hand.It took them a moment to find the rhythm together but, perhaps most surprisingly, Ronan was quite light on his feet and, with a grace Peter was not expected, danced like they were walking on air.Peter couldn’t help but smile as a warmth he hadn’t felt since his mother’s death filled him. He wondered if this feeling was what his mother had felt when she’d danced with his father. He didn’t understand it, or why he felt it with Ronan of all people, but what he did know was that he liked it and didn’t want to ever let it go.Ronan spun them, slowly, following the beat of the song, and Peter stepped closer, surprising himself and Ronan, but the Kree took it in stride and simply slipped his arm around Peter as, rather than actually dance, they sort of stood there and just swayed, watching one another.It wasn’t love, Peter wasn’t some stupid airheaded girl to believe in that, but it was, he was surprised to find, nice. He smiled and, in another surprising move, rested his head against Ronan’s shoulder, feeling the slight jolt that went through the bigger man before the Kree completely relaxed, holding him a little closer.Nether noticed when the song changed or when Gamora opened the lock, both content to just be there, swaying gently, basking in a feeling neither had felt in so very long. Neither knew how, or if, what lay between them would work, but, in that moment, the were both willing to try.

#mischief11things #peter quill #ronan the accuser #peter x ronan #guardians of the galaxy #marvel #au #alternate universe #ficlet #drabble

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some-cookie-crumbz · 6 years

Text

No Need for a Pity Party

No Need for a Pity Party Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Kidge Summary: Originally intended as the Keidge Week Day 3 Prompt Fill: Adore. It was an excuse to use some original characters from one of my own stories and show how their powers could be implemented to cause mayhem - or relief - for the Paladins. I had planned for this to be, like, twice it’s current length but then I lost steam. Might pick this back up and do a part two eventually. *shrugs* Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more.

The planet of Firnes reminded her so much of Earth it was a little surreal. Everything about the planet was just like back on Earth; the gravitational pull, the concentration of oxygen in the air, even the Firnesians themselves were almost identical to humans in body structure and anatomy. “That is because both our galaxies – your Milky Way and our Turla Drey – are both classified as being Terranian galaxies,” Queen Simona, ruler of the planet, explained as she led them from the conference room to their designated assigned spots. Tonight was to be the celebration of the young Princess Maia’s birth and her official grand entrance into society, attending her first kingdom-wide gala. There was concern on Queen Simona’s part, though, that Prince Lotor may show up in an attempt to plan some kind of trick to force the people of Firnes under his control. An entrance into society meant that Princess Maia would also be considered eligible for courtship and marriage by someone of a close or equal social standing.

For Queen Simona, the thought of her only heir being trapped into a political marriage to avoid the enslavement of their people was unthinkable; hence why she called Voltron in to help.

“Green Paladin,” She had said, pausing briefly in front of a large set of double doors, “I should like for you and the Blue Paladin to keep my dear Maia company while she relaxes.”

Pidge scowled a bit but Allura flashed a tight smile of her own. “If I may be so bold to ask, Queen Simona,” She began to say as the older woman shoved the doors open.

“I selected the two of you because the gardens would be suited best to your positions,” She said calmly, stepping aside a bit to leave the two women to gawk. Calling the space before them a garden seemed like a serious understatement; it was more like a little oasis. There was a large waterfall a few feet away from them, with a small stream that ran through the lush fields covered in grass and various blooming flowers. Queen Simona looked at them with an almost smug smile on her demure face. “You are the Paladin of the Forest and the Paladin of Water respectfully, are you not?”

“You’re sneaky, you know that?” Pidge asked, trying to keep how impressed she was by the Queen’s tactics to herself. She and Allura had encountered it often enough on different planets – some of which were also a matriarchy like this one – where they were given the easiest tasks because they were female.

The older woman chuckled lightly. “I was a soldier once a long time ago, you know,” She mused lightly.

“Playing to our strengths, I see?” Shiro chimed in curiously.

Queen Simona nodded. “I know a thing or two about being tactical, Black Paladin. Now, are there any others amongst your reinforcements that might bode well with guarding the gardens?”

“The Blade tend to be better with stealth and covert operations, actually, so I’m not totally sure if any of them would be good helping out with that,” He chimed. Pidge flinched then scowled slightly, causing Allura to hide an amused smile behind one of her hands. “Well, actually, there is a Blade member that might work well with Allura and Pidge. His name is Ke-!”

“Oh, gee, we should really get to work on guarding the princess, don’t you think?” Pidge cut in, flashing Shiro a pointed look before looking back at Queen Simona. “Where will we find her in there?”

The older woman blinked a bit in surprise before the look of ambivalence returned. “Maia spends much of her time in the gardens working on her studies. She is most likely resting against the tree on the other side of the stream. There’s a small bridge just a little farther down that you can use to get across,” She suggested gently.

Allura and Pidge bowed respectfully before scampering off into the lush area. A small smirk turned up on the smaller woman’s lips. “You were totally about to call the Queen out on being sexist, weren’t you?” She teased.

A flush came to the Altean heiress’ cheeks and she turned her head away. “W-Well, considering what just occurred on Yultarel, can you blame me for being a bit worried?” She huffed lightly.

“I’m just teasing, you know,” Pidge mused lightly before perking up as the crossed the bridge and spotted the young princess, settled in a small heap of gown and leaves at the base of the tree, a small furry creature settled in her lap. “Huh, she and the Queen don’t look a lot like each other.” She commented.

Where Queen Simona was tall, olive-skinned with dark hair kept in a tight bun, Princess Maia was extremely pale with even darker hair that she let hang loose, a few leaves and flower petals tangled in the strands. “Perhaps Princess Maia simply takes after her other parent in regards to appearance?” Allura suggested.

The other woman suddenly perked up, having heard their approach, and smiled brightly. “Ah, you must be the Paladins of Voltron! Greetings!” She called happily, raising one hand to wave at them. Pidge noticed strange, gleaming golden symbols covering the other woman’s arms, littering across her hand and tracing all the way down to her elbow.

Allura smiled and waved back as the approached. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess,” She mused lightly, settling to sit in a cross-legged position across from her. Pidge settled down in the same position but so that she was between them both, the trio making a triangle with their locations.

Princess Maia giggled and waved one hand lightly. “Oh, please, no need for formalities with me! I would like you to simply call me Maia; we are to be allies, are we not? And allies are, in a strange way, friends that rally together against a cause! Or, rather, that is what Mother has always told me,” She mused lightly.

“That’s certainly an excellent way to look at the situation,” Allura agreed. She then turned her attention down to the fluffy grey form curled in the other princess’ lap. “And who, may I ask, is this cute little fellow?” She asked.

The other’s bright green eyes lit up like a sky full of fireworks. “This is Squire, my pet Heelaw. They domesticated rodents,” She explained happily, lightly rubbing behind one of the creatures large ears. “You may pet him if you would like.”

Pidge tilted her head curiously as she reached out, letting her fingers just skim over the top of the creature’s pelt. It was velvety soft under her touch and she chuckled a bit. “Reminds me of a chinchilla,” She mused lightly.

Maia perked up and smiled widely. “You have creatures similar to him on your home planet, as well?” She asked.

“Yeah, we do,”

The young woman cast a hopeful glance at Allura next, only to be answered with a shy smile. “I’m afraid the closest we had on Altea were mice… Though, if you would like, I suppose I could bring the four we mice we have on the ship,” She offered.

“I would absolutely love that! I’ve been so excited to meet the delegates of other planets and learn of their culture!” Maia gushed. She then looked between the two Paladins. “Will any other factions of the Voltron Coalition be attending tonight? I’ve heard so much about the others that have allied themselves and would love to meet some of them,” Maia asked excitedly.

“Well, there will be a small variety of Commanders and fighters from the rebellion. Most of the rebels hail from various different worlds and galaxies, and I’m sure they’ve all got plenty of interesting stories to share,” She mused lightly. Pidge shifted to look up at the tree, watching as the leaves shifted and created small slivers along the ground. It reminded her a bit of the old oak in the backyard back home, that had once housed a tire swing for she and Matt. “Oh, and there will also be a few members of the Blade of Marmora attending, to assure we have as much security as possible.”

“Ugh, but do they really need to be here? I mean, between the rebels and us, it just seems a little excessive,” Pidge grumbled, more to herself than the others, but she heard a curious hum come from Maia and an amused one from Allura.

“Is that really why you’re against them being here? Or is it more because you just don’t want to see You-Know-Who?”

“Allura, don’t start with me,” Pidge huffed, shifting to send a small glare at the other woman.

The other shrugged. “Look, I’m just saying that it’s okay to be honest. I’m not sure hwy you don’t want to see him but I’m sure you have your reasons,”

“Who?” Maia piped in.

“His name is Keith,” Allura said before Pidge could say anything, “and he and Pidge are masters at dancing around each other.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Allura,” Pidge huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Maia blinked then offered a mischievous grin. “Care to prove the validity of that statement?” She inquired, offering one of her hands to Pidge.

She quirked an eyebrow at the other woman, tilting her head slightly at the golden symbols seeming to wink at her. “What do you mean by that, exactly?”

“The rulers and governmental figures of our race are selected specifically due to having the power to read and translate the emotions of others,” She explained, indicating the golden marks. She turned her hand over and tapped a symbol that reminded Pidge of an eye in the center of her palm. “Within the first three years of an individual’s life, this symbol will manifest in the palm of their dominant hand and their powers will activate from that point forward. I’m still learning how to harness it fully, but I should still be able to get a decent reading on what exactly it is you feel for this Keith person; plus, it’ll be a good way to test my abilities. I mean, unless you have something to hide.” She explained, her tone becoming more playful at the last statement.

Pidge growled before setting her hand on top of Maia’s. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Read away,” She huffed.

Maia giggled before shifting to adjust Pidge’s grip a bit, so that Pidge’s palm was pressed flat against her own, with Pidge’s fingers dangling over the side of Maia’s hand between her thumb and index finger. She closed her eyes and released a slow breath, the marks all along her arm beginning to shimmer and shine. A warmth creeping into Pidge’s being, starting in her arm and spreading quickly. “Okay, let’s see here… The surface level information is that you are enraged by him, but I believe that we all know that anger is most oft just a cover for something deeper. Underneath that, I get a sense of… Adoration and admiration. You see a relation between the two of you in regards to your personalities that makes him easier for you to connect to, but that he is more skilled in an area you feel you lack in. You find this to be an admirable aspect of him, and adore the ease with which you two are able to engage one another,” She mused, her eyebrow lifting a bit but her eyes remaining closed. Pidge had to fight the instinct to tear her hand away, already becoming uneasy with the information being laid out in the open.

“Hmm… Under that, I get the feelings of something a bit more sensual and intimate? I’m afraid this isn’t a feeling that I am familiar with, so I can only venture a guess,” Maia mused lightly, her brows knitting slightly. Allura let out a quiet but amused gasp while Pidge felt her cheeks heat up, casting a warning glare at the other. Allura’s response was to only continue grinning as if she were Lance. “But… Most prominently… I sense apprehension. You feel… Distrustful of him, like relying on him would be a mistake. You… You are in love with him, but you are hesitant to say so to him or any others? You don’t trust that your feelings would be appreciated or wanted.”

With that, Pidge yanked her hand away and pushed herself to stand upright. Allura’s teasing grin was gone, now, and replaced with a worried frown. “Oh, Pidge,” She said quietly, her tone nearly dripping in pity.

“Oh, save it, Allura!” She snapped, glaring more vehemently at the other now.

She looked stunned, blue eyes wide. “Pidge, I wasn’t going to say an-!”

“Yes, you were! You were going to tell me how I shouldn’t feel that way, or how sorry you are that I do! I don’t need your pity, or your advice, or anything like that! So what if I have feelings for him? There’s no point in acting on them!” She growled out, her hands clenched at her side. She shouldn’t have let herself get goaded into this by the sake of her pride. She didn’t need this empath making her feelings known to Allura; she didn’t need or want the pity that would undoubtedly crop up with the revelation, from both her actual feelings and the additional assumptions that would be made.

She knew not to tell Keith how she felt. It would ruin their friendship, as well as be pointless. Keith was clearly more invested in his training and missions with the Blade. Her feelings would just be a burden to him, a wedge between them, and then a bullet to be delivered right into her own foot. Even if he felt the same way, she knew that he would never be able to truly give himself to her; no matter what, he’d always put his responsibilities to the Blade ahead of any responsibilities to her and a romantic relationship.

She wasn’t going to set herself up for that heartache and disappointment. She was smarter than that.

She turned towards the bridge that led back inside. “I’m going to talk with Queen Simona about being stationed somewhere else, or doing a perimeter check or something,” She grumbled before storming off.

Allura held her hand out, as if she intended to stop the other, then sighed and let her hand drop. She hadn’t meant to upset her. She then turned to look at Maia, who was watching the other walk away with a thoughtful expression. “I am incredibly sorry, Maia. I’m afraid Pidge has always been someone whom enjoys her privacy,” She said gently.

“I would like very much to help her,” Maia said, blinking slowly and lifting her head to meet Allura’s eye. She offered a small smile. “Mother says that it is our job as those with the ability to read emotion to help resolve such conflicts. Should Keith be in attendance tonight, would you be so kind as to get me an audience with him? If I can get a read of his emotions, and should they be similar to that of what Pidge feels, then we could convince them to discuss their situation and how to proceed!” She insisted happily.

Allura glanced down at Maia and then back up at where Pidge had disappeared. “This could either end very well, or very poorly... Count me in, I suppose. I’ll see what I can do once the Blade gets here,” She said with a forced smile, an uneasy feeling settling in her gut despite the excitement of the other heiress. The idea of meddling in the affairs of the other Paladins’ felt rude, but she was also Pidge’s friend; and, as her friend, she didn’t like the idea of Pidge refusing herself a chance to be happy due to a bunch of ‘what-if’s,

#Voltron legendary defender #Keidge #Kidge #Peith #Kidgemas #Pidge Gunderson #Keith Kogane #my fics

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spyvstailor · 6 years

Text

Chapter 2

Here’s the second chapter of that sci-fi thing for those reading. Should I tag you guys in these? Do you want me to just tag this with something for ease of access? Let me know. I’ll repost in the morning for those who aren’t night owls.

Hey, anyone got any ideas for names for this? It’s literally saved as ‘Sci Fi Thing’...so...

Chapter 2

Waking with a migraine in the middle of the night seemed almost like routine.

He had sat up in bed for long enough that the sky began to turn pink, before slipping out of his bed and making his way into his living room.

There was no point in dressing, he wouldn't be leaving his apartment that day.

With no plans, nowhere he wanted to be, no one he wanted to see, he decided he would just mill around.

Curling up on the ledge of his wide window, he ate the only thing he was able to stomach, a dry mixture of grains and some kiscus bark, it was flavourless and gritty, but his stomach accepted the food. He knew he had finally given up when he was halfway through the bag and realized he was actually eating right from the bag with his hand like an animal.

This was his life now.

Eating grains and bark from a bag, in his pyjama bottoms, sitting on his window ledge with bedhead.

Almost angrily, he reached into the bag and grabbed a large handful, shoving it into his mouth and chewing with it open.

May as well just embrace his new role as an unemployed slob.

His comm buzzed and for a moment he considered just ignoring it, but as he peered over and spied Embry's face, he sighed and got up to press the button.

“You know I shouldn't be encouraging bad behaviour,” Embry began with a smirk.

“Then don't,” he replied.

“With the information you managed to give me I dug up a little bit on that girl. Nothing serious, a few minor air traffic dings, but she is a runaway. Her full name is Thandalea Orin, she's sixteen years old. Jumped ship from a home for neglected children on Waif'iko. She owns nothing but a broken down ship left to her by her parents, it's still registered under her father's name, that's how I know it's not stolen. Want me to send her back to Waif'iko?”

“You'd have to find her first.” Joss replied.

“Already done, tracked her down last night, found her sleeping in her ship, took her into holding to question her about the ownership of the cube. That and the fact her ship is still registered to a dead man.”

Turning on his old friend with a scowl, Joss asked, “you arrested her?”

“No, just wanted to make sure neither one of you did anything stupid before another guard caught wind of the caper. We brought her in for questioning, that's all.”

“Thanks for your trust,” he mumbled, heading into his bedroom to change. “I'll be right down to sign for her.”

“You want to release her?” Embry's voice asked from the other room.

“You and I both know kids don't runaway from a good thing,” he called back, eyeing his closet with a frown. He didn't own any civilian gear yet. Maybe he should stop and get at least a civvie tunic somewhere.

“I gotta send her back, Jay,” Embry argued. “We can't just let her...”

“Sign her over to me, you can do that if she agrees. I'll see what I can do about sending her back.”

“Jay, listen, you know I hate that they forced you out, but don't start taking up with these street kids, it will only end in heartbreak.”

Pulling on a pair of his uniform pants with the deep pockets at the thighs that he liked, he stepped from the bedroom and approached his comm and pressed the button, ending the call.

It was odd, but he felt awkward returning to the station dressed in a uniform that wasn't his anymore. He would stop for some clothing first, make a better entrance than some old vet clinging to his glory days.

Stopping in the little front hall of his apartment, he opened his wall safe and removed his gun without thinking. It was habit for him when going to work to grab his gun last thing, so he thought nothing of it as he holstered it to his shoulder.

Tandi was in a little holding cell when he stormed in, she looked furious.

“You fucked me, Legs!” She shouted first thing as he entered, flanked by two guardsmen.

“Sit down, I did nothing of the sort.” He replied. “My friend Embry fucked us both,” he pinned Embry with a hard look.

“Hey, I'm just doing my job, Jay, come on.”

Glaring up at him with narrow gold eyes, he could see Tandi was on the verge of tears or throwing punches, either way he went on calmly. “I can sign you out, if you agree to it, since I'm not your legal guardian.”

“Yeah, I agree to it and then I'm going to kick your ass.”

“Well, my suggestion is you wait at least until we're far from the station so they can't rearrest you for assaulting me,” he said wryly.

She wrenched her face up into a sour sneer.

Leaning down, Joss signed for the girl's release, hesitating at the line 'taking full responsibility for the actions and behaviours of the youth/child as long as they are under the jurisdiction of Aevo in the absence of parental guidance or as an authorized parental figure'. Glancing over at the child in her jacket that was three sizes too big, with her unruly burgundy hair and her sneer, he scoffed and signed for her. He was technically allowed to do that for minors, as a retired Sky Guard. A small, strange perk he knew about as many of the street kids had old Sky Guard advocates or mentors who signed for them in lieu of parents.

“Come sign this,” he ordered her.

She offered him a very lewd gesture, but stomped over anyways and stubbornly put her signature on the document.

“I didn't fuck you!” He growled as they entered society again, the girl storming ahead of him. “Will you slow down?”

“Get out of my life, you progo!” She snarled.

“I don't know what that means, but it better not mean what I think it does!” He returned, picking up his pace the best he could to keep up with her. “Listen, I'm not trying to run your life, you seem pretty capable...aside from the attempted B&E last night.”

Tandi glanced over her shoulder at him, less fire and more ice.

“Thandalea,” he tried calmer.

She slowed. “Don't call me that.”

“Where will you go now?” He asked softly.

“What do you care?” She turned around, hard golden eyes narrowed at him. “Nobody cares about me and I like it that way. It was a mistake bringing you along last night. Now you think you have to pretend to care about this big pain in your ass.”

“I never said anything like that,” he replied. “I don't care deeply, but I do worry that you don't know the dangers--”

“Of the galaxy?!” She barked, as though she had heard that before. “I know the dangers just fine.”

“What's on the cube?” He demanded. “What was so important you had to get it back and why was it in Sorrel's possession in the first place?”

Tandi turned and began to march off, Joss closed at her heels.

“Will you just...” he faltered, as his lung seized. It hadn't failed in a month, he had thought his artificial lung had finally been fixed, but under the stress of the moment it was going fast. “Fuck,” he fell to his knees, hand holding his chest, wheezing. He had forgotten to take his meds in the hurry to get to the station and his body was trying to reject the foreign lung by overcompensating and shutting down both lungs, at least that was what his brain was telling his body. It was psychosomatic, they had told him. He felt the foreign elements, could feel how wrong they were, therefore he fought them and in fighting them, his entire chest seized. It wasn't just his artificial lung, it was him.

The girl left him behind for half a block more, before she slowed her steps and turned.

Just breathe, he told himself. Just get something into your lungs, force them to open, it's all in your head.

Tandi dropped to her knees beside him. “What's happening?”

“I'm fine,” he ground out between grit teeth, ashamed she had to see him like this.

Her small hand hovered over his back for a moment, he could feel the warmth but not the touch above the thin material of the civilian tunic, before it settled gently and began to rub.

“Should I...call someone?” She asked.

A small crowd had gathered and Joss felt himself falling, spiralling down towards a deep, deep hole of shame and self hatred. “Get me home,” he wheezed.

She had dumped him unceremoniously in the hall by his door as she fumbled with his doorcode.

Still struggling to even out his breathing, he raised his hand and shakily touched his thumb to the pad, unlocking the door with his personal microchip key.

It clicked open and Tandi stooped to gather him, fighting to get him up.

He helped her by half crawling, half rolling inside, just enough for her to close the door.

“I have...inhaler, there!” He pointed at in the direction of the kitchen where he stashed a spare one. It was enough to numb him for him to relax enough to breathe.

She tore through cupboards, looking for the inhaler, before finding it on top of his cold cabinet.

Tandi dropped to her knees beside him with it, holding it to his mouth.

He grabbed it from her and inhaled deeply, glaring a little at her to cover his embarrassment.

It was a few agonizing minutes of breathlessness, before he began to feel calm come over him, his throat relaxing, his chest loosening.

“Wow,” Tandi said after a long time of him breathing normally. “You're a real mess.”

He side eyed her angrily.

Pushing to her feet, she smiled and headed into the kitchen. “Bet you haven't eaten anything yet. It's almost midday. Got some food? I'm starving.”

Joss could hear the girl scrambling about in his kitchen like a rodent, the sounds of clinks and clanks, the soft thumps of her boots.

She came back after a bit, without her overly large jacket, hair pulled up and off her face and handed him a glass of water.

“Here, drink this,” she suggested.

He took the glass and drank deep as she ducked back into his kitchen.

Finally, he felt himself strong enough to get to his feet, following her into the other room.

“What's so important about that cube?” He asked, resting his hip against the counter beside her, setting the glass down to fold his arms.

“Pornography, loads and loads of it,” she said, before grinning as she continued to thaw the meat from his freezer. “Is this all you have for food? Just some frozen, half mummified meat and sad vegetables?” Glancing over at him, she said, “you have less food than I do and I'm a runaway orphan.”

He didn't say anything, trying to find a way to get her to leave without being rude.

“How bad was it?” She asked. “You have a phony arm, panic attacks, don't eat?”

“It wasn't a panic attack,” he argued, lying. “My body tries to reject my left lung every now and then.”

“Transplant?”

“Cybernetic.”

“Shit,” she frowned at the pot she pulled down from his cupboard. “How much of you is a robot?”

At her funny little eyebrow wiggle, he scoffed, “I don't know...forty percent? Forty-five?”

“Fuck.”

“What's on the cube?” He repeated.

She smiled, filling the pot with water from his tap. “Do you really care? I'll be gone in an hour.”

“Just long enough to eat,” he replied.

Tandi offered him a look that actually shamed him for the accusation. “You're thin as a pole,” she said softly. “Doesn't anyone feed you?”

“I told you, I can't eat.”

“You can,” she argued. “You just think you can't.”

“Food irritates my stomach.”

“Well, let it irritate it, you can't starve, that's just dumb,” she hauled the pot to the stove and set it down. “You know, my parents fled Impix. They have a clan of people there, they're called the Barkeaters. Well, I heard once that they're called that, because about...twenty years ago, they were being starved out by the Harvesters, another clan that they were fighting. So the Barkeaters, they took to sucking, chewing on the kiscus bark and...a lot of them died. Children, the elderly, because they were the weakest already. I guess, they didn't have a choice when they starved.”

“Properly reprimanded,” he murmured. “What's on the cube?”

“I don't trust you yet, Legs,” she replied. “Go sit down, I can make us some food. When you're poor, you learn to make something out of nothing and, Legs, you got nothing.”

“Let me help,” he offered.

“Sit,” she ordered. “Just listen to someone for once? I bet you don't do that often.”

He frowned, but moved over to his small table to sit down, watching her the whole time she threw the food into the pot to cook.

“So,” she began. “Basic plates, basic utensils, no real warmth or character to your place, I take it you don't have someone else living here?”

“Planning on tying me up and robbing me?” He teased.

She laughed a little. “Legs, even hobbled as you are, I don't think I'm much of a match for you. Besides, I'm sure your friend told you about my record. I don't get much more than moving violations.”

“You shouldn't even be flying at your age.”

“Too bad, I am.” She returned, moving towards him with plates and utensils to set the table. Tandi grinned at him smugly. “It just pisses you off that I'm taking care of you, doesn't it?”

“You're not taking care of me,” he argued. “I'm trying to wait for a good time to ask once more about the cube.”

She laughed. “I'll tell you all about it, but you have to answer one question for me and you have to do it honestly.”

He scowled.

“Oh? Suddenly I'm the one prying?” She demanded, stirring the contents of the pot.

“Fine,” he said after a moment of deliberation with himself. “But you have to answer me honestly too.”

“Okay,” she said, moving to sit at the table with him.

They were both quiet and Joss realized after a while that someone needed to start. “What's your question?”

“Why do live like this? You...seem normal enough, you're not hopelessly unattractive, you could have a family and be surrounded by people who love you. So why do you live like this?”

He wasn't expecting that kind of question. Honestly, he thought he lived well.

But glancing around at his sparsely decorated, rather simple and cold apartment, he figured to a girl like her, someone who came from a culture of warmth and large families, his life looked rather sad and empty.

“I suppose, I just...didn't have the time.”

“Garbage. You said you'd be honest!” She warned.

“I am!” He scowled darkly. “I don't know! I...I regret it, sometimes. But, things just never worked out for me with other people.”

Tandi was quiet. “You never fell in love? You don't even have family?”

“My parents died a long time ago, and...well, I'm Aevonian, we're not exactly warm.”

“There's plenty of warm Aevonians,” she argued.

“Well, I'm not one of them.”

“That's sad,” she stated, clicking her back teeth. “You're pathetic.”

It was said half serious, with a stone sombre face, but Joss caught the jest and laughed, startling himself.

Tandi beamed at the reaction.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I am.”

“At least you're honest with yourself,” she went on lightly.

“What about you? What's with the cube?” He asked.

“Well,” she began, slowing down for a moment, before saying, “well, let's just say, it's...no, I'll be honest. When my parents fled Impix, they did it in my ship. It was a piece of junk then, I fixed it up a little since then, but...well, once we cleared the planet's atmosphere, life support began to fail. As it does on old junkers. So my mom, she diverted all life support to the front cabin and they put me there, just a baby in a blanket, sitting on the pilots seat.” She fell quiet, eyes misting up a little. “They died together in one of the cabins at the back. When they found me drifting around in space, I was warm and alive and a little hungry, but...I have nothing left of them but that ship and the cube. See? My dad was going to go back to Impix one day and save friends and family, neighbours, members of the clan. That cube has a list of names of people he wanted to save. I'm going to go back to Impix and save them, for him and mom.”

The Sky Guard in him wanted to warn her how dangerous Impix was, how foolish the mission would be, but the good host in him had him biting that back.

“That's a stupid thing to do,” he finally said with a small grin, returning her early taunt.

She sniffed back any tears that may have been coming and laughed. “Yeah.”

He was too polite to refuse the meal after she cooked it for him, taking his time and eating it slowly as she shovelled bowl after bowl into her mouth.

Sitting at the table, he watched the girl, studied her in between spoonfuls of the stew she had made. Her face was dirty in places, her clothes looked threadbare and ready to just fall off of her form, her cheeks hollow like she hadn't had a solid meal in a while, though her body was naturally curvy.

She didn't talk much as they ate, which he appreciated. There was no sense in unnecessary chatter.

“Where do you sleep at night? Your ship?” He asked as they cleared the table, both of them bursting at the seams with stew. He actually ate more than he expected to eat, having another half a bowl.

She shrugged. “Sure, I mean, where do you think I sleep? An alley somewhere? My ship's always been home, even when the LPP had it put in storage until I came of age, I would sneak into the warehouse that housed it and sleep there whenever I ran away from the home.”

“So how do you afford fuel for it?” He asked.

“Do you mean, do I steal debs for fuel?”

“That's not what I asked,” he argued.

Tandi scrubbed the dishes quietly. “I do odd jobs here and there. Delivering things to other planets, the odd transport gig. Anything that gets me up into the stars.”

“You like space?” He asked, drying the dishes.

“I love it, nobody tells me what to do up there. It's just me and Lovelace.”

“Lovelace? Your ship?”

She laughed. “No, my auto-pilot hologram. I installed him myself, modified one of those old encyclopedia holograms, interfaced it with my ship, so Lovelace can do a lot of things if I ask him. Mostly he flies for me when I sleep or when I'm too lazy to fly. He's good for company on long trips. Though, well...he has a few glitches. I tried to program them out of him, I'm not sure if it's ghosts of his old coding or what, but every now and then he breaks out into song. Mostly old Human songs, some Ralorixian romance songs. And he can't fly under a certain speed, so he's gotten us a few infraction tickets. He's never gotten us into a collision yet though.”

“You sound proud of him,” he replied.

“I am! He was the first thing I added to my ship, I wanted...I dunno, someone else there with me, but I didn't trust anyone. Lovelace was my only friend for a long time.”

For a moment Joss caught a glimmer of pure joy in Tandi's eyes and smiled a little. He had to admit he felt bad for the kid, she had a hard life, but she seemed like she turned out to be an okay sort.

“Do you have any clothes besides those rags?” He asked.

“Hey! These rags are pure grunge!” She argued.

“They looked like they're ready to disintegrate.”

“That's the look,” she objected. “I'm seared.”

He wasn't up on a lot of the new lingo, though he did run into it from time to time whenever he'd drag in a kid for processing, so he managed to reply with, “no, you're scorched and crispy in some places.”

She laughed. “Says the old man in the military pants and shitty top.”

“I'm going for a look,” he argued lightly.

“Oh? Thrift shop embarrassed?” She teased.

He chuckled. “I paid twenty debs for this top.”

“Yeah, it looks like it.”

They laughed together for a moment, before Tandi straightened up, face falling slowly. “I'd better go. You're good on your own, yeah?”

He nodded. “Thank you for the food.”

“Whatever, I conned a free meal off you,” she returned breezily, heading into the front hall.

“Do you need me to walk you back to your ship?” He asked.

“Pfft,” she scoffed. “I'm fine. Get some sleep tonight, okay?”

Hearing the door click behind the young woman, Joss stood for a moment as the silence settled over his apartment, before he sighed.

For a few hours he paced his apartment, back in the work out pants he slept in, the loose academy shirt he wore from his training days, his hands itching to do something, his mind unable to focus on anything but how little he had to do with his time.

He didn't even have a hobby.

As he paced his mind turned to Tandi, to her situation.

Admittedly, he didn't know as much about Impix and its struggle as he should. It was a planet in a star system that neighboured Aevo's, but all he knew beyond the fact that the planet was locked down tight due to outright civil war, was the fact that no one got off planet easily.

Easing down before his CPU, he opened a search for Impix, curious about just what was going on with the planet.

For a few hours more he read about famine, war crimes, refugees being turned back by many settlements, by many governments on many planets. He read about child soldiers and warlords, the very worst stories one could tell about the very worst things one could imagine. Rape and mutilations, horrific executions and clans turning on other clans.

Joss tore through page after page of stories and facts and accounts, but it wasn't until a photo of a small Impixaen girl who had lost half her face in a bombing, who was adopted through years of hard fought court battles by a Baorian couple peered up at him from one of the pages, that he gave pause.

If he didn't know any better, he would have bet the child was Tandi looking back at him, with her large golden eyes and her soft, almost hopeless air.

At his core, in his youth, he had always said that the pride of being a Sky Guard was what drew him down his path, but when he started, when he actually got out among the people in the uniform, he had found meaning in helping the innocent. In seeing the relief in a woman's eyes as they appeared to arrest her attacker, in seeing the absolute trust in a child's eyes when he would scoop them up to take them to safety.

Clicking away from the image idly, he found another article popping up about Impix, one of those related articles.

He was scrolling down the page to find more articles directly related to the war on Impix, when his eyes paused on three words that caught his attention: 'off-planet resistance'.

Joss stopped his scrolling where it was and backed up a little.

With many on the planet itself, helpless or unwilling to assist, Rena found herself going down to the surface one night to sneak a couple of Zane's family members off-planet. This began what would become in Rena's words 'her life's purpose'. With a small crew of, what would be described by some, as maverick outlaws or an off-planet resistance of sorts, she has amassed a sizable crew.

'Resistance isn't the word I'd use, sweet flower. I'd call us volunteers. We reunite families.'

When asked where she keeps her small ship hidden, Rena was only able to say, 'my ship is my daughter, my child. She is always with me.'

Donations can be made to Rena's 'volunteers' by finding her yourself and seeing what the intrigue is all about, as she was not forthcoming with much. She isn't hard to miss, standing at a startling fourteen hands high, Rena Saarl is a bright, beautiful and very colourful Zhaerian.

Try as he did, Joss couldn't stop himself from feeling that thrill he always felt whenever he was about to make an arrest or solve a case, he sat for a moment absolutely vibrating.

Giving in to the urge, he pushed away from his desk and headed into his bedroom, going straight to his closet, where he shoved all his old uniforms aside, digging into the back of his closet for something he had never worn.

His mother was a university professor, but his father was New Order, retired when Joss was born. The New Order became the Sky Guard and the old soldiers and fighters from the Order didn't want to continue holding the rifles.

Pausing as he knelt to dig out the boots and helmet from the bottom of the closet, he peered at himself in the closet mirror.

Gaunt, pale and too thin, with a day's worth of stubble on his jaw, he peered back. He looked like a madman with a lock of his dark hair fallen out of place, hair raked with his fingers and not combed or smoothed down as he usually wore it.

Ignoring himself, he thrust into the closet and pulled out the boots and helmet, tossing them onto his bed with the suit.

Gloves, there were gloves with his father's old uniform.

Diving under his bed, he pulled out a plastic box he kept miscellaneous clothing items in.

The gloves were there, along with the thigh holster of the New Order.

Standing over the bed, with the uniform tossed carelessly on top, he realized that he was really going to do it. He had the ship, he had the training, he had his father's old climate suit uniform.

Stripping down to his underwear, he tugged the suit on. Before pulling some socks and then the boots, strapping the holster on his right thigh.

He hadn't even secured the top part, left it open in his rush to gear up. So he closed it finally, standing in front of the mirror to ensure everything was secure properly.

The boots were a little tight, he could buy a new pair on the move, but the gloves fit nice.

The uniform of the New Order was one of clean lines and no excess.

In the days before Aevo opened itself up, his people were ruled by the Old Order, those who dictated that children who were imperfect were time and money wasted.

His father and many, many more rose up to protest this harsh regime of perfection, no one would dare call it a civil war, no Aevonian would ever admit something like that. But it was. The New Order had gone in and changed the world, before settling down with their families once more, bearing children like Joss who were too tall and would have been 'left behind' for the imperfection.

His father was average height, which was why the suit was a little too snug on him, but that just meant the 'one size fits all' uniform that would have been a little baggy on his father, was form fitting on his son.

He looked like a ghost from a forgotten time, the pallor and death hollows of his cheeks, wasn't helping the look. But as he pulled the helmet on, covering his face, he took on a different form. He was another space traveller. Some old Vek or Nevedak trader in a thrift store suit, coming into port with a load of space junk to sell.

The black glass helmet, once sleek and flawless, was dinged and scuffed here and there, but it was still a clear symbol of the New Order.

Stepping into his bathroom, he grabbed his medications and shoved them into a small bag, along with a few personal things, an old memory stick with photographs of his parents, and his mother's degree.

Moving into the front hall, he retrieved his gun from the wall safe and secured it in the holster, grabbing all the ammo and the passcode for the platform where his retirement ship sat, he left his apartment, locking the door behind him.

#have a free original sci fi on me #i don't know what else to do with this thing #so enjoy a free read on spy

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